A/N: Oddly enough, I'm becoming more reluctant to update the closer to the end I get. O.o Usually, it happens in the reverse (farther from the end I am, the more reluctant) :-P

While trying to plot out the remainder of the story (I've had the whole story in my head from the beginning, just been a matter of figuring out how to time it) I realized I'm almost at the end, and I didn't even notice. O.o That's what I get for updating so quickly, I suppose. My brain's still functioning on the "once a month update if you're lucky" mindset. Lol

And I do believe all of Past is in Paul's P.O.V. this time. O.o

Chapter 12

Past:

Paul sat with his back against the door. He forced himself to stay there throughout, listening to her scream, to feel the pounding against the door—to feel when that pounding suddenly stopped.

He wouldn't kill her. The ghost, that is. Paul had made certain of that, at least. It didn't make him feel any better.

Paul sat out there until the screaming stopped, until he couldn't hear anything through the door anymore. He sat there, shaking, for a long moment, until he forced himself to get up and unlock the door.

She was curled up on the bed, her face red from her tears. She looked so damn small, he thought. Paul forced himself to cross the room and lean over her. He didn't know how he managed to keep his voice steady as he said, "You see what happens when you disobey me?"

Suze closed her eyes and nodded.

"Good." Paul stepped back, and asked more gently, "Can you stand on your own?"

Suze nodded again, and, with jerky movements that couldn't have been anything but painful, she sat up and scooted to the side of the bed. She attempted to push herself to her feet, but she only managed to wobble for a minute before her knees buckled.

Paul swore under his breath, grabbing her arms to keep her upright. "So much for that," he muttered, more to himself than to her. In the end, he settled for carrying her back to the cell. He set her down on the bed. "I'll be back in a bit with dinner," he assured her, though he doubted she was paying any attention to a word he was saying. She was already in her own little world.

Sighing, Paul left the cell, closing and locking the door behind him without bothering to think of what he was doing. Not until he saw Suze suddenly jackknife into a sitting position, staring at him. "Suze?"

"I said I wouldn't disobey you again!" she said frantically, trying to get out of bed but, when that didn't work, she just plopped back down and continued to stare at him. He could see her eyes filling with terrified tears from where he stood.

Paul stared at her dumbfounded. Then he turned his gaze to the lock and stared at that. Oh, God. What had he done?

He quickly unlocked the door again and fled.

If things had been bad before that, they seemed like heaven in comparison to what happened over the next few weeks.

Things fell back into a routine. Mornings, afternoons, evenings—they all returned to relative normal. Whatever that meant anymore.

Paul barely noticed at first when the plates came back mostly full. But soon enough he was noticing how skinny Suze had suddenly gotten. And in the evenings, when he brought both their dinners into her cell so she wouldn't have to struggle down the hall, she would just sit and watch him expectantly while he ate, never actually taking a bite herself.

Paul looked up from his spot on the floor where he had been eating. "Suze?" She looked up. "Don't you like your food?"

She didn't respond, just continued to look at him.

Paul swallowed, finally allowing himself to take in her appearance. She wasn't eating, he realized. Not just now—she hadn't been eating anything, at all. He felt sick to his stomach. How long had this been going on? "I…" He coughed, throwing down his napkin. He waved a hand at her plate, pitifully. "Eat."

And then, as if nothing strange had just happened, Suze turned to her plate and began eating.

Just like that.

It continued like that for a while. She wouldn't eat unless he specifically told her to, no matter how much food he piled on her plate, or how hungry he knew she must be. She wouldn't sleep either unless he told her to.

Paul sat in the room down the hall, staring up at the ceiling. This was it. It was over. A twisted experiment in mind control was done. And hadn't it just been a great success?

Suze was standing near the bookshelf against the wall, peering at the titles. Paul watched her, taking his sweet time with what he knew he was going to do. He didn't know what would be crueler—subjecting Suze to everything that he had, or sending her out of here in the state she was in.

He didn't know. It didn't matter, anyway, he'd made this mess, now he had to finish it.

"Susie," he said softly, holding out his hand to her when she turned to look at him. "Come here, sweetheart."

She moved toward him obediently. She sat on his lap, and looked up at him expectantly. Her eyes looked huge now that her face was so thin. Paul touched her face gently, suddenly afraid in a way he should have been long before now.

He held her for a long time, not wanting to let the moment go yet. He wouldn't be able to do this again.

Leaning forward a little to kiss her forehead, he whispered, "I'm sorry." And then his hands moved from where he had laid them at her waist to encircle her throat. Her eyes widened, and she gave an involuntary jerk back, but other than that she held still. He was choking her, and, God help them both, she was already so far gone she couldn't find it anywhere in her to fight back. The Suze Simon of old was well and truly gone.

Unbidden, memories came flooding back to him in those moments. Of Suze, laughing at his stupid attempts to flirt with her; of Suze, yelling at him, arguing with him; of Suze, that first time they had kissed. Images of Suze from before—and then images of Suze from the past few months. The woman he had long thought he loved… But what the hell did he know about love, anyway?

Enough.

As her face was starting to change a frightening shade of blue, Paul finally let her go. She fell back off his lap, landing in a heap on the floor, staring at him. "Get out," he said hoarsely.

"I… what did I do?"

Paul laughed harshly, getting out of the chair and moacross the rving oom to open the door for her. He tried to kill her and she wanted to know what she had done? "Get out of this house." He felt like he were about to choke himself.

"But I—"

He shook his head in firm denial what he knew she would say. "No. Once you get out of here, you'll hate me." He couldn't promise that. He didn't know. He could hope, at least, for her sake, anyway.

She stood, planted in the spot, staring at him still.

"Go."

She went.

Present:

Jesse watched, shaking his head grimly, as Joe made yet another shot. He had no idea why Joe insisted on dragging him along. He seemed to do about as well with him there as without him. And then he had to drag Susannah along, too…

Susannah. Jesse shot a glance to where she was standing to check on her. He stopped, feeling concerned when he saw the way she was staring at him. Her face had gone very pale suddenly. "Susannah? Are you all right?" He shot a look back at Joe and jogged over to Susannah. "Querida?"

When she just continued to look at him, Jesse sighed. "Joe," he called over his shoulder. "I'm going to take Susannah home." He looked back to see Joe nod. "I think something's wrong."

"No problem." Joe offered a half-smile. "Feel better, Suze!" An odd statement to make, but coming from Joe, it sounded almost normal. If anything Joe said could be counted as normal, anyway.

Jesse kept glancing at Susannah throughout the drive home. What could have happened? He wondered. He wished, for what must have been the thousandth time, that he could ask, but of course, he wouldn't have gotten any sort of answer.

When they entered the apartment, Jesse threw his keys down on the coffee table, running a hand through his hair. "I need a shower," he said absently. "If you—"

"I'm sorry."

He was hearing things. That must be it. He had not just heard a hoarse little voice say that. But as he watched color suddenly flood Susannah's cheeks, he realized he had heard it. Nombre de Dios.

"What did you say?" he finally managed to force out.

For a moment he didn't think she would respond. But then, after a moment, she took a deep breath and said, in that soft, hoarse voice, "I'm sorry I ruined your game."

Jesse felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. It wasn't much, but she was talking. To him. He wanted to run to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her, and tell her how much he loved her, how much he had missed her—missed her voice, missed the way she had once been, missed everything.

In the end, he kept his distance—he couldn't be sure how she would react if he touched her. And all he really managed to get out was one word. Well, two words, really. "Oh, querida."

Jesse was lying awake, unable to sleep after the events of the day. He wanted to jump for joy, but he knew they still had a long road ahead of them.

"Jesse."

Turning on his side, Jesse saw Susannah standing in the doorway. Sitting up,he said, "What is it, querida?" When she didn't respond right away, he swallowed, and said hopefully, "Have you remembered something that happened to you?"

"No."

Jesse closed his eyes. Patience, he told himself. He had to be patient. Things would come soon enough—

"But I remember you."

His eyes snapped open and he turned to stare at her. In the dim light from the hallway, he could see her eyes filled with tears. "Querida," he whispered.

It was all the invitation she seemed to need, because the next thing he knew, she was running into his arms, and he was holding her, and dear God, it felt good to be holding her again. He pulled her up onto the bed, hugging her to his chest while she cried, and he felt his own tears spill over. They lay like that for a long time, crying and holding each other like they were afraid the other might suddenly disappear.

And afterward… well.

A/N: I'm getting terribly descriptive with that sort of thing, aren't I?