Okay, I've deleted that author's note, and I think that all the reviews for
that chapter get deleted too. I mean, it's not fair to just let all those
sympathy reviews clog up the story ones. I just want to take a moment to
say how deeply, truly touched I am. All of you, you are so beautiful, what
you all said and how sensitive you were. Thank you so, so much. I hope you
like the chapter, I really do . . .
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Wednesday passed without event, except that Dopey got his pants caught on a door handle as he was passing to go to P.E, and kind of ripped. That brought the house down, that did. But other than that, nothing much happened at school, and on Thursday, Father Dom demanded to know exactly what I'd done to Heather and Bryce, thinking I'd exorcised them. I set him straight, and then he went and harangued my about the collapsed breezeway and the now headless Father Juniperro Serra. Oopsie. I told him I didn't know what the hell happened, but he seemed to think it happened during our fighting. Maybe it did, but I was so sure that Heather didn't knock it off . . . Maybe I'm missing something?
Anyway, that Thursday afternoon, me and CeeCee were having a big Buffy marathon. She has all the videos up to Season 6, and we just kept on watching all the funny ones again, like "Once more, with feeling," Tabula Rasa," "Gone," "Something Blue," and I think the other one was "Hush." By one o'clock, we'd learnt all the songs from the musical extravaganza, "Once more, with feeling."
'It could be witches, some evil witches,' I rapped.
'But that's ridiculous, 'coz witches, they were persecuted, wicked good and love the earth and women power, and I'll be over here,' she sang rapidly, quoting Xander. We both cracked up, and I ditched a pillow at her.
I dug my hand into the bowl of popcorn her mum had prepared, and scoffed a handful in a rather unladylike manner.
'If you don't like the way I drive, then get off the sidewalk!' I yelled, and we both giggled hysterically. I threw popcorn at her. 'And, if life gives you lemons, squeeze the juice into a water gun and squirt it into other people's eyes!'
'No, this one! If your treat a woman like an object, that's just wrong . . . but if your treat and object like a WOMAN, that's just DISGUSTING!'
We roared with laughter, and I had a stitch now. Ow . . .
'Suze,' she said, suddenly serious.
'Popcorn?' I offered the bowl. She gave me a hard look. Okay, major stuff then. 'Yah huh?'
She sighed heavily. 'Look, be honest, I can take it . . . Do you think I have a chance?'
I blinked, and slurped on my can of Vanilla Coke. 'Er, a little more description would help. I mean, of course you have a chance, say in getting say, Homecoming Queen. I just, er, don't think you will-'
'Suze,' she snapped, 'Seriously. I mean with Adam. I mean, he's obviously obsessed with you.'
I choked into the Coke can.
It kind of dribbled out of my nose, too.
But yeah.
'What?!' I demanded, my eyes critical, and my nose running painfully. Has that ever happened to you? It HURTS, man!
She gave me a jealous look. 'Oh, come on, the way he's been hanging around you, talking to you in hushed voices, it's a bit noticeable. I mean, you're not exactly hiding the relationship.'
'Relationship?' I squeaked, and then burst out laughing. Nose still stinging . . . 'My God, NO! Adam, I just told him something, and he seems to think it concerns him. It doesn't. There's no relationship, Cee. I don't like him, he don't like me, okay?'
She glared a little more, with her lip sticking out a little, but then sighed. 'Sorry, Suze. It's just, I've liked him since forever, and he doesn't even know I'm alive.'
Ha . . . that would be a whole different story in my world . . . Alive.
Her head drooped down, and she turned off the TV, so Sarah Michelle Gellar and James Marsters' face zoomed into a tiny squared and then into blackness.
'Cee,' I said, 'I think you should ask him out.'
She looked at me as if I'd just told her high grades in History counted for nothing. 'No, Suze, that'd be so stupid! He'd totally say no. He . . . ' she trailed off, looking very depressed all of a sudden.
I clicked my tongue supportively.
'I mean,' she burst out, 'you're going out with that Jesse guy! Now, there's some major eye candy, Suze. You're always so lucky.'
Always? Uh huh . . .
I snorted cynically. 'I wish, Cee.'
'No, really!' she continued, 'I mean, Jesse De Silva. He's Spanish, isn't he?'
'Latino.'
'See? Latino! Yummy, yum yum. I could never rope down one of them.'
'Sure you could,' I said. 'You're all pretty and smart, and stuff. All I have going for me is . . . the fact that my toes aren't munted. Have you ever seen those really long, bendy toes? I SO don't have screwy toes. And I punch hard, too.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Get over yourself, Simon. You're a huge catch.'
'Am not!' I shouted indignantly, but realized a little late that it was a compliment, not an insult.
It was almost five now . . .
I then tunneled into my bag to get out my pajamas, only to find that I was clean out of them.
'Oooh, crud,' I said thoughtfully.
'What is it?' She sounded mega gloomy now. Great. CeeCee in a sook? Yeah, not so hot.
'I'm out of clothes,' I told her, incredulous.
She shrugged. 'Borrow mine.'
'Nah,' I said, 'I'll just go over to my house and get s-' I stopped, and my eyes glazed over.
Er Suze? Remember last time? Not your brightest idea . . .
I turned away from CeeCee quickly.
'Suze? What were you saying?' she asked, frowning and crawling over to face me.
'Oh, nothing, just, last time mum and Andy were kind of, well, crabby. That's all.'
She looked sad for me. 'Do you want me to go and get some of your stuff?'
No, don't let her go. Paul will get her. Paul will kill her! Paul will –
Not even touch her, Suze, she's not a mediator. Remember?
Oh yeah.
Brightening up, I smiled. 'Okay then. Can you get me some underwear, a couple of tops, and a few pairs of pants, you reckon?'
She grinned. 'No biggie. Let me go now.'
~*~
CeeCee's POV.
I don't know what was up with Suze. When I walked over – we don't like too far away – her mum answered the door and seemed to be in a decent mood. Not the mood of someone who was fighting with her new husband. Strange . . .
I put it out of my mind, and went up to Suze's room.
Whoa . . .
I raised my eyebrows as I absorbed all the smashed glass on the floor. Everything was sheer bedlam. The window was broken, and everything as really knocked around. Maybe this was where Brad practiced his wrestling? Or his foreplay?
o.O
Okay, even I know how gross that was . . .
Shrugging off the fact that my friend's room was in turmoil, I wandered over to her wardrobe, and picked out a few outfits that I thought looked nice. Well, whether Suze agreed was a different story. I mean, I like slacks, she likes cargo pants. I liked polo shirts, she likes V necks and tank tops. Mind, I can't be flaunting my albino skin around too much, but still, I always look classy, if I do say so myself. I can just see the say when Suze runs off to enroll in the Prescott Pussycats already.
Again, that was mean.
And just . . . weird.
I stuffed the garments into a plastic bag, and was about to leave, when I noticed something weird near the window.
A book.
No, it wasn't something like, uh, "Critical Theory since Plato" that I knew Suze would NEVER read.
Yeah, this book was a Danielle Steel book. But it wasn't the actual title I was concerned about, or whatever.
Nah, this book was kind of floating.
For your benefit, I will repeat: FLOATING.
I smirked, and walked right over to it, waving my hand over the top. No fishing line, weird. I frowned suspiciously at the book, looking at it from all angles, trying to find what was keeping it up there, when it just zoomed at me completely, and knocked me hard on the forehead.
'Ow!'
My hand shot to my head. That was so rude! That had been unfair! That –
. . . was illogical.
How –? What had happened?
This was getting way freaky now. I turned towards the door, but I saw that, on Suze's bed, the sheet was rising.
Floating.
Without anyone touching it!
There seemed to be a shape beneath it, like – like a person or something, but – but there wasn't anyone there! No one!
My mouth fell open, and a scream was being born in my throat –
That's when a hard force behind the sheet shoved me to the ground, and clamped an invisible hand over my mouth to prevent me from screaming . . .
**************************************************************************** ********
Paul's POV.
It was another day. Another day of letting my mind torture me, and making me relive the incident of my attempted murder.
You're a murderer, Paul.
Murderer . . .
Doesn't that word sound so damn condemnatory? So long, evil, drawn out, said with spite and odium, with pursed lips. A word that seems to slip from one's lips so easily, but with great motive.
Muuuuuuurrdererrrrrr . . .
Anger and hatred were kicking me around like some dirty rag, stamping on me like I had a cockroach under me. I felt like I was shit. No, I was shit.
Muuuuuuuurrdering ssssssshiiiit . . .
Oh, happy day.
Staring out the broken window all day, watching the see from so far away, and visualizing her walking back into my afterlife, forgiving me, well that was getting really dumb now. Because it was about as likely as her dying at 80 a virgin: it wasn't going to happen. Not if I could help it. And God, did I want to help.
But no.
She hated me.
Passionately.
Funnily enough, I think I loved her passionately.
Because, was this love? Or lust? I couldn't tell the difference. I knew that there was something inside making me disintegrate into black dust, making me squirm for her, sending me glorious, dark mirages of her, making me beg for her . . .
And begging is not something I have ever stooped so low for, I'll have you know.
So, this dark love was turning into obsession.
I had to have her.
I don't lose.
I don't lose.
I don't ever, EVER lose.
And not to some jackass prick who rides his horses and spouts off his Spanish and thinks he's so powerful, when he really never even knew what he was bloody messing with!
SCREW YOU, DE SILVA!
I was on my feet, hurling the chairs around the room again, smashing everything that seemed breakable. The noise soothed this terrible ache, this unquenchable yearning for the one thing I knew was out of even my reach –
NO!
You'll have her, Paul! She'll be crawling back to you! She'll be on her hands and knees, pleading for you to take her back! She'll want you like she never wanted anything in her life. She'll crave you, need you, SCREAM for you!
. . . Die for you . . .
Die for –
Oh for God's sake, wake up and smell the dog piss, Paul. That'll never happen . . .
I sank onto her bed again, defeated. I hung my head limply. What was the point of existence? I couldn't even do a Heather. Not literally "do" a Heather, Jesus, even that seemed appealing now just to get back at Suze. No, I meant kill myself.
No, Jesse already did that for you, remember? He shot you in the –
But I was forced out of my depression by the sound of the door opening. I jerked my head up wildly.
'Suze!' I yelled . . .
Hang on, who the hell?
It wasn't Suze at all. It was that little albino chick, Cindy or something. Nah, CeeCee. That's it. I glared at her. Stupid little bitch had gotten my hopes up . . . What was SHE doing here, tricking me like that?
My question was answered when she walked to Suze's wardrobe and began stuffing jeans and tops into a bag.
Why, that little . . .
She'd sent her friend over, just so she didn't have to see me! That BITCH! Just so she didn't have to talk to me, let me explain how sorry I was!
Well, if she thought she was going to get away with it that easily, she really shouldn't have sent anyone over. I glared at the albino, as she scanned the room with raised eyebrows. You know, she was kind of pretty in a very white kind of way.
Snow White.
I remembered then. She'd passed out or something when I was showering. I laughed in spite of myself. Suze had seen too. Bet you she wasn't half as disgusted as she pretended to be. Bet you she liked seeing me. That much of me.
That was when I decided. No more moping. It was time to play hard ball. If Suze wanted a fight, she was going to get it. But in the end, I was going to win. I was going to win her, and Jesse could go suck –
Oh, all right, I'll watch my language.
Smirking, suddenly blazing with a new fire that spurred me on, I concentrated dully on a book on the window seat, making it float.
Well, it sure got Snow White's attention. She looked alarmed, but then cynical. She marched over and then began inspecting the book from every perspective, trying to find a wire or something.
No wires, babe. I'm a no string puppet.
I controlled the book to hit her on the head, then, and I snorted when she let out a loud "Ow!" Total slapstick, I swear. I was laughing my head off by then. She narrowed her eyes at the book, which I had let fall to the floor. Man, she looked pissed. Laughing, I carried on with my briskly fashioned plan, and headed over to the bed, dragging Suze's white sheet off the bed. Snow White turned around hastily, and saw me floating towards her, looking like she was about to scream, when I knocked her to the floor, and covered her mouth to stop her from yelling. I knew for a fact that Mrs Ackerman was downstairs. That would be rather interesting if she popped up and saw CeeCee on the ground with an embodied blankie lying on top of her.
Focusing hard, I activated my power to be seen and heard. Like I said, it's impossible for you to do if you weren't a shifter in life. Not a mediator, a shifter. Young Jack wouldn't have stood a chance.
I dragged the sheet off my face, and gazed down at her. She blinked up at me, wide-eyed.
'If you scream,' I warned her, 'I will kill you . . .'
Her eyes went – if this was possible – even wider. I could see all of her misty purple irises. They had an enchanted look about them. Like, magic, or psychic or something. It was weird . . .
'Okay,' I smirked, and removed my hand. I offered my hand, but she didn't take it. She didn't want to touch me. Strange . . . I'm usually very gropeworthy.
She eyed me like I was some mutilated version of her reflection. 'W-What are you?' she demanded, losing the fearful façade.'
I laughed. 'Oh, me? I'm a ghost, Snow White.'
She went to argue, but froze. 'Huh?'
My smirk broadened. 'Snow White,' I repeated.
'I have a name!' she shrilled, glaring now. 'It's CeeCee!'
I wandered lazily towards her. 'Nah, I like Snow White better.'
I saw her gulp, and her neck became very thick. She was scared. But weren't they all? Back in my old shifting days, as soon as the ghosts got a look at me, they'd try to dematerialize again, but I'd trap them. They were all so scared of me. That was the way I liked it.
Except with Suze. She was different.
God, Suze is always different!
Snow White was still staring at me. She had the silkiest, creamiest complexion. And she didn't wear make-up, which is a new thing, Paul-Slater wise. She was wearing a very conservative sleeved white polo neck, and long black pants. 'You're not a ghost,' she scoffed, not sounding so convinced. 'You're just some dumb jock trying to make me scared. Look what you're wearing. No one could take YOU seriously.'
Outrage flickered across my face. 'What's wrong with what I'm wearing?' I snapped. I looked down at my street jeans, with all the chains, and at my top. It was very cool, I reckoned. Cool, slick, powerful. Cool.
She raised an eyebrow. 'Puh-lease. I've seen gayer garb on the homosexuals of our school. Get a new look. You're not exactly a convincing ghost, ghost boy.'
My face contorted. She was dissing me . . . No one dissed me!
I leapt at her, and slammed her against the wall. Hey, I know I do it a lot. It's a power position, what can I say? The girls go gaga for it. Well, they would if they weren't so scared of me. My face moved to be five centimeters away from hers.
'Wanna bet?' I snarled, looking down at her, holding her there with the sheet. I couldn't touch her, still. I couldn't even touch her clothes. It had something to do with her "aura." Her clothes become "her" and cannot be touched by ghosts either. It's really very annoying.
She choked on a breath. 'Ow,' she whimpered. 'Lay off, this is so stupid, jock – AH!'
That "ah" was provoked when I shook her roughly. Her head cracked forward and back, messing up her abnormally blonde hair. She really did have a very pretty face . . .
'So, Snow White, are we going to cooperate? Or shall we resort to carnage and bloodbaths?' I asked lightly, with a hidden threat growling in my tone.
Her jaw opened and closed several times. God, I couldn't get over the hair. It was white as white, gently tanned with yellow. Amazing, really. And very soft, too. God, if half the girls I did had hair as nice as this, I wouldn't have such a bad rep.
Laughing at the thought, I focused back on my victim at hand.
'So, Snow, this is how we're going to go about this. I'm going to ask you something, and you're going to answer. Otherwise, I think I'm going to keep all this shiny hair, you know?' I said. I looked at her locks intensely, pulling them with my mind.
She gasped, shutting her eyes. 'What are you doing, you freak?!' she hissed through gritted teeth. I knew it hurt her.
'Told ya I'm a ghost,' I hissed in her ear, and to prove this further, I reached right into her head with my hand. It passed right through her like nothing, like mist. Her eyes went kind of cross-eyed in horror as she stared at the huge arm going through her cranium.
'Get out!' she squealed, 'Get out of my head! Ow!'
Satisfied, I withdrew my hand. 'I'm glad we've come to an agreement. Now, Snow, what do you know about Jesse De Silva?' I asked, the malice pronounced in my tone.
She was shuddering. I could feel her beneath the sheet.
'What will you do once I tell you?' she inquired with mistrusting eyes.
'SHUT UP AND ANSWER!' I roared in her fact, squeezing her shoulders through the sheet. She cried out, and in a jumble, answered me.
'He goes to our school! Suze said he was a murderer, but she's going out with him!' she babbled, her voice high and scared. She was feeling the pain now. Let her feel it . . .
'Going out with him?' I asked, 'As in, on a date?'
'Yes,' she sniffed.
'When?'
'I have to go –'
'WHEN, CEECEE?!' I bellowed, crushing her shoulders again.
'Tomorrow,' she panted back. 'Tomorrow night at eight. That's all I know, I swear!'
I glared into her eyes, trying to penetrate her mind, but I couldn't. My shifting days were over . . . Oh well, I had a strong feeling that she didn't know any more than that.
I smiled down at her. 'I'm so glad we had this chat, Snow.' Then I added suggestively, 'Drop by . . . some other time?'
Her eyes went wide in indignation. 'Who are you?' she stuttered.
I smirked largely. 'Oh, I'm no one you know,' I answered, my hand straying to her arse.
Damn. She jerked away from me, both scared and disgusted. 'Screw you,' she spat, and ran off with her little plastic bag. Hey? She was kind of hot, if you ignore the whole racist thing I have. And you can't teach a sleazy dog new tricks, or indeed get rid of the old ones.
I laughed.
'De Silva, you're coming down tomorrow, and Suze? You're coming with me . . .'
All thanks to the fairytale princess . . .
Snow White.
Now, it was off to take her advice. Get a new look . . .
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Sorry, they seem to be getting shorter and shorter. Oh well, it's not that bad. Please review! Please, please, please? Love you all SO MUCH!!! Hot date's up in two . . . I think?
Regards, Mystique Angelique.
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Wednesday passed without event, except that Dopey got his pants caught on a door handle as he was passing to go to P.E, and kind of ripped. That brought the house down, that did. But other than that, nothing much happened at school, and on Thursday, Father Dom demanded to know exactly what I'd done to Heather and Bryce, thinking I'd exorcised them. I set him straight, and then he went and harangued my about the collapsed breezeway and the now headless Father Juniperro Serra. Oopsie. I told him I didn't know what the hell happened, but he seemed to think it happened during our fighting. Maybe it did, but I was so sure that Heather didn't knock it off . . . Maybe I'm missing something?
Anyway, that Thursday afternoon, me and CeeCee were having a big Buffy marathon. She has all the videos up to Season 6, and we just kept on watching all the funny ones again, like "Once more, with feeling," Tabula Rasa," "Gone," "Something Blue," and I think the other one was "Hush." By one o'clock, we'd learnt all the songs from the musical extravaganza, "Once more, with feeling."
'It could be witches, some evil witches,' I rapped.
'But that's ridiculous, 'coz witches, they were persecuted, wicked good and love the earth and women power, and I'll be over here,' she sang rapidly, quoting Xander. We both cracked up, and I ditched a pillow at her.
I dug my hand into the bowl of popcorn her mum had prepared, and scoffed a handful in a rather unladylike manner.
'If you don't like the way I drive, then get off the sidewalk!' I yelled, and we both giggled hysterically. I threw popcorn at her. 'And, if life gives you lemons, squeeze the juice into a water gun and squirt it into other people's eyes!'
'No, this one! If your treat a woman like an object, that's just wrong . . . but if your treat and object like a WOMAN, that's just DISGUSTING!'
We roared with laughter, and I had a stitch now. Ow . . .
'Suze,' she said, suddenly serious.
'Popcorn?' I offered the bowl. She gave me a hard look. Okay, major stuff then. 'Yah huh?'
She sighed heavily. 'Look, be honest, I can take it . . . Do you think I have a chance?'
I blinked, and slurped on my can of Vanilla Coke. 'Er, a little more description would help. I mean, of course you have a chance, say in getting say, Homecoming Queen. I just, er, don't think you will-'
'Suze,' she snapped, 'Seriously. I mean with Adam. I mean, he's obviously obsessed with you.'
I choked into the Coke can.
It kind of dribbled out of my nose, too.
But yeah.
'What?!' I demanded, my eyes critical, and my nose running painfully. Has that ever happened to you? It HURTS, man!
She gave me a jealous look. 'Oh, come on, the way he's been hanging around you, talking to you in hushed voices, it's a bit noticeable. I mean, you're not exactly hiding the relationship.'
'Relationship?' I squeaked, and then burst out laughing. Nose still stinging . . . 'My God, NO! Adam, I just told him something, and he seems to think it concerns him. It doesn't. There's no relationship, Cee. I don't like him, he don't like me, okay?'
She glared a little more, with her lip sticking out a little, but then sighed. 'Sorry, Suze. It's just, I've liked him since forever, and he doesn't even know I'm alive.'
Ha . . . that would be a whole different story in my world . . . Alive.
Her head drooped down, and she turned off the TV, so Sarah Michelle Gellar and James Marsters' face zoomed into a tiny squared and then into blackness.
'Cee,' I said, 'I think you should ask him out.'
She looked at me as if I'd just told her high grades in History counted for nothing. 'No, Suze, that'd be so stupid! He'd totally say no. He . . . ' she trailed off, looking very depressed all of a sudden.
I clicked my tongue supportively.
'I mean,' she burst out, 'you're going out with that Jesse guy! Now, there's some major eye candy, Suze. You're always so lucky.'
Always? Uh huh . . .
I snorted cynically. 'I wish, Cee.'
'No, really!' she continued, 'I mean, Jesse De Silva. He's Spanish, isn't he?'
'Latino.'
'See? Latino! Yummy, yum yum. I could never rope down one of them.'
'Sure you could,' I said. 'You're all pretty and smart, and stuff. All I have going for me is . . . the fact that my toes aren't munted. Have you ever seen those really long, bendy toes? I SO don't have screwy toes. And I punch hard, too.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Get over yourself, Simon. You're a huge catch.'
'Am not!' I shouted indignantly, but realized a little late that it was a compliment, not an insult.
It was almost five now . . .
I then tunneled into my bag to get out my pajamas, only to find that I was clean out of them.
'Oooh, crud,' I said thoughtfully.
'What is it?' She sounded mega gloomy now. Great. CeeCee in a sook? Yeah, not so hot.
'I'm out of clothes,' I told her, incredulous.
She shrugged. 'Borrow mine.'
'Nah,' I said, 'I'll just go over to my house and get s-' I stopped, and my eyes glazed over.
Er Suze? Remember last time? Not your brightest idea . . .
I turned away from CeeCee quickly.
'Suze? What were you saying?' she asked, frowning and crawling over to face me.
'Oh, nothing, just, last time mum and Andy were kind of, well, crabby. That's all.'
She looked sad for me. 'Do you want me to go and get some of your stuff?'
No, don't let her go. Paul will get her. Paul will kill her! Paul will –
Not even touch her, Suze, she's not a mediator. Remember?
Oh yeah.
Brightening up, I smiled. 'Okay then. Can you get me some underwear, a couple of tops, and a few pairs of pants, you reckon?'
She grinned. 'No biggie. Let me go now.'
~*~
CeeCee's POV.
I don't know what was up with Suze. When I walked over – we don't like too far away – her mum answered the door and seemed to be in a decent mood. Not the mood of someone who was fighting with her new husband. Strange . . .
I put it out of my mind, and went up to Suze's room.
Whoa . . .
I raised my eyebrows as I absorbed all the smashed glass on the floor. Everything was sheer bedlam. The window was broken, and everything as really knocked around. Maybe this was where Brad practiced his wrestling? Or his foreplay?
o.O
Okay, even I know how gross that was . . .
Shrugging off the fact that my friend's room was in turmoil, I wandered over to her wardrobe, and picked out a few outfits that I thought looked nice. Well, whether Suze agreed was a different story. I mean, I like slacks, she likes cargo pants. I liked polo shirts, she likes V necks and tank tops. Mind, I can't be flaunting my albino skin around too much, but still, I always look classy, if I do say so myself. I can just see the say when Suze runs off to enroll in the Prescott Pussycats already.
Again, that was mean.
And just . . . weird.
I stuffed the garments into a plastic bag, and was about to leave, when I noticed something weird near the window.
A book.
No, it wasn't something like, uh, "Critical Theory since Plato" that I knew Suze would NEVER read.
Yeah, this book was a Danielle Steel book. But it wasn't the actual title I was concerned about, or whatever.
Nah, this book was kind of floating.
For your benefit, I will repeat: FLOATING.
I smirked, and walked right over to it, waving my hand over the top. No fishing line, weird. I frowned suspiciously at the book, looking at it from all angles, trying to find what was keeping it up there, when it just zoomed at me completely, and knocked me hard on the forehead.
'Ow!'
My hand shot to my head. That was so rude! That had been unfair! That –
. . . was illogical.
How –? What had happened?
This was getting way freaky now. I turned towards the door, but I saw that, on Suze's bed, the sheet was rising.
Floating.
Without anyone touching it!
There seemed to be a shape beneath it, like – like a person or something, but – but there wasn't anyone there! No one!
My mouth fell open, and a scream was being born in my throat –
That's when a hard force behind the sheet shoved me to the ground, and clamped an invisible hand over my mouth to prevent me from screaming . . .
**************************************************************************** ********
Paul's POV.
It was another day. Another day of letting my mind torture me, and making me relive the incident of my attempted murder.
You're a murderer, Paul.
Murderer . . .
Doesn't that word sound so damn condemnatory? So long, evil, drawn out, said with spite and odium, with pursed lips. A word that seems to slip from one's lips so easily, but with great motive.
Muuuuuuurrdererrrrrr . . .
Anger and hatred were kicking me around like some dirty rag, stamping on me like I had a cockroach under me. I felt like I was shit. No, I was shit.
Muuuuuuuurrdering ssssssshiiiit . . .
Oh, happy day.
Staring out the broken window all day, watching the see from so far away, and visualizing her walking back into my afterlife, forgiving me, well that was getting really dumb now. Because it was about as likely as her dying at 80 a virgin: it wasn't going to happen. Not if I could help it. And God, did I want to help.
But no.
She hated me.
Passionately.
Funnily enough, I think I loved her passionately.
Because, was this love? Or lust? I couldn't tell the difference. I knew that there was something inside making me disintegrate into black dust, making me squirm for her, sending me glorious, dark mirages of her, making me beg for her . . .
And begging is not something I have ever stooped so low for, I'll have you know.
So, this dark love was turning into obsession.
I had to have her.
I don't lose.
I don't lose.
I don't ever, EVER lose.
And not to some jackass prick who rides his horses and spouts off his Spanish and thinks he's so powerful, when he really never even knew what he was bloody messing with!
SCREW YOU, DE SILVA!
I was on my feet, hurling the chairs around the room again, smashing everything that seemed breakable. The noise soothed this terrible ache, this unquenchable yearning for the one thing I knew was out of even my reach –
NO!
You'll have her, Paul! She'll be crawling back to you! She'll be on her hands and knees, pleading for you to take her back! She'll want you like she never wanted anything in her life. She'll crave you, need you, SCREAM for you!
. . . Die for you . . .
Die for –
Oh for God's sake, wake up and smell the dog piss, Paul. That'll never happen . . .
I sank onto her bed again, defeated. I hung my head limply. What was the point of existence? I couldn't even do a Heather. Not literally "do" a Heather, Jesus, even that seemed appealing now just to get back at Suze. No, I meant kill myself.
No, Jesse already did that for you, remember? He shot you in the –
But I was forced out of my depression by the sound of the door opening. I jerked my head up wildly.
'Suze!' I yelled . . .
Hang on, who the hell?
It wasn't Suze at all. It was that little albino chick, Cindy or something. Nah, CeeCee. That's it. I glared at her. Stupid little bitch had gotten my hopes up . . . What was SHE doing here, tricking me like that?
My question was answered when she walked to Suze's wardrobe and began stuffing jeans and tops into a bag.
Why, that little . . .
She'd sent her friend over, just so she didn't have to see me! That BITCH! Just so she didn't have to talk to me, let me explain how sorry I was!
Well, if she thought she was going to get away with it that easily, she really shouldn't have sent anyone over. I glared at the albino, as she scanned the room with raised eyebrows. You know, she was kind of pretty in a very white kind of way.
Snow White.
I remembered then. She'd passed out or something when I was showering. I laughed in spite of myself. Suze had seen too. Bet you she wasn't half as disgusted as she pretended to be. Bet you she liked seeing me. That much of me.
That was when I decided. No more moping. It was time to play hard ball. If Suze wanted a fight, she was going to get it. But in the end, I was going to win. I was going to win her, and Jesse could go suck –
Oh, all right, I'll watch my language.
Smirking, suddenly blazing with a new fire that spurred me on, I concentrated dully on a book on the window seat, making it float.
Well, it sure got Snow White's attention. She looked alarmed, but then cynical. She marched over and then began inspecting the book from every perspective, trying to find a wire or something.
No wires, babe. I'm a no string puppet.
I controlled the book to hit her on the head, then, and I snorted when she let out a loud "Ow!" Total slapstick, I swear. I was laughing my head off by then. She narrowed her eyes at the book, which I had let fall to the floor. Man, she looked pissed. Laughing, I carried on with my briskly fashioned plan, and headed over to the bed, dragging Suze's white sheet off the bed. Snow White turned around hastily, and saw me floating towards her, looking like she was about to scream, when I knocked her to the floor, and covered her mouth to stop her from yelling. I knew for a fact that Mrs Ackerman was downstairs. That would be rather interesting if she popped up and saw CeeCee on the ground with an embodied blankie lying on top of her.
Focusing hard, I activated my power to be seen and heard. Like I said, it's impossible for you to do if you weren't a shifter in life. Not a mediator, a shifter. Young Jack wouldn't have stood a chance.
I dragged the sheet off my face, and gazed down at her. She blinked up at me, wide-eyed.
'If you scream,' I warned her, 'I will kill you . . .'
Her eyes went – if this was possible – even wider. I could see all of her misty purple irises. They had an enchanted look about them. Like, magic, or psychic or something. It was weird . . .
'Okay,' I smirked, and removed my hand. I offered my hand, but she didn't take it. She didn't want to touch me. Strange . . . I'm usually very gropeworthy.
She eyed me like I was some mutilated version of her reflection. 'W-What are you?' she demanded, losing the fearful façade.'
I laughed. 'Oh, me? I'm a ghost, Snow White.'
She went to argue, but froze. 'Huh?'
My smirk broadened. 'Snow White,' I repeated.
'I have a name!' she shrilled, glaring now. 'It's CeeCee!'
I wandered lazily towards her. 'Nah, I like Snow White better.'
I saw her gulp, and her neck became very thick. She was scared. But weren't they all? Back in my old shifting days, as soon as the ghosts got a look at me, they'd try to dematerialize again, but I'd trap them. They were all so scared of me. That was the way I liked it.
Except with Suze. She was different.
God, Suze is always different!
Snow White was still staring at me. She had the silkiest, creamiest complexion. And she didn't wear make-up, which is a new thing, Paul-Slater wise. She was wearing a very conservative sleeved white polo neck, and long black pants. 'You're not a ghost,' she scoffed, not sounding so convinced. 'You're just some dumb jock trying to make me scared. Look what you're wearing. No one could take YOU seriously.'
Outrage flickered across my face. 'What's wrong with what I'm wearing?' I snapped. I looked down at my street jeans, with all the chains, and at my top. It was very cool, I reckoned. Cool, slick, powerful. Cool.
She raised an eyebrow. 'Puh-lease. I've seen gayer garb on the homosexuals of our school. Get a new look. You're not exactly a convincing ghost, ghost boy.'
My face contorted. She was dissing me . . . No one dissed me!
I leapt at her, and slammed her against the wall. Hey, I know I do it a lot. It's a power position, what can I say? The girls go gaga for it. Well, they would if they weren't so scared of me. My face moved to be five centimeters away from hers.
'Wanna bet?' I snarled, looking down at her, holding her there with the sheet. I couldn't touch her, still. I couldn't even touch her clothes. It had something to do with her "aura." Her clothes become "her" and cannot be touched by ghosts either. It's really very annoying.
She choked on a breath. 'Ow,' she whimpered. 'Lay off, this is so stupid, jock – AH!'
That "ah" was provoked when I shook her roughly. Her head cracked forward and back, messing up her abnormally blonde hair. She really did have a very pretty face . . .
'So, Snow White, are we going to cooperate? Or shall we resort to carnage and bloodbaths?' I asked lightly, with a hidden threat growling in my tone.
Her jaw opened and closed several times. God, I couldn't get over the hair. It was white as white, gently tanned with yellow. Amazing, really. And very soft, too. God, if half the girls I did had hair as nice as this, I wouldn't have such a bad rep.
Laughing at the thought, I focused back on my victim at hand.
'So, Snow, this is how we're going to go about this. I'm going to ask you something, and you're going to answer. Otherwise, I think I'm going to keep all this shiny hair, you know?' I said. I looked at her locks intensely, pulling them with my mind.
She gasped, shutting her eyes. 'What are you doing, you freak?!' she hissed through gritted teeth. I knew it hurt her.
'Told ya I'm a ghost,' I hissed in her ear, and to prove this further, I reached right into her head with my hand. It passed right through her like nothing, like mist. Her eyes went kind of cross-eyed in horror as she stared at the huge arm going through her cranium.
'Get out!' she squealed, 'Get out of my head! Ow!'
Satisfied, I withdrew my hand. 'I'm glad we've come to an agreement. Now, Snow, what do you know about Jesse De Silva?' I asked, the malice pronounced in my tone.
She was shuddering. I could feel her beneath the sheet.
'What will you do once I tell you?' she inquired with mistrusting eyes.
'SHUT UP AND ANSWER!' I roared in her fact, squeezing her shoulders through the sheet. She cried out, and in a jumble, answered me.
'He goes to our school! Suze said he was a murderer, but she's going out with him!' she babbled, her voice high and scared. She was feeling the pain now. Let her feel it . . .
'Going out with him?' I asked, 'As in, on a date?'
'Yes,' she sniffed.
'When?'
'I have to go –'
'WHEN, CEECEE?!' I bellowed, crushing her shoulders again.
'Tomorrow,' she panted back. 'Tomorrow night at eight. That's all I know, I swear!'
I glared into her eyes, trying to penetrate her mind, but I couldn't. My shifting days were over . . . Oh well, I had a strong feeling that she didn't know any more than that.
I smiled down at her. 'I'm so glad we had this chat, Snow.' Then I added suggestively, 'Drop by . . . some other time?'
Her eyes went wide in indignation. 'Who are you?' she stuttered.
I smirked largely. 'Oh, I'm no one you know,' I answered, my hand straying to her arse.
Damn. She jerked away from me, both scared and disgusted. 'Screw you,' she spat, and ran off with her little plastic bag. Hey? She was kind of hot, if you ignore the whole racist thing I have. And you can't teach a sleazy dog new tricks, or indeed get rid of the old ones.
I laughed.
'De Silva, you're coming down tomorrow, and Suze? You're coming with me . . .'
All thanks to the fairytale princess . . .
Snow White.
Now, it was off to take her advice. Get a new look . . .
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Sorry, they seem to be getting shorter and shorter. Oh well, it's not that bad. Please review! Please, please, please? Love you all SO MUCH!!! Hot date's up in two . . . I think?
Regards, Mystique Angelique.