- - -

Chapter 3: Spooky

Same old bat time. Same old bat place.

As usual, I was sat in the Principle's office instead of my morning class.

And, as usual, it was because Father Dominic was on one of his daily rants.

This one happened to be about Jesse.

Alright, so he wasn't urging me to wait until the two of us were married to, uh, give into our undying lust (oh, yeah, right) for one another. He was just on about Jesse's 'exceptionally important reintegration' into the living and breathing community and my boyfriend's latest hobby: job hunting.

"He's found a small studio apartment in the Valley," Father D was saying, blissfully ignorant of the fact that I was much more interested in his window's view of the ocean. "Simply perfect for his needs. Also, I've managed to call in some, ah, help and put together a valid birth certificate and sufficient credentials as to get him by for now, at least."

"Uh huh," This was my favourite non-committal noise of late, one I used rather a lot around poor Father D when he was giving his speeches. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy them very much.

He sighed, probably because he realised I hadn't been listening.

"Onto more pressing issues, Susannah," he cleared his throat to get my attention.

I looked at him, suspicious but focused for the first time in half an hour.

"You've decided to upgrade the cafeteria?"

"No, Susannah. Decidedly more ghostly issues."

Oh. This was that talk.

"I haven't seen any. Not even a smudge of ectoplasm." I informed him, unable to keep the note of pride out of my voice. "Obviously we're doing something right. Or no-one's croaked recently."

Father Dominic gave me the sympathetic expression he saves for the depraved or the non-believers such as myself. I suppose I should try harder to feel even a tiny bit of empathy for the poor suckers I banish to the afterlife.

On the other hand, it is kinda hard to contain my relief at being rid of them. My lack of compassion is one of the reasons for Father D's despair.

"I didn't call you here to ask about your incidents with the deceased, however I am profoundly glad that none have crossed your path recently."

I was a little hurt by that. Was I really that bad at dealing with ghosts?

I wasn't lying, though. Since Jesse's, uh, rebirth, the only ghost the two us us had seen put together was my Dad, and we both knew he wouldn't be turning up unannounced anymore.

"Sooo," I dragged out the word as long as possible, hoping to drag Father Dominic's point out of him before I hit fifty.

"We seem to have a girl with a seemingly hostile ghostly companion." he said in a rush.

That was unusual. Ordinarily, it's me who runs into - all too frequently and literally, if you ask me - the wandering souls of the undead.

Nevertheless, Father Dominic's discovery meant that my social life for the next week was as good as cancelled.

Damn ghosts.

There was a pause.

"So, you want me to find the person, or talk to the spook?" No problem. I was pretty eager to be rid of this, but come on, I'd only just got my social life on track and rolling. I did not need any more ghosts messing it up again.

"Susannah..." he began.

"Anyone I know?" I continued, musing but not listening; I was contemplating on all the warm nights with Jesse I'd miss out on because of this.

Father D sheepishly interrupted me. "Susannah, I'm not entirely sure of her name." was his sheepish explanation.

I stared at him.

And blinked.

"How can you not know who she is if you run the school?" I asked slowly, bemused.

"She doesn't attend, Susannah," Father D said with regret. "She was brought over to me yesterday by Sister Ernestine, after a small misunderstanding."

Oh. Oh.

The whole school was talking about Sister Ernestine's little run-on with some kick-ass bitch from England. The renditions of the incident got even more insane as time progressed, but one thing's for sure: the nun's pride has been crushed in a way that can only be accounted for by complete defeat.

"You mean the kid who gave Sister Ernestine an earful in front of half the high schoolers?"

He winced at my, uh, blunt terminology. "That would be the one," he confirmed, somewhat glumly. "She said her name was Vetris, but I never did get her first name. The only other thing I found out was that she was visiting from out of town."

Yeah. And that hadn't been obvious from the accent with which she spoke.

I was kinda sore that I'd missed the Sister's humiliation - I'd been on my way to the student council meeting - joy . At the previous weekly gathering of peers, associates and adolescents, Kelly had told me that if I were late once more because of anything other than class, she'd drop kick my butt off the council faster than you could say "you're out".

And I know what Ceecee would do to me if I lost my vice-presidency over mere tardiness.

"Is that it?" I asked, feeling stupid. I think it was hitting the both of us just how long it's take to track down someone with only half a name, especially if they were only visiting Carmel.

Which, in case you were wondering, was sure to be a long time.

Which sucked.

I'd probably have to sacrifice more than a feel of my social life. Damn damn.

"We'll have to look around. I wondered if Paul might help."

Whoa. The situation must be bad, if Father D was opting to enlist Paul's help, knowing full well that he was a worse reputation for kicking ghosts' butts than I do. And as far I was aware, both Paul and Father D seemed to have come to a mutual agreement to ignore the one another's existence.

How I hated being the middle man.

"You sure about that?" I asked, trying to sound off-hand rather than concerned.

"Not entirely, Susannah," he sighed once again, "but we require all the help we can get."

He was not wrong there.

"What exactly are you planning on having us do?" I queried, suspicious again.

"We'll have to keep our eyes open and search the local hired accommodation for any regular, um, haunts, of our ghostly friend."

That ghost can go choke on the irony, I thought bitterly.

- - -

"Honestly, it was the funniest thing I've seen in ages."

For the third time this lunch, Ceecee was helping Adam narrate the events of Sister Ernestine and the Girl With Attitude.

I hadn't really been listening; my corn dog was in my hand an I was deciding whether or not hunger was worth being poisoned.

"Anyone know who she was?" I asked abruptly, surprising even myself.

"Um. No." Ceecee seemed weirded out by my sudden question. "I'm not sure anyone knew her. I've never seen her around before."

"I heard she's staying somewhere close," Adam said from his position, sprawled out on the floor next to our picnic table. "She took the bus when she left."

"How'd you know that?" Ceecee demanded, stung.

"I'm exceptionally observant," Adam immediately responded. Ceecee's trig book hit him in the side of his the head, and he faked a dramatic death scene. Most of the crowd around us laughed. The two were dating, if by dating you mean they were together in every meaning of the word except neither of them would admit it. It was irritating at times, but hey, who am I to stand in the way of love?

Adam mumbled something about unfair violence and Cee glared at him. Same old, same old.

"Hey. Save it, you two." I said, making Adam grin and the albino flush a furious magenta.

That lunch, I'm pretty sure every kid who passed by the courtyard that Heather - you remember her, right? Crazy homicidal maniac...? - had almost ruined was looking for whoever it was who had shown up and then disappeared again yesterday. This included me, although I knew full well that she wouldn't be there. It's never that simple with ghosts and their living counterparts.

"Watch it, Simon," a voice drawled just in front of me. I blinked several times in rapid succession as I came back to reality.

"Oh. Hi." I told Paul as I paused, mid-step.

"Dazed, much?" he asked me, evidently amused.

"Not often," I countered defensively.

"Sure," he replied with an easy smile and just a little sarcasm.

By now most people were filtering out of the halls, 'cause the metaphorical bell had rung and it was time for class again. Why did Paul always choose this time to stalk me?

"Father D needs your help, by the way," I told him in a low voice, making sure I wasn't overheard by the novices who were getting more twitchy by the second.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why on Earth would the good Father need me?"

I sighed. He just had to make stuff complicated.

"We've got some girl running round with a ghost following her."

"It's not you is it? I know how fond you are of ghosts and stuff-"

I shot him down with "If it was me, I wouldn't be telling you."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Good point," he conceded.

"So," he continued after a moment. "Anyone I know?"

"You hear about Sister Ernestine's run in yesterday?" I asked.

"Suze, I was there. Stop changing the subj-"

"So you saw the girl. Did you get a good look at her face?"

For a moment he didn't seem to comprehend what I'd said and so just stood where he was, looking blankly at me. Then the realisation dawned, and he smirked in a way that told me yes, he'd got a very good look.

"We gotta find her," I said, trying to draw the conversation along. "Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what, Suze? You know I'm not good with charity cases." I'd started walking away, and so he'd used a statement that he knew I'd never be able to resist commenting on. Damn him to hell.

"So you're gonna miss out on talking to the oblivious pretty chick 'cause you're no good with ghosts?"

Paul gave me one of the contemplative looks he adopts when I surprise him. I still don't think he's realised that I'm exceptionally kick-ass.

"Just think on it, Paul. Tell when you've decided she's worth it."

I felt smug. It's such a shame I was heading to Math class - I'd have felt better if I knew I wasn't suddenly gonna be overrun with algebra.

Seriously, what're letters doing in mathematical equations, anyway?

- - -

Have I ever mentioned that, if you want to hear a story re-told, that Dopey really isn't the person you should go to?

For the fiftieth time in twenty-four hours, he was telling us - with accompanying hand gestures - of how Sister Ernestine's days are numbered, how he'd started a rebellion in the name of the students and whoever it was had shot the Sister down. He'd detoured from the actual events of yesterday - I could tell this straight away without actually having been present at the event in question.

His story would've probably sounded more plausible if he'd added a few dragons.

"Brad," I interjected quickly before he had a chance to start again. "How about you give the storytelling a rest and actually focus on the driving?"

He cursed a few times, a habit he has when he can't think of a good enough retort (which, to be fair, happens quite often) then sulked as he turned onto Pine Crest Road.

Half the driveway was taken up by someone else's car, and this did not improve my stepbrother's mood. Muttering increasing colourful curses, he slammed the parking brake on, turned off the engine, yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car without a word. Me and Doc exchanged looks before heaving ourselves and our baggage out of the Jeep.

This was when I looked at the other car's liscence number, and thought it looked familiar. Frowning, I stumbled up the front door still wondering where I'd seen the car before.

"Suzie," my mom called as I stepped inside, "there's someone waiting for you upstairs."

"Anyone I know?" I yelled back, my foot already on the first step.

My mom's head appeared around the door. "Very funny, Suze."

Already I was halfway upstairs and not paying attention. I had a hunch now, and felt stupid for not realising sooner.

It's Wednesday. Jesse's always here Wednesday.

Why did he have to come the day I was, metaphorically, plagued with ghosts?

Deep in thought, I flung the door open then stopped quite suddenly in the doorway, contemplative.

There he was, sat on my on the seat of my bay window, just like he used to when he was his old ghostly self. Spike was, as was the norm whenever Jesse was around, sat on his knee, purring like a tank while Jesse scratched behind his ears and hummed softly to himself.

I was, as usual, completely caught up for a moment by how awesome my life had turned out, all of a sudden. Jesse looked up and blinked once, probably weirded out by how odd I was acting.

Although, really, he should be more than used to it by now.

"Um. Hi." I said, finally figuring out how to get my legs to propel me into the room and m arms to dump my bags somewhere out of the way.

"Susannah," Jesse smiles in that way that makes my heart melt. Every time.

"How was your day?" he asked, looking down at Spike for a moment, as the cat as stretched a paw out and batted Jesse's hand to get his attention. Damn cat.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, hoping my less-than-sunny mood went unnoticed.

Yeah. No such luck.

"What is it?" Jesse asked me abruptly, just as I'd opened my mouth to prattle on about how Father D said hi, school's all going good, yada yada yada.

"What's what?" I said, feigning innocence.

"What," he continued, looking at me pointedly, shifting Spike aside so he could stand up and tower over me with all his six-and-a-bit feet, "has got you looking so..." he trailed off, surveying me with the warm, dark eyes I love so much.

"Surprised?" I queried. "Confused? Annoyed? Shifty?"

Constipated?

"Discontent," he said softly, after a moment. He sat down beside me and stared me in the eyes in a way that made me feel as though he had X-ray vision. Oh yeah, my boyfriend, the back-from-the-dead superhero.

"Um." was all I said.

"Susannah," Jesse murmured quietly, "talk to me."

He'd reached for my hand, but instead of clinging on, which would've been my usual response, all I did was let myself fall backwards onto my carefully stacked cushions.

Why does he always know what I'm thinking?

"Ghosts," I told him, with not a hint of bitterness in my voice.

He raised an eyebrow. The tiny white scar about it whitened slight against his lightly tanned skin - it reminded me so much of the times I'd noticed the exactl same scar while Jesse was suffering through his last few ghostly months.

"What did it - they, whoever - want?"

"The ghost? I don't' know. Father D noticed her, but..."

"But?" he was nudging my pieced-together explanation along with as much patience as he could muster, I knew.

"But," I propped myself upright on my elbows and valiantly attempted to continue with some kind of purposeful tone, "she disappeared before he could say anything."

"Why is Father Dominic so concerned?"

I peered at him suspiciously. "Have you been talking to him?" I asked, wondering why the hell he'd let me explain if he already knew. He shook his head gently.

"Not today, Susannah. I haven't spoken to him since Monday."

"Oh," I stated, defeated. "Well, apparently some chick with attitude has done something that mean this ghost's tailing her wherever she goes."

"And?" There he was, nudging again.

"And," I emphasized the word so much it almost sounded like a complaint, "Father D wants us all out looking for her. Them," I corrected myself automatically.

There was an awkward pause. I sighed, then plowed on, abandoning all attempts at subtlety and tact.

"With Paul."

"Susannah..." Jesse interjected with that low tone that made me wish I'd never brought the subject up.

"Jesse," I interrupted before I could get the This-Really-Isn't-A-Good-Idea speech. "Relax. Father D said so. He thinks we need all hands on deck, especially if we have some spook with murderous tendencies out to get someone..." the very last thing I needed right now was a murder.

After a while, he nodded. "I'll come with you."

I relaxed. Not only had I been going to ask him, I would've insisted - I don't frequently go ghost hunting with Paul, but I had the vaguest idea that it really wasn't going to be very fun. Besides, there' hardly been a chance that Jesse had said he wouldn't go; he's far too gentlemanly for that. Compared to those of one hundred and fifty years ago, manners nowadays really suck.

Jesse chuckled softly to himself, obviously finding my manner amusing. Huh. I threw my pillow at him. With complete ease he caught it, dumped it back on the bed beside him and smiled. In spite of myself, I laughed.

I like Wednesdays.

- - -

The phone rang.

"Hello," I answered, "House of Weird. Who's calling?"

"Uh, okay. Can I talk to the vaguely sane Suze for a minute?"

"Paul?" I felt drowsy, suddenly. "What is it?"

"Jesse's there, isn't he?" he seemed amused.

It's infuriating that he can read me so easily.

"He just left. Why?" I sounded suspicious, but I didn't particularly care. "Not planning any kind of supernatural voodoo, are you?"

"Uh, no. Actually, the opposite. Keeping my open mind on benevolence towards the spirit folk, as it were. When were you planning on making your ghostly excursion with lover boy?"

"Hey, hold up, hotshot," I told him. "You're not coming with us."

"You said it yourself, you need my help. Even good old Father Dominic agreed. You're not getting out of this one."

I started to mutter under my breath, annoyed. Men. Obstinate, stuck up, egotistical...

"Suze?"

"Fine," I grumbled. "We're starting tomorrow. Just, one thing."

"Be good? Aren't I always?"

"Play nice," I told him tiredly.

"You know me, Suze..." he hung up with what I'm sure was cut-short laughter.

Yeah, I know you, Paul. That's why I don't want you screwing this up.

Again.

I dropped the phone back into place then turned around. Spike was settled nicely on his pillow on my bay window - curtains closed, window tight shut - my schoolbags were shoved in a corner where no-one would trip over them, and I was stood, unusually drowsy, in the middle of my bedroom waiting for the right time to collapse into the waiting arms of irresistable slumber.

I was so damn glad I had no geometry homework.

The lights extinguished themselves when I clapped, and I wormed my way under the covers and landed face down in my pile of pillows. Sleep came willingly, I found. I could have almost slept for a week.

I wasn't welcomed by all-encompassing unconsciousness, however. I wound myself walking through a familiar door-lined corridor, with thin, smoky tendrils curling around my ankles.

I was pretty sure I was dreaming.

My steps echoed eerily as I moved forward. Instead of the terrifying silence I was used to when I stood here, I heard a faint roaring noise that reminded me of the distant noise the ocean makes when you listen carefully on a quiet night. I moved forwards a little more quickly, nervous and on edge.

The noise was oddly comforting and, if I closed my eyes tightly and put enough effort into it, it was sufficient that I could practically see, taste and small the ocean before me. After a minute I could breathe again.

When my eyes finally opened, slowly, I was back in that corridor, starlight seeping down through what could've been tiny pinprick holes in the ceiling, twinkling with cold indifference.

It's one thing to be alone in a place that out hate; it's quite another to know that the place you hate and fear the most could well be the last place you'll see.

I was shivering ridiculously in a breeze that wasn't there; I could feel something slow, cold and murderous crawling into my heart and I couldn't even move to stop it taking a hold on me. After what could have, possibly, been decades, I wrenched myself away from the cluster of doors and stumbled awat, where I plowed headfirst into a heavy, lurking mist that stretched... forever.

My first thought was to try and waft it away; my second was to continue running right on through. My third was to turn and run back the way I'd come. Evidently I was not feeling myself: had I been, I'd have chosen the ever elusive option D: kick the crap out of whoever had summoned me here.

The roaring was growing louder, along with a very faint spectral glow quite a way off in the distance, further than I've ever travelled in the in-between. It stretched as far as I could see to either side and seemed to ripple like wind over water. It was strange but mesmerising.

To my distaste, I was getting colder as minutes progressed. The moisture in the air was practically freezing into little droplets of ice around me. Give it a minute and it'd be like my own personal hailstorm.

That's when I noticed it.

That spectral entity was headed straight for me, all bluish grey and glowy. It wasn't water. Or wind, even. It was nowhere even close.

It was ghosts.

Hundreds, maybe, I was in too much shock to count. I sucked in a sharp breath and realised they seemed to be skipping through cracks in the walls beside doors, all of white stood motionless, desolate and now pretty much obsolete.

As a mass of pure paranormal energy, they swarmed, figures blurring into one another seamlessly.

Coming my way.

Turning and running wasn't an option. I'm not stupid nor egotistical enough to think I can take over a hundred ghosts at ones. I didn't even have the kind of concentration left that would help me catapult myself back to reality. I was well and truly stuck.

As the sea of ghostly faces loomed towards me, I tried to step backwards. My feet felt heavy, but I moved. Barely.

Oh no, I couldn't stop myself thinking. Someone help me.

I braced myself as the ghostly tidal wave crashed and roared towards me. I screwed up my face, threw up my arms and hoped to God that something would intervene and stop me being crushed by a few tonnes of the unhappy dead.

I felt nothing. Not even the slightest rustle you get when someone walks quickly past you.

When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by excessively lacy canopy of my four-poster and a blinking clock that told me it was twelve minutes past four.

Oh, and my heart racing so fast it had breached the sound barrier.

- - -

AN :: I SO TOLD YOU SHE'D SHOW UP.

On another note, I'm trying different viewpoints. For the minute I have no plans to go any further than the two we've seen, though this may be subject to change.

Muffins have been left out by the review table, because apparently no-one likes cookies anymore. =[

To end on a high note, though...

WHO YA GUNNA CALL?