Well kids, this is my very first Fanfiction story. It's about time, I'd say. I've been on here for a while, yet I haven't gotten anything done… all I do is read the stories, but now it's time that I write some stuff of my own. I've been thinking about doing The Mediator books from Jesse's point of view for a while now, but it's time to get to the action.
This story is going to be the first book, but the chapters aren't going to be the same as the ones in the book. I'm going to sort of morph the ending of chapter one with chapter two, so they'll all actually be pretty messed up. Bear with me.
Most of them will probably be longer then the chapters in the original story, because I have to explain what Jesse's doing when he's not with Susannah…. I haven't quite figured out what I'll do with him during those times yet. Meh, I'll think of something.
The Beginning
The Mediator: Shadowland in Jesse's POV
Chapter One
I was sitting at the window seat, staringout the window, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Everyone had recently left the house, the mood excited, and leaving me anxious. From what I had heard while listening to some of the conversations the boys and their father had had a month or two ago, I had learned that two women were coming to join the household. A mother, the man's new wife, and her daughter.
Since then, everything had been complete chaos.
The room I was sitting in, which had once been the guest room, had been transformed. It was now very feminine, much different from how it used to be with its plain blue walls, simple white bed covers and curtains, and cream coloured dresser sets. Now the walls were white and intricately patterned, flowery wallpaper bordering all along the top of the room.
There was a glass-topped night table alongside the beautiful four-poster, lace canopy clad bed, and a glass-topped dresser had replaced the old, cream wooden one. Something I only knew as a 'telephone' sat atop the night table, looking a bit frightening in all it's pink-fluff glory. It made loud ringing noises occasionally, causing me to jump, so I had chose to sit across the room from it, on the newly built window seat. The only beneficial addition to the room, if you ask me. Which no one is going to. Because I'm dead.
I've 'haunted' this room, this house, for about one hundred and fifty years, now. That's a very long time not being able to speak to anyone, or even be seen by anyone. Anyone who's not dead has no idea how awful it is to have only yourself to talk to (which I never did, even though there's no one around to call me loco or anything). I suppose I could speak to someone, but that would be ridiculous because a) they cannot hear me and therefore b) they cannot respond. You try and speak to someone who's not listening. One sided conversations are not as fun as you may think they are.
The one thing that honestly annoyed me about all the changes was that not once, not once, had the age of this new addition to the household been mentioned. I had listened to an endless amount of conversations, but no one had ever mentioned any names or an age. It was quite obvious that the room was meant for a female, as the bed and the wall paper indicated, but the age range of this girl was quite wide. Because of the size of the room, the phone, and the bathroom that joined the bedroom, I guessed the girl could be anywhere from eight to late twenties. But then again, I was not up to date with the decorations of this era. I could end up sharing this bedroom with a ninety-four year old woman, for all I know.
I turned back to the window and kept my eyes on the driveway, watching for the automobile to return with the new arrivals. They had left a few hours ago, but one thing I had heard was that these women were flying—yes, flying…. The things man has created in the last century never ceases to amaze me—from New York. New York, as I understand, is very far away, despite the new way of traveling.
I stood up and wandered around the room, examining—for about the hundredth time—the new furniture. I lay down on the bed, placing my hands behind my head and staring at the ceiling. Even that had been painted. How irritating.
The loud roar of an engine interrupted my thoughts, and I sat up. The sound grew louder, and I heard the crunching of gravel. I got up and raced to the window, and saw that the car was pulling into the driveway.
They were finally here!
The car disappeared from my view, parking beneath the porch roof so that I could not see. I heard the slamming of doors and the excited talk of the boys and their father. I heard an older woman laugh, but not the voice of the new occupant of this room. I jumped off the window seat and went to the closed door, opening it just a crack so that I could hear what was happening. The front door downstairs opened, and there was the deafening sound of all the boys talking loudly and excitedly, the father's booming voice, the older woman's laughter and joking. But I could still not hear the girl.
There was the banging of the front door and the rustle of plastic bags. The television downstairs was flicked on, and there was some clanging of pots in the kitchen.
"…come see your room," I heard the older woman say, presumably to her daughter. The stairs began to creak and they headed upstairs, and I immediately took my spot back on the window seat the watch them.
The door creaked open, and the older woman stepped in after the father. She was a handsome woman, slim and tall with nice features. I could just make out the form of the girl standing behind her mother, standing in the door frame. The woman turned and motioned to the girl. The girl hesitated and then stepped in, and I breathed in sharply.
She was very pretty. Beautiful, even. She was of medium height, and very slim. She had a lovely figure, and was wearing what I had learned were called jeans, that were form fitting, and black boots that added to her height. She wore a black leather jacket that looked smooth from wear, and seemed to fit her perfectly. Her long, silky looking, chestnut hair made my fingers ache with the desire to run my fingers through it, and her green eyes seemed had a sort of… ancient wariness in them. Delicate, straight features added to her attractiveness.
The girl walked around the room, her pretty eyes sweeping along the walls and bed and dresser. They finally landed on the window seat, where I was sitting, and her expression changed to one of distaste. She glanced quickly at the father, who was watching for her reaction to the room, as if wondering if he had noticed what she had, but he seemed not to know what it was that had changed her mood.
Perhaps she does not like window seats, I thought. If she doesn't, they better not take this out. I'll demolish her dresser if they demolish my window seat.
Her mother, however, saw the girl's expression. She sighed sadly, and then said something that immediately caught my attention:
"Oh, Suze. Not again."
I raised my head and looked back to the girl, wondering what her mom meant by that. Had this happened before? Did this girl, Suze, as her mother had called her, have a past of not liking window seats? Or was it something else that displeased her? Obviously it was not me, as she could not see me.
I felt like yelling, "Well? What is it?" It intrigued me that much. After one hundred and fifty years without the drama that had occurred in my family, I had begun to miss it just the slightest bit. I could deal without it, but having no life of my own, I often liked to enjoy the lives of others. And this life seemed plenty interesting.
Well, there we go. The first chapter. I'll get the next one up as soon as I can. I know this is short, and I'm sorry, but I don't want to add the second chapter in here, too. So you'll just have to wait! Ha ha HA. Now… time for you to review. :)
Disclaimer: Blah, blah. I own nothing. Meg Cabot is the author of The Mediator stories. And Jesse. Even though in this story, we all sort of get to be Jesse.. which is really cool, ya know?
