Hey Guys!

Sorry for not updating in ages. I've been really busy, but here is the next chapter!

I'm aiming for this story to be around six chapters long, but that number could rise or fall. However, I can confirm that there will be at least another two chapters. Thank you so much for all your wonderful reveiws as well! I have eight on this story, and that's like a record for me. So thank you for taking the time out to write a quick note. Your effort is much appreciated.

Seeing as it is nearly Christmas, I hope to upload a Seddie Xmas One shot before the big day, so look at for that one too.

You guys know the drill. Reveiw with constructive critcism. Please! It takes me hours to write this story, but half a minute for you to reveiw it.

Enjoy!

This chapter contains dark themes.

Disclaimer- As much as I would love to say I own iCarly...I don't. But I do own the Christmas Ham we're going to be having on the 25th!

The air in my lungs feels stale and humid. I take a deep breath, inhaling the stench of disinfectant and exhale slowly out, fogging up a small patch of the window.

Reaching across, I draw a little shape with my finger, and grin as the picture turns into a smiley face. But soon, my little drawing melts, and the beaming face begins to cry as it runs rivulets down the panes.

There's no happiness anymore.

I turn back to Sam's room, and pull my knees up to my chest. It's raining, but you can't hear the comforting pitter patter on the roof, which really annoys me.

The only thing you can hear is a beeping machine in the corner, and the inconsistent dripping noise coming from a bag hitched up to Sam's arm.

She really does look like death. Wrists bandaged up, like she's wearing two clunky bracelets made of gauze. She looks uncommonly weak, lying flat like a corpse on her bed. Her lifeless hair hangs behind her shoulders, and her body appears glass like. So much so, that every time her pulse beats, I am afraid the frail skin will crack in two.

I was only aloud in four hours ago. After they realized that no one was going to show up, they let us in. Thank god, for I think Freddie probably would have head butted the nurse if he'd had to wait another ten minutes.

The shock has worn off I think. But every so often, a crippling pain shoots through my chest as I realize where I am and whose bed I am sitting beside. I double over and tears stream down my face, while I hold my stomach as if it's about to burst. In my head, I yell "Sam? Please Sam, come back to me!"

Reaching over, I trace the veins on the back of Sam's hand. She doesn't stir, nor does she respond in anyway. It's almost as if she's dead.

Looking around, I come to the conclusion that her hospital room isn't too bad. I think Sam would be pretty pleased with the TV hanging on the wall, no matter how small it is. The wallpaper is a little sickly, and the tiles are a tad harsh on the eyes, but Sam's never cared much for interior anyway.

She wouldn't be impressed with the bright array of sunflowers beside the bed though. She's never really been a flower person. She'd probably prefer a sculpture made of Fat Cakes instead.

There's a seat beside the window, which I am presently sitting on. The cushions have a plastic covering strangling them though, and every time I move it makes an unpleasant squelching noise. There are two other seats in the room, one of which is occupied. Freddie sits in one, right beside Sam's bed. His eyes host dark circles, whether it is from sleepiness or stress, I don't know. He's got his head on the white sheets, arms tucked beneath his mop of brown hair. I know he's not asleep however, as one hand strokes Sam's palm absentmindedly.

The other Spencer was sitting in moments ago, but he went somewhere. I stare across at the door, waiting for him to come back in. Finally, he returns. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he shuffles over and sits beside me. Delicately, I place my head on his shoulder.

"I just called the school and told them that you and Freddie might not be at school for the next couple of days. It seems Mrs Benson already called and she is coming over here now."

He lowers his head and speaks directly into my ear.

"She seems to have this idea that Freddie will go home with her. I told her that it would take an army tank to drag Freddie away."

I nod slowly, in recognition of his poor joke. I know he's just trying to cheer me up, but I really don't feel like being happy.

We're all silent for a while, until Freddie looks up. The whites of eyes are a deep and menacing red.

"Did you say my mom was coming?"

Spencer nods.

"God damn it," swears Freddie grumpily to himself. He slumps back in his chair, and I can't help but notice that he still holds Sam's hand in his own.

"She'll want to take me home. Tell me that Sam will get better whether I'm here or not. But I can't leave her."

He seems to be babbling incoherently to himself. I stare across at him, the weight of the world crushing down on my shoulders. He glances up at me.

"I just can't."

And of course, I completely understand. Because it's not just that easy. Forget that Freddie's dating Sam. We've been best friends since we were twelve years old. And we will always be best friends. If Sam died, it would be like loosing the third musketeer.

And we would never let that happen.

There's a knock on the door, as one of the nurses pokes her head in. She looks sympathetically at us, pity in her eyes.

"Carly? Carly Shay?"

I raise my hand limply.

"That's me."

"Would you mind coming this way for a moment dear? The police would like to talk to you."

I swallow sharply. Finally. They might be able to give me information about Sam's attacker. Though, I'm expecting they'll want information from me in exchange first.

I stand up, and watch as Spencer echoes my movements. Even Freddie is tensed on the edge of his seat, ready to jump up. The nurse shakes her head.

"I'm very sorry, but Carly must be interviewed alone. You won't be long dear. They just want to ask you a couple of questions."

I nod, and pat Spencer's arm absentmindedly, staring at Sam.

"You sure you'll be okay?" asks Spencer, bending his head down to look me in the eye.

"I'll be fine Spencer," I reassure him, before brushing myself off and following the nurse out of the room. I can feel two pairs of eyes watching me as I leave.

The nurse shuts the door, and I trail after her, down the seemingly endless hallway. After stopping outside a door, she turns and smiles at me.

"Not to worry dear, they're not going to hurt you."

She pats my shoulder, before strolling briskly away. And to think, I expected her to stay. But from the purposeful way she walks, I can see this woman obviously has better things to do than to comfort a mentally unstable teenager.

I let myself in.

A simple metal table sits in the middle of the room, accompanied by two plastic chairs. I look around nervously, and rub the back of my neck. They don't usually have questioning rooms at hospitals, do they? Well, it's no wonder. This cozy little abode looks very improvised, and I can see the faded patterns of hospital wallpaper draped around me. Perhaps this was where they bring the hopeless cases, which can't leave the hospital, in fear that they will emotionally break down.

How comforting.

I shuffle over to one of the seats, and perch on it, careful to avoid pressing my palms on the cold, metal table. As I lean back, the door swings open. An older man enters the room, dressed in a pressed police uniform. He holds a tape recorder and a note pad. Flashing me a brief smile, the officer sits down opposite me.

"Hello Carly, I'm Officer Timms," he says briskly, reaching across to shake my hand. I stare at his white knuckles, and don't receive his greeting.

"Hello," I whisper shakily.

"I just need to ask you a couple of questions about your friend Samantha. I'm going to record everything you say, is that all right? Just so that I can make a proper account of everything."

I nod my head, and watch as he leans across and presses a red button that's protruding from the soft plastic of the recorder. He turns back to me, and glances down at his pad.

"So Carly, how long have you and Sam been friends?"

I smile faintly. I was expecting heavy questions about the state in which I'd found Sam. No, these little questions about our history are fine. These, I can handle.

"I met Sam when I was eight years old, and she's been like my sister ever since."

The office nodded, and scribbled something on his pad.

"And how close are you two?"

I smirk.

"Very close. She sleeps at my house practically every night, and we spend Christmas, birthdays and nearly all of the other holidays together. The two of us do a web show, with our other friend Freddie, and all three of us are really close. Sam can be a little crazy sometimes, and I'm sort of the one that keeps her under control."

"And how is Sam's relationship with Freddie, you're other friend?"

"They loathed each other at the start, and only tolerated each other because of me. But over time, they've become friends, and they actually started dating, which is good."

Officer Timms nods his head slowly, before resting his fingers on the edge of the table and looking directly into my eyes.

"Carly, would you be able to tell me anything about Sam's home life?"

I sigh, and rub my nose anxiously.

"It's not exactly…great. Sam's mom is pretty abusive. She's never there for Sam, not to mention there's never enough food in the fridge. They fight a lot, and I know Pam used to hit Sam when she was little. I suppose that's why Sam is always really angry and aggressive. She just likes to protect herself. It's why she doesn't have many friends."

"And would you say that Pam is a responsible mother?"

I shake my head.

"No way. Pam leaves Sam at home alone for two, three days at a time. Once she left her there an entire week with a just note saying she'd gone out. Sam stays with me a lot. Spencer and I are her real family."

"Do you ever see a lot of Pam?"

"Sometimes. But not lately. Once in a while, she'll drop Sam off at my apartment, or on the odd occasion I go round to Sam's house, she'll be in the bedroom, smoking. We've never really had a proper conversation."

Officer Timm sighs regretfully, before placing his pad and pen on the table.

"Have you noticed many changes in Sam lately?"

I'm getting impatient. What does this have to do with finding Sam's attacker?

"Not really. Well…she did fail her English exam a couple of days ago. I lost it at her, and screamed the house down. It's just, I told her, and told her again that she needed to study, but she brushed me off. She's been doing that a lot lately."

"Acting differently?" he inquires.

"Now that you mention it, yeah. But not like really different. She's just been a little out of it. Not spending so much time with Freddie and I. That's the reason I went round to Sam's place. I was worried because she hadn't answered my calls or my txts. I mean, it's happened before, but I just knew something was up."

"Was Sam awake when you found her?"

I gulp.

"I think she knew I was there, but was so close to passing out that she didn't properly acknowledge it. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was dead to the world."

"And her house?"

"Trashed. Things thrown all over the room, rotten vegetables, missing television. It can only mean one thing right? Looters?"

I look across at him for reassurance. An awkward expression rolls across Officer Timm's face. He looks away for a second, as if debating and procrastinating inside his head. Finally, he breathes sharply out of his nose and turns back to face me.

"Look…Carly, honey. We have reason to believe that Sam…did this to herself."

I freeze. Muscles locking into place, my mouth drops open.

How dare they?

"Sam would never do a thing like that to herself! Never! She's not stupid enough. And if she were even thinking about considering it, she'd tell me! I'm her best friend…I'm her sister," I cry, angrily, but my voice cracks on 'sister'.

Officer Timms reaches across sympathetically to take my hand, but I flinch. He sighs, lacing his fingers together.

"Sam's wrists were slit. That's an incredibly unusual position for a murderer to attack. Most stab. Sam was found in the bathtub, an almost iconic place for people to kill themselves. She also had the door locked. You could defend that perhaps a killer had done this, and then locked the door, but you can't lock bathroom doors from the outside, and my team tell me there are no windows in Sam's bathroom."

I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger.

"Your next defense is that Sam's house was trashed, and her television was gone, correct?"

I bite my lip. He took the words right out of my mouth.

"We have reason to believe that Pam may have abandoned her daughter, as after checking her credit cards, we can see that their last charges were in places like Orlando, and Miami, half way across the country. Pam might have won some money, and left her daughter to rot. After what I've heard from both the reports, and you, I can definitely believe that Pam thought her daughter was dragging her down and simply left."

"But that doesn't explain-"

"Actually," he says, interrupting me, "it does. Sam's mother has obviously been gone for a while now, and she's been worrying about it. After failing her English exam, things must have been all too much for her. She might have been considering telling you, but after your fight, she must have felt completely alone in the world and went home. From the evidence we've gathered, Sam must have come home, and took her anger out on the cupboards. With Pam not being home, and Sam not being able to pay for groceries, this would explain the lack of food and the browning vegetables."

I breathe sharply in, and hold my breath.

"Sam must have sold the television to pay bills or for food, but it obviously wasn't enough. Feeling completely alone, she turned off her phone, climbed into the bath, and slit her wrists."

I'm deflated. Sitting on the chair, I was just managing to choke back the tears. The evidence had been under my nose the entire time, but in hope that my fears weren't true, I chose to ignore the blindingly obvious fact.

"It all adds up. The evidence is against your argument Carly. And I hope you know that we would wish nothing more than to find the attacker of your best friend, and send them to jail for a very long time. But the trouble is, the attacker is lying in that bed next door."

I run my hands through my hair. This can't be happening.

Sam should have told me. I would have helped her through it. I can't believe she didn't ask me for help. For guidance. For food, for god's sake! She's never had a problem with it before. It's one of those things with Sam. She never asks for help when she really needs it.

I like to think it's a pride thing, and not that the strength of our friendship is weakening.

Officer Timms glances at his watch.

"Thank you for answering my questions Carly, and I know you have a lot of your own, but right now, I need to be some place else. I'll be back later to interview your friend, Freddie. Stay strong honey," he says, resting a hand on my shoulder before walking out of the room.

I watch him go limply, before standing up, and following him out. I wander slowly down the hallway, in the opposite direction of Sam's room.

The slow walk soon changes to a run, and before I know it, I'm sprinting.

Did I do this? I must have. I fought, and I yelled, and I blamed her for things, when I never even looked hard enough to see that something was wrong. Freddie didn't look hard enough. Spencer didn't look hard enough. We're horrible friends. I'm a horrible sister. I let her drown in her own blood.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

This is happening.

Sam tried to kill herself.

Thanks for reading! If I don't manage to update with my new Seddie Xmas story before Christmas, I wish everybody a fantastic holiday and a wonderful new year!

-ArtsyAmyStars