Ghostly Apparitions (TomTord Fanfic)

Chapter 12 (End)

(WARNING: this chapter will have dark themes in it. Trust me. It will.
If you're sensitive to that stuff, skip this chapter.
Other than that, enjoy this final shot of feels)

After that, Tord seemed to cease to exist. Like he whole haunting thing was one big dream. He stopped making Tom have visions, he stopped talking to him in his dreams. The Brit could have said it was great to be left alone, but it didn't feel good to him. He didn't like it, yet he hated Tord tormenting him.
Somehow, he knew it wasn't all a dream. He knew it had to be real. Tord was still dead... wasn't he?

This clouded Tom's mind like morning fog on a road. He would wander around his house, seemingly without control, and end up in a different room than where he originally was when he started the thought. He thought about it at night, making him start to have sleep insomnia, and he next wanted to sleep, eat, or drink anything. Not even Smirnoff. He only did these things when it was absolutely nessicary.
You can imagine that this worried his friends greatly. They came and visited him frequently, but Tom barely let them in. When he did, though, or he hang out with them, he would mutter incoherent gibberish under his breath as he seemed to be snapped out of the world. Edd even brought up the fact to Matt that their friend might have gone insane.

Tom wasn't insane; at least he didn't think he was. Sure, he muttered under his breath, didn't do much for his days, and wander his apartment at night, but he wasn't insane. His sanity was still in tact. Right?
Tom found himself asking that question a lot. Along with why. Why was he suddenly acting this way? Why did Tord leave him alone?

Why did he feel so guilty despite being forgiven?

The guilt got to him. Tom wasn't used to carrying around the thought of killing his old best friend with his own weapon, aimed straight through his heart. He didn't want to think about Tord, but the memories with him in them kept passing Tom's mind and vision every now and then. This left Tom laying on the ground, crying or laughing or both at the same time. His sanity was still there, he told himself. Even if it didn't look like it.
He couldn't handle the thoughts, though, and he knewt hey we're slowly driving him insane. So, he tried to take the thoughts off of his mind. How did he do this? He cleaned up his apartment.

   While doing this, he didn't expect to find a pile of stuff Edd had actually salvaged from the house. He looked at the items, wondering if he wanted to keep them or just throw them away, until he reached the back of the closet he had them held in.
   A familiar shimmer of blue metal caught his eyes. He pushing the other things away and looked at it, his eyes white. The blue harpoon gun. It's rope was ripped from the harpoon tugging off of it, which was the one that Tord had gotten put into his chest. Tom looked beside it. A small pile of bright blue harpoons. He picked one up, looking at it, and then touched the tip. He instantly pulled his hand back at a small feeling of pain and looked at his finger, which was bleeding.

  His mind raced for a few moments, and remembered what Tord said to him.
   "You. Will. Pay." Tom could hear the echoey Norwegian accent that described his friend. He looked at the harpoon for a moment. It was his fault. His fault for everything. It was HIS fault that Tord was dead. It was HIS fault that his friends were living in crappy apartments. It was HIS fault for being buried in grief.

    Before Tom knew what he was actually doing, he saw the he had turned the harpoon tip towards him. It faced his chest. He gulped, almost nervously, remembering the words again. 'You will pay'. Tom hadn't payed his price. He still had to.

   He plunged the harpoon into his chest and smiled as his vision became cloudy.