Horror Vacui

A/N: Hey, here's the seventh installment of Horror Vacui ('fear of the void', in Latin). A gazillion thanks to all who reviewed and urged me to update soon! In this chapter I hope to explain what exactly the title means related to the story and time travel. Well, sorta. I kinda just chose the title because Latin's a fun language. And I wasn't sure what was up with my story yet.

But, rejoice! I do now. I think.

Hope you didn't have to wait too long. I honestly got this one started minutes after the last one. Honest. Next update probably won't be as fast. So savor this moment. :)

Hope this chapter knocks your socks off!

Oh, yeah and some of you clever sleuths may have noticed that my story appeared earlier today, even though chapter seven wasn't up yet. Well, that's my fault, I'll admit. I'd added Chapter 7, but then as I was looking over it, I noticed a bunch of mistakes…so yeah. Sorry, for confusing you all!

Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Mentoring the Mediator


"What the hell?" I yelled at the thing that had crashed right onto me, as it proceeded to cover my mouth with its hand.

"Why, Suze," a voice I instantly identified, whispered merrily into my ear. "I thought it was you. Even in a hoop skirt I'd still recognize your lovely outline."

"You're just lucky I'm wearing a hoop skirt, Paul," I hissed in muffled reply, since his hand was still over my mouth.

I tried to shove him off me. Um, hello? This is Anet's dress. What kind of friend would I be to return it to her covered in dirt? Or return it with a caved in hoop skirt? Because seriously. Paul is heavy. Not to mention the fact that him being on top of me makes my heart pound rather unpleasantly in my chest. "Otherwise I'd have an even bigger bruise on my butt and you'd be in even deeper horse poop. Now get off me before I scream, wake up everybody within a three mile radius and convince them that you're raping me and have you burned at the stake!"

I would totally do it. I, as an 1849 damsel, have the power.

Paul chuckled softly at my threat, which by the way, I had meant, but got off me nevertheless.

Good!

Because if I had found out that he had flew me into a pile of horse manure or a bough of poison ivy I so woulda pulled a Kate from Lost and head-butted him silly, just like she did to that Sawyer guy.

(A/N: It was in an old episode but I just loved it! Sawyer squealed like a piglet! And what was up with that fat guy aka Hurley, the other day? DUDE, you don't yell at the Hobbit. It's like…forbidden.)

Not noticing my punk attitude Paul went, "The Salem Witch Trials happened about a century and a half ago, Suze. They don't burn people at the stake anymore."

"Whatever," I grunted quietly, since I really didn't want to wake up everybody within a three-mile radius. I stood up and examined my hoop skirt.

Not caved in. Well. Lucky for him.

'Cause Paul would've gotten my laundry bill. And I imagine whalebones whittled into skirts are very expensive.

"It doesn't mean that they won't make an exception." I glared at him and after a few seconds of nonstop glaring, said conversationally, "So. Paul. Why'd you tackle me? Training to be a quarterback now, are we?"

"Don't you mean linebacker?" I could hear him grin. Really. He makes a short, wet, saliva-y smacking sound when he smiles big. It's seriously alarming. Dopey does it, too. Which just makes it even grosser.

Anyway.

I blinked. "Do you mean to say anything of importance to me while I'm still here?"

I began to walk up the hill to the inn, or as I like to think of it now, my home. Where Paul definitely doesn't belong.

But he caught up. Doesn't he always?

"Wait, hey! Whoa, calm down, Suze." Paul said finally getting serious. Or so I thought. "God, I just thought that you might want to talk to me, ask me a few questions before running back to that inn to go suck faces with Cowboy Jesse."

I threw him a loathsome look, which I know he missed in the abyss of darkness around us.

"You," I stated matter of factly, prodding him in the chest to get my point across, "are a very rude person. Very rude. And for your information Jesse and I don't 'suck faces' as you so eloquently put it. And he's a rancher. Not a cowboy." He'd kill Paul for saying any of that stuff. Heck, he'd kill Paul for even talking to me if I let him.

Kill.

Him.

At least, the Jesse I know would.

"Furthermore, why would I wanna talk to you right now, at night, in the nineteenth century, trudging up a hill, alone?"

It came as a big surprise to me to find that we were walking side by side and for once I wasn't striding away huffily telling him to never speak to me again. I admit that I was anxious as to what he'd say, hoping it was something along the lines of, 'Okay, you win, Suze. I won't hurt you or Jesse ever again and I'll just go into a corner and die now, m'kay? Happy?'

What? A girl can dream, can't she?

However rather than answer me, Paul stopped walking and took a hold of my left hand, pulling me towards him. Before I could so much as display my distain at his touch verbally, he commented shadowy, his face inches from mine, "Nice ring, Suze."

"Thanks," I answered automatically, pulling away before he came up with any ideas.

Well, it was a good find, the ring I had found, and even though I'm more of an earring and bracelet type of girl and not all that into rings, this one's colorings—wait…

"Why?" I asked charily. I was perfectly aware that when I had put on my "nice ring" this afternoon it had sucked me into the nineteenth century. But did Paul know that?

Playing dumb, he said, "Why what? Why is it a nice ring? Well, jeez, it's on your lovely slender finger for one thing. And don't you just admire the color of—"

"Oh, shut up, already!" I barked crossly, resuming my march toward my house. Self-consciously, I fiddled with the said ring, remembering the unpleasant lurch and sudden halt that had brought me here. Can't he for once be straightforward? Get rid of all the cryptic hints and threats?

Honestly, it must take a lot of effort to be so annoying.

I added with certainty, stating over my shoulder, "I don't care about whatever it is you have to say to me." I noticed the ground rise steeper still, meaning that we were half way up the hill. Thank God for that. I've had just about enough of Paul today.

Sadly, Paul caught up to me in just a few long strides. Whatever, Mr. Long Shanks.

Sounding devious, he questioned, "Would you begin to care if I told you that I had a ring exactly identical to yours?"

Opening my mouth to reply with a cheeky "No," (besides what are the odds of two time travel rings?) Paul waved his hand in front of my face. I know because, even though I couldn't see it I felt air hit my face as he brandished his hand back and forth.

"What? Is that supposed to mean something to me? If you haven't realized yet, Paul, it's nighttime. And generally when the sun sets it becomes dark outside. I couldn't even see my own hand if I flapped it in front of my face, let alone yours."

As I demonstrated this, Paul sighed dramatically and withdrew his own hand. Seconds later he pressed a small object into my open palm, the one I wasn't waving. I don't even know how he found my hand.

Guess he doesn't have a problem seeing in the dark. That's because he's a stinking rat!

With night vision!

Ha ha ha.

"What's this?" I inquired intelligently, touching the circular item. "One of those lame promise rings or something? It certainly feels cheap. Totally not Zales or Tiffany jewelry quality. I hope you know I won't accept it."

"It's my ring," he replied, ignoring my latest remarks. "It used to be hidden at the bottom of my shifter box, like the one on your finger, until I figured out their uses."

"And how exactly do you use them?" I asked simply to be impudent. And why not? He wasn't being very civil either, acting all omniscient and holy.

Idiot.

'Oooh, look at me! I can take off my ring and— '

"Hey! How come you can take off your ring without being yanked into another dimension while I can't?" Talk about unfair. And bizarre. Defying logic, even.

Judging by the smug tone of his voice I had asked the exact question he most wanted me to ask. Which could only mean one thing, judging from past experiences: trouble.

"Oh, would you look at that," he said amused. "You noticed too, huh?"

Quite fed up by now by his horrible attitude, I chucked the ring back at him—assured that he wasn't fibbing because during his chattering I had felt similar symbols on his ring that were on my own—and stalked away, feeling utterly satisfied when I heard it make a thunking noise as it hit his cheek.

The one on his face, obviously. Ew.

"Ow! Jeez, you don't have to go all Titanic on me. Hold up, Suze!" I could hear him scrambling around in the darkness searching in the dust for his precious ring.

Nuh. Where'd your night vision go, now, huh, Paulie? Well, you can just die without your ring, like Gollum for all I care. How you like them apples, you jerk?

Giving up on the search—or maybe finding his ring—he jogged up to me as I reached the hazy, barely visible outline of the wooden Farr From Home Inn sign. He grabbed my arm. Again.

That arm-grabbing Nazi. Why, I otta...

"And what about your shifter lessons?" Paul inquired, panting slightly.

I stopped, my padded shoes stirring up small waves of dust. Well, I had to stop anyway. Seeing as he was holding my arm. Painfully so. "What about them?"

"Tomorrow's Wednesday if you haven't noticed yet,"—I hadn't—"meaning another lesson for lucky you."

"Oh, come on, Paul!" I jerked out of his grip. "How can you be so heartless? Doesn't this count as a lesson enough?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It isn't."

"How come?"

"It just isn't, Suze."

"Again, why?"

"Because."

"Becau—?"

"Suze," Paul said, beginning to lose his patience. Probably because I wouldn't let him hold my hand. What a baby. "If there were any point in time that I would be able to fulfill my threat, this is it. Don't tempt me."

Argh. Hiss. Growl.

I crossed my arms over my chest, distantly hearing the snorting of the horses tied up to a post nearby. "Fine. Be that way. Act like the antagonistic pig you are. I'll see you in—"

"Susannah?"

I froze. Oh my God!

Had we been arguing that loudly?

I heard Paul groan as he recognized the voice, just like me. Except, in my case, my heart flipped over in my chest when I heard this person's voice.

Apparently, the same can't be said for ickle Paulie. "God. Can't I talk to you for five freakin' minutes, without Romeo barging in?" Paul muttered, irritably. I elbowed him to shut his mouth, as I looked in Jesse's direction, totally flattered that Jesse and I seemed to share that same connection as we do in the future. You know, the one where he comes to my rescue, when I don't even call.

"Jesse?" I squeaked, I mean, said. "Um…hi." Though it's very exciting when Jesse gets all heroic, I can't help but feel embarrassed when he goes all heroic save-the-damsel-in-distress! thing when I'm trying to mediate. Okay, that thing with Tad wasn't exactly mediating, per se, and neither is this, but still. It's totally awkward.

I hope he couldn't see me blushing furiously. After all Paul had said something along the lines of swearing, which is a big no-no in Jesse's book. Especially in front of ladies like moi.

I heard the rustle of Jesse's clothes and his soft footsteps on the dirt road as he moved closer to identify Paul.

"What are you doing out here when it's so dark, Senorita? The moon is not even visible tonight." Sounding concerned, he added, "Are you alright, Susannah? I heard raised voices and came to investigate." Even though I couldn't see anything but their silhouettes, I swear Jesse shot a livid glare in Paul's direction. "Who is this?"

Uh oh.

Perfect situation you've got yourself into now, Simon. How the hell am I gonna explain Paul? Oh, him? He's nobody, actually. Just some guy who'll do everything within his power to make sure that we will never be together. Talk about your selfish psychopaths. Just ignore him. Great. I never should've talked to, walked with, or ever acknowledged Paul in the first place. I am so stupid. Just a stupid, stupid girl. Who has been known to punch people occasionally, when the mood strikes her.

If I were alone I would have done a funky little jerking dance and swore loudly, but, well, I wasn't alone. So that would have freaked out both guys.

So, clearing my throat, and shooting a reproachful scowl at Paul who had decided to leave me to answer Jesse's inquiries, I opened my mouth to answer with a complete lie.

"Uhh…."

Okay, not working. Try again, Suze.

Just open your mouth and say something. "…Um…"

Ah, forget it. Jesse always can tell when I'm lying, anyway. Might as well tell him the truth. Or at least a variation of it.

"You remember Paul, right, Jesse? I think you two met earlier, near my—I mean, your room. Well, yeah. He's new here, too. And we were just admiring the stars, because, um, they look different in California than they do in New York. Something about the geography or...um, something. I dunno."

Oooh, good job, Suze. On a perfectly unstarry night we were looking at the stars. Yeah, I am so sure he fell for that.

For reasons not privy to me, Paul didn't deny my excuse. Didn't jump up and say, "That's a lie, Your Honor!" Nor did he put up a fight, as his earlier vehement words had suggested. Maybe it was because he remembered how hard the Jesse we knew could punch a guy in the nose if he didn't like what he said. But Paul did go, in an irritated voice, "Sure, Suze. I'll see you tomorrow, though. Right?" He meant for a shifter lesson.

"Um," I said uncomfortably, about to say anything to make him leave, "Right."

Then, I'm not kidding you, he turned and, melting into the darkness, disappeared without another word. Oh, except for a, "Nice pants, de Silva," aimed at Jesse. Which so wasn't nice, seeing as it really confused Jesse and in the nineteenth century a guy who wears tight pants isn't necessarily gay, which Paul was totally implying.

Whatever. At least he had finally left. I was completely alone. Oh, except for Jesse. Yeah, he was still here, even though Paul had left his turf. I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.

Confused, Jesse turned his face towards me, tilted to the side ever so slightly, like a little lost puppy. Sounding mildly puzzled, he said, "What was it that man called you, Susannah? 'Suze,' was it? Is it an affectionate name of some sort?"

I snorted. Practically everyone calls me Suze. Well, except for him and Father D. Oh, and my mom. Suzie. Ick. "Hardly affectionate."

His voice changed from perplexed to offended on my behalf. "Do you mean it was an insult?" he asked, sounding like he had half a mind to go after Paul and start punching the evilness out of him.

Which didn't sound all that bad, actually.

Good thing Jesse hadn't understood the pants remark, though. Fur would fly.

"Um," I said quickly, "No, not an insult. Don't worry."

Though I couldn't see the distinct features of his face—his mysterious eyebrow scar or his beautiful mahogany eyes, to name a few—I could see that Jesse was staring into the darkness after Paul. My voice, however, seemed to snap him out of whatever he'd been thinking of or staring at and his penetrating gaze settled on me. I couldn't see it very well, but I could totally feel the weight of it and even picture the furrowing of his brows and the narrowing of his eyes, the softening in his features as he looked at me.

And NO, I am NOT a victim of wishful thinking. Nuh.

"You said the pair of you are from New York?"

Suddenly, I wasn't so tired or wishful anymore. More like cautious.

I nodded, uncertainly. Figuring that he may have a problem seeing this, said somewhat hesitantly, "Yes." His voice had been deep and confident whereas mine was unsure and was sort of leaning on the high-pitched side.

"Tell me then, Senorita Susannah," he said calmly, somehow finding my arm in the darkness and being the gentleman he is, took a hold of it and began to guide me slowly in the general direction of the Inn, so I wouldn't, I dunno, trip over a stray rock or something. Paul had done the same thing except his grip on my arm had been possessive and dominating. Jesse's was much lighter and softer, not annoying or hidden agenda-y.

And even though I am a feminist and take deep offense at anyone who hints at women being weaker than men, I practically swooned at physical contact with Jesse.

Jesse's hold on my arm was more like a caress than a grip, though. "How are things up North?" he asked.

I'll be truthful here. Jesse's touch—the real, alive, flesh and blood Jesse—was quite distracting. It was the first time I had ever felt blood coursing through his veins, a heartbeat in his fingertips and heat radiating off him on a cool foggy night. I was semi-stunned but even through my amazement I realized that if I couldn't answer that question, like Lucy, I'd have some 'splaining to do.

I was grasping for an answer—What happened in the late 1840s? The Gold Rush, yeah, but that was mainly here, in the west. What about the light bulb? When was that darn thing invented, again? What about the safety pin? That's a pretty old piece of junk.

"Um…the safety pin was invented?" I ventured hopefully. Mercifully, remembering a speech Doc had made days ago about women's rights, I added hastily, "Oh, and reformers in the east, like in Boston, are demanding rights for women. A lady named Sojourner Truth is a big influence, so I've heard. Era of Reform, right?"

Thank you, Doc! I could kiss your little red head!

Throughout my mini-babbling session Jesse's grip on my arm had remained gentle. In a half-amused, half-cynical voice he then said, "I take it that you're not really from the North, then."

It was a teasing statement not a question, yet I felt compelled to answer. "Not really."

See? I told you he could tell when I'm lying! Too bad though. I though I was pretty convincing.

Sounding like he was totally use to girls lying to his face everyday he said, "Then what is your story, Susannah, if you don't mind me asking?"

Hmm. Don't think I can tell him my story. It's a sci-fi horror kind of novel. He wouldn't be interested, I'm pretty sure. Nothing like Critical Theory Since Plato.

I guess an uneasy silence followed, where I wasn't meeting his eyes and fidgeting a bit, since he waved his other hand calmly. "Never mind. I see you are not comfortable with this subject."

We walked in more silence for a few seconds before he added, as an afterthought. "But…where ever it is that you are from, you should know that here, in the West, most people tend to frown upon ladies who lie."

He threw me an inquisitive glance, which, as we neared the Inn the lanterns inside lit up his face, I actually saw. "What?" I demanded, defensively, finally speaking up. "I'm not a lady or something? Or is it a crime to stretch the truth nowadays, hmm? I have a right to protect myself, you know. Against bandits and cowboys and…" Lustful curly-haired shifters? "Well, that sort." I shrugged.

Much to my immense disappointment, Jesse released my arm and raised an eyebrow. You know, the one with the scar slashed through it.

Oh, shivers down my spine.

"Does your list include ranchers, by any chance?"

I gapped at him. Did he—? Was he—? Jesse? Flirting?

Nah. Jesse de Silva doesn't flirt.

Or does he?

Before I could form a coherent sentence, Jesse flashed me an incredible grin. "Good night, querida. And remember what I said," and strode into the Inn's parlor.

Oooh. He's different. Coquettish and more confident. It's weird but…

…I like it.


"I hate you," I commented dryly, pouring a mixture of sand and dust from one hand into the other. "I mean it, Paul. I don't know how you can live with yourself." The whistling wind tugged at my hair, whipping it across my face and sticking to my lips as I spoke. "You're just so…heartless."

He, in his 1850s attire, merely shrugged modestly, as if to say, Heartless? Me? Aw, shucks. I rolled my eyes.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Son of Satan.

Seriously. Guess what he told me during the first hour of my shifter lesson that he blackmailed me to go to? Go on, guess.

That's right, nothing. Zilch. Or as Jesse would say, nada.

Well, that is until I kicked his shins a couple times and demanded an answer to why I'm sitting on a dirty rock instead of the swively computer chair that I usually sat on during our shifting lessons. A feat not easily accomplished in a layered nineteenth-century skirt and corset-like top, might I add. Boo-yah, take that Buffy!

But, that's what you get, tough guy, for draggin' a girl out into the heat of the afternoon to the well near Farr From Home Inn, away from her day dreams of Jesse, the swoon-worthy rancher, occupying a room only meters away from hers.

Anyway, after Paul gave in, with two very bruised shins and some creative cussing aimed at me, he gave me the 411.

Basically he said that he had found the twin rings hidden in Grandma Slater's (aka Dr. Salski's) room and in the depths of his shifter articles found out how to time travel using incantations on the ring. "Ancient Egyptians created them," he had said, getting over the fact that I had given him a momentary limp. "They were pretty in tune with supernatural stuff like this."

"What's the incantation?" I had asked him, innocently, giving him my best 'I'm-Not-Going-To-Run-Away-Back-Into-The-Future' smile.

He scoffed. "Like I'm gonna tell you. Nice try, Suze. I'm not stupid, though."

Well, ya coulda fooled me.

Besides. A non-stupid person would have told me what I wanted to know before I kicked them in the shins repeatedly.

He had went on to tell me that there were two basic ways to time travel, and enter through the void of one dimension to the next. From 3-D to 4-D, he had elaborated. One was through ring travel, what I had done, and the other was by doing a huge complex ritual with white candles, Latin incantations and an object unique to the year you wanted to travel to. Paul did the second one with an 1849 horseshoe he robbed from the Carmel Historical Museum.

"What? So you wore that ring just to confuse me?" I had glared at him. It was so like Paul to go the extra mile to bug me. It takes dedication, man. He hadn't even needed the ring if he hadn't used it to get here.

Unlike me.

Which was why I couldn't take it off.

Because it brought me here.

So he said, at least.

Not that I believed him. Much.

"If you take that ring off you won't go back to 2005. Nope, doesn't work that way. Your body might, but your soul will stay here because that ring only has a spell on it to travel back in time not forward in time once you go back. You can only go back to the future once the corresponding incantation is spoken. And since you don't know it, well," Paul ended with a smug smile, "looks like I'm pretty much in control of your fate."

Which was why I announced to him that I hated his guts and after his shrug of modesty kicked him once more, only this time higher up, if you know what I mean.

And who's to say he didn't have it coming? I mean, Paul was being a total butt about this whole situation and it was about time I return the favor.

"Shit, Suze! That hurt." He groaned, lying on the ground. "What'd you have to do that for?" I detected a hint of hurt in his voice.

"It's called karma, dude. You should know by now that I don't respond well to threats."

I took a step towards the Inn, about to leave him pouting on the ground, but Paul grabbed my ankle, tugging me to a halt. Through a mouthful of good ol' nineteenth century dirt, he grunted, "You'll regret that, Suze."

Um, hello? What had I just said about threats?

"No, I will not," I announced confidently, kicking him off. Remembering my hand full of sand and dust I decided to put it to good use. "And you know why? Because I've got Jesse."

And I leaned down and blew the dust cloud into his face.

You know, blew like in a poof. Like magical fairy dust. Magic!

Only later did I realize how much of a mistake that was. Taunting him, I mean. And by then it was far too late.


A/N: Tada! A lovely Paul and Jesse combo chapter. I'd like to give a special thanks to those classy reviewers who loyally tell me what's hot (Jesse!) and what's not (my update phobia) with my story, like Arda Silverlace (thanks for editing me, A.S.) and Lollilicious.

You guys are all the cat's pajamas!

Alda

P.S. Okay, so you might've realized that Jesse is currently engaged to Maria an' all that bad stuff, so why would he be flirting with Suze? Since, it totally goes against his moral standards. Well, don't forget that Jesse came to this boarding house/into break off their engagement, so he can flirt with anyone he bloody wants to. Pretty soon he'll be unattached, yo. If all goes well, I mean.

P.P.S. Wow. That PS was pretty long, huh?