Two

There was a recent mauling of hitchhikers waiting for a ride at the Big Sur. I had seen several of them at the drive back home from the Winter Formal. Back then I had been like, sorry, buster, but I'm on my way home, not cross-country.

And I'd actually thought it was no big deal. I mean, I'm pretty familiar with the sight of hitchhikers, being from Brooklyn and all. But CeeCee assures me that this was a rare sight. As rare as seeing places in New York with no bird droppings, anyway.

"Suze," Adam had said the night before the prom. We were all sitting at the Coffee Clutch (apple cider for me, cappuccino for Adam, and expresso for CeeCee), and Adam was reading the day's paper. "Gee, hitchhikers murdered," he said, shoving the paper into my face. I took one look at it, and promptly spewed my mouthful of apple cider onto CeeCee's laptop (she was typing out her newspaper report for our school paper).

"Eew, Simom. If you ruined my modem, I'd make sure you paid for that." CeeCee grumbled, wiping her laptop with a paper napkin.

I was, like, eew, too, but for a different reason. Because the picture they had on the paper? Yeah, it was totally gross. There's this guy's body, and his stomach was cut open and all those intestines were falling out. Oh, and his skull was cracked open, and revealing the pink mass of brains. CeeCee, who was curious about the article, leaned over my shoulder to see clearly. What she saw made her scream like a girl.

"Eew!" CeeCee freaked out. "Get that out of my sight, Suze!"

I proceeded to close the paper, but in doing so, I caught sight of something. Which is very bizarre for me to notice.

There, twisted grotesquely out of shape, was a huge gold cross necklace. You know this religious junkies? Yeah, the type of cult jewellery they wear. Apparently this guy was way religious. Maybe he was even on the way of visiting the Basilica.

But that's not the only weird thing. What was even weirder, was that I knew this guy.

He was the guy that waved this huge sign that says: Ride to Basilica, please. I recognised that gold necklace and the red bandana, splattered with brain juice that laid beside the corpse on the article.

And I was thing about that when I drove back to find Jesse. Jesse's apartment was with Sleepy. Which was a big coincidence. And Sleepy had promised me to spy on Jesse for me, and he'd even warn Jesse "not to break my little sister's heart, or I'll kick your butt". Which was totally touching. Not that Jesse would ever break my heart, of course.

Anyway, I went over to the guard. He was a sour old man who gave me the hairy eyeball. I mean, I was dressed nicely and all.

"What's a young lady like you doing here at midnight?" He asked, in a tone that I'm sure he meant to be flirtatious, but which just turned out to be disgusting.

"It's prom night, Mister, and I left my handkerchief in my boyfriend's pocket." Great excuse, Susannah. How many people even carry handkerchiefs these days? Except Jesse, who is from the nineteenth century.

The guard grunted and opened the gate. I drove in, parked my car, and went for an ID check. I dialled Jesse's room number.

"Hello?" A sleepy voice sounded. It was Sleepy's voice!

"Sl-Jake, can I talk to Jesse?" I asked.

"Suze? What are you doing here? You're out of curfew."

"Yeah, I know. I left my handkerchief in Jesse's pocket."

Sleepy just grunted, and I heard him call, "Hey, dude, it's my sister."

My sister. I felt a weird feeling coursing through me. It had always been my mom and me. Plus my dad, whom nobody except me could see. Who had just moved on a year ago. How does it feel like, to have additional brothers?
"Nombre de dios, querida. What are you doing here?" Jesse asked, sounding amused.

"Jesse," I said. "It's about Father Dom. I think he might be in mortal peril."

Jesse was quick about it. "Wait a minute. I'll be down in a flash." And then he hung up.

The guard glanced at me. "Are you going in or not?" he asked.

"He's coming down to return me my, er, handkerchief." I said.

And speaking of the devil, Jesse arrived. Except that he was so not the devil type. He looked innocent and good. It's just a figure of speech.

"Susannah," he said. "What's going on?"

"Get in the car, Jesse," I said. "I'll tell you on the way."

And then I pulled off the curb, and got onto the expressway. Around Big Sur. The place where I met the disembodied Christian guy almost a year before.

"OK, Susannah," Jesse asked, "what's going on?"
I showed him the message Father Dominic had given me. Then I said guiltily, "And I, uh, didn't read it. Because I was engaged in, uh, other things."
"In other words," Jesse said angrily, "you didn't read it because you were busy kissing me?"

"Well..." I said.

Jesse looked mad. I had never seen him look mad before. Except when he found out I had died for him, and for that time when I'd gone after Paul to bring him back to the future.

He clamped up and wouldn't talk to him. I sighed. And I bet he wouldn't kiss me either.

But that was not on my mind when I parked my car outside the mission. Because there, illuminated by the red glow of the Basilica, hung a life-sized body. And let's just

say it's not a plastic one.