A/N: This is getting way weird. But in a good(ish) way. So I have almost come out of my writers block, (the reviews helped-sorry, I couldn't resist saying that) and this is what I came up with.

Thanks for reviewing! It makes me feel loved. Some random person throws tomato Well, maybe not. growls at tomato thrower. Anyway, here's the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Is this really necessary? Isn't it obvious I'm not Meg Cabot? And that I could never come up with a character like Jesse? sigh

Chapter 7

Smoke swirled around my ankles, there were endless doors. I was alone. I walked slowly down the corridor, my feet made no sound in the mist. I briefly wondered if there was even a floor to make sound on. I knew where I was. The Shadowland. I just didn't know why I was here. I mean, I certainly hadn't brought myself here...

A figure strode toward me in the mist. I recognized the curly hair, tallness, broad shoulders. It was Paul.

"Hey Suze," he said, all to casually, "pleasure to see you here." He gave me an icy smile.

"What are we doing here?" I hissed at him. I hated this place. It gave me the creeps. It wasn't normal. It was death in every way. I shivered as the fog licked at my legs.

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was more of an I know something you don't know, but I'll tell you…eventually kind of laugh.

"You'll find out soon enough Suze, you're a bright girl," he looked smug now.

"Paul…" I said, in a warning tone. Or at least, the best imitation I could make of one, considering my current situation.

"You should have listened to me Suze," the smirk was gone now. All of his features were hard. He was starting to scare me, "now you and Rico will never be together. And this time, I won't mess up," he gave me one last smile and strode away, leaving me alone.

I tried to shift out. It didn't work. I started to panic. Think Suze, think. I tried again. This time it worked. Sort of.

I landed in the middle of no where at what I guessed what was about eight o'clock in the morning. I was in the middle of a dirt trail with a ton of bicycle tracks on it. I felt like shit. Oh, yah. The shifting headache. It sucked.

I was still dressed in my pajamas. Which consisted of black fuzzy (at least it was warm) material that had yellow ducks on them. I was wearing a large, baggy black t-shirt that said, "my imaginary friend thinks you have serious mental problems."

I was also clad in a pair of pink fuzzy uggs. I don't know how I was wearing those, I don't sleep with shoes on, but I was really glad I was. (A/N: Possible Paul foot fetish thing? Could it be transferable to a shoe fettish? lol. imagines Paul wearing a pair of pink uggs..) Wearing the uggs, I mean. I looked down the trail. It lead two ways. I closed my eyes, stuck an arm out in front of me and twirled around in circles, I planned on going in whatever direction I pointed.

Hey, it was one way to do it.

When I got so dizzy I thought I was going to puke, I heard this voice go, "Senoirita? Are you alright?" and my arm thumped into the person's side. The person let out a loud "oof!" and I snapped open my eyes.

He was tall, about Jesse's height, with dark, well, graying hair. He had dark eyes, and looked a lot like an older version of Jesse.

I took in his clothing. He was wearing a white shirt tucked into tight pants. Not as tight as Jesse's, but that was okay by me. The guy had to be at least 40. He was wearing tall boots and spurs.

Wait a minute. I turned around. There was a horse, hitched up to a cart. I realized those tracks weren't bicycle tracks. Because bicycle tracks hadn't been invented yet. They were wagon tracks. I was in 1850. How did I know this? I knew it because Paul had sent me here. I don't know how, but I knew why. We were going to go through the whole 'stop Jesse from dying' thing again. Only this time, I knew how to save him. I just had to get near to him, and find Paul. Because I knew that they would both be here. Upon realizing this, I said a very unlady like thing.

"Oh shit—" The man's eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

"—alki mushrooms are delicious, and thank god someone found me!" I had seen Gone With The Wind enough times to fake this part. I burst into tears. I was able to do that on que, go me.

Tears started pouring down my cheeks, and I swept a hand up to my forehead.

"Oh, sir, he was so awful," I was still bawling like a baby, but the guy seemed to be going for it.

"Who? Who is awful? Did he put you in this clothing?" The man looked concerned.

"I…I feel faint," and I did. My shifter headache was killing me. Why couldn't they have Tylenol in this century? I was so going to kill Paul when I saw him next. If I remembered to, anyway.

"Don't worry Senorita, I'll help you," he escorted me to the wagon, and helped me inside.

"Now tell me who did this to you."

"Mr….," well, why not go for the truth? "Slater. He was…he…he…he," I sniffed a few times for a dramatic effect. God, was he actually falling for this? "Kidnapped me, and put me in this clothing, then blindfolded me and and and…" I trailed off, he gave me his handkerchief which I dabbed my eyes with, "dumped—left me in the middle of this road. I have no idea where I am," I hunched over and sobbed. He patted me on the shoulder and said, "We'll get to the bottom of this, why don't I take you to my ranch? My wife can help you change out of those…garments and into some proper clothing." Hey, I liked that shirt. I almost voiced this too, but decided against it. It would kinda ruin the act ya know?

He took the reins and set the horse off at a trot. I slowed my sobs and thanked him repeatedly, really laying it on. Were people in 1850 stupid? Was it just this dude? Or didgirls actuallyact like this? I shuddered at the thought.

We pulled up to his ranch, which had a very nice house, two stories, wood (asking for termites, but hey, it was cute), a picket fence, cows, horses, and a hot guy. Not my escort, but what I guessed was his son. The guy had his back turned to me. He was about six four from what I could tell, had dark hair, tanned skin, and I was sure, really nice abs. No one, NO ONE, can look like that from the back and have bad abs. It's impossible. He turned as we got closer, but I couldn't make out his features.

The nice man helped me out of the carriage, and when I turned around, I was face to face (with about eight feet in between us) with Jesse.

So of course, he recognized me, pulled me into his arms and kissed me, calling me Querida.

Ha. I wish.

Actually, I started chocking on my own spit. Nice one Suze.

"Are you okay Miss?" It took me a second to reply. I was distracted by the fact that my very hot boyfriend was standing in front of me. But he didn't know it was me.

"I'm fine," he smiled that sexy smile of his and with a who-is-she? glance at his dad beforetaking me into the house.

He sat me down on the couch and took in my apparel.

"What does your shirt mean?"

"Huh?"

He looked at me oddly, but shook his head, "you shirt. What does it mean? My imaginary friend thinks you have serious mental problems."

Oh boy. This would be fun to explain. How can I get out of this?

"I don't know, the man that kidnapped me, he made me wear it," I blinked back fake tears.

His father stepped inside the house and took my hand, sitting next to me. He looked at me with a pitiful look.

"What is your name?"

"Susannah Simon" oh god, what do I say? I can't say my real name. But I already did. Please don't let there be any other Simon's around…

"Well, Miss Simon, you are welcome to stay with us until we find the man who did this."

"Oh, thank you!" I almost hugged him or something, but held myself back. God, the 1800's were WERID.

"Where am I?" Carmel, perhaps?

"Carmel California." I decided to pretend I was from really far away. Hmm...what place could I make up...

"I've never heard of Carmel 'till now Mr..." I trailed off realizing I wasn't supposed to know his name.

"De Silva," he quickly supplied.

"Mr. De Silva. I'm from New York," as I said the last few words, I made sure that my Brooklyn accent really showed through. Not that there was much of one...but still.

He frowned, "we'll make sure we try to find them as soon as possible."

His wife appeared into the room. She had dark hair (not graying, and almost black, but not quite) tied in a braid that fell down to her waist. She had on one of those hoop-skirt dresses too.

After a few exchanges of word with her husband, she showed me to a room down the hall. It was a lot smaller than my room, and square. There was a single bed in the middle of it, and a dressing table on one side. There were no windows, but a lantern gave it some light.

Ugh. Lanterns. Not one of my favorite things, after what happened last time with the barn and all.

There was one thing that wasn't supposed to be there. And no, it wasn't me.

I'll give you one guess as to what it was.

A ghost. Or, was it?

Wait a minute. I know her. But it couldn't be...could it? She died a hundred and fifty YEARS AGO? That's impossible.

But it was her.

Sam.