My heart seized up as I bolted to Father Dominic's limp body.

Blood.

There was just all this blood gushing from the large gash in his head. And the other thing . . . he wasn't moving. Not good. So totally NOT GOOD. Yeah, if the way that my heart stopped beating, right there and then, was any indication.

No . . . NOOO!!!

I knelt over him and turned him over. His white hair was stained with red from all of the blood on his forehead. I could tell he hadn't been out there long because the blood was still wet and sticky when I touched it. A little of it got on my fingers, and I stared at it in horror, my mouth hanging open as a scream urged to escape my petrified lips. It reflected darkly in the dull moonlight from behind me.

This was not happening.

No.

Not to Father Dominic.

Not the holiest man on this Earth.

Not my role model, my father figure, my mentor . . . my friend –

'Don't be dead,' I pleaded in a terrified whisper as I shook him, 'please, please, please, don't be dead.' I shook harder, and harder, until I started to have serious trouble breathing. My world, it was shattering. Like brick through a window. Shards were falling to the ground, and cutting me as they descended.

I always got cut.

I seized his cold, limp wrist and searched desperately for his pulse. I felt a subtle beating, slow and barely there.

Oh God . . . he was alive – but relief didn't grace me yet, because I wasn't sure for how long he would be. Shut up, I'm NOT overdramatizing! Dark blood was slowly flowing down his forehead, into the valleys in his left eye, down the side of his nose, along his top lip, before falling in slow, deathly slow drips on the ground. I started truly hyperventilating. I couldn't get enough air . . . My head was clouding in dark black mist and my hands were cold and shaking.

I was freaking way, WAY out.

I – I needed an ambulance – QUICKLY!

I dug in my pocket for my cell – but it was IN MY ROOM!!!

NOOOOO!!!

Panicking enough for seven people, I gasped sharply as bitterly cold air sliced the inside of my lungs, and looked at the comatose Father Dominic in horror. 'Wake up!' I screamed once more time, but it was fruitless.

I needed to get to a phone . . . I needed to call someone to help him . . . but I couldn't just LEAVE HIM ALONE OUT HERE. And it was a LONG WAY back to the front of the school!

I definitely couldn't just go, and leave him lying on the ground, where someone could finish him off . . . no way . . .

NO WAY.

I saw that his flashlight wasn't on anymore . . . it had been crushed. Stepped on. It was broken.

Bending down, I threw my hands around his barely breathing waist, and started dragging him along the dirty, dead ground back to the school with a body that was shaking so badly, cell-phones on vibrate looked inanimate. Now no offense, but Father Dom could have totally laid off the sacramental bread, because he was TOTALLY heavier than I thought he'd be. I was SO scared that I was hurting him, or that a stick would suddenly jab in his rib or whatever . . .

It was taking too long! WAY, WAY, WAY TOO LONG! I stopped, clapping my hand over my mouth to stop the moan that wanted to grace the world, and then kind of tried draping his right arm over my shoulder, and dragging him that way. But the guy was dead weight. It was SO hard . . . but I kept going. That superhuman strength that they say people get – you know, on CNN and stuff – when there's a crisis? Yeah, I think I had that. Just like when Jack was going to fall to his messy death.

And it's a total plus, because by GOD, there was no way I would have been able to carry Father Dom back up to Fortunaschwein without that extra boost of power, motivated by my terror that FATHER DOM wouldn't make it . . .

My head was rushing fifty miles a minute. I was just drifting along like I was on autopilot, just going through all the motions without even really thinking. Because the only thing on my mind was getting Father Dominic in that door and into a hospital.

When I finally reached the door, I kicked it open as hard as I could with nearly 195 pounds of dying priest draped on my shoulders. I set him down quickly against one of the walls, allowing that to support him. I noticed he was looking a little more pale than he should.

'Stay there,' I told him unnecessarily. I didn't really expect him to respond, but it kind of scared me. I mean, it'd be a whole lot better if he just stood up, wiped the blood off of his face and said, "Susannah. I am afraid you have just been Punk'd."

Except this, unlike the stuff Ashton Kutcher tried to pull, was not funny in the least.

I ran through the entrance hall and yelled, calling to anyone and everyone for a phone. Everything was kind of blurred, and ghostly. Darker than I'd ever imagined it to be. But the house, though full of people and paranormal activity, seemed incredibly empty. I looked back at Father Dom in his black alb and snowy white hair. I could still see him, getting smaller as I ran further down the hall at a speed I was sure would have gotten me a detention, had I been a student here. Father Dom looked like a gruesome painting, from far away. Something truly haunting . . . I could feel the potential death even from here. And then there was the crimson red of blood flowing down his pale face.

Just then, my morbid mind threw at me the old joke, "What's black and white and red all over?"

That was when it hit me, with full force. Father Dom could die . . . and I was MAKING JOKES.

Father Dom could die . . . and being the holy man that he was, he'd have no reason to stay here. He'd move on, and THEN who would I have.

No one. No one at all. I'd be all alone, just as I always was.

Horrified beyond all extent of the psychological imagination, I continued to run.

I always run.

. . . Only this time, I hit a hard wall, and knocked it over, landing on top of it. Whoa . . . I didn't know I had it in me. Knocking over walls, and all – wait a minute . . . that wasn't a wall . . .

'I know you want to kill me, but I believe there are better tactics than running over me,' Paul smirked from below me.

I lifted my head, feeling horrified, still. I couldn't muster myself to be embarrassed or disgusted because I was way too SCARED about Father Dom to push myself off of him. My eyes, I knew, were huge. They were stinging, I had them opened so wide. I was utterly horrified. Father Dom had been attacked. He had a head wound. He could get brain-damage. He could fall into a coma –

I stuttered, 'P-Paul. Paul, it's – he's . . . he can't . . . I need a phone – he's –'

I WAS CHOKING UP, DAMN IT.

Paul stopped sneering at me, and he rested his hands on my shoulders and looked up at me. 'Suze, calm down. Repeat, and this time, use complete sentences.'

'Father Dom . . . he's hurt,' was all I could say before I burst into tears. Right in front of Paul Slater. Right ON TOP of him, in fact. I didn't even know I was crying until I noticed that Paul had turned into a blurry blob, and I saw a little darker spot of blue on his shirt, from a teardrop. I was THAT scared.

Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . Father Dom could die . . . –

I couldn't really tell how Paul was taking this piece of information, because of the whole teary-eyed thing. But if the way his chest sort of inflated as he took a sharp breath were any indicator, I'd say he was pretty damn shocked. He quickly, but gently, pushed me off of him – ugh . . . – and scrambled to his feet, also hauling me up as well.

I was shivering violently, literally shaking as I tried so hard to explain what had happened, to Paul. I couldn't seem to find the words so I ended up saying something like: 'Bleeding . . . ambulance . . . needs . . . head.'

Which sounded kind of gross when you look back on it.

Paul, surprisingly, was very patient with me and my emotional psycho babble. He placed his warm hand on mine and asked hurriedly, 'Where is he?'

For someone who was so cold-blooded . . . he was so warm all the time . . .

I looked tearfully into those intense blue eyes and tried not to look away. It was weird because I was afraid that if I did look away, I might start bawling again, which would not – I know – ensure Father Dominic's well being. I had to stay strong.

'He's by the front door,' I inhaled sharply, 'and his head is . . . it's covered in b-blood. Lots of blood . . . we have to call 911, Paul. We have to call it NOW!'

I had grabbed Paul by the arm and was dragging him somewhere. I really didn't know where, because my body was just talking over, while my brain was having some sort of brutal meltdown. I felt appalled. How could Father Dom just GET HIMSELF WHACKED ON THE HEAD? HOW COULD HE?!?!? I DIDN'T HAVE A PHONE!!!

FATHER DOM WAS GOING TO DIE –

Paul stopped me, however and said, 'Suze. I have a phone.'

Oh . . . yeah.

With the swiftness and grace that could only have been pinned to James Bond, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket, dialed it, and put it to his ear.

I felt a feeble flutter of relief flush over me as Paul spoke to the people on the other line. I watched how Paul was handling the whole situation with such a calm and business-like manner. Exactly how he handled any other situation, good or bad.

Except . . . some that I remembered, despite the bad timing.

I wanted – for some strange and unfathomable reason – I wanted to be Paul just then. It was just the way he exuded confidence as if it were being released from his pores or something. The way nothing ever phased him . . . almost as if he'd been there, done that. He had such poise, such composure, that it made me jealous.

Jealous enough to forget all about poor DYING DOMMY.

Chiding myself for letting my guard down, I fled over to Father Dominic with dramatic urgency. I just hoped he was still alive when I came back.

I stopped by his side and plopped to my knees beside him, praying to God (or Buddha, or ANYONE that cared) that he would be all right.

I took off my white sweater without thinking, and used it to wipe the blood from Father Dom's face. I had some glimmer of regret, but I totally realized that he was WAY more important than my white sweater that had gone on clearance for 75 off.

His face – an alarmingly pale colour – was now smeared with red. Dark lines of blood were caught in his wrinkles, and he looked . . . dead. Seriously, like he had just died. With an explosion of newly found panic, I seized his wrist and held it, trying to find his pulse again. It was so faint . . .

'Please, please, wake up . . . ' I panted at him, 'Please . . . ' I leant against him, and hugged him tightly. I didn't want to let go. I was doing a total Kate Winslet, Titanic, but I didn't give a shit. I didn't want to let go . . .

He was so still . . . and cold . . .

I shut my eyes tightly, with one ear against Father Dom's chest.

Paul's calm voice jarred my senses again. 'It looks like he has a huge gash on his head . . . Yes . . . No, I don't know what happened . . . He's around 65 . . . No, I don't know if he has heart trouble . . . '

What was Father Dom's last name? I never thought he needed a last name . . . he said it once . . . I couldn't remember . . .

'Just bring someone here NOW!' Paul yelled into the phone, making me flinch.

Everyone has a breaking point.

I always break . . .

I buried my face into Father Dom's chest, as a roar in my head started its mournful cry. Everything was drowned out – noises, voices, footsteps – all I could hear was this screaming in my own mind. I couldn't think, or see, or hear, or breathe . . .

I could feel the urgency.

It was always urgent . . .

'Someone will be here as fast as possible . . .'

I think that's what he said. I couldn't tell – I was already drowning in my head. I think I'd stopped breathing about twenty seconds ago, and the need for oxygen was dwindling the roaring that I alone could hear . . .

' . . . Wake up . . . ' I whispered into his robes, and moved my legs so they were next to his awkwardly placed ones. I willed him to wake up . . .

'Suze, calm down. We need to prop his head.'

Again, Paul Slater's voice sounded far away and indistinct. I wasn't listening. I didn't move. I stayed as close as I could to Father Dom. I was so scared . . . not Father Dom. God, if he d - . . . you know, died or something, I would totally sue God, just like Billy Connolly did. I mean, after EVERYTHING Father Dom has done for the Big Guy, you know, the whole priest/giving-up-marriage-and-sex-and-big-red-cars thing, you'd think that God would cut him a LITTLE slack? JUST A LITTLE?!?!

BUT NO. HE HAS TO GO SEND AN ASSASSIN TO SLICE DOM'S FOREHEAD OPEN.

OH MY GOD, GOD HAS A MAFIA!!! JUST LIKE THE ITALIANS!!!

RELIGION IS A CONSPIRACY, I TELL YOU!

WE ARE ALL GOING TO GET MURDERED IN OUR BEDS BY A PLAGUE OF BUGS – possibly cockroaches just to piss me off – IF WE DON'T PAINT OUR DOORPOSTS WITH THE BLOOD OF LAMBS!

GOD IS A TOTAL F –

'Suze, come on.' I felt a finger tap me on the shoulder gently. I ignored it. I kept whispering, 'Wake up, wake up, wake up . . . '

'Suze, listen to me, he's going to be all right,' Paul said calmly. HE WAS SO CALM. HE DIDN'T EVEN CARE. I BET THAT FATHER DOM COULD TOTALLY JUST DIE RIGHT HERE AND HE WOULDN'T BAT AN EYELID. HE'D BE ALL LIKE, "SO?" AND I'D BE LIKE, "I HATE YOU" AND HE'D BE ALL LIKE, "SO????" AND I'D PUNCH HIM IN THE NUTS AND THEN HE'D, UM, KIND OF CARE.

SWEET JESUS, HE'S A DICKHEAD!!!

'Come on . . . you need to get off of him, you could be making his breathing worse.'

I WAS MAKING HIS BREATHING WORSE. I WAS KILLING FATHER DOMINIC.

I AM A MURDERER!!! I WAS MURDERING FATHER D. AND PAUL TOTALLY IS GOING TO SUE ME ON ONE COUNT OF HOMICIDE AND I AM GOING TO HAVE TO STAND UP IN COURT AND HE'S TOTALLY GOING TO SAY HOW I DUMPED HIM FIVE YEARS AGO AND THAT I SHOULD BE SENT TO PRISON BECAUSE I WAS A TIGHT-ASSED BI-POLAR BITCH WITH A MURDEROUS RAGE –

I looked up at Dommy's strained face, and I jerked away from him as if he'd caught fire. I SO didn't want to make anything worse! His forehead had another trickle of blood running down into his left eye, and I grimaced horribly.

My breathing was now positively painful.

THANKS A BUUUUUUNCH, GOD.

Not Father Dom . . . he was like . . . my unofficial dad or something –

I leant back against the wall, beside Father Dom. His shoulder was touching mine. He was barely breathing. WHAT IF HE NEEDED CPR? EWW.

In a harsh whisper, I babbled to myself, 'What if Father Dom dies . . . then it would be my fault for not finding him earlier . . . for going away after dinner, for dragging him here . . . making him stay when I knew it was too dangerous, for being so selfish, for – '

'Suze, you're shaking.'

I looked down at my hands, and saw that they were still shaking.

Badly.

I tried to slow down my breathing, but I couldn't. I really, really couldn't. I tried, I swear I did, but it wouldn't slow down. In, out, in, out, sharp, sore, blood, die, my fault, ambulance . . .

My eyes were drawn back to Father Dom's practically dead face. I've seen happier expressions on people in coffins.

Father Dominic isn't supposed to die. He's too holy to die. Someone who was that filled with the grace of God- wherever one might acquire that- DESERVED to be immortal.

But since Dommy happened to be sent to this earth to become a faulty human, he had to die. It was the circle of life, you know.

I would have expected that with what Father Dominic had accomplished in his life, that he would at least die when he was a hundred and two or something. You know, a really old guy that can't even remember his name or where he was born or anything.

At the time, that didn't look possible. Instead of dying peacefully in his sleep, like he DESERVED, he was about to die from a brutal attack.

He was INNOCENT. He NEVER deserved this. NEVER.

I stared in horror . . . this was the guy who always gave me the baby blues of disapproval, the guy who told me not to beat up people when I got irritated . . . violence was not the answer.

God . . . Father D was more of a father to me than the Heavenly Father ever could be.

WHERE WAS JESSE? I THOUGHT THAT HIM AND FATHER DOMINIC WERE PARTNERS. IT'S HIS FAULT, TOO.

Maybe Jesse DID THIS.

. . . Shut up, Suze.

With that, an involuntary gasp was ripped cruelly from my throat. Oh my God . . . Paul heard that . . . he's going to give me a weird look . . . and Father Dom's going to never wake up . . . this is all my fault . . .my eyes were so wide . . . they were stinging . . .

They always sting . . .

Paul's face blocked my view of oblivion. 'Suze . . . hey, look, you have to calm down,' he said. I searched every inch of his tone for scorn, or sarcasm. I could have sworn I heard a little bit. Seriously, at a time like THIS, he was SCORNFUL and SARCASTIC.

WHAT A RODENT!

I looked hopelessly into his eyes. They definitely held no scorn. Just . . . surprise. As if he was surprised at how I was reacting.

I tore my gaze away, and looked sideways at Father Dom. He'd be okay . . . the ambulance was on its way . . . nurses were going to come bustling through the gate with stretchers and –

THE GATE! IT WAS LOCKED!

I squealed, and scurried to my feet, racing to the door, as the roaring in my head started up again, in volumes so horrendous I could hardly stand it. I ran messily, but ordered myself NOT TO FALL APART. I couldn't. I wouldn't let myself. I didn't have the right to do that. NOT WHEN THE GATE WAS LOCKED.

Blood was pounding so rapidly in my head I thought it was literally going to split right down the center.

Dizziness . . .

BUT THE GATE. I HAD TO OPEN THE GATE.

As soon as I got past the Fortunaschwein Door, I quickly covered the long distance between the school and the gate. My head was thudding, and roaring, and moaning, and I was crying again, and I couldn't think, and my heart wouldn't beat, and my breathing was too shallow, and I needed more oxygen, and I couldn't see properly, and FATHER DOMINIC COULD DIE.

'Wait . . . where the hell are you going?' Paul yelled from somewhere behind me . . . from somewhere . . .

Time . . . space . . . it didn't seem to matter . . . I couldn't hear right, or see straight, or think logically . . .

'The gate!' I screamed back hysterically, 'I have to open it! For the ambulance! Otherwise they won't be able to – '

Hey, punk. You're smart, you figure it out.

'You can't open the gate. It's too heavy – '

Too heavy. Too hard. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Too weak . . . too stupid . . . too sad . . . too pathetic . . . too dead . . .

'I can,' I whispered to myself. I finally reached the gate, in its black, iron, five meter glory. The bulky chain was back. There were no keys . . . Swallowing, I frantically looked around, and got the shock of my life when I conveniently saw an AXE, almost right next to the gate. "Yeah, sure," you say. "That was thrown in just for plot use, and in real life, an axe wouldn't be lying around a school."

That's what I would have thought . . . if I could think. So, I dived at it, and, ignoring the dark red marks on the handle, I swung it back, and with all the strength and willpower and desperation that was swarming within me, I gave it an almighty swing, and broke the chain right off. It slunk to the ground once again. With even quicker, shallower breaths than before – I was now receiving a dangerously low oxygen level – I rammed at the gate . . .

. . . But it was too heavy.

Correction: WAY too heavy.

'No,' I groaned, and rammed it again with my shoulder, and grunted at the absolute pain when I collided with the black poles. It only moved a LITTLE BIT.

If I kept doing it . . . I'd get it open . . . yeah, that was it . . .

So I kept ramming the gate. At great expense of my shoulder, which shrieked in protest at point of contact. I didn't stop. It was almost obsessive-compulsive. I couldn't even feel my shoulder anymore . . . I had to open the gate, or Father Dom would lose too much blood, and the ambulance wouldn't be able to save him . . .

I COULD HEAR THEM. I HAD TO HURRY! OR FATHER DOM WAS GOING TO DIE AND IT WOULD BE ALL BECAUSE OF ME.

I shoved the gate, more and more, with all my weight. My left shoulder was dead. It hurt like hell's wrath, I remembered that at some point . . . but I didn't care. Pain is a distraction from a goal. I had a feeling that I'd dislocated my shoulder . . . but I wasn't in my right mind. I was insane, then.

I HAD TO GET THE GATE OPEN.

Ambulance sirens roared louder . . . and I couldn't open it . . .

Someone was calling me . . . but that was drowned out by the pumping of hot blood in my head. I was fading fast.

Hands came to my other arm, and yanked me away from the gate. I panted, my eyes not focused anymore.

'Shit,' I breathed, and I fell back against the metal pipe. I clawed at it with weak fingers on my right hand, and somewhere is space and time, my left shoulder ached beyond words, but I couldn't feel it so much anymore . . .

I'd failed. I couldn't open the fucking gate. I was a loser. I'd killed Father Dom . . .

Hands – Paul's I assumed correctly – pulled me away from the gate. I remembered whimpering, because he'd touched my left arm. He dragged me back, and then turned back to the gate. I vaguely saw him concentrating hard on the imprisoning fence that stood before him . . . and with a HUGE scraping of metal on metal, it was totally blown open. I mean . . . that gate was now warped, demented, broken, un-recyclable, whatever. It was horribly disfigured, but it was out of the way.

Something which I'd failed to do, which Paul could easily manage because he's like a god or something. And I'm just little Susie.

I swayed severely, and with a single blink, I was lying on the dirty ground. My left side. Pain was excruciating. I knew that I was crying, somewhere, but I didn't want to admit it to the part of me that still knew what was happening. Which was a very small part. I shut my eyes. Oooh . . . blissful darkness . . .

'Suze . . . ' So far away . . . 'Suze . . . oh God . . .'

Ambulance sirens . . . thank God. The gate was open, but not by me. But they could get through, Father Dom would be all right –

Determined to stay with it, I sat up. Somehow, I did. 'Go back inside, he might wake up, I'll wait for the ambulance,' I murmured in a voice I thought sounded very cool and collected. I pressed down on my shoulder hard, and with a nasty shock, a horrible wave of pain suddenly shook me. I gasped, and covered my eyes. He saw it, damn it.

'You're still shaking . . . fuck, I'm not leaving you out here, on your own,' Paul snapped angrily.

'I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm FINE, I – '

But I wasn't fine. I couldn't keep doing it. Holding on, I mean. The fear of losing Father Dom was too great, and I couldn't breathe anymore. I really, really, really, really couldn't . . . I tried, but I failed.

I always failed . . .

I was unconscious before my head hit the dirt.

- 8 -

The world became a black hole, and endless cavern of lost hope and darkness of spirit. I could barely hear anything, except for a few voices that seemed so distant . . . so far away. People talking, people crying . . . the whole world was going on without me.

Maybe it would just be better that way.

But then, as I drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, I felt a warm and comfortable feeling. I felt as if I were sleeping on a cloud of feathery softness, and I wasn't cold anymore. It felt just like heaven.

The far away sounds became more and more familiar. The beeping of monitors, the hushed voices of nurses coming in and out, the tapping of footsteps as they glided down the hall in a quietly but quickly.

I knew exactly where I was. I was in a hospital.

Whoa . . . was it possible that the past five years were just a dream- no, a horrible nightmare? That this was all just a little game my sub-conscious was playing with me?

Was I just going to wake up in the hospital, like I had dreamed, only to find that Jesse had been waiting for me all along? That Jesse had never left in the first place, and that finally Paul had?

Everything would be okay. More than okay . . . excellent. I was still seventeen . . . young, bright, beautiful, and full of potential. My boyfriend would be waiting for me when I finally awoke, and we'd kiss and make up, just as it was meant to be. Paul, after saying his good-byes the night before, would never EVER speak to me again. He'd never ruin my life or my love EVER AGAIN.

I could do it all over again. I could make myself something great.

Opening my eyes happily, I noticed that a dozen fresh daisies were sat next to my bed. I could smell their sweet smell. They were probably from Andy. He always knew just what flowers to send for what occasion. He once told me that daisies were only to be employed when you wanted to cheer someone up or wish them a swift recovery . . .

I sat up to reach for the flowers, when I realized that I was, indeed in a hospital. Only . . . this wasn't the hospital near Carmel. The hospital room here was a bit smaller. Everything inside of the room was different. Including me.

I looked down at my hands. They were definitely not the hands of a carefree seventeen-year-old, with their playful coats of bright nail polish and phone numbers on them. They were the tired hands of one who never stopped working. Hands that made latte's, hands that typed up new resumes frequently, hands that shoved many pushy men . . .

Hands of a failure . . .

The room, which had a stream of brilliant sunshine pouring in, suddenly grew darker. The cloud of disappointment had blocked the sun's golden rays, choking the sunshine and killing it.

The day died along with my mood.

But hopefully not with Father Dom –

Father Dom! FATHER DOM! HOLY SHIT!

I wasn't hooked up to any strange monitors or anything, so I was able to jump out of my hospital bed and bolt down the hall with extreme ease. My left shoulder was starting to throb, too. All the more memories came flooding back. I was practically running down the white corridor, praying to God (or, again, anyone that cared) to send me a sign.

Right around the corner came a nurse, dressed in white to match the spotless corridor. I heaved a sigh of relief.

Maybe there is a God after all.

'Excuse me,' I said urgently to the nurse, 'Do you happen to know where I might find a priest? There was one that came in . . . he had suffered from head trauma. Father Dominic?'

Everything was so white . . . just like last time.

So similar to that night.

When Jesse lost all faith in me . . .

'Ma'am, please calm down,' the impeccably dressed nurse replied primly. She too looked too old for her years. As if she'd lost the fun in her life too. Cursed, are we. 'We have a Father Dominic in the next room over.'

'Oh thank you,' I gushed, pumping the cold hand of the nurse in my own. When I was through, she took a long look at me and, noticing my hospital gown, stopped me before I could make it very far past her.

'I assure you that he is fine,' the nurse said with a warm, understanding smile. 'I ask, however, that you please return to your hospital room immediately. We will send word if anything happens.'

Send word? What does that even MEAN? I wasn't going to just wait around for someone to give me WORD, when someone I greatly cared about had just gotten brutally beaten on the head!

I glared at the nurse angrily and stressed stubbornly, 'I'm okay. I'm just DANDY. And . . . I'm also going to see him.'

With that, I firmly brush past her and made my way down the hall. The nurse didn't make any objections, or if she did, then I really didn't hear her put up a fight. Maybe it was the roar of questions and what-ifs that were buzzing through my brain. Or, at least, the worry.

But . . . he was okay . . . he wasn't dead.

I could breathe again.

I stepped into his room, and immediately, my tortured mind was silenced.

There he was . . .

He was lying in the white sheets with a bandage on his head, favouring the injured side. There was no smearing of blood anymore, thank God. His eyes were closed in what looked like pain, and his chest was rising and falling evenly now.

I remembered back to when that crucifix had fallen on him and Bryce in my first year. How he'd been in hospital then. I didn't want to see him here again. Not now, not ever. Someone so good didn't deserve to suffer, at all.

Ha . . . if only I was good, right? If only.

'Hey, Father D,' I smiled sadly, shuffling next to him and brushing my fingers on his arm gently. 'You awake in there, dude?'

I waited . . . for an answer.

But he was obviously still asleep.

OH MY GOD! WHAT IF HE WOKE UP IN A COMA! WHAT IF –

Suze? WAKE UP in a coma? Is that physically possible? To wake UP in a coma –

Ugh. I know. I am dumb. Shut UP.

Then, a groan discomfort broke into my thoughts.

'Oh . . . Who . . . who's that?'

A bubbling rush of warmth accompanied his voice. My sad smile deepened, but I was so relieved . . .

'It's me,' I whispered, 'Suze.' I put my hand on his. It was such a contrast, to see a hand of youth over one of age. His hand was extremely warm. Just like Paul's. His skin was soft and not as taut as mine, and was paler and more worn. Old hands. Holy hands. Exultant hands.

Father Dom's hands.

His fingers wrapped slowly around mine, and I saw his lips twitch up a little, but his attempted smile looked crooked. He was still in pain, and it was killing me. 'What are you doing here?'

'I'm here to see you,' I said in a watery voice. My stomach was churning more and more horribly with each passing second. I felt sicker and sicker with giddy relief. 'Oh God,' I scowled at him, squeezing his hand in annoyance, 'You scared the shit out of me, man! Don't you ever get yourself nearly killed again, or I will kill you!' A passing moment allowed me to realized that it would be hard to "kill him" if he was indeed already dead . . . ugh. Death. I swear, it's so complicated. 'Whatever,' I dismissed, 'What happened?'

I tightened my hand on his a little more anxiously.

He sighed gustily. It was a typical Father Dom sigh. Something that I found strangely reassuring. 'I was trying to find the library when I noticed out of the window that someone was at the gate . . . I went to go see . . . that is all I remember . . . '

He trailed off quietly and frowned in confusion.

I went stiff with anger, very suddenly. Someone tried to attack Father Dom. An old man. A God damned PRIEST.

'Did this person, you know . . . look like a ghost? You know, all glowy and stuff?' I demanded attentively.

'I . . . do not recall a glow . . . I do remember an axe – '

'AN AXE?!?!' I started swearing violently, until he coughed in disapproval. Yeah, like HE didn't utter a couple of four-letter words when the stinking computer malfunctioned.

SOMEONE AXED FATHER DOM?! THIS WAS WAY TOO TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE.

'I believe it was only the handle,' he assured me hurriedly. AN AXE!

'Ugh, thank God, or your brain would totally be all chopped up,' I said gratefully.

Father Dom paused. 'Thank you for that enlightenment, Susannah.'

I shifted uncomfortably. 'Oh . . . sorry.'

'That's quite all right,' he nodded.

There was an awkward moment, until I broke into a babble. 'Well, Father Dom, it's all good now because your head is okay and you're awake and you didn't wake up in a coma – not that you can actually do that because if you woke up in a coma you'd have to be sleeping so it's not actually possible and so now when we get back to the school, I'm so gonna find out who –'

'Susannah.'

' – dared lay a finger on you. Well, it wasn't actually a finger, rather than an axe and stuff, but yeah – '

'Susannah?'

' – and I am going to do so much ass kicking, Paul and Dani will be totally standing on the side, going, "Whoa . . . "but they won't actually see me because I will be so fast in my ass kicking that I will be a blur – '

'Susannah! Stop your endless gibberish,' Father Dom grimaced moodily. Abruptly, I stopped, looking surprised. Jeez . . . and I thought PMS only affected girls.

Hold on . . .

'Father Dom?' I asked suddenly.

'Yes, Susannah?' he sighed, sounding very tired.

'What's Paul's middle name?'

He stared. 'How am I expected to know that?'

I pouted. 'Um, school records, much? Me and him were pretty special people, Father Dom.'

His bandaged forehead wrinkled in thought. 'Uh . . . if my memory serves me correctly, I'd say it was . . . Michael.'

My face lit up in glee.

'As was that Meducci boy . . . Michael also, was he not?'

'Yes,' I gushed with suppressed roars of laughter, 'So Paul's middle name is "Michael" then?'

'Yes – '

'Yes!' I yelled victoriously.

'What – '

'His initials are PMS!' I laughed, 'Ha! I am SO going to – '

'Susannah,' Father Dom stopped me. He had the trace of a grin on his face. 'I . . . ' he halted, and then shook his head, smiling. 'Trust you to think of something like that . . . '

I beamed proudly.

'However,' he said seriously, 'I regret to inform you that I won't be going back to Fortunaschwein . . . '

. . . WHAT?!

'Not yet, anyway,' he said quickly, seeing my outraged expression, 'the doctors say I need to stay here awhile for observation purposes. I'm not as young as I used to be so they need to keep me here.'

'YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BE WITH US AT FORTUNASCHWEIN?!' I exploded at him, 'but – but – I'll go INSANE without – you know, your resident holiness and stuff! We need you, Father Dom! You're like, duct tape! You hold everything together!'

He couldn't NOT be there! He HAD to be there! I would lose ALL of my nerve if he suddenly decided to have a week of SICKIES. I went even paler. 'But . . . without you there . . . Father D, you can't not go back. We have to get rid of the ghosts, Father D. You and me! We have to make them leave! You can't stay here, I can't do it on my own!'

I realized that by then I had leaned over, and I had grabbed him by the scruff of his matching hospital gown, glaring fiercely into his frustrated baby blues. With a flush, I let go, and coughed with deep embarrassment.

He smiled a little, then. 'What happened to the old Susannah? You used to want to do things on your own, without my help. You are plenty capable of finding this ghost, Susannah. You have the whole rest of the SIA . . . together you can talk this ghost into peace.'

The old Susannah?

Great. Everyone preferred HER better.

No, it's not what it sounds like. NO, I am NOT schizophrenic, and NO, I do NOT have an angelic twin whom I killed off and I'm now trying to take her place. Well . . . not that I know of. I am still Susannah Simon. I've just . . . changed.

Only, it seemed, for the worse.

But I totally forgot about the whole SIA. I mean, seriously, who wants to be reminded of Paul and Dani? That's just depressing. Dumb and Dumber. No, wait, PMS and PMSer. Yeah. Oooh, that was definitely snigger-worthy.

'But Father Dom, there's more than one ghost. Really there is. They were chasing me and I heard more than one of them laughing. And plus, I have had other experiences which make me think that there's totally multiple ghosts. And, personally, I really don't think that the rest of the SIA are cut out for this job, Padre. Especially not Dani. All she does is make eyes at Paul all day, which can be totally distracting – '

'Don't be silly, Susannah,' he said firmly to me. 'You all will make a superb team. You just have to set aside your differences . . . especially about Danielle,' he added with condemnation.

I scoffed.

'Furthermore,' he continued with a heavy frown, 'I don't know what happened with you, Mr Slater, and Jesse . . . but it has got to cease if you want this group to work.'

What if I DON'T want this group to work?

But I, um, didn't say that out loud.

Or he would totally get religious on my ass.

. . . Not literally, you weird people.

But yeah, how in the WORLD did he NOTICE this stuff?!

I pouted at him. Ugh, priests. Does he talk in tongues, too?

'Cheer up, Susannah . . . everything will work itself out . . . you must have faith.'

Faith. Ha. I rolled my eyes. 'Faith has never gotten me anywhere, Father D. Ever. Faith just don't work like it used to, I'm afraid to say – '

'That's because you've lost it,' he remarked patiently. 'You have to believe again, Susannah, if not in our Lord, than at least in yourself.'

I stared at him, not saying a word.

Yeah. Right.

What's there to believe in, with me? I have plenty of belief. Belief that I will SUCK. That I will get what's coming to me. That I have made mistakes, and I'm paying for them. That I will keep on paying, till there's nothing left of me. That I'm totally going to die a virgin.

And if you think about it, that's probably the most depressing thing of all.

I mean . . . no one probably LIKED Mother Mary. Maybe she had HAIRY LEGS LIKE MARIA. It was BC. Before Christ! Um, just. But yeah, you can't just MAGIC hairy legs away, even if you ARE GOD.

I sighed. 'Um . . . sure. Yeah, whatever . . . ' I looked away awkwardly. 'Um, is anyone else here?' My watch told me that it was nearly midnight. 'Four hours . . . ugh.'

'I think there might be someone in the waiting room . . . ' Father Dom told me. He sounded mighty disappointed. Well, hey, that's me. A big, fat, depressing disappointment. 'I'm pretty sure everyone went home after they were sure we were all right. It might be a good idea if you returned to your room, Susannah . . . they will release you tomorrow.'

I choked on a swallow. 'Tomorrow? No way, I'm totally going home tonight.' I was determined, now, more than ever. No one hurt my Father Dominic and got away with it. HELL NO.

I mean, er . . . heaven no.

'So, um, I'll just see ya around, Father Dom. I hope you feel better soon.'

And with that, I left Father Dominic's bedside. He called after me, 'Susannah . . . don't you dare consider leaving this hospital until you are checked out properly. Susannah? Susannah, are you listening to me?'

To which I replied with a casual wave, and got the heck out of there.

I sped down the hall, looking around nervously for anymore perfectly prim nurses that may have been wandering around. Much to my luck, there weren't any because it was midnight, and most of them were probably off having some coffee or something.

So I was able to freely walk the halls in my suspicious-looking hospital gown, without anyone ushering me back to my room. Now all I needed was to find the waiting room, wherever they kept it. Seriously, the corridors were like a white maze or something.

Finally overhead like a great sign from Mr.Holyman himself, appeared a glorious sign in black bold letters that said "WAITING ROOM".

I turned the corner in relief. I was quite proud of myself for being able to get away with something like that.

But right as I turned the corner I saw something- or rather, SOMEONE- that I particularly did not want to see.

That's right folks. Danielle Moore. PMS's girlfriend. Barbie to Paul's Ken, looking as stunning as ever in her lacy slip-dress.

You know, for someone that was sick earlier today, she sure didn't look it.

'I see you've made it out okay,' Danielle observed snottily, looking me over from head to toe.

Those words coming from Danielle did not surprise me in the least. No . . . I expected her to be just as cold and heartless. Even if I did just come from the hospital.

Bitch . . .

'I think I'll just head back into the room now. I'm not feeling so great anymore . . . '

'Nonsense,' Dani said as she grabbed my arm, pulling me back. 'What? Did a little mishap with your shoulder leave you incapacitated? Poor dear.'

'No,' I replied through gritted teeth, 'I'm fully capacitated. Enough to rip your arm off if you don't get it off of me.'

Dani dropped her hand and frowned. 'I don't see how. Your arm looks like it is about to fall off its hinges.'

'Thanks,' I replied as I threw her a cynical smile.

Really . . . of all people, why DANI? I mean, first of all, she doesn't even seem to like me, much less think of me as more than a mere lint-ball on one of her expensive designer coats. Why did she, of all people, decide to stay at the hospital?

'Paul said that you ran yourself into a gate,' Dani said after a long pause. I felt uncomfortable just sitting there and talking to her. Especially since she was not, you know, my favorite person of all time. Plus it was like she was going out of her way to make me feel bad.

As if a dislocated shoulder and the realization that these past five years were in fact reality didn't hurt enough . . .

'Yeah. In a totally non-suicidal way, mind you,' I replied. Well, not at the time. If there was a time in which I officially wanted to off myself for good, now was the time.

'Well, then it's a good thing Paul was there, right?'

'Why would that be?' I asked her, a bit taken aback.

'Or else,' she replied, looking straight at my arm, which was in a sling, 'it might have been worse. Much worse.'

UGH! Who was she trying to tell me that if it hadn't been for her Paulie, that it would have been worse? It so wouldn't have been! If it weren't for me, Father Dom would probably have never been found. It's a lucky thing I found him when I did, or else he might have been . . . well, dead.

Dani, like Paul, must think she's invincible or something. Immune to death. Well, I've been in contact with it so many times that I'm quite used to knocking at its door. I've even wiped my feet on the doormat a few times.

'Are you sure don't need to stay longer? You look TERRIBLE. I bet you could use some rest.'

'Well , actually . . . '

Dani cut me off. 'I completely understand how TIRING it must be for you . . . Father Dominic being your ONLY friend and all . . . '

That . . . that . . . UGH! HOW DARE SHE?

You should have heard the way she said it. It sounded so polite . . . almost to the point of being rude. Correction: not ALMOST. It actually WAS rude.

'Speaking of only friends . . . did Paul send you here? I mean, I know he likes using people for his own good, but he really didn't have to go out of his way just for me,' I rejoined, coldly.

Dani glared at me a little, passing my comment off. 'Dear Paulie . . . he was going to stay the whole night, bless his heart,' Dani said as she pressed her hand to her chest fondly, 'but I told him to go back and get some rest. It has been a very long day for my Paulie.'

Pssh. A long day for Paulie? What about a long day for ME? I don't see Paul trying to escape from the hospital dressed in a hospital gown with a rather restraining sling on his shoulder.

'You must really love him to do something so sacrificial,' I told Dani snidely. 'I mean, considering all that beauty sleep you NEED – I mean – are required to have. You know, because of the whole model thing.'

'I guess some of us just have to make sacrifices in times of great need,' Dani replied, scowling at me.

'I'm sure we all know what YOU consider to be a time of need now don't we?' I rejoined, smirking to myself in content.

'What,' Dani demanded with an evil glare, 'is THAT supposed to mean?'

I smiled at Dani as I saw her clenching her car keys so tight that her fingers where turning white. And looking at Dani, she's no Snow White.

'Hey, you don't happen to have separate cars by any chance, do you?' I asked pointedly.

'No, sorry,' Dani looked at me apologetically. 'I guess you'll just have to WALK.'

And with that, Dani breezed past me, brushing her shoulder against my HURT one (OWW), and walking out of the waiting room.

That Danielle is such a DIVA. Just because she's a supermodel and is on the cover of Cosmo every eight weeks does NOT mean she can leave helpless hospitalized refugees trying to escape from the horrible confines of this perfectly spotless place to SUFFER.

I didn't even bother chasing her. I mean, I'd never be able to catch up. She weighs, like, 90 pounds or something AND she's a earth-roaming giant. She can cover more ground than I can. I mean, she's like, a pair of legs on legs. And if I ever caught up with her, she cold just use her inflate-o-boobs and float away or something.

And then it would be like that scene off the Austin Powers movies, where everyone's like, "Oh look, there's a huge pair of – "

"MELONS! Nice juicy melons for sale!"

. . . Um . . . yeah . . .

So I, in a mad rush, got back to my hospital room and nearly slammed the door. I mean, Dani was just such a BITCH. I saw in my little room a small bag of clothes that I hadn't noticed before. Well, at least Paul brought me some decent clothes. That was kind of nice of him. But that still doesn't make up for the fact that he left me with his psycho girlfriend that just up and left me to suffer in the hospital.

Hope SHE sees a cockroach or two . . .

Though, now that I think of it, it would have been really ridiculous leaving the hospital still in the gown. I mean, yeah I had my underwear on under it and everything, but nothing much else. So I welcomed the change of clothes.

I changed into the black slacks and blue sweater that Paul got – or, it was probably CeeCee. Yeah, CeeCee was the nice, happy person who got me my pretty clothes, not Paul – I pulled on my tennis shoes and plaited my hair again, because it was looking kind of afro and everything. No, not like Beyonce from Goldmember. More like . . . Johnny Depp in Secret Window, after he wakes up. How it looks like it's all been moussed to the left side? I'm sure you'll agree – scary.

I heard a strange noise coming from the bag after that, and I dug through it to find it. I pulled my cell phone from my bag and checked the number, confused at who would try to call me at his time of night.

Maybe it was Dani calling to apologize. Which wouldn't be SO bad . . . except for the whole part about Dani knowing my cell phone number. THAT would be just plain creepy.

No . . . the number that flashed upon the screen did not match Dani's. But it was just as creepy, if not creepier. Because the person who called me was . . .

Cole. Cole Kennedy.

Aww, shit.

I thought about not answering. About just letting it ring, and stuff. But since one of the nurses were glaring at me, I kind of had to stop the noise. I thumbed the button, and then slowly held the receiver to my ear, licking my lips slowly.

'Hey, you've reached Suze Simon, I'm not in at the moment, but if it's important, I'll totally ring you back. If it's you, mum, yeah, Canada's great! If it's Cole Kennedy, you can go fuck yourself,' I cooed in my brightest voice, and was about to hang up when he snapped, 'Suze, I know you're frigging there. Talk to me.'

I groaned, but didn't say anything.

'You aren't home yet . . . I thought I told you to get the hell over here,' he growled in a low voice through the receiver.

I paused, and swallowed. 'Since when do I take orders from you?' I wanted to know.

'Well, you better start now . . . or else I'm going to drag you home myself,' Cole told me, in a harder voice. Again, I paused, looking directly ahead. The wall was white, and so clean. Too clean. Like any ants or anything that crawled across that wall would be hunted down and would be done away with in the most painful way possible.

My mind felt very far away again. 'Huh? Where do you get off, bossing me around? My God . . . you don't own me. You don't even know where I am. So screw you,' I rebutted angrily. But as per usual, when the sound of Cole's voice filled my head, I felt my heart speed up, and I felt my memory digging up those recent memories of when he'd lost his temper.

Loser . . .

'I'll call the police . . . they can track you down for me,' he said confidently.

I had the strangest mental image, then. As, Cole had so much power over me, that I was beneath him. I felt like I was lying down in some place dark, and he was crawling over me slowly, and menacingly, with the threat that he would steal away the thing that I kept from him so emphatically. Namely, me, in a . . . different way, though. And that mental image scared me, a lot.

'Why would they?' I asked dully. Seriously, the police have a lot more on their hands, with catching copy-cat pig-kidnappers and transvestite serial killers and stuff. They don't need to find some stupid girl who's run away from her ex.

Always running . . .

'They would if they thought you stole something of mine.'

What could I have stolen? The loser didn't HAVE anything. He only had me, and even then, he'd lost that too. Now he wanted me back, but he wasn't going to get what he wanted. Just like last time . . .

I was angry.

'Oh my GOD! What the hell is wrong with you?! What's the point in all of this shit? We broke up, because you were way too pushy, and when I refused to . . . you know, you totally went of and to hit the sheets with some random girl who wasn't repelled by you! And now you're blaming me for it? Jesus, Cole! Stay away from me. It's your own fault that it's over. So deal, and get over it!' I yelled heatedly into the cell. After my little outburst, I settled again into a fearful anxiety. I knew better than to piss Cole off. Well, now I did.

It was so strange . . . why was it, when I had people like Paul Slater in my life, that I was scared of someone like Cole?

Maybe it was because Paul had never dared to hit me.

Well . . . he did once, but that was because I was talking nonsense and I needed to be brought back down to earth. I have a tendency to babble, as you may have seen. And plus, he didn't HIT me . . . he barely tapped my cheek.

Why was I DEFENDING Paul?!

'It wasn't my fault, Suze . . . you weren't giving me what I needed . . . but I realized that I really do need you . . . so you're coming home, damn it,' he snarled at me.

I said flatly, 'I wasn't giving you what you needed . . . ' My God. He was so full of SHIT. 'What was that, Cole? Sex? You need sex? Well, go hire a prostitute. I'm not your girl, and I don't offer those services, whether you NEED them or NOT.'

'Get your ass home . . . now,' he threatened, in a low and deadly tone. It certainly made me blood run cold. But then . . . it always did.

What was truly scary was I knew that there was some sincerity in what he was saying.

I breathed in deeply, and held my breath, sitting down on the white bed behind me. I felt like holding my head, which was just starting to hurt, but I didn't. My hands were freezing, again.

After an eternity, I replied, in an adamant tone, 'No.'

'No?!'

'Yeah, you heard me. No where with you is home, Cole.'

I waited for the reply. Hopefully, it would be a cheerful, "Okay, honey. That's nice. I was wrong, and yes, my dick is small and I have a case of BO too horrible to win your righteous love. Have a nice life, cheers."

But strangely enough, I had a feeling that that wouldn't be the case, for some wacky reason.

Can't imagine why.

'I'll find you, Suze. Then you're coming home, and you're going to be frigging sorry that you ever gave me such a hard time about all of this.'

'You won't find me,' I sniffed indignantly. I was hoping that that little "Canada" thing I said earlier would throw him off.

'Oh, I won't stop until I do,' he laughed dangerously, and with a condemning beep, he hung up.

Won't stop?

Well, THAT sucks.

- 8 -

Well, basically all I did after that was quietly call CeeCee's cell, so she'd come and pick me up. Adam answered, which was even better. I told him about Dani's mean departure without me, adding a few more colourful words than necessary, and he happily came to rescue me from the hospital. I signed out, even though the nurse sounded annoyed, but whatever. I said goodbye to Father Dom, and that was then end of it.

What I'm really trying to say is I HATE DANIELLE MOORE!!!

She's the QUEEN of PMS!

. . . LITERALLY!!!

Well, yeah. I had a lovely sleep that night, after running to the shelter of a Mother's Little Helper. Well, that's what Mick Jagger call's them. I like to think of them as . . . Vikatin.

Stop teasing me. I was prescribed, okay? I am NOT a druggie.

Yet.

But whatever. I was really pissed off when I woke up at eleven. Probably because of the whole "waking up" part of it. But yeah. As soon as I went down to the kitchen, I could feel the tension in the room.

Then I remembered.

Oh yeah . . . Father Dom got attacked last night.

Well, the kitchen got that little bit colder, despite the pleasant temperature. Strange to think that last night, something horrible had happened, when it was such a lovely day.

Jack looked awful. I'm not even kidding . . . the kid looked like he'd lost his best friend. Which, really he did because he probably talked to Father Dominic more than he talked to his girlfriend Mary.

His features were darkened with sadness and his blue eyes looked just a bit grayer that day, which broke my heart to see him tortured like that.

Jesse, who was standing gravely next to Jack, tried to pat his arm comfortingly, but Jack avoided him and moved past him into the dining hall. Jesse seemed a touch hurt, but he seemed to understand Jack's pain. He wore the same face of gravity and downtroddeness.

Even JESSE was down. Has the world suddenly stop spinning or something?

I decided to go try to cheer up Jack. I didn't know if he would even allow me to converse with him, or if he'd give me the same treatment as Jesse, but it was worth a shot.

Father Dominic would want me to do the same thing.

So I slid out of the kitchen and into the vast dining hall, and looked for Jack. He didn't seem to be there for some reason. He didn't leave the kitchen, but what? Two minutes ago? He couldn't have gone very far.

Although . . . he IS a swimmer. And from what Father Dom has said in the past, a pretty good one at that. All because of me . . .

Maybe, I thought, just MAYBE I could help Jack again. Just like old times.

I maneuvered through the tables and chairs of the dining hall to get to the exit. The whole time I was thinking to myself: If I were Jack, where would I be?

Well, that was a difficult question. I mean, he's a smart kid. He wouldn't hide in his room. I knew for a fact that he'd be stupid enough to do that.

So I guess the REAL question should be: Where is one place Jack would go when he's afraid?

Which, let me tell you, was an even harder question because I barely even knew Jack. What I know of him now is only limited to the thing he's told me and what Father Dominic brags about him. Well, those things and almost a week of one fateful summer . . .

The thing is, it was hard to imagine Jack being afraid anymore. His fears seemed to die when I first taught him how to swim and mediate. He turned out to be another fearless Slater . . . one that had potential to actually be a decent human being.

I recalled the time when Jack saw the ghost of one of the hotel's staff that one summer. I remember the look in poor Jack's tear stained eyes as he looked up to me from the deckchair, a towel clenched in his little hands . . .

Just then, I heard a shuffling noise coming from under one of the tables. I slowly crept over to the table, in case it was another pesky roach again. But no, I didn't see any roach . . . I saw Jack, huddled under one of the tables, hugging his knees to his chest and frowning heavily.

'Hey there,' I smiled, bobbing down in front of him.

He glared at me. 'What?'

I sighed. 'What's up? I mean, besides the table that you, a thirteen year old young boy, are hiding under. I find that a bit strange, but that's just me.'

Jack's expression turned rueful. 'Shut up.'

I gave him a grim look. 'Is it about Father Dom?'

His eyes told me all I need to know.

Repositioning myself so that I was sitting crosslegged, I said, 'Look, he's going to be okay. He's totally fine. Talking, singing hymns, praising the Lord, and all that jazz.' Jack still stared at me.

'It's just . . . this place,' he admitted. 'I thought it would be cool to spend time with all of you. And Paul. Paul never spends time with me – '

I KNEW IT.

' – and I thought that I could be one of yous. But it's not fun like I thought it would be. It's scary. And you probably think I'm some stupid little kid with issues, just like last time.'

'Hey,' I said very firmly, 'I don't think you're a stupid kid with issues. I NEVER did. You know that, Jack. And trust me, you're reacting a lot better than a lot of guys your age,' I lied.

What? Sorry, but he was kind of a wuss. But not too much. I guess there WAS some truth in what I'd just said. Some thirteen year old boys would have permanent wet patches in their crotch areas by now, due to frequent pants-wetting. Not Jack. He feared quietly. And dryly, thank you.

'Really?' he asked softly.

'Really,' I replied, more sure that it was so, now. Jack was still eyeing me as if he didn't believe me. He obviously didn't think that much of himself. The poor guy was totally down.

Bummer.

Well, it's Susie to the rescue, right?

I'd just have to cheer him up.

'Hey, I said with a wise guy kind of smile, 'You like pizza?'

He perked up a bit. 'Yeah,' he replied slowly, with a little grin on his little face, 'Sure.'

'Great,' I smiled. 'Because we are officially going to get pizza.'

Well, if CeeCee spoke true when she told me that there was a little place in the town, in Gilroy, that had a great pizzeria, then, sure, we were officially going to get pizza.

If she's a stupid liar, then poo-poo to CeeCee.

But I doubt that. I think that CeeCee appreciates her facts a little more than to lie.

Or whatever.

'Okay,' I beamed. That was totally easier than I thought it would be. Jack is a guy who's easy to please. He'd make a great boyfriend, if he wasn't, you know, jailbait or whatever. 'I'm going to go get changed into something less disgusting, or more, if you're an eighty year old grandma who likes ladies to cover their legs. But whatever, I'll meet you at the entrance, in about ten?'

Because, hello, my hair was disgusting too.

'Yeah,' he grinned, crawling out from under the table. Seriously what thirteen year old hides under a table to show that he's upset? There is a thing called slamming doors, hello???

Meh. Jack's a funny guy.

Well, anyway, I had run up the stairs. My arm, thanks to the perks of shifting, had healed pretty much, so I'd ditched the sling, which SO was not what every twenty-three-year-old young woman wants on her arm, and slammed my OWN door, for no particular reason. I then walked over to my suitcase, and grabbed out random clothes.

After a few minutes of coupling together tops and bottoms, in the search for the perfect "I'm here for ze pizza, I vant to eat ze pizza, let me have ze freaking pizza" outfit, I finally settled on a white pleated mini-skirt and a pink tank top. I don't know why, but I felt like going totally feminine. I mean, it wasn't like there was anyone to impress, so whatever.

I carefully slid into some classy white flip flops, and then I blow-dried my hair, just to make sure it looked okay. Which it did. I'd washed it last night . . . Jesus, that seemed like a long time ago, huh? But yeah, before I'd gone exploring on my own, I had in fact, had a perfectly blood-free shower, thank you very much. So yeah.

There was a very small mirror in this room. I figured that the rich students who'd been in this room had these special facilities. Because, God knows the rooms in the lower dormitories didn't have MIRRORS. Baaaah . . . stupid school hierarchy, it was totally gay.

Whatever.

My reflection was cute. I was happy.

I grabbed my cell phone, and put it in a sweet rose pink Kate Spade bag, and slid on some sunglasses that were shaded pink. You know, like Anastasia wears, only mine weren't yellow. I felt a little guilty about what I was wearing. I mean, I wasn't a seventeen year old. But, hey, Dani flounced around in her micro-minis and her boob tubes shamelessly, so why couldn't I? Only, I'd actually be somewhat CONSERVATIVE?

Yes, I have CLASS, unlike SOME.

I gracefully descended the stairs, feeling a million dollars. I looked really good. A little like mutton dressed as lamb, but hey, I wasn't THAT old. I was still in my early twenties, I had every right in the world to wear a mini skirt.

And plus. I have nice legs.

Mine weren't STICKS.

'Okay Jack,' I called, 'Are you ready to go? I'll just go ask CeeCee if we can borrow her car –'

'Oh, yeah, um . . . Suze, about that,' called Jack's voice a little too innocently from near the door, which I had yet to see. I stopped suspiciously, and then kept walking down.

Oh. That's why he sounded guilty.

Paul.

He had the nerve to WHISTLE at me.

I flushed magenta. I mean, okay, so it's Paul giving me a hairy eyeball, but still . . . it was embarrassing at the same time as being ever so slightly flattering.

'Continue,' I told Jack, knowing exactly what he was going to ask.

'Can Paul come? And can we go in his car?'

Ugh. I am going to KILL HIM.

I totally glared at Jack. He was such a little TRAITOR when he wanted to be! Seriously, I try to do a good deed, cheer up a little boy who's down in the dumps, and this is what I get!

Well, I was not going to be eating my pizza in Paul's presence. No way, José.

. . . No, I really WASN'T. I had NO INTENTION of giving in, this time! Regardless of the –

'Please?'

. . . the Slater Puppy Eyes.

'Paul wants to come?' I said lightly. 'Oh, okay. Well, you have someone to take you then, Jack. I'll stay here.'

'But you said you'd come!' Jack sounded mortally wounded. Like I'd totally offended him or something. Yeah, seriously. Aren't I HORRIBLE?

Ugh.

'Well, that was only so you would be under adult supervision,' I explained. 'And now, you have Paul. Hell knows he's more of an adult than me. So you're sweet. See ya.' I turned around and went back up the stairs, my cheeks FLAMING like there was no tomorrow –

'Come on, Suze,' Paul's voice wrapped around my every inch, making me stop. 'We want you to come,' he further influenced, his tone forcing me to face him. 'We can go in my car.'

I blinked down at his eyes of cool ice. He was smirking. And to my surprise, he wasn't dressed in a suit. Sure, he wasn't grunge, but he wasn't . . . you know, my-shoes-are-so-clean-you-could-lick-them or anything, which was a total improvement.

'Nah, it's fine,' I shrugged.

'You just got changed!' Jack protested.

'It's true, Suze,' Paul said evenly, leaning against the door from across the entrance room, 'And you do look pretty good, you wouldn't want to deprive the world of that outfit, now would you?'

He was definitely flirting . . . he wasn't supposed to do that.

My face went positively RED with mortification.

'That's why they have supermodels,' I replied coolly.

'Dani's –' Paul stopped, and discontinued his sentence. Huh, girl stuff again? Wait, I don't want to know.

Paul crossed the room in about ten strides, so he was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me slyly. 'I'll let you ride shotgun,' he promised.

SHOTGUN?! WHAT THE SHOOT WAS SHOTGUN?!?!

WAS THAT . . . KINKY?!?!

With wide eyes, I demanded in a very high voice, 'What?!'

Paul smirked widely up at me, his eyes dancing with mischief. 'Front seat, of course,' he cocked his head to the right. 'Don't tell me you didn't know that.'

He was always doing that . . . playing with my head, and then making me feel really dumb. Okay, so I jumped to conclusions, but shot gun sounds like it's in the same category as . . . I dunno, "bareback" or something.

Don't ask, I'm grossed out enough already.

'Oh,' I said, feeling dumber by the second. 'Um, okay.'

OOPS. I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO SAY YES.

NOOOOOOO!!!!

I WAS CAUGHT OFF GUARD! I WANT A SECOND CHANCE DRAW!!!! I WANT A REFUND –

'Cool,' said Paul, stepping up, grabbing my hand forcefully, and yanking me down the steps before I could change my mind.

All he wanted to do was torture me . . . why the hell was I going?

Ugh . . . and on top of THAT, I knew that I had to say thank you for the whole thing the night before. I mean, how weird must that have been for him for me to suddenly faint like that? Probably as freaky as it gets.

I suck.

Jack shoved open the front door cheerfully, and Paul pretty much pushed me out. I discretely moved away from him, because it was gross enough that we unfortunately had to share the same oxygen, let alone him touching my back.

Everything looked a lot happier, today. The sun was high in the sky, being almost noon. The grass even looked, you know, not so dead. Which was a big deal. I wanted to point it out, but how weird would that have been? I mean, it wasn't as if it were pretty, or anything.

Oh, look at the pretty partially deceased flora!

Ugh, kill me.

Hey, so sue me for not having a green thumb?

Paul fished keys from his pocket, and unlocked his black Jaguar by pressing the little button on his remote locking thingie. There was a faint click, and then Jack jumped into the back seat, leaving the right side for me and the left for Paul.

Juuuuuuust peachy.

Paul glided over to the passenger side, and opened the door for me before I could get there. Giving him a look that must have been exceptionally stupid, I fumbled with my bag for a second, before slipping in with a mumbled, 'Uh . . . yeah . . .'

Jack gave a hacking cough, which lead me to believe that it was, in fact, a fake cough.

I mean, what are the odds, huh?

I was kind of disgusted with my childish behaviour. Wouldn't I just, like, GROW UP?

But then again, I think that it was quite reasonable to have these misgivings. I mean, the last time I had hopped into a car with Paul Slater, it had cost me my love life. Seriously . . . so what if he didn't put any moves on me in the actual CAR. It was just OUTSIDE that he decided to tackle me to the ground, IN THE RAIN, and kiss me.

. . . My kissing back is NOT THE POINT.

I buckled my seat belt with a nervous shrug. Jack was sitting behind where Paul was going to sit. Ironically enough, the devil himself hopped into his driving seat.

I swear, I only stared at his butt for a second before looking away.

ONE SECOND.

SUE ME, PAUL HAS A KIND-OF-NICE BUTT.

'I'm hungry,' groaned Jack, pouting.

'Didn't you eat breakfast?' I asked.

'Yeah,' he said, 'So? That was ages ago.'

'It was fifty minutes ago,' Paul said dryly, inserting his keys into the ignition.

Ugh . . . I should just get out, and go back to the school.

No . . . then he'll totally give me a hard time later . . . and plus, Danielle was in there. Sorry to say, but I hated Dani more than Paul.

Just.

'Okay, so, pizza,' Paul said, as his Jaguar purred into life, but hadn't moved it yet. 'What pizzeria are we going to?'

'CeeCee told me about one called 'Pete's Pizza,' I sniffed. 'How original.'

I crossed my arms, trying to fake nonchalance, when really, I felt as weird as it gets.

Paul reached up to adjust the mirror. 'Hey, Jack, do up your seat belt, kid.'

I had the sudden urge to flail my arms and scream, "DO WHAT YOU WANT, JACK, DON'T LET HIM BOSS YOU AROUND!"

But then I remembered, oh yeah . . . the road safety thing . . .

Damn.

'Just start the car,' I said flatly.

Paul shot me a very quick grin, before he shoved his foot down on the pedal, making the Jaguar erupt with a loud VROOM.

'What the – ' I grabbed my armrest hesitantly.

'Buckled up?' Paul smirked back to Jack, 'This is going to be one hell of a ride.'

'All done,' Jack yelled, sounded excited.

. . . I was starting to see why Jack was so keen for Paul to drive . . .

Paul put the car forcefully, making the tires screech as he peeled out toward the gate. It was open – no, destroyed – so we glided out at illegal speeds.

'What are you – ' I looked at him in alarm.

'Whoo hoo!' Jack interrupted me.

(A/N: JACK JUST GOT WHOO HOO, HAYLEY!)

Paul turned sharply onto a long stretch of road, and sped up to well over 90 mph. The countryside flashed by in a blur.

I glared out the window, trying not to remember who I was in the car with.

Well, not Jack, but . . . oh, shut up.

Paul turned to face me, one hand draped leisurely over the steering wheel. His window, too, was open, and wind was powering at his hair, making it fly around in a wild . . . almost sexy way . . .

UGH. AS IF.

SEXY MY BUTT.

. . . Well . . . some people think my butt is sexy, but –

And I just ADMITTED that his kind of was too, so –

I HAVE NO POINT IN MY ARGUMENT. KINDLY KILL ME?!

Paul leaned over to me a little, and said in my ear, 'Having fun yet?'

Again, I went dark red. I didn't know why, or how, but my whole face erupted in a dark crimson shade. I felt . . . so weird . . .

'I didn't know driving was supposed to be fun,' I snapped disdainfully. 'I always thought of it as, you know, a means of transport to get one from one place to the other as fast as the SPEED LIMIT will allow,' I said pointedly, giving him a dirty look.

'There's nothing out here,' he said airily. 'Just trees, grass, fields, freedom, whatnot.'

Freedom? To do what? Pee behind trees and not be seen?

'So?' I rebutted, 'Who KNOWS what's around the corner? Deer? Fallen trees? Low flying aeroplanes?'

Jack snorted, and I gave him a snooty look, too.

PLENTY OF GLARES TO GO AROUND, DAMN IT.

'. . . And then there's the suicide bombers of Iraq –' I continued.

'Suze? Lighten up,' Paul advised me. 'Live a little.'

'I...I live, I – ' I protested in affront, 'I just think that you should um . . . slow down?'

'Go faster, Paul!' Jack urged him, leaning over his brother's seat way too well for someone who claimed to be wearing a seat belt.

HE WASN'T!

As I went to yell at him, Paul butted it, with his, 'What was that? Go faster? My pleasure . . . ' as he STEPPED ON THE GAS! Inertia caused us to all lean back a bit due to the dramatic increase of speed.

'Slow down, damn it!' I yelled, gripping the armrest harder. I have had a BAD EXPERIENCE WITH FAST CARS, HELLO?! NEIL AND CRAIG, MUCH?!?!

We were going up a hill at such a fast speed . . . higher and higher, until we reached the top for a split second and found ourselves speeding down hill, my stomach dropping as Paul conquered over 95 mph.

'HAHAH!' Jack yelled, laughing madly with Paul. Wasn't he a LAWYER?!?! I gave them a stony look. Paul made the roof slide off, and so air was FULL ON blowing my BLOW-DRIED HAIR. Does he have NO RESPECT for HAIR CARE?!

He raised his arms victoriously, obviously overwhelmed with endorphins. Wind gusted his gelled brown curls back and he closed his eyes and roared, 'Whoo hoo!'

(A/N: PAUL GOT WHOO HOO TOO! HAHAHA!!!)

I was officially freaked out.

Paul returned one arm to the steering wheel. 'Aww, come on, Suze, you gotta admit, you're having the time of your life,' he grinned.

I didn't even crack a smile. 'I am NOT.'

Jack was laughing, hard. 'See how boring it would have been with you driving? Paul knows how to have fun!' he hooted.

My stony look got stonier.

Paul grinned, showing all his sickly white teeth.

'I . . . I have fun,' I shot at Jack, 'I do – um, stuff.'

Jack smirked. 'What? Your favorite hobby is staring at Jesse. That's like, X-treme sports for the disabled or something.'

SOMEONE was CRUISING for a BRUISING.

I turned away from him, in a FOUL MOOD.

Paul laughed. 'Good one, kid.' I went even stiffer with his laughing voice.

'Well, Suze wants me to slow down...to act like an adult, Jack. So I guess I'll start now,' he said, promptly shoving his foot on the brakes, HARD, sending us flying forward on impact. Jack, the little idiot, bashed his nose into Paul's back seat, but didn't dare tell him that he hadn't done up his belt.

Disgruntled, I snapped, 'About time you grew up.' I felt like doing something extremely childish, like hopping out of the car and declaring that I could walk home, but that would have been . . . er . . . pretty stupid . . .

Paul was now going a crawling 30 mph, an expression of pure boredom on his features. But now instead of going too fast, he was going way too slow. The speed limit was 45 . . . ugh.

'You SUCK,' I shot at him.

'Yeah,' Jack leaned forward again, thumping his brother on the head, hard. 'Don't be gay!'

'Pipe down, kids, I'm trying to drive . . . like an ADULT,' he said expressively, giving me a sarcastic look, a small grin playing on his lips.

I. Am. Going. To. KILL. HIM.

'Grow UP!'

'I was kidding, Suze . . . God, Jack just wanted to have some fun. I was just being a big brother,' Paul said dully, going the right speed, and putting the roof back on. I patted my hair fearfully, and was relieved to see that my hairspray had come through for me.

Jack sat back, looking might disappointed.

Whoa . . . was I really that much of a party pooper?

'You have no life Suze,' Jack stated.

'Hey!'

'My thoughts exactly, little bro.'

'My life is VERY – um . . . lively – SHUT UP – Oh wait . . . the phrase, "shut up" is apparently beneath the Slater brothers. So I'm just going to ignore you both. You're being a little shithead,' I said back to Jack, 'And your brother's being a dickhead. This headedness runs in the family. Not related to the D. Head himself by any chance?'

'She's so boring, Paul. Mediating, playing by the rules, being right . . . '

I stared ahead, hearing this totally objectively. Was this me? Was this how people saw me? Was I a total bitch? Was I and better than DANI? If I was on the same plane of bitchiness as her, I'd KILL MYSELF.

Paul was smiling to himself.

'I shouldn't have come,' I said simply. 'I'm just spoiling your fun.'

So much for the expected, "No you're not! We love you!" shrieks of love.

'Well,' Jack shrugged bluntly, 'Pretty much.'

. . . Oh. Thanks.

'What? You said it,' Jack pointed out.

I groaned, and slumped in my seat, wanting to die.

'Jack, be fair. She's just worried. She hasn't learned the true meaning of 'having fun' yet. She would have, but she chose not to.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' I demanded, looking on him with accusing eyes. There was a drop of acid in my tone.

'Do you even have to ask?' he drawled. I could now see the busy town a little way away. We were almost there. This torment was almost over . . . oh, thank God . . .

Because this so wasn't fair. I was TOTALLY getting persecuted by the Slaters.

'Two choices, Jack,' Paul went on confidently from the wheel, steering now, into the road that lead into a main street in Gilroy's town area. 'Something full of life or something dead to the world. Which would you choose?'

'Do you even have to ask?' Jack sniggered, being an ass. I was getting more and more pissed.

'See? Jack sees the fit choice. You didn't, though,' Paul said to me nastily.

'I didn't chose either . . . ' I tried defending myself. 'No wait, I did. But I didn't get anything from it, thanks to certain people who are now currently asshole lawyers. So shut your face.'

Paul grinned back at Jack. It was if he was teaching a class, and I was beign used as an example. Persecution, I tell you. BY a lawyer, too. That totally sucked. 'She chose the dead thing, Jack. And it got her no where.'

Yeah. I know that.

I seriously felt like crying . . . this wasn't even funny. I knew I was a nobody. But Paul was individually inserting grains of salt into my wounds with tweasers, and was enjoying it. It wasn't fair . . .

'Paul, please,' I murmured, trying not to sound upset. But since when can Suze Simon do ANYTHING right, let alone ACT? I turned away sharply from him, crossing my arms, and leaning my head against the window, willing the tears to retreat.

He'd hit a nerve. THE nerve that he'd been aiming for. He'd hit the nail RIGHT on the head.

I was barely alive. He knew it, I knew it. And now he was making sure Jack knew it, just for fun.

Fun for all the frigging family . . .

I felt so low, right then.

'What?' Jack said rudely. 'We're just saying, Suze – '

'Jack,' Paul growled, 'Enough.'

- 8 -

THAT WAS QUICK, RIGHT?! NOW REVIEW!!! LONG REVIEWS, OR WE WILL TAKE OUR SWEET TIME WITH CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Love Lolly and Hayley.