Chapter Four
Later that evening, when I was back at home, Marilyn came to visit. She looked so confused.
"That was really Dom?" she asked. I nodded. "It's been so long… he's so old now!" I shrugged.
"Even if you had stayed around with him, he would still be the same age as he is now." She sighed.
"I know… it's just…" she trailed off, deep in thought, then turned to me suddenly. "Why did he become a priest?" I just looked at her calmly.
"Did he have any intentions of going into the seminary when you knew him?" She shook her head.
"None. Well, he was always very religious. He'd go to church every Sunday, fast before mass, and didn't eat meat on Fridays. But he never wanted to join the seminary. He said… he said that he wanted to get married." My heart went out to the two of them.
"Maybe," I said slowly, "he did want to get married. But when he thought the woman he loved was gone forever, he decided to take another route." She looked at me blankly for a moment, but then a look of realization dawned on her face.
"You mean… he became a priest? Because of me?" She looked both heartbroken and pleased that he cared about her so much. But then she started to cry. "Why is it so hard? Why don't things just work out the way they're supposed to?"
"I know how you feel," I said, going over to rub her back. "I know."
"No you don't! You and Jesse are just so perfect, I doubt you've ever had any problems!" I chalked it up to a jealous resentment, and didn't get angry.
"Yes, we have," I said gently, and decided to tell her the truth. "The thing is… Jesse used to be a ghost. He was haunting this room when I moved here. And, well, we faced the same problems that you and Father Dom faced." She looked confused.
"How…?"
"It's a long story," I said, sighing. "How he came back, it really isn't repeatable. His was a…special case."
"Because you were in love with him," she said simply. I nodded.
"But I didn't intend to bring him back to life. It was actually an accident." I summarized the events of that night. Marilyn looked sad.
"I just wish Dom and I were given that chance," she said forlornly. "That we could ever, possibly, maybe have a future." She paused for a moment. "Well, I'll let you finish your homework." I glanced at the open notebook on my desk. "Bye, Suze."
The open heartbreak, the longing, the love in her voice struck me, and I felt for her.
And I knew what I was going to do.
"Wait, Marilyn," I said, and she stayed. "I want you to tell me everything you remember about the day you died."
"Oh. Um, okay," she said uncertainly. "It was in April, I think. No, it was the first day of May. I was walking home from school, when a car ran through a red light and hit me. I think. I'm not entirely sure what happened."
"What street were you crossing?" I asked. Her face screwed up as she searched for details.
"Fourth Street. At the corner of Fourth and Sycamore Avenue." I ran through the database in my brain of local geography, and I remembered that it was a few blocks away from the Mission Academy, toward the newer section of town (newer being a relative term, as most of it was built in the 40s and 50s.). I also recalled that the Sacred Heart Girl's School was there.
"So this was maybe about 3:00?" I asked. She looked contemplative.
"A bit after. I was with Mary Sue and Barbara, and we stopped for milkshakes at the drug store. So more like 3:30, I think." I jotted this down on my science notebook, right next to my notes about the skeletal structure of the human being.
"Great. Thanks," I said.
"You're welcome," she replied, a bit puzzled. Then she disappeared.
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The next morning, I went to go see Father Dom. He was in his office, and he was a bit embarrassed to see me, after his breakdown the day before. I, however, got right to the point.
"Father D," I said, as I sat down in the chair across from him, "Where did you live when you knew Marilyn? When she died?" He looked at me suspiciously.
"Susannah, what are you--"
"I'm mediating, Father," I said, cutting him off. "I'm trying to figure out what her story is. And since you're involved in what's happening with her, I need to know what your story is." He sighed.
"I was a freshman, at St. Francis Boy's College. That's what it used to be called—it joined up with the Holy Mother School for Girls in 1978, to become Carmel College, and since then, Carmel University." He paused, and rubbed his chin in thought. "I guess she came to me in the spring of 1959. May, probably. She was only a sophomore at the local girl's school when she died."
"Did you live at the dorms there?" I asked. He nodded.
"Yes, with the other students." He glanced at one of the pictures on his desk, and I picked it up and looked at it.
It was a black-and-white picture of four college-aged guys, sitting at a table in a restaurant. Or a bar.
But knowing Father Dom, probably a restaurant.
"Which one is you?" I asked, feigning innocent curiosity. He pointed to the second one on the right.
He had been very handsome as a teenager, and surely as he got older, as well. I bet he broke more than one heart when he became a priest.
Most startling, though, was his dark hair. It was weird to see him as a brunette, when I was used to his snowy white hair. Even so, despite the 45 years and the hair color change, it was clearly the same person.
"Those were my three closest friends, before I joined the seminary. Henry, Matt, and Charlie." All of them were attractive, too, in different ways.
The bell rang, and he looked at the clock. "My goodness, Susannah, you'd best get to class. Mr. Hale will not be pleased you're late… here's a pass," he said, as he scribbled my name on a loose scrap of paper.
"Thanks, Father Dominic," I said, and I slipped out of his office.
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"And what's your knee cap called?" Jesse asked patiently.
"Patenna?"
"Patella," he corrected. "And your breastbone?"
"Sterviun?" He gave me a funny look.
"Sternum," he said.
"But it says sterviun right here!" I protested. "I copied it right from the text book!" Jesse looked perplexed.
"Let me see," he said, and I shoved my notebook at him.
We were actually studying biology, at his kitchen table. I had a big test tomorrow, and he promised to help me memorize the skeletal system.
"Honestly, Susannah, it says sternum. You just can't read your own writing." He rolled his eyes. Then something caught his attention.
"Susannah, what's this? '4th and Sycamore, 3:30, May 1, 1959'?" I grabbed the notebook from him.
"Nothing. Just some stuff about Marilyn's death." He raised an eyebrow.
"What is so important about the exact time of her death?" I shrugged, not looking him in the eye.
"Just taking notes," I said vaguely, and started looking back at my text book. "Now, the vertebrae--" I began reading, but the book snapped shut, and I saw Jesse's accusing glare boring into me.
"You want to go back, don't you? To prevent her death?" I tried to look affronted, but failed horribly.
Jesse really can read me like a book.
"No!" I denied vehemently, but then immediately implicated myself by continuing. "Besides, it's my job. To mediate. To fix things."
"Nombre de Dios, Susannah, no it isn't!" He stood up, and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "Not to risk your life to prevent a girl's death! You can't do that, trying to keep people from dying. Not by going back in time. Don't mess with God's plan." I snorted, unable to help myself.
"What about you, then? It was God's plan for you to die 150 years before meeting me?" He struggled for words.
We were both strongly of the opinion that we were meant to be together. I thought of it as fate. He saw it more as Divine Plan.
"But bringing me back was an accident," he said finally. "You weren't trying to." He paused, to try to figure it out. "Damn it, Susannah, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Time travel is too confusing. There are too many ways to mess up. How do you know that if you keep Marilyn from dying, that you'll ever meet me? That you'll ever move to Carmel? That you'll ever be born?"
"It didn't change that much when I brought you back," I argued.
"But, querida, you didn't change that much. I was still gone. I just didn't die. But if Marilyn didn't die, you have no idea what the consequences would be."
I couldn't think of a retort, so I just crossed my arms and pouted maturely. Jesse sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
"Susannah, querida," he said, far more gently. He scooted his chair closer to mine, and pulled me into his arms. "Don't do it. Don't risk your life that way. I don't know what I'd do if you died, if I lost you," he whispered.
The argument I had in my head forgotten, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest.
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Later on, after Jesse and I had made out for a while, I went home to finish my homework. Although, once I was up in my room and halfway done with my English paper, I called up Paul.
"Why, Susie. To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked upon picking up.
"I was hoping we could get together later tonight. I have something I want to talk to you about."
"Finally realize I'm the one you wanted all this time? Kick de Silva to the curb?" he asked smoothly. I rolled my eyes.
"Get over yourself, Paul. It's about shifting."
"Of course, Suze. Why don't you come over in an hour?" he said.
"Thanks, Paul. I'll see you then." I hung up, and continued working on my homework.
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An hour later, sure enough, Jake pulled up in front of Paul's house and dropped me off. Paul opened the door, and let me in. Jake drove off, and Paul got me a diet coke and led me to sit down in the living room.
"So, Suze, what's your question?" he asked, sipping his own Coke.
"I want to know more about time travel," I said. "I mean, I know we did it back in November… but that was sort of spur of the moment on my part. And I was just hoping you knew a bit more about it… and the risks involved, and stuff." He looked contemplative.
"Well, there are, of course, risks of brain cell loss. And headaches that hurt like a bitch, but you know about those already, from shifting. But last time, you were fine, so I don't think time travel is such a huge risk for you. Not so much as a regular mediator who does it, or a weaker shifter."
"Mediators can do it? I thought…" I began in confusion, but he interrupted me.
"Well, mediators who do it along side of shifters. Sort of like how we can shift into Shadowland with another spirit, or person, we can shift through time. They're actually pretty similar, just into different dimensions." He paused. "But most of the permanent damage is from repeated time travel. If you do it all the time, you'll end up like my grandpa, who can barely drool without help from Mark. But once or twice usually doesn't leave any lasting effects, except the migraine and maybe a tiny bit of memory loss." I looked at him, startled. "It's very minor. You will just become a typical, forgetful person with a few trips into the past. You know, you'll forget where you put your glasses and misplace stuff all the time. But that's status quo for most people."
"Okay," I said, relieved. Then he got suspicious.
"Why are you asking? You aren't planning to go back for anything, are you?"
"No!" I said quickly. He laughed, and leaned back in his chair across from me.
"Suze, I don't really care, as long as it's for a good reason." He narrowed his eyes. "You don't want to go back for that Marilyn girl, do you? Suze, I mean, she's nice enough, as far as ghosts go, but don't risk it for her."
"I'm not doing it for her," I said stubbornly. "I'm doing it for her and Father Dom. For the principle of it. Because it's the right thing to do."
He shook his head, with a smirk on his face. "You're such a philanthropist," he said. "It's going to come back and kick you in the ass one of these days."
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It was so close to 3:00, when the bell would ring. I was jiggling my foot, tapping my pencil, and looking at the lock every 5 seconds. Adam gave me a weird look.
"Waiting for something?" he asked curiously. I forcibly calmed myself down.
"Just anxious to get out of school," I said simply. He nodded.
"Hey, do you and Jesse want to meet Cee Cee and me at the Clutch after school?" I bit my lip.
"Sorry, I can't. I have… stuff to do," I said vaguely. He didn't seem convinced, yet accepted my apologies.
The bell finally rang, and I gathered my things quickly and bolted out the door. I was crossing the courtyard when I spotted a familiar navy blue car, and I quickly left the campus on the other side, to avoid running into Jesse. Hopefully, I would only be gone for about ten minutes, and he wouldn't realize I was gone.
I walked down the street, getting ever nearer to 4th and Sycamore. My heart was speeding up in anticipation.
When I got there, I went into the coffee shop on the corner. The building was built in the mid-1950s, and though the coffee shop opened several years ago, I know it used to be part of a larger department store that took up most of the block.
Hoping for the best, I went in, and found the bathrooms. I had been in here before, and I knew the bathrooms in the coffee shop were original to the building (when I first moved here, Andy gave me the architectural and renovation history of wherever we went—I think I'm the only one in Carmel who knows when they expanded Safeway).
Once I was in there, I put my hand to the wall, closed me eyes, and concentrated. Really hard.
I opened my eyes, and looked at my surroundings. The paint on the wall was a light, dusty pink color, and it looked fresher. The sink was new, but an old model. I carefully opened the door, and found myself looking at racks of emerald green belted, silk dresses—not the sparsely populated tables, covered with newspapers and cups of coffee.
I was back. I was in 1959.
I walked through the near empty store, and a saleswoman saw me and jumped. "Sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize anyone was in there," she said, and I smiled weakly, and continued out the door without saying anything.
There was a large clock on the corner of the building, and I saw that it was 3:20. I watched people walk by, analyzing their faces, looking for Marilyn, as a breeze whipped my hair. Nearly 10 minutes passed, until I heard a girlish giggle, and I turned.
Walking down the street were three girls, with saddle shoes, full skirts, and short sleeve sweaters. One girl had cat-eye classes. The girl next to her was unmistakably Marilyn.
As I stood up from the bench and started to approach them, Marilyn's books fell from her arms, and a gust of wind scattered her papers onto Fourth St.
"Oh no!" she cried, and hurried out to get them. Her friends called her back, but I was the only one who saw the black Cadillac speeding down, despite the red light, unable to see her.
Quickly, I set into motion. I darted into the street, grabbed her sweater, and heaved both of us backwards to the curb just as the wheel of the tire shredded her papers against the pavement.
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Okay, I think I'll end this here… Sorry I haven't updated in a few days, but I've just been in this depressed funk all week that I'm still trying to shake (today didn't make it any better), and haven't really been in the mood to write. I hope to get the next chapter up sometime next week.
Please review!