Thanks for the reviews! I promise the story will get more interesting. Ok, so here's chapter three...

A Neverending Story

Chapter Three-Meet Mr. De Silva

Let me tell you one thing I've learned about eternal long life: it's not all its cracked up to be. And, of course, I had to learn this ever so important lesson by experiencing it myself.

You'd think that since I was a mediator, I would have accepted being dead more easily than others, since I've dealt with more dead than you can imagine. You'd think that I would have handled my bad fortune with more dignity than some of the others, right?

Wrong.

For what seemed like ages I sat there, miserably gazing at my mangled body until high tide came and washed its remains away. I was oddly calm for someone who had just been murdered less than a few hours ago.

I thought about nothing while perched on a rock towering above the sea. It was amazing how I could just loose myself in those vast pools of water, not needing to think or, for that matter, even breathe, since I was no longer living. I felt as though someone had just punched an off button to my senses, muting out my thoughts that were threatening to come tumbling back to life at any second.

Eventually I came to my senses. I made the long journey back to my house on foot (because really, how else was I supposed to do it? I was a ghost, after all!). When I entered my house, I saw my mother sitting on the couch, crying hysterically. My eyes burned as I held back the salty tears I had kept pent up for so long. I cried out in grief, only to find that no one could hear me, even if I screamed at the top of my lungs. Of course no one could hear me…I was dead

I WAS DEAD!

How could Diego do such a terrible thing? Did he even realize how much pain that I would have to withstand, how much pain my mother would have to endure? It wasn't fair for someone to inflict that kind of harm by just the simple action of a push. Well, it was off a cliff, no less, but you get the idea.

Andy, my step-dad, tried to comfort my ailing mother. My stepbrothers, who I thought didn't have a drop of emotion in them, had their faces downcast, eyes filled with sorrow. David, or Doc, as I called him, was sobbing, his tear streaked face screwed up in hurt. Finally, I could take no more. I took a step backwards, stumbling over a stiff, wooden chair, and felt for the door handle, only to feel my hand pass through it easily. Frustrated, I gave up and staggered through the door, hugging my arms to myself protectively.

Thirty years. Thirty years had gone by since I had last set eyes on my family, on my mother. I expected that they had grown a lot since then, but I was unchanged by the years, forever remaining in my sixteen-year-old body. I had accepted the fact that I was dead, and I had grown to use my powers to my benefit. Now, I could materialize, dematerialize, and move things telekinetically (a/n: not sure if that's the right word, but deal with it ). Mostly, I sat on the beach, watching people come and go occasionally and gazing at the vast ocean. Other times I observed my old friends and the places I had been to, but I never did I dare to see my family. But now, thirty years after my death, and I was ready.

However, I wasn't ready for Andy to be gone, to have passed on. And I certainly wasn't ready for my mother to go, either.

I materialized at the house right at noon, when I expected my family to be together and eating supper. Andy had always made a big deal over meal times, so I thought that maybe things hadn't changed since then.

But they had.

I noticed something weird right when I first arrived. The house had been painted white, different from the natural wooden shade it had been when I lived there. The stable, where our horses were bred, no longer existed. Instead, a driveway littered with pebbles of gravel filled its vacancy, and two carriages were parked in it. Curious I wandered into the house.

I broke into a smile at seeing my family gathered around the large table in the center of the room, saying grace over the food about to be received. The smile quickly turned to bewilderment as I saw not just one, but two unrecognizable faces looking down at their platters of food. As I drew closer, I hurriedly skimmed over all of the faces and when I could not find one familiar face, the smile completely melted off my face like butter.

Now I was just angry.

Who were these people and what were they doing in my house? Okay, so maybe it wasn't my house any longer, since I had been a ghost for the past thirty years, but it was still my family's house. What were a bunch of strangers doing around the table I had eaten at, chatting like they had not a care in the world?

An answer came to me later that night as I sat on the window seat in my room, looking up at the stars which clustered the inky black sky. The window seat was also a new installment, as was the unknown bed, chairs, and dressing table. The whole room had been remodeled, much to my dismay, but I was more upset over the fact that it had been changed it all than the actual changes that had been made. I had never been a big fan of the pink frills that had decorated my room previously, but I was never going to admit that I liked the new decorations better.

Anyway, while sitting there, I heard a rustle behind me and spun around to face a girl a little younger than me staring directly at me. I was surprised, although I shouldn't have been. She was a mediator, like me, and I hadn't met one for all of my many years of life...er, afterlife. I had always suspected that there were more of us out there, but I was happy to finally get to meet one.

"Hello there, little girl. What's your name?" I asked in my sweetest voice. I was shocked at how rusty it sounded from disuse.

Her expression was sour, "You used to live here, right?" she said. I was taken aback. How would she know this? I voiced this question.

"Well, my momma told me about a girl who was murdered and used to live here, so I thought it might be you. That's what you looked so shocked this afternoon at dinner, right? Because you didn't know that this house was now a boardinghouse?" I was impressed that she could figure all this out, even at such a young age.

"Oh…" I replied half heartedly, "So that's why they aren't here. My family, I mean. Since this is a boardinghouse, right?" The young girl nodded.

"So where are they?" I asked. I was itching to know, I needed to know the answer. I wasn't sure I was prepared for it, though.

The girl's expression of indifference suddenly softened, looking sad. "They're…they, um, passed away. In a fire," she said in a small voice.

Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them. Death, I could handle. Loss, I could handle. But did their lives have to end so terribly? Did they have to die like I did, in pain?

I looked back up at the girl after I had been staring so intently at the stitching in my dress, but not seeing it. To my dismay, she had gone. Sighing, I turned back to the window. It will be another thirty years of nothingness, then? I thought miserably. Being stuck in a limbo between life and the afterlife was no joke. I suddenly felt a wave of compassion for all of those ghosts who I had dealt with so impatiently.

Things continued much the same for the next hundred and twenty years, passing slowly but surely. It wasn't as boring as I had thought it to be originally, but it was still no party. I enjoyed watching the guests arrive and depart, watching the world develop so fast and in so many ways. I couldn't keep up with all the new inventions and ideas that had arisen over time; there were too many changes to keep track of. Sometimes I toyed with the guests that I disliked or thought amusing by haunting them if they stayed in my old room. Oh, it didn't inflict any permanent damage on them, but they often left hastily and never came back. In a world where time was endless, I had to find certain things to keep me amused.

Reading became an essential part of my life, as well. I had never enjoyed it in my lifetime, but as a ghost I simply couldn't get enough of the knowledge that came from books. What I enjoyed most were novels, though; I read through roughly one a day, or whenever I could get my hands on one. A lot of guests kept them lying around, but then were confused to where they had gone when they turned up in various parts of the house, of course moved by me.

Little by little, business in the boardinghouse died down, and the countryside around it developed into a small town. It eventually became run down and disheveled, but I continued to sit in that window seat and gaze out into the ocean. I had the best view in all of Carmel from the window!

Around 150 years after my death, a new family moved in. They were the first since the house had been a boardinghouse, so they made a big project of repairing all of the rooms into superb conditions. They were by far the most interesting yet; with a mother, father and five sisters! They were constantly arguing over who stole whose clothes, petty issues like that, and I found it all quite amusing. I thought it had been hard to live with three brothers, but maybe sisters could be even more exasperating!

The house was huge, so there were enough rooms for each of the girls. Luckily, no one chose my old room, and I was glad for that. When the house had been a boardinghouse, people occasionally stayed there, and I had found it amusing. But for someone to live there all the time? That would just be irritating. I would be constantly interrupted from my thoughts, or novels, or whatever else I chose to occupy myself with. Yes, it was a good thing that no one had chosen my room.

They all talked of their brother in high regards, so I wondered why he wasn't here in the house with them. Maybe he had been scared of all the femininity and chosen to live in his old house…but I seriously doubted that. No, they all said that he was coming soon, but I never knew when, and didn't think much of it.

Until he walked into the room…my room…with his mother. She was asking him if he liked the decor, and he was smiling and nodding his head politely. I didn't see his face, but he looked to be a little older than me, maybe around 18 (a/n: sorry, but he had to be young enough to still be going to school). Then, the realization hit me. She was asking him how he liked his room? He was going to be living here? But it was my room! No one but me could live here! I was enraged.

His mother finally left the room when he turned to me, staring at me cynically. I looked behind me, but no one was there. Yes, it was me he was staring at! But, then that would mean…

When I got a good look at his face, my heart just about stopped. I hadn't noticed it before, but he was amazingly handsome, with clean cut features that were perfect in every way. Dark, crisp hair curled around the nape of his neck and fell lightly into his eyes. Oh, his eyes. So dark, so inky black and swimming in knowledge that I felt like I was falling into them. Just gazing into them made me feel like I was trapped inside of them, but I wasn't searching for a way out. If this was being trapped, then I'd like to be like this forever…

"Hello," he said. His low voice reverberated through my spine, making my whole body tingle. I looked away from his eyes sharply, and then remembered what I was doing. He was in my room! He had no right to be here. Sure, he was amazingly handsome, but he could be dangerous, he could be evil and twisted for all I knew. After all, he was a mediator.

"Hello, to you too, cowboy, and now, if you wouldn't mind, get the hell out of my room," I replied. Hey, it might not have been the most polite thing to say, but I was in the 21st century now. Things were different, I imagined, and I could say whatever I wanted to now.

He looked taken aback, but quickly recovered, "Jesse," he said.

"Jesse, what?" I snapped back.

"You called me 'cowboy'. You might want to know that my name is Jesse."

Sound familiar?

Finally, Jesse is in the story...sorry it took so long. Well. Pleeease review with any questions, comments or uh...suggestions, maybe? Thanks again :)