AN: This whole chappie is done from Jesse's POV. I'm not a guy, so it may
not be entirely accurate. I don't own these ppl, don't sue, I have no money
anyway, and lots of love on this end! 3 from Lita Pern.
PS If you want, I can translate it roughly into Spanish! (or Russian,
Japanese, Italian, ASL, and really roughly into French). Review and tell me
do you want Jesse's native tongue (NOT HIS ACTUAL TONGUE, SICKO!)
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I saw how she looked at him. And why wouldn't she? He was alive. He breathed. He could take her to the picture shows I hear so much about, he can support her. and she wouldn't know the difference between him and me. There was no difference. Nothing to know.
And then, of course, was Lauren. That girl, could she be any more annoying? How can anyone, especially in my bloodline, like such a girl? She was so much like Maria. always complaining and absorbed. Pretty, I'll confess, but nothing compared to Susannah. Who currently had some sparkling look in her eye over my nephew. And what's more, I. wait. Why did I come to her room? Should I leave her on the streets alone? She could get hurt! She could be killed! And Corey Vasquez couldn't save her from the dead.
I was about to dematerialize to her side when she came into the room, looking tired and enraged. "What was that about?" she snarled, looking ready to kill. A shame Maria beat her to it.
"I could ask you the same!" I shot back, standing up so quickly Spike was thrown off my lap.
"About what? I'm not the one who left their g. friend walking home at night all alone!"
I must have looked ready to kill as well, because she stood straighter and looked me straight in the eyes, trying to be intimidating. Not about to be scared by such tactics, I replied bluntly, "I'm sure Corey could have walked you home! He is alive. People can see him. You could introduce him to your mother. Isn't that what you want?" And that's when it happened. She did something I have never seen her do.
A tear gathered in her eye lid, ready to fall. "You think I want to go out with him," she whispered, then turned on her heels and marched straight out the door. I could here her sobbing in the hall. I wanted so badly to comfort her, but then it occurred to me. She was caught. She was crying because I knew she wanted my gemelo, my twin, and not me, the dead rancher who understands nothing of her culture. She'd wanted to break it to me gently but it didn't work. I closed my eyes painfully, thinking of her lips on mine. then dematerialized into the rectory. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"Jesse!" Father Dom smiled, looking up from his book. He tossed me another book by Fyodor Dosteyevsky, in Spanish, which made me smile. "Las Historias de la Casa De Los Muertos". "The Memoirs from the House of the Dead". What a wonderful title. Then it stung me. The Memoirs of the House of the Dead, the stories of the house I had just seen. Only I was the dead. And the house was not for memoirs, it was for painful nightmares. Sneaking away to see my friend Juan Cristobal, who ended up dying in an accident involving a cattle rustler and a six-shooter, the house where my little sister Tita was born, where I first met Maria.
"Gracias, Padre." I knealt humbly, then opened it to the first page.
"¿Estàs bien, Jesse?" Was I all right? Not hardly.
"Sí, Padre, estoy bien. ¿Por cuàl razon no estuviera bien?" And the look on his face told me he didn't believe me. Why wouldn't I be fine? He looked up from his book.
"Porque tuviste una lucha con Susannah." How did he know I had a fight? And it wasn't really a fight. I would call it an exposure. That I would never be what Susannah wanted, needed, because I was dead. And Corey was alive and well. Perhaps not well, as his girlfriend had just died. But Susannah could fix that, and I could tell she desired to when she looked at him. "No, Padre. No tuvemos una lucha.
"Estàs rojo como una rana," Father Dominic said. Where did that phrase come from anyway? Red like a frog. I never understood it. "Es una mintira (sp?) y lo sabes."
Perhaps it was a lie, but I was not about to tell my personal problems to the good father. "No hay una problema, Padre."
That's when I heard her voice in the other room. And I guess he could tell by the way my brows furrowed, and the way I was shooting daggers at the door, that I was lying. To a priest. I was sure to burn in hell.
I saw how she looked at him. And why wouldn't she? He was alive. He breathed. He could take her to the picture shows I hear so much about, he can support her. and she wouldn't know the difference between him and me. There was no difference. Nothing to know.
And then, of course, was Lauren. That girl, could she be any more annoying? How can anyone, especially in my bloodline, like such a girl? She was so much like Maria. always complaining and absorbed. Pretty, I'll confess, but nothing compared to Susannah. Who currently had some sparkling look in her eye over my nephew. And what's more, I. wait. Why did I come to her room? Should I leave her on the streets alone? She could get hurt! She could be killed! And Corey Vasquez couldn't save her from the dead.
I was about to dematerialize to her side when she came into the room, looking tired and enraged. "What was that about?" she snarled, looking ready to kill. A shame Maria beat her to it.
"I could ask you the same!" I shot back, standing up so quickly Spike was thrown off my lap.
"About what? I'm not the one who left their g. friend walking home at night all alone!"
I must have looked ready to kill as well, because she stood straighter and looked me straight in the eyes, trying to be intimidating. Not about to be scared by such tactics, I replied bluntly, "I'm sure Corey could have walked you home! He is alive. People can see him. You could introduce him to your mother. Isn't that what you want?" And that's when it happened. She did something I have never seen her do.
A tear gathered in her eye lid, ready to fall. "You think I want to go out with him," she whispered, then turned on her heels and marched straight out the door. I could here her sobbing in the hall. I wanted so badly to comfort her, but then it occurred to me. She was caught. She was crying because I knew she wanted my gemelo, my twin, and not me, the dead rancher who understands nothing of her culture. She'd wanted to break it to me gently but it didn't work. I closed my eyes painfully, thinking of her lips on mine. then dematerialized into the rectory. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"Jesse!" Father Dom smiled, looking up from his book. He tossed me another book by Fyodor Dosteyevsky, in Spanish, which made me smile. "Las Historias de la Casa De Los Muertos". "The Memoirs from the House of the Dead". What a wonderful title. Then it stung me. The Memoirs of the House of the Dead, the stories of the house I had just seen. Only I was the dead. And the house was not for memoirs, it was for painful nightmares. Sneaking away to see my friend Juan Cristobal, who ended up dying in an accident involving a cattle rustler and a six-shooter, the house where my little sister Tita was born, where I first met Maria.
"Gracias, Padre." I knealt humbly, then opened it to the first page.
"¿Estàs bien, Jesse?" Was I all right? Not hardly.
"Sí, Padre, estoy bien. ¿Por cuàl razon no estuviera bien?" And the look on his face told me he didn't believe me. Why wouldn't I be fine? He looked up from his book.
"Porque tuviste una lucha con Susannah." How did he know I had a fight? And it wasn't really a fight. I would call it an exposure. That I would never be what Susannah wanted, needed, because I was dead. And Corey was alive and well. Perhaps not well, as his girlfriend had just died. But Susannah could fix that, and I could tell she desired to when she looked at him. "No, Padre. No tuvemos una lucha.
"Estàs rojo como una rana," Father Dominic said. Where did that phrase come from anyway? Red like a frog. I never understood it. "Es una mintira (sp?) y lo sabes."
Perhaps it was a lie, but I was not about to tell my personal problems to the good father. "No hay una problema, Padre."
That's when I heard her voice in the other room. And I guess he could tell by the way my brows furrowed, and the way I was shooting daggers at the door, that I was lying. To a priest. I was sure to burn in hell.