Despite the complaints I have returned. Lol. Nah, check out the sequel to "Get Out Jesse and Never Come Back," guys! I was tempted to, you know, call it "Get Back Jesse and Never Go Out" but that would have been WAY ironic. So I settled with "Power of Love." It's gonna be pretty good, I reckon. So hang in there . . . might be a bit infrequent in updating, I got a lot on my plate, okay? Yo, thanks guys. You seriously rule, you know that? I really mean it. You guys are the best . . . Reading your beautiful reviews is a highlight of my gloomy days. I'm having a rough patch at the moment . . .

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'Poison-oaky hands, two bumps on my neck . . . somebody really wants to destroy my image,' I said, disgruntled.

I was slumped in a chair in Father Dom's office. Yes, on a Saturday. Hey, don't tease me. It was bad enough. 'It looks like I have a hickey.'

Father Dom gave me a weird look.

He coughed and put a stack of papers away in his drawer. 'Susannah,' he said, fixing me with a steady, intense blue eyed gaze. I could see the anxiety glaring from behind his eyes. 'Oh, I would never have believed this to be true . . . Well, I probably would have, seeing ghosts are also real when most people think that they are not, but . . . oh my . . . ' He rubbed his chin fretfully. 'A vampire. A real vampire bit you . . . Much as I hate to, er, ask, are you sure it wasn't the result of a, well, romantic event?'

'Ew!' I said in disgust, 'Padre, I am SO not seeing anyone else. Well, I was seeing kind of seeing Tad . . . which kind of defeats the purpose of my entire argument . . . But it has NOTHING to do with . . . a kink thing!' I denied. 'Father D, for a priest, you have a very suspicious mind.'

He shrugged, and looked away briefly, embarrassed, but then his eyes snapped back to me. 'Let me see this bite, Susannah.'

'Feel free,' I said, crossing my legs, 'You come here though. Now that I think about it, I kind of do feel a little lightheaded . . .' I said softly, holding my head sarcastically. 'Yeah, lack of blood. Oooh,' I continued.

'Susannah, please,' he said. 'Spare me.' He came and inspected the wound on my neck. He touched the raised bumps very gently frowning. I sighed impatiently, still feeling really woozy. I reminisced on the dream that I'd had last night. For some reason, there seemed to be a dark finality to it, like it was the last dream I'd ever have. My head was aching from thinking about those words, over and over again. Whispered words . . . "I'm coming home, Suze. I'm coming home . . . "

'Do you know how much blood he did take?' Father Dominic said, sounding very alarmed, and very convinced all of a sudden. 'You're so pale, Susannah.'

I blinked. 'Uh, I don't remember. I kept blacking out, I think. It was really traumatic,' I snapped, annoyed. 'Don't expect me to remember it.'

He stepped away and went back to sitting opposite me. 'Understandable,' he said. 'Getting you to remember things that are school related is hard enough. Anyway, so tell me more about this "Red" lady you mentioned.'

Yeah, I know, I SUCK. I got the Father's help, because, let's face it, I'd screwed up the last attempt. I obviously couldn't handle it on my own. And don't make me feel worse than I already did. I felt so crappy, it wasn't funny. Like I'd failed, or something . . . what? Have you seen how that hippie looks at you? The eyes, they're haunting and all sad and stuff. It's so horrible. I felt WAY guilty.

I told him everything I knew, which wasn't much. In the meantime, my head was becoming increasingly painful. NEVER again would I date another vampire spawn. It sucks! Oh, God . . .

I sighed in my seat. 'Father D, I'd better go now, I really don't feel well,' I said, not lying for once. Everything was kinda fuzzy, you know?

Father Dom shifted, distracted from his thoughts. 'Why yes. Of course. I will meanwhile, see what we can find about our undead friends.'

'Ghosts?' I asked cluelessly.

Father Dom rolled his eyes. 'Vampire, Susannah,' he said with annoyance. His look totally said "duh."

I twitched. Hey, I was suffering from BLOOD LOSS, okay?

~*~

'Hey, you the mediator?'

I turned around, and by all of the construction workers that were – finally – repairing the breezeway, this little boy stood staring up at me. Now normally this would have been a highly strange section for a little kid – who wasn't supposed to be in this area with the high school kids – to be asking if I could gab to corpses.

But this little dude was kind of one of them.

So that's okay.

It was pretty sad. Someone so young to be dead. Life stopping. It was so sad . . .

Oh well.

'Hey buddy,' I smiled. What? I was warm with the little tikes. THEY couldn't do all that much to me, right? Well, not unless they were direct from Village of the Damned and knew all my secrets or something spazzed like that.

I watch WAY too much Simpsons, right?

But yeah . . .

'I got a bit of a problem . . . ' he muttered, his hands in his pockets. I dimly remembered CeeCee mentioning him, I think. Timothy? Died from Leukemia? Something like that. Poor little dude . . .

'Well, tell me about it,' I said patiently.

~*~

'Here Spike!' Adam yelled out. 'Spikey Spikey Spikey! Come on, you stupid filthy feline excuse –'

'Adam, stop it,' CeeCee frowned, still staring avidly at her laptop. She was sitting under her traditional umbrella, as to protect her hyper- sensitive skin from the blazing Californian sun. 'Cats have feelings, you know.'

I snorted. 'Uh huh.'

'Cork it, Funnel Webb,' Adam beamed like a madman, as CeeCee clenched her teeth and clutched the sides of her computer incredibly hard, 'I'm enjoying this.'

That only served to confuse me. 'You enjoy walking around in a field with dead grass up to your knees, looking for a cat that could quite possibly be anywhere over Carmel, on a stinking hot day?'

'It's not a stinking hot day, Suze.'

'Well, you smell real bad, I just assumed.'

Adam looked quite put out. 'Well, fine then. I'll just go –'

'No!' I burst out. He shot me a smug look. 'Well you cork it to, Simon,' he said with a grin. 'SPIKE!'

Rolling my eyes, I went and sat next to CeeCee on the prickly ground. It kind of itched my butt, further proving my theory that mediation was the pits. 'What are you looking for?'

'Well,' she said slowly, her hands like lightning over the keyboard, 'I'm looking up Red Beaumont. You know? After . . . what you told me?'

I nodded slowly. Okay, don't get suspicious. I didn't tell her much. And certainly not about the VAMPIRE thing. No, CeeCee would do her nut if she discovered that vampires existed to. I mean, I did, right? How would the trust-science-not-religion obsessor react?

I wagered smashing her head into the laptop.

I tried to get more out of Cee, but she was kind of fascinated by what she was finding. Adam came over, looking very sweaty.

'I give up,' he groaned, dusting his pants off from the tips of the grass that were clinging stubbornly to the fabric, 'This cat's a fugitive.'

'Joy,' I sighed. Timothy would continue to bug me then.

CeeCee, I realized, was peaking very furtively at Adam, but stopped when I gave her a very pointed look. 'So,' she squeaked, changing the pensive subject, 'Why are you wearing a polo neck then, Simon? Bit hot, right?'

I looked away very quickly. Damn, she noticed . . .

'Oh, shhhh Suze!' Adam elbowed me, 'She can't know! Don't show her the hickey, at all costs!'

I found that quite alarming, if the way my hand shot to my neck protectively was any indication. Adam looked taken aback for one. 'Whoa, joking,' he said carefully. 'You don't have one, r-'

'No!' I said too quickly, to loudly, to high-pitched for belief. Adam nodded, and turned away, and I relaxed my hand, but that little dickhead, when my guard was down, he whipped out and pulled the collar down.

'Holy shit,' he gasped.

CeeCee looked up from her website – ha, "Webb" site . . . sorry, not funny – in fright. 'Huh?'

She too looked. 'Oh my God,' she said in wonder. 'What IS that?!'

I felt my face getting very VERY red. 'It's . . . um, a spider bite?' I finished feebly.

'Funnel Webb bit ya!' Adam cried accusingly, pointing his finger at CeeCee dramatically.

'Adam shut it. This is not the time,' CeeCee said. 'So Suze has got a hickey, we can live with –'

'It is certainly NOT a hickey!' I protested, jerking away from Adam's hand on my polo neck. 'I am not seeing anyone else. Yes, Jesse dumped me, so what? I don't go and screw the nearest guy possible, right?'

Unless they have incredibly sexy, soft voices on the phone that lure you to them and then they take you to meet psychotic dads who go all cannibal on you.

But I didn't say that out loud.

That would have been weird.

CeeCee was frowning heavily. 'What spider was it?' she said doubtfully, coming around to see it again, but I twisted away from her to. 'Never mind . . .I, uh, can't remember. It was really bit, thought, and um, yeh.'

'Suze, you need an anti-venom, if it was a poisonous one,' she said seriously. 'Spider bites can kill you. And a big one? Whoa, go to the hospital and get it checked out, Simon. Don't be a twit.'

I sat staring at the ground, silently.

Adam crossed his arms, and without warning, yelled, 'WHERE ARE YOU SPIKE?!'

CeeCee and I both jumped a meter in the air in alarm, before promptly whacking Adam over the head with the nearest hard object we could find, unfortunately for CeeCee, the laptop. She screamed in protest when the screen zoomed into a tiny back square, her purple eyes bulging in horror.

'You messed with the technology, you idiot! It's broken! No!' she wailed, furiously trying to recover the computer, to no avail. 'That had some good stuff about the Beaumonts, Suze! You're not going to know now!' she raged. 'But you BROKE MY COMPUTER!'

Ow . . . my ears were SO taking a battering. 'I'm sorry,' I said, 'I was in the moment. It should be okay, CeeCee. Let me –'

'NO,' she said firmly, hugging the device defensively to her chest, 'You kill machinery, Simon. Stay away or I'll hire an assassin.'

'Cee,' I said reasonably, 'Press the "On" button?'

'Whatever!' she snapped, 'That was the first thing I –'

'Do it,' I cut her off.

Disgruntled, she did. Surprise, surprise, the screen came back up.

Her mouth was open in horror.

'Go Suze,' Adam called from his cat-hunting expodition. 'So much for the computer genius Spider Webb. You got creamed.'

CeeCee was turning quite purple by then, a very unusual colour for an albino.

Suddenly, with a ferocious grown, a blur of orange leapt right at my face. I screamed, as fur blocked my nose and mouth, and my whole world turned a dark shade of amber. Dander tickled my nose horribly.

'Ger-ogh-cahn-breaph!' my muffled words exploded out through the heavy monster attacking me. Claws were clinging to my hair! EW!

The horrid beast was wrenched away from my face, and I could finally breathe again. Clutching my chest, I heaved forward, rapidly smoothing down my hair . . .

'Oh my God,' CeeCee said for the second time.

That about summed it up. The organism in front of us was – to be honest – disgusting. One ear was missing, it was OBSCENELY obese, and the fleece was out of this world, at about five inches wrong.

'Oh my God,' I said in awe. It was just so . . . insulting to God's earth. I'm sorry, but it was.

"Spike" spat at us all viciously.

~*~

(A.N: No Aunt Pru yet. It wasn't necessary, seeing as they already "know" right?)

~*~

I refused to dwell on those stupid Paul dreams. I refused to believe what he said to me, that I WANTED to be with him. Ha! As IF! That was just too gross to even contemplate. I mean, the NERVE of him saying that? Did he even think he stood a chance? He was SO beneath me. Six feet, to be exact. A dead asshole. He believed that he controlled me or something, manipulating my mind like that, making me feel so scared an helpless? Taking away all of my hope and my feeling of "self." Depriving me of my desperately needed sleep? How RUDE. I hated him. He wasn't worthy of these thoughts even!

Do much for refusing to dwell on it, Suze.

Oh, shut up . . .

After we'd finally gotten home at about five-thirty – oh, I'm sorry. I failed to include that relevant information, "we." Yes, we. We being me, and the "it." That pony-like feline wannabe who needed a severe haircut and anger-management. It was at great sacrifice of MY Kate Spade (A/N: That's from memory, it's been AGES since I've read the book, tell me I'm right?) bag that we'd finally caught him. No, it. It didn't deserve sexuality. It was disgusting, and it hated me.

And I didn't have a clue what to do with it.

Timothy had moved on. I'd watched the big light-show with Adam and CeeCee when we'd finally found Spike, and even they saw the big white lights. It was pretty cool. But if I did something to the cat, then . . .well, - oh my God, I have a conscience! – I'd feel kid of guilty, you know? It was annoying and cross and spat everywhere and kept coughing hairballs all over the place, but I couldn't just DUMP it or kill it or something. That would be cruelty to animals. And while I wasn't sure if this was actually an animal or an alien, I didn't want to risk it.

I felt so bad, though. The lightheadedness had developed into a crushing headache that pounded forcefully, making my brain seem like all the cells were exploding, one by one. I mean, OW.

I sank onto my bed. Never had headaches been this bad. Not even the post shifting ones, that seemed to long ago.

Jesse . . .

I suddenly remembered. Jesse was no longer mine. In fact, he'd never been mine in the first place. He was a player, wasn't he? He'd used me. I could never make sense of it. He seemed to care. Seemed to feel. Which said a lot, most of the guys these days were lucky to frown when a bombing in New York was reported or something. Shallow gits they were . . .

I grimaced horribly against the pain in my head. My brain was now ricocheting against my skull. I think . . . I think I had lost too much blood, you know?

Querida Andres. What a shitty name, hey? I mean, what self-respecting mother would name her daughter "dear." Dear Andres? Sounded like the start of a letter! Not knowing her, I hated her. Stupid bitch, stolen away my Jesse. Stupid skank with her shifting powers and her Spanish language and her . . . well, I didn't know anything else about her, but she was probably prettier than I was. It's not a hard achievement. As Cora De Silva said, "She's not that pretty."

Yay. I'm listening to HER now.

Well, she was right, wasn't she?

I stumbled into the kitchen, only to find mum and Andy rushing out the door. 'Hey!' I called, but they were already gone. I looked vaguely on the table, and saw a "Dinner's in the fridge" message scrawled on the back of a coupon for Sleepy's Pizza place. Not caring about my stomach, I grabbed a glass and sloshed it full of clear tap water, and grabbed a couple of random tablets, abstractedly checking that they weren't illegal, and downed them in a single swig. Anything to get rid of the throbbing, anything!

Once again, my world swam. Surely someone was home?

'Sleepy – uh, Jake?' I called softly up the stairs. Why were they dancing like that? I thought our stairs were supposed to stay still?

No reply.

'David!' I attempted. No response there either. And grasping at straws here, I yelled, 'Brad!'

But there was no one in the house. Even Max didn't come.

Flashes of black . . . getting quicker . . .

My knees buckled and I sank to the floor . . .

~*~

Hands.

Hands were stroking my face.

Where was I? What was going on? Was it time for school? And why did my head hurt so bloody much? This wasn't fair . . .

'Susie . . .' a voice whispered deviously.

My heart thudded.

No.

Not . . .

But it was only Tad.

I relaxed. 'Oh, God, I thought you were someone else,' I smiled. I was obscurely aware that I was on a couch. 'What's going on?'

I heard him chuckled slightly. I kept my eyes closed. Opening them hurt too much. 'You must have . . . passed out, Susie.'

Don't call me that . . . never call me that.

But I didn't say a word.

Paul off the brain.

'Where am I?' I asked.

Again, he chuckled. Was it just me, or did he sound . . . weirder? His voice wasn't quite so quiet anymore. It was fuller, richer in tone even. I didn't like it.

'You're still in your house. Your parents are out. It's just you and me.'

'And Spike,' I added groggily.

I felt his hand stiffen. 'Spike?' he said sharply.

I winced at his volume. 'Yeah . . . the cat.'

He relaxed. 'Oh, that's . . . that's all right then.'

His hand continued to touch my face soothingly. 'I want you awake,' he whispered to me.

That got my attention. 'What?' I asked, forcing my eyes open.

Oh my God . . .

Never, since CeeCee, had a seen someone so incredibly pale. The ashen colour of his skin was such a contrast to the dark tan it had been. It was horrible, sickening. Grey.

'Tad,' I commented, still sleepy, 'You need a sun-bake, dude. That's one hell of a colour. It's SO not you.'

What was with the little chuckles? I mean, Jeez! Freak me out, right?

So it hadn't clicked yet . . . No, I'm not blond. I'm a natural brown. It just, well, took a while to connect.

I looked up at him again, and his eyes were smiling down at me. Not kindly, but . . . I dunno, like he really wanted a hamburger, and by God, he'd do anything to get his hands on that hamburger.

But I doubted he wanted hamburgers, specifically.

'You can't talk,' he replied softly, 'You're no golden brown yourself.'

'Yeah, whatever,' I said, trying to heave myself to a vertical position, but – he held me down? What was WITH that?

'Tad?' I asked, 'Uh, I need to sit up.'

'No you don't. You're fine the way you are . . .'

This was now HIGHLY odd. Was he, like, wasted or something?

'No, I'm not,' I stressed, pushing on my hands to sit up, by I felt strong hands close around my wrists suddenly, and slip them out from beneath me. Huh?

The fogginess of my vision drifted away slowly. I stared up at him. 'Tad, what the hell are you doing?'

He smirked down at me. 'Well, you know that advice you gave me with my dad?' he said thoughtfully.

I indistinctly remembered something. 'Yeah?'

'I took it.'

Three words. Three words that had caused me to register to everything that was happening. I was alone in my house. Tad was here. Tad was pale. Tad had TAKEN MY ADVICE.

'And you know,' he continued, his voice very breathy now – hungry almost. 'Why I put my chain in his hand, the weirdest thing happened, Suze. His hand burnt. Isn't that schitzo or what?'

Again, I tried to struggle, but I couldn't move! Why? Surely not that stinking blood loss thing again. I mean, ENOUGH with that!

'And he was pretty pissed when I found about his little secret,' Tad breathed, trailing his forefinger up my neck, one that was now fully exposed. Yes, he had TAKEN OFF my polo neck, only to reveal the strappy tank top beneath it. My heart was pounding in an inconsistent rhythm, and my head hurt with dread. Oh my God . . .

'And why I reacted a little worse than I should have, you know what he said?' he asked, his eyes looming millimeters away from mine.

I merely blinked, and his corners of his lips rose slightly. 'He said the dead don't say much . . . '

Oh God. No!

'Well, I wanted to finish off the job that dad obviously started.' I watched in paralyzed horror as I - literally – say his teeth elongate! I mean, REALLY! They like, GREW. I tried to yell, but his hand whipped over my mouth. 'Have a nice sleep. Be seeing you soon, on the other side. I'm soooooo thirsty, Suze . . . '

If Red Beaumont sucking me dry wasn't me end, this bloody hell was. There wasn't anyone here to help me now.

Again, I felt those two points stab my jugular, slowly and deliberately, enjoying the sudden stiffness of my body. All my senses were numbed. He was taking me . .

*There'll be nothing left of me . . . *

'No,' I tried to choke out, but my throat was incapable of speech. I was incapable of movement, of thought . . .

Blood abandoned me, gradually, excruciatingly . . . I felt like laughing, it hurt so much, and yet it didn't. His hands squeezed my shoulders, begging for more.

'You taste . . . so good. My first,' he shuddered.

I was frozen. Rigid.

Well, at least I didn't die in a freak accident. At least it was creative. Right? See, I'm positive. Really.

Oh, screw this. What's holding me back here anyway? Jesse hates me. There's nothing. Time to let go . . .

Love ya mum . . . don't divorce again . . .

But this time, when I felt the teeth being withdrawn, they were done so with a jerk, and not a slowness. I slumped back, trying to support my head, but failing. What? Was he, like, coming up for breath or something? Going to return to me? I could barely think.

But one thing sure sent my train of thoughts a'chuggin'.

'Didn't your mother tell you not to play with your food, Thaddeus?'

No, that voice. That drawling, dripping, deadly voice . . .

Paul was back.

God, it would have been less painful for the vampire to finish me off! Jesus, he has NO consideration for other people's ideal deaths.

I heard breaks of shouting, and the sound of flesh collision. It seemed these two members of the undead could make contact. Was I dead to? It felt like it . . . but no. Faint as it was, I could still feel my head pounding with the rushing of limited blood.

A wave of terror that I have known only twice before engulfed me. Paul was back . . . his nightmare self had emerged into my reality. No . . . no, it wasn't true. He'd left. He'd let me be . . .

I forced my eyes open. I had to try and run. I'd rather face Tad than Paul. And that was saying something, since I'd been welcoming my death with the now vampiric Tad. Using every ounce of energy I possessed, I manage to spectacularly . . . roll of the couch with a thud.

Ow?

I heard the fighting pause, and I saw them both staring at me.

And I saw his eyes.

With a crashing pain, it seemed horribly real. Oh, so real I could no longer remember how that thing called BREATHING went?

Instantly, I was thrown ruthlessly back into a memory that punished me endlessly. Hands around my heck, knife at my chest, blue eyes, scars both physical and mental, promises . . . I screamed, astounded I still had the strength to do so. With a final punch, I saw Tad fall back. He was almost down . . .

'This isn't done,' he growled furiously, and he took off through the window. Literally. Jumped into a glass pane. Suicidal bastard . . .

And leaving me at the mercy of Paul Slater, who had rounded on me with stimulated, wide eyes, looking like he was about to get the thrill of his life . . .

Shit.

'I'm baaa-aaack,' he smirked darkly, too real for me to bear. He really was here. Back. And he was going to kill me.

He advanced on me . . .

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Cliffies. Don't you hate 'em? Me too. Now REVIEW and you might get one on the WEEKEND. See how nice you are, okay? Be good children . . .

Regards, MystAngel.

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