Okay, so. I edited this chapter. I realized that I kept mispelling Maria's name wrong, and the sisters' names were wrong, and so I fixed it up a bit. Hopefully it's easier to read now. :) Enjoy!

The Things She Says

A retelling of Shadowland as Jesse

Chapter Four

I was, once again, lying on the bed. Now that Susannah — I smiled to myself, loving her name — owned this room, I knew this would be one of my last opportunities to even get near the four-poster monstrosity. I suddenly felt bad for using such a harsh word. It wasn't ugly, the bed. Just… a little overdone?

The furniture fetish strikes again.

Despite my century and a half of having no one to talk to, I was feeling rather lonely. I longed for some company (preferably Susannah's), but I knew that I was on my own for the time being. The time being and perhaps longer.

I kicked myself mentally. I should have been kinder to her. My behaviour had been most ungentlemanly. My family would have scolded me for treating a lady like that, if I was back in the 19th century, alive and kicking. But I was neither back in my time nor alive — free to kick as much as I liked, but not alive.

One thing kept nagging at the back of my mind:

How could she see me?

Perhaps she had x-ray vision, like some of the characters in those films they have now days. But wait. Wasn't x-ray vision when they could see past things? Like clothing?

Oh my.

I flushed at the thought, embarrassing myself, and pushed that from my mind.

The second sight. That's what it might be. She can see me, and other supernatural, otherworldly things, because she has the second sight. But no. That doesn't make sense. She can see me, but she can also touch me. So then it can't be it, either.

I slammed my head back against the plush pillow. How irritating it was, not being able to figure out what she was. The least she could have done was told me. But picturing her face again in my mind's eye, my anger vanished.

"Susannah."

I said the name aloud, enjoying the way it kind of echoed around the room. I said it again. Twice more. I was grinning, acting like a dog that's just been offered the most delicious, tender steak. Except I'm not going to eat Susannah.

Now I felt even worse. First insulting the blessed furniture, and now comparing Susannah to a slab of juicy meat?

I'm going to hell,I thought. Then I paused. I'd been here, a ghost in the land of the living, for an awfully long time. Eventually.

There I was, alone once more, and painfully aware of my dead-man status. It's times like these when I ponder my death — the moment that put me in the position I'm in now. To add on to the frustration, I'm not even sure exactly how I died. Well, I know, but the details are blurry and basically all I'm aware of is that now nobody (not including Susannah) can see me, the only time my voice is needed is when I want to talk to myself (which I never do), and I can walk through walls, people, and everything else I've encountered (which I always do. Haven't you always wondered what it would be like to stand inside a wall? I used to, and now I know. It never gets old. Honestly.)

My death, my death, my death. I actually hate thinking about it, but now's the time I think I should go through it briefly (or not so briefly) for the sake of understanding. But, seeing as there are chunks missing (the memory has faded after so long), it might not be understandable.

Right. Rambling ends now. The story of my death begins.

I was at home, at my family's ranch. I was outside in the barn, working with the horses, since our new mare, Belleza, was to give birth in a day or two.

"Belleza, sweet horse, stay still!" I fought to keep her from rearing, holding her halter tight with both hands.

For a fat and very pregnant horse, she was surprisingly strong. I was trying to get her into the birthing stall, so that her and her new foal would be more comfortable when the time came, but she was being stubborn. She did not want to leave her old stall, which she obviously had become attached to in the five days she had been here.

"Belleza!"

She lifted her head as high as she could, with me standing as tall as possible, and let out a loud, shrill neigh that echoed in the rafters of the barn. A few other horses answered, but when all fell still, she finally dropped her head with a low nicker and nuzzled my arm.

"Oh, that's right," I muttered as she obediently followed me into her new stall. "Give me a hard time, and then come willingly." I stepped out of the stall and shut the half door behind me, firmly latching it closed. "You and I, horse, are going to get along well, I see."

She stamped one hoof and then lowered her head to nose through her hay.

I sighed and turned away, brushing my hands off on my chaps and then moving to check on the rest of the horses.

"Jesse!" called a voice from somewhere outside.

I stepped forward and slid open the barn door, squinting at the bright sunlight that flooded into the dim building. I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand and peered out over the field.

"Jesse!"

I shifted my gaze towards the house and saw my Mamá waving around something she held in her hand. It was a small white envelope.

"It is a letter from Maria!" she called again, clearly very excited and grinning from ear to ear.

"A letter from Maria?"

The voice was that of a young girl, coming from the front porch. One of my sisters, no doubt, but I couldn't be sure which one.

"Can I have it, Mamá?"

Marta stepped into view, and I swore angrily under my breath. I broke into a run towards my mother, and saw my eldest sister doing the same. I ran faster, knowing that I had to get there first.

Let's get one thing straight. I was not, in fact, running because I was overflowing with excitement at the prospect of a letter from Maria. Oh, no. In fact, I was indifferent to anything she sent to me. But Marta loved it when I received letters from my bride-to-be. More than once, she had gone out to get the post and come back inside with one, dodging me and dancing around the kitchen, reading it aloud to my other two sisters. Sometimes Maria put the most ridiculous things in her letters, and it was embarrassing enough as it was. It made it ten times worse when my sisters knew what was written in each one. I had only managed to actually read two on my own, as opposed to my sisters' four.

"Mamá, do not let her have it!" I yelled, realizing that Marta would get there first, as my mother was standing closer to the house than the barn. "¡Marta, esa es para mí!" Yelling in Spanish always seemed to get my family's attention, for reasons unknown. I think it was because it was our native tongue.

Marta ran up and snatched the letter right out of Mamá's hands.

"Marta! Esa es para tú no!" Mamá snapped, reaching over Marta's shoulder to grab the letter back.

Marta pulled away, and raced to the house. I ran after her, now desperate.

"Josie!" Marta shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Des! I have a letter! To Jesse, love Maria!"

Two of my other sisters, Josefina and Mercedes, came thundering down the stairs, squealing and laughing. I wasn't sure where my other two sisters were, but I was sure that they would soon come when they heard all the noise.

Marta moved to the side door and swung it open, gazing around the yard as if looking for someone. "Veronica! Elena!"

Well, if this situation further progressed, the entire female population of my family would be sitting in the kitchen listening to Maria's words.

With sudden swiftness, I reached forward and grabbed the letter right from Marta's hands.

"No!" Mercedes jumped to get it back, but I was much taller than her, and held it above my head.

"You are not reading this," I said firmly. "They are my personal letters, to me. Do you see your name on here?" I waved the envelope in her face. "I don't."

"Aw, Jesse," Josefina whined. "You're no fun."

"We only want to see what it says!" Mercedes piped up. "Let us just see it and then we will give it back to you." She widened her large brown eyes in an attempt to make me pity her.

"That," I said, pointing at her, "is what you said last time."

The loud protests of three girls was joined by that of two others, and suddenly I was in a yelling match with all five of my sisters.

"I'm sure those letters are intended for all of us!" Marta fumed, hands on hips.

I snorted. "Then why do they say to Jesse?"

"Actually, they say to —"

"Because who else would she address them to?"

"The de Silva fam —"

"But her family is the de Silva family, too!"

"The postmen know the difference!"

"You don't know that."

"Why are we arguing about this? These are my letters—"

The noise grew louder and louder, until I thought I would go deaf. It was only a matter of time before my father walked in and stopped it —

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!"

Or not.

Six voices, five female and one male, fell silent in a split-second. Heads snapped around to look at my father who was standing in the entrance of the kitchen.

"I said," he began, "what is going on here?" A muscle in his cheek jumped, the way it did when he was angry.

I was the first to speak. "Nothing," I mumbled.

"Oh?" His eyes fell to the letter I held behind my back. "Nothing. I see." He looked to my sisters. "Aren't there chores you ladies could be attending to?"

At that, all five girls jumped into action. Marta moved to the wash basin on the counter to wash dishes with Mercedes right behind her, Josefina dashed out the door to check on the chickens, and Veronica and Elena went upstairs to make the beds.

"Now Jesse." He turned to me, eyeing the letter in my hand. "I suggest you take that and read it somewhere private where they won't find it." I thought I heard a trace of humour in his rumbling voice, but I wasn't sure.

"Yes, sir." I nodded, smiled briefly, and then headed up the stairs, on my way to the small room of my own. I closed the door behind me and took a seat on the edge of my bed, opening the letter with careful fingers. It turned out to be a short letter, only a page.

I sighed and unfolded it slowly, not looking forward to Maria's words at all. They had grown increasingly more vain, and the spelling mistakes were as unbearable as being stabbed in the eye.

Dear Hector,

I wrinkled my nose at this. Not many people called me that. Yet Maria insisted, saying Jesse was nothing more than a nickname, and nicknames were childish. I'd had to bite my tongue hard to keep myself from informing her that spelling errors were just as childish as nicknames and twice as annoying. Even something like Twinkle Toes, the name of Elena's stuffed bear, was as welcoming as a soft, warm bed, compared to the misspelling of a word such as 'cheese' (which Maria had continued to spell as 'cheas').

Clearing all thoughts of misspellings of cheese, stuffed animals, and nicknames from my head, I read on.

Our wedding is only a week away, and my mother is very exited.

Ahhh! Why did she do this to me? I quickly grabbed the quill pen off my bedside table and scribbled out exited, adding the correct spelling above it.

I now have my wedding dress, thow it is not the one I wanted. It was inexpenciv and not as beutiful as I wanted it to be, but for you, I am sure it is fine. I am not working to impres anyone, as you and I are alredy engaged and therfor all other men can not matter.

I stopped. All other men can not matter? How truly offensive! I sincerely hoped she had meant to write do not matter, but I knew that she had written exactly what she meant. As handsome as everyone I met claimed me to be, I knew Maria had no desire to marry me. And I, truthfully, had no desire (and still don't) to marry her. So HA.

I always did want a big wedding, but it seems that it shall not be so. It disapoints me, as we will not receeve so many gifts with such few gests.

I opened my mouth, as if to yell. I closed it again. I opened it again and fought the urge to shove the letter in my mouth and swallow it, so that I would never have to see it again. But then I'd probably get ink poisoning. My mouth closed, setting in a grim line. This girl, this cousin of mine, had nerves of steel, writing such vain words in a letter.

Though the wedding will be less then extrordanary, I'm sure our honeymoon will be somewhat entertaining. Hopefully we are both in the mood for satisfaction—

At this, I did shove the letter in my mouth. Who wrote things like this in a letter?! Dirty, inappropriate words! Suggestion! Ink poisoning! I spat the paper out again, seeing with satisfaction that the rest of that particular paragraph had been smudged so that it could no longer be read. Good. I did not want to read the rest. Who knew what she might go on to suggest? I shook my head in disgust at the sudden images the question conjured up. Yes, I am a man. And I know, and knew then too, what most men desire the most. But of all the women in the world, Maria was not someone I would ever want to share an intimate situation with. Vain, not very smart, and rude. Beautiful, yes, but hardly the sort of person I could ever find myself being attracted to.

With a deep breath to steady myself for what might come next, I looked to the next paragraph.

I have also been thinking about our living arangements after we are maried. I have decided that we shall live in the city, becuse I am sick of these fowl ranches. It is practikly unbearible to have to live out in the countryside, and the farm animals are smelly and dirty. You could get a job in a factory in a nearby city—

I felt my whole body clench. She wanted me to live in the city?! I stared at the words, reading the sentence over and over again. When it was obvious that my eyes were not playing tricks on me, I threw the letter to the ground in disbelief and placed my face in my hands.

Nombre de Dios. No, no, no, no. How could she even think to suggest such a thing? She knew as well as I did, as well as everyone else did, that I was a rancher's son, a man born and raised with horses and cattle and countryside all around. I was the sort of person who thought that a short distance was a day-long ride on horseback. I called the village a days ride away loud and noisy. I thought the day was fast-paced and rushed when we had to move the cattle in from the south field to the north before the sun went down. The city? I would never fit in there. I could never dream to fit in there. And if Maria thought I could, she was obviously delusional.

Later on, we ate dinner in silence. I had nothing to say, my mind filled with horrible images of crowded streets, poor peasants, the thick stench of bodies, the clatter of a hundred voices speaking at once, and clustered buildings. My mother tried to amiably engage me in a conversation about the upcoming wedding, but I could not bear to hear Maria's name without triggering the nightmarish images of what my future might hold. Marta casually asked me what was in the letter, and my reply was short. My father attempted to talk to me about the new horse, Belleza, but I found I could not talk about that, either. At last, everyone (except my other sisters who were discussing a young man named 'Fred' who was apparently very handsome and lived on the neighbouring ranch) fell into silence, giving up on trying to start a conversation with me at all.

That night, everyone retired to bed early with excuses of fatigue due to the earlier heat and sun. As everyone shut their bedroom doors with quiet good-nights, I retreated into my own room to think. I held the letter in my hand, pacing back and forth across the creaky floorboards.

It was obvious that this marriage was not going to work. Maria and I held nothing in common, had no similar interests. While she was simple-minded and interested in mainly fashion, gossip, and sitting inside during the day, I enjoyed being outside working, in the fresh air, under the sun, and reading whatever I was able to get my hands on. Maria saw the world as a place to simply endure, preferring her own sheltered life. I saw the world in the form of infinite possibilities, a place filled with knowledge and discoveries just waiting for me to find. I wanted to help people. Maria wanted people to help her.

A sudden thought sprung to my mind. If I moved to the city… Possibly, just possibly, I could train to be a doctor. I stopped pacing. Oh, how I'd always wanted to be a doctor! All those sicknesses out there, there was someway to cure them, I just knew it. If only I knew how to make the first step in the direction of finding a cure. Maybe the city would even have a college! A college where I could study medicine and—

My train of thought came to a screeching halt. I snorted at myself, at the sudden hope that had lit the tiny flame inside me. There would be no college. And even if there was one, a married man could not possibly take the time to learn something as complex as medicines. It could take years, I knew, to complete school for that. It would cost money, too, lots of money. Money that I didn't have.

My shoulders slumped as that idea quickly evaporated. I began pacing again. I needed a different plan. Ugh! How frustrating this was! Thinking so hard to come up with a way to live a life with a woman whom I was beginning to loath. How was I going to endure her? I could barely read her letters without become annoyed. How would I stand to live the rest of my life with her?

I had turned off my light and lay down to sleep when it hit me. Break the engagement. Call off the wedding. I didn't know where the voice had come from, but it had shed some new light on the situation. Was it possible? Maybe it was easier than I thought to simply go to Maria and tell her that I had no intentions of marrying her. I rolled over on my back and stared up at the ceiling. My father would me very angry, of course. My mother would be disappointed. Maria's parents would be livid. I bit my lip. Which was worse? The wrath of my family or a life in the city with nothing to look forward to in life except a frustrating wife who was more interested in dresses then perhaps the fire that had begun burning down the house after she had accidentally knocked over a candle in her distress at not having a matching hat to her gloves?

A smile broke over my face. I could endure my family's anger. Compared to that scenario, I could endure anything. I could and I would.

Jesse's death is going to spread over two chapters. :) Sorry. Now you have to wait for chapter 5! Mwahahahaha.

Disclaimer: I did not write the Mediator series, and I own none of these characters. The only things I have come up with on my own are Jesse's thoughts and the prelude of his death.