Timeout
By: ChocolateEclar
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with the Mediator Series by Meg Cabot/Jenny Carroll, including Jesse (*cough*darn*cough*), Suze, Paul, Father D, CeeCee, Adam, etc.
Claimer: I own Miss Evelyn "Eve" Gemma and the plot. (I still wish I owned Jesse instead of Eve.)
To Corcra: *chuckles* I get just as much – or maybe more – out of writing this as I wait for book 6 as you and my other readers of this fanfic do. It quenches my thirst for book 6 to come out fairly affectively really. I agree about getting rid of the 1 in 10 months. Wouldn't that be great? *laughs* Thanks again for the review!
Chapter 3: The Beginning of the End of Her World
But he wouldn't come back.
It didn't matter if I screamed his name at the top of my lungs until I was hoarse. He just never would come. And something inside of me knew this had something to do with Paul. Everything pointed to him. Jesse just wouldn't do something like this willingly, and Paul…was behind most of the weird things that had gone on in the past few months.
Besides, how else could Jesse have known I'd been meeting with Paul? It would be just like Paul to rub it in Jesse's face – like when he came to my house the night of Dopey's party and told Jesse about how he had kissed me.
Paul had said he would be at the library for awhile…but Jesse had also said to keep away from him…
Well, that had never stopped me before, and I had a feeling the stakes were much higher now. So, I broke my promise to Jesse. I was dragging one of the bikes from the garage onto the driveway – wincing at the resurfacing, dull ache in my back – just as my mom returned home from her job as an anchorwoman.
"Hey, Mom!" I called as she got out of her car.
"Oh, hi, Susie," said my mom. She looked all professional in this gray suit and matching skirt and her hair done up. "Where are you going?"
"Just to the library," I answered, hopping on the bicycle.
"Alright, but you'd better be back by dinner," she said meaningfully. Ah, yes. The Ackerman family dinner. You didn't dare miss one without telling someone beforehand or risk facing my stepdad Andy's wrath.
"Don't worry, Mom. I'll be back," I said. I waved and sped downhill on the bike. I would've rather asked Adam for a ride, but I didn't want to have to wait for him to come pick me up. By then, Paul could've left the library and then I'd have to go to his house. I'd be late for dinner for sure then – not to mention what… activities Paul attempted to pull when I was at his house for shifting lessons.
It didn't take too long to get to the little Carmel-By-The-Sea library; it was actually called the Harrison Memorial Library and was this quaint building. Inside were dusty old shelves filled with books, and to the right of the front door was this painted china and watercolor paintings exhibit – according to the sign in front of the display, they'd been painted by Ida Johnson, who'd been President of the Library Board in 1906. The paintings were of these Californian plants and I studied them for a few moments. (A/N: I received most of this info from the official Carmel-By-The-Sea website and its library website. Even the stuff about Ida Johnson is true. The exhibit itself is false, as far I know though.)
I wanted to prolong the moment when I'd have to go find Paul in the back of the library, but he beat me to it. "Hey, Suze!" he called out, coming towards me. "I knew you'd come."
Sighing, I reluctantly turned to face him. He may have been hot, but he was far from winning me over – threatening a girl's boyfriend tends to cause that. His curly, dark hair, dazzling white teeth, and tan were certainly turning a few heads – mainly the heads of the girls sitting over by the romance novel section. I could hear their whispers and giggles from my position in front of the exhibit.
"You lied to me, Paul. You did do something to Jesse," I accused, frowning.
Paul didn't even bat an eyelash at the allegation. Instead he said, "What makes you think that, Suze? What did Jesse tell you?"
"He told me to stay away from you," I retorted.
One of Paul's eyebrows went up. That meant only one thing. I had said something that bothered him – always a plus when you're dealing with such an impassive creep.
"Did he say anything else?" Paul inquired.
I wasn't sure if I should lie or not for an instant. What if this affected what he did to Jesse? Something inside me – perhaps that voice that told me when I first moved to Carmel to "Give him" (meaning Jesse) "a little time. He'll come around. They always do" – made me lie. The voice had been wrong about Jesse back then, but I knew with everything I had that I had to lie to Paul. Jess depended on it.
"Yeah, now are you going to tell me what you did to Jesse or not?" I questioned.
"Come now, Suze," Paul said. "Why don't you believe me when I say I haven't done anything to Mr. De Silva?"
"You really want me to answer that?" I snapped.
"Can't you just accept he's moved on?"
"No," was all that I replied. The girls in the corner were eyeing us as if we were a boyfriend and girlfriend in a lovers' quarrel – to say it was angering me would've been an understatement. I mean, come on. Me and Paul? I'll pass.
"Well," Paul said, "you just keep living in your fantasy land, Simon. I have to get home if we're done here. I have some very important affairs to take care of."
I didn't say anything. What was there to say? I'd just make a fool of myself. Instead, I watched Paul leave through the front door, glaring at his back.
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Welcome to Operation F-Day – alias Operation Find Jesse.
(I couldn't call it D-Day and E-Day was what I dubbed the incident with Heather, the stone head-throwing ghost, so F-Day was my best bet.)
The plan included:
1. Sneaking out of the house around midnight
2. Biking to Paul's house (five miles away)
3. Tiptoeing onto Paul's property
4. Finding out what the sleazebag's done with Jesse, and…
5. Ultimately rescuing my Latino Lovely
All in all, step two would cause a lot of problems. I mean, seriously, who wants to ride a bike for five miles in the middle of the night? Okay, maybe Lance Armstrong, but that's beside the point. If only I were like normal sixteen-year-old Californians. Then, I'd definitely be able to drive.
But, of course, I'm far from normal.
It was slow going once I stopped going downhill. Atleast I had picked a good bicycle – I was still tired though. I was riding Sleepy's Dyno VFR BMX, which was green and black with an orange stripe and a little white lettering.
It felt like forever until I saw Dr. Slaski's house come into view. It was this two-story, glass building built into the side of a cliff, and it looked impressive even in the pitch darkness. Panting and sweaty, I stashed the bike in the hedges and crept forward, praying there wasn't motion detectors trained on the surrounding lawn of the house.
I slunk up the driveway, crouching low to the ground because…it made me feel more like a spy infiltrating the enemy, I guess – or maybe I felt more like a female secret agent like Halle Barry in Die Another Day. Either way, I could immediately tell something was definitely going on by the cliff's edge.
I crept towards it and kneeled in the bushes. I stared downhill at something that made my insides hum. It was as if my whole body were pulsating with what was going on. Paul was holding a notepad – I recognized it as one of his grandpa's – and reading. Every few words his voice would crescendo, and I would catch what he was saying.
But I didn't pay attention to his word for I had more pressing matters to think about. This was because – lying bound in the center of a circle with an eye in it – was Hector De Silva.
"Jesse…" I gasped.
Jesse looked worse than the last time I had seen him. He was totally lifeless, his eyes shut. What was Paul doing to him? My brain was fuzzy. The pulse in the air was jumbling my thoughts. One thing I knew though was I had to help Jesse.
So I edged forward and, when I got a closer look at the circle, my breath caught in my throat. It was one of those "Egyptian shifter time portal" thingies Paul had told me about a month before.
But why would he want to bring Jesse back to life? Wouldn't that be bad for him?
I shook my head. My thoughts reassembled and I realized something else. If Jesse were brought back to life he wouldn't come back to life here. No, Diego, Maria's husband, just wouldn't kill him back in 1850.
That would mean no more hot guy ghost for Suze in the present… NOOOO!!!! That's it. Paul was going down.
In the next moment, I had tackled Paul to the ground before he knew what was going on. As I wrestled with Paul – who was swearing at me – I heard a faint, "Susannah?"
"'Busy, Jesse," I said without turning around.
Paul pretty much reversed our positions then, so he was lying on top of me. Let me remind you, when you have about a hundred and eighty pounds of guy on you and you're a lot smaller, it can be really difficult to get him off you.
"Susannah!" Jesse hollered. I could see him springing to his feet out of the corner of my eye, but he couldn't leave the circle. Every part of his body that touched the circumference of the circle, sparked, and made him recoil.
"If you think I'm gonna let you do this, Paul, then you've got another thing coming!" I snarled.
"Shhh," whispered Paul. "It'll all be over soon, Suze."
I squirmed under him and screamed, "Get off me!"
Jesse was thumping against the boundary now, making his body singe all over. It wasn't like when a ghost usually gets hurt and heals themselves, Jesse's wounds weren't being fixed, and he was in real pain. "Nombre de Dios, move off of her, Slater!" he growled.
I tried to stab Paul in the eye like I had last time he'd been on top of me, but he pinned my arms to my sides with his elbows. "Now listen up, Suze," he said, his dark eyes glinting. "I didn't want to do this, but I guess you're more attached to Mr. De Silva over there than I thought. I'm going to finish this ritual, and you, Miss Simon, are going to be peacefully asleep during it."
"Argh. What the heck are you talking about, Paul?!" I roared. I didn't say heck though.
Pulling a bottle from his pocket, he said, "I don't want to hurt you, Suze. This will get you unconscious just as easily as knocking you out with a thump to the head."
The container was small and thin and made of some green-tinted glass. Inside I could make out a sloshing liquid.
"I ordered you to move off Susannah, Slater!!!" growled Jesse, pounding on his invisible, sparking prison to no avail.
Ignoring Jesse and my protests, Paul popped open the bottle with his thumb and held it under my nose. I held my breath – I knew what would happen if I took in any of that liquid's scent – trying to head butt him.
But – as I'm sure you know – it's really difficult to do, even in the best situations – like, say, swimming lessons – and, well, I had to breath eventually. The last thing I remember before I blacked out was this sickeningly sweet scent and Jesse cursing in Spanish at Paul – you didn't need to know Spanish to know they were swears – and his call of "Susannah!"
Then everything went fuzzy and subsequently dark.
It was the beginning of the end of my world, and nothing would ever be quite the same again.
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A/N: So there you have it. I've done my part now it's your civic duty to press that little purplish button below on the left…or else… *evil laughter* I'm just kidding, but remember my new chapter policy… (See last A/Ns of last chapter for policy) Don't you the policy as an excuse not to review if someone else already has though or the number of required reviews between chapters will go way up. See you guys ASAP!