Author's Note: This chapter was a lot of fun to write! :D Many thank-you's to Miami Blackheart and Blue Brat24 for being my first two reviewers. Replies are after the chapter. I hope you enjoy it. :)

Exploring Jesse is a lot of fun. Enjoy! Do review, it really makes my day.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mediator or any of the characters or original dialogue, more's the pity.

Two

Qué sucedió? I thought perplexedly.

Apparently, Suze (Susan? Suzanne?) was not just inexplicably upset by the lofty view of the town of Carmel this, my/her room afforded, one that I had always thought magnificent. No, she had apparently also had similar reactions before, enough times to cause her mother disappointment as opposed to surprise, and sadness as opposed to bewilderment or anger. I contemplated the possibility that 'Suze' might actually be prone to bouts of slight mental illness, as opposed to just being eccentric or emotionally troubled as I had assumed from what I had heard. If that were the case, then Mrs. Ackerman's anxiety might actually be perfectly placed, instead of being the typical excessive mother's worry that I had thought initially. I felt a pang for the good lady.

'Suze' (I wished I knew her proper name. Suze was a strange nickname to refer to a girl as. It sounded like squeeze. Or booze. I almost laughed out loud.) paused for a moment, then spoke for the first time.

"Never mind, Mom. Everything's fine," she said reassuringly, turning to face her mother completely. Under her distinctly New York-accent, her voice was low-pitched and confident, with an unexpectedly sweet note under running it. If a person's mental stability could be told by their voice, I would definitely have classified her as stable. "The room is great. Thanks so much."

Her mother's countenance remained downcast. "Well," she said slowly, scanning her daughter's face. "Well, I'm glad you like it. I was sort of worried. I mean, I know how you get about…well, old places."

I raised an eyebrow. Eccentric, unquestionably. What was wrong with old places? They were usually much more beautiful than modern constructions.

The girl – I'd given up on 'Suze' – shook her head, and continuing her comforting tone, said, "Really, Mom. It's great. I love it."

Though Mrs. Ackerman did not look convinced, and even I wondered if her tone wasn't maybe too perfect, Mr. Ackerman seemed very encouraged by this. He showed it by immediately moving to the far wall and pointing up to the speaker attached in the top corner and the similar one in another corner, "See these, Suze?" he said excitedly. "I put these up so you can hook them up to your TV, or your CD player and have surround sound. We expect you to use them reasonably though!" He joked, wagging a finger in her direction. She broke into a smile and walked over to him, looking up at the speaker. "You didn't have to do that! Thank you so much."

"We wanted to. And hold on to your thanks, young lady, we're not done. Watch this," he enthused, clapping his hands. The lights went off. "There, now you try it." Her eyebrows arched, the girl clapped her hands twice. The room was lit again.

I sat back, smiling. I had watched Mr. Ackerman install all this, even give himself a minor injury once. It was a sweet scene, the conclusion of all that work. The girl seemed genuinely delighted by all of it, as he moved around the room, showing her all the features and conveniences he had taken care to provide. However, she did not turn to look at the view again, which was, with all due respect to her stepfather, the best part.

Thirty minutes and thirty-nine great features about the room later, he was finished, although he looked like he was racking his brains to find more things to show her and boast about. He gave his stepdaughter and his wife a wide smile. "Well, I think that's everything. Suze, do you need our help unpacking?" She shook her head and said "No, I'm good, thanks for offering, though."

He rubbed his hands together and said, "Well then, I'm going to go down and get that barbecue started, okay, sweetheart?" he said to Mrs. Ackerman. "We're making you surf and turf tonight, Suze."

They gave him identical winning smiles, and the girl's mother walked over to him and gave him a quick kiss. "Thanks so much, honey."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you're happy. See you downstairs in forty-five, Suze! Welcome home," he grinned. He walked out, closing the door behind him. The brothers, who had been hovering outside, had long since left, the older two to go surfing, the younger one, very characteristically, to conduct some kind of experiment. (I decided I would go see what later – he was a little genius, that one, and I had found his observations very advanced. Most of the books I borrowed from this family were from his shelves.)

"Is it really all right, Suze?" Mrs. Ackerman asked her daughter after the sound of her husband's footsteps had faded away. "I know it's a big change. I know it's asking a lot of you - "

Now, in case you are wondering what I was doing still sitting there, in the middle of this mother-daughter time, let me restate what I said earlier: I am, after all, a ghost and not a living man, and ghosts' roles in the life and events of the living are usually close to zero.

Si, we could nudge things along here and there. However, I was not particularly interested in leaving messages or unnecessarily moving things around and generally interfering with those who could not see or tell the cause. I was not sure whether or not I belonged on Earth, in this world, this plane of existence, lo que. But I was not inclined to do anything immoral regardless. Influencing the natural course of events in neutral matters – such as giving scientists, politicans, or researchers ideas that occurred to me that would, I knew, thanks to more than a century of observation, make them more successful – was unneeded.

Interfering where my supernatural powers could prevent gross injustice or harm, however, was another matter. I even had a brief period where I took on the role of some kind of hero, stopping whatever crimes I could. But I made a few mistakes, stopping what I thought was the attacker only to find them the victim – I have never condemned myself in all my existence more than I did then. I realized then that intervening without knowing the background was wrong, and finding it out would take too long and make any action too late. I turned instead, back to learning all I could about the world in general, and medical science in particular. There was so much to learn that sometimes, being dead almost seemed insignificant.

But going back to the gross harm point – more than one hundred and fifty years of being a ghost makes one used to simply 'eavesdropping', because it is not the same as if one were alive. I intended on finding out as much as I could about this young woman and her problems, so that I could help her exemplary parents in keeping her from trouble. This was a rare opportunity – finding the background, and then preventing any harm. It was my responsibility, too, I reasoned, since she was living in the room I was tied to – why else would I be pulled back here for sixty minutes every twelve hours?

All of the above reasons are why I did not leave while the two women talked. Apart from the minor fact that I was really curious about 'Suze'.

She took off the black leather jacket she had been wearing, and threw it on the bed. "It's fine, Mom," she said nonchalantly. She still had not looked in my – that is, the window's – direction. "Really."

"I mean, asking you to leave Grandma, and Gina, and New York," her mother said emphatically, sitting down on the canopied bed. "It's selfish of me, I know. I know things haven't been…well, easy for you. Especially since Daddy died."

I sat up straighter. Could this be a possible explanation? Her father had not divorced her mother, he had passed away.

"Suzie, I've been hoping that this, moving here, might make it easier on you. It's a completely different coast, it's completely new people, it's a completely different culture. It'll be like a fresh start, for both of us."

The girl, leaving the suitcase she had opened, leaned against the bedpost and nodded. "I know."

No resentment or denial, that's for sure. No characteristic refutation or anger that might have signalled she might have been partly certifiable.

"I'm glad. But Suzie, I really think you'll be happier if you take full advantage of this opportunity. You've grown into such a pretty girl, and the people who'll see you now, they won't be the same people who remember you as a child and all the antics you and Gina used to get up to. They might even be intimidated by you, because you know, we're from 'New York'," her mother put air quotes around the word, "and everything. So you have to put on your best, most pleasant face. If you don't make an effort and try to project a really friendly demeanour this time though, you might end up with no or few friends again. And you deserve better than that, Suzie, you really do."

That cleared it up, a little. It was probably not a psychological or emotional problem at all. It was just a voluntary attitude. I should have guessed, from what was probably the voluntary shabbiness of her clothes.

But then the girl nodded again, and said sincerely, "I know, Mom, I'll try." I was confused again. How could someone so pleasant have an attitude problem? I was going to have to get to the bottom of this, eventually.

"Well," Mrs. Ackerman said, exhaling in a rush after her long address, and her daughter straightened and moved back to the suitcase. "I guess if you don't want help unpacking, I'll go see how Andy is doing with dinner."

I could hear the smile in her voice as she looked back from the suitcase and answered, "Yeah, Mom, you go do that. I'll just get settled in here, and I'll be down in a minute."

Her mother nodded in response and moved to the door. When her hand was on the doorknob, however, she turned, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. "I just want you to be happy, Suzie. That's all I've ever wanted. Do you think you can be happy here?"

Mothers were all the same, I thought, smiling. Excessive worriers. The girl walked over, her boots clicking on the floor and embraced her tightly. "Sure, Mom," she said cheerfully. "Sure, I'll be happy here. I feel at home already."

Her mother hugged her back and then pulled away to look at her. "Really?" she said, still looking tearful. "You swear?"

I did not know what she was so unconvinced about. I found the girl completely persuading, but then, obviously, she knew more than I did.

"I do," her daughter said wholeheartedly.

Mrs. Ackerman left, then, and the girl closed the door behind her. I was considering dematerializing – the requisite sixty minutes were long over, and she might want to change. But I was still curious. Even more so, when I realized she was still standing there, her hand on the doorknob, listening until the sound of her mother's shoes could not be heard any more. I sat up straight again, waiting to see what she would do.

She turned around, finally, to face the window behind me again. Her eyes – incredibly bright, and at the moment piercing – were looking right into mine again, and she was frowning.

"All right. Who the hell are you?"

Miami Blackheart - Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like it. And I agree with you. Jesse's POV usually makes me swoon in no time. ;D I intend on updating pretty regularly. Thank you for reading and putting it in your alerts 3

Blue Brat24 - Thank you for reading and putting it in your alerts. :) I fully intend on completing this story. It'll take a while, but I definitely do not intend not finishing it, and I probably won't start a new story until this series is finished.

Have a good week, all!