"I don't need to calm down or anything like that. I don't need to join your little investigation, got it?" He stated. "I didn't do any of this. I didn't kill anyone and I don't want to be here. I don't want to sit and play this little game of 'Who dun it?' or Cluedo or however it's supposed to go. And if I really have to, I'll just point to the first person I see." Matt stated angrily.

He looked over a Stephen and glared at the laughing boy. This wasn't a laughing matter at all and the boy was there rolling around, laughing like an idiot - a maniac. Matt wasn't just going to stand around and take it. He simply stormed over to the boy, the anger showing on his features and it looked like he was ready to break a bone on the laughing boy if he managed to get a hold of him.

"You. I'm going to point my finger at you. You're the killer. It's that simple." He stated. "There. I've found the person who I think is the killer and now I want out of here." He growled, looking around the place as if expecting a door to suddenly appear that he could skip out of.

Leila sighed, fighting the desire to roll her eyes. He just didn't get it, did he? You can't randomly accuse someone. This is murder, for God's sake. She bit her lip to stop herself speaking aloud. That wouldn't help anything right now. She guessed Stephen was having some kind of breakdown or hysterical reaction. It was about time, she thought, looking around the group. She wasn't sure how she was staying so rational like this. Denial, perhaps.

Her gaze caught on Christi, who seemed embarrassed. Whatever reason she'd have for that, Leila had completely missed it. Matt was annoying everyone. It was his own fault, but she couldn't manage to stay uncaring enough to assign the blame to him just like that. He was throwing around accusations and denying the need for a proper…well, proper consideration. She folded her hands across her front, tugging on her jumper, trying not to remember her stab wounds. Should she voice her thoughts? Yes, she decided. But what kind of tone should she take on? She didn't want to simply point the finger like he had. She deliberated for a moment, and decided on lightness again. If she started taking this guy too seriously, she'd end up going crazy. And Stephen seemed to think she was going to take care of them all or something, so she may as well. Nobody else looked up to it. She sighed again, feeling thoroughly normal compared to the people here.

"You're making yourself look suspicious," she told him steadily. "It's not that simple, is it? And there's no use getting mad, either."

She couldn't help the stray thought that she wasn't helping things, but what else could she do? Nobody else was going to shut him up. Unless Izzy punched him, which was possible. She'd be tempted to do it herself if she wasn't a pacifist.

Christi was taken aback by the sudden shouting that took place. It was from Matt, who very angry and in denial, maybe even a bit crazy, and he was accusing Stephen of being the murderer. Christi subconsciously took a step back from the two boys, unsure of what would happen next. It seemed Leila, who had tried to calm Matt down, was now very flustered. This type of containment was making them all insane. Well, in her case, it was just making it worse.

"You're making yourself look suspicious. It's not that simple, is it? And there's no use getting mad, either."

Christi listened but suddenly zoned out, one particular memory flooding her conscience.

There was a loud piercing sound that kept going from high pitched to low pitched as if was moving back and forth. Christi fought to open her eyes and managed to just barely. There were bright red and blue lights, streams of white headlights flooding the ground. The flashing lights were making her head hurt more than it already was, not to mention the sound of the sirens (she'd determined by the lights that they were such devices).

She tried to move but couldn't. She was on a stretcher that was rolling across the uneven ground. Her whole body was vibrating but she couldn't feel anything, other than her throbbing headache. Her head flopped to the side upon hitting a particularly uneven spot in the bumpy asphalt and she simply saw what looked to be a giant pile of scrap metal. As it began to leave her field of vision, she realized it was a car. The same car, in fact, that her brother had been driving her in just moments ago.

"Mar--cus..." she moaned. A paramedic signaled the others to stop moving the stretcher as he came to stand in front of her. Her eyes were wide open and he looked genuinely concerned.

"Christi," he said, though he sounded far away. "Christi, can you hear me?" he repeated, this time a little clearer and louder. "Christi," he said once more. This time, though, Christi responded, her eyes flicking to his face.

"Mar--cus..." she said again. "Where's...Mar-cus?" she asked.

The paramedics eyes flicked inadvertantly to a white sheet with a bloodied lump beneath it. He quickly corrected himself, but only too late. Christi looked over and saw the horror that he had. It was Marcus, her brother, a mass of blood beneath the formerly white sheet. His body was no longer resembling a body. It was just a dead mass that once had been her brother.

A tear ran from Christi's face and the paramedic gently turned her head back towards the sky. She did not try to move it again, even as the stretcher began moving again, but she simply stared, lost, into the darkened sky, the light of the vehicles fading slowly. Then all she saw was black for a long time.

.....

Three days later, she awoke in a hospital bed. She couldn't remember much from the night of accident, but she curiously looked down at herself to see the damage. Her legs were in temporary casts, spotted with blood, and her hands were bandaged as well. She could feel the pain of it all, even the cuts on her face, but nothing hurt worse than her heart.

She began to remember that night and what she had seen after the paramedic had stopped to talk to her. It all came rushing back to her.

"Marcus...no...no..."

Suddenly, a new yet familiar voice came into her ears. "Christi!" a male voice said with relief. It was her father, tear stained cheeks and red eyes leaning over her.

"Where's Marcus?" she asked.

"He's not here, honey," her father replied sadly, trying to hold back the tears as he stroked her head.

"No. He's gone. He's gone and it's your fault," a female voice said. It was her mother, but this mother, she did not know. It was not her caring, loving mother from before. This was a mean, accusing mother, hard faced and unforgiving.

"My fault?" Christi managed to say.

"Yes. You're fault." Her mother was red faced and angry, no longer herself.

"Christi don't listen to her. She's just in denial. It's okay. You didn't do this," her father assured her. Christi looked at him and noticed how he set angry eyes on her mother. "There's no use getting mad..." he said to her.

Christi came back to the present, this dull grey place that she was in, and realized that there were tears running down her face.

"Oh, Marcus.." she muttered sadly.

The laughter stopped like someone had jammed a rubber cork into a faucet. Stephen's face went from insane mirth and a giddy grin to dead serious in a split second. The skinny columnist slowly climbed to his feet, wiping the dried blood carefully off his nose with one bruised forearm. He was the same height as Arkwright, give or take a few sixteenths of an inch, but he was much thinner and smaller. He didn't look like he couldn't fight a stuffed bear, let alone stand up for himself in a confrontation.

Which made his next move even more unpredictable.

One hand reached up to the columnist's head, finding the front of his hat brim. Stephen lifted the hat off and turned it around, so that the curled edge of the back half of the hat was facing Matthew. Then the columnist drew back and hit Matthew with the hat. There was a dull thud as the semi-rigid wool hat connected with Matthew's cheek.

"You think I killed these fucking people?" Stephen shouted. In their little grey world, his shouting voice echoed back and forth loudly, as though he was standing in a tunnel. "I hate people, but that doesn't mean I would kill them! I don't have anything against anyone in this room, and never have! And besides -" and here he pointed to his bruised and battered forearms - "You think I would do this to myself?! I'm going to make this clear just once - I haven't killed anyone, AND YOU'RE A FUCKING PILLOCK IF YOU THINK I DID!"

Having made his point, the columnist stormed off towards a far edge of the Void, away from pretty much everything.

Matt hadn't imagined that he would have been hit by the guy so when he was the look of shock that came over the kids face was priceless. His mouth hung open and his eyes just stared at the boy in front of him. He didn't speak or say anything until the kid started walking away and then the anger seemed to hit his features. Matt wasn't one to just stop and walk away after a confrontation and he sure as hell wasn't going to walk away after just getting hit with the columist's hat.

He suddenly stormed after Stephen and upon reaching him gave him a good hard push, not caring if he fell from the impact of his push or managed to keep his balance. "Well we all have injuries on ourselves and one of us did it and my bet is you. You hate people and people do stupid and crazy things." He growled. "Like at the moment I could be crazy and stupid enough to actually hit you."

Matt was really angry and he was ready for a fight. His hand was already curled into a fist as if waiting for the right moment to hit the guy in front of him. "I mean, so far your the one rolling around like a maniac laughing finding this joke funny. I don't see anyone else laughing. So as of now you're my killer and I'm not changing my opinion. So, hit me all you want because I can hit back ten times harder."

Thoughts flashed through Leila's mind, thoughts about the patience of a saint and the Y chromosome. Stephen yelled at Matt, Matt yelled back, Stephen hit Matt with his hat -- she had to bite back the ghost of a smile at that -- and Matt pushed Stephen. In short, they were going in circles. Someone, do something, she thought, and then remembered nobody else had done so thus far. Down to her again? Looked like it. This was really pushing her limits, but maybe it was a good thing. So long as she could concentrate on something stupid, something relatively normal, it would keep her mind off why they were here and what that meant. It would distract her from what she'd lost…

She quickly pushed her way between the two guys. "Hey! Seriously, guys, that's not helping. Whatever you think," she directed this at Matt, "is it going to make up for it if you just have a fight? If he really is the killer, wouldn't you want to persuade us to agree, so we'd vote him? Give us some proof?" The thought of deciding this soon, and based on the opinion of Matt, of all people, was ludicrous, but it would hopefully slow him down a bit. "And Stephen," she turned to him, "well, actually, you're dealing with this in the most normal way out of all of us. Just, don't hit Matt, ok? Not helping."

God, it was like…Well, it was unlike anything she'd experienced before. That was probably why it was so disconcerting. Focus on now, she told herself. Focus on these two, focus on keeping the peace, focus on what you can handle. She swallowed. She was rapidly taking back the wistful wish to punch Matt. He'd never take that lying down. It was hard enough keeping herself sane, let alone everybody else. But somebody had to do it, right? She just wanted to get out of here.

It seemed that Leila was the only one able to keep herself together enough to go between the fighting boys. Rinni could honestly say she didn't blame the others for not participating, though she did feel slightly guilty for letting Leila handle all of this by herself. Looking to the others present, she wondered if she would have to be the one to back her up. Sighing, she embraced herself and closed her eyes, wanting to just disappear from here so badly. When she finally gained the courage to speak again, her voice was frail and weak.

"Leila's right," she said, clearing her throat as she realized how idiotic her voice sounded. She inhaled, even though she wasn't sure if she really needed to, and looked at the others. "Fighting isn't going to help at all," she finally continued, nodding slightly as if her statement was final. She brought her hands out of the embrace, only to cross them over her chest in an attempt to look less frightened than she felt, however, she also had a feeling it didn't help much.

Her eyes lingered as she looked at Stephen, it couldn't be helped. Matt's accusation, though obviously uttered in a state of anger, was slightly plausible. She then turned her gaze towards the others, hoping someone had something more intelligent to say.

It had taken the entire flashback to help knock Christi back into slight sanity, but just minutes after the whole ordeal, she was beginning to regain that slight sanity. The others were still arguing but Rinni and Leila were trying to talk some sense into the two boys. Christi was slightly shocked at the realization of not only how they had behaved, but also at her lack of help due to her insanity.

She walked over and stood beside Rinni and Leila, wondering why the girls were taking so much authoritative charge.

"It's not worth it, boys. You'll still be stuck here and so will we. Grow up and think a little bit." She hadn't said it with attitude or even bite. She'd simply stated it, trying to make the boys see how foolish they were. "This isn't some dream that you can wake up from; it's not a mistake, it's not a story that you can write yourself out of. Accept the fact that we're here and that there is a murderer in our midst. The priority is to find the real murderer because if you pick the wrong person, he, or she, wins. It's that simple. So, maybe, you two should just settle your differences and stop acting like little school boys." She would admit, she may be crossing a line here or there, but she was getting annoyed with this. Her last sentence had had a slight bite to it, but not anything that would upset anyone...she hoped.

Marcus had never tolerated boys like that and now neither did she. She'd learned her self control, the little that she had, from her brother, in fact. Now that he was gone...it was important that she keep that part of him alive by living it out.

Muttering under her breath, Izzy couldn't remember the last time shes been so enflamed by the actions of others. The two boys pushing and shoving at eachother like adolescents had caused a tiny buzz in the back of her brain, which blew to full blown anger when each of them spoke. Soon just Michael Arkwright's face was all she needed to be angry enough to feel her blood boil. This was terrible, and if she intervened she could only see it getting worse.

Pllacing her hand on her hip, she flipped her hair from her eyes and let a small smile pass her lips. "It's not even worth talking to him now," she said aloud, stepping up next to Christi and looking over at her. It was obvious she had a certain distaste for Michael mostly, as she kept looking at him. "Let the baby have his bottle."

Reaching again to her back pocet, she pulled out her candy tube. Izzy threw her head back, lifting the neon green tube to her mouth. With a swift motion, some of the contents of the bottle slid out and onto her tongie. Instantly the pills melted, leaving her tongue Demerol blue and her mind in a state of much needed nothingness. She sighed and rolled her head back, thinking things over. All she could remember of her attacker were the shoes. As she looked around she saw that nobody was wearing them.

"Damn," she hissed aloud. Ah, well, she thought, almost laughing out loud to herself. Nobbody said it was going to be easy.

The push was mildly expected. Stephen's feet had been locked, prepared for retaliation at any given moment. So when Matt gave him what he must have thought a manly response, Stephen just kind of tottered forward, like a statue standing on one leg that is suddenly pushed forward. When his front foot got purchase, the columnist whirled in a practiced maneuver that had him spun 180 degrees in a split second; something that made him look like a drunk that actually took a ton of practice. His face twisted into a mocking, angry sneer. Anyone who'd seen him before knew that face - it was the face he used whenever someone in class said something really stupid, the face that he wore whenever someone brought up a dumb question in History or Science, the face that silently mocked those whom it targeted - that face that silently shouted, "Was your mother an inbred hick with four fingers, buck teeth, a club foot and no brain, or were you just [i]born that stupid?"[/i]

His mouth twisted as though he was about to say something when the other Victims began to trickle over, one at a time.

Stephen's face went impassive again, fading to that emotionless state of something between complacency and perpetual annoyance that seemed to be his default expression. He looked at Matt first, that expression unchanging, but his eyes glinting with hidden steel. He remained wordless, waiting for the brainless hulk of a Greaser-jacketed moron to strike him. When nothing came, he allowed a tiny grin to tug the corners of his mouth.

His eyes shifted over to Leila. "I didn't really plan on hitting him again unless he decided to speak again," the columnist said evenly, "but I appreciate the words of advice and support." Although his tone was most definitely sarcastic, that was probably one of a precious few complements that anyone would end up recieving in their little party. "And," he added, his face looking sheepish, "it's... Rather reassuring to hear someone say that irrationality is the most rational response, for once."

Then he looked towards Rinni, having to lower his chin to look into her face. Why did she always have to look innocent and frightened? Being an assbag was impossible when the person you're trying to be all annoying and abrasive about has the face of a child. "Again," he said in even tones, completely different from the angry, hoarse shouting used just moments before, "I never planned on fighting anyone. It's pointless, anyways - not like I would inflict any actual harm, considering we're all dead." His voice lowered as he leaned in a bit closer, so that only Rinni could hear his next words - "Well, depending on who you ask." He smiled conspiratorially before leaning back to his unthreatening stance.

His eyes then shifted to Christi. She'd said something stupid, in his opinion, so it was time to bust out the "I'm flawless, you bint" voice. "No, you stop it," he said in a squeaky falsetto, obviously impersonating the schoolboy Christi had accused him of acting like, before fading back to his normal voice again. "And there's no winners or losers, here. This isn't a goddamn game." His eyes narrowed. "Of course I know someone in here killed me," not even bothering to say "us" instead of "me" - he wanted his priorities to be very obvious now, "and I planned on finding out who did it whether anyone else wanted to or not. I didn't plan on delusional and ill-tempered mental invalids like someone here deciding to ball up in a corner like a girl and refuse to help because he was thinking with his testicles instead of his brain." His voice remained factual and informative, like everything he was saying was the Gospel Truth - and yes, he had gone back to the "I was almost going to get laid!" comment made by Arkwright. Petty, but effective.

Then, Izzy. Well, there really wasn't much Stephen could do about Izzy at this moment. She had her "candy" bottle out and was swallowing pills again. Stephen's hand automatically reached out in a "fork some of that over, sister, I really don't give a shit anymore" gesture. Regardless of whether or not Izzy "forked some of that over", Stephen leapt into his portion of the investigation. He looked over each member of the group, inspecting their wounds.

"So," he said as he looked at everyone in turn, "Everyone know how they died?" The question was disturbingly casual, like he was asking everyone the time of day or the weather.

Though she flashed a brief, weak smile of gratitude Rinni's way, Leila decided she wouldn't bother saying anything in response to Stephen's words. Sarcasm seemed to be his way of dealing with things -- besides the hysterical laughter that he seemed to have recovered from -- and it was probably the best she'd get from him. He was concentrating on himself now, working in his best interests. She didn't really mind, as she was beginning to lean that way herself, and it was as good a motivator as any. They were communicating a bit better now, and he seemed to be taking charge, which would give her a break.

"So," he finished, "everyone know how they died?"

She couldn't stop her hand automatically going to her shoulder, her back. She forced a shaky swallow. Of course, the disadvantage of finding the killer was facing up to the fact they had been killed. She wasn't entirely sure how she was going to cope with that, but it had to be done. "I think I bled to death," she replied, trying to keep her voice level. "It took too long to just be the stabbing." She imagined that she could feel her injuries, the six slashes across her shoulder blade. Why did it have to be six? It would have been better to be four. And then maybe she would have survived, too. Then she'd still be walking home, stressing over her piano piece being in the wrong time signature, thinking about the homework she had due in, wondering what her mum had made for dinner…She made herself stop thinking about it, distracting herself by tapping her foot, stressing every fourth beat. Don't think about what you can't change, she told herself. Don't think about it. Hold yourself together, damn it.

Christi's mouth formed a hard line at Stephen's response to her. He was being a complete ass right now and it pissed her off. She was glad Izzy was beside her because otherwise she would have lashed out at him. Izzy, however, had made a good point about the two boys, whether she realized it or not. They were both acting like fools.

"God, you're a dumbass! I wasn't talking about an actual game. If you knew anything about basic psychology you would have caught on to that, but obviously your mental maturity hasn't made it to that point yet," she snapped at Stephen. "We're all dead, right? As of now, we don't know which one of killed the rest of us. Obviously it was a game to the killer. If we throw an innocent into eternal damnation instead the one who is rightfully guilty, then he wins his little game. Do you understand now?" she snapped at him, clearly having no patience for the columnist.

Christi turned on her heels and walked a few paces back, stopped and turned around, glaring at Stephen again. "You see, this is why I can't stand you little columnist shits. You never think things through and are complete asses, PLUS you don't tend to get the story right. Trust me, I would know..." With that, Christi walked a few more paces back, turning around again, and sat down.

She blew out an angry breath, not caring if Stephen chose to retaliate to her or not. She knew her reaction was rightly given, simply because he truly was being an ass, making her feel stupid even though she had said something easily understood. She thought it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out her use of the word ''wins,'' but evidently she'd underestimated the intelligence of the columnist.

Christi shook her head, letting out another angry huff, and realized her finger nails were beginning to dig into her palms. Not that it mattered...

"Oh, Marcus, I wish you were here. You wouldn't have let that fool get anymore than a smile or frown towards me."

Christi was suddenly drawn into a memory about the accident.

"What the hell is this?!" Christi cried, red faced, her eyes watering.

She was thrusting a newspaper towards her father, who sat at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands. He was initially shocked, but quickly understood.

"What the hell is this!" Christi demanded again, tears flowing out of her eyes again.

Her father got up and drew her into a hug, and Christi noticed her mother entering the kitchen now. They still weren't getting along and she still blamed Christi for Marcus' death.

"Honey," her father said lightly, a slight sound of pain in his voice, "don't believe these guys, okay. They're wrong and you know it, I know it, and so does your mother. You didn't cause the accident, okay?"

Christi pulled back and glared at her mother. Her mother was on the verge of telling her father that she disagreed. Her mother, on all accounts, believed Marcus' death was all Christi's fault, even the accident that almost killed her herself. Her mother, however, shut her mouth and went about her own business.

Christi looked at the paper and read it to herself over again.

Local Highschool Senior Killed

On Tuesday night at 11:30 p.m. Marcus Madone (18) was killed in a violent car wreck. Sister Christi Madone (17) was in the passenger seat and survived with several injuries that put her in the Critical Care Unit for three days. The two were driving back from a late night celebration of Christi's seventeenth birthday at small shore side condominium. Local Police say they had been there since that Friday and were on their way home, running slightly behind schedule. The accident occurred at exactly 11:30 that night, Marcus dying on impact and leaving Christi in critical condition. Local Police are still investigating the details of what occurred.
Investigators have reported their interest of the sister, Christi. There were several attempts to talk to her during her stay at the hospital, but the nurses reported that she could not have visitors due to her critical condition. Investigators speculate that Christi caused the accident, thereby killing her brother. They cannot report a stable motive yet, but evidence is beginning to support their theory. Questioning of Miss Christi Madone on the matter is expected to take place in a few days.
"Until we rule [Christi] out," one officer says whilst reviewing the crime scene, "we stand by our theory that she caused the accident, whether it was intentional or accidental."
This story will be followed in next week's issue when more information has been released to the public.

"They think I murdered Marcus..." Christi mumbled bleakly, a single tear running down her face.

"You're a complete dick and if you continue to open your mouth I will hit you, dead or not." Matt growled at Stephan. If he didn't watch his mouth than the others would soon be pulling him off of the only other male in the room, or space that they were in because soon Matt would be punching him to death, if it was possible to kill a dead person. But they weren't dead. It was just one fucked up dream, that was it. Matt was in a fucked up dream with fucked up people. With that he walked away from the crowd.

"I know how I 'died' and that I'm not the killer, because I 'died' from being hit by a car and unless I was the driver of said car, I couldn't kill myself. And I certainly wouldn't have stepped out in front of a car and killed myself, not when I was so close to sleeping with that idiot girl." Matt smirked a little, having emphasised the fact that he still didn't believe that he'd died, lying on his back he glanced over at one of the girls, Rinni, and smirked wider, looking her up and down deliberately. "I guess I have four girls here to chose from though." He chuckled before looking back up again.

"We just have to work out dates of who died when, last one to have died must be the killer and it must be someone that could easily inflict the damage to themselves. Though, my decision is still Stephan and I'm not changing it from that asshat." He simply told everyone. "Wake me up when we've decided who the killer is, in your stupid little game." He added, before closing his eyes as if to go to sleep.

A small smile actually found it's way to Rinni's mouth as she looked at Stephen, before chaos once again broke out. It was hard to pay attention to all of them, as everyone seemed to be angry for different reasons. She swallowed, looking from person to person, fright once again placed on her expression.

"I know how I 'died' and that I'm not the killer, because I 'died' from being hit by a car and unless I was the driver of said car, I couldn't kill myself. And I certainly wouldn't have stepped out in front of a car and killed myself, not when I was so close to sleeping with that idiot girl. I guess I have four girls here to chose from though."

The way Matt looked at her made her go pale, trying to step out of his eyesight, her eyes immediately flickered for some way out, before she once again remembered where she was. It didn't help the slight panic building within her.
"Y-you could have been hit by a car after k-killing us," she heard herself stutter, looking at Matt. "M-maybe you weren't paying a-attention to w-where you went and g-got hit," she mentally cursed for not being able to stop the shaking of her fingers, as she once again brought her hands up in a self-hug. She then stared at Matt with a terrified look, knowing she probably would have been better off keeping her mouth shut.

Stephen's face dropped into a scowl. He crossed his arms and looked at Christi with his "I know everything - so shut up, you twit" look. "First off," Stephen grunted, "It's journalists that get it wrong all the time. They are just out to do what sells so they get a big fat paycheck, so they're going to lie." Stephen's face briefly took on an affectionate appearance. "Except for Hunter S. Thompson, God rest his soul." Then he went back to his normal expression. "Columnists, like myself, are usually opinionated, but we don't fling shit about supposed murders." His face immediately registered a tiny amount of stunned shock as he realized what he'd said. He was an asshole, but he didn't personally attack harsh topics - that was more than rude, that was crossing a line.

"I'm sorry." He managed to grunt, the words sounding like they were choking him as he said them. He began to stammer out an explanation when -

"I guess I have four girls here to chose from though."

His face dropped into a new level of angry there. His eyebrows went at direct forty-five degree angles and his mouth twisted downwards in a half-pained, half-raging grimace. His eyes glowed, and his fists began to involuntarily clench and unclench. It took every last ounce of self-restraint he had to stop himself from going over to Matthew and standing on his face. If that leather-clad, uncouth, classless, delusional, inbred, shit-for-brains fuckbadger tried anything on Rinni, or anyone else... Dead or not, there was still such a thing as... Decency? Sense? A goddamned libido?

The columnist's feet moved automatcally, his lanky frame placing himself between Arkwright and the girl, the angry look still on his face. "You want to try that, you cock-mongering shitpole, and you have to go through me first." His voice was just above a growl.

Christi listened to Stephen's response to her, holding back her anger. Marcus would not want her to react anymore than she already had. This tactic was going well, seeing as how she just had to ignore Stephen's remarks. That is, until he crossed the line.

"Columnists, like myself, are usually opinionated, but we don't fling shit about supposed murders," he snapped. His face turned to one of shock and he immediately tried to stammer out an apology. The damage was done, though.

Christi let a painful expression cross her face, one that truly showed her disbelief in Stephen's audacity to say such a thing to her. Everyone knew what had happened that night. Everyone had read the papers. Everyone had believed the papers. They had ousted Christi, treated her like she had murdered her brother. They pulled pranks and teased her, claiming that they were 'afraid' of her. Christi had just slinked away to cry at home, maybe in the bathrooms, but never had she reacted. Months passed and finally she gained some friends, but they were never the same. Her original popularity never returned, but people began talking to her again, pitying her.

Christi said nothing, but let a tear run down her face, regretting the memories that flooded her mind so harshly and suddenly.

There was also the fact that she indeed had been murdered, as had all but one of the people here with her. It was a startling realization to actually think about, but Stephen had realized his mistake, which had affected Christi in a multitude of ways.

"I guess I have four girls here to choose from though." That was Matt. Christi raised her head and changed her expression to one of anger and disgust.

"...You have to go through me first," Christi heard Stephen reply in obvious anger.

Christi could not contain her anger anymore, no longer with Stephen, but with Matt.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked with disgust, still hanging back but now standing. "Don't you have any respect for women?"

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Just saying the numbers brought back the memory of endless practise, her hands gliding across the keys, her feet pressing the pedals in time with the dynamics… Were there pianos in the afterlife? It was a stupid thought. She came back to where she was, the harsh reality, when Matt spoke. It was probably because she was still watching out for any more immaturity on his part. He didn't let her down. After some disgusting comments about the female population of Wherever-This-Was, he voiced an idea. She was surprised at how reasonable it was, except that…well, the murderer would probably lie. If they didn't, she'd be surprised they were intelligent enough to orchestrate five murders, one after the other, without even being caught. She wondered if they had intended to die, or if it had been a coincidence. She hoped it was the latter; maybe then the killer would understand how they felt right now. How lost and desperate, how angry in several easy-to-name cases. How terrible it was to know that you could never do the tiny, insignificant things again, like brush your teeth, buy a Coke, fall asleep. It was a strange thing to miss, sleep, but it would be so much nicer to just switch off throughout this whole ordeal. But her dreams would take her home, to her room with the thick dark green carpet, to the beaming faces of the twins, to the tired, loving smile of her mother…

Mum, I miss you, I miss you so much, and Dena, and Noah, and everyone at school, and life itself… And finally, she lost the last shreds of her composure, and buried her face in her hands, turning away from the others. Her shoulders hunched, she swallowed repeatedly, struggling to hold back the deluge. For once in her life, death, existence, she couldn't. It was too much. She ran her hands through her hair, shook her head, rubbed her face. Let the others think what they would. For now, she couldn't care enough to consider it. Suddenly, everything seemed horrible. She was dead, for a start, and she hadn't even properly passed. She was stuck in an endless void of grey, which just added to the morbid atmosphere, and she was here with five near-strangers with so utterly diverse personalities it was a wonder nobody was deader still. One of them was going to go to some horrible place and it might be her, and trailing in last as the least of her worries was Matt. Matt, stupid Matt, who thought with his penis and acted accordingly. She didn't know any kind of self-defence, but she had been told she slapped hard. That would be enough, she reckoned, to put him off. Izzy and Christi could fend for themselves, she reckoned, and Rinni had Stephen. She had a feeling there was something more than acquaintance between those two, though she wasn't sure to what extent. Anyway, timid Rinni needed all the protection she could get.

She found she was calmer now, considering things rationally, and after pausing to pointlessly wipe her eyes, she turned back around to the group.

Matt continued to lie there smirking at everyone's responses. He's seen Stephen step in front of Rinni and he'd heard the boys warning. Did it matter? No. Did he care? No. He had plenty to chose from and he was positive that he could talk the girls into things and woo them. After all, in this stupid dream of his he might as well woo them.

"Well, I might as well start with the date of my death. I died on the 19th." He stated. "So, whoever died after me sucks, because it makes you the killer." He told them. "After all, it makes sense that the person who died last killed us first." He continued.

Finally Matt sat himself up, confident that he wasn't going to be the last date. He knew that he didn't kill anyone. The worse crime he had in his books was sleeping with girls and leaving them the next morning without a care in the world. He knew that and by now everyone else should know that he wouldn't kill anyone and then himself. He wasn't ready to die yet and he was still pretty insistent that he wasn't dead. Matt believed more and more, as time passed that he'd wake up soon from this deluded dream to find a girl naked beside him or to go and get a girl naked beside him that night.

Christi was barely listening, but subconsciously Matt's comment about his date of death registered louder than a sonic boom. She gasped silently, her eyes flicking towards him again, this time in great despair. He'd died on the 19th, but she had died on the 20th. It was a day's difference, but it was enough.

"So, whoever died after me sucks because it makes you the killer," he stated cruelly. "After all, it makes sense that the person who died last killed us first," he finished.

Christi couldn't bare to show her despair, so she spun around, the urge to cry becoming uncomfortably high. She had died last, according to Matt. How was she going to plead her case and her innocence to them now? They wouldn't believe her. They would immediately write her off to be sent to the depths of Hell, somewhere much worse than where she now was. Not a single one of them would hear her case. . . would they?

Marcus would. . . but he wasn't there. What did that leave her with? Telling the group and being sent into eternal damnation, or hiding the truth and being figured out, still being sent into eternal damnation. Either way, Matt won his little game.

There was no doubt that he was a key player in all of this, but she couldn't very well pin it on him when he died the day before her. . . right? His snide, snarky attitude would not cause disruption amongst the group's thoughts regarding her after they found out her date of death.

A more fierce panic rose within her and she turned back around to face the group, something clearly the matter with her. She was truly going to die now. No more grey abyss, no shining light of innocence. . . no, she was going to Hell. But how could she avoid it? The truth was. . . she couldn't.

"But, I died on the 20th," she gasped, her voice cracking with obvious shock and torment. "I didn't murder anyone," she pleaded. "I couldn't have. Marcus wouldn't have let me. . . "

It did not occur to Christi that she had spoken of here dead brother, Marcus, as alive and well. Would they take it as her insanity and write off her plea entirely, saying that she'd lost her mind, killed all of them unknowingly and then committed suicide?

Perhaps. . . perhaps she had lost her mind and blindly killed them all. That couldn't be, though. Marcus's presence still bore heavy on her soul and at times she could even hear him guiding her along in life, comforting her when she needed it. Would her memories of Marcus have faded and led her from loss of sanity to loss of control altogether? He wouldn't leave her. . . would he?

"I. . . I didn't. . . I swear!" she pleaded again, general insanity and obvious pain seeping from her. She sniffled as if she was crying, pushing her hands through her hair, "I don't want to die!" she said, referring to the death of her soul. No doubt though that someone would mistake her.

Stephen frowned. Christi had died on the 20th? Well, by the looks of things she was being honest - but that would put her as the last person on the list so far. The columnist felt lurking suspicion lurking up within his chest. Christi obviously wasn't 100% balanced inside her head. Was it possible that she'd killed him, and then thrown herself in front of a car? Then dragged herself off a cliff?

Psychotic, but not to be ruled out. The columnist scratched his head, looking at Christi. Right now, she was Suspect Number One, but that look on Matt's face... He had to be sure. Call it the last vestiges of human kindness or call it journalistic instinct, or even call it wanting to spite that fucking pinhead Arkwright, but Stephen wanted to be sure. He stepped forward from the spot where he was standing in front of Rinni - briefly considering taking her with him - before he moved alongside Christi. Slowly, a hand reached up and perched itself on the mental case's shoulder.

"I wanna be sure," Stephen said, "Before I start throwing accusations. Speak your piece."

Leila didn't have any idea who Marcus was, though it seemed like it should be obvious…Maybe something had happened in the news. She avoided current affairs. It was probably an unhealthy attitude to take, but all the bad things that happened in the world put her down, and she tried not to hear about the latest terrorist attack, rape, natural disaster…She tuned back into what the panicking girl was saying.

"…I swear!" She was snuffling, pulling her hands through her hair with obvious distress. "I don't want to die!"

Poor Christi, was the first thought that came into Leila's head. That surprised her. Clearly, she thought she must have died last. If she wasn't the murderer, then she hadn't, and even if the murderer lied someone could still have a later date. However things turned out, she felt sorry for the clearly panicking teen. Was that her instinct trying to tell her Christi wasn't the murderer, or was she being fanciful and a sucker for such obvious distress? Either way, the relief she felt was guiltily undeniable. She'd died way before Matt and Christi. What had it been, the second? No, the third. The third of December. A pang of sadness echoed somewhere in her chest. She'd died at exactly sixteen years and four months old.

"I died on the third," she put in, but quietly. It didn't really matter, knowing someone had died after her. Compared to the twentieth, it seemed ridiculously early. Surely, if someone was going on a mass killing spree, they'd do it all at once? She shook her head to clear it. Why was she trying to understand a psychopathic murderer? At least not everybody was jumping to conclusions like Matt predictably would. She felt a surprisingly strong gratitude towards Stephen. It was either because he'd stopped being a jerk, or maybe it was because it felt like he was taking over what she'd been trying to do. It was a relief to be alleviated of some of that pressure. Most of the others were her seniors; it sure didn't feel like it.

"This isn't going to spur an iron decision, from anybody rational at any rate," she tried to reassure Christi a little. Then, breaking her motto of Avoid Offending Anyone Ever, she tried for a tentative smile. "Just ignore Matt. I will if you will."

((I'm going to go ahead and post. The others can incorporate their reactions within the posts.))

Christi's mind went back and forth between memories, unable to decipher what was real and what was not. She began seeing Marcus shaking his head at her in disappointment, his eyes filled with sadness and unspoken love. She saw his mangled body beneath the bloody sheet at the scene of the accident. She saw the courthouse where pictures of the accident were shown and evidence was presented in detail. She saw Marcus punching a guy who had tried to hurt her, then she saw him berating her in the car on the way home. So many different memories, so many different times, and yet, they all seemed real. Real like Marcus was still alive and was disappointed in her.

"I wanna be sure before I start throwing accusations. Speak your piece," Stephen said. Christi flinched when his hand touched her shoulder, but not enough to move his hand away or for him to feel offended. Her eyes snapped over to meet his and she stared at him for a moment, panic and confusion written in her face. His hand. . . it was warm and calloused, yet soft. . . like Marcus's. His eyes were the same color as Marcus's. His voice was smooth and genuine like Marcus's. Stephen was Marcus in Christi's mind. That was all she saw, Marcus. She did not see Stephen, the columnist who'd offended her then stood up for her, she saw Marcus, her brother who berated her and loved her and always made her smile.

"Marcus. . . " she mumbled almost in a whisper.

"This isn't going to spur an iron decision, from anybody rational at any rate," Leila assured her. Christi's eyes flickered over to Leila. Leila smiled a little bit and added a lighthearted, "Just ignore Matt. I will if you will." Christi's expression eased a little and her eyes showed her internal smile at Leila's comment. Her eyes returned to Stephen, still Marcus, and she searched his face for a few moments.

"Okay," she agreed in a soft voice directed at him. She turned her head towards Leila and the others. "I didn't kill anybody," she stated softly, her eyes going back to 'Marcus'. "Marcus, he's alive, right?" she asked, clearly unaware that Marcus was actually Stephen. "He's here. I didn't kill him. I didn't kill you either. I couldn't have. Marcus wouldn't have let me. Besides," she added, looking at herself, "I couldn't have done this much damage to myself even if I wanted to. I woke up when I was falling off of a cliff. . . that and headlights were the last thing I saw. I couldn't have killed myself; I couldn't have killed you. Marcus wouldn't have let me. No, he wouldn't have let me," she restated, looking around frantically. She looked back over at 'Marcus' and studied him a moment. "You wouldn't have, would you Marcus? No. . . no you wouldn't have." A brief smile flashed across her face and she looked around cautiously.

Then, like a switch had been turned off, Christi regained herself, but only for moments. She looked around, wondering why everyone seemed so confused. She looked at Leila and at Stephen, wondering why she was near Stephen, why her shoulder felt warm.

"Release me!" Christi cried, shaking free from Stephen's grip. Then she sank to the floor. Her instability came back just that fast. One moment of insecurity was all it took. . . but why? Why was she so touchy and unstable? She couldn't very well tell and it was driving her insane. . . again! She looked back up at Leila, then looked at Stephen, anger flashing in her eyes. But then. . . his face. . . it began to. . . to morph. He was Marcus now and Marcus was very sad and confused. Why? Christi didn't understand. . .

Matt listened to Christi's little breakdown and shook his head. Someone was lying about their death. He knew they were because he knew that he didn't kill anyone and from Christi's state, she didn't kill anyone either. He could have being wrong but he had a feeling that it wasn't her.

"Someone has got to be lying. She didn't do it. She's not stable enough or capable enough to kill anyone let alone five other people." He told them. "And I know that it wasn't me because I haven't killed anyone so someone is lying about when they died and I'm still blaming that idiot over there." Matt indicated to the other male in the room. "Plus, a girl couldn't kill me anyway." He stated.

Matt continued to lie where he was not moving and staring up at the ceiling as he thought about things seriously for a moment, not that he was telling the others he was thinking seriously, but he was and he wasn't the killer. Matt knew that. He didn't care what the others thought and he was pretty sure that morning was close and he'd wake up glad that everything was just one fucked up dream.

"It's time to wake up now, Matt. Time to wake up and find your next girl." He told himself.

Rinni found herself unable to speak, and even if she had been able to there was nothing she could say that would change the situation around her. Looking at the others, she felt like it was the only thing she'd ever be able to do around here - just stare as the others bickered. Rinni had never been a fan of open discussion, as she much preferred that her problems solved themselves in the quiet. Yet this problem wasn't going to solve itself so easily, was it?

At least it looked like Matt was calming down slightly, even if he was still blaming Stephen for all that was going on. At least Christi could be given the chance to calm down from the nervous breakdown she seemed to be going through. Rinni looked at her with a sympathetic pout, not really knowing what to say, if anything could be said to make it better for her. And then it hit her. She looked at Matt.

"T-that's actually a p-point." Had her voice always been this pathetic? Suppose so. "Uhm, perhaps if we look at how the murders were performed we'd l-learn more about the physical condition of the, uh, m-murderer," she bit on a fingernail, supporting the elbow with her other hand. "Or something like that," she added. No, that had definitely made more sense in her head.

Despite his nickname of 'Epic Rage Guy', it sounded like Matt had a much more straightforward reason for blaming Stephen: he wouldn't kill himself, and a girl couldn't have done it, so that left the only other male in this place. Were they ever going to get anywhere with Matt around? That said, there wasn't much they could do about him. They were stuck with each other, and if only he'd tried to be a little more bearable it might not have been as frustrating as it was. However, wishing never altered anybody's personality, and that kind of guy just wasn't going to change. Especially now that he was dead. And what incentive would he have to act differently if he believed he was dreaming? No, they could only put up with him and hoped it was all done with soon. Not that a quick and easy resolution was likely.

Rinni, having actually spoken, had come up with a pretty good idea -- that was, so long as somebody had died in an unusual way, or in a way that would need something out of the ordinary. She wasn't sure what use a stabbing from behind would indicate, so instead Leila looked at the girl, and noticed something she'd missed before. "Oh, Rinni…" She tilted her head to the side, trying to get a better look at the odd blue line across the other victim's throat without approaching, and making the apparent introvert even shyer. "There's a mark on your neck," she made a horizontal gesture with her finger across her own to illustrate her point. "Did…?" she hesitated. It felt wrong to ask, insensitive, almost rude. "Did you die like that?"

What could have happened to make a line like that? The obvious answer was a strangling, which made her shudder -- such a violent way to die. She considered the rest of the victims. She couldn't see any injuries on Izzy from where she was standing, and there was only the ambiguous cut on Matt's forehead to mark him out. Didn't he say he'd been run over? Christi and Stephen were both beaten terribly, the former especially. It looked like quite a lot of work for one person, but according to the ballot paper, that was all it took.