I'm Still Seeing Dead People

Chapter Six: Porch

A/N: I think I know how I want this book to end. Already, I know, it's early, but I think this is where I want it to end. Not the book, the series. I want to try something new after this. I suck at coming up characters, so I want to work on that for the next book. Also, sorry about that last chapter. But, I needed things to start to unravel...

Tiffany was just as distraught as you were, maybe even a little more. You both held each other on the floor of the living room while you cried. How had you gotten to the living room. Jason came back and practically carried you out of the basement. And what was Charles doing? Well, he had turned on the football (soccer for the non-Americans. This is the one with touchdowns.) game, grabbed a beer, and sat on the couch, feet on the coffee table. 

"I'll kill him." You managed to say through sobs. "I don't care if I go to jail, I'll do it." 

"I'll sharpen the knife." Tiffany sobbed.

Besides Charles, everyone was just looking at the pile of sad on the carpet. Even Jeff looked slightly sympathetic, and you had slapped him earlier. Maybe he felt bad for Tiffany. But, I say he looked sympathetic because he smacked Charles' head hard enough to kill any remaining brain cells. 

"Um, Billy, w-why don't you take Y/N u-up to bed? Jeff, you t-take Tiffany. We can deal with this i-in the morning." Norman quietly suggested. 

Most people in the house agreed. By now, it was nearing ten PM, and about half of the household was starting to get tired. 

Billy gently pried your hands from Tiffany's back and picked you up. No way you were going to stand up on your own. Why? There was a slim chance that you would either collapse again or attack Charles. Jeff simply took Tiffany by the hand and led her upstairs. 

Billy set you down on your bed and grabbed the makeup wipes from your desk. Carefully, he wiped the makeup and tears from your blotchy cheeks. 

"I'll step out so you can change." In reality, Billy planned on getting you a cup of F/H/B (Favorite hot beverage [please don't choose coffee, it's late]) and maybe seeing if you'd eat anything. 

Five minutes later, when Billy came back with the F/H/B, you were still in your clothes, stained with Glen's blood and your tears. 

Billy sighed and lifted your shirt off. He threw it in your (nearly full) laundry basket. He grabbed a clean hoodie from your dresser and set it on your knees. 

"You can do... you know, the rest." He mumbled, grabbing your laundry basket and walking it downstairs and to the washing machine. 

"She alright?" A deep voice asked. 

"No. I had to take her shirt off for her." Billy shut the lid to the washing machine and turned to face the tall man. "Elliott, what do I do?" 

"I don't know. Might I suggest a hug? I've seen many people die being hugged in my labyrinths." Elliott offered, sipping a cup of what looked like blood, but was probably Kool-Aide. 

Billy, taking the now empty basket, walked upstairs to see that you had actually changed. Your clothes (not counting the shirt) had been kicked to a corner of the room, but you had the hoodie and some fleece pants on. 

"Do you... need a hug?" Billy sheepishly asked, the thoughts of just hours ago arising. 

You nodded and Billy sat down next to you. He pulled you across his knees and wrapped his arms around you. You would never admit it, given the prior time the two of you hugged, but you were enjoying the hug. 

"I was serious." Was all you said before you fell asleep, leaving Billy stumped. 

____________________________________

You didn't get much sleep that night. It was on-and-off, waking up every thirty minutes. All you saw when you closed your eyes was the final moments of Glen's life. Billy was snoring madly in his bed, so that didn't help either. 

At about three AM, you gave up. You grabbed your mug of F/H/B that you didn't drink earlier and went downstairs. You sat on the porch and drank your, now cold, drink. 

"Can't sleep?" A voice asked from behind you. 

"No," You sniffed. "Every time I close my eyes, I see Glen." 

"Same here." Tiffany sat down next to you, dark bags under her eyes. "I feel bad that you watched him die." 

"I don't think I'll ever be able to unsee it." You mumbled, sipping your drink/ 

After a few moments of awkward silence, Tiffany spoke up. "Charles came to bed drunker than Miss Hannigan. I can't sleep with the smell of all the alcohol." 

"Yeah, I saw all the bottles. Billy's snoring hard, so that's partially why I couldn't sleep." You agreed. 

"I heard him when I came down the stairs." She paused and sipped her water. "What are we going to do about Charles?" 

"Kill him." You bluntly replied. 

"We can't." Tiffany fretted. 

"Well, why not?" You asked, flabbergasted. "He wasn't a very good husband, always leaving you all the work, he was never there for Glen, and he wasn't nice to you. Plus, he's a raging alcoholic. That's not a good environment." 

"Yeah, you're right, but..." 

"But what?"

"I'm pregnant."

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. Honestly, I probably should have put this with the last one, but oh, well.