I didn't have any time to recover before Phil was on his feet, pants up, hands on head and pacing in circles in front of me as I sat on the bed, "What the fuck, Frankie? What the fuck!!!"

I felt he should have been yelling...like he wanted to yell, but his voice was hushed though quick and shaky. He stopped for a moment to look at me, eyes full of confusion and...hurt? I only stared back, baffled by the situation myself and unable to form any words. He cut his gaze away again and kept pacing with hands grabbing his skull and furling his hair. I began to wonder if he was going to say something to his parents and the thought terrified me.

I got up from the bed, awkwardly pulling my jeans back into place and fastening them quickly before throwing up my hands at him in a placating gesture. Yet still I didn't know what to say. I only stood there, mouth agape, my palms beginning to sweat. This wasn't good... I was supposed to calm him down and get him to sleep, not rile him up! "Phil..." I began weakly.

"No, Frankie, go home!" he barked at me, stepping forward into a menacing pose, but the finger he pointed at me was shaking just like his voice.

"OK," I sighed, looking down to the ground, "Let me get my bag..." Where the fuck was Freddy when I needed him? I thought to myself as I walked between the bed and Phil, reaching where my bag was resting at the end of the football on the floor. But while I leaned down there...I noticed something laying just under the bed...a baseball bat. Glancing back at the boy behind me, I saw that he had stopped pacing and taken a stance where he deliberately faced away from me. He had one hand resting over his ear, the other folded under it and it looked like it was over his mouth.

Keeping my eyes on him, I reached and took hold of the bat. When I had a good grasp on its handle, I carefully pulled it out from under the bed frame and lifted it to my side. Swallowing hard, I took two gentle steps forward, readying to strike. But just felt myself cowering away, he turned around, hurt expression changing to shocked. He opened his mouth and I panicked, swinging the bat full force at his temple. The first hit seemed to daze him. He threw up an arm to grab the weapon, but missed his aim. His eyelids lowered and stretched open and lowered again. A soft noise started coming from his mouth and I struck again, hitting the same spot.

He fell back against the wall, obviously fighting to stand back up as he started to slide down it. So I stuck again. He fell to his knees. One more hit... And he dropped. His body landed with a this that I knew could be heard downstairs. Shit! I stared at the boy as he lie face first on the floor. Quickly, I stepped over and lifted his head. Fuck, he was bleeding. I was sure I heard someone calling. Dammit. Fuck!

I looked back at the bed. He wasn't too far, maybe I could... I stepped over him, placing one foot on either side of his lower back and knelt down to grab hold of his shoulders. No! His chest and shoulders from underneath his arms... I changed my hand placement. There, now if... He was heavy, but not as much as I thought he'd be. Lucky he wasn't a jock... Adrenaline was probably helping too... I managed to drag his body over to the side of the bed, but lifting it further... That would take more work. Shit!

"Kids? Are you alright in there?" I heard Mrs. Bryant's voice outside in the hallway.

Dammit! I dropped him onto the floor, quickly wiping the spot on his head where I had struck him. There was a soft knock on the door, immediately followed by Phil's mom opening it and poking her head in.

"Oh honey!" she exclaimed when she saw me standing over her unconscious son and hurried in. "What happened?"

"I-uh-he fell asleep a little while ago," I stuttered. "I guess the medicine hit him fast, but he fell out of bed and hit his head on the table..." I did my best to give a look of shock and concern to the woman.

"Oh dear," she knelt down beside Phil and lightly shook his shoulders. "Phil, honey..."

Shit. He better not be dead. Not by my hands. Fuck. How the fuck would I get out of that? To my surprise, Phil started moaning then, barely moving in response to his mother's touch. Shit. On second thought, maybe it'd be easier not to be seen as a suspect if he couldn't talk...

"Here, honey," Mrs. Bryant's voice had relaxed, "Let's get you back up in bed."

She put his arm over her shoulder and slowly helped the boy to stand. He was still muttering as she sat him on his bed though...

"Ugh... Frankie... "

My eyes got wide and my heart skipped a beat at the sound of my name.

"Sh...everything's alright, lay down," his mother cooed as she laid him down and began covering him with the covers. He moaned once more, but then he stilled and seemed to curl back into sleep. His mom gave him a light pat to the head and I saw that his eyes were closed, his chest moving in a normal, rhythmic pattern.

"Is everything OK?" I spun to the sound of Mr. Bryant in the doorway. Unlike his son, he was an incredibly large man.

"Yes, poor thing had fallen asleep, but then fell out of the bed," his wife smiled, moving away from her son and over to her husband.

"Alright then," the man nodded, "Well, thank you, Francine. If you'd like, I can give you a ride home."

"Um," I looked back at Phil.

"Don't worry, dear," his mom reached out and patted my hand I was too caught up in my predicament to jump at the unwanted touch. "He's alright now. I will call your mom and let her know you're on your way."

"Um, right. Thank you," I offered a brief, weak smile. "Let me...get my bag..." I cautiously looked from the couple, the Phil and then put my eyes out for the bat as I kept walking.

It had fallen just beside my bag, but in better site. I glanced back and the Bryant's were still there. Shit. I needed to wipe it. I reached out and grabbed it, purposely knocking over my drink that was still at the foot of the bed while simultaneously scooting the weapon back under the bed.

"Oh no, Mrs. Bryant, I'm so sorry!" I said thickly, gesturing at the spilled soda, but she had already seen it.

"Oh don't worry, I'll get it," she smiled, coming closer.

"Oh no, please let me," I said, "Mom will be upset if I made a mess and didn't clean it personally."

"Hm, alright dear," she kept smiling. Just grab some towels out of the bathroom and come on downstairs once you're done." The woman then patted her husband on the chest and the Two made their way from the room.

I shuffled into the bathroom, making sure to get one dry towel to soak up the soda and one rag and wet it so I could wipe the bat. Back in Phil's room, I was relieved to see he hadn't moves.  He was still alive and sleeping. I quickly mopped up the soda out of the carpet and then grabbed the bat and vigorously scrubbed it. Once I was as satisfied as could be, I grabbed both towels and headed out with one last glance at my old friend before flicking off the lights.

On my way home, I felt an abundance of different things...which was weird for me. I had never been a very emotional person. Namely, I lived in a constant state of worrying that I had done or was going to do something to upset my mom. Other than that, I could remember feeling frustrated and depressed sometimes, but that seemed to stem from the same fear. People always said I had such a positive attitude and stayed happy...it was just a sham though. That's what she wanted me to be like. The weirdest part, however, was I felt the slightest twinge of guilt. At first I assumed that also was due to my being afraid of getting caught, as was usual for me, but then I realized that I might actually regret having...raped? Wait. Did I rape Phil? My brow furrowed in thought...maybe I had... I shook my head. No, he wanted it. He only pushed me away for some perceived benefit on my part. I had bludgeoned him though...

Hm...I growled in thought, catching my mother's attention, "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, not even thinking about my answer before saying it. The lie slipped smoothly out, "Just worried about Phil. He was pretty worked up."

"He'll be alright. He just needs some rest and some time," Mom's compassionate words felt oddly sincere. "But you should probably get to bed."

I nodded my head, pushing my chair back from where we had been sitting at the table in the breakfast nook and sipping on hot chocolate. I would have much preferred coffee, but Mom was adamant that I should never have that amount of caffeine before going to sleep. She was probably right, although she only let me drink half-caff anyway so I didn't see that it was really a far stretch from the caffeine content in the chocolate. Nonetheless, I simply got up and began strolling out of the kitchen.

"Francine?" Mom's arm took hold of mine as I passed her.

Turning to look at the woman, I saw she was reaching up with her other hand, trying to pull me down in a hug. I cleared my throat to keep the aggravated sigh from being heard as I leaned down and gave her the embrace. It was quick. It always was. And ended with a pat on my back as she watched me continue on my way out of the room and to the stairs, which I quickly climbed. Once in my room, I pushed the door closed, forgetting that Mother always wanted the doors kept open a crack when we were sleeping. I sat on my bed, not bothering to change out of my shirt and jeans as I laid down, ritualistically pulling the covers over me and resting my head sideways on the pillow.

I needed to sleep. I needed to see Freddy and know what was going on, but the harder I tried to fall into slumber, the more awake I became and the more riddled with anxiety. My mind was racing. Was Phil still alive? Had the hits I'd given him across the head killed him? I could handle Freddy being the one who actually gave the boy the murderous blow because in my head I'd know that it wasn't me so therefore there would be no 'playing innocent.' Technically then, I'd be innocent. However, if he had died directly by my hands...then I was sure to be found out. I'd be locked up...I'd be no use to Freddy anymore... My one true friend...he'd leave me too!

But what if I was already no more use to him? Phil was my only other living friend. The only other person I'd been somewhat close to. Even if his death blew over without any trouble, what would I do now to help the dream demon? If I couldn't be of help, then he wouldn't stick around. He'd probably even deny killing me before he left just out of spite. But then...I could become his enemy... I likely knew more about how he worked than anyone else alive now so if he turned on me, I'd just turn back on him! If I could...could I do that? I stopped and thought about a reality where Freddy abandoned me...and it made me so furious... Yes, I could. Because I couldn't be alone again...

I  blinked several times and kept looking around the room every so often, hoping I had fallen asleep and didn't even realize it, but I hadn't. My second hope was that I'd open my eyes and Freddy would be standing there or I'd hear his voice. Anything to set me at ease...let me know what was going on. I kept tossing and turning. My mind wouldn't settle and neither would my heart. I was sweating again. Why couldn't I just fucking sleep??? If I'd just closed my eyes and made it to the dream world, then everything would be fine.

At long last, I did fall asleep, but there were no dreams. Instead my head was filled with voices...voices I couldn't control or shut down...And all of them made the core of what little soul I had feel so utterly pathetic. They made me dither between being certain I was insane or just a regular piece of shit. But worse than all that...They made me feel...Alone.

"Honey? Honey!"

"Hm?" I mumbled, eyes still heavy from final slumber.

"Honey, wake up!"

I slowly lifted myself to a sitting position in my bed, rubbing my eyes. Through the blurs of them adjusting to the light and sudden awakening, I saw my mom sitting on the bed beside me. My first thought was that I was late for school. I threw my legs out of bed, but before I could stand, Mom's hand was on my shoulder, pushing me back down. Mom wore a horrified expression and I could tell she had been crying as well. So Phil was dead now. But was it me? I glanced around the room. Nobody else was there. I stared back at my mother, trying to figure out what she was thinking and I came up short.

"Honey...I..." Mom tried.

I waited, still tired, trying not to think about those terrible voices in my head. I wondered how long it would take her to choke this one out... I knew Phil was dead. Spit it out! Had I done it? Did someone think I'd done it? What did they know???

"Phil...Honey," the woman took my hands in hers and looked straight into my eyes. "The police are here. You...They want to talk to you."

Shit. Shit! FUCKING SHIT!

"Me?" I swallowed, "But...but..." I stammered.

"You were the last one to see Phil alive, you see..." she managed.

"What??" I jumped from the bed, tearing away from her. So I was a suspect? But...the bat...was that what killed him...or Freddy? Shit! Was I literally fucking insane?? Freddy...he'd helped me hold Phil down so I could fucking rape him, but...why hadn't he helped me with anything else? SHIT! It was all in my head. At that point, I had thrown my hands onto my head and was clawing at my scalp.

"Francine!" Mom jumped up and forced a hug on me, pulling my hands down to my side, "Calm down! It's alright!" She jerked my hands to a still and stared into my eyes, "I know you didn't do anything. You couldn't have done...that. There's just been no movement in this case, no suspects, you know. They're grasping!"

I shook my head. "No, no..."

"Francine, listen to me," Mom pushed my chin up. "It's going to be alright. As soon as we can...we're getting out of here. You and me, a new place, a new start." She hugged me tightly then.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" The old familiar laugh of Freddy sounded and I jeered my eyes to look behind me and gave him a look...a look that...well...if they could kill...Freddy would be dead.

Again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:: Chapter originally written 10/31/2015
Chapter rewritten 11/3/2017