I'm Still Seeing Dead People

Chapter 18: Scar Tissue

A/N: So, I get a lot of baking requests from family friends. The most recent one said, quote: "You make some frickin' awesome stuff. If you can figure out how to put caramel inside of a brownie, I'll pay you." After I told him I'd bake, but he wasn't paying me, he told me he'd hook me up with a bag of flour. Good payment, considering how much I bake. 

It took you and Billy nearly an hour to drag Michael back to the house and into his bedroom. It wouldn't have taken so long if Michael wasn't such a mountain of mass. By the time Michael was in his bed, your hair was matted to your forehead with sweat and you were panting like a wet dog. 

"Now what?" You asked, turning to an equally exhausted Billy. 

"I don't know. You, you sit here and wait for him to wake up. I'll go and make some coffee and soup, I guess." Billy panted. 

Billy left the room, closing the door gently behind him. You pulled up Michael's desk chair beside the sleeping serial killer and sighed. You reached over to the corner of Michael's mask and pulled it off. You never got used to seeing his face. He looked slightly like Ted Bundy, but also nothing like him. The lack of scars on his face always sent a chill down your spine. He's been shot and burned alive; there's no way he didn't have scars. 

Suddenly, Michael's eyes were wide open, and he was staring intently at you. 

"You collapsed on the ground after Pennywise died." You spoke up. 

"I know why." 

"Well, spill it." You instructed. "Billy's downstairs making some soup and coffee; I'll catch him up." 

"Laptop. I can type faster than I can write." 

You looked back to the desk and saw Michael's laptop on the corner of the desk. You opened it and pulled up a blank Word document for him. Carefully, you opened the laptop and handed it to the man. 

"I've been hurt a lot in my time. I've been shot at, been burned, and I've probably been stabbed. I don't remember; I've killed too many people and been hurt too many times. All those injuries caused scar tissue. Sometimes, scar tissue can cause internal bleeding. That's basic medical knowledge, and most people who've needed stitches or been stabbed or something like that are well aware of it. I have so much scar tissue, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are jealous. Laurie always liked that band growing up, so I know them well. 

"Reiterating my point, scar tissue can cause internal bleeding. That's why I passed out. Internal Bleeding makes people nauseous, and can make people pass out. That's that. I am bleeding internally, and I have been dealing with it for many years. I've been able to go to the hospital to get it fixed, but I can't know that the world has my mugshot." 

"So, now that you can't get help, what happens?" You asked quietly after a moment, dreading the answer that you knew was coming. 

"I die." Michael typed, a sad type of slowness in his hands. "I lay here and I die in this bed." 

"No... No, Michael, you can't die." You surmised. 

"I'll hold on as long as I can. But, I can't guarantee it's going to be long." 

Just then, Billy came into the room with a cup of coffee and a bowl of potato chowder. 

"We, uh, didn't have any soup left, and to make some would take hours, so I just microwaved some potato chowder. We didn't have any clam chowder left." Billy quietly set down the bowl of soup and coffee. 

"Help me sit up, please." 

You blinked back your tears as you grabbed one of Michael's hands and pulled him to a sitting position. You knew that this was probably going to be Michael's last meals.