A lot of people are asking when Cole comes back in. We have not forgotten him, kiddies. He will be back. Just like the terminator. Just, not yet. So yeah. And this is a TAGTEAM! In the reviews, don't just address them to Lolly! (Me.) Hayley is equally – no greater than I. She writes the magic these days. So to LOLLY AND HAYLEY. Mental note, mi amigas! Dos, no uno!
And yes, our little lambs (to the slaughter), there IS a Suze/Jesse kiss. Definitely. Teehee. Just NOT in this chapter. Don't get your hopes up, and don't rush us . . . we have plans . . .
CHAPTER NINE
This wasn't good . . . I was such an idiot for telling Jesse to take a hike. Heaven knows Suze can't handle herself for TEN STINGY MINUTES? It was dark, so I couldn't see anything. The door was somewhere around the room . . . but I didn't know where. The piano wasn't playing, so I couldn't locate that either. And my head wasn't swimming anymore – it was drowning. In what, I didn't know.
Probably in stupidity.
I didn't know what to do . . . damn it, I would have given anything, right there and then, to have been back at the shifter lessons that Paul had provided me with six years ago, where he detailed materialization for shifters. The fact that I hadn't listened – what? So his whole method of speaking softly and seductively has been kind of distracting, SUE ME? – was kind of a downer now. I needed to materialize out of there. But I didn't know how to do so.
Shit.
Darkness enveloped every corner of the room, and everything was totally black –
Hold that thought.
You know that big photograph of the Beatles? You know, with Ringo Starr, George Harrison, John Lennon and Paul McCartney?
Yeah, not to sound paranoid, but the Beatles were looking at me.
I mean . . . really looking at me.
Their eyes were blinking.
Eyes that, yeah, I could see perfectly well in the inky blackness of the room, due to the very soft spectral glow that they cast.
And those eyes weren't just blinking.
They were glaring.
Angrily.
So. This was the first appearance of the ghost. Or, ghosts, as it appeared. I couldn't tell anything from these stupid eyes. I mean, whether they were young or old or fat or gay or lactose intolerant – nothing.
So yeah, I glared back. Whether they could see me in the blanketing darkness, I couldn't tell.
'Open the door,' I snapped with biting tones. 'I am a powerful shifter, and I've totally got the shits with you now. And a shifter with the shits is not exactly on every kid's Christmas list this year, I hear. If you open the door, I will make your exorcisms as painless as I can.'
Um, wrong move, much?
Something heavy – suspiciously like the other life-size portrait of Beethoven – dropped almost on me. But, due to an extra keen sense of hearing I had no idea I had, I heard it coming and scrambled back before another echoing crash shattered through the hopeless darkness. Now I was officially freaked. I couldn't see, and I had apparently pissed the ghost – ghosts – off, as much as they'd pissed me.
My bad.
The thing about ghosts you have to remember is that they aren't all as affable as they make them out to be in the cartoons. In a perfect world, I'd be stuck mediating Casper. I wouldn't mind THAT much. But I'm sure that in this case, these ghosts probably have nothing in common with the 'friendly ghost'.
Now that I think of it, that could be an oxymoron. Friendly ghost, I mean. Oxymoron . . . that one's right up there with 'Fun Run' and 'Susannah's Life.'
So great. I'm pretty much locked in a terribly dark room with some pretty bitter ghosts. I don't know how many of them there are, or how even what they are bitter about. All I know is, they've got a baby grand, and they ain't afraid to use it.
Isn't this so like me?
But this time, instead of playing me another lovely song, the piano started to roll in my direction, heading straight to squish me between the wall and its mahogany exterior. Immediately, I jumped up in the air and landed on my stomach on top of the piano and rolled with it until it crashed into the wall.
I don't know where I was getting these moves. It was like I was in some action movie that had gone horribly wrong.
Maybe they're not paying me enough . . .
Hey, how much IS Mr Head giving us for this gig, anyway –
That was when hands – many hands – shoved me further against the top of the grand piano. I squeaked – when will I stop DOING that?! – and wrestled to turn my head around to see who dared lay a finger – or several – on me, but a hand came to the back of my neck, and forced my face away. It hurt, damn it! Hands ran down the back of my legs and by my waist in almost a caressing way, while others gripped me hard, as if I was the rope that held them from falling down a rocky cliff to a gory, bloody death.
Yeah, mah homies . . . I am yah rope . . .
Ugh.
My heart was going waaaaaay fast, and I was struggling around, panting for release. It was NOT a comfortable POSITION.
YOU KNOW?!
Only, just as I sharply twisted out of the grasping hand at the base of my skull, there was a shower of radiant materialization before me, and the hands just . . . disappeared . . .
I shot to my knees, whirling around –
There was no one there.
I turned back angrily.
'Susannah! What happened here?' Jesse asked, referring to the fallen portraits and the broken wood panels and the chaotic mess of sheets that were now visible in his gentle ethereal glow. A color that was neither blue nor purple anymore.
Huh? He used to be totally blue. What's with the colour scheme now?
OI, JESSE, I ASKED YOU A QUESTION –
Well, technically I only thought it.
So . . . er . . .yeah . . .
Hang on. JESSE JUST INTERRUPTED ME.
'Hey!' I shouted in fury, 'I was THIS close to seeing these ghosts!' I held my thumb and index finger a few millimeters apart angrily, 'This close! And then YOU barge in, and they're kaput! What is your problem?! Don't you want us to find these ghosts? Do our job? You want me to remain JOBLESS, Jesse? After I just lost my LAST one?! That's it, isn't it? You think it's FUNNY, me being unemployed! You're secretly laughing your ass off at the fact that I can't keep a career for more than FIVE SECONDS!' My volume had reached a loudness that was close to that of an electric guitar on vamps, at a concert. I stood there, breathing fast in rage, and Jesse was blinking lazily at me.
WHY, I WAS GOING TO KILL HIM!
. . . AGAIN!
'Susannah,' he said austerely, his dark eyes flashing, 'You were informed of Padre's rules, as were we all. Yet you specifically sought to disobey them. His rules come before any action that we may take against these spirits. You already know that they are somewhat dangerous, if Jack's near-death experience was any indication. I would think you'd have more sagacity than to storm into a situation when you could get yourself killed!'
Whoa . . . and all in a Spanish accent, folks.
In turn, I blinked.
'Cut me deep, Shrek,' I said sadly, 'Cut me real deep just now.'
His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. 'Shr – '
'Oh, why do I bother? My wit is so wasted on you, DeSilva' I groaned, and shoved past him, and through the door that would now open.
. . . I guess, in my deepest, most secret thoughts, I was kind of grateful. I mean, I was starting to get a little freaked there. Not scared, of course. Terrified? Me? Are you kidding?
Yeeeeah, Suze. And Paul Slater's having an affair with Father Dominic.
Please.
Well . . . I'd been a little scared. That seemed to come a little easier these days, horrible as it is to admit. But what can I say? I'm an A-Grade loser. Of course I had potent loseristic tendencies.
Is that a word? Loseristic, I mean.
Well . . . it is now.
But yeah . . . I had no idea what that ghost was going to do then. I had to admit, when his hands had been touching my back, my blood definitely hit sub-zero. What was going to happen to me, I would never know. But it wouldn't have been very pleasant.
'Why did you not call me?' Jesse asked from behind me, as I was thundering down the hallway to the center of the house, where the stairs were.
God. How corny. "Who ya gonna call?" GHOST BUSTERS!
I think not.
'Because you smell,' I said, oh-so-maturely. When I heard a very emphasized sniff from behind me, I turned my head to see Jesse er . . . seeing if I was indeed telling the truth.
Sniffing his armpits.
Whoa. He took me seriously.
I snorted, and kept going, shaking my head. 'I was kidding, Jesse. You don't smell. Of anything. You're dead.'
A nasty silence greeted me. Again, I stopped and rotated. Jesse hadn't moved. He was staring at me with an inscrutable look in his eyes. His posture had collapsed a little, and he looked saddened.
Something painful twanged my heartstrings like the strings of a guitar again, but I shot him a determined glare, and kept going.
. . . He didn't have a heart. Not one that still beat . . . this didn't matter to him . . . he'd deal.
Then why did it feel like I was breaking it? His heart, I mean.
I was apparently the first to experience a Fortunaschweinian shower. Ugh, try saying that ten times fast. No, actually, don't. That can get really annoying, really quickly. Like Paul Slater tends to.
But meh.
My shower started off great. I was pleased to find that the water was indeed, hot and everything was tiled in rich, terracotta ceramics. The faucets were a little faulty, having not been used in thirty odd years, but they ran squeaky clean after about two minutes. I was in the bathroom on the fourth floor, because it was closest to my bedroom. I decided that I had better cut back on the exploring, as much as it killed me to admit. Because Jesse was right – it wasn't safe to go alone, damn it.
I stood under the steamy cascade. Water trailed down my body, and I melted under the comfort of the heat. I loved warmth. Coldness sucked. Because, not only was coldness something that you felt penetrate your very bones, chilling your skin and causing you to violently shiver, it was the coldness of being lonely and lost and desperate in a world of icy ignorance. Whenever I looked at Paul, I felt cold. Whenever I looked at Jesse, I felt warm, but my stubbornness and desperation to cling to the past overruled the warmth I experienced, and conquered it with ice anyway.
Very vaguely, I thought of what Paul had said earlier. "You're never alone . . . You'll never be alone." It crept into my mind hauntingly, and made the hot water run a little colder for a moment, but I frowned, and thought above it. Stupid Paul . . . planting that in my brain . . . bah, go jump off a skyscraper, stupid lawyer.
"But are you sure you're really alone?"
YES ALREADY.
Why can't he just leave me and my thoughts alone? Why couldn't I just stop thinking about him already? I was in the SHOWER for Pete's sake.
Not that I was thinking about him like THAT. I certainly wasn't, okay? That would be so, so wrong.
I groaned, and massaged the excess conditioner out of my hair in frustration, water coursing hotly down my torso.
The day was washed away by the sweltering liquid. My soaked and fully washed hair plastered against my neck and back wetly. The satisfying sound of the hot water hitting the tiled ground made my lips curve up softly. I was breathing in steam. My eyes were closed in pleasure and I was starting to feel relaxed, as everything sank away down the drainage pipes . . . the oil from my skin, the remarks from Paul, the comments of Dani, the pleadings of Jesse, the sensations of many hands on my back, the scars from Cole, the blood from –
. . . The blood?
THE BLOOD?!
With a mighty shriek, I jerked out of the deluge of dark red fluid that was spewing out from the shower head. I urgently shot a crimson-saturated arm out to turn the faucet off, but it WOULDN'T TURN! I was covered – COVERED in thick, portentous BLOOD.
I rammed at the shower door, and landed sprawled across the tiles, with my eyes jammed shut. 'Ew, ew!'
But when I opened my eyes . . . I was only drenched with water. Of the clear variety.
The shower was off.
With huge eyes, I scurried up and seized the towel that was folded fluffily on the near the basins, and wrapped it firmly around me. I was mortified. Ewww . . . I'd touched the floor . . . ewww . . .
Then something occurred to me.
That had obviously been another illusion.
That meant that –
EWWW. I
WAS BEING
WATCHED!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!
I disgusted humiliation, I very carefully slid into my underwear, still trying to keep the towel as close to my body as possible, and not leaving any opportunity for any Peeping Toms to catch me in the nude. Again. Oh, God . . . STUPID GHOSTS.
I HATE THEM! THEY WERE SPYING ON ME!
. . . If I found out that Jesse had EVER done that, I'd get Max, the Ackerman's old dog, to SHIT ON HIS GRAVESTONE.
I was freaked. Someone had WATCHED ME SHOWERING. And between you and me, I'm not overly concerned with water wastage. Translation: I'd taken my time. Which meant . . . the show had gone for quite a while . . .
Oh man, oh man, oh man . . . eww . . .
Again, I worriedly checked my – now fully clothed – body for signs of blood, but it hadn't been real. It had been a ghostly trick. A cruel one, at that. Dripping with blood? That was sadistic. That really was. Ew, ew . . .
With a heavy shudder, I backed out of the bathroom, and, with the towel wrapped around my head, I hobbled back to my bedroom. My foot was pretty much better by then. What can I say? I heal fast. There had to be SOME perks as a shifter, right?
Yes. Thank you.
Down the dark, dusty hallway again . . . eyes from the portraits leered at me, but did not blink as the old Beatles had in that music room. These were still, but they still chilled my spine and made my fingertips freeze.
Should have worn fleece pants . . . not silky boxers. What is my problem?
Don't ask . . . we haven't got that much spare time.
I reached my bedroom door, still feeling as though I was being watched. I tell you, I sure wasn't a fan of this whole not-seeing-ghosts deal. I wasn't used to it. I was used to being drawn to the bright blue auras, and kicking butt. Not getting MY butt kicked. Or, most recently, drenched in icky fake blood. Ew . . . now it was war. Suze Simon does NOT get painted red without a fight. Ghosties were going down. Now it was PERSONAL.
Muah! Muah. Huh . . .
Ugh.
Click your heals together and say, "I need a life, I need a life."
But seriously, folks, is that not just plain creepy? I had been there, enjoying my long shower, letting all my worries slip away, and then those stupid ghosts had to go ruin that by showering me in blood, adding more worry into my already massive pile of worry. It's stressing me out, man.
Stress or no stress, I was growing weary by the minute. Even despite my four-hour nap earlier that day.
Maybe it was saving the life of my arch nemesis's kid brother by keeping him from plummeting to his death inside a small dumbwaiter. Maybe it was the whole dealing with said nemesis's Barbie doll girlfriend. Just MAYBE it's actually the fact that I can't even find out who those stupid ghosts are that keep threatening everyone in this place are. That's enough to make a girl tired, eh?
I vowed then and there that whenever I found out who those ghosts were, I'd give them their just desserts.
After I went to bed, that is.
I awoke once again to the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. This time it was undoubtedly breakfast. I could smell the smell of sizzling bacon a mile away.
After quickly plaiting my long, dark hair into twin braids on either side of my head, and slipping into a light blue denim jeanskirt that was just above my knees, and a rose pink tank top, and then pulled a white sweater over. You know, the ones with the zippers. It had little pockets, too, one in which I found a half-empty packet of Tic Tacs from just before the plane trip from Massachusetts. Meh, cool. I slid my feet into some really comfy white sneakers, ones which I didn't bother doing up the laces for. I shuffled down the stairs and into the dining hall. Taking one look at Paul, who was reading the stock reports in the local newspaper, I decided that the only way I would be able to survive this day was to drown myself in coffee. With extra cream.
All of those hours I put in at Starbucks finally paid off.
I came back into the room with a plate filled with bacon and a little something Adam called "funny pancakes". He called them that, because each pancake had a specific funny shape to it. The two that I got were Mickey Mouse and Ralph Nader. Or at least that's who Adam said they were supposed to be. CeeCee said that he just couldn't pour the batter right.
I looked in the huge room for a place to sit. There was an overwhelming number of chairs in that place. Choosing just one would be hard enough.
I decided to distance myself from Paul, sitting at the other end of the dining hall. It really didn't matter where I sat, because he was so absorbed in how well his stocks were doing. And judging by the accomplished smirk on his face, they seemed to be doing well.
That's it. I'm boycotting NASDAQ. Whatever the heck they do.
Father Dominic was shuffling about all over the place, looking for his lost glasses that he seemed to misplace. He had been up since five in the morning, checking out the library with Jesse.
Jack, obviously not a morning person, stumbled into the dining hall, just as I had finished my breakfast. He was still in his navy blue plaid pajama pants and white T-shirt that he wore to bed. He even showed obvious sighs of bed-head; his brown curls were messy and all over the place.
'Morning, sleepyhead,' I called to him in my most cheerful voice. Jack replied something incoherent as he began to pour syrup on his pancakes. He kind of dozed off and ended up accidentally pouring half the syrup on them.
At least he wasn't drooling.
One person that didn't choose to grace us with her presence was Dani.
Meh. She was probably still applying all that make-up on her face. She needs it.
I bet underneath that mask she's got warts on her nose or something. Or maybe that mole is actually bigger, and she just minimizes it by smothering concealer on it. Or maybe she's really GREEN like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz . . .
Maybe she IS the Wicked Witch! You know, un-melted and all.
I KNEW IT.
I was pretty eager to start working especially now that I knew there were multiple ghosts. Of course, no one else knew that there were more than one besides me. And MAYBE Jesse. But no one else. And I planned to keep it that way.
The only thing stopping me from my goal of finding these ghosts were the frivolous rules that Father Dominic had slapped down on us. I mean, the BUDDY SYSTEM? When we're TWENTY-THREE?
So just to appease the old coot (who still hadn't found his glasses), I had to choose a partner so that I could get to work as soon as possible. What I needed was someone loyal, obedient, and a little naïve.
In other words, Jack Slater.
So after breakfast, I approached Jack and asked, 'Are you ready to get to work, little buddy?'
Jack blinked a few times. 'Work? But it's seven in the morning, Suze. I'm still in my pajamas.'
'The great thing about this job, Jack, is that there is no dress code,' I told him. 'Not everyone is a freak like your brother. What kind of person wears business suits in a relaxed work environment? You can work in anything you want. Even fluffy Garfield slippers, for all I care.'
'That's cool, I guess. But I haven't even brushed my teeth yet,' Jack protested.
Rolling my eyes, I dug a packet of Tic Tacs from my pocket. 'There,' I told him as I shoved the whole little box in his hand, 'they're all yours. Two hours of Tic Tac freshness, for just two calories. Great, huh?' I said brightly, imitating the girl from the ad with her disgustingly white teeth.
He wrinkled his nose. 'My girlfriend Mary calls these Barbie tampons.'
. . . Er . . . okay . . .
I gave him a weird look, and he chomped five. 'So let's go already-'
'Mind if I tag-along?'
Sometimes it seems that Paul just comes from nowhere. One minute, he's out-of-sight-out-of-mind, and the next he's just . . . THERE. It's like he's got radar or something.
He was standing there, looking all professional like he always did. Only, instead of going all out with the business suit thing, he was just wearing a long sleeved, light blue Oxford shirt and a tie.
Before I could get out a "Yes I do mind", Jack replied, 'Nope, not at all.'
I glared at Jack icily. The LAST thing I needed was to have Paul tag-along. He'd for sure figure out there is more than one ghost. And then he'd run back to his little partner Malibu Barbie and they'd find the ghosts together and take all the credit for it.
Jack, seeing my glare, asked, 'Can't he come with us, Suze?'
'No,' I answered firmly, 'Paul is going to be partners with Danielle.'
'Not this time,' Paul spoke up, taking a step closer to Jack.
'Go away,' I told Paul. Then I turned to Jack and took his hand. 'Come on, Jack.'
As I tried to pull on Jack's arm, I noticed that he wasn't moving with me.
I knew Jack was loyal. That's why I picked him to be my partner this time. Because he'd stick by me no matter what. But his loyalty lay in not only me, but his no-good older brother. Damn.
'Is Dani okay?' Jack asked Paul, a flicker of concern in his soulful blue eyes.
Paul looked uncomfortable for a moment. I thought for a moment that maybe he FINALLY ditched that stupid model because he realized that he could never love someone made of 98 plastic. He should go for someone a little more REAL.
Or maybe she dumped him. Yeah . . . he deserved it.
Paul finally answered, 'Yeah, she's fine, Jack. It's just . . . girl stuff.'
Jack's eyes widened. 'Eww,' he whined.
Eww indeed, young one. Eww indeed.
I was tempted to just drag Jack out of there myself, but I noticed that Paul happened to be blocking our only exit. Plus, Jack seemed to be set on having Paul come with us.
'Would you mind moving?' I asked Paul rudely as I motioned at the door. 'Jack and I have some work to do.'
'Sure,' Paul said as he moved out of the way. I led Jack out and the door closed behind us. Paul was following us.
'When I said move, I meant for you to get out of the way. Not to move with us,' I informed him.
Paul smiled his perfectly white politician's smile. 'My mistake.'
I glared. His mistake? And yet, mysteriously enough, he was still following.
'So sue me if I want to spend time with my favourite little bro and my favourite shifter,' he said smoothly to me. I felt myself blush a little, to my self-disgust. Jack scowled. 'I'm your ONLY brother . . . '
I gave Paul a cynical look. 'Paul Slater's favorite shifter is Paul Slater. So get lost,' I hissed at him. Jack looked very put out. But . . . with another dazzling smile at me, Paul whispered loudly to Jack, 'Come on, let's show her our puppy eyes.'
You. Are. Kidding.
No, they weren't.
My God, they weren't.
Within the second, Paul had pulled Jack right beside him and had crouched down next to his face, where they both pleaded to me with identical, sparkling blue eyes that were laced with ice. But that's not it. Then came the lower lips. Both Paul and Jack stuck them out like a kid does when he really wants a lollipop and his mother won't buy it until the mom's like, "Aww . . . but you're so cute . . . okay then . . . "
Then, in unison, came a long and heavy, 'Pleeeeeeeease?' Paul's snappy business shirt and tie contrasted sharply with Jack's pajamas, and they both looked so different, yet so . . . alike. They were definitely brothers. You could tell in a split-second. Jack's adorable, help-me-I'm-lost look was only matched by Paul's.
No . . .not the Slater puppy eyes . . . I'll do anything, just NOT THE –
'Oh, fine!' I snapped, and turned away with nipping irritation. It felt like millions of mosquitoes were feasting on me, now that I had given into something so obviously pathetic. A couple of guys looking sad? I'd fallen for THAT? My GOD, I'm a LOSER.
Ugh!
FINE. If Paul Slater wanted to come along, that was A-OKAY with me. He'd already ruin my life, so why not ruin my chances of actually doing something RIGHT for a change? Although, I bet he'd be too absorbed in himself to even notice any paranormal activity going on.
As long as he stayed a good five-feet away from me at all times, I was good.
'What, was that the first brotherly contact you've ever had?' I asked him nastily. Paul looked indifferent.
'Of course he doesn't touch me all the time!' Jack piped up, 'That would be incest.'
'Um . . . ew?' I replied. 'Jack Slater, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?'
Seeing as though the kid hadn't exactly seen his mother recently, that was a dumb thing to say. I realized my mistake when Paul's smile widened.
I gritted my teeth, and gripped Jack's shoulder that little bit harder. After having Beethoven piccies thrown at me and blood spewing out of showerheads which I washed in, this was NOT very rewarding. Exploration with Paul Slater? Hell, ANYTHING with Paul Slater? Count me out.
Only . . . the guy didn't take no for an answer.
Boy, I sure knew THAT by now . . .
Cough, cough.
'So,' he said efficiently, catching up with me (and Jack, whom I was dragging along by then,) 'Where are we going?'
'We, as in Jack and me? Oh, I dunno, around. Your destination differentiates from that of mine,' I said, using the biggest words I could think of.
Ha, I knew where I wanted HIS destination to be.
Um, who's for Eternal Damnation?
It's UNANIMOUS.
Bah . . . if only . . .
'Suze,' he smiled faintly at me with something like amusement. I was AMUSING his majesty. My God. I felt like the court jester or something. My only reason for existence being to entertain the mighty king and queen.
Of drag.
. . . We can dream.
I stopped, sucked in a dusty breath of annoyance, (Jack yelped as I tugged at his collar and almost choked him,) and looked at Paul. 'What?' I demanded sourly. As in, lemon, sour.
Paul's smile widened to form a definite smirk. Now he was SMIRKING. 'Do you even know where you're going?'
I sniffed. 'Of course I do.'
'Would you mind telling me exactly, where that is?'
Jack blinked up at me cluelessly.
I stuttered. 'I – I'm going to the third floor,' I said, as if this was obvious. I couldn't help but add a 'Duh,' for my own benefit. Paul raised an eyebrow. 'And why is that?'
I stared. 'What the hell do you mean, why? Because I haven't looked there yet, duh – '
'Dani and I covered third floor left of the stairs, second floor right of the stairs, and outside. Third floor seems to consist of dormitories, the second floor, classrooms, first floor, main rooms like the dining hall, ball room, entrance, and several other empty rooms. And outside, there's a neat little graveyard that we're going to have a further look at,' he informed me, looking rather smug indeed. Oh, prissy bossy Mr Smarty-pants then. Be like that. Ugh . . . you smell too . . .
Wait . . . how could they have covered so much of the school if they spent the whole time making-out? Perhaps maybe there really is trouble in paradise, but Paul won't admit it because it would bruise his male ego.
And I would care because . . . ?
'So,' I shrugged, 'I'm going to the – uh, second floor. Classrooms . . . might find something interesting there, you know?' My case was getting weaker and weaker with each passing second. Jack looked very bored, and slightly anxious. 'Can I meet you there or something?' he groaned at me, 'I'll be up the stairs twice before you two stop arguing, Jesus . . . '
I glared at Paul and he glared back at me, and then we both glared at Jack before nodding shortly, and following the little guy. Eeesh . . . little Jackie had put it so plainly for me to see. I was acting five-years to Paul's six-year old. So what if he was dressed in a suit and I had my twenty-three-year-old air? We were both being brats, and it took a brat to point this out to us.
How embarrassing.
Well, PAUL started it.
We made it up the stairs in good time, and in some semblance of peace and quiet. Like ADULTS, thank you very much.
We stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down the dark hallway. This floor, since it was mostly academic, featured a few small statues of some historical figures. Included in those models were some well-known authors, mathematicians, and chemists. They added to the eerieness of the hallway. Because even if these were ONLY statues, I could still feel the cold chills I got when those mysterious hands had touched me. I had the same realization that I had when blood came pouring from that showerhead.
The realization that we were definitely not alone. That we were being watched. Only, there was no way I could express this without totally blowing the whole I-know-something-the-rest-of-the-SIA-doesn't-know thing.
'Why don't you lead the way, kid,' Paul suggested to Jack, throwing a victorious smile in my direction.
Jack looked pleased that Paul let him take the reigns for once. I bet as kids, Paul would always be first player on their Nintendo 64, or probably got first dibs on the remote or something. And now that Jack got to lead, he became thrilled, if not also a little surprised.
'Really?' Jack asked, making sure he'd heard right. 'But . . . but I don't know where to start.'
'Any room you want,' I told Jack as I squeezed his hand supportively. You could so tell I had the sisterly thing down. I was probably even better than Paul and his whole older-brother thing. I mean, kid? Who calls their "favorite little brother" KID? Isn't that, like, a baby goat or something?
Sure, Jack may have a drooling problem. And maybe he possesses a ravenous hunger that cannot be satisfied because he's got a bottomless pit for a belly. But he is certainly no goat.
See? I knew better, and I'd been an only child for a huge chunk of my younger years. So TAKE THAT, SLATER SCUM!
Jack looked around the hallway for a moment, scanning over the doors of the classrooms to see which one looked the most interesting. And, of course, he had to pick the room which looked the darkest and most dangerous from the outside. Especially since standing right outside the door was this gray, creepy statue of some dead scientist that seemed to be guarding the entrance.
'Let's try that one right there with that statue dude in front of it,' Jack shrugged as he pointed nonchalantly at the door.
Paul shrugged as well, saying, 'Lead the way, sport.'
Jack grinned and moved ahead, taking Paul, who had a hold of his shoulder, and me, who gripped his hand more firmly. The inside of the room was, just like the rest of the school, completely dark and dusty and cobwebby and eerie. I think it must have been some sort of Chemistry lab of something because of all the jars and sinks and lab coats that were all over the place.
Paul stepped towards one of the lab tables and brushed the dust off of one of the old Bunsen burners that remained there. He switched on the gas switch and a small, dancing flame came through the chimney of the burner. He threw a grin at me over his shoulder as he ran his fingers through the flames.
Damn. Paul was playing with fire, and he knew it.
I tried to ignore Paul and his stupid grinning trick. Did he think I'd think of him as some bad-boy type or something? What next? LEATHER pants?
God, I could so see that. Not that I imagined Paul in leather all the time or anything. That would be so wrong. Interesting, but so WRONG.
'Oh, look!' Jack exclaimed as he crouched on the ground, examining something interesting. He picked it up and stood up, cupping whatever it was in the palms of his hands. 'It's huge!' he said again, his eyes widening in wonder and awe.
'What is it, Jack?' I asked him as I stood behind him, trying to peak over his shoulder. He turned around and opened his hands and-
'EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!'
I stumbled backwards in utter disgust. Ew eww ewwie ew EW!! Oh my God. OH MY GOD HE WAS NOT HOLDING WHAT THINK HE WAS HOLDING. EWWW.
'What?' Jack asked all defensively. 'It's just a cockroach.'
JUST A COCKROACH? Oh, yeah, just a HUGE BLACK COCKROACH with long antennae and creepy buggy-eyes.
'Put it down, Jack, I'm serious!' I pleaded with him as I held my hands to my face in horror.
Paul chuckled his deep, manly laugh which was filled with dark amusement. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, Suze,' he told me in between chuckles.
Paul took Jack's shoulder once more, leading Jack in my direction. I fell backwards, knocking all of the desks away in a desperate attempt to distance myself from that vile creature.
The roach, not Paul.
'There's plenty to be afraid of,' I hissed. 'They're totally GROSS. Jack, put that down right away and wash your hands! Those things carry DISEASES!'
Paul leaned over and whispered something in his little brother's ear. They both looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.
'What,' I demanded, 'is so funny?'
Because I REALLY did not see the humor in this situation. I mean, they were threatening me with this gigantic mutant roach. Jokes are funny. Robin Williams is funny. But disease-ridden, poop-eating bugs are not in ANY way funny.
Paul bit his lower lip to keep himself from cracking up. 'Nothing . . . ' he told me, his tone seemingly innocent. But I could see that in those big, blue eyes lie something that was not innocence. Evil. Pure evil.
I looked at the two of them. 'What?' I asked again, a little hoarse from all of the squealing.
Something flashed in Jack's eyes as he grinned at me and lowered himself to the ground. He opened his hands and out shot the roach. It pelted towards me menacingly.
AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
I scrambled onto one of the dusty tables and shrieked, 'Step on it! STEP ON IT!'
Paul and Jack were totally beside themselves with laughter. Paul was slapping his knee, and Jack was laughing so hard he could barely stand up anymore.
'Father Dom says-' Jack paused in the middle of his sentence for a breath- 'that we shouldn't kill God's creatures.'
'God made bugs to PUNISH us,' I informed Jack as I looked down at the disgusting thing. 'He PLAGUED us with them. Why the hell did you think he invented the LOCUTS?'
'To eat other bugs that ruin crops,' Paul replied simply. 'You know, instead of using unnatural pesticides that might cause cancer for humans later in life.'
My mouth stood agape. What the hell could I repudiate THAT with?
Well, it's not like it mattered because Jack hooted, 'I thought you weren't afraid of anything, Suze. I didn't know you wigged out at the sight of bugs! Whoa . . . '
'Shut up!'
The cockroach looked up at me with those dark, overly-large eyes. His antennae were twitching at me in a rather menacing way. I swear, that thing had to be at least 5 inches. I narrowed my eyes at it, and decided to give it the ol' stare down.
But it wasn't working. I couldn't stand to look at it any longer, unless I WANTED to lose my breakfast. I brought my knees to my chest and hid my face.
'Well, well, well,' Paul drawled, 'looks like we have Suze in our little trap now, right Jack?'
My eyes snapped back to Paul, widening in fear.
Oh, wait. He meant the damned mutant bug.
Only now I should say mutant bugs. Because once one saw that it was okay to show it's ugly face, another just HAD to come along. I bet the first roach thought it was funny that I was afraid of it and called the other one to come laugh at me with him.
Hmm. Reminds me of two other people I know.
That's right Paul and Jack. I've compared you to ROACHES. Ugly, disgusting, monster roaches!
The new roach was bigger and even blacker that the first. And apparently, it had taken a liking to me as well because it went right below the desk I was sitting on top of.
'Squish them, Paul,' I demanded, 'or I shall squish you.'
I was furious with Paul because he found this whole thing extremely funny. His laughter provoked Jack to laugh at my expense as well. Paul, without realizing it, was leading by example. I think everyone knows that Paul is not the best role-model. I mean, he makes false promises, he takes advantage of the weak, and he laughs at innocent people because of their bug-phobias.
'Squish me?' Paul asked as he shook his head defiantly. 'Am I supposed to be frightened by that?'
Jack agreed. 'Yeah, you can't squish him, Suze. He's bigger than you are.'
'I'm deceptively heavy.'
Paul and Jack just burst out laughing at my witty rejoinder. I really, REALLY wished that they would stop making fun of me. Seriously, my self-esteem was already below zero . . . why did they have to make it worse.
I was so angry at them, at the world, and even at myself that, without thinking, I ripped out a nearby Bunsen burner and threw it on the offensive bugs. There was a mighty crash, followed by a huge cloud of dust. Once the dust receded, you could see the remains of the Bunsen burner in hundreds of pieces on the floor.
I noticed, as I was jumping down from the desk, that Paul and Jack weren't laughing anymore. In fact, both of their faces were contorted in complete and utter shock.
Once I had calmed down, I remarked, 'Who needs pesticide?'
For a moment, the brothers Slater were completely silent, looking on at the damage I had just reeked on those two bugs. Then Jack leaned over to Paul and whispered quietly (but not quietly enough) 'Do you think she's got the girl stuff too, Paul?'
'Jack, shut it!' I yelled.
'Probably,' Paul replied to Jack, 'so we best not make any sudden movements. We might end up like the roaches.'
'No,' I said, steam blowing out of my ears, 'you will end up like roach FOOD.'
'Roach food?' Jack asked. 'But don't roaches mostly eat things that are-'
'Dead? Yeah, so I'd watch it if I were you.'
Instead of shrinking away with his features plastered with fear, Jack yet again burst out laughing.
I couldn't take it anymore. I was SO out of there. Screw Father Dominic's stupid rules. Who did he think he was anyway . . . president or something? I mean just because he was old and holy, he wasn't the boss, or anything.
. . . And he was kind of also my ex-principal, but . . . ugh, SHUT UP.
I stalked out of the room as quickly as possible with as much class as I could muster. Which was not a whole lot, but I think I got the point across that I was beyond mad because I was joined a few minutes later by Jack, who was then followed by Paul.
'Suze!' Jack called after me. 'Suze, come on. I'm sorry for making fun of you. I didn't mean it.'
Well, well, doesn't that sound familiar? The whole "I didn't mean it" part, I mean. It was as if Paul had gotten a clone of himself, just like that sheep Dolly. Or Dr. Evil's mini-me.
Except, you know, Jack REALLY isn't that short.
I crossed my arms at my chest. 'Go away.'
'I'm serious, Suze. I really AM sorry. It was just so funny because the way you had your face screwed up was priceless!'
One thing Jesse probably hadn't taught Jack was how to apologize properly. Oh wait, I know why. Because Jesse himself doesn't really KNOW how to say he's sorry.
Try adding THAT to your resume, de Silva, and see if you'd get hired as a tutor now.
'Do you take pleasure in exploiting people when they are faced with their greatest fears?' I asked Jack, shoving my index finger at him.
'Um, I –'
'You and your brother . . . you're both exactly the same! You play with people's fear as if it were some old plaything. Go shovel in someone else's sandbox, why don't you, and LEAVE ME ALONE. I'll just go exploring elsewhere.'
I turned around again and began walking until a firm hand landed on my shoulder and stopped me. I could only recognize that icy touch as the one Paul Slater possessed.
'We didn't mean anything by it,' Paul said, keeping his grasp on my shoulder. I tried to brush it off, but he wouldn't budge.
'That may very well be,' I growled, 'but I do mean something by this.'
With that, I casually threw my hand in the air and performed an obscene hand gesture involving a single finger. Good thing Father Dominic wasn't there. He would've had a cow and a half.
'But Suze,' Paul pleaded with a laugh, 'We'll get lost and forget to ask directions.'
'Good. Maybe you MEN deserve it.'
Paul sighed. 'We need a woman's guidance, don't we Jack?'
Jack didn't answer. Paul cleared his throat, prompting Jack to mutter, 'Yeah.'
'You see Suze, behind every man, there is a great woman,' Paul said as he stepped towards me. 'And behind that woman is another man checking out her butt. So Jack, lead the way if you will . . . '
I suddenly felt very strange again . . . why did he make me feel like that?
Paul gestured for Jack to move ahead. Jack began laughing so hard that he needed to use the wall to support. I however, was not laughing.
I don't know what kind of girls Paul's tries his cheesy- and not to mention very sexually harassing- lines on, but I know one thing. They may work for stick-figure models like Dani, but they do not work on me. At least . . . not anymore.
It's amazing that Jack still has a little bit of innocence left him, really. What kind of brother freely digs out lines like that and clearly objectifies women right in front of his own little brother?
I threw Paul my glare of gruesome death and stormed in the other direction, bashing my shoulder against his rudely. I tried to ignore the shoot of pain that went through my shoulder after hitting that wall of muscle. Well, that and the whirl of cologne that swirled about my head.
'Jack and I are really, really sorry, Suze,' Paul said as I was almost halfway down the hallway. But I vowed that I was not going to stop for them. I figured I'd let them have their little "bonding session" or whatever. Heaven knows Paul needed to make up for that whole leaving-his-brother-stranded-in-hell thing.
'We'll do the puppy eyes!' Jack said. I couldn't help but turn around at the fellow, suddenly regretting my action.
Oh no. Anything . . . ANYTHING but the puppy eyes.
I looked away hastily after seeing them and replied, 'I'm not looking.'
Jack had his arm around Paul's shoulder and he leaned his head against Paul's so they looked like those conjoined twins that were untied at the head or something. Except, well, Paul was older than Jack and taller too. That probably wouldn't have worked out very well.
'But you can't resist us, Suze,' Paul cooed smoothly. Holy shit . . .
'Yeah, me and Paul are irresistible!'
'Simply irresistible,' Paul said in the most seductive voice I could have ever imagined. It sent my reflexes into a state of shock and my nerves churned like my skin had needles poking in its every inch, so I ended up turning my head and looking directly at them and their stupid (but incredibly cute) puppy eyes.
'Fine,' I groaned, and bounced on the spot in annoyance. 'I'll play along. Don't be a dick, though. And stop with the eye thing already!'
I hate losing. Hate, hate, hate, HATE. Almost as much as I hate Paul.
But losing TO Paul . . . well, that just sucked.
Suze must lose. See? It even RHYMES.
'I swear,' Paul said as he held up his right hand.
I didn't trust him, so I made Jack promise too. Jack muttered something about me being moody, but he too raised his right hand and swore that he wouldn't sic anymore roaches on me.
. . . Eww . . .
We then hastened to the next ancient room. I decided to open the door and go in first just to, you know, look for insect life. But there weren't any mutated bugs or anything, so I decided it was safe for exploration.
This room was another dusty classroom, much like the bio-lab, only it appeared to be used for the subject of history. There were these really old maps hanging on the walls and a huge globe sitting on the teacher's desk. The maps, you could tell, used to be really bold and colorful back when they were in use, but now it turned gray from dust and usual wear-and-tear.
In the front of the classroom, a giant chalkboard covered the wall. From where I was standing, I could still see some faint writing. I decided that it was worth checking it out, just to see what how the education system had changed, you know?
'The four parts of the Declaration of independence are the Preamble, Natural Rights, the Grievances, and the actual Declaring of Independence,' I read aloud from the board. It was written in the neatest, most flawless cursive that I'd ever seen written on a chalkboard. All of my professors in college used white boards and they had chicken scratch for writing. But the notes were written so perfectly with enough detail, that I would have passed any test on the Declaration of Independence were one given to me.
Well, apparently the former students were expected to do just that. Because right above the notes was inscribed, "Test over the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of the Confederation on Monday."
I don't think they ever got around to taking that test. Lucky fools. If only the school would have closed down before any one of my major algebra tests . . .
I noticed on the far corner of the board, there was a list of names under the title "Detention".
'Looks like we had some trouble-makers back in the day,' I said as I pointed to the names. 'Look at all of those names.'
'Whose are they?' Jack asked.
'We probably wouldn't know them,' Paul joked as he patted Jack on the head.
'Let's see who the poor prisoners are, just for the heck of it,' I said as I walked over to the corner, putting my face close to the board so I could read the fading names.
I read the visible names aloud. 'Cameron Simpson . . . Harold Sheridan . . . Robin Lawrence . . . hmm. Just a bunch of nobodies.'
The globe on the teacher's desk gave a whirling spin on its own, causing me to tear my eyes away from the list momentarily.
'D-did you do that, Suze?' Jack asked, shaking a little in his skin. I shook my head. Paul didn't seem to know where it came from either.
'Back to the list,' I said as I cleared my throat and continued, 'Charles Austin . . . Ryan West . . . Nathaniel Blake . . . Peter Lang . . . Bartholomew For –'
'Why were they getting detention?' Jack queried with childlike curiosity.
'It doesn't say,' I shrugged.
'It was probably spitballs,' Jack remarked knowingly.
'And you know this . . . how?'
'Well, Mr. Walden's bald and the spit balls stick to his head easily.'
Oh.
That's it, then, eh? I never thought Jack would be a class prankster.
'Have you been bad, Jack?' Paul inquired, his blue eyes gleaming a little with pride. Jack beamed up at him. 'Bad to the bone, bro,' he informed.
Now, any decent brother would have chastised this behaviour, but, oops, my bad, this is Paul Slater in discussion here. He sniggered, slapped Jack on the back proudly, and murmured softly to him, 'I could teach you to do a lot more than spitballs.'
A lot of things ran through my mind then . . . pinning girls to lockers and making them kiss you . . . sexual harassment . . . exorcism . . . minions . . . soul transference . . .
'Paul, shut up,' I said angrily. He flashed me a dark smirk, knowing perfectly well that I knew what he meant. It made my stomach drop, and I fumbled and turned away.
I sighed, a little disappointed. There was nothing in this room except for old history notes and a list of useless names. I turned back to the chalkboard and picked up an old piece of chalk, examining it in my hands for a bit.
Suddenly, a horrible gut-wrenching wave rushed over me and my hand was forced to the board. The chalk was pulled to the board, and my cold hands were forced to write in a scrawled print:
"WE ARE NOT NOBODIES."
I jerked back furiously, and threw the chalk away in alarm, as billions of tiny electrical currents seemed to surge up my arm, from my fingertips where I'd been holding it. The chalk, I mean. 'What the hell?!' I demanded. My accusing eyes landed on Paul, and I saw that he was giving me a wise guy look.
'Why did you do that?!' I demanded in an incensed yell.
His smirk continued. 'Oh, sure, Suze. We said we were sorry for the cockroach thing. And we know that you obviously hold grudges, but –'
'Paul,' I stopped him, 'That wasn't me. I swear.'
Jack blanched. 'Suze, stop it –'
Paul grinned at him. 'It's okay, buddy,' he said to him, 'She's just being a –'
BAM.
The door slammed shut very suddenly, and the air rained with unsettled dust. I jumped back, turning my wide eyes back to Paul. It was him, he was trying to scare me, get back at me for –
All the desks in the classroom immediately were pushed by a powerful unseen force, with the strength of an electrified magnet. Jack was in the way of one, and it knocked him over and sent him flying across the room.
'Jack!' Paul and I roared in unison, both battling to get to him first. He lay on the floor, groaning. 'Ow . . . '
'Paul, you okay?' I said breathlessly, and he winced and nodded. Then, making my heart leap in shock once more, all of the posters in the room were ripped severely off of the walls with horrible sounds of shredding. They were being slashed by something that wasn't there.
This demonic possession was a very, VERY strong one . . .
Shit.
With a pounding heart, I stood up, attempting to be every inch of the twenty-three-year-old I was. 'Okay, that's it. Show yourself,' I commanded to the haunted classroom.
In response, the large globe on the teacher's desk began spinning, faster and faster. The yellowy-green continents soon blurred into the blue of the sea, it was rotating at such a high speed. I stared, feeling my body go stiff.
'Cute tricks, really. But they are kind of pathetic. Just like serenading me with John Lennon classics. Don't give up your day jobs – oh wait,' I stopped stylishly, putting my hands on my hips. 'You can't. You're dead.'
Oooh, smart move, Suze. Really.
I was violently thrown back against the far wall.
'Suze!' said Jack in a high voice. I crumpled to the floor, an expression of pain moulded on my face. Paul helped Jack up quickly and they came to my side. I felt Jack's soft fingers on my face. 'Suze?'
Great. On the endless list of Fortunaschweinian injuries, I now had a sore back.
JUST GREAT.
I nodded, my eyes still shut. I caught Jack's fingers which were still touching my cheek in concern, and held onto them for a short moment, before opening my eyes angrily. 'Shhhh,' I whispered to both of them. Paul's eyes were looking sharply at me. 'Where is it?' I asked them.
'Huh –'
'The ghost, I mean. Or, ghosts. There's definitely more than one.' I motioned to the "WE" part in the "WE ARE NOT NOBODIES" thing. 'We, as in, plural. Where are they?' I stood up slowly, and went to stand on the other side of Paul, facing him so that we were looking in all directions of the room for any signs of spectral movement. You know, excluding the globe that was still gaining speed.
Ow . . . my spine sure was going to hurt in the morning. That really sucked. I took a shallow breath in – too deep a breath and it felt like my ribs would crack – and I listened carefully.
Nothing.
'Suze,' Jack started, 'can't we just – '
'SHHHH!' I hissed angrily. That was when the still-spinning globe rocketed off its hinges and pelted at me, knocking me –
Right on top of Paul again.
Ew.
'Ow,' I groaned. Ugh, talk about awkward. Funny, if Dani burst in right now and shrieked "SPRUNG!" or something. Weirdly, I scrambled off of him, my face flushing furiously. He had a ghost of a smirk on his face, and I blushed harder. Then, the lethal earth replica spun towards Jack, but I shoved him out of the way, landing on HIM instead.
What IS it with me and the Slater brothers? Land on Paul, look like a slut, land on Jack, look like a child molester.
Yuck, yuck . . .
(A/N – Lolly – My brother's playing Weird Al Yankovich's "Like a Surgeon" film clip . . . ugh, it's so funny, with all the Madonna play outs, hahaha – sorry. Break the MOOD why don't you, Lolly?! My bad, shall we continue?)
I hauled Jack to his feet. 'We totally have to get out of here,' I said.
'But how, Suze? The doors are locked!' Jack cried, sound as if he popped straight out of a Cult Fiction movie. Any second, he was going to yell "Great Scott!" or something. And then there was going to be some melodramatic acting from the victimized female, namely me, you watch.
'So?' I snapped. 'I shoved my foot through a wall yesterday and was only crippled for twenty-four hours. I'm sure I can deal.' I went to you know, do my thang, when one of the cabinets from the classroom was shoved in front of the door.
Oh. THANKS.
I swear, as soon as I found this freakin' ghost, I was SO going to get medevil on his hiney . . . argh . . . grrr, I am woman, hear me ROAR.
Meow.
'Suze, what do we do?' Jack asked, losing his nerve.
Dare to be stupid? HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!
I held my head in frustration. 'Um . . . '
'Cool it,' Paul's voice broke in like an air-conditioner to my ninety-degree day. 'We can't do anything if we're panicking – '
The drapes on all of the windows suddenly fell down, casting the room in an inviolable darkness.
This just keeps getting better and better . . .
'Oi! RUDE!' was my indignation. It was so dark, just like it had been in the music room the previous night. For a thirteen year old, Jack was holding up pretty well. But just for closure, I grabbed his hand and went, 'It's okay Jack, I'm right here.'
'Uh . . . Suze? I'm over here.'
'What?'
'Uh, hey there,' Paul chuckled.
I dropped his hand as if it had caught fire. 'Oh, my bad.' Wiping my hand furiously on my jeanskirt, I stressed, 'My grossly obscene bad . . . Okay, Jack? Come over here – '
'Don't,' Paul said over me.
I glared . . . in his general direction. I could only see the dim outline of his head. 'Why?'
'It makes you more detectable . . . plus they might try to pull something while you're walking . . . you know, like try to trip you and such. Just stay here. I'll try to generate a light.'
'Come again?' I tried.
I could almost feel his smirk. 'Suze . . . you've been a shifter for twenty-three years, and you still don't know how far your powers stretch?'
'You know that I don't,' I replied dirtily at him. He laughed very, very softly, causing my skin to prickle.
'Suze?' Jack piped up, 'Should we try to move the thing in front of the door so we can get out – '
BANG.
I jumped, and, ashamed as I am, squealed a little too. Oh joy, bet that was attractive.
Ignoring Paul's previous orders completely, Jack scuttled over to me and hugged me around the waist tightly. 'Suze, what's happening? 'he asked in a high voice.
'What . . . are you telling me you haven't dealt with a scary ghost before?' I asked, with a weird look. One that he could see, due to the darkness of the room, despite the fact that it was daytime.
'Well . . . I can usually see them,' he said ruefully. Oh yeah, that. 'And Jesse's with me.'
My mouth fell open angrily. 'Am I not as good as Jesse?' I demanded jerkily.
He went to answer, but several more BANGS put all words out of his mind. 'Jack,' I said, 'It's cool – go hug Paul, he looks like he needs a hug, okay? Just – '
Slater iron grip . . . ugh, I could barely breathe.
That was when there was a gentle flare of light from beside me. I blinked unsurely, before I could definitely say it was there. Paul was holding a glowing sphere of light in the palm of his hand.
'Oooh,' I murmured.
'I can't so much, they've got a block,' he said.
. . . Huh?
'What? Writer's block?'
'Constipation?' Jack asked innocently.
'No,' Paul grumbled. 'Astral block . . . oh Jesus – Jesse hasn't covered that with you yet? And you,' I could see him turn to me, 'You should know about it, at least.'
'Well,' I retorted, 'I don't.'
Paul groaned. 'God . . . Okay, whatever. There is a blockade surrounding this room. Sort of like a force field if you will. Powerful ghosts can manage it. It blocks out the source of our shifting abilities . . . the astral plane. You see, when we use our powers, we have to call them. I call it astral block . . . it pretty much leaves us powerless from within. But, with a great amount of strength and concentration, you can sometimes break it.'
. . . Over the head and WHOOSH.
'Um, yep. Okay – '
BANG!
I flinched again, as did Jack. The light in Paul's hand was growing weaker. Ugh, trust him to be lacking strength and concentration. This astral block shit was totally news to me, and he just, what, expected me to know it? From who? The Mediator Weekly? HE was the one that was supposed to have covered this in our shifting lessons, so long ago. It wasn't MY fault that I ended up hating him before we could get to this little detail.
I was kind of scared. I know . . . horrid. But shut up, even the best of us get freaked.
These ghosts were no amateurs. That was for sure.
'Look, Paul,' I whispered, 'I have an idea. It's probably crappy, but whatever.'
'I'm open.'
'We're both shifters, right? Well, maybe we can produce something that can break this . . . astral block thingie. Grab my hand and do that light thing again.'
He didn't move.
'Don't worry, I'll sanitize it after,' I assured him. 'Or amputate my arm entirely. Just come on.'
It was half-rewarding, half-horrible when I felt his warm hand come to my cold, clammy one. Ugh, trust me to get all sweaty when evil, hot guys grab my hands. Ugh, screw perspiration. His fingers entwined with mine, and something very weird happened to my heart. I didn't know what it was, so I just ignored it.
Stupid heart . . . who needs it?
Then, I could feel concentration of some kind coming from his hand, so I then started concentrating too. On what, I had no idea. I didn't know what I was doing, I was just winging it. Whatever "it" was.
Then, I got all excited when a little light started. It was getting stronger and stronger. I fueled it along with my thoughts, as Paul did. I didn't have a clue what was happening, or why, or how, but I knew something definitely was. Paul's hand tightened on mine, and I could feel his fingertips sinking into the back of my hand, so it was starting to hurt. The light we were making was growing, casting a warm white glow in the room. I could almost feel the astral block thingie, shutting down. Again, I didn't know how, but it was like there was too much gravity in the room, and as this light was getting stronger, it was becoming normal again.
Jack's eyes were wide in fascination. Bet JESSE didn't teach him THIS.
I jammed my eyes shut, willing the block to fade. I could feel a horrible pressure building up behind my eyes, and it was starting to take over my head. I felt like I was crushing Paul's hand in return. I began visualizing like, an army of little Susies, totally running at a big sign that said "ASTRAL BLOCK."
Shut up. It floated my boat.
I concentrated harder, and harder . . . but it was like we were stuck, and we could get any stronger than that. No, the gravity in the room was getting heavier again, and I felt winded.
So, for the hell of it, I felt Jack's hand come on top of mine and Paul's.
That helped. The block was weakening again. It was like Tug-of-War . . . we were winning.
But again we were stuck. It was now positively painful. There was a dull orar in my head, one that I felt inclined to share with the world. Things around the room started shaking, and I started yelling, because it hurt, and Jack started yelling too, and we just needed one thing – ONE THING to push it, to tug this rope to our side . . . my blood was pumping in my veins loudly, as I summoned every bit of my concentration that existed within me.
Break . . . break . . . break, BREAK –
Paul then yelled out too. There was a dazzling explosion of vibrant light that I could see even through my closed eyelids, and a noise which no person could ever stand to hear, a collective of their shouts and what seemed a clamor of shrieks from unearthly creatures. Paul, Jack and I were blown back, flying flat against the ground.
And the block was gone. I knew it, Paul knew it, Jack knew it.
Everything in the room was still. The light faded as quickly as it had flashed. The presence was gone.
Not . . . you know, gone. But defeated.
For now.
'Holy shit,' panted Jack.
'Watch your language,' I replied.
'Holy shit,' breathed Paul.
'You both suck,' I glared.
Jack, Paul and myself were all lying flat on the ground of a classroom in a haunted school, breathing hard. I imagined that I wasn't the only one with a massive headache.
'Wow,' I said. 'We did that?'
'It worked,' Paul said. 'Well done, Suze.'
I totally didn't need his congratulations. I just needed for this pounding in my head to take a break. Paul stood up, brushing off his pants and his business shirt, and he helped Jack up. Then, he offered me a hand. I stared at it as if it were covered in bacteria, and got to my feet independently. He grinned at me darkly, and again, I felt my skin prickle in warning.
'Jack, are you okay?' I asked.
He gave me a little grimace. 'Well . . . I'm kinda hungry . . . my head IS kind of hurting, and my throat is pretty sore . . . and my arm hurts . . . ' he looked up at me hopefully, 'I might have a dislocated shoulder, just maybe?'
I smiled warmly at him. He was so ADORABLE. 'Okay, Jack. We're outa here.'
Paul shoved the cabinet out of the way, and I nodded, and stopped smiling. That may have been because he was totally playing it up, you know, the whole, this-is-taking-my-superior-muscles-and-strength-to-move-this-heavy-piece-of-furniture thing. I shot him a I-hope-the-cabinet-gets-possessed-and-tips-over-and-squashes-you-like-a-pancake look, and opened the now accessable door, and stalked out, with Jack's hand in mine. His wasn't warm like Paul's. It was cold, and I didn't blame him in the least.
'Come on, Jack,' I said to him, 'We need lots of chocolate.'
There was a cough behind me. 'Forgetting someone?'
I ignored it, but kind of couldn't any longer when Paul MATERIALIZED in front of me. I choked on the wad of spit in my mouth, and squeezed Jack's hand really hard accidentally.
'Gotta love that aspect of shifting,' he smirked down at me, his icy eyes immobilizing me. Oh, great. Trust Paul to come out of a near-death experience and still want to torture me. Won't he EVER grow up?!
'I was gonna wait for you,' Jack began frenziedly, 'But Suze was kidn of pushy – '
'Shut up, Jack,' I growled.
Jack, um, shut his, um, mouth.
To Paul, who was still standing right over me, I said, 'Well? Move?'
And so he did. He, very slowly, began walking backwards. Oh, great. He wasn't even looking if he was going to trip or anything. Why couldn't we have brought Spike, so the stupid ugly cat could have leapt out right then to trip Paul over? God knows he doesn't do anything else. I was feeling unnerved, though, because of how Paul was smiling at me. Like he knew secrets that I had yet to find out about myself.
Dangerous secrets.
'Um,' I said intelligently.
'You're a weirdo, Paul,' Jack grinned at his big bro, and he yanked his hand out of mine. Thirteen going on thirty. Just like Jennifer Garner.
'Why, thank you Jackie ol' boy,' Paul nodded graciously, grinning right back, before locking his glacial eyes on mine again, making me feel like I'd been slipped through the thin ice on the top of a frozen lake. Cold, cold, cold . . .
I was getting really, really nervous, trying to look everywhere but at Paul. He was being a TOTAL JERK. He was totally watching me squirm and blush and avoid him and everything, and he was having a jolly good time, too. Playing games with me. Games that went much further than Scrabble.
He was playing games with my mind.
'So, Agent Spanish Sweetheart,' he said. It took me a moment he was mocking the whole "querida" thing. 'What's our action plan now?'
'Well . . . uh . . . how about . . . no more exploring?' I suggested lamely.
Jack snorted. 'Duh,' he said.
Paul chuckled, and abruptly stopped, so I totally ran into him. I breathed sharply as I collided with his hard, warm chest, and he just smirked down at me some more, his eyes swirling with dark secrets and damaging mysteries.
'Uh . . . I'm gonna go,' I said. 'Jack, you want to come and get something to eat, or hang with Paul?'
Come and eat . . . come and eat . . .
'I'll stay with Paul,' he shrugged.
Damn.
Paul's Suze-degrading smirk widened. Jack continued. 'I mean, he's not scared of cockroaches.'
I shot Jack a poisonous look, and then stalked off down the hallway, on my own. I vaguely heard Paul laughing my name, but only for a minute.
FINE, Paul . . . you wanna play GAMES?
Well, yeah. Let the games . . . begin.
The day dragged by, with nothing else happening, really. I totally avoided Paul and even Jack, because I was too ashamed to face them again. I didn't know what I had to be ashamed for, except getting the wig with cockroaches, but still . . . I was totally going to get Paul back, somehow. He didn't have the right to keep playing with me in this way. It wasn't fair. I had to do something to defend myself.
God knows I couldn't whenever Cole had a go at me . . .
It was night now.
After the whole science room thing, I think I was officially freaked. I mean . . . for a first job for the SIA, this was pretty harsh. I didn't think that the hauntings would be this intense. I mean, I've seen angry ghosts before . . . but these ones, it was like they truly enjoyed messing around. Making us suffer. I mean, spurting blood from showers? Ew factor, 100 percent? Yeah. It was gross. As far back as I could remember, I don't think that I'd ever come across a dwelling that was so strongly under demonic possession by its inhabiting ghost.
Fortunaschwein was the worst.This ghost – or ghosts, as I had definitely come to believe – had the power to make us like, see things that weren't there. It happened before, but only some of the most powerful ones could do it. And considering Jesse's been around for some time, (you know, almost a bicentennial boy and all) and he couldn't do it, we had to give Fortunaschwein's one some credit. I mean . . . yeah. The thing that bewildered me the most is why he – yeah, I'd figured out that it was a guy, thank you – wouldn't show himself. I mean, what did he have to hide? Man boobs, or something? It was getting kind of scary, that I didn't know who was doing all these things. Like on I Know What You Did Last Summer, how that guy with the hook kept chasing Sarah Michelle Gellar around in the dark coat and stuff, and how I was totally scared shitless – shut up... - but when he was trying to kill Jennifer Love Hewitt without the coat on, I was like, "Um . . . so?" because we'd seen his face and it wasn't scary anymore. But this ghost had died when Sarah and Jennifer were still in nappies, so I couldn't understand it . . .
So annoying.
But whatever. I was totally wandering around the fourth floor, again. Stupid of me, considering I now knew that the ghosts here were completely PSYCHO and SADISTIC.
With the possible exception of Jesse, you know?
Possible.
Oh, stop whimpering, ladies. I'm kidding. Jesse's a kitten, okay? Jesus . . . so defensive, I swear. Say anything against the Latino lap-dancer, and you all freak, don't you? So typical . . . defend the heartbreaker, why don't you?
But whatever. I was ducking into all the rooms along the dusty hallway. I seriously needed to put in a word to Mr Head to, I dunno, get a CLEANER? I mean, if I totally had allergies to dust, I could sue him and leach millions off of him, because, what this place lacked in excitement, it made up in dust. Not the best compensation, if you ask me, but hey, who am I to talk?
. . . Not that I'm dusty. Oh, please.
I was aiming my flashlight all around. Some lights were on, some had blown, some worked for a second and then switched off independently, and some kept flickering. So yeah, me and my trusty flashlight. When all else was dark, I always had my flashlight to show me the way.
Unless, I, you know, ran out of batteries or something.
That would completely suck.
I aimed the strong beam around the half empty rooms. Occasionally, I'd walk into a room with all its contents draped in white sheets. It was kind of freaky. I could have sworn that some of the sheets moved, but when I shone my light at them, they were still.
Except that dust was drifting down . . .
Creepy.
And others had doors that wouldn't even open. Nice. I mean, half of the rooms were locked, which totally sucked. But I didn't have any keys – apparently, Father Dom had them – so yeah. And since when was he supposed to know that I was breaking his rules and roaming the old school without a partner?
Since never, I say.
Rules . . . they're only made to be broken. Doesn't he, as a principal, KNOW that by now?
Ha, rules, laws . . . same diff right?
I hope. Or I'm totally going to start feeling bad at how many times those lovely words "breaking and entering" come up on my police record.
Well . . . they would, if I got caught every time I did it, that is.
Finally, I came to a room that was about forty or something down from the stairs, which was in the center of the house, on ever floor. How gay is that . . . only one major set of stairs? Sure, they had one at the end of each floor, but it was locked. Hello? Fire emergency exists, much? Jeez . . . 1969 people those days . . . But yeah. This room was pretty much the same as all the others. You know, had a fancy bed and a cupboard and a dresser and stuff. I'd come to the conclusion that all rooms on the fourth floor were either specialist classrooms or dormitories for the rich snobs, or teachers. I mean, yeah, they were totally prissy. Chandeliers? What was the deal? How rude was that, though, having class distinction among students? The rich kids got first dibs on everything, and the poor ones got treated like orphans from Oliver Twist?
Didn't seem right to me, how SOME people in life got EVERYTHING.
No NAMES, or anything, PAUL.
Sigh. I dunno. It's just like, a total karmic imbalance. I tried to do everything right, and I got everything wrong. Don't we get points for making the effort, or something? Or is it like the exams – we only get marked for the results that we get. I was getting marked down for making the mistakes, and the fact that I'd been trying to do the right things were being completely ignored.
By who, I didn't know, and didn't want to have anything to do with. God? Who says there is one? Fate? Gimme a break. Angels? Yeah, and I earn a million every year, reeeeeally.
I had no guardian angel. Just a stupid ghost who dumped me and now decided, "oh . . . oops . . . lets start again, shall we?"
How about . . . no.
Whoa. How off track can I get?
It seemed like my mind was wandering more than usual. Sorry, I was just pissed. At who, I could never guess. I mean, there's just so many rich, arrogant, high-powered, hot, infuriating, malicious lawyers around to choose from, right? Totally. This whole thing sucked. The fact that he had some rich and famous girlfriend – yeah, I Googled her the night before we came here. And do you know what the first image that came up was? For Danielle Moore? A nude one. She is an online slut. I mean, just because she's that confident with the big twins on her chest, doesn't mean she has to broadcast 'em across the internet, for CHRIST'S SAKE – and I had no one.
Except a psycho stalker who was, incidentally, psychotic.
Or at least, you know, a major jerk.
(A/N: Lolly just Googled "Danielle Moore" and came up with this, snigger.
and EWWW! . . . kill me, I, Lolly, have no life.)
And here I was, in a room on the empty fourth floor of an old boarding school, pretty much a sitting duck for this freaking ghost. Because I was alone.
I've always been alone.
No matter what Paul says.
It's the curse of being Susannah Simon, shifter, ex-Starbucks employee, Juniperro Serra Mission graduate.
Being alone.
Always being on my own.
And it wasn't fair.
I hadn't cried in a while. At least I had that to be glad of. Hell, it had been a whole two or three days since I'd shed a tear. That's pretty good for me, you know. I think the longest I'd gone without crying was about thirty eight days, once. Everything and anything upset me now. I know, I know. Let's all point and laugh at the loser. The loner. The miserable dork. You know the one. With the issues? And the bad temper? The one that used to be so good at defending herself. The one who now has a bruise on her cheek from some stupid guy, because she was too scared to kick his ass. The one with no life. The one with a past, but no future. The one who sucks more than it has been deemed possible to suck.
You know the girl . . . Suze Simon.
The one who couldn't even hold onto the guy she loved with all her heart, soul and strength. The one who lost it all . . .
And it just wasn't fair.
I blinked vaguely, as my thoughts seemed to be mere breaths in my mind, taunting me and goading me. My own brain betrayed me now. I doubt that there's anyone that I can really trust . . . Adam, CeeCee, Father Dom, Jack, sure. But God, not Paul or Dani.
Not even Jesse.
And it totally didn't help that I was, save Jack, the shortest person here. Seriously, Dani was just over six feet. I'm not even kidding. You know, she had a lot in common with the Eiffel Tower. Tall, thin, and totally snobby. I guess that was one of the reasons I didn't like her. I mean, ignoring the high cheekbones and that her eyes were kind of ugly – except when she made them up, then they looked amazing – and everything, Dani was stunning. With her flaming red hair and her teeny yet tall body, she was a total man-eater. You could tell. She was perfect. A model. An archetype of a girlfriend. Nip-and-tucked perfection.
I couldn't be called perfect in a million years.
I gazed out the window, blinking still. My eyes felt sore, like opening them too far would cause them to sting. They felt so tired, even though I technically wasn't. My sleeping had been bad, but at least I'd gotten over four hours now. MY eyelids felt as though they carried the weight of the world.
Out the window, was a world of darkness. The moon couldn't be seen – it was probably behind me – and trees stretched up to the navy blue sky. Stars didn't even bother to grace the inky heavens, and thick, dark clouds blanketed the potential stars that could have been twinkling. In the far distance, I could see the skeletal outline of the gate at the entrance of the Fortunaschwein Ex-Boarding School for Boys. It too, rose high, in a condemnatory way, like we were now all prisoners.
I kept staring blankly out –
Oh my God.
There was something moving out there. I just – I just saw it. There was a little flash of light, and –
. . . There was someone out there. Black shapes were moving slowly. I stared, and watched with wide eyes, trying to see. It was too dark. I didn't know who or what or why, but there was DEFINITELY someone – two people, at least – out there.
And a flashlight. A flashlight had dropped on the ground. I could see the pinprick of light, even from here.
Without another thought, I spun on my heal and ran from the room, with a heart as tight as a drum. I could feel it hammering horribly like one, with commanding beats that seemed to echo so loudly my ribs felt like they wanted to shatter. Who had that been? With the fallen flashlight, out the front? The black figures? WHO?!
After about five minutes of strenuous running, I finally made it outside. I was standing on the exterior of Fortunaschwein, and I squinted into the distance. Just then, I heard a loud thud, as if something were falling to the ground. My instincts told me to stay as far away as possible, but my conscience told me to make a run for it.
So I did. I ran as fast as possible, and much to my horror, I saw the limp form of Father Dominic in his black priest's gear on the ground.
With a very alarming head wound on his forehead.
And I definitely knew, that this blood wasn't an illusion.
NOW LONG REVIEWS OR WE SHALL SMITE YOUR FIRSTBORNS.
Kidding.
OR ARE WE?!
Teehee.
Love you all,
LOLLY AND HAYLEY!!!