Horror Vacui

A/N: Hey. I don't know about this chapter. It's...weird. Whenever I have either Paul or Jesse in a chapter I abruptly feel the need to add the other guy to the chapter to. Something about balancing good and evil maybe. Well, this is one of those chapters.

Oh, and anything odd you notice in the last chapter, this chapter and probably future ones are probably mistakes. I just reread the last chapter and wanted to kill myself over a few of 'em.

And thanks to all who sends their greetings to Eli. He loves you guys too.

Chapter 9: A Cavalcade of Oddities


Holly hell!

"What are you doing here?" I practically shouted, as I strode angrily up to him.

Paul grinned triumphantly at my rage. "I'm always here, Suze."

"Don't mock me," I retorted, irritated. "So, what? Is Joan your newest minion or something?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He was still grinning. How is it that he can be so, so, SO annoying? And still look so attractive, at times?

Not as hot as Jesse, of course.

'Cause you know. Annoying-ness doesn't compliment hotness.

Much.

"Asshole." I called him. I suddenly felt the need for a name-calling jibe. I blame it on my adolescent hormones.

"Freak." Oh, how original, Paulie. Like you aren't one?

"Idiot." Hah! Beat that!

"Slut." OW!

"Psychopath," I spat.

"Punk." Lovely.

"Satan's son." C'mon. Admit it, girls. He totally is satanic.

"Er, Susannah?"

Crap.

Needless to say, that last statement wasn't Paul's.

I shut my eyes tightly in embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, Kay?"

"Could ya please show this gentleman out? It's midnight an' we're closing." He politely refrained from adding, "And don't act like such a weirdo, God."

That's what happens when you're a girl and you are brutally impolite and loud in a nineteenth century environment. You have to show the JERK outside.

I nodded once and with an aggravated sigh, dragged Paul out by his cotton sleeve through the door. Joan had disappeared shortly after Kay had spoken. Lucky her.

Paul was still chuckling silently at me when I stopped a few feet away from the wooden door of the Inn.

"Shut up, already," I grumbled and swatted him. Not hard, but I guess he's a bigger wuss than we all thought since suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore and instead, had shoved me up against the house, all out of the blue.

"HEY! What gives, Paul?" Jeez, I have a reason for hitting him. That swipe was for the crude 'slut' comment and his usual rudeness and aggression towards-- who else? -- but me.

But jeez. Paul's got no reason to touch me, let alone put me up against a wall. Seriously. Mood swings, much? Please, give this guy a Midol, someone.

His hands were grasping my shoulders in a powerful and unnerving grip, holding me against the Inn's splintery house wall, so I had no choice but to look him in the eye. His crystal blue eyes flared with umbrage. Um, yikes?

"Suze," he growled, "how can you be heartless?" Whoa, deja vu. Hadn't I said the exact same thing to him yesterday? "How can you just act like you don't care about me? At all? I know you do. You must. You wouldn't put up with me if you didn't."

I gaped at him. "Oh my God, Paul, don't make this about that. We've been over that. I like," cough love cough, "Jesse, not you. And I wanna know what Joan's doing here, too. She's not a mediator, she can't do shifter things. So I know you have something to do with her being here in the past with me. What did you do? Cast a bizarre voodoo spe--?"

But he interrupted me and shook me by the shoulders, not very gently, might I add. "I'd tell you why." He stated, rather passionately, a mad glint in his eye. "I'd tell you that and more, if you only gave me a chance! I give you plenty of opportunities. I do. I want to help you, Suze. Help you, teach you, be with you. But you are so damn hard to get through to!"

Oooh. Dangerous eye glint. Not a good sign. Proceed with caution, Suze. You've got yourself a ticking bomb here...

"Listen, Paul," I said, slowly, starting to feel small and crushed, due to his bothersome closeness. Dude, ever heard of personal space? Our faces were inches apart, mainly because Paul's was creeping closer to mine, and to avoid such facial contact I had pressed the back of my head to the wall, unable to escape further. I tried to wriggle out of his grip. "I've never liked you. Never have and never will. Sorry to put it so harshly, but get over it."

Tick tock tick tock...

He squeezed my shoulders tighter. "God, I am not a stress ball, Paul. Let go--" But I was incapable of finishing my annoyed statement, when Paul interrupted me by pressing his mouth against mine. I wouldn't call it a kiss, since it was way too aggressive and, well, odd. Cold and yet passionate, in a frantic way. But it sure gave me an unpleasant sense of goose bumps. I immediately shoved him away.

His face took on a half-desperate, half-furious look at my rejection. He spoke as if it took him a mighty effort not to yell. I heard pent-up emotion behind each word." So, do I even have a chance of--?"

KA-BOOM!

"Oi!" An enraged voice shouted, from the right of us, where the door was. (A/N: I know you all wish this were Jesse. But I find it necessary to the story line for it not to be. -grins- Actually, I don't, but I just love to torture you guys. Oh, and to make conflict. And besides, does Jesse say "Oi"?) It was dark, but whoever had shouted had probably seen us.

"Unhand, Susannah, you bastard!" Someone ripped Paul away from his position against me, allowing me to finally breathe properly. Relieved, I looked around, and saw Derek holding Paul's arm at a very uncomfortable angle.

"My God," Derek stated in disgust, glaring at his captive. Paul, from his bent up position, made a pained noise. Derek turned to me, in concern. "Did he hurt you, Susannah?"

I shook my head. He gave me a doubtful look.

"Do you want me to go to the authorities?"

I shook my head, no, again. Paul muttered something, "No…police...ow...both be sorry...ow...arm...shit..."

He sounded quite decisive, yet sad.

"Kill him?" Derek suggested as Paul's fate. He looked serious.

"God, no!" I said quickly. I may not like Paul, but killing isn't my thing.

I do not, for example, want some man to kill another man, just because I gave the a-okay. Some girls might be fine with that (Yeah, MARIA!) but I am not.

Derek looked disappointed. He jerked Paul's twisted limb, raising a wounded groan from Paul. "I'm letting you go, filth, but if I see you near Farr From Home Inn or Susannah Simon ever again, I swear my fist will be the last thing your foul eyes see. Understand?"

Paul grunted and Derek released him.

With a final look at me, Paul turned, shaking his injured arm, and walked unevenly away. From what I could see of him, he looked lachrymose. Before he was out of hearing-distance, I shouted, "Paul! About your question? The answer's 'no'."

He didn't pause, but I'm sure he heard me.

(A/N: I'd be cruel to stop here, huh?)

Derek stared at me once Paul was gone, and I pointedly ignored his gaze. I sighed tiredly after a minute or so and hastily went, "Thanks."

He stopped his staring. "Who was that, eh, Susannah?"

"A pest," I answered quickly.

"You seem to know his name," he observed. "You must be acquainted."

"Um, yeah, but it's kinda a thing of the past." Hahaha. More like thing of the 'future.'

"Well, whoever this man is, you shouldn't be with him like that." He scolded. "It's not proper."

"I know." I think we were both recalling Anet's earlier accusing remarks of Alita and me. 'Hooker.' Harsh.

"I've seen him before," Derek said thoughtfully, beginning to simmer down.

"He's been here before," I said, rolling my eyes at Derek's surprised look. "He's kinda renting a room."

"Oh. Well..." Derek said slowly, "He's going to have quite some trouble returning, then. There's not a chance in hell he'll be back while I'm present."

I laughed softly, realizing that it was the first time I've laughed in days. "Thank you, Derek."

He smiled at me, and slid a brotherly arm around my shoulder, guiding me inside. "Think nothing of it, friend."


A piece of cheese, a cold potato and a cup of water. That's a 1800s breakfast, I suppose.

What happened to waffles, I ask you? Bacon? Eggs? Heck, I'd settle for generic icky, wheat cereal, right now. I'm that desperate.

Andy would be so disappointed.

Needless to say, I was hardly chipper as morning rolled by.

Due to my disinterest in breakfast, Anet began to think something was wrong with me. "I'm a moody pioneer woman itchin' to shoot some beaver. And I want a cappuccino latte, goddamnit," I had said grumpily, after she had asked me "What is the matter, Susannah?" for a third time. But she didn't pay too much attention to my mini outbursts, due to the fact that she was ecstatic about the de Silva party we'd be at later that evening.

And she probably didn't understand me, either.

As I helped her in the Inn's kitchen she kept on asking me pointless questions, like "Have you ever been to a party, Susannah? What did you wear? Do they even have festive parties in New York? I hear that you Yankees are a depressed lot, never celebrate like us Californians do. Why did you leave New York anyway? Doesn't your family miss you?" None of which I could answer truthfully without sending Anet into major shock. Imagine: Oh, yeah, Nettie, I've been to loads of parties. What did I wear, you ask? Oh, you know, miniskirt, leather black jacket, halter-top, the usual. There's tons of wild parties in New York. We aren't the city that never sleeps for nothing, you know. Why'd I leave the Big Apple? That's a funny story actually. My family probably doesn't even know I'm gone, something about time travel irregularities, evidently... She'd flip.

At around 11 am, I couldn't handle her ranting any longer, so I begged a break and went to look for Derek before she could deny me one.

I wandered outside of the inn, took a few steps back and surveyed it for a few minutes. Man, my house has sure been through a huge makeover. From this wooden little dump to a gorgeous 21st century Victorian beauty. Andy must be one helluva carpenter. Oh, and Mother Nature helps too, I guess. Though it's kind of small and old at the moment, it does feel rather cozy. The house. There's no happy pine tree near the front door, no walkway, either, but the roof still looks strong. That's something, eh? Keeps out the sizzling sun's heat. Which is now frying my back. And head. Wait, huh? Ow, ow, ow. SUNLIGHT! I'm burning...buuurrrrnnnniiiinnnggggg.

I staggered away from the range of the sun's rays directly above me, feeling betrayed. And burned. What gives? I thought that the sun is directly in the sky at noon, not friggin' eleven in the morning. God, this kind of stuff can give someone skin cancer. If I die, it's all the sun's fault...

I shall sue the sun!

Yes, that will go over well with the lawyers. Picture the headlines: Suze Simon Sues Sun! Details Inside!

Sunlight's so not good for me.

Walking over to the place where the horses were tied up, I kept my hands protectively on my head, over my hair, to prevent my luscious chestnut curls from shriveling up and falling off from the heat. Jeez, the mid-morning sun is no joke. Especially in California. I need my Pantene shampoo and conditioner. Some Paul Mitchell hair product would also be nice.

Oh, and sunscreen.

The dark brown horse I had rescued yesterday (or was it two days ago?) from the ugly cowboy (A/N: Chapter Three) looked up at me with its expressive black eyes. I think it's expressive black eyes were asking quite blankly, "What are you doing?" since not many people walk around with their hands on their head in the Wild West, I imagine. Unless they're criminals because of the whole 'Put your hands on your head!' act, but that's kinda modern.

I sniffed and patted the horse on his nose, except on horses they're called muzzles, aren't they? I returned my hand to my head shortly after, stubbornly. "I don't have to explain myself to you. You're a horse, Black Beauty. And horses don't understand humans."

The horse snorted, and I don't think I'm imagining this when I say that it gave me a doubtful look and shook it's head, making it's black mane swirl like a swarm of coal-black bats.

I was about to tell the horse to mind it's own business and keep it's scary hair to itself—yeah, I know, very mature, Suze—when I felt a piece of light material graze my arm, that I had still placed on my head. It felt soft, like silk. I groaned inside, knowing Joan was back. In her pretty silky top, nonetheless. Levitating or something.

"Joan," I began, "How many times do I have to tell you?" I started to turn around, ready to stare her down to, you know, get my point across, "You're dead and things aren- Oh. Um, hi, Jesse."

I automatically snapped my hands down, away from my burning head, and now face, and turned the color of a STOP sign, staring at the living and breathing Jesse de Silva.

Why is it that Jesse always finds me in the most inexplicable situations? Like when I'm talkin' to a horse, for instance. Or lookin' like a felon. It's SO weird. The cosmos obviously don't want me to appear normal.

Pfft, Suze. You're not normal. Forget about your social-scarring habit, much?

Jesse was looking particularly hot today. Not to say he hadn't last night or yesterday afternoon, but I suppose, like wine or cheese or even spaghetti, he gets better with age.

Um. I'm not implying that Jesse's old or smelly like cheese. Cough. But if he were a fine wine I wouldn't mind getting drunk on him. Um, cough.

He gave me an amused smile. Not because he could read my thoughts or anything—God, how horrible would that be?—but because he was happy to see me. Or maybe delighted in watching me flush the color of a baboon's butt. Whatever. "Senorita Susannah. What a pleasure it is to see you."

Okay, so he was happy to see me. That's reassuring. But did he hear what I said to the horse? Or that Joan comment?

"Yeah, um, it's great seeing you again too, Jesse." Even though I just saw you a day ago in circumstances that were hardly better but hey, can't complain.

He looked at the horses and his smile grew bigger. I felt my stomach lurch happily at his smile. God, such nice teeth. Erm, Jesse not the horses. "Ah, do you like horses?" he asked, excitedly.

I shrugged slightly, suspicious of his excitement. "Well, I have one, if that's what you mean." Hey, don't blame me for my slight aloofness. I'm a stranger in a foreign land, so to speak, and um, it could be a trick?

Okay, bad excuse. I just wasn't too comfortable around this Jesse yet. What if he had a hidden dark side, like he drowns kittens in his sleep? My Jesse would never do that and I wanna know what sort of man I'd be saving if Paul suddenly decided to aid in Jesse surviving Diego's attack. I don't want to save a guy who drowns kittens.

Meow.

"A horse? You have a horse?" I nodded. "How thrilling, Susannah!" And he really did sound thrilled. "That is rare, indeed."

I returned his contagious smile, uncertainly. "...It is?"

He nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes. Most of the ladies' fathers are the ones with the horses." He frowned slightly. "I've found that even though horseback is a main way of transportation, many ladies loathe the creatures."

"That's stupid," I contributed in agreement. "I like them."

For the most part.

"Can you ride?"

Um, am I supposed to? "Uh...no."

Jesse gave me a secret grin, one that I've only seen when he's about to do something roguish, like abruptly tickle me while I'm doing homework or snatch me up from my bed and waltz me across my room when I'm depressed. I immediately warmed up to him. Can't blame me. It was involuntary. "Would you like to learn, querida?"

I gaped at him for only a split-second, before blurting out an enthusiastic, "Sure!" After all, it's not every day that I get asked by a hot rancher to learn how to ride a horse.

Sad, but true.

Oh, well. I got over this little fact soon enough.

"Excelente," he said, taking my hand in his calloused, rough one, and positioning me in front of the black horse I had been mumbling to earlier. The horse nickered at me. "He is yours, I presume?" Jesse asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

He stroked the horse's dark muzzle. "The gelding seems fond of you." Only the gelding? Shucks. "Does he have a name?"

I shook my head. "No, not really." The name Black Beauty's too racist. If I told Jesse what I'd been calling him, it would be...weird. He'd think I'm apart of the Ku Klux Klan or something.

"We'll think of something appropriate for this caballo, then."

"Um, I'm assuming that 'caballo,' means 'horse?'"

He smiled at my deficiency in Spanish. Winking, he replied, "Sí, Señorita." Yes, rub it in, dear Jesse. But I can speak French and thus I know what merde means. So hah!

Jesse's blithe attitude disappeared when he saw the saddle on my horse. "Is this your only saddle, Susannah?"

"Yes."

He frowned, eyebrows knit together unhappily, yet still managing to look like a handsome Hispanic male model. "I am sorry, then, Susannah. This isn't a sidesaddle but a western one, where the rider goes astride."

I gave him a blank look.

He elaborated further. "Ladies, like yourself, can only ride sidesaddle. It's only fitting. I regret to say," he looked really sad too, "that I'm unable to instruct you on how to ride properly. I have many sisters, I could teach you the right way of riding, but the saddle is all wrong for you, Susannah."

Oooh. I get it. All that propriety mumbo jumbo crap. What a sexist time, the 1800s.

I attempted to salvage the situation. "But, Jesse. I don't know either way of riding, sidesaddle or astride, so I'm cool learning with the western saddle." I gave him a big persuasive smile.

"No, lo siento, querida. It would not be appropriate."

Speaking of inappropriate… I mumbled something I hoped he couldn't interpret, in response.

Jesse grinned at this and squeezed my hand slightly, cheering up considerably. Look! See how happy I make him, when I'm being my natural, 21st century, weird self? Aw. "Well, Susannah, you'll receive nasty sunburn if we remain out here much longer. Come, may I treat you to a drink?'

A drink? Like, alcohol? Do they card? Nah, Jesse wouldn't do that. "That would be great."

As I turned to go into the Inn, my horse friend whickered forlornly, realizing it wouldn't get any more attention. Jesse easily quieted him though, holding the horse's head and murmuring, "No preocupe, criatura hermosa, usted es apreciado," into his face.

Lucky horse.

I so need to learn Spanish.

In the Inn, I couldn't find Anet or Derek. But that was fine by me. Anet would flip if she saw me with Jesse, since she has a mini-huge crush on him, and Derek would blow a gasket too, considering he saw me with Paul and everything last night. I don't want my nineteenth century homie thinking that I'm trashy.

Actually I don't want anyone to think I'm like that. No indeedy. Suze Simon needs no more of that sort of attention.

Carefully Jesse led me to a vacant table near an emptier section of the Inn. Wary of overly friendly cowboys, he grasped my hand as we walked, saying, "Perdone, hombres. Excuse me. Perdón," as we passed tables filled with rowdy, drinking men. One burped at me.

So polite.

After pulling my wooden chair out for me, he gave me a brief smile and said, "One moment, Susannah. I'll be back," and disappeared towards the bar.

La. I gazed at the wood tabletop, allowing my mind to wander. Jesse was much more friendly and talkative here, in his home era. Probably because he isn't dead now. Except he may be dead in like days, I have no idea. Diego's around here somewhere, so is Maria so I should definitely do something about that soon. And what is Paul's deal? I mean what crawled up his butt, making him act so—Hey, wait. Did Jesse just say, "I'll be back"? Hah, like Arnold Swartzenegger. But without that horrible Swedish accent. Wait, is it Swedish or Australian? Or maybe it's Transylvanian...

Okay. Wandering's probably not so good for my mind.

Soon, Jesse came with two glasses. He set the one with pinkish liquid in front of me.

I took a hesitant sip from the glass. A bubbly, fruity, totally not alcoholic taste filled my throat. I looked at Jesse, who was about to drink his, an eyebrow quirked. "Not beer?"

He coughed into his own beverage. "What? Susannah, you think that I would give you such a drink? Alcohol? Nombre de Dios, I'm hurt."

I almost laughed at his reaction. It was so Jesse-like. "I was just kidding, Jesse. That was very nice of you to get me something in the first place. It tastes good," I reassured, taking another sip to convince him. "Since it's not alcohol then, what is it?"

"It is carbonated water, cherry-flavored. I thought you might like it."

"Carbonated? Like soda?" Mmm, I miss soda.

"Beg your pardon?"

Crap. "Uhh. Never mind."

I quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. Jesse probably finds me weird enough, without my references to supposedly unreal things. "You mentioned your sisters, earlier?"

With my encouragment, he told me about his sisters, relaying with much relish a tale of Elaine, his eight-year-old sister, leaving him a variety of unpleasant surprises from the cattle in his belongings when he refused to let her go to Mexico with him a year ago. Ew. To be fair, I gave him an edited version of one of Doc's, "David's," high-tech, scientific speeches about time travel. The 4th dimension, time, yeah.

What? Don't look at me like that. It seemed fitting at the time. I told him, "David really believes that it could be possible, time travel, that anyone could do it." Hint, hint. Wink, wink.

Jesse wasn't wigged out by my kooky talk. Nope, on the contrary. He simply raised an eyebrow at this comment, curiously and gestured for me to continue. We chatted for a while. He watched me intently, finished his drink, asking questions and smiling at me often. He was practically the same as the ghost I knew and loved, only more cordial and outgoing, I learned. It was easy for me to grow comfortable and relaxed in the presence of this living Jesse.

Perhaps the same could be said for him—the comfortable and relaxed bit—since he glanced outside up at the sun, returned his gaze to me, then milliseconds later did a double take. He swore in Spanish. "Infierno, is it really past noon?" He turned quickly to the grandfather clock behind the bar. His face fell. 1:13 pm.

"Oh, querida, I sincerely must go," he stood up, hurriedly and I followed suit.

"I'm sorry," I said, hastily. "I hope I haven't made you late for something."

Noting my sad expression, Jesse took my hand in his, kissing it lightly. Ah, Swoon City, here I come. "No, but if I do not leave now, I will be bound to be behind schedule for an exigent engagement." He paused, and then added, "I greatly enjoyed the time we spent together. I hope we may meet again, Susannah?" He was asking for my permission.

I grinned. "You know we will."

Good answer, Suze! With a last smile, he was gone.


A/N: Hahaha. I got a Spanish-English dictionary from the library. I stole it. Mwahahaha. No, I didn't, I bought it at their book sale. But now I am ready for what is to come. Dun dun DUN dun dun-nuh! A bunch of Spanish dialogue. -clutches dictionary and cackles- So long, little... -flips through pages-, ah, polillas! (A phrase which here hopefully means 'bookworms'.)

Alda

PS. So sorry for this dreadfully and evilly long update period. I got sucked into another obsession. The Phantom of the Opera! Blame Ugly, over there, hiding underneath the opera house. Yay!

Yeah, someday I hope I'll obsess about something not related to books/movies/wicked-cool-musicals…But that's someday. Review?