Authors Note: Again, sorry for the long wait. This time I do have a half-
decent excuse. I fractured my wrist last Thursday, and it's kind of been
slow typing with one hand until recently when, thank goodness, the pain
decided to leave me alone. Anyway, here's another chapter and thanks to
anyone who leaves me a comment or even just reads it.
A little fact about ghosts that anyone who happens to be a Mediator learns pretty fast is that spirits are way over dramatized in fiction. They're not even remotely similar to the gory things you see in movies. Actually, apart from an eerie, spirity glow, there really isn't way you could tell them apart from a regular person. Ghosts appear how they did in their healthiest and, ironically, most alive part of their life.
That being the case, I had to guess this person had led a pretty sorry life. Her clothes were pretty ragged, mostly torn up at the bottom, kind of like some kid from Oliver Twist movies, and her hair and skin weren't all that well cleaned either. She was a pretty pathetic looking thing, and I figured she couldn't be more than twelve, maybe thirteen. Pulling the last bit of her scrawny self in, she scrambled to her feet and looked nervously around, which I found a little stupid. I mean, if you're dead you haven't really got much to worry about.
"Uh, hi." I said, trying not to sound pitying for her or anything. The last thing I wanted to do was tick off a ghost in my house at midnight.
"Are you Susannah?" She asked, tilting her head to the side the way a rabbit does when it finally decides you aren't going to eat it on the spot. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously.
"That's me. How can I help you?" I really hoped it wouldn't be anything urgent. I mean, I wanted to get to sleep and I definitely did not want to have to go running around all over god knows where to complete some stupid errand.
"Oh good, I was hoping I didn't have the wrong house." I sat down as she fidgeted with an apron that, I guessed, at one time had been white, before something hit me.
"Uh, excuse me, uh, what was your name?"
"Felicity." She answered quickly, still fidgeting.
"Okay then, Felicity. You don't mind me asking, but uh, how long have you been, well," I tried to find a nice way to put it. Some ghosts really didn't like hearing the 'd' word, trust me.
"Dead, you mean?" Her eyes widened and she smiled a little, before looking thoughtful and flicking back a strand of greasy, golden-brown hair, "Must be nearly, oh dear, I can't quite remember. I've lost count at least a dozen times. I'd guess somewhere around three hundred and ten years or so."
I swear my mouth must've dropped open, "Three hundred? Like somewhere in the sixteen-hundreds?" Here I was talking to a three-hundred year old twelve year old who, may I point out, was at least a hundred and fifty years older than the oldest ghost I knew, Jesse. It was just a little daunting talking to someone that old, even if she only looked about one hundredth of that age. But that did explain her extremely poor fashion sense and hygiene.
Luckily, I remembered why I was talking to her in the first place, "So, what's your problem? Why haven't you gone to the great beyond or wherever yet?"
A small smile spread across her face, "I haven't found him yet, that's why. It's his fault I'm here." She crossed her arms stubbornly, the way kids do when they're really serious about something.
"Okay, well, first, who's him?" This conversation was really starting to give me a headache. Why couldn't she want something simple like tell so and so such and such or give this to so and so? But of course, the ghosts that visit me at midnight can't want anything simple; that's just too easy.
"Santo Heriberto Lobo," She recited, although she added a little bit of venom to the names, like something that was highly distasteful, "At least, that's what he told me, but seeing that everything else was a lie, I wouldn't be surprised if that is too." Her gray eyes lit up for a second, "It's his lies that got me here, you know. I wish I'd never met him!"
I blinked. Well that was pretty obvious. I mean, if he'd somehow accidentally, or purposely, killed her it kind of meant sense that she seemed so, well, cheesed off.
"So, what is it you need to do?" I asked, but was really, really hoping it wouldn't be what I was pretty sure it was going to be.
"Revenge of course. I die, he dies. An eye for an eye." Felicity stated it so simply that it was almost spooky, even though it already was a little weird hearing that from a twelve-year-old. Not to mention that there was one problem with her little idea.
"Uh, if you're as old as you say you are then chances are pretty high that he's already kicked the bucket. I mean, it kind of sucks and everything for you, but there's not much I can do about it. Sorry, kid."
That creepy little smile crossed her lips again as she shook her head and said with assurance, "Oh, he's not dead. I'd know."
That struck me as even eerier than her weird little smile. I mean, he'd have to be at least three hundred some by now if he was still alive and seeing as even the healthiest people don't live to be past one hundred now, I found it kind of unlikely that he wasn't dead. One thing it doesn't take a mediator to figure out is normal people eventually die. Then another thought hit me, and I must've groaned out loud because Felicity seemed to get even more peeved than before.
"He's not like some sort of vampire or something is he?" I'd had problems with 'vampires' before, even if he turned out just to be a screwed up guy, and let me assure you, it wasn't fun.
Felicity rolled her eyes, which calmed me down for a second before she actually talked, "No, of course not. Do you actually think I'd trust advice from a vampire? Good Lord, no. He's a shaman." I noticed her arms were crossed again.
Super, just super. The spirit standing in front of me had a problem with some voodoo priest guy who, although I was really hoping otherwise, probably knew some kind of magic or something equally unappealing. I'm not the kind of person to go around looking down rabbit holes or to try to find the end of a rainbow, but I had, throughout my Mediating career, learned that some things are just unexplainable. Real, sure, but not explainable. The kind of thing my friend Cee Cee would've hated knowing about.
"You're kidding me." Felicity shook her head emphatically and I sighed, rolling my eyes to stare at the ceiling, "Alright, let's assume I do believe your completely far-fetched story and decide to help you. What do you want me to do?"
For once, Felicity's smile seemed to fit her age and she brightened, "Thank you, Miss Susannah. You're friend, that boy, told me this is the place called California. Was he right?" I nodded and her smile widened more, "Oh good, that saves me time then. He's somewhere here, I'm almost sure of it. If you could just help me look for him or tell me if you see anything suspicious I'd be ever so thankful to you."
I raised an eyebrow, "Here? Like here in this house? Or 'here' like here in this block, in the city, in the general area, in the-" I was about to go on when she narrowed her eyes at me and I stopped. Hey, I had a pretty good feeling that a three hundred-year-old ghost had a good grasp of her powers. I didn't want to get turned to a frog or crushed by my ceiling or something.
"Here in the colony, um, I mean city, I think." She bit her lip and looked as if she was trying to remember something, "I'm afraid I don't know what he'll look like, he's a shaman and everything so he doesn't stay in the same form for long," Of course he didn't, "but I know you'll know him when you see him."
I nodded, "Sure, okay." I'd do whatever later to get her to leave so I could sleep off the pounding headache that was threatening to crush my brain, "Keep in touch." With a final smile-not the spooky one, but the friendly little girl one- she faded out into the air. Slipping off my robe I climbed back into bed, more than ready to drop off for at least another seven hours, hoping I'd remember our little conversation the next morning. Up to that point, I would've said it was one of the strangest encounters I'd ever had.
Unfortunately, I was, as I seemed to be way too often, wrong again.
A little fact about ghosts that anyone who happens to be a Mediator learns pretty fast is that spirits are way over dramatized in fiction. They're not even remotely similar to the gory things you see in movies. Actually, apart from an eerie, spirity glow, there really isn't way you could tell them apart from a regular person. Ghosts appear how they did in their healthiest and, ironically, most alive part of their life.
That being the case, I had to guess this person had led a pretty sorry life. Her clothes were pretty ragged, mostly torn up at the bottom, kind of like some kid from Oliver Twist movies, and her hair and skin weren't all that well cleaned either. She was a pretty pathetic looking thing, and I figured she couldn't be more than twelve, maybe thirteen. Pulling the last bit of her scrawny self in, she scrambled to her feet and looked nervously around, which I found a little stupid. I mean, if you're dead you haven't really got much to worry about.
"Uh, hi." I said, trying not to sound pitying for her or anything. The last thing I wanted to do was tick off a ghost in my house at midnight.
"Are you Susannah?" She asked, tilting her head to the side the way a rabbit does when it finally decides you aren't going to eat it on the spot. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously.
"That's me. How can I help you?" I really hoped it wouldn't be anything urgent. I mean, I wanted to get to sleep and I definitely did not want to have to go running around all over god knows where to complete some stupid errand.
"Oh good, I was hoping I didn't have the wrong house." I sat down as she fidgeted with an apron that, I guessed, at one time had been white, before something hit me.
"Uh, excuse me, uh, what was your name?"
"Felicity." She answered quickly, still fidgeting.
"Okay then, Felicity. You don't mind me asking, but uh, how long have you been, well," I tried to find a nice way to put it. Some ghosts really didn't like hearing the 'd' word, trust me.
"Dead, you mean?" Her eyes widened and she smiled a little, before looking thoughtful and flicking back a strand of greasy, golden-brown hair, "Must be nearly, oh dear, I can't quite remember. I've lost count at least a dozen times. I'd guess somewhere around three hundred and ten years or so."
I swear my mouth must've dropped open, "Three hundred? Like somewhere in the sixteen-hundreds?" Here I was talking to a three-hundred year old twelve year old who, may I point out, was at least a hundred and fifty years older than the oldest ghost I knew, Jesse. It was just a little daunting talking to someone that old, even if she only looked about one hundredth of that age. But that did explain her extremely poor fashion sense and hygiene.
Luckily, I remembered why I was talking to her in the first place, "So, what's your problem? Why haven't you gone to the great beyond or wherever yet?"
A small smile spread across her face, "I haven't found him yet, that's why. It's his fault I'm here." She crossed her arms stubbornly, the way kids do when they're really serious about something.
"Okay, well, first, who's him?" This conversation was really starting to give me a headache. Why couldn't she want something simple like tell so and so such and such or give this to so and so? But of course, the ghosts that visit me at midnight can't want anything simple; that's just too easy.
"Santo Heriberto Lobo," She recited, although she added a little bit of venom to the names, like something that was highly distasteful, "At least, that's what he told me, but seeing that everything else was a lie, I wouldn't be surprised if that is too." Her gray eyes lit up for a second, "It's his lies that got me here, you know. I wish I'd never met him!"
I blinked. Well that was pretty obvious. I mean, if he'd somehow accidentally, or purposely, killed her it kind of meant sense that she seemed so, well, cheesed off.
"So, what is it you need to do?" I asked, but was really, really hoping it wouldn't be what I was pretty sure it was going to be.
"Revenge of course. I die, he dies. An eye for an eye." Felicity stated it so simply that it was almost spooky, even though it already was a little weird hearing that from a twelve-year-old. Not to mention that there was one problem with her little idea.
"Uh, if you're as old as you say you are then chances are pretty high that he's already kicked the bucket. I mean, it kind of sucks and everything for you, but there's not much I can do about it. Sorry, kid."
That creepy little smile crossed her lips again as she shook her head and said with assurance, "Oh, he's not dead. I'd know."
That struck me as even eerier than her weird little smile. I mean, he'd have to be at least three hundred some by now if he was still alive and seeing as even the healthiest people don't live to be past one hundred now, I found it kind of unlikely that he wasn't dead. One thing it doesn't take a mediator to figure out is normal people eventually die. Then another thought hit me, and I must've groaned out loud because Felicity seemed to get even more peeved than before.
"He's not like some sort of vampire or something is he?" I'd had problems with 'vampires' before, even if he turned out just to be a screwed up guy, and let me assure you, it wasn't fun.
Felicity rolled her eyes, which calmed me down for a second before she actually talked, "No, of course not. Do you actually think I'd trust advice from a vampire? Good Lord, no. He's a shaman." I noticed her arms were crossed again.
Super, just super. The spirit standing in front of me had a problem with some voodoo priest guy who, although I was really hoping otherwise, probably knew some kind of magic or something equally unappealing. I'm not the kind of person to go around looking down rabbit holes or to try to find the end of a rainbow, but I had, throughout my Mediating career, learned that some things are just unexplainable. Real, sure, but not explainable. The kind of thing my friend Cee Cee would've hated knowing about.
"You're kidding me." Felicity shook her head emphatically and I sighed, rolling my eyes to stare at the ceiling, "Alright, let's assume I do believe your completely far-fetched story and decide to help you. What do you want me to do?"
For once, Felicity's smile seemed to fit her age and she brightened, "Thank you, Miss Susannah. You're friend, that boy, told me this is the place called California. Was he right?" I nodded and her smile widened more, "Oh good, that saves me time then. He's somewhere here, I'm almost sure of it. If you could just help me look for him or tell me if you see anything suspicious I'd be ever so thankful to you."
I raised an eyebrow, "Here? Like here in this house? Or 'here' like here in this block, in the city, in the general area, in the-" I was about to go on when she narrowed her eyes at me and I stopped. Hey, I had a pretty good feeling that a three hundred-year-old ghost had a good grasp of her powers. I didn't want to get turned to a frog or crushed by my ceiling or something.
"Here in the colony, um, I mean city, I think." She bit her lip and looked as if she was trying to remember something, "I'm afraid I don't know what he'll look like, he's a shaman and everything so he doesn't stay in the same form for long," Of course he didn't, "but I know you'll know him when you see him."
I nodded, "Sure, okay." I'd do whatever later to get her to leave so I could sleep off the pounding headache that was threatening to crush my brain, "Keep in touch." With a final smile-not the spooky one, but the friendly little girl one- she faded out into the air. Slipping off my robe I climbed back into bed, more than ready to drop off for at least another seven hours, hoping I'd remember our little conversation the next morning. Up to that point, I would've said it was one of the strangest encounters I'd ever had.
Unfortunately, I was, as I seemed to be way too often, wrong again.