Horror Vacui

A/N: Howdy, y'all! Sniff. Spring Break is over. Back to stinkin' school. Life is so unfair. I was almost too sad to write this. Almost too depressed to update.

Almost.

Onto the story!

Chapter 8: Accusations & An Invitation


After my little lesson with Paul, I went back to the Inn, ready to pay off my room that I shared with Anet, through, (what else?) more errands.

"Okay, Nettie. What am I doing now?" I joined her in the back of the kitchen, my hair pulled back unattractively with a lace ribbon. Ugly, yes, but Anet told me last night that guys wouldn't bug me as much if my hair was up, instead of down. Something about 'up' meaning taken, 'down' meaning slutty.

I can't really remember.

Because I had a difficult enough time trying to go to sleep last night, while trying not to roll onto the side of the sad mistake of a bed where I had felt something nip at me. I hoped to God it wasn't a snake.

Though what a snake would be doing in my (Anet's, actually) bed I cannot tell you.

But I digress.

Anet (whom I've been calling Nettie since this morning when I discovered that she knits, knit, Anet…yeah, I have to learn how to stay on topic) gave me an irritated look as I rapped my fingers boredly on the counter.

Whoa, PMS much?

"Whadido?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I mean, I've been on my best behavior. Nobody punched out yet ('cept for Paul, but he totally had it coming), no extensive swearing, no rude hand gestures, hell, somebody fetch me one of those annoying 100 Angel stickers. I was behaving like a perfect little angel.

So what was up?

She wiped her hands on her apron. "You," she began, pointing a flour-coated finger at me, despite apron-wipping,"should know better! Comin' from New York, and that like. Why, wasn't it your folk who're allegedly the most old fangled about intimacies?"

I blinked. My witty rejoinder was "Huh?"

She narrowed her eyes, looking sorta Asian.

Och. Scary. I had a Japanese teacher in kindergarten back in New York. She made me cry when I hadasked herfor a fortune cookie.

Ah. Home sweet home.

So I elaborated. "What are you talking about, Anet? What 'intimacies'?"

"Oh, don't give me that hooey, Susannah! You've been actin' like a lewd ol' streetwalker. I swear upon the Lord God himself if you in fact are what you've been acting' like then, well, I'll have no choice but ta ask you to leave the Inn." She crossed her arms, getting flour all over her front, but still managing to look daunting all the same.

I looked at her, shocked. Me? I'm being accused of being a hooker? Again?

Hmph. Condemning, much?

I don't know how much more of this nineteenth century hostility I can take.

"Anet, I'm not a hooker. Seriously."

She gave me a doubtful Prove-It look.

Fine. I will, Miss Cynical. God.

And I thought Missouri was the Show-Me state.

I cleared my throat and crossed my arms. "If I were a hooker would I have brushed off Derek like I did yesterday? Wouldn't I be um, uglier and always disheveled looking? Would I have kicked those perverted cowboys' feet in the parlor yesterday if I were a hooker? And wouldn't I have been roaming around in the middle of the night last night instead of snoring conked out on your bed?" Which a snake is currently inhabiting, by the way.

Silence.

I'm so not repeating that.

If she couldn't understand me, well too flippin' bad. Someone should listen faster.

And not question me anymore, gosh darn it.

I'VE HAD A TRYING DAY.

"Why do I get the feeling you still don't believe me?" I asked after a moment of stillness, trying to be the least bit polite. Unlike some people I could mention.

"Because I don't Susannah. I don't believe you!"

Nice.

She continued. "First you arrive here, alone, wearin' that tattered dress and then I see you with Mr. Slater in what looked like a very private conversation—"

"Uh, nothing happened," I blurted out, quickly.

I swear. This girl just wasn't happy unless she had something to complain about.

"—And then I see you lurkin' around Hector's room, lookin' up to no good." She glared at me.

Whoa. With no T.V. or Vogue to occupy them, girls must have had loads of time on their hands to practice the evil eye.And snoop a lot.

"Listen, about that—"

"I was willing to let it go, though." Anet was unrelenting. I was totally tempted to stuff my fingers in my ears and start singing 'Rich Girl,' to tune out her complete ridiculousness.

"I almost convinced myself that you were simply in need of someone who knew Carmel and could direct you places but then--"

I don't think I wanna here anymore of this.

"--last evenin' I hear you conversin' with Mr. Slater yet again, and I realized that he's not a native Californian. He couldn't possible help you. Not in that way, at least."

Ouch. Yup, tuning out now. If I was a rich girl...

"And then seconds later you're alone. With Hector."

Na na na na na…

"You should know that society shuns ladies who act so freely, Susannah!"

I'd have all the money in the world...

ARGH. It's not working!

Deciding to cut in, I uncrossed my arms and stood akimbo." Look, Anet. C'mon. You can't possibly believe that I'm a lady of the night. Not only is that a disgusting notion, it is absolutely silly and incorrect. I am completely chaste and untouched."

Well. Sorta.

Kissing of the French degree does not count.

Right?

"I'm simply lookin' out for you, Susannah. Men in California can be quite brutal."

She was acting like a dog with a bone. Stubborn and MEAN. Dude, just let it go, already! Gawd.

I scowled at her, despair beginning to swallow up my irritation. How am I supposed to gain allies here, when I'm being continuously bad-mouthed by said allies? "I'm touched by your concern, really, I am. But I can't believe you think so little of me, Anet."

"Think so little of you, lady Susannah? Why my cousin must be insane!"

That was Derek, making an entrance through the parlor door. He took in the scene: me sullenly staring at an annoyed Anet. Absorbing the seriousness of the situation, he sombered up, his next joke disappearing, much like my honor, probably. "What's amiss?"

Amiss? Whatever you wanna call it, dude. Your cousin's a freak.

"Anet thinks I'm a hooker," I stated, sourly. Then added, defensively, before he got any ideas, "Which by the way, I absolutely am not."

Derek blinked. He stared at me, then Anet (still appearing harassed), and me again. He then promptly began to laugh.

What is so damn funny, Mr. Chuckles?

Well, I bet he wouldn't be laughing if Anet had called him a hooker. Hah! Hahaha—Wait. Guys can't be hookers. Okay. Stripper, then. Ew. Flash of Derek, the stripper. Not pleasant. And now two bizarre, unforeseen flashes of Paul and Jesse strippers. All of them with poles, and leather.

Oh my God. I am hallucinating. That stupid snake must have bit me!

I glared at Derek. For my sake, it looked like he was attempting to stifle his laughter. "So sorry, Susannah. You'll have to forgive Anet. She…well, she accuses practically all ladies she sees at the inn of being …unvirtuous. It is a tendency that Kay and I are trying to rid her of."

Ah. It all makes sense now. Not the snake thing but Anet. I knew I had nothing to be guilty about.

I think I deserve an apology.

Anet turned her icy glare on Derek, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

Derek watched her coolly. "You've got flour all over your front, cousin," he observed.

I watched them both, my gaze switching, nervously back and forth between the two, as if watching a bouncing twitchy ferret.

She ignored his remark. "I have no such tendency," she declared, angrily.

"Yes, you do, Anet. Don't bother denying it. Remember that Hidalgo girl? She burst into tears when you commented on her 'vile' appearance. For someone so confident and attractive you have no excuse to judge others so harshly. Such behavior is beneath you."

Ooh. Zing!

Anet stammered for a retort. As she did so, Derek breezed past me, muttering, "She's harmless really. Just overlook such comments," and grabbed some bread from the counter.

As he bit into it, Anet exclaimed, "I do not judge people unfairly. I-I knew from the moment I saw her that Alita de Silva was an easy girl."

Hmm. Call that harmless? She's a venomous cobra.

Probably worse than the one in her room.

Hiss.

Both seemed to realize what Anet had said seconds after me. Anet sucked in a shallow breath, looking like, oh, I dunno, her crazy pet snake had suddenly slithered up and started strangling her.

Derek's usually laidback form tensed and straightened abruptly, his emerald eyes turning a disturbing dark green. He swallowed, looking dour. Like he almost choked.

"What did you just say?" he asked slowly.

"I think Alita's nice," I said quickly, trying to sooth frazzled nerves. Knowing that Anet habitually called girls hookers made me sympathize her for her sad, Tourette's-like condition.

"Did I stammer?" Anet responded. Even though she still gave off an uncomfortable air, she didn't back down.

Derek, who had always been easy-going in my presence, looked homicidal. Like he wanted nothing better than to hit something, or someone. Which wouldn't be very surprising. If he hit her, that is. Guys hitting girls is a thing of the past and present, I suppose.

It would be as common as a serpent eating a fluffy little bunny.

Two things I find very barbaric.

"I mean, I only met her a day ago, but she seemed like a fun person. Hot sisters, too. I liked her dress. Light green and pretty. It matched—"

My idiotic prattling was interrupted (thank God, running out of ideas here...)by Derek's low, growling voice. "Don't you ever talk about her that way, again, Anet. You know nothing about Alita. Nothing about me or Alita."

He walked gruffly out of the kitchen, throwing down the bread he had held. In the parlor, I heard Derek shout something like, "Get the bloody hell outta my way," a few times, but,with stronger language, of course, raising responding curses from the parlor's inhabitants until it all died down to its usual dull roar as he departed.

I glanced at Anet. She gave me an apologetic look.

"Well. Call me a prostitute, and then call his girlfriend a prostitute. Seems like you made both of our days, Nettie. Congrats."

She muttered at me to shut up, turned around and began to putter with ingredients. But she was much nicer to me after that.

If it's any record.


"Susannah!"

Huh? I looked over the many heads and smelly cowboy figures in the parlor, trying to locate the little voice that had yelled my name.

Oof. Something smashed into my stomach.

"Ow."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

"I'll live."

I looked down at Neva de Silva. Jesse's thirteen-year-old sister smiled up at me. My heart panged painfully, as I was reminded of Doc's similar worshipful grin.

Had anyone noticed that I hadn't returned from school, yet? I've been here for about two days, which must equal, like two hours in the future. According to Paul's random stupid calculations, at least. Soon it would be dinnertime, and I wouldn't be there. What then?

"What are you doing here, Neva? You're not alone, are you?" I looked around. "This is a creepy place for a kid." Already in the past 48 hours I had witnessed Kay shooing away cowboys who had broken into fights over:

A) Alcohol ("You dirty vaquero, that was my beer!" Bam.)

B) Whores – real ones ("You disgustin' cowboy, I'm getting' her!" Pow.), and

C) Money ("You filth, I won the card game!" Bang.).

No wonder Jesse doesn't like it when I call him a cowboy.

Suffice to say, a 19th century inn is no place for a little girl.

"I'm not alone," Neva answered, cheerily, bouncing on the balls of her heels, studying the chaos around us. "Isabel and Alita are here somewhere."

Very helpful, dear.

"Are you looking for your brother?" I asked innocently.

She shook her head, her brown, slightly wavy hair, coiling slightly. "No, we know where Jesse is. We're looking for you, actually. Alita wants to talk to you."

"Oh." I said, and then said again, realizing something. "Oh. Um, by any chance has she talked to Derek lately?" I so did not want a blood bath on my hands. Hope Derek had the sense not to go blabbing to his flame on what his cousin had said. If Jesse's sisters had as much a temper as him, Anet would be sleeping with the fishes.

"No, not since yesterday, to my knowledge." Noticing my relieved sigh, she peered up at me curiously. "Why?"

I raised an eyebrow. If she acts so similar to Doc I'm sure she can handle some sisterly teasing. "Leave the asking of questions to the adults, sweetie."

"Susannah!" A petite hand waved at me from across the Inn. It was Alita's. I waved back.

"What?" I shouted in response.

I saw her roll her eyes at my lack of manners, and make her way towards us. Isabel was behind her.

Neva was still staring at me shrewdly. 'Calculating is for calculators,' I almost snapped, but caught myself as the words were leaving my mouth. "Ca—um, wow. California is a loud state. Damn, I mean, territory. I mean…erm, let's go in the back, then, okay?"

I turned around and led Neva and her sisters to the kitchen before she could respond.

Ugh, get a hold of yourself, Simon! No more silly mess-ups. Mess-ups are not good. 'Specially in front of the smart one...grr.

"So. Alita. You wanted to say something...?" I asked, once the four of us were in the kitchen, which was reasonably quieter than the inn area. Anet wasn't there cooking anything, so I sent a silent thanks to the big kahuna upstairs. No confrontations tonight!

Alita stood a few feet from me and Isabel and Neva settled themselves on stools near the counter, nibbling on the bread that Anet had concocted to relieve her anger after our little strife.

"Well, Miss Susannah Simon. Tomorrow my family is holding a small social gathering at our ranch in early celebration of Christmas and our little sister's birthday."

"Nina's turning five," Isabel added helpfully.

I nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Yes, and there will be dancing and music of course. And, even though this is somewhat short notice, we'd like to invite you."

"Yes, please come!" Isabel begged.

"If you don't have a proper gown, Alita has far too much than is becoming," contributed Neva.

Alita shot her sister a quick glare before saying, kindly, "Derek and Anet are coming, so you'll know some people. We'll introduce you to the rest."

"Even though said rest are dreadfully dull." Isabel.

"Isabel!" Neva & Alita. Shocked expressions.

"Excuse me for being frank." Wicked laughter.

"And impolite." Neva.

"Wow," I said, still surprised. "Sure, I'd love to go."

I'm not much of a party-girl, to tell you the truth, though. Yeah, I can dance, sing a bit and stuff, but it's never really been my thing. Unlike ghost busting. Mediating ghosts can take up a lot of one's social life.

Thanks a lot, GOD.

But, hey. The waltz. Spanish gowns (gulp). Jesse. What's not to like? "It sounds like fun," I added.

Isabel squealed in happiness. Alita and Neva smiled at me. "Fantastic," Alita cried, giving me a hug.

"We will come back at around two with a dress for you." Isabel said, getting up. "And to fetch Derek and Anet, as well."

"First we must invite them." Neva said, reasonably.

They walked out of the kitchen, to find Derek and Anet.

"Thank you for the bread!"

"We'll see you tomorrow!"

"Adios, Susannah!"

Heh. All de Silvas love me. Jesse. His sisters. It's a nice feeling, being loved.


"Susannah!"

Dude. What is it now?

Is this Calling-On-Suze Day, or something? 'Cause I'm dead tired of it.

I glared in the general direction of where the voice had come from, feeling a slight chilly breeze tickle my skin. My gaze landed on a few remaining drunks hanging on the bar counter, spouting out their woes to a disgruntled-looking Kay, Anet with a broom in hand sweeping up dirt and Derek happily polishing the piano with a rag. He whistled a tune that sounded akin to 'My Clementine.' (A/N: Someone's giddy.)

I turned around, ready to let the mysterious caller go, when my hand brushed against some silky material.

"God!" I jumped. Joan was smirking up at me clad in her blue silk shirt and jeans. Modern clothing, in other words. Oh, what I wouldn't give for my old motorcycle jacket… and some Prada slacks. And a bar of Hershey's chocolate. Hmm, that would be nice.

(A/N: Heh. Joan of Arcadia's on right now. I'm missing it for you guys...)

"Joan! How'd you get here?" Ah, silly question, Simon. I shook my head. "Uh, never mind." Nobody was paying any attention to us, thankfully, so I continued my seemingly one-sided conversation. "Why are you here?"

She broke into a smile. Wow. First time that's ever happened. Probably the last time, too.

I bet it's a fake smile. She must want something.

"No reason, really. Just wanted to see how you were progressing with helping me, is all."

Mmmhmm. Knew it.

"Right," I muttered. "About that, well, seeing as you died about 200 years from now I really don't see how I can help you. I don't even know why you're here, Joan."

So take a hint. GET OOUUUTTT!

Joan's smile was turned upside down. "You mean, why I'm even dead?" She pouted. "I can tell you why. I'm not even supposed to be de-"

"No, that's not what I meant." I gave an exaggerated sigh. "I meant why you are here, with me, in the mid-nineteenth century. If you haven't noticed, it's not 2005 and that's not normal."

I'm anything but normal, so, you know, I wasn't too freaked out. I see ghosts, exorcise, 'em, get thrown off roofs, dodge statute heads, kiss my archenemy, etc. This was just another chapter in the biography of Susannah Simon.

Assuming that I ever find a way to leave this "chapter," that is.

But Joan is just another ghost who never was a mediator before she died, never saw a ghost or felt their wrath until she died, so she has good reason to flip about this time warp thingy.

Yet she wasn't flipping. Which was starting to flip me out a bit.

Her not flipping out was flipping me out. Interesting how I phrase things, huh?

I could totally be a poet.

Thou aren't freakethed, which flippeth me outeth,

Ah, such a fine, abnormal life I liveth,

With such twists and turns.

My main concern is that I yearn for, um, ranchers

Who're FOXY!

That is my masterpiece.

"Look, Joan. I can't help you right now. I've got a lot on my mind, including how to get both of us out of her, okay?"

She looked at me, with a sly expression on her face. "So you wanna know why I'm here with you, huh?" She asked, and in the pit of my stomach I felt a sense of unease blossom. I arched a doubtful eyebrow in response.

"It's because of," she pointed across the parlor, "him." I followed her direction and to my distinct horror my gaze fell upon Paul Slater.

Oh, sure. "Him."

Just great.


A/N: This has got to be my longest chapter thus far. Don't know how many, but it's ten at least!

Oh, I've got a puppy! His name's Eli. He looks like a lamb. He's the gosh darn cutest little black Airedale doggie I ever did see. Except he eats plastic. And licks rusty refrigerators. And his mom stole my shoe… But he wanted me to tell you all "Hi." If you say hiya back to my dear Eli, maybe I'll update sooner.

Arf!

Alda

PS. For no apparent reason I decided that the theme of this chapter would be snakes. And no, Anet has no pet snake. Just Suze's imagination.

PPS. Anybody know about what get-togethers in the 1850s were like? Piñatas and tequila, perhaps?

PPPS. Credit to Arda Silverlace for her LOVELY, FOXY poem.