A/N: Hey, with the new chick being named that? Well, I saw it on a "Spanish
names" site, and I just couldn't resist. Thus, Querida Andres was born. I
hope it'll grow on you. I was a bit freaked by amy88 . . . Sorry you didn't
like the chapter so much . . .
I had a REALLY bad day, and reading some of the reviews didn't even help. Sorry if you didn't like what was written, but, (to quote Carolyn984, "It's not always rainbows and butterflies." Hehehe. But that is so true. You expected smooth sailing? Not always. And we all know that Suze can be a bit of a hot head when she is hurt and angry.
But yeah, don't jump to conclusions. People like Corcra have the right idea. They know how my mind works . . .
I promise, amy88, I'm not a bum, really! Sorry if you didn't like the chapter. But for everyone, I really need those plot ideas for the next fanfic, so PLEASE help. I mean, everyone's saying that they have none. If it was just a couple of people not giving anything, that would be okay, but I think only about two people have said anything helpful. I'm in a really depressed mood, so brighten me up maybe? Okay . . .
**************************************************************************** ****
Suze's POV.
I just sat there, staring at nothing. Everything was kind of blurry. Or was it just because my eyes were so wet? Ugh, I HATE crying. It's the worst thing ever, when your eyes go all blood-shot and your throat chokes up and you make this horrible blubbering sounds and your eyes LEAK. And how you can never stop . . .
I snuffled my nose and blew it on some tissues. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to. Jesse . . . he was leaving me? Just like, "Oh, I've met fancy Spanish Querida Andres who can't talk English and is my new butt- monkey."
NICE, Jesse. Real nice!
Again, I hiccuped loudly, trying not to burst into tears again. But they came. It just ached so much. Just today, I'd been saying how much I loved him to a whole classroom of people, describing what it felt like to feel such a powerful emotion. But heaven forbid something should go right for me, it was all a lie. Jesse had been a lie. You know, it would have been worse if he had have just been a psychotic murderer like I had thought he was when I first met him. But no, he had to be HOT and SWEET and totally CUTE and all WELL MANNERED. Where the hell did that go? Traits like that don't just evaporate! Had it ALL been an act? And why? Why bother to go to such extent? It was only me. I mean, yeah, I have got the occasional wolf- whistle, but I'm no Miss Jaffa. I'm no Kelly Prescott. No Beyonce. I'm just Suze Simon, who happens to . . . oh, isn't that cute, talk to a couple of carcasses? Yeah . . . duh, Suze. It was all just a game.
Love is all a game, right?
Game over.
I totally went limp in the seat, just breathing. I just concentrated on remembering to inhale deeply, the thick, corrupted oxygen around me, and let it all out as deadly fumes of carbon dioxide. Again, the phone rang. I picked it up angrily, listening expectantly.
'Susannah? Is that you? You must hear me out –'
I hung up again. I didn't have to do anything. Nothing. I owed him nothing. I gave him my heart, and he tore my still-beating, bloody, dripping heart from my chest cavity, threw it to the ground with all of his might, and then stomped it into a fine paste. Now I am worse off than before.
Not dramatic at ALL.
And I didn't even get my fine paste back! It kind of decomposed on the concrete I think . . .
I dragged a weary, poison-oaky hand through my hair. My God, this day sucked. Do you really hate me that much? I mean, you plague me with ghosts, and you expect me to just take this shit that you fling at me? God, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!
By then I was on my feet. I had to do something constructive. I ran upstairs and spent fifteen intense minutes on the boxing bag, and then ran back downstairs to the phone with a little slip of paper in my hand.
I dialed it, and waited with bated breath for "Mr Beaumont" to answer. Yeah, that's right, I was going to get this bloody "Red" lady off my back. I still didn't get it. CeeCee had told me that this guy didn't even have red hair or anything, and his real name was like, Thaddeus or something. So what was the deal with Red? I mean, spasticated or what? I totally didn't get –
'Hello?'
A voice of the softest variety greeted me in a silky, sexy breath. I was totally shocked. Because, unfortunately, it was a voice I recognized, and currently didn't really want to be having a conversation with.
It was Tad, from Kelly's pool party.
'H – hello?' he repeated, a little louder this time.
I did what any girl would do in that situation.
I hung up.
Whoa I'm having a field day with this hanging up thing, aren't I?
But unfortunately, New Jersey dude had caller ID. So when the phone rang again, I just assumed it was Jesse.
'I have nothing to say to you, you bastard! Go and screw her then, see if I care –'
'Hello?'
I stopped dead. Oh my . . . HOLY CRAP!
I didn't utter a word. I was about to hang up when his voice stopped me. 'Wait! Don't I know you?'
I froze. Oh God . . .why me, WHY?!?!
'Hey, Tad,' I said, so embarrassed I could literally feel myself liquefying into some gooey substance that would be found under toilet seat after ten years. My face burnt hotter than fire. I just sat there, totally awed that one could be so stupid, one being . . . who?
Oh yeah, me.
'Sorry, wrong number,' I gushed.
'Uh, I called you.'
'Oh . . . that's right –'
'Susie? Is that you?' Tad asked.
Now my face burnt in a different way.
'Don't call me or I'll take away your reason for wearing jocks,' I snapped, so fast that he (happily) didn't quite catch.
I heard him laugh. It was quite a horrible one at that. Well, okay, NOT horrible, but foreboding, you know? I shivered. 'Well, I didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon.'
'You're not seeing me,' I said.
'Well, I think you know what I mean,' he chuckled. Was it me, or was he . . . weird?
'Uh, yeah, whatever,' I said. 'Um, I think I have to –'
'Who were you talking about?' he asked curiously. I was still FREAKED.
TAD was RED BEAUMONT'S bloody SON! Could this suck even more?
'Uh, no one. None of your –'
'You can tell me . . . ' His voice was so soft. Like a cool, gentle breeze in my ear.
I sighed. What the hell? At least offer some explanation, right? I freaked the poor boy out. 'My, er, boyfriend is in Spain. And he, well, two-timed me.'
I heard him click his tongue sympathetically. 'Damn. That's rough. What a bastard.'
'In a big way,' I grumbled. 'He tried to call back before and so I hung up on him, and I thought that you were him and when you weren't I was really embarrassed so I'm sorry is it got weird it was just –'
'Sorry, could you slow down? I kind of only caught the first bit.'
I groaned to myself. I ALWAYS talk fast when I'm nervous. But why AM I nervous?
I repeated myself, although not quite losing my head this time and prattling on about crap. I heard him chuckle. 'It was weird,' he admitted in that soft, sleek voice that coiled around me like a sheet of cool silk. 'But it's okay.'
I smiled, and sighed. 'But yeah, I was . . .' Oh God, I couldn't ask to come over and talk to his dad after all of that. That would be TOO embarrassing. No . . .
'You were what?'
'Nothing.'
He thought for a second, before saying, 'Do you . . . wanna hang out?'
I blinked. Huh? He wasn't actually supposed to invite me over. That was like, asking me over to SPEND TIME with him. What? But I was with J –
Oh yeah.
Suddenly, I felt really, REALLY pissed off. Rebellious. Like I had to do something outrageous just to prove a point.
'I'd love to,' I said with maybe a little too much spite. I mean, Jesse couldn't even hear me, right? No . . . But screw him. He's out of this, the oily jackass . . . Yeah, take that, *Rico Suave.
(A/NL I just looked *him up on Google, he's nothing special, guys. Jesse's SO much hotter . . . *gargles*)
Ha . . . Querida Andres . . . How DARE he?! With that name? That was bloody adding insult to injury!
'Wanna meet at the Coffee Clutch or something in ten?' he asked.
What? I stuttered something incoherent into the receiver, completely shocked. What was he on about? Hell, what was he ON? I'm Suze Simon, the ex- girlfriend of J.D.S. Like anyone would want to spend time with me, if someone as hot and perfect as Jesse didn't want me. But . . . too stunned to decline, I muttered, 'Sure . . . '
God, what's going ON?
I hung up, a little weirded out. Jeez, something was screwed up. I didn't want to be going on a bloody date with Tad. I needed to see his dad. But . . . then maybe later I could get to Mr Beaumont if I pretended to date Tad.
No, REALLY dated Tad. I was dumped. Single. Get used to it, Suze. I was a reject.
Sighing deeply, I dragged myself up the stairs, feeling emotionally drained. Oh, what I'd give to have someone to hold me . . . I wiped my hands down my face, blowing a raspberry to no one in particular. Well, a mental picture of Jesse, but yeah.
Damn him . . . cheating on me, the filthy great –
'Suze, are you going out?' Andy called up the stairs.
'Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry,' I yelled back. 'I don't think I can really stay for dinner.'
'That's fine,' he said, sounding a little disgruntled. 'Better I know now than when your plate has a bowl of steaming hot pumpkin soup that would eventually get a skin on it and go cold, and could have so easily been food for people in third world countries –'
'Yep, cool,' I butted in. That would have gone on forever.
*Forever . . . *
In my room, I slipped into something more cute – a little over-done, it has to be admitted – and left the house.
Suze Simon has left the building.
Remaining people in the building are now free to celebrate.
I pulled my leather jacket closer onto me. I mean, it was COLD. I was so walking there. Cheap guy . . . didn't even offer to come and pick me up. Must have had a ping pong ball for a brain . . .
In a red and black plaid mini, a little red cowl-neck tank top and of course, the leather jacket the reached half-way down my thighs, I marched for twenty minutes to the Coffee Clutch. Okay, not "marched" because that would have just been weird. Yeah. I was ten minutes late, but hey, I actually WALKED?
There, I saw Tad in – unfortunately – much the same clothes as the other night at the Kelly's "pool" party. Funny, only Scottie got to use the pool. I chuckled at that thought.
I so had the urge to comment on his terrible clothes – Tad's I mean, not Scott's – but I held my tongue. I wanted to make a lasting impression, so he'd take me to meet his dad and then I'd give the message from beyond the grave and stuff.
'Hey,' I smiled at him as I slid into a seat in one of the fresh looking cubicles. Tad nodded coolly. Ah, he had that silence about him that made him a little appealing even. It was a cute gimmick, it was, but . . . I just didn't have my heart in it.
'So, how are you?' he asked, as a waitress walked up to our table.
'Same as I was before?' I kind of hinted.
'Oh yeah . . . '
We ordered - him a coffee and me a hot chocolate – and just garbled about crap, you know? All I found out about him was that he was apparently star basketball player for RLS, and liked jet skiing a lot. Or something like that. After he was through describing all of the positions of a basket ball team, I think I kind of became fixated with the salt and pepper on the table top, occasionally going "uh huh" him whenever he paused for my approval. It was pretty boring, unfortunately. So I concentrated on other things. Like, oh, I dunno . . .
How gay my life was?
Maybe that.
'Hey,' I said suddenly, noticing something. 'What's that on your neck?'
'Nothing,' he muttered, hiking up his shoulders instantly, frowning heavily.
'That's not nothing,' I shot back. 'It's . . . '
'It's poison oak, okay?' he snapped. 'I don't know how the hell it got there, but –'
I started laughing.
He gave me a weird look.
'I do,' I smiled, and sheepishly held up my scaly hands. A look of comprehension dawned on him, but then he frowned again. Like he'd got as far in his thoughts as about . . . two centimeters?
'I fell into some poison oak at Kelly's party,' I said. 'Then I slow-danced with you. Thus, you're a bumpy, peeling freak as am I. Joy, huh?'
He nodded slowly. 'But hey . . . who's Kelly?'
Ouch . . .
~*~
It was six-thirty. The sun had set, and it was really getting chilly. I mean, colder than it had been when I had walked over. I still couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of picking me up, the knucklehead . . .
'Okay,' he grinned as he drained the last of his coffee, 'What do ya wanna do now?'
I twirled my hair around my finger thoughtfully. 'I dunno,' I said. How about meet your dad so I can get this stupid hippie ghoul off my stupid back and get on with my stupid life?
'Uh, wanna come to my place and hang there?' he asked.
Okay, for anyone that would have sounded like he was trying to hit on me, or get me to go to bed with him or something crap like that. But I SO wasn't in the mood to even pretend to be flattered, or contemplate whether he was being serious or not. I had a job to do. This was exactly what I wanted to do. Get to his stupid dad.
'Whatever,' I said, and slurped the dregs of my hot chocolate slowly. I flicked my hair out of my eyes and followed him out to his car. He really was pretty tall. Okay, well, duh, that's usually why people get on BASKETBALL teams, but he still wasn't as tall as Jesse.
Not even Paul.
Blue eyes . . .
My fingers ran subconsciously over the slightly raised scars on my wrists again. Memories . . . ropes, shouting, choking, lust.
Lust, not love.
'Suze? Where are you going?'
I stopped. Oops, I'd continued to walk when Tad stopped at his c – aaah . . .
Oh my . . .
My eyebrows went SKY HIGH.
A Porsche?
The dude drove a PORSCHE? He wore silk tees? Back in New York, if he pulled stunts like that, there would have been a lot of assumptions that he batted for the other side, you know? As in, the fancy-walking, slurred talking kind?
Oh, all right. They would have thought he was GAY, okay? I know when I don't make sense. In fact, I was kind of wondering . . . you know?
'Ah, you want to get in, Susie?' he asked very softly.
My eyebrows dived down. 'Don't call me that,' I hissed at him. Why did he keep calling me that? Jeez, was it so hard? He looked kind of shocked. 'Okay, sorry,' he said with a gentle chuckle. I wasn't feeling to jolly by then. I dunno why . . .
It was a while driving. I mean, quite a while. Like, twenty minutes. As far as I could tell, he lived as far away as Jesse did, but in just about the opposite direction.
~*~
'So, you wanted to have a private word with me, alone?'
Mr Beaumont sounded terribly confused. He was quite a big man, I mean, like, stocky. Not tiny, believe me. He still had most of his hair on his head, and was very professional looking. His hands were very large and hairy, but at least he had the decency to shave. We were in his office.
Which was in a house as big as a NY hotel.
I am SO serious. When Tad drove in his driveway, I had the weirdest expression on my face. It kind of wouldn't go away for about a minute. Well, a little more than a minute. Okay, a lot more. Tad kept on looking at me funny. Like, really funny. Fair enough, I guess I looked kind of constipated. Well, REALLY constipated. What? I had never seen a house like that in the flesh. Oh, all right the BRICK. It was TWICE as big as Jesse's! I just sat there staring, my mouth opened at this weird, horrified, alarmed kind of angle.
What the HELL was I messing with? You don't go telling rich old men that they killed someone but it wasn't their fault! I was so SCREWED!
I just kept staring, until I realized that he'd hopped out and had opened the door on my side.
'You rich or something?' I asked. That, I realized, was bloody obvious.
'Or something,' he grinned. Obviously, he liked this money he had. He liked it a lot. After an eternity of mortification, I tore my goggled eyes away from the light brick walls with the high gates and the fountains and the big grass areas. And that was only from about fifty meters away. We weren't even on the property yet. Tad waved coolly to the guard at the gate, who opened it cheerily. Well, not cheerily, but he looked a bit more perky than Tad. I still kind of had fist-in-mouth disease – meaning I could fit my fist in my mouth, it was open so wide.
And when he lead me inside, whoa . . . you've never seen anything like it. It was all so, well, posh. I mean, pompous posh. Like, "I'm so much better than you." But I didn't mind. I was THERE, right? So ha to everyone else. I was THERE. You weren't.
Feugh . . . I think it was giving off the pompous vibe big time . . . Sorry.
This Japanese dude called Yoshi tried to take my leather jacket off me, but I kind of grabbed his collar and shoved him back. Highly alarmed, he ran out of the room. I turned to Tad to see he was laughing his head off.
'What?' I demanded, 'he tried to steal my jacket! Do you know how much this costs? I mean, you probably have multiple leather jackets, well, they might be silk, but I cant afford more than –'
But he was still laughing.
~*~
Back to the present. Mr Beaumont was staring at me, looking quite astonished. God, the guy could have gone out in the sun a bit. He was like, WAY pale. I shuddered internally. Funny, he didn't look like a murderer. He sat behind his desk, and I sat in front of it gingerly. The door, which lead the elevator, was firmly closed. I looked at it nervously. I wasn't too zazzed about being in a room with a murderer, but hey, it's happened before, and nothing went too wrong. (Cough, "Jesse!" Cough) Well, striking certain recent things from the record . . .
And the windows? They were shut to. I mean, fair enough, it was night. But these things, they were NAILED shut. Like, no light, no air, EVER. I stared at them, and then at Tad's dad cynically, before remembering I had a job. So the guy was a little weird, as well as a psycho. Weren't we all? Well, not the psycho bit, but . . . oh, you know what I'm on about . . . the weird bit. We're all weird! Ugh, why do I bother justifying myself. I don't make sense any more anyway.
'Look, Mr Beaumont,' I said, 'I'm sorry to break this to you, but . . . I'm not here for your son. I needed to see you. Desperately. See, I had this . . . uh, dream. This lady came and said that you didn't kill her. That it wasn't your fault,' I blurted out, not staring at him, but at the huge tropical aquarium that concealed half of the wall. So many fish, swimming in an endless prison . . . I hate fish. They are so depressing. I mean, who wants to eat flakes all their life? Jeez . . . doesn't, like, animal rights do something about it? It sucks. Stupid fish . . . might as well be on people's plates if they're going to be swimming around just looking all flashy only to be found floating on their side after a week. Sorry . . . blame that little speech on Bubbles. YES, I had a goldfish, okay? So? I was SEVEN. And it DIED. No ghost of Bubbles to mediate, oh noooo. It was very emotional.
After a silence that I seemed to find quite odd, I looked back at Mr Beaumont, to find that he was . . .
Not shaking in paranoia.
Not crying like I'd just told him something like changing.
Not even looking freaked out, or angry.
Oh, none of the above. Our Mr Thaddeus Beaumont was grinning. And not in a "you're not serious, you're a crazy person" way. Grinning in a "I was hoping you would say that" way. Which was totally wrong. He wasn't supposed to be grinning. Only Adam was allowed to look that insane when he grinned. Not high class, professional, multi-million dollar earning business men like him.
I was getting freaked by now.
'Oh, Miss Simon,' he bared his unusually pointy teeth into a grin. Uh . . . they weren't just pointy. They were LONG. As in . . . REAL long. Oooh, not good . . .
A highly Transylvanian thought flashed through my head. Oh, Suze, God, don't be an idiot. Vampires aren't real. They're stuff out of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Don't kid yourself. You just deal with the boring old ghosties.
I blinked. Hey, I was in shock. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to have an emotional minute, and then the "Red" lady would appear, crying, thanking me, and would move on, and then the rich guy would send me flowers every day because he was so happy. Mr Beaumont was NOT supposed to be grinning. That wasn't in the bloody script!
'Uh, dude, I don't think you understood what I said,' I muttered uncertainly, standing up. But he stood up with me. Whoa, he was tall. Like his son. I backed away a little, and – yes, I'm ashamed to admit – I gulped.
'I know exactly what you mean,' he smiled slyly, coming out from behind his desk slowly. 'This person who contacted you, this woman, she said I . . . I didn't kill her? It wasn't my fault?' He was still grinning. I felt myself starting to freak. I was trapped in a room with a madman. The dad of a guy I was apparently "dating," but a MADMAN ALL THE SAME.
'Yeah, she said that,' I stumbled on my words, holding my hands out behind me so I wouldn't fall. I kept moving back, but hey, the office wasn't that big, you know.
'That's rather strange. See, it's quite untrue,' he considered, frowning slightly. 'It indeed was my fault. And she's not the only one that this horrible thing has happened to, unfortunately. Oh, there have been many . . . '
Oh no you don't . . . Oh, no. NO! NOT FAIR!
'You speak to the dead then, do you Miss Simon?' he asked articulately. He was so bloody pale! And he kind of kept staring at my neck. I didn't have a necklace on, so I don't know why. I mean, usually wearing a necklace attracts some admiring attention, but no neck wear here. So what was the DEAL?
'Mr Beaumont,' I spluttered, 'I really think I should be getting back to Tad –'
I made a dash for the door, but it wouldn't open. A effervesce of panic rose from my stomach, and sped up my world triple time. Shit! He was going to kill me! Ah, NOT good! I desperately hammered on the elevator door, but no go. There was no button from the inside to call the elevator up. It must have only worked for the outside. How the hell was Mr Beaumont supposed to get out? Why the HELL was I caring about him?
Oh, because now I had to get out? Oh yeah, that's bloody IT!
'Please, can you open the door?' I said quickly, 'I need to go, uh, to the toilet. Desperate, man. I'm on fluid tablets, you see –'
Okay, EW.
He was two meters away, and he looked highly amused. 'But you can see the dead in your dreams. You can't get into contact with more of these people? How I do wish I could ask them what they felt when I . . . well, did away with them. It would be so good to hear how they describe the pain,' he said, and placed a large, strong hand on my shoulder.
This guy's sick. He's real sick, I realized. Oh God . . . RICH PEOPLE THESE DAYS!
'Mr Beaumont!' I yelped, and jerked away from him. 'It probably wasn't real. Jeez! Can you please open the door? I really, REALLY need to go pee –'
But he didn't. Rich people just don't have any consideration for peoples' possible bladder problems, god dammit! He totally grabbed my shoulders again, yes, PLURAL, and held me very close to his face in a total non- romantic way.
Okay, I was now officially scared. What the HELL WAS GOING ON?!
'If you refuse to co-operate, of course,' he leered at my neck, 'I could just . . . yes . . . '
He lowered his head oh so slowly to my neck, and I felt two very sharp knife-like objects puncture the flesh of my neck, and I felt myself being drained of my life, of my blood . . . Sucking, stealing . . . drinking . . .
My mouth opened in horror, and my eyes went wide, so wide . . . Pulsing blood was being taken from me. My life. What made me alive . . .
'Vampire,' I breathed . . .
My vision collapsed entirely.
A dead, severe ache engulfed my body.
I . . . was . . . I was . . . I was NOT BUFFY!!! WHAT THE HELL WAS . . .
Oooh, woozy.
I couldn't move any more.
This was it . . .
**************************************************************************** *********
The change. You weren't expecting that, right? Oooh, psycho freaky Red Beaumont . . . Is this the end for Suze?! Stay tuned!
RE-RE-NOTE: Remember, ideas for that fanfiction! I'm on my KNEES, people. I'm getting really pooped out here. No one's really giving me anything. They just say that "I'll think of something." I don't know what you want though! Please, respond to my desperate cry for help?
I had a REALLY bad day, and reading some of the reviews didn't even help. Sorry if you didn't like what was written, but, (to quote Carolyn984, "It's not always rainbows and butterflies." Hehehe. But that is so true. You expected smooth sailing? Not always. And we all know that Suze can be a bit of a hot head when she is hurt and angry.
But yeah, don't jump to conclusions. People like Corcra have the right idea. They know how my mind works . . .
I promise, amy88, I'm not a bum, really! Sorry if you didn't like the chapter. But for everyone, I really need those plot ideas for the next fanfic, so PLEASE help. I mean, everyone's saying that they have none. If it was just a couple of people not giving anything, that would be okay, but I think only about two people have said anything helpful. I'm in a really depressed mood, so brighten me up maybe? Okay . . .
**************************************************************************** ****
Suze's POV.
I just sat there, staring at nothing. Everything was kind of blurry. Or was it just because my eyes were so wet? Ugh, I HATE crying. It's the worst thing ever, when your eyes go all blood-shot and your throat chokes up and you make this horrible blubbering sounds and your eyes LEAK. And how you can never stop . . .
I snuffled my nose and blew it on some tissues. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to. Jesse . . . he was leaving me? Just like, "Oh, I've met fancy Spanish Querida Andres who can't talk English and is my new butt- monkey."
NICE, Jesse. Real nice!
Again, I hiccuped loudly, trying not to burst into tears again. But they came. It just ached so much. Just today, I'd been saying how much I loved him to a whole classroom of people, describing what it felt like to feel such a powerful emotion. But heaven forbid something should go right for me, it was all a lie. Jesse had been a lie. You know, it would have been worse if he had have just been a psychotic murderer like I had thought he was when I first met him. But no, he had to be HOT and SWEET and totally CUTE and all WELL MANNERED. Where the hell did that go? Traits like that don't just evaporate! Had it ALL been an act? And why? Why bother to go to such extent? It was only me. I mean, yeah, I have got the occasional wolf- whistle, but I'm no Miss Jaffa. I'm no Kelly Prescott. No Beyonce. I'm just Suze Simon, who happens to . . . oh, isn't that cute, talk to a couple of carcasses? Yeah . . . duh, Suze. It was all just a game.
Love is all a game, right?
Game over.
I totally went limp in the seat, just breathing. I just concentrated on remembering to inhale deeply, the thick, corrupted oxygen around me, and let it all out as deadly fumes of carbon dioxide. Again, the phone rang. I picked it up angrily, listening expectantly.
'Susannah? Is that you? You must hear me out –'
I hung up again. I didn't have to do anything. Nothing. I owed him nothing. I gave him my heart, and he tore my still-beating, bloody, dripping heart from my chest cavity, threw it to the ground with all of his might, and then stomped it into a fine paste. Now I am worse off than before.
Not dramatic at ALL.
And I didn't even get my fine paste back! It kind of decomposed on the concrete I think . . .
I dragged a weary, poison-oaky hand through my hair. My God, this day sucked. Do you really hate me that much? I mean, you plague me with ghosts, and you expect me to just take this shit that you fling at me? God, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!
By then I was on my feet. I had to do something constructive. I ran upstairs and spent fifteen intense minutes on the boxing bag, and then ran back downstairs to the phone with a little slip of paper in my hand.
I dialed it, and waited with bated breath for "Mr Beaumont" to answer. Yeah, that's right, I was going to get this bloody "Red" lady off my back. I still didn't get it. CeeCee had told me that this guy didn't even have red hair or anything, and his real name was like, Thaddeus or something. So what was the deal with Red? I mean, spasticated or what? I totally didn't get –
'Hello?'
A voice of the softest variety greeted me in a silky, sexy breath. I was totally shocked. Because, unfortunately, it was a voice I recognized, and currently didn't really want to be having a conversation with.
It was Tad, from Kelly's pool party.
'H – hello?' he repeated, a little louder this time.
I did what any girl would do in that situation.
I hung up.
Whoa I'm having a field day with this hanging up thing, aren't I?
But unfortunately, New Jersey dude had caller ID. So when the phone rang again, I just assumed it was Jesse.
'I have nothing to say to you, you bastard! Go and screw her then, see if I care –'
'Hello?'
I stopped dead. Oh my . . . HOLY CRAP!
I didn't utter a word. I was about to hang up when his voice stopped me. 'Wait! Don't I know you?'
I froze. Oh God . . .why me, WHY?!?!
'Hey, Tad,' I said, so embarrassed I could literally feel myself liquefying into some gooey substance that would be found under toilet seat after ten years. My face burnt hotter than fire. I just sat there, totally awed that one could be so stupid, one being . . . who?
Oh yeah, me.
'Sorry, wrong number,' I gushed.
'Uh, I called you.'
'Oh . . . that's right –'
'Susie? Is that you?' Tad asked.
Now my face burnt in a different way.
'Don't call me or I'll take away your reason for wearing jocks,' I snapped, so fast that he (happily) didn't quite catch.
I heard him laugh. It was quite a horrible one at that. Well, okay, NOT horrible, but foreboding, you know? I shivered. 'Well, I didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon.'
'You're not seeing me,' I said.
'Well, I think you know what I mean,' he chuckled. Was it me, or was he . . . weird?
'Uh, yeah, whatever,' I said. 'Um, I think I have to –'
'Who were you talking about?' he asked curiously. I was still FREAKED.
TAD was RED BEAUMONT'S bloody SON! Could this suck even more?
'Uh, no one. None of your –'
'You can tell me . . . ' His voice was so soft. Like a cool, gentle breeze in my ear.
I sighed. What the hell? At least offer some explanation, right? I freaked the poor boy out. 'My, er, boyfriend is in Spain. And he, well, two-timed me.'
I heard him click his tongue sympathetically. 'Damn. That's rough. What a bastard.'
'In a big way,' I grumbled. 'He tried to call back before and so I hung up on him, and I thought that you were him and when you weren't I was really embarrassed so I'm sorry is it got weird it was just –'
'Sorry, could you slow down? I kind of only caught the first bit.'
I groaned to myself. I ALWAYS talk fast when I'm nervous. But why AM I nervous?
I repeated myself, although not quite losing my head this time and prattling on about crap. I heard him chuckle. 'It was weird,' he admitted in that soft, sleek voice that coiled around me like a sheet of cool silk. 'But it's okay.'
I smiled, and sighed. 'But yeah, I was . . .' Oh God, I couldn't ask to come over and talk to his dad after all of that. That would be TOO embarrassing. No . . .
'You were what?'
'Nothing.'
He thought for a second, before saying, 'Do you . . . wanna hang out?'
I blinked. Huh? He wasn't actually supposed to invite me over. That was like, asking me over to SPEND TIME with him. What? But I was with J –
Oh yeah.
Suddenly, I felt really, REALLY pissed off. Rebellious. Like I had to do something outrageous just to prove a point.
'I'd love to,' I said with maybe a little too much spite. I mean, Jesse couldn't even hear me, right? No . . . But screw him. He's out of this, the oily jackass . . . Yeah, take that, *Rico Suave.
(A/NL I just looked *him up on Google, he's nothing special, guys. Jesse's SO much hotter . . . *gargles*)
Ha . . . Querida Andres . . . How DARE he?! With that name? That was bloody adding insult to injury!
'Wanna meet at the Coffee Clutch or something in ten?' he asked.
What? I stuttered something incoherent into the receiver, completely shocked. What was he on about? Hell, what was he ON? I'm Suze Simon, the ex- girlfriend of J.D.S. Like anyone would want to spend time with me, if someone as hot and perfect as Jesse didn't want me. But . . . too stunned to decline, I muttered, 'Sure . . . '
God, what's going ON?
I hung up, a little weirded out. Jeez, something was screwed up. I didn't want to be going on a bloody date with Tad. I needed to see his dad. But . . . then maybe later I could get to Mr Beaumont if I pretended to date Tad.
No, REALLY dated Tad. I was dumped. Single. Get used to it, Suze. I was a reject.
Sighing deeply, I dragged myself up the stairs, feeling emotionally drained. Oh, what I'd give to have someone to hold me . . . I wiped my hands down my face, blowing a raspberry to no one in particular. Well, a mental picture of Jesse, but yeah.
Damn him . . . cheating on me, the filthy great –
'Suze, are you going out?' Andy called up the stairs.
'Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry,' I yelled back. 'I don't think I can really stay for dinner.'
'That's fine,' he said, sounding a little disgruntled. 'Better I know now than when your plate has a bowl of steaming hot pumpkin soup that would eventually get a skin on it and go cold, and could have so easily been food for people in third world countries –'
'Yep, cool,' I butted in. That would have gone on forever.
*Forever . . . *
In my room, I slipped into something more cute – a little over-done, it has to be admitted – and left the house.
Suze Simon has left the building.
Remaining people in the building are now free to celebrate.
I pulled my leather jacket closer onto me. I mean, it was COLD. I was so walking there. Cheap guy . . . didn't even offer to come and pick me up. Must have had a ping pong ball for a brain . . .
In a red and black plaid mini, a little red cowl-neck tank top and of course, the leather jacket the reached half-way down my thighs, I marched for twenty minutes to the Coffee Clutch. Okay, not "marched" because that would have just been weird. Yeah. I was ten minutes late, but hey, I actually WALKED?
There, I saw Tad in – unfortunately – much the same clothes as the other night at the Kelly's "pool" party. Funny, only Scottie got to use the pool. I chuckled at that thought.
I so had the urge to comment on his terrible clothes – Tad's I mean, not Scott's – but I held my tongue. I wanted to make a lasting impression, so he'd take me to meet his dad and then I'd give the message from beyond the grave and stuff.
'Hey,' I smiled at him as I slid into a seat in one of the fresh looking cubicles. Tad nodded coolly. Ah, he had that silence about him that made him a little appealing even. It was a cute gimmick, it was, but . . . I just didn't have my heart in it.
'So, how are you?' he asked, as a waitress walked up to our table.
'Same as I was before?' I kind of hinted.
'Oh yeah . . . '
We ordered - him a coffee and me a hot chocolate – and just garbled about crap, you know? All I found out about him was that he was apparently star basketball player for RLS, and liked jet skiing a lot. Or something like that. After he was through describing all of the positions of a basket ball team, I think I kind of became fixated with the salt and pepper on the table top, occasionally going "uh huh" him whenever he paused for my approval. It was pretty boring, unfortunately. So I concentrated on other things. Like, oh, I dunno . . .
How gay my life was?
Maybe that.
'Hey,' I said suddenly, noticing something. 'What's that on your neck?'
'Nothing,' he muttered, hiking up his shoulders instantly, frowning heavily.
'That's not nothing,' I shot back. 'It's . . . '
'It's poison oak, okay?' he snapped. 'I don't know how the hell it got there, but –'
I started laughing.
He gave me a weird look.
'I do,' I smiled, and sheepishly held up my scaly hands. A look of comprehension dawned on him, but then he frowned again. Like he'd got as far in his thoughts as about . . . two centimeters?
'I fell into some poison oak at Kelly's party,' I said. 'Then I slow-danced with you. Thus, you're a bumpy, peeling freak as am I. Joy, huh?'
He nodded slowly. 'But hey . . . who's Kelly?'
Ouch . . .
~*~
It was six-thirty. The sun had set, and it was really getting chilly. I mean, colder than it had been when I had walked over. I still couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of picking me up, the knucklehead . . .
'Okay,' he grinned as he drained the last of his coffee, 'What do ya wanna do now?'
I twirled my hair around my finger thoughtfully. 'I dunno,' I said. How about meet your dad so I can get this stupid hippie ghoul off my stupid back and get on with my stupid life?
'Uh, wanna come to my place and hang there?' he asked.
Okay, for anyone that would have sounded like he was trying to hit on me, or get me to go to bed with him or something crap like that. But I SO wasn't in the mood to even pretend to be flattered, or contemplate whether he was being serious or not. I had a job to do. This was exactly what I wanted to do. Get to his stupid dad.
'Whatever,' I said, and slurped the dregs of my hot chocolate slowly. I flicked my hair out of my eyes and followed him out to his car. He really was pretty tall. Okay, well, duh, that's usually why people get on BASKETBALL teams, but he still wasn't as tall as Jesse.
Not even Paul.
Blue eyes . . .
My fingers ran subconsciously over the slightly raised scars on my wrists again. Memories . . . ropes, shouting, choking, lust.
Lust, not love.
'Suze? Where are you going?'
I stopped. Oops, I'd continued to walk when Tad stopped at his c – aaah . . .
Oh my . . .
My eyebrows went SKY HIGH.
A Porsche?
The dude drove a PORSCHE? He wore silk tees? Back in New York, if he pulled stunts like that, there would have been a lot of assumptions that he batted for the other side, you know? As in, the fancy-walking, slurred talking kind?
Oh, all right. They would have thought he was GAY, okay? I know when I don't make sense. In fact, I was kind of wondering . . . you know?
'Ah, you want to get in, Susie?' he asked very softly.
My eyebrows dived down. 'Don't call me that,' I hissed at him. Why did he keep calling me that? Jeez, was it so hard? He looked kind of shocked. 'Okay, sorry,' he said with a gentle chuckle. I wasn't feeling to jolly by then. I dunno why . . .
It was a while driving. I mean, quite a while. Like, twenty minutes. As far as I could tell, he lived as far away as Jesse did, but in just about the opposite direction.
~*~
'So, you wanted to have a private word with me, alone?'
Mr Beaumont sounded terribly confused. He was quite a big man, I mean, like, stocky. Not tiny, believe me. He still had most of his hair on his head, and was very professional looking. His hands were very large and hairy, but at least he had the decency to shave. We were in his office.
Which was in a house as big as a NY hotel.
I am SO serious. When Tad drove in his driveway, I had the weirdest expression on my face. It kind of wouldn't go away for about a minute. Well, a little more than a minute. Okay, a lot more. Tad kept on looking at me funny. Like, really funny. Fair enough, I guess I looked kind of constipated. Well, REALLY constipated. What? I had never seen a house like that in the flesh. Oh, all right the BRICK. It was TWICE as big as Jesse's! I just sat there staring, my mouth opened at this weird, horrified, alarmed kind of angle.
What the HELL was I messing with? You don't go telling rich old men that they killed someone but it wasn't their fault! I was so SCREWED!
I just kept staring, until I realized that he'd hopped out and had opened the door on my side.
'You rich or something?' I asked. That, I realized, was bloody obvious.
'Or something,' he grinned. Obviously, he liked this money he had. He liked it a lot. After an eternity of mortification, I tore my goggled eyes away from the light brick walls with the high gates and the fountains and the big grass areas. And that was only from about fifty meters away. We weren't even on the property yet. Tad waved coolly to the guard at the gate, who opened it cheerily. Well, not cheerily, but he looked a bit more perky than Tad. I still kind of had fist-in-mouth disease – meaning I could fit my fist in my mouth, it was open so wide.
And when he lead me inside, whoa . . . you've never seen anything like it. It was all so, well, posh. I mean, pompous posh. Like, "I'm so much better than you." But I didn't mind. I was THERE, right? So ha to everyone else. I was THERE. You weren't.
Feugh . . . I think it was giving off the pompous vibe big time . . . Sorry.
This Japanese dude called Yoshi tried to take my leather jacket off me, but I kind of grabbed his collar and shoved him back. Highly alarmed, he ran out of the room. I turned to Tad to see he was laughing his head off.
'What?' I demanded, 'he tried to steal my jacket! Do you know how much this costs? I mean, you probably have multiple leather jackets, well, they might be silk, but I cant afford more than –'
But he was still laughing.
~*~
Back to the present. Mr Beaumont was staring at me, looking quite astonished. God, the guy could have gone out in the sun a bit. He was like, WAY pale. I shuddered internally. Funny, he didn't look like a murderer. He sat behind his desk, and I sat in front of it gingerly. The door, which lead the elevator, was firmly closed. I looked at it nervously. I wasn't too zazzed about being in a room with a murderer, but hey, it's happened before, and nothing went too wrong. (Cough, "Jesse!" Cough) Well, striking certain recent things from the record . . .
And the windows? They were shut to. I mean, fair enough, it was night. But these things, they were NAILED shut. Like, no light, no air, EVER. I stared at them, and then at Tad's dad cynically, before remembering I had a job. So the guy was a little weird, as well as a psycho. Weren't we all? Well, not the psycho bit, but . . . oh, you know what I'm on about . . . the weird bit. We're all weird! Ugh, why do I bother justifying myself. I don't make sense any more anyway.
'Look, Mr Beaumont,' I said, 'I'm sorry to break this to you, but . . . I'm not here for your son. I needed to see you. Desperately. See, I had this . . . uh, dream. This lady came and said that you didn't kill her. That it wasn't your fault,' I blurted out, not staring at him, but at the huge tropical aquarium that concealed half of the wall. So many fish, swimming in an endless prison . . . I hate fish. They are so depressing. I mean, who wants to eat flakes all their life? Jeez . . . doesn't, like, animal rights do something about it? It sucks. Stupid fish . . . might as well be on people's plates if they're going to be swimming around just looking all flashy only to be found floating on their side after a week. Sorry . . . blame that little speech on Bubbles. YES, I had a goldfish, okay? So? I was SEVEN. And it DIED. No ghost of Bubbles to mediate, oh noooo. It was very emotional.
After a silence that I seemed to find quite odd, I looked back at Mr Beaumont, to find that he was . . .
Not shaking in paranoia.
Not crying like I'd just told him something like changing.
Not even looking freaked out, or angry.
Oh, none of the above. Our Mr Thaddeus Beaumont was grinning. And not in a "you're not serious, you're a crazy person" way. Grinning in a "I was hoping you would say that" way. Which was totally wrong. He wasn't supposed to be grinning. Only Adam was allowed to look that insane when he grinned. Not high class, professional, multi-million dollar earning business men like him.
I was getting freaked by now.
'Oh, Miss Simon,' he bared his unusually pointy teeth into a grin. Uh . . . they weren't just pointy. They were LONG. As in . . . REAL long. Oooh, not good . . .
A highly Transylvanian thought flashed through my head. Oh, Suze, God, don't be an idiot. Vampires aren't real. They're stuff out of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Don't kid yourself. You just deal with the boring old ghosties.
I blinked. Hey, I was in shock. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to have an emotional minute, and then the "Red" lady would appear, crying, thanking me, and would move on, and then the rich guy would send me flowers every day because he was so happy. Mr Beaumont was NOT supposed to be grinning. That wasn't in the bloody script!
'Uh, dude, I don't think you understood what I said,' I muttered uncertainly, standing up. But he stood up with me. Whoa, he was tall. Like his son. I backed away a little, and – yes, I'm ashamed to admit – I gulped.
'I know exactly what you mean,' he smiled slyly, coming out from behind his desk slowly. 'This person who contacted you, this woman, she said I . . . I didn't kill her? It wasn't my fault?' He was still grinning. I felt myself starting to freak. I was trapped in a room with a madman. The dad of a guy I was apparently "dating," but a MADMAN ALL THE SAME.
'Yeah, she said that,' I stumbled on my words, holding my hands out behind me so I wouldn't fall. I kept moving back, but hey, the office wasn't that big, you know.
'That's rather strange. See, it's quite untrue,' he considered, frowning slightly. 'It indeed was my fault. And she's not the only one that this horrible thing has happened to, unfortunately. Oh, there have been many . . . '
Oh no you don't . . . Oh, no. NO! NOT FAIR!
'You speak to the dead then, do you Miss Simon?' he asked articulately. He was so bloody pale! And he kind of kept staring at my neck. I didn't have a necklace on, so I don't know why. I mean, usually wearing a necklace attracts some admiring attention, but no neck wear here. So what was the DEAL?
'Mr Beaumont,' I spluttered, 'I really think I should be getting back to Tad –'
I made a dash for the door, but it wouldn't open. A effervesce of panic rose from my stomach, and sped up my world triple time. Shit! He was going to kill me! Ah, NOT good! I desperately hammered on the elevator door, but no go. There was no button from the inside to call the elevator up. It must have only worked for the outside. How the hell was Mr Beaumont supposed to get out? Why the HELL was I caring about him?
Oh, because now I had to get out? Oh yeah, that's bloody IT!
'Please, can you open the door?' I said quickly, 'I need to go, uh, to the toilet. Desperate, man. I'm on fluid tablets, you see –'
Okay, EW.
He was two meters away, and he looked highly amused. 'But you can see the dead in your dreams. You can't get into contact with more of these people? How I do wish I could ask them what they felt when I . . . well, did away with them. It would be so good to hear how they describe the pain,' he said, and placed a large, strong hand on my shoulder.
This guy's sick. He's real sick, I realized. Oh God . . . RICH PEOPLE THESE DAYS!
'Mr Beaumont!' I yelped, and jerked away from him. 'It probably wasn't real. Jeez! Can you please open the door? I really, REALLY need to go pee –'
But he didn't. Rich people just don't have any consideration for peoples' possible bladder problems, god dammit! He totally grabbed my shoulders again, yes, PLURAL, and held me very close to his face in a total non- romantic way.
Okay, I was now officially scared. What the HELL WAS GOING ON?!
'If you refuse to co-operate, of course,' he leered at my neck, 'I could just . . . yes . . . '
He lowered his head oh so slowly to my neck, and I felt two very sharp knife-like objects puncture the flesh of my neck, and I felt myself being drained of my life, of my blood . . . Sucking, stealing . . . drinking . . .
My mouth opened in horror, and my eyes went wide, so wide . . . Pulsing blood was being taken from me. My life. What made me alive . . .
'Vampire,' I breathed . . .
My vision collapsed entirely.
A dead, severe ache engulfed my body.
I . . . was . . . I was . . . I was NOT BUFFY!!! WHAT THE HELL WAS . . .
Oooh, woozy.
I couldn't move any more.
This was it . . .
**************************************************************************** *********
The change. You weren't expecting that, right? Oooh, psycho freaky Red Beaumont . . . Is this the end for Suze?! Stay tuned!
RE-RE-NOTE: Remember, ideas for that fanfiction! I'm on my KNEES, people. I'm getting really pooped out here. No one's really giving me anything. They just say that "I'll think of something." I don't know what you want though! Please, respond to my desperate cry for help?