HAPPY EASTER!!!!
Hey, me again. Just wanna say there's one line of Spanish that is rated higher, so no need to translate it, okay? Lol. And there's a bit of Spanish cussing. No need to translate that either. Let it suffice that it's there.
Please review? I stayed up till 2am to write this for you!
Okay.
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Last time:
'Susannah!' Jesse yelled in horror.
Stop the pain, the mind games . . . I needed the real Jesse, not some image my mind projected.
~*~
. . . The second time my name rang out in that gallant Spanish cadence, I knew that I wasn't dreaming wistfully. I'd been ready to stop, in the name of the pain. I had had no further use for ersatz fantasies.
Jesse . . . Jesse was real.
'Susannah!' he cried for the third time, as he dived at Paul, rolling him off me. They both crashed to the floor, colliding with the ground so dynamically I feared fracture of the floorboards. Speedily, and with a breath I was struggling to catch, I grabbed a pillow from my bed and hid my chest from the both of them. Don't stress, he hadn't got that far in that area, but me parading my underwear to two males? Not my thing, you know?
'I will KILL you!' Jesse was roaring at Paul, punching him powerfully in the head.
'You already did,' replied Paul in a snarl, retaliating with equivalent potency.
I couldn't get my head around it . . . Jesse was back. Jesse was here . . . Jesse was supposed to be in SPAIN! How was he here?!
My mind was a whirlwind of dark mysteries, and my head was pounding so severely I was worried I'd pass out or something. Even my vision had gone dodgy. Jesse and Paul were a blur amidst the blackness, the flying of fists, and the cursing roars.
My head swam dangerously . . . Oh, joy . . .
I conked out.
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Jesse's POV.
'Susannah!' I cried, as I materialized into a scandalous scenario. Paul was above mi amo, removing her clothes! I was appalled, and terrified at the same time. It was not just! But no . . . I was not merely these things.
I was blatantly furious.
Feeling my heart boiling with a rage direct from hell itself, I leapt at Paul, roaring. We tumbled away from Susannah, and I began striking him as if he was Satan himself. Although I did not doubt it.
'I will KILL you!' I yelled in his face, holding him by that pathetic leather collar so my aim could be true.
'You already did,' he growled at me, kneeing me in the stomach. I simply winced, and resumed his assault. He . . . he tried to hurt my Susannah . . .
'What are you doing back here? You were told to stay away!' I cried furiously.
'Since when do I do what I'm told?' he snapped back, and threw me off of him, quite strongly, too. I crashed against the wall. Instantly, Paul grabbed an umbrella from Susannah's wardrobe, and holding it evenly in his murderous hands, he shoved it under my chin, cutting off my breath.
'What are YOU doing back,' he sneered at me, 'Didn't trust little Susie on her own? Thought she might have been messing around? With the real stuff?' he added, tossing his head arrogantly.
'Never,' I spat, 'I trust Susannah with my life.' He pushed the umbrella further against my throat. I choked on a swallow, bringing my hands to his shoulders and heaving, but he lifted his arms and shrugged my hands off. Panting in desperation, I tried again, but the upshot was no different.
'With your life?' he asked, a smirk emerging on that face of malevolence, 'Well looks like your life is over, Jesse-boy. Suze has been playing around with a certain gentleman named Thaddeus Beaumont. Ask her yourSELF.'
Of "self", he struck me in the gut. I wheezed, and bowed my head in pain. Damn it, it hurt. 'Besa mi culo,' I scowled venomously. He laughed at me, but I noticed he stopped as my fist collided with his jaw. He stumbled back, and tripped right over something very odd on the floor that I had not noticed before.
Oh . . . oh my . . .
For a moment, our raging battle seemed to be forgotten, in our confusion.
'Nombre di Dios . . . what is that?' I asked, mystified.
'I think it's a cat,' Paul grunted, goggling at the corpulent, unruly looking feline, as I was.
But Paul was quick to forget the cat. He kicked my in the shins, and I sank to my knees in shock. He flipped off his back and onto his feet with a skill matched by my own.
'You want the party tricks?' I asked coldly, standing up again.
His lip quivered in rage.
'Bring it on . . . '
And so I did.
It was a heated brawl. Never, had Paul and I fought with this intensity in our training. His grandfather had taught us well, equally. We corresponded each other's dexterity and agility to exactness. I seized him by the neck, and hoisted him up in the air, my hand constricting dangerously.
'What are you trying to do, Jesse?' he asked. It was barely understandable, seeing as his throat was rather squashed, but I fathomed his query nevertheless.
I glared at him. His eyes. They were like the strongest rocks. Never diamonds, though. Paul's, they were unpenetrable, and hard. And endlessly cold . . .
'I cannot kill you,' I said in a voice of blindly calm rage, shaking him more viciously than necessary. 'But I'll be damned if you get away with what you almost did just now . . .'
'Be damned then,' he snarled, and kicked his foot right up against my sternum, executing a perfect backflip and landing, catlike, on his feet.
Although I doubt that obese orange cat would be able to do so with the same ease.
Paul walked slowly up to me, standing tall, proud, cool, yet with the burden of death on his shoulders. It was a vibe that no one could avoid – it pummeled you right in the gut.
Especially me, knowing I killed the bastardo.
I backed away from him, toward the window. Not in fear. Never in fear of Paul Slater . . .
I didn't know how I wasn't being affected by his attempted assault of my Susannah. It seemed like that impact was being strangely delayed.
But then . . . oh, did it hit me hard.
HE'D TRIED TO KILL HER!
With a typhoon of adrenaline, I released a roar strong enough to wake the dead, if I already knew that they did not sleep. I was consumed, yet again, by a rage that I'd only been victim of once – on our first date, Susannah and I. It ripped me apart to contain it within myself, and I just needed to let – it – GO!
HE'D TRIED TO HURT HER!
'Oi, Jesse,' he said snidely, flexing his hands, 'I learnt a little Spanish . . . (Rated higher) Tu puta querida me la chupa!'
I gasped.
THAT MALPARIDA!
NO ONE INSULTS SUSANNAH LIKE THAT!
Paul then leapt at me.
With legerdemain I was superbly satisfied with, at the last possible moment, I seized him by his leather jacket, rolled on my back, shoved my foot in his stomach, and kicked him – upside down – through Susannah's window, my foot acting like a catapult. His yell got further away as I waited for him to hit the ground.
But he didn't.
I jerked up, and glared out the window accusingly, and saw the last twinkle of his dematerialization.
DAMN HIM! Maldito sea!
I stood up, and again, emitted a deafening holler of fury. That pajúo! That asqueroso! I felt so mad that he was already dead . . . I wanted to kill him again! I wanted to bring him back to life, just so I could have the contentment of taking it away again!
I punched out the last shard of glass in Susannah's poorly treated window, in my ire . . .
And then sank to the floor, feeling corrupt.
. . . What had Paul reduced me too? Was I on his level of integrity now? Had I none? I wanted him dead, again. It was wrong to contemplate these grave thoughts. They were sinful . . . I was sinning against God, thinking these things.
Thou shall not kill.
Thou shall not steal.
I had killed.
And I wanted to steal his life again.
And it was a Sunday! So "Observe the Sabbath, and keep it holy" had also flown out the window.
Like Paul had. Well, technically, he'd been kicked out.
Okay, consider me . . . It had been droll, it must be admitted. But, the rage, that had not been.
I felt like a monster . . .
'Jesse? Is that really . . . it's not you, is it?'
I froze, as that velvet voice blanketed me, warmed my heart, purified my mind, lifted my soul . . . with love.
Susannah . . .
I climbed to my feet, clinging to my remaining honour, and ran to her side. A mere pillow masked her chest. I blushed rather deeply, and swallowed. What had Paul done . . . had he . . .
'Jesse?'
I shook myself from my thoughts, and sat beside her, stroking her face gently. Oh, how long it had been since I had gazed upon this face of ultimate purity? This innocence? This beauty? Her jade eyes were half closed, but the magnificently meticulous irises were fixated on me. My own eyes were riveted to hers, locked in a gaze that I did not want to leave.
'Querida . . . '
Too long, had it been, since I had uttered that word with the love, and the passion, that I did then. I felt the celestial altitude that was so common when I spoke to her, merely looked at her. She smiled ever so slightly, and sat up a little, still clutching that pillow to her chest.
An awfully impure thought flashed in my mind, and I chose very steadfastly to ignore its fleeting presence.
Oh, Jesse . . . there is no hope for you . . .
'Susannah,' I said, 'Are you all right?'
Her eyebrows lowered into a grimace, and, ignoring my question, she proceeded to babble. I managed to catch fragments of the sentence. I was getting quite skilled at it. 'Jesse! I'm . . . sorry . . . idiot! I should . . . death, because . . . suck. I . . . Cora answered . . . what is her ordeal? She . . . Esmerelda . . . nice legs? You noticed . . . I mean, you too, but . . . Paul . . . scared me . . . tried . . . I –'
I just couldn't keep up any more. I'm sorry. I wasn't THAT adept.
'Susannah,' I said, biting back a grin in spite of myself, 'Please, slow down.' I stood up, walked to her wardrobe, and withdrew a decent looking shirt, that was pretty in its own right, but would serve the purpose of returning Susannah back her dignity.
'Thanks,' she muttered, and snatched it from me. I turned around respectfully. 'Done,' she squeaked adorably. I returned to her side slowly, and picked up her hand in mine, thumbing it lightly. I saw her sigh very softly, and smiled accordingly. But she wouldn't look at me . . .
~*~ Suze's POV.
'Jesse,' I said, suddenly serious. I straightened up. I still couldn't believe after so long, he was here . . . I was on the verge of either throwing my arms around his neck and initiating a heavy make-out session, or slapping him silly. 'What is with you?'
He looked pretty shocked. So much so that he stopped running his thumb over my hand.
Damn.
I'm not known for tact . . .
'Susannah?' he asked uncertainly, 'Uh . . . what do you mean?'
'How did you get here?' I pressed on, tugging my hand from his entirely. He looked a little put out by its removal, but focused his thoughts on my question.
'I . . . I heard your cry, all the way from Spain, Susannah. Just tonight. It was so strong,' he said, frowning. He stared at his hand. It was stiff, as if it were still holding mine. His voice sounded far away, somehow. 'Deafening. You screamed, "PLEASE!" and all I could here in my mind, was your voice. It hurt . . . I tried dematerializing, but it didn't work. But when I heard a final shriek, one that denoted that you intended to give up, I felt literally scared. Past that, even,' he said evenly, his sexy Spanish voice caressing me. 'Emotions can work to the advantage of a shifter. So it seems, Paul uses his rage, and his hatred, to channel his power. Ghosts are affected by this, also, obviously. I, Susannah, use my love.'
He stared at me eloquently.
What? So what if I didn't get it?
'Love?' I frowned, 'For what?'
His smile broadened. He must have been thinking, "My girlfriend is so thick . . . "'For you, Susannah.'
Oh. So that answered my next question. But for closure, I asked it anyway. 'We're still going out, aren't we?'
He looked perturbed. 'Why, of course. Why would you think otherwise?'
I shifted uncomfortably, and edged slightly away. 'Well, uh, this Querida Andres thing. You didn't really break it to me very well, Jesse.'
Jesse shrugged sheepishly. 'Well, I'm not best for discretion, Susannah.'
I rolled my eyes, and hugged my knees to my now fully clothed chest, thank you. 'Don't I know it.'
But hang on. How easy was he getting off this? 'Jesse, you can't just expect me to just forget –'
But oh so traditionally, my little rampage was cut short by his hand swooping up to the side of my face, and those lips pressing against mine. I alleviated, my knees relaxing, as his other hand came to my shoulder bringing me closer into him.
He kind of crawled over me, pushing me back into my pillow with his lips. I could feel the fire behind him, the fervour. It was nothing like being kissed by Paul. This was soooooo much better.
So not complaining here . . .
God, I'd forgotten how HOT Jesse was.
How great a kisser he was.
How inky his onyx eyes were, like a pair of twilight skies.
. . . And most of all, how madly I was in love with him.
Ironically? He was so forgiven.
Unfortunately, I didn't see that ghostly face lurking just by my window . . .
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Paul's POV
He – but – SCREW HIM!
Suze was all over him! He just got back from frigging SPAIN, and they were snogging like the world relied on their little lip-lock session. It was disgusting. He was winning in this game . . . I couldn't HAVE it!
It just wasn't FAIR! I'd seen Suze first! I'd given her her first bloody KISS, God dammit! And what did I have to show for my efforts?
I fricken broken window, and a sore ass, THAT was what.
After all that time I'd spent, developing my ethereal powers, haunting her dreams, whispering cryptic messages to her, seducing her, wanting her, she did this to me! And she thought she could just get AWAY with it? It was WRONG. She couldn't treat people like this! It was cruel, and perverse, and WRONG!
Granted, those three words summarize me perfectly, but let's not get catty.
I couldn't watch anymore.
I materialized away, to the graveyard. I rarely went there anymore. It was too depressing, knowing that beneath a heap of carved rock, corpses sat, decaying, wasting away from existence.
I was one of those corpses.
Soon, would I disappear completely from this earth?
I knew the answer.
Isn't it everyone's dream, to leave something on the earth, before they die? Something for the world to remember them by. Something that would be admired, remembered, respected?
Well, I didn't have that much time.
You watch, I could have been great. I could have gone places. I was going to be a lawyer, preferably, or a doctor. That was when I was younger. As I grew older, apart from DeCapitated, I began to realize that no occupation would satiate my need. My mission, my passion. I was unlike any other boy. I did not want to be remembered for saving a life, doing a good deed, writing a novel.
Hell no.
I wanted to be feared.
My passion was pain. I relished it in the greatest measures, the ultimate agony. Watching others suffer . . . I remembered how I'd enjoyed watching my little brother Jack fight off his own ghosts as a kid. Stupid little dork. Shouldn't have been given the job as a medium in the first place.
I already know that I'm sick. But you want to know something? I don't give a shit about what other people think.
That was until Suze came.
It seemed, every second I spend was to think of ways to win her. To please her. To gain her favour. To make her bloody love me, as I loved her. She didn't understand how I was. My love wasn't some pathetic little heart flutter, the shit that De Silva felt. No, this was real. It hurt. It made me die, over and over and over again. As if one death wasn't fricken enough, I had to endure it every time she looked away from me. Every time she rejected me, turned away.
And her screams were starting to cut me, now. They didn't amuse me. They locked me in alternate dimensions of enchantment, fatal attraction, unrequited love.
She claimed this was just lust. I'll give her lust . . . she could take her lust and shove it. This stuff was real. It was there, and we both bloody felt it. I still feel it every second of every minute of every hour. Every day of my existence. It never tired me, but it wore me out in a very different way. My patience was deteriorating, though. It was only so long before I snapped.
Ha, you think tonight was a "snap"? As if. That was fairy floss compared to what it was like when I lost control. When I ceased to function. It was like I was demonically possessed. It scared even me. And I don't scare. At all.
There was a demon inside me . . . It was the part of me that wanted her dead, all to myself. The other half wanted her alive, for the power she had. The power that I could never feel again.
Because I was dead.
You know, as a ghost, you never really realize you're dead until you remember what others still have and you don't. Let me tell you, it ACHES. There's nothing that hurts more than bearing this cross. Cross of death.
I'm dead. La, la, la. Run. I'm a walking corpse, here to smite you. Oooh, I'm scary.
I only wish I still were.
These feeble excuses for power were nothing. I could still materialize when I was a shifter. I could still move things with my mind, though not as capably as De Silva, regrettably. Stupid bull fighter. Why couldn't he stay in Spain permanently. He fricken ruined EVERYTHING.
I'd been this close . . . this close to having Suze. And I don't mean a little tempting kiss, or an enigmatic whisper in her ear.
No, I mean the big noise. The deed.
Part of me didn't care if she was unresponsive, if she was screaming. If I forced it from her. She teased me in a way that was too vindictive to justify with words. I knew . . . Actions spoke louder than words. Actions could be so strident.
De Silva's little pistol shindig had been a jolly great shout in my ear.
Suze should have known better than to mess with me . . . I could snap her like a twig. My mind was clay in my hands. I could warp her to my will, twist her until she screamed into the night. Make her go insaaaaaaaaaane.
Like she did to me.
Little bitch that she was . . .
All I wanted was to run my hands down that immaculate body, breathe life into her lungs, kiss her with fire hotter than that of hell, have her to myself. Taste her . . . Toss with her in the darkness of the night, net my fingers in those brunette curls, lose myself in those emerald eyes, have control over her. Possess her . . . Know that she knew she had lost the fight. Force her to admit that she had been wrong, that I would win her in the end. Keep her forever.
FOREVER.
She was mine. Mine from the very start of this whole mess. This mess of the mind, of the heart, of the soul. Or lack of, on my part.
She always acted so fricken proud!
Well, like always, I was going to get the last laugh. Screw this "saving" act I'd been about to pull, with that demon after the shifters. Suze could burn in hell, for all I cared. I'd meet up with her soon enough down there . . . Better yet, I wanted to be the one to give her to the demon. I wanted to see her face when she found out that no one was going to help her this time. That Jesse couldn't rescue her anymore. No, my demon friend was far too efficient to have a little Hero-wannabe dashing around, saving his prey. God, give De Silva half the chance, he'd jump into Purgatory and rescue all the ghosts I sent up there. If I ever told him how many I exorcised . . . Oooh, he'd flip his lid, big time.
I wanted to tell him exactly whom I exorcised, too. See if the name Miguel De Silva meant anything to him, hmm?
You bet it did.
I glared up at the sky. Bloody astral shit, what did it stand for? My dad always said that when people died, they became stars. This was going back over a decade, by the way. Well, he had a vein connected to his anus, because he talked more shit than his butt did, the idiot. I couldn't want to kill him off. If he gave me a reason, God help him.
Actually no. Why should God help him? He did God no favours. He helped bring me into this world.
And mum . . . she was too busy with her own life to realize that she had two sons. Poor pathetic Jack was the head case, and sometimes, you could so tell, she just would have preferred not having a little midget kid. He really was a wretched little toerag. Didn't deserve to no the fine knowledge of shifting.
Wait, no. The nose-picker was only a medium.
Ha to him. Hope the ghosts off him into oblivion too.
And old Pops. Now there's a guy you want on your side in World War 3. He knew how to handle his power. He taught me everything I knew. Everything Jesse knew. How long he'd been around, I didn't know. But it had been a while. He'd seen a lot. He was old for his time. He deserved to go.
But he wouldn't let go of life. He clung to it like a branch on the cliff- face.
He knew exactly what was waiting for him, that's why.
It wasn't pretty.
That's what was waiting for me, too. A torture like no other. I knew it, Pops knew it, God knew it. But Suze didn't. And neither did Jesse. They knew nothing of hell . . . I knew it all. Especially hell on earth.
I lived there.
I wandered aimlessly on the paths of the cemetery, until I reached my tombstone. I glared at it. The stone was marble. The finest.
"Paul Oliver Slater.
Born 1985, died 2003. Son, brother, grandson."
That was it.
No "Beloved son, dearly missed brother, gorgeous grandson" for Paulie. I was a badass and they knew it.
That word kept me standing there.
"Died."
It echoed in my mind ruthlessly, mercilessly. It tormented me.
Died, died, died, died, died, died . . .
Try saying that three times fast. What do you end up with?
"Die, die, die."
My motto.
Soon, Suze. Soon it will all be over . . . Soon you'll be mine. Not in the cute Valentine sense, either honey. We're talking the big leagues. And Jesse De Wanker won't bother us, ever again. Not where he's gonna end up.
That place ain't pretty, either.
I stopped dead, as hatred towards my family surged through me. It almost forced me to the ground, but I was strong. Damn, I was the strongest! In my turbulence, I seized a boulder that sat artlessly near my grave, and smashed it on my marble headstone.
Pay for that, why don't you, you prick!?
Panting – yes, breathing. Ghosts can still do that, they just don't need to – I slumped down. I felt drained.
I knew that what I had done to Suze had been wrong.
But I was wrong.
Always wrong.
A sin . . .
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Whoa, that monologue freaked me out. You? Actually, I liked it. It was aggressive, no? What did you think?
Regards, MystAngel.
Hey, me again. Just wanna say there's one line of Spanish that is rated higher, so no need to translate it, okay? Lol. And there's a bit of Spanish cussing. No need to translate that either. Let it suffice that it's there.
Please review? I stayed up till 2am to write this for you!
Okay.
**************************************************************************** *******
Last time:
'Susannah!' Jesse yelled in horror.
Stop the pain, the mind games . . . I needed the real Jesse, not some image my mind projected.
~*~
. . . The second time my name rang out in that gallant Spanish cadence, I knew that I wasn't dreaming wistfully. I'd been ready to stop, in the name of the pain. I had had no further use for ersatz fantasies.
Jesse . . . Jesse was real.
'Susannah!' he cried for the third time, as he dived at Paul, rolling him off me. They both crashed to the floor, colliding with the ground so dynamically I feared fracture of the floorboards. Speedily, and with a breath I was struggling to catch, I grabbed a pillow from my bed and hid my chest from the both of them. Don't stress, he hadn't got that far in that area, but me parading my underwear to two males? Not my thing, you know?
'I will KILL you!' Jesse was roaring at Paul, punching him powerfully in the head.
'You already did,' replied Paul in a snarl, retaliating with equivalent potency.
I couldn't get my head around it . . . Jesse was back. Jesse was here . . . Jesse was supposed to be in SPAIN! How was he here?!
My mind was a whirlwind of dark mysteries, and my head was pounding so severely I was worried I'd pass out or something. Even my vision had gone dodgy. Jesse and Paul were a blur amidst the blackness, the flying of fists, and the cursing roars.
My head swam dangerously . . . Oh, joy . . .
I conked out.
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Jesse's POV.
'Susannah!' I cried, as I materialized into a scandalous scenario. Paul was above mi amo, removing her clothes! I was appalled, and terrified at the same time. It was not just! But no . . . I was not merely these things.
I was blatantly furious.
Feeling my heart boiling with a rage direct from hell itself, I leapt at Paul, roaring. We tumbled away from Susannah, and I began striking him as if he was Satan himself. Although I did not doubt it.
'I will KILL you!' I yelled in his face, holding him by that pathetic leather collar so my aim could be true.
'You already did,' he growled at me, kneeing me in the stomach. I simply winced, and resumed his assault. He . . . he tried to hurt my Susannah . . .
'What are you doing back here? You were told to stay away!' I cried furiously.
'Since when do I do what I'm told?' he snapped back, and threw me off of him, quite strongly, too. I crashed against the wall. Instantly, Paul grabbed an umbrella from Susannah's wardrobe, and holding it evenly in his murderous hands, he shoved it under my chin, cutting off my breath.
'What are YOU doing back,' he sneered at me, 'Didn't trust little Susie on her own? Thought she might have been messing around? With the real stuff?' he added, tossing his head arrogantly.
'Never,' I spat, 'I trust Susannah with my life.' He pushed the umbrella further against my throat. I choked on a swallow, bringing my hands to his shoulders and heaving, but he lifted his arms and shrugged my hands off. Panting in desperation, I tried again, but the upshot was no different.
'With your life?' he asked, a smirk emerging on that face of malevolence, 'Well looks like your life is over, Jesse-boy. Suze has been playing around with a certain gentleman named Thaddeus Beaumont. Ask her yourSELF.'
Of "self", he struck me in the gut. I wheezed, and bowed my head in pain. Damn it, it hurt. 'Besa mi culo,' I scowled venomously. He laughed at me, but I noticed he stopped as my fist collided with his jaw. He stumbled back, and tripped right over something very odd on the floor that I had not noticed before.
Oh . . . oh my . . .
For a moment, our raging battle seemed to be forgotten, in our confusion.
'Nombre di Dios . . . what is that?' I asked, mystified.
'I think it's a cat,' Paul grunted, goggling at the corpulent, unruly looking feline, as I was.
But Paul was quick to forget the cat. He kicked my in the shins, and I sank to my knees in shock. He flipped off his back and onto his feet with a skill matched by my own.
'You want the party tricks?' I asked coldly, standing up again.
His lip quivered in rage.
'Bring it on . . . '
And so I did.
It was a heated brawl. Never, had Paul and I fought with this intensity in our training. His grandfather had taught us well, equally. We corresponded each other's dexterity and agility to exactness. I seized him by the neck, and hoisted him up in the air, my hand constricting dangerously.
'What are you trying to do, Jesse?' he asked. It was barely understandable, seeing as his throat was rather squashed, but I fathomed his query nevertheless.
I glared at him. His eyes. They were like the strongest rocks. Never diamonds, though. Paul's, they were unpenetrable, and hard. And endlessly cold . . .
'I cannot kill you,' I said in a voice of blindly calm rage, shaking him more viciously than necessary. 'But I'll be damned if you get away with what you almost did just now . . .'
'Be damned then,' he snarled, and kicked his foot right up against my sternum, executing a perfect backflip and landing, catlike, on his feet.
Although I doubt that obese orange cat would be able to do so with the same ease.
Paul walked slowly up to me, standing tall, proud, cool, yet with the burden of death on his shoulders. It was a vibe that no one could avoid – it pummeled you right in the gut.
Especially me, knowing I killed the bastardo.
I backed away from him, toward the window. Not in fear. Never in fear of Paul Slater . . .
I didn't know how I wasn't being affected by his attempted assault of my Susannah. It seemed like that impact was being strangely delayed.
But then . . . oh, did it hit me hard.
HE'D TRIED TO KILL HER!
With a typhoon of adrenaline, I released a roar strong enough to wake the dead, if I already knew that they did not sleep. I was consumed, yet again, by a rage that I'd only been victim of once – on our first date, Susannah and I. It ripped me apart to contain it within myself, and I just needed to let – it – GO!
HE'D TRIED TO HURT HER!
'Oi, Jesse,' he said snidely, flexing his hands, 'I learnt a little Spanish . . . (Rated higher) Tu puta querida me la chupa!'
I gasped.
THAT MALPARIDA!
NO ONE INSULTS SUSANNAH LIKE THAT!
Paul then leapt at me.
With legerdemain I was superbly satisfied with, at the last possible moment, I seized him by his leather jacket, rolled on my back, shoved my foot in his stomach, and kicked him – upside down – through Susannah's window, my foot acting like a catapult. His yell got further away as I waited for him to hit the ground.
But he didn't.
I jerked up, and glared out the window accusingly, and saw the last twinkle of his dematerialization.
DAMN HIM! Maldito sea!
I stood up, and again, emitted a deafening holler of fury. That pajúo! That asqueroso! I felt so mad that he was already dead . . . I wanted to kill him again! I wanted to bring him back to life, just so I could have the contentment of taking it away again!
I punched out the last shard of glass in Susannah's poorly treated window, in my ire . . .
And then sank to the floor, feeling corrupt.
. . . What had Paul reduced me too? Was I on his level of integrity now? Had I none? I wanted him dead, again. It was wrong to contemplate these grave thoughts. They were sinful . . . I was sinning against God, thinking these things.
Thou shall not kill.
Thou shall not steal.
I had killed.
And I wanted to steal his life again.
And it was a Sunday! So "Observe the Sabbath, and keep it holy" had also flown out the window.
Like Paul had. Well, technically, he'd been kicked out.
Okay, consider me . . . It had been droll, it must be admitted. But, the rage, that had not been.
I felt like a monster . . .
'Jesse? Is that really . . . it's not you, is it?'
I froze, as that velvet voice blanketed me, warmed my heart, purified my mind, lifted my soul . . . with love.
Susannah . . .
I climbed to my feet, clinging to my remaining honour, and ran to her side. A mere pillow masked her chest. I blushed rather deeply, and swallowed. What had Paul done . . . had he . . .
'Jesse?'
I shook myself from my thoughts, and sat beside her, stroking her face gently. Oh, how long it had been since I had gazed upon this face of ultimate purity? This innocence? This beauty? Her jade eyes were half closed, but the magnificently meticulous irises were fixated on me. My own eyes were riveted to hers, locked in a gaze that I did not want to leave.
'Querida . . . '
Too long, had it been, since I had uttered that word with the love, and the passion, that I did then. I felt the celestial altitude that was so common when I spoke to her, merely looked at her. She smiled ever so slightly, and sat up a little, still clutching that pillow to her chest.
An awfully impure thought flashed in my mind, and I chose very steadfastly to ignore its fleeting presence.
Oh, Jesse . . . there is no hope for you . . .
'Susannah,' I said, 'Are you all right?'
Her eyebrows lowered into a grimace, and, ignoring my question, she proceeded to babble. I managed to catch fragments of the sentence. I was getting quite skilled at it. 'Jesse! I'm . . . sorry . . . idiot! I should . . . death, because . . . suck. I . . . Cora answered . . . what is her ordeal? She . . . Esmerelda . . . nice legs? You noticed . . . I mean, you too, but . . . Paul . . . scared me . . . tried . . . I –'
I just couldn't keep up any more. I'm sorry. I wasn't THAT adept.
'Susannah,' I said, biting back a grin in spite of myself, 'Please, slow down.' I stood up, walked to her wardrobe, and withdrew a decent looking shirt, that was pretty in its own right, but would serve the purpose of returning Susannah back her dignity.
'Thanks,' she muttered, and snatched it from me. I turned around respectfully. 'Done,' she squeaked adorably. I returned to her side slowly, and picked up her hand in mine, thumbing it lightly. I saw her sigh very softly, and smiled accordingly. But she wouldn't look at me . . .
~*~ Suze's POV.
'Jesse,' I said, suddenly serious. I straightened up. I still couldn't believe after so long, he was here . . . I was on the verge of either throwing my arms around his neck and initiating a heavy make-out session, or slapping him silly. 'What is with you?'
He looked pretty shocked. So much so that he stopped running his thumb over my hand.
Damn.
I'm not known for tact . . .
'Susannah?' he asked uncertainly, 'Uh . . . what do you mean?'
'How did you get here?' I pressed on, tugging my hand from his entirely. He looked a little put out by its removal, but focused his thoughts on my question.
'I . . . I heard your cry, all the way from Spain, Susannah. Just tonight. It was so strong,' he said, frowning. He stared at his hand. It was stiff, as if it were still holding mine. His voice sounded far away, somehow. 'Deafening. You screamed, "PLEASE!" and all I could here in my mind, was your voice. It hurt . . . I tried dematerializing, but it didn't work. But when I heard a final shriek, one that denoted that you intended to give up, I felt literally scared. Past that, even,' he said evenly, his sexy Spanish voice caressing me. 'Emotions can work to the advantage of a shifter. So it seems, Paul uses his rage, and his hatred, to channel his power. Ghosts are affected by this, also, obviously. I, Susannah, use my love.'
He stared at me eloquently.
What? So what if I didn't get it?
'Love?' I frowned, 'For what?'
His smile broadened. He must have been thinking, "My girlfriend is so thick . . . "'For you, Susannah.'
Oh. So that answered my next question. But for closure, I asked it anyway. 'We're still going out, aren't we?'
He looked perturbed. 'Why, of course. Why would you think otherwise?'
I shifted uncomfortably, and edged slightly away. 'Well, uh, this Querida Andres thing. You didn't really break it to me very well, Jesse.'
Jesse shrugged sheepishly. 'Well, I'm not best for discretion, Susannah.'
I rolled my eyes, and hugged my knees to my now fully clothed chest, thank you. 'Don't I know it.'
But hang on. How easy was he getting off this? 'Jesse, you can't just expect me to just forget –'
But oh so traditionally, my little rampage was cut short by his hand swooping up to the side of my face, and those lips pressing against mine. I alleviated, my knees relaxing, as his other hand came to my shoulder bringing me closer into him.
He kind of crawled over me, pushing me back into my pillow with his lips. I could feel the fire behind him, the fervour. It was nothing like being kissed by Paul. This was soooooo much better.
So not complaining here . . .
God, I'd forgotten how HOT Jesse was.
How great a kisser he was.
How inky his onyx eyes were, like a pair of twilight skies.
. . . And most of all, how madly I was in love with him.
Ironically? He was so forgiven.
Unfortunately, I didn't see that ghostly face lurking just by my window . . .
**************************************************************************** ************
Paul's POV
He – but – SCREW HIM!
Suze was all over him! He just got back from frigging SPAIN, and they were snogging like the world relied on their little lip-lock session. It was disgusting. He was winning in this game . . . I couldn't HAVE it!
It just wasn't FAIR! I'd seen Suze first! I'd given her her first bloody KISS, God dammit! And what did I have to show for my efforts?
I fricken broken window, and a sore ass, THAT was what.
After all that time I'd spent, developing my ethereal powers, haunting her dreams, whispering cryptic messages to her, seducing her, wanting her, she did this to me! And she thought she could just get AWAY with it? It was WRONG. She couldn't treat people like this! It was cruel, and perverse, and WRONG!
Granted, those three words summarize me perfectly, but let's not get catty.
I couldn't watch anymore.
I materialized away, to the graveyard. I rarely went there anymore. It was too depressing, knowing that beneath a heap of carved rock, corpses sat, decaying, wasting away from existence.
I was one of those corpses.
Soon, would I disappear completely from this earth?
I knew the answer.
Isn't it everyone's dream, to leave something on the earth, before they die? Something for the world to remember them by. Something that would be admired, remembered, respected?
Well, I didn't have that much time.
You watch, I could have been great. I could have gone places. I was going to be a lawyer, preferably, or a doctor. That was when I was younger. As I grew older, apart from DeCapitated, I began to realize that no occupation would satiate my need. My mission, my passion. I was unlike any other boy. I did not want to be remembered for saving a life, doing a good deed, writing a novel.
Hell no.
I wanted to be feared.
My passion was pain. I relished it in the greatest measures, the ultimate agony. Watching others suffer . . . I remembered how I'd enjoyed watching my little brother Jack fight off his own ghosts as a kid. Stupid little dork. Shouldn't have been given the job as a medium in the first place.
I already know that I'm sick. But you want to know something? I don't give a shit about what other people think.
That was until Suze came.
It seemed, every second I spend was to think of ways to win her. To please her. To gain her favour. To make her bloody love me, as I loved her. She didn't understand how I was. My love wasn't some pathetic little heart flutter, the shit that De Silva felt. No, this was real. It hurt. It made me die, over and over and over again. As if one death wasn't fricken enough, I had to endure it every time she looked away from me. Every time she rejected me, turned away.
And her screams were starting to cut me, now. They didn't amuse me. They locked me in alternate dimensions of enchantment, fatal attraction, unrequited love.
She claimed this was just lust. I'll give her lust . . . she could take her lust and shove it. This stuff was real. It was there, and we both bloody felt it. I still feel it every second of every minute of every hour. Every day of my existence. It never tired me, but it wore me out in a very different way. My patience was deteriorating, though. It was only so long before I snapped.
Ha, you think tonight was a "snap"? As if. That was fairy floss compared to what it was like when I lost control. When I ceased to function. It was like I was demonically possessed. It scared even me. And I don't scare. At all.
There was a demon inside me . . . It was the part of me that wanted her dead, all to myself. The other half wanted her alive, for the power she had. The power that I could never feel again.
Because I was dead.
You know, as a ghost, you never really realize you're dead until you remember what others still have and you don't. Let me tell you, it ACHES. There's nothing that hurts more than bearing this cross. Cross of death.
I'm dead. La, la, la. Run. I'm a walking corpse, here to smite you. Oooh, I'm scary.
I only wish I still were.
These feeble excuses for power were nothing. I could still materialize when I was a shifter. I could still move things with my mind, though not as capably as De Silva, regrettably. Stupid bull fighter. Why couldn't he stay in Spain permanently. He fricken ruined EVERYTHING.
I'd been this close . . . this close to having Suze. And I don't mean a little tempting kiss, or an enigmatic whisper in her ear.
No, I mean the big noise. The deed.
Part of me didn't care if she was unresponsive, if she was screaming. If I forced it from her. She teased me in a way that was too vindictive to justify with words. I knew . . . Actions spoke louder than words. Actions could be so strident.
De Silva's little pistol shindig had been a jolly great shout in my ear.
Suze should have known better than to mess with me . . . I could snap her like a twig. My mind was clay in my hands. I could warp her to my will, twist her until she screamed into the night. Make her go insaaaaaaaaaane.
Like she did to me.
Little bitch that she was . . .
All I wanted was to run my hands down that immaculate body, breathe life into her lungs, kiss her with fire hotter than that of hell, have her to myself. Taste her . . . Toss with her in the darkness of the night, net my fingers in those brunette curls, lose myself in those emerald eyes, have control over her. Possess her . . . Know that she knew she had lost the fight. Force her to admit that she had been wrong, that I would win her in the end. Keep her forever.
FOREVER.
She was mine. Mine from the very start of this whole mess. This mess of the mind, of the heart, of the soul. Or lack of, on my part.
She always acted so fricken proud!
Well, like always, I was going to get the last laugh. Screw this "saving" act I'd been about to pull, with that demon after the shifters. Suze could burn in hell, for all I cared. I'd meet up with her soon enough down there . . . Better yet, I wanted to be the one to give her to the demon. I wanted to see her face when she found out that no one was going to help her this time. That Jesse couldn't rescue her anymore. No, my demon friend was far too efficient to have a little Hero-wannabe dashing around, saving his prey. God, give De Silva half the chance, he'd jump into Purgatory and rescue all the ghosts I sent up there. If I ever told him how many I exorcised . . . Oooh, he'd flip his lid, big time.
I wanted to tell him exactly whom I exorcised, too. See if the name Miguel De Silva meant anything to him, hmm?
You bet it did.
I glared up at the sky. Bloody astral shit, what did it stand for? My dad always said that when people died, they became stars. This was going back over a decade, by the way. Well, he had a vein connected to his anus, because he talked more shit than his butt did, the idiot. I couldn't want to kill him off. If he gave me a reason, God help him.
Actually no. Why should God help him? He did God no favours. He helped bring me into this world.
And mum . . . she was too busy with her own life to realize that she had two sons. Poor pathetic Jack was the head case, and sometimes, you could so tell, she just would have preferred not having a little midget kid. He really was a wretched little toerag. Didn't deserve to no the fine knowledge of shifting.
Wait, no. The nose-picker was only a medium.
Ha to him. Hope the ghosts off him into oblivion too.
And old Pops. Now there's a guy you want on your side in World War 3. He knew how to handle his power. He taught me everything I knew. Everything Jesse knew. How long he'd been around, I didn't know. But it had been a while. He'd seen a lot. He was old for his time. He deserved to go.
But he wouldn't let go of life. He clung to it like a branch on the cliff- face.
He knew exactly what was waiting for him, that's why.
It wasn't pretty.
That's what was waiting for me, too. A torture like no other. I knew it, Pops knew it, God knew it. But Suze didn't. And neither did Jesse. They knew nothing of hell . . . I knew it all. Especially hell on earth.
I lived there.
I wandered aimlessly on the paths of the cemetery, until I reached my tombstone. I glared at it. The stone was marble. The finest.
"Paul Oliver Slater.
Born 1985, died 2003. Son, brother, grandson."
That was it.
No "Beloved son, dearly missed brother, gorgeous grandson" for Paulie. I was a badass and they knew it.
That word kept me standing there.
"Died."
It echoed in my mind ruthlessly, mercilessly. It tormented me.
Died, died, died, died, died, died . . .
Try saying that three times fast. What do you end up with?
"Die, die, die."
My motto.
Soon, Suze. Soon it will all be over . . . Soon you'll be mine. Not in the cute Valentine sense, either honey. We're talking the big leagues. And Jesse De Wanker won't bother us, ever again. Not where he's gonna end up.
That place ain't pretty, either.
I stopped dead, as hatred towards my family surged through me. It almost forced me to the ground, but I was strong. Damn, I was the strongest! In my turbulence, I seized a boulder that sat artlessly near my grave, and smashed it on my marble headstone.
Pay for that, why don't you, you prick!?
Panting – yes, breathing. Ghosts can still do that, they just don't need to – I slumped down. I felt drained.
I knew that what I had done to Suze had been wrong.
But I was wrong.
Always wrong.
A sin . . .
**************************************************************************** *************
Whoa, that monologue freaked me out. You? Actually, I liked it. It was aggressive, no? What did you think?
Regards, MystAngel.