Off the Pedestal:

A/N: I originally said this story would be ten chapters. Now it will be slightly more. I had too much to write in this chapter, so I've split the content in half. I'm sure you'd prefer this sooner update anyway, instead of having to wait years (and frankly I could do with reviews as inspiration). I'm awfully sorry about the long wait, by the way. The next chapter should be up sometime next week, but now I must go and update Pathway to Doom, as it's overdue (though not as overdue as this).

My navigation of the Mission Academy is probably totally wrong, but what can I say?

Chapter Six:

I release my hand from her mouth, waiting, but she doesn't answer me immediately.

Maybe it has something to do with how hard she is shaking, like she was in shock that some random guy – to her, that is – could see her and was threatening to beat her up if he didn't tell her about some random girl? Except this girl probably wouldn't be random if she had mediator abilities, would she? She'd be powerful – which is why I wanted – needed – to know whom she was.

"Well?" I demand. "I don't have all day, you know. Hasn't Father What's-His-Face over there just told you about you not being able to take students out of class time?"

She's still shaking, but it's subsided a bit. "She… calls herself Suze. Her name is…" she screws up her head, as if trying to remember a name, knowing I'll be angry if she doesn't give me one. "Susannah Simon."

That name is kind of familiar. Where've I heard it before?

That guy Cleo pointed out to me – Brad Ackerman. Isn't she his stepsister? Class VP and all that? Damn, I should probably have listened. I was just more preoccupied with the thought they were trying to lock me in a classroom because they don't trust me. Or something.

Hmm. Suze. Suuuuuuzie…

I let go of her and she stumbles backwards, but stops dead at the tone of my voice. "Where is she?"

She doesn't look like she's going to answer, so I grab hold again and kinda squeeze her neck – it's not like ghosts need to breathe, but just enough to give her discomfort, and for her to see I mean business.

Her voice sounds weird and she struggles to speak. "In a… class… don't… know which. Please, please… let go… you're hurting me…"

I drop her again and she unceremoniously falls to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath (that she doesn't need) and massaging her throat. Looking up to me with terrified eyes, she dematerialises. I smirk.

"'Til next time, kiddo!" I yell to the room in general. I suppose I'm lucky one of the Novices wasn't patrolling around or anything, I don't need to solidify their convictions that I'm off my head. I mean, it's not like the priest would vouch for me, because he also thinks I'm just a random psycho.

Not a shifter, like I actually am.

Keep your secrets from your enemies, Slater, I remind myself. But what's the other one? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Don't they sort of contradict each other or something?

Uh, whatever. I'm different. I'm more powerful. I don't need to follow those old things; I'll do what the bloody hell I like.

Anyway, now extremely late, I stroll off to Algebra.

You'd think they'd be used to me being late and generally disobedient by now. Apparently not. I got another detention. Not like I'm actually gonna go, I do actually have some kind of life, you know.

Anyway, I did pretty crap in the lesson anyway. I can do Algebra and everything, but I was kind of preoccupied, thinking of Suzie. It was driving me mad. Is she a mediator? Some chick the girl was a friend to before she died? Why did Father Dom know about her and not about me? Where did she go when she kept getting out of class earlier; to see the Father like the ghost girl had said?

I swear she was driving me insane – though not that anyone would notice. I mean, even the doctors had given a prognosis that I was insane. Is it possible to drive yourself insane when you're already insane? Is it possible to be any more insane? Would they try and lock me up in a white padded room again, because if that never worked out the first time, why would they think it would the next? All I did was terrify them – not that that's a bad thing.

But I digress. Basically, I had Suzie on the brain – seriously, it was like I was getting obsessed with her. Addicted. And I'm not even that sure who or what she is.

Not that I'm not going to find out.

Maybe I should confront her or the Father about their being Mediators? How would they react?

Well, if Suzie were a typical girl, she'd probably be all, "OH MY GOD! GHOST!" and running off screaming her head off. Considering she's probably been dealing with ghosts for a long time, I doubted that was going to happen.

Only Jack was that much of a coward.

So what would Suzie do? Frustrating thing is, I don't know. I don't think we've ever even talked. Well that would sure have to change. I guess she'd go on the defensive or something and deny the ghost's existence.

The priest is a little easier; he'd probably be all pleased that there was another dude who could see ghosts around. Then he'd be all, "oh my God, why did it have to be the insane guy? Out of anyone, it would have to be the insane guy! I'll lock him up in the wine cellar!"

Does the Mission even have a wine cellar?

I doubt it, and I don't have the stomach to conjure up images of a drunk Sister Ernestine getting it on with Father D.

Even the thought makes me shudder.

And I have to refrain from calling him Father D. It makes me think of some hippy DJ bopping in the time to music. Mental image or someone I've seen before I don't know, but it's a creepy thought either way.

But yeah, I wasn't willing to be locked up due to ghosts. They'd caused me enough trouble in the past. Although they had helped me get out of that white padded room… but nobody needs to know about that.

And it wasn't like anyone had died.

Unfortunately.

But the point is, it's not worth blowing my cover as a shifter over. If they locked me up I could probably get out easily, but I don't want to give them the satisfaction.

You keep telling yourself that, Slater…

Shut up, you.

Did I mention they're also convinced I'm a complete schizophrenic?

Anyway, I seem to have wasted a lot of time brooding about Suzie, because before I knew it, it was time for lessons again.

Again, however, I didn't quite make it in time – or at all, this time. Walking through the corridors to my next class, we'd run into the tourists – though why anyone thinks this old dump is so great I don't know – and that was when I spotted him.

Mark Campbell, I mean. He was studying the statue of Junipero Serra – I wouldn't have been surprised if he pulled out a magnifying glass then and started inspecting for dust. It was creepy. And he'd left me so angry, this was when I realized class was a no-go.

I had to get to him.

I push impatiently through the crowd of tourists, some of whom are giving me nasty glances. Sister Ernestine, noticing a disturbance, makes a noise like an angry hen and starts going through the crowd too. I try and blend in with the crowd, and go softly, "hey."

He turns and his face turns white like he's seen a ghost, and then he suddenly gives me a hug. I stiffen, and when he releases me, he says emotionally, "I thought I'd never see you again."

'Uh, so?' I want to say, but catch myself just in time. "I never knew you were religious," I inform him, and he shrugs.

"Well, you never asked."

I nod. Acceptable answer.

Chancing another glance around, I turn and see Sister Ernestine, who appears to have lost me, walking in the direction of the priests' office. I assume she's going to tell him about the boy terrorizing the tourists – not that this particular one doesn't deserve it.

"So," I say conversationally, "this statue is nothing compared to this other one. Coming?"

He grinned. "Sure."

Gotcha. Never underestimate gullibility.

As we walk down the corridor, he asks, "how do you know your way around here so well, anyway?"

"It's my school," I inform him in tight-lipped fashion, then get irritated as he seems to be slowing down to admire the school. "Come on," I tell him, dragging him by the arm, certain he'd figure out something was definitely wrong with this picture, and soon too.

Turns out I seriously overestimated his intelligence. Either that or he was so enthralled with everything, he'd forgotten what I'd told him we were doing – not that I minded; it was quite convenient actually.

Either way, he only seemed to notice something was wrong when we were in the parking lot. "Hey, wait, Paul, where are we going?"

Still gripping his arm tightly with one hand, I unlock my car door and swing open the door, shoving him in. A small "oof" sound becomes audible, followed by a, "hey! What-"

Okay, he's fine.

I slam the back door and then climb in the front of the car, putting the keys in the ignition. Through the mirror I see that Mark's staring at me with wide, frightened eyes.

He's afraid of me? Times certainly are changing.

"Paul, where are we going?" he asks frantically.

I turn around and smile sadistically. He shrinks back. "It's a little place I like to call the nuthouse."

In the shocked silence, I start the car and drive off, while he sits with the same terrified eyes, probably cursing his decision to not only come to Carmel but to the Mission Academy.

There will always be a mistake you make that's the worst in your life. This was his – and I wasn't the only one who knew it.

A/N: Thank you very much for the reviews - I appreciate the gesture. I'd appreciate more reviews though, too. And for if I don't update in time, Merry Christmas, readers!