Help Me

Chapter One: Death

"I'm not afraid of death. It's the stake one puts up in order to play the game of life." - Jean Garadaux

"Miss, please step out of the car."

I blinked, staring blankly into space. It's hard too imagine what had just happened was reality; I hardly noticed that the woman call me Samantha. Nobody calls me Samantha without being brutally punished. Right now, it seemed like the most insignificant thing in the world.

My name is Samantha Manson. I am fifteen years old. My birthday is on March 23rd. None of that really mattered right now, though. Not now. There are times when people slowly watch as their life is being unwoven before their eyes. Not I, though. I just watched as my life was totally obliterated, and I couldn't do a thing about it.

I felt as my arm was grabbed, and only then I realized how freezing I was. The woman's touch felt like fire upon my ice cold skin. I was cold, pale, frightened, and alone. Completely, utterly alone. The woman pulls me out of the car, but I refuse to look up. I doubt it was possible, anyway. My body felt numb, my vision blurred. I didn't allow the tears to fall; I will remain strong.

I cast my eyes towards the open passengers seat. He's still sitting there. His eyes half closed, his lifeless body slumped sleepily, his dark skin pale as if he were drained of his blood. I wanted to reach out, to touch his skin one last time. Before I can, I am pushed against the car. My arms are straddled behind me, but I don't fight. I allow my cheek to rest against the warmth of the car, holding back a tear struggling to fall out.

I watch as a large, overweight officer grabs his wrist. He places two fingers on the boy's wrist; I know it's too late, though. Shutting my eyes, I bite my lips, waiting.

"Somebody get an ambulance!" I hear someone shout. "NOW!"

"It's too late." the officer says. "The boy's... Dead."

I opened my eyes. The overweight officer stared at me, as if I had sprouted wings right in front of him. He's expecting me to be surprised, as if I didn't know Tucker was dead.

"Do you have anything to say?" he asks. I close my eyes again. I can't even struggle out a no.

He sighs. The officer holding me down feircly pulls me off the car. I can hardly breath; it comes out ragged and forced. I know where I'm going, it's no secret.

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As the officers carry me out, I am drowned in a sea of questions. Most of which are my own. I can't think. I shut my eyes tightly, tears threatening to spill worse than ever. It'll be alright, Sam... Don't cry... Immediately, I feel the tears disappear. What was that voice, where have I heard it before? Shh... Be strong. Fight it, Sam. I'll be here, fighting alone side you.

I hear a familiar voice somewhere in the crowd. A voice I can't ignore. "MOVE IT! Get outta my way! That's my best friend right there!" it shouts forcefully. I cast my eyes forward, to see Danny Fenton pushing past a sea of people. Seeing him makes me feel better.

I'd run to him, if the police weren't holding my arms so tightly. He stops in front of me. An officer tries to push him away; Danny's will is stronger. He shoves past the gaurd, and grabs my arms. I feel his warm skin against mine, and it immediately makes me feel better.

"Sam..." Danny asks, "What's going on? Where's Tucker?" he is confused. I struggle to get the words out, but I can't speak. The officer tells him what happened. As he talks, I suddenly break down, falling to my knees with the officers still clutching my arms.

"SAM!" Danny cries, kneeling down. "I refuse to believe you guys..." he says darkly to the police. "Sam would never do that! Never, ever do that! Not even if it was by acci--"

"It wasn't." I interrupted, talking for the first time in a while. My voice is hoarse, it hurts my throat to talk. I look up at Danny. He stares at me, concerned.

"What do you mean?" he asks softly.

"It... Wasn't... An accident." I tell him, my voice growing stronger. "I would do that. I did." I watch Danny, as he stares at me in utter shock at my sudden change. I was normally so strong, but now I was never more weak. Narrowing my eyes, I say, "I killed Tucker. It's my fault."