This story was inspired by reading through the list of Xena crossover stories at THE MAMMOTH INDEX     and realizing that there were no Lawless Crossovers.  This story is a crossover between LAWLESS and the final episode of the Xena series A FRIEND IN NEED.  It will not make a lot of sense unless you have seen this episode.   It is rated R for sex and drug use.  I thank Becky and Kim for helping me with the beta reading, editing, and motivational testing of this story. 

This story is divided into two parts.  (I like to know that before I start reading a story, so I am including it for you.)

IF YOU NEED A FRIEND

By McJude

The door was unlocked, indicating that the flat had made its daily transformation from living quarters to office. Still it was silent and appeared empty. Her partner was going to consider himself fortunate that she was not a client or a burglar.

"Lawless, it’s me." Jodie Keene called out as she put her coffee mug on her desk and looked around the office. He was nowhere in site. Anyone could have walked into the office, and if they wanted, walked out with an old computer, a broken copier, or a few of their files. A cold pot of yesterday’s coffee sat on the plate and the message light on the phone indicated that there were thirty-seven new messages.

None of these things really surprised her. Lawless wasn’t a "coffee in the morning" kind of guy, still often starting the day with a cold beer. She reckoned it was better than the pills and hard spirits that he used to need to wake up. The door to the room where he slept was ajar and she noticed that his bed was slept in and empty, both were good signs. The "new" John Lawless could be working out at the gym or taking his morning run; she hoped he hadn’t gone sailing.

She closed the door and tackled the phone messages. Even with the step-by-step instructions she had printed out for him outlining the retrieve-forward-save-delete functions of the phone system, he seemed to be intimidated by the answering technology. She might consider it humorous, if it didn’t mean that she was the only one that could go through the messages each and every morning. Of course she could see why Lawless didn’t want to listen to the messages from venders trying to sell copier toner and light bulbs or trying to get them to try yet another phone system; but sometimes there were calls from new clients and those were just as important as the rings he took from current clients on his mobile,

She was still repeating the open-listen-delete pattern with the answering machine when Lawless returned. He was still breathing heavily and soaked in sweat.

"Went for a run."

"I can see that. Smell it, too."

"Thought I was doing better, today, so decided on a couple more kilometers. Guess I wasn’t quite ready. Sorry ‘bout the smell, but it sure feels good." He walked over to the small refrigerator and bent over to extract a beer.

"I don’t understand you, Lawless. You run for an hour and then you drink a beer. Don’t you think you owe your body a little more respect?"

"Just moving it the beer to get to the juice. I’m trying, Jodie, believe me, I’m trying. All those years of waking up feeling like shit have taken their toll. I’m trying."

"Well, try your way into the shower, I have a call from a possible new client that seems to be right down your alley."

"Mine. I had the last one, remember, messed it up, got the office torched, was taken for a fool. Sure you want to give me this one?"

"Maybe, just maybe, you deserve another try. This woman . . .

"Thanks, for trusting me, I’ll be out in a few minutes. Maybe I ought to shave, too."

"Not a bad idea."

* * * *

Erika Jensen lived in a small but well kept house in one of the pricier suburbs. John pulled into her driveway next to her red SUV. He wondered why women liked these big cars and their complementary large fuel bills. He knocked at the door, and waited for a much longer time than he would have anticipated for a scheduled appointment.

The woman who answered the door was about Jodie’s size, with short blonde hair and bright green eyes. She had an incredible body, hard like a gymnast’s or maybe a ballet dancer’s. She was wearing a cut-off T-shirt tucked into the bottom of her bra accentuating her pert breasts and a pair of torn jeans hanging low on her hips. There was a wide expanse of skin on which to feast your eyes, complete with the almost mandatory naval ring. He had to try hard not to stare. He had to try even harder not to . . .

"Hi, I’m Erika Jensen, you must be John Lawless. Come in. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Thanks, no." She led him into a nicely furnished room, flush with sunlight and filled with art from all over the world. They plopped on a large leather couch, and she pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged looking at him.

"I suppose you got the details from my message. I’m looking for a friend of mine. She’s been missing almost a month now. I’ve been to the police, and they say that they can’t help me."

"Why?"

"First of all, she’s an adult. Unless I can show an indication of foul play, she has a right to take off and go anywhere she wants. Police aren’t interested. But I’m worried," the woman began. "And she disappeared in Japan. Police there aren’t interested either. In fact they are one sentence short of telling me that I am crazy. Maybe I am crazy for coming back here instead of staying to look for her, but at the time I felt I had no other choice. Can you help me?"

"Probably. Need everything you have on her, pictures, description, work history, what she was doing in Japan, what she was doing here, why you think she’s not gone off on her own. I’m sure you know the routine."

"Do I look like a woman who is adept at losing friends?"

"No, you look like a woman who likes to keep her finger on the pulse . . "

"People say that a lot, good read."

"So what you got for me, Ms. Jensen?"

"I’ll get the file, and a beer, your really do look like you can use one."

* * * *

John listened as Erika told the detailed story of her friend’s disappearance. Helena Hull was an American, with an MBA from a mid-western state university who had come to New Zealand because of her work. He looked down her vita and noticed a woman who had traveled the world and up the corporate ladder in several multi-national firms. He wondered why she had stopped this pursuit and settled in Auckland.

A picture of the two women, framed in Lucite, sat on the glass coffee table. Ms. Hull was about ten years older than Erika -- dark-haired, attractive and statuesque.

"I can’t really tell you much about what Lena did. I can read the words on the resume, pharmaceuticals, banking, telecommunications, I grew up in a world where business was buying and selling groceries and serving the customer. Quite honestly the details of big business never excited me, mostly moving paper or money from one desk or account to another. You lose me after the first few sentences. "

"Hands-on is the way to go, Ms. Jensen. That’s why I do what I do."

"Lena and I had been planning a holiday trip – she was finally going to get some time off and we thought about going several places. From as simple as the Gold Coast to as exotic as the Cook Islands, but at the last minute she told me that it was not going to be the trip that she had promised me. We HAD to go to Japan."

"On business?"

"No, it was more complex than that. It was more like we had to go back to her former life. From before we met. Wasn’t where I wanted to go – emotionally or geographically."

"So Japan wasn’t your cup of tea?" John winked at the comment, but sensed that Ms. Jensen did fully appreciate his humor.

"We spent a couple of days in Tokyo. I had the distinct feeling she was trying to relive some past trip, but she certainly didn’t want to discuss it with me. I’d sleep late, I knew she went out while I was sleeping, but she never told me where she went. Then she told me that she had to go on alone. To some place called Higuchi. Without me. She rented a car and left me, alone, in the freaking hotel room.

"She never called to let me know what happened., so I guess I panicked. When I didn’t hear from her for three days, I went to the police. They told me to go back home, that they would let me know if anything came up. I don’t know why, but I did what they told me."

"It’s been how long now?"

"Over three weeks. I think the trail is getting cold."

"Did she have anything, guide books, maps, flyers? Did you have any idea where she was going?"

"She took them with her, so I didn’t know then. Last week, I get a call from the rental car agency that they had found the car abandoned, back in Tokyo. I had to pay the bloody rental tab. It was a fortune. Went to the police here, and they told me to contact a Private Investigator. Not their jurisdiction."

"Thank you for calling Keene and Lawless. I’ll look into these things, and get back to you. I hope that there are still a few breadcrumbs left."

"Panko?"

"Right."

* * * *

Lawless was sitting with his feet on the desk reading a travel brochure when Jodie returned to the office. She walked behind him and glanced over his shoulder at the headlines and the pictures.

"Let me make a suggestion. Not for you. I had a friend who went to Japan a few years back, thought it would be fun to visit one of those tea-houses. Sleeping on a mat on the floor, soaking in a wooden tub, eating the ritual meals. Christ, Lawless, she came back aching and starving. She was my size; I can’t imagine how it’d be for someone your size. You’d have to crawl to get through the doorways."

"Actually, not my holiday plans, but may have to go there on business. These flyers were found in the car our client’s missing friend, Helena Hull, had rented. And, by the way, thanks for the warning about the doors."

Jodie smiled.

"Ms. Hull wasn’t exactly a small person either. Don’t know if she made it to this teahouse or not, maybe she heard about sleeping on the floor and found another place to stay. I’m probably going to have to go to Japan and check it out."

"Another suggestion. Don’t rent one of those businessman’s special sleeping rooms – unless you like the idea of sleeping in a coffin."

"You’re all full of good ideas today, Jodie. I wasn’t planning on it. Helena Hull doesn’t look like a person who would disappear unnoticed into the general Japanese population." He showed Jodie the picture and she nodded her head in agreement.

"Been reading an interesting story, she’s definitely a lady who moves around a lot. But she ended up in paradise," he explained.

"Maybe she just got the urge to go back to the rat race. What do you think?"

"I’m not sure, Jodie, there seems to be more here than meets the eye."

* * * *

Before he left for Japan, Lawless had done a background check on Ms. Hull and her artful resume. What surprised him were not the fabrications but the omissions. Helena Hull did have the equivalent of an MBA from Purdue, but she also had a Ph.D. in biochemistry. Much of her previous employment had been not as a paper or money pusher, but in the area of scientific research, included running a lab for a large pharmaceutIcal company – in Japan. He figured he’d stop by the corporate offices of Edon Pharmaceuticals in Tokyo before attempting to retrace her path into the countryside.

A tiny middle-aged Japanese woman in a short, tight, black business suit led him into the office of a senior vice president who had agreed to talk to him about Helena Hull. Despite the diversity of the New Zealand population, Lawless was unprepared for the man who greeted him with a firm handshake. Though definitely Japanese, the man was almost as tall as he was and probably outweighed him. His black hair was gelled back and he sported a fu-manchu mustache.

"Fukusaburu Li" the man introduced himself.

"Just sort off rolls of the tongue, doesn’t it, Mr. Li. I’m John Lawless. I’m looking for a former employee of your company, Helena Hull."

"So what kind of trouble has Lena gotten herself into now?" He asked, indicating that John should sit for what was going to be a long story.

"I didn’t say she was in trouble. I just said I was looking for her."

"You have cop written all over you. She must be in trouble."

"Glad I didn’t know you when I was working undercover," John mused. "You read people better than most."

"I have to. There are a lot of people interested in what we do here at Edon, for a lot of different reasons. If I took people on face value, I wouldn’t have gotten where I am today. And since I’m noticing that you are trying to get a read on me; I’ll make it easy for you, the answer is sumo-wrestling."

"Pardon?"

"My size. I used to weigh over 220 K – believe it. I was a rikishi, shaved my head, wore mawashi, the whole show. Believe me the weight comes off fast when you stop eating those ritual meals and going to bed immediately. It was a way of life, and it helped me to get where I am today."

"Sorry, don’t know anything about the sport, except to . . . no I’d better not say that . . . you look like you could still hold your own even on someone who works out as much as I do."

"But I doubt if you came all this way to compare work-out regimens. I think we’d better get back to Helena Hull."

John nodded.

"She was a biochemist, but not a very good scientist. I think that business background had gotten the better of her. Not exactly into safeguards and testing when it meant not making money. She was in charge of the lab that had the release . . . no, you probably wouldn’t have read about it unless you were in the industry. Let’s say that a lot of innocent people got very sick and a few more unlucky ones died, because of what Ms. Hull’s laboratory did, or didn’t do. We fired her, and I was very glad to hear that she had shifted her career focus out of the lab and into the wonderful world of money."

"Interesting, that’s not on her resume. It says her next job was in Germany, then Turkey, and finally moved to New Zealand."

"The lady likes to travel."

"Did you know her in other than a business capacity?"

"You might suspect that. Judging by our – shall I say – compatible sizes. But no, I’m happily married. I know Helena was uncomfortable here, not just because she towered over all of the men. I’ve heard rumors about her. How can I put this politely . . . we have an old saying that the woman has an itch in a place that no man can scratch."

John twisted his face and pondered the ramifications.

"She was always trying, and not just with men, if you get my drift."

"The lady plays for both teams."

"Quite well, from what I hear."

John wondered if Erika Jensen was a teammate or cheerleader.

* * *

"I need some more information on the days you spent in Tokyo, Erika." Lawless found making the call on his mobile from a park bench preferable to calling on the hotel phone. The connections were clearer and he enjoyed feeding the pigeons. "Where did you stay? What did you eat? Did your friend meet with anyone? Hook up with anyone in a bar? Anything?"

"I can’t remember the name of the place we stayed, but I am sure I have charge card receipts somewhere. Will have them by morning. We ate a lot of sushi and drank sake. Lena went out both days for a couple of hours, but I didn’t go out much, except for dinners."

"Ms. Hull’s not much on dancing?"

"You’ve seen the bars in Japan, she always said she felt like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians. So we would go out to eat and go back to the room. Not exactly exciting. She read a lot, mostly from some of her personal papers that haven’t shown up, either here or from her car. She may still have them."

"Did she discuss anything with you?"

"You know, the usual. I don’t remember much of it; it didn’t seem that important at the time. I do remember one name though. Akemi."

"Akemi. Is that a first or a last name?"

"No idea, just a name she used. She mentioned something about having to see Akemi."

* * * *

Erika Jensen looked down at the credit card bill that had just arrived. It was a chronicle of the trip to Japan translated from yen to dollars. No one at the National Bank of New Zealand would realize the emotions contained in those numbers. She wondered if John Lawless would. She was unsure still how much she should reveal to him, especially about that last dinner she had had with Lena.

Lena loved sushi – especially the expensive and the exotic – the stuff you couldn’t get in New Zealand or New York. Erika was content to humor her and actually enjoyed some of the "cooked" varieties that went by names like Manhattan or California roll. She was totally shocked when that last night they had gone outside the tourist area, to a small three table restaurant down a dark alley, to partake in a dinner with a special main dish.

She sat and watched, drinking sake from a wooden box and nervously sucking edamame beans from their pods. Lena had ordered a several dishes, some not on the menu at more mainstream restaurants, and as she explained, not usually served to women.

"Everyone knows about fugu fish. Japanese puffer fish, which if not properly prepared can cause death," Lena had begun with one of her typical glassed-over looks on her face. "The ovaries, intestines and liver of this fish contain tetrodoxin, a poison that is 1200 times stronger than cyanide." She enjoyed the role of teacher.

"I’m sure it’s delicious, but not for me. I like my fish cooked, thank you, Lena."

"I ordered us a plate of fugu-sake, the fish is thinly sliced and served with a ponzu dipping sauce made of citrus juice and soy."

"I’m sure YOU will enjoy it."

"No, that’s the safe dish for both of us. The first time I ate it, it produced the endorphin rush, but I was never sure whether it came from thinking I was that close to eating poison, or from something in the dish itself. I’ve moved on, for this trip, I had to come to a place where they actually serve the fish’s liver."

"Which is the poison part, right, the part the chefs are trained for years to remove without contaminating the rest of the dish. Lena, why would you want to eat poison?" She remembered grabbing her friend’s hand and staring into her eyes as she asked that question. Nothing on this trip had made a lot of sense.

"More people die from choking on rice cakes than from eating fugu, Erika. It’s the rush. I need that feeling again."

"I just don’t understand." She looked down at her sake box and tried not to think about the dish that was being put in front of Lena. A small dish, less than five centimeters in diameter, with about ½ teaspoon of a finely chopped dark substance in the center. Special, small, chopsticks, rolled in silk were presented. She watched as Lena picked up a small sliver and placed it on her outstretched tongue, and slowly swallowed. Lena reached over and grabbed Erika’s face in her hands.

"Erika, if I only had 30 seconds to live, I would spend it this way, looking into your eyes."

One did not have to eat fugu liver to feel the endorphin rush, just watching someone you love eat it was enough. Not that fear was an emotion that Erika had cultivated. Hell, she didn’t even like to ride roller coasters. She remembered the feeling as she watched Lena’s face, but now only felt the anger. Thirty seconds later Lena explained that she had not eaten fugu liver, but the liver of another species of Japanese fish, which was not poison. She explained that she had gotten the rush she was seeking from the look on Erika’s face.

Erika was never certain why Lena had done this or if she had really eaten fugu liver and survived. She was also very unsure as to how much of this she should relate to John Lawless. Lena’s preoccupation with coming close to death might be a factor in her disappearance. She may have stopped at an even more off-the-beaten-path restaurant and found a chef promising more excitement and having less skill.

In the end she decided to just give Lawless a list of the restaurants they had visited. He looked like the kind of man who would prefer to learn about fugu-sake first hand or maybe just risk going one-on-one with killer rice cakes.

* * *

Lawless retrieved the faxed charge-card bill, with numbers carefully blocked out, from the hotel office. The names of the hotels and restaurants did not look promising, even though Lena Hull was the type of woman who would be noticed. The Akemi name still puzzled him, and he wondered if Fuku Li might be of any help with the identification. It was worth another visit to the park and a ring on the mobile.

"Johnny Lawless, talked to you a couple of days ago about Helena Hull."

"I remember you, Mr. Lawless, have you had any luck locating her?"

"Not at all. She seems to have disappeared. Just calling to check on a name, my client gave me. Does the name Akemi mean anything to you?" There was silence on the other end of the phone; Lawless regretted not being able to read the expression on Mr. Li’s face. "Mr. Li?"

"I’m thinking. Sorry. I think there was an Akemi who worked for Ms. Hull, in Higuchi."

"Do you know how I could get a hold of her?"

"That, Mr. Lawless, would be most difficult. For Akemi Kanegawa was one of the workers killed in the toxic release at Lena Hull’s laboratory. To talk to her, you’d have to be able to talk to a ghost."

"Well, thank you anyway."

It seemed easier to pierce the language and cultural barriers of the pigeons, who seemed the same the world around, than those of Mr. Li and Edon Labs.

* * * *

Another problem became apparent when he asked the rental car agent for a map printed in English. Sure they had them, but he couldn’t find a place called Higuchi. He had figured it to be a large city, but even when he asked the rental agent about it, she couldn’t find it on her Japanese map. Yet both Erika and Mr. Li had talked about Higuchi. The rental agency told him that although it was a fairly common surname, a town with that name could not be located.

This sounded like a job for his friend Andy and his computer searches. He put through a call to Jodie and gave her the information. Try to find something about a Higuchi – a place, a person, a lab, a tea-house, anything at all about a place where Lena Hull might have rented a car and driven north from Tokyo to find. While he was at it, Andy might also check for anything about an accident in Japan at Edon labs resulting in fatalities. It might be covered up, perhaps under something related to Higuchi.

For the first time Lawless cursed himself for not being more computer literate. While he was waiting he checked out the restaurants on Helena Hull’s charge bill, ordering the house specialty and a box of sake at each. Other than a headache and a bad case of indigestion, he had little to show for it. No one remembered either woman – the breadcrumb trail seemed to have been eaten by the pigeons. The final restaurant on the list was a place where his intuition said to skip the food. He ordered a drink and showed the employees the picture, which of course, no one recognized. He was about to leave when looking out from the dimly lit restaurant, he saw outlined in the afternoon sun, a woman who looked a lot like Helena Hull. Except that she was made up to look like an oversized Japanese geisha and was wearing a red kimono.

There was no reason to leave; Helena Hull did not know him. She had no reason to suspect that anyone was looking for her, here or anywhere else in Japan. She certainly had made the job easy for him. He ordered another drink, overpriced scotch instead of sake, and waited to see what would happen next.

He watched and listened as she argued in broken Japanese with the waitress and produced a roll of money from inside the belt of her kimono. The noisy interchange led him to believe that Helena Hull was not getting what she wanted. She threw the money at the waitress and cursed loudly, only to retrieve the bills quickly and tuck them this time inside the bodice of her robe.

"I would like to buy a drink for the lady. What does she like?" John asked the waitress when she delivered his second scotch.

"I don’t think the lady, if that is what you want to call her, wants you to buy her a drink, I think she would prefer it if you just bought her."

"I’m just trying to make the approach a little easier. She seems to have a temper."

"Yes, she wanted fugu roe, I told her it was impossible."

"What’s that?"

"Poison."

"You have that on the menu?"

"Sometimes . . ." the waitress bowed her head and walked slowly off to retrieve his order.

* * *

Lawless studied the woman as she drank her surely overpriced scotch. She looked like the title character in M. Butterfly or a foreign tranny, because of her size. She looked worn, tired, and angry. He understood all of those feelings, but what he could not understand was the feeling of sexual excitement he felt when he looked at her.

John Lawless was no stranger to attractive and professionally available women. His years of working undercover and working security at strip clubs had introduced him to many women in all price ranges, but Helene Hull was different. He wasn’t drawn to her façade; but to something deeper, something he couldn’t explain. He pictured her naked, straddling him, her long hair unloosened and falling around her full breasts, her mouth open in sexual pleasure, and it seemed like it had happened many times before. Yet he was certain that he had never met this woman in either his or her personal or professional capacity. Still, the feeling . . . wherever it came from . . . would not go away.

He read from the glance thanking him for the second scotch that she was interested in him joining her at her table. He picked up his drink, walked over, and noticed that she smiled even wider when his full height was revealed.

"Johnny Wilson," he introduced himself falsely.

". .ena."

"Funny you don’t look like a Warrior Princess?" he quipped, even though she did resemble the Kiwi actress to whom he was not related.

"No, Lena, with an L. I wonder if people think that sometimes." She had already placed one of her hands over his, and dropped the other one under the table to his thigh. "Where ya’ from Johnny Wilson?"

"Auckland."

"So you would know a Warrior Princess if you saw one."

He was really thankful that he had not used his real name or this conversation would have gotten off to a very rocky start. Right now the only rocks were in his underpants – and they were growing.

"I noticed you didn’t order any dinner, would you like to go and try to see if you can get what you want somewhere else."

"If I can’t get it here, I can’t get it anywhere. So I guess the question is, your place or mine? And mine’s a dump."

"Mine’s a micro-hotel room."

"Oh, goody, I always wanted to fuck in one of those coffins."

"Do I look like a man who would overnight in a coffin? I’ve got a bed, a single bed, and it’s very small."

"Does it have roaches?"

"No."

"Then it’s nicer than my place? Let’s split."

"I offered to pay for dinner, not . . ."

"You I’d do for free, or maybe for breakfast."

* * *

She had sat on the bed; he sat on the floor – there was barely room for either of them. It seemed like they had talked for hours, still they had talked about nothing. An empty liter of scotch sat on the floor, and he wondered if they needed another one. Oddly, he felt more comfortable when she took off her kimono and sat in her underwear smoking cigarettes and putting them out in a paper cup. She was easier to think of as a real woman than as an artificial geisha. Her long hair had come down and he wondered if he still had a hairbrush in his luggage.

He was as randy as a teenager. As much as he realized that it was totally unprofessional to take advantage of a woman in her state both physically and mentally, John had never been so turned on in his life. He had consumed more than his share of the scotch, primarily for its mind numbing capacity, and it wasn’t working. She slid to the end of the bed, to make room for him to sit beside her. Lena unhooked the front of her bra, allowing her full breasts to hang free, and carefully moved his hands to cover and fondle them. He knew he should pull back, but didn’t. Her hands had busied themselves unbuttoning his shirt and his belt.

He thought of Sonya, the woman with whom he had rebounded after his wife had told him their marriage was over. Sonya was a drug user, some might even call her a junkie, but she worked as a nurse; she wasn’t a whore. He’d known whores, some of whom he liked, but he had always refrained from buying their services. John Lawless, or Johnny Wilson, didn’t need to buy sex; that was for sure. Even though this woman said she would do him for free, he wondered what strings were really attached. Should he send her out into the night and risk the chance that he would never find her again? Should he ask for her phone number or a way to reach her? Or should he just take the free shag and worry about the ramifications later?

"Got to get freshened up a little." She said with a smile.

He thought that would be nice; he wouldn’t even mind if she used his toothbrush. The scotch and cigarettes he could stand, but the day old sushi. . .

"It’s OK, I got condoms in my dresser. I’m always prepared."

"Nah, give me a few minutes. OK?"

He had no choice but to wait. Fantasies came to him, from sources and places he couldn’t attach to any other place or time or woman. It seemed that Helena was taking her time, a very long time. He had heard water running and figured she had decided to take a shower. Both he and his cock were getting tired of waiting.

"You OK in there?" he called.

There was no answer.

He waited a minute or two more and caught a whiff of something burning, maybe she was smoking another cigarette, a joint, or even crack. When she didn’t come out, he decided it was time to check. The door was easy to open, because he remembered, just before he tried to break it down, there was no lock. There was barely enough room for both of them in the tiny room. Helena Hull was sitting on the toilet with her panties around her feet, a bottle cap sitting on her knee, and a syringe dangling from her left arm. Her face was blank.

Blood trickled down her arm as John pulled out the syringe. He thought of Sonya. Another woman was not going to die on his watch.

"What are you trying to do, kill yourself?" He yelled as he extracted her from the tiny room, placed her on his bed, and determined that she was still breathing.

"No," she muttered, "I’m trying to stay dead."

IF YOU NEED A FRIEND Part 2