F l a s h l i g h t

by Stark Raving Lolly

Nathan Blake. Robin Lawrence. Charles Austin. Bart Ford. Four boys, all dead. A violently haunted exboarding school. A fire in 1969. A man named Cole to run from. A mystery to be solved...and a love to be determined. Busy, aren't we Suze? [FINISHED]

16. Headquarters

Yeah, we know. We've been ages. Our apologies, we've had a lot going on.

You wanna know if this is P/S or J/S?

Guess what.

WE'RE NOT TELLING. SO THERE!!!

Manic laughter.

- 8 -

'Take a seat, Suze,' a deep, masculine voice purred in my ear. 'Make yourself comfortable. I'll go get some drinks.'

I opened my eyes, and I was instantly transported into a small, dimly lit room. There was nothing inside the room, except for a couch surrounded by pillows and a few miscellaneous papers. A normal apartment, as far as my standards went. Set up by a small window was a canvas with an unfinished painting of a city-scape, obviously inspired just by the view.

I did just as I was told, taking a seat on the couch and crossing my legs, trying to look as sophisticated as possible. I noticed that I was wearing my favorite black Jessica McClintock dress made of this gorgeous shimmery material. I liked it, for some reason, because it reminded me a little of the Shadowland, a place I had come to know so well over the years due to my sudden incompetence of being a shifter. Instead of using it as a last resort, the Shadowland became my crutch. My support because I could no longer handle what tortures my ability, and my LIFE, threw at me.

I took another look around the tiny apartment. The walls were kind of a dreary gray color, but they looked waaay more welcoming than the mocha colored walls at Starbucks.

Sure, Starbucks looks hip. But its chic, modern style was all too cold for my liking. The dark green apron I was forced to wear was like a heavy ball-and-chain, capturing me and making me the slave of this horrible nightmare I wanted more than anything to wake up from.

I was presented with a glass of sparkling champagne. I frowned, but I took it graciously, looking up to the person who gave it to me, saying, 'Thanks, but I don't drink that much . . . '

I almost dropped my glass. Cole Kennedy stood there, looking great in his classy burgundy dress shirt and black slacks, holding in his hands a bottle of very expensive looking Piper Heidsieck.

My stomach fluttered with something familiar. Something I used to enjoy, but now was completely afraid of, for no good has ever come of those feelings. Nothing.

'I mean, um . . . great,' I corrected myself instantly.

Cole took a seat next to me and poured a very generous amount of champagne in his glass. He cleared a space to put the bottle on his coffee table, and then took initiative to scoot closer.

'Beautiful night, isn't it?' he asked, his voice dipping low.

'Yeah,' I agreed, crossing my legs restlessly and taking a deep breath. Not that you could really tell or anything, with the only window in the room being covered and all. I shot Cole a weak smile.

I noticed Cole taking a big swig of champagne. Most people, when they drink it, taste a little at a time and let the drink have time to sit. But Cole had already downed his first glass, and was getting ready to pour another.

If there's one thing you notice about Cole Kennedy, it's that he doesn't talk a whole lot. I never minded much, because I just thought it was part of the whole 'mysterious artist' persona he had going for him. It was almost the reason I liked him in the first place. He wasn't overly sweet, nor was he too absorbed in himself.

Two qualities I avoided in men. Trust me, I had already been through it all once.

But then, he finally did. Talk, I mean. He told me in a slow, low voice, 'You look hot tonight, Susie.'

I really didn't know how to respond to that. I was so caught off guard that I totally dismissed the fact that he called me "Susie". I mean, what do you say to that?

You wanna know what I said?

I replied, 'Um, you too.'

Lame. You don't have to tell me twice.

'That dress,' he continued breathlessly, 'it just looks so amazing on you. It's almost breathtaking.'

Cole began playing with one of the straps on my dress, moving it around in his fingers. I could have sworn he said he liked how I looked in the dress. Why did he seem to want to take it off of me then?

I was getting very hot. I tried to talk for a second, but it came out as a croak. I tried again; 'C-Cole?'

'Yeah, beautiful? Anything wrong?'

Beautiful. I liked how that sounded. But not right now. Not from Cole, especially. Not from him, now. I was meant to hear it form someone else. Someone else who didn't even care.

'Let's see what's on the TV,' I suggested with a bright, over-exaggerated smile, moving back a little bit so Cole wouldn't get the wrong idea.

But as I took the remote, Cole's giant hand clasped over mine and gently made me put the remote down. I brought my eyes up to his slowly, and I saw for the first time the thing I should have seen all along.

Danger.

'Tonight is a special night for me. I mean, for us,' he corrected himself quickly. 'Just look at you, all dressed up. Let's make it magical, Suze. Just you and me. No TV.'

And for extra emphasis, Cole knocked the remote onto the ground and kicked it far, far away.

'Scrabble?' I offered lamely.

'Not quite,' Cole answered. He was sitting so close now, that I could smell the champagne on his breath when he talked. 'I was thinking something a little more like this . . . '

And with that, Cole leaned in and stole a deep, precious kiss from me.

If you've never been kissed before, let me tell you, it feels good. Especially when you've been severely dissed in the past. I mean, the electricity, the power . . . giving and taking . . .

But Cole seemed to be more of a taker. I felt weak in his arms, as he took the kiss to new depths.

'Cole, I – '

I was being claimed. I was Cole's for the taking.

. . . But I didn't want to be.

'Please, this isn't – '

And you know what scared me more than anything? There was nothing I could do about it. I wasn't the same girl that I used to be. I didn't have the same nerve to jab my thumb in the offender's eye.

And besides, girlies, this was no seventeen-year-old whose hormones went a little wacky. Cole was a fully-grown, fine specimen of twenty-three-year-old man. You know: 6-something, 195 pounds of muscle . . .

And what was I? A possession. A pathetic little girl. BOTH.

Before I had more of a chance to protest, Cole's hands found the strap of my dress again. But this time, instead of teasing me by playing with it, he was actually tugging it . . . pushing the strap so it fell helplessly at my shoulder.

With a pained groan, I exploded from Cole's reach, shoving him back a little and scooting to the complete other side of the couch. In fact, I was almost sitting on the armrest; that's how far I wanted to get away from him.

But far isn't far enough for Cole.

'Cole, what is WITH you?' I demanded, placing a shaking hand on my chest. My heart was pounding, I noticed.

'Nothing, gorgeous,' Cole stared at me innocently from the opposite end of the couch. 'Is there anything wrong?'

'Um, yeah? . . . What are you trying to do?' I asked abruptly.

Cole shifted cunningly on the couch until he was, again, sitting close to me. 'Isn't this what you wanted?' Cole inquired, his gray eyes filled with confusion.

I stared at him, going a little stiff. 'Cole. This is too fast.'

'No worries,' Cole said as he began tracing circles along my bare shoulder. 'I can go slower.' I bit my lip in a furious effort to disregard the tickling, half-deadly half-pleasant sensation scuttling across my arm.

'Just stop,' I tried to say strongly, but my voice creaked. It wasn't fair. Why does my voice give out when I need it the most? 'Really, Cole. I should be getting back to my apartment. I have work tomorrow.'

'Stay. Please, Suze. I've had a rough week and I really need you,' Cole pleaded, his full lower lip pouting in a pity-me-I'm-a-wounded-animal-who-apparently-needs-head way.

He'd had a rough week? What about me? I've had countless rough days. But now I noticed that this had nothing to do with me. This was Cole. It was always about Cole.

. . . I don't think it's ever been about me.

With that realization, I stumbled off the couch and onto my feet, using the armrest on the couch for support. I nearly fell over. I cleared my throat and said pretty strongly, 'Cole, I'm not ready for that . . . '

'What do you mean, you aren't ready?' Cole asked hotly from the couch.

'I, um, you know – '

His eyes narrowed. His hair, all of a sudden, wasn't shining so blondly. In fact, it turned dark, just as the rest of his attributes. 'Suze. We've been going out for MONTHS. Hasn't it been long enough?'

'I – I don't know, I just . . . I'll call a taxi.'

'No, Suze. You can't go home tonight. I need you stay with me.'

I reached absently for my purse. When I snagged it, I searched for my cell phone desperately. When I found it, I began dialing the taxi service when Cole added, 'Or ELSE.'

'W-what?' I stopped before I could punch the call button. I blinked at him in shock as he stood up and looked down on me.

'You want to find out? Or are you going to stay like a good little girl?'

'You're drunk,' I told him. 'You don't mean it.'

'Try me,' Cole whispered harshly.

I spun around going past his bedroom door and in the direction of the door when Cole, champagne bottle in tow, chased me. He grabbed my arm violently before I could get to the door.

'Cole,' I said, my voice shaking in fear. 'W-what are you doing?'

'I don't know,' Cole slurred. 'But I do know what you're doing. And that's getting right back on that couch.'

'How much did you drink?' I asked.

'I don't know – '

'HOW MUCH did you drink, Cole?' I demanded, this time placing my hands on my hips.

He sneered at me and went, 'Obviously not enough,' as he took a giant, uncivilized gulp from the champagne bottle. He staggered forward dangerously, as his expression went from angry to just plain murderous.

Oh, shit.

I moved away form him as quick as I possibly could and warned him, 'Stay away from me, asshole.'

He didn't heed the warning. Instead, he hurled the champagne bottle onto the floor, and it crashed into a million pieces at my feet, some of it splashing my legs. The noise caused me to flinch and I instantly looked down at the glittering glass on the ground.

I stared at it with wide eyes. A morbid thought passed through my mind that that champagne bottle could be me soon, if I hung around. 'Cole, don't. Please, just calm down.'

'DON'T tell me to calm down. HOW can I calm down when my GIRLFRIEND doesn't even want me?'

Cole's voice was really loud. I came to realize quickly that I should be afraid of him. And I was.

But I also felt a little sorry for him. I couldn't believe this side of him. It was like he was a totally different guy from the one I had been going out with. Drunk, dark, and dangerous…

'Cole, I do. But not like . . . like this.'

Cole took a step closer, crunching some glass beneath his shoes. He didn't care. He was way too far gone to even notice. 'Am I not enough for you, Suze?' he asked, soft yet slurred. 'Is there something wrong with me? Is that why you don't want to be with me?'

'You're drunk, Cole. I like you a whole lot, but I like you a lot better when you're sober, okay? So let me just – '

Before I could finish my sentence, Cole swiped me across the face and yelled, 'You bitch!' I couldn't help but let out a short, loud scream.

My cheek stung bitterly. My own hand shot to the point of contact. My skin pricked under the pressure I applied to it. And my heart was plain pounding like . . . like there was no tomorrow.

Sorry to be dramatic, but from the way Cole was acting . . . I was worried there wasn't going to be.

For the first time that night, I looked directly in Cole's sparkling gray eyes. I saw the things I had never seen before: danger, intoxication, turbulence . . . murder.

Or at least something that could do a lot of damage.

I stumbled away quickly, running for the first door I saw. I slammed the door behind me and closed my eyes, leaning on it heavily while I caught my breath. I opened my eyes and saw that – joy of JOYS – it was his bedroom.

Couldn't have been better for Cole. Couldn't have been WORSE for me.

Cole was knocking on the door loudly. 'Suze. Let me in the room. NOW.'

Oh God. Oh GOD.

His knocking grew more urgent as the moments passed. When he saw his method was of no avail, he tried the handle, cursing rapidly. Then he resorted to ramming into the door like a human battering ram.

Each bash made the door open nearly half-way, even if I was using all of my strength on it. Each time he rammed, my back crashed painfully into the door, causing me to cry out it pain but I knew that if I didn't hold on, I would die. I would die.

But this wasn't a matter of strength. The plain and simple fact of it all was that Cole weighed more than me. Thus, he was able to finally bust open the door, leaving me to fly conveniently into his bed, which wasn't that far away.

I forgot to tell you. His room, like the rest of the apartment, was incredibly small.

Cole began to saunter over to the bed. I could see his gray eyes glinting, even in the dim light of the moon. 'I knew you'd see it my way,' he slurred.

I started at him with wide fear-stricken eyes. 'Cole, don't – '

Then, the bastard punched me.

HE PUNCHED ME.

I gasped, hard.

I wasn't doing anything and he just laid a big ol' smack on my face. In the punch, he managed also to pounce on me, knocking me down in the mattress, which was kind of springy. In the whiplash, I ended up getting my head hit but not by Cole's fist this time. It was by his face, which was really, really close to mine. His hot breath was corrosive on my face. It burnt. Like hell incarnate as a person was breathing on my neck.

I tried to squirm away, but this time he was completely on top of me. You remember my favorite dress that I was wearing? Not only was it horribly wrinkled, but he had accidentally-on-purpose hiked it up, exposing a good part of my upper thigh.

NOT GOOD.

'Cole – please –' I panted.

Cole rested his cold hand there. Chills shot from point of contact. I could feel a dark chuckle reverberate through his body. My vision was a little blurry, but I could see his face – the face I once could only dream of – smirking down at me. I saw it coming closer and closer and closer until finally I felt his rough lips claiming me once again.

Oh . . . oh, God . . .

As he kissed me, he pressed me deep into the bed, making half-pleased, half-humored noises. Predator. I was trying . . . trying so hard to fight him away, but something horrible was happening to me. I suddenly became powerless. It was, like, I was incapable of any and all physical movement. First of all, my head was ROARING in pain from when he punched me. I tried sinking back into the mattress, as far away from him as I could get. He followed. Oh, he always followed. My heart was ready to explode. My throat was on fire, dying to scream. I turned my head away from his abusive, violating lips and pleaded with him to stop, but he didn't listen. He continued, allowing his hands to roam dangerously.

Very dangerously.

No. NOT THAT.

'COLE!' I yelled, suddenly finding my strength again. Well, at least in my voice. When he didn't acknowledge me, I thrashed about wildly until I was able to push him off of me. With a quick roll, I was able to get off the bed, but gravity showed me no mercy as I crashed onto the carpet. Seeing nowhere else to go, I quickly crawled under the bed.

Hey, give me SOME credit. I figured he was so drunk that he'd, you know, get really confused in his quest to find me. So much so that maybe he'd even pass out. I didn't know. I had never been hopelessly smashed in my entire life.

I've had times where I wanted to be smashed. Not smashed as in drunk, but smashed as in squashed into a million billion pieces.

Although, I was not appreciative that some screwy greater being had sent Cole to do the smashing.

. . . It occurred to me, right there and then, that there was a very big danger of Cole Kennedy . . . um . . . you know. Worst case scenario, killing me. Second worse case scenario, stealing something that I couldn't get back. My innocence.

Aka, rape.

Yeah. I just thought the word. My most current fear.

That Cole would do just that.

. . . Shit, I was scared . . .

I felt him shift around on the bed above me. 'Whoa,' he said, at awe in my sudden disappearance. 'Where'd you go, Suze? You left me. That makes me sad.'

I heard him slide off the bed, his feet gently plopping on the floor. He was on the other side of the bed, so I couldn't see him yet, which totally freaked me out. I knew he was there in the room, so close and yet he seemed so far away. I was under the protection of Cole's bed, which I should have known would never be shelter enough for me.

'You're like one of those things,' he whimpered sadly. 'You know? Those things that disappear . . . ghosts. Yeah, a ghost. Except not dead.' I heard his slow menacing footsteps deafened by the plush carpeting in his room.

' . . . Yet.'

I sucked in sharply.

The lump in my throat grew bigger as I stifled a gasp of fear. My heart was pounding so loud. There was no WAY Cole could miss that, even if he were in a drunken stupor.

'Come OUT,' Cole yelled, finally getting annoyed with my little game of Hide-n-Go-Seek. 'Where the hell did you go?'

I heard a loud crash, from where Cole threw a chair to the ground. It caused me to let out a gasp. One that was WAY too loud. It just tumbled from my mouth and into the silence that was my only protection.

Shit. Shit, shit, ever-loving shit!

I was a dead woman. At twenty-three. Not good. NOT GOOD.

I covered my mouth with my hand instantly, but it did no good because I knew Cole heard. If the way he snarled, 'Oooh. I hear you now . . . ' was any indication.

I saw Cole's shoes as they slowly stepped towards the bed. I stared at them in despair, knowing that my fate was pretty much sealed. I was dead. Deader, even, than I felt after 5 long years.

His shadow was cast on the small bit of moonlight that was shining under the bed. The covers went up, exposing me in my hiding spot.

And I saw a cruel smile stretch across his lips.

'Aaah. Gotcha now, haven't I?'

I didn't answer him. I tried closing my eyes, wishing, just WISHING that I had known how to do that dematerialization thing that I knew shifters could do. If only I had listened to Paul. It really could have come in handy when I wanted to get away from my suddenly abusive boyfriend.

The thing is, I didn't know. I never knew anything. I didn't know Cole was such an abusive alcoholic. I didn't know my life was going to be torn from me, and that there was nothing I could do about it. I wasn't psychic.

I also wasn't very smart. All of this could have been avoided. All of it. Even the painful stuff BEFORE Cole. I can see dead people. I just can't see the future…

Angrily, Cole snatched me out from under the bed by my wrist, pulling me up so that I was standing in his ever-engulfing shadow. His hand was fire on my skin. It burnt. It was too hot. It seared. 'I said, I've gotcha now this time. Haven't I, Suze? HAVEN'T I?'

I felt my world shattering as he began shaking me viciously, insistent that I give him an answer. But no, I couldn't give him one. I was sobbing too hard, and the lump that had developed in my throat was far too big.

Useless.

And that's when Cole raised his fist again, willing for it to connect with my face one more time . . .

I felt the pain before he even touched me.

'No –!'

The lump in my throat burst, causing a shrill scream and –not to mention – a burst of pain to explode from my vocal cords.

'Susannah,' I heard a voice call me desperately. 'Susannah. Susannah.'

'COLE, don't!' I yelled.

I was still being shook, but this time not by the hands of an abuser. No, this shaking was gentler, and the hands on my bare arms were mildly warm instead of fiery hot.

Hands of a rancher.

'Susannah,' the voice said again. 'Susannah, please wake up.'

I twisted sharply, and suddenly realized that it was fabric, not hands, that were imprisoning me. I was trapped in my sheets. Thrashing around, the awareness that I was not awake made me jolt suddenly from the nightmare I was having.

. . . My forehead was damp. And hot. And icky. And it probably smelled weird, too.

I relaxed my fist, which was clenched at my side, almost ready to strike. My nails were digging into my palms. Only then did I notice. The pain, which had been concealed, suddenly started evolving in my hands. My breathing was ridiculously heavy. I opened my eyes quickly, my head roaring, and saw a glow cast upon my face. I focused in on Jesse's familiar face, as it loomed closely to mine.

It WASN'T Cole. Suze? It's NOT him. Calm DOWN, DAMN IT.

But then, as he stopped shaking me, his face grew blurry again. It didn't take me longer to figure out that it was because I began crying –no, SOBBING.

Jesse stared down at me sympathetically and began making shushing noises as he stroked my forehead in an attempt to calm me down.

It was hard to calm down, though. Especially after that recycled deja-vu that became a nightmare.

. . . Another haunter who wasn't dead.

Cole was haunting me.

In my sleep.

Just like the first one.

Jesse, who was sitting on the side of my bed, next to my stomach, continued gently stroking my cheek until I calmed down long enough. His thumb brushed accidentally over my lips, at one point. Which was something that made me jolt, again, as if I was still having the nightmare. With a nonsensical blabber, I went to sit up sharply, but Jesse held me down, still trying to make me calm. He ran his fingers through my hair soothingly, still going, 'Shhhh . . . '

I'm afraid my crying didn't do anything for my headache. Or my pride for that matter.

But you know what? I didn't care. I wanted to be this Wonder Woman that would laugh in the face of fear. Muahaha. You know what I was? A little girl, scared stupid, haunted by a monster.

An alive one.

. . . But I guess I was a little less scared with Jesse around, caressing my face and saying stuff I could never understand in Spanish. At Boston, I decided it would be pointless to take Spanish because I no longer had a roommate who spoke it. And now I was sort of kicking myself for it.

Whatever he said, it was a little comforting. It sounds weird, but it was like none of the past five years had ever happened, and I was the old Suze and Jesse still called me querida and we were still hopelessly in love.

But all that tore apart when Jesse's hand stopped touching my face, and he demanded, 'Who is Cole?'

I swallowed dryly, suddenly, and stared at the high ceiling, trying to decide whether or not to tell him. About Cole Kennedy's stalkerish tendencies. And, oh yeah, the fact that he liked to beat the crap out of me.

. . . Minor detail.

I mean, I didn't want Paul to know in the first place because I knew he'd hold it over my head for the rest of my sorry existence on this earth to, you know, make me feel inferior. But as far as I knew, Jesse's intent was never to make me feel inferior. He may have broken my heart and crushed my spirit, but he never tried to kill my ego.

But then again, I didn't want him to think I forgave him for what he did. Because I so didn't. I figured that if I told him who Cole was, Jesse would somehow get the idea that I was ready to become 'bestest friends' again or whatever.

Nope. Wasn't going to happen.

I seized control of my breathing furiously, slowing down to calm, slow breaths.

So I said, more to the ceiling than to Jesse, 'Cole? Oh, he's just this . . . character in this really scary . . . book. Yeah, a book. A horror story. You know how realistic fictional characters can be.'

(A/N:

Lolly: I'll say.

Hayley: Teehee!!!)

Jesse seemed unconvinced. 'If you say so, Susannah,' he sighed. 'I just . . . I didn't know you liked to read.'

'Like to? I LOVE to read.'

. . . Shut up.

Jesse muttered something sarcastically in Spanish. He obviously didn't believe me. But, as you know, he had every reason not to.

'So in your dream this character – Cole, you called him – what did he do?'

I froze for a moment. I didn't know how far I could take this whole fabrication, especially since Jesse's gaze was like a looking glass into my transparent soul. I decided to be creative. 'He chased me down into a dead end in a dark alley and he had this really big, um . . . whip in is hand. Yeah. And he was dressed in all leather, from head to toe. The whip had, like, spikes on it which were at LEAST four inches long. And he had an afro. And a really gross nose. And a big scar over one of his eyes. And a hook instead of a hand. And a peg leg. And laser beams. And his voice-box had been cut out, so he could only grunt.'

I proceeded to demonstrate this, in a very scary rendition of "Suuuuuuuuze……" I even clawed my fingers and bared my teeth a little, and did an unnecessary growl, for good measure.

'And he did . . . um . . . drugs. And he smelt bad. No cologne, you know? And he looked like this total bad-ass-vampire-wannabe. And I didn't even have a number two pencil with me, so I was helpless. Scary stuff.'

Jesse stared at me for a moment with an unsure disbelief.

'AND he was hairy,' I added earnestly. 'Hair, everywhere. Well . . . I mean, not everywhere. Well, I don't know if he had hair . . . there. You know what? He didn't. It all fell off. He has AIDS, too.'

Then he concluded, after giving it some thought, 'You have very odd dreams, Susannah.'

'You have no idea,' I assured him under my breath. And he really didn't. I mean, this wasn't the first flashback dream I had had of Cole. It may have been the worst of them all, but it certainly wasn't the only one.

Jesse let out an exasperated sigh. I turned my head to face him, and his expression was kind of concerned-and-annoyed. I let out a sigh myself. 'Jesse,' I said, sitting up to emphasize my words, 'I'm fine, okay?'

He didn't look very convinced, but he mumbled, 'All right, Susannah.'

Jesse didn't seem to let it go, though. Instead, he continued sit by my side, studying my face as if it held some sort of answer he'd been looking for. I hoped that answer wasn't the truth because, quite frankly, Jesse was the LAST person I wanted to know about Cole. I take that back. The last person I wanted to know was Paul, but he stole my cell phone and figured it out himself.

Hah. Searching without a warrant. Isn't that, like, illegal or something?

I don't know. Nothing seemed to be illegal when PAUL did it. I mean, just because he went to law school and is now an intern at a law firm doesn't mean he's above the law.

I guess that's not the only thing he's above. He's definitely above me.

And so was Jesse. And everyone else in the SIA. Even Father D, who was in the hospital, in his little white blankies.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, I said, 'Hey. Maybe I can get in an early breakfast. It's been a long night, and I'm kind of hungry.'

'Of course,' Jesse replied. 'I'll come with you.'

I'll come with you. He said it so naturally. If only it had been that easy five years ago.

I'll come with you. To Massachusetts. To live with you. To love you, Susannah.

If only.

– 8 -

Maybe Cole does have AIDS . . .

. . . Oh, sorry.

Yeah.

Jesse left me alone to change and to knock out my morning hygiene routine. You know the usual shower, teeth-brushing, hair combing, blow-drying, and styling. Maintaining a long mane of hair such as mine took a lot of hard work, you know.

I mean, I usually tried not to bother with it much. However, I noticed that the more I was with the SIA, the more care I took in trying to look good. Even at six o'clock in the morning.

Which was weird because with the loose business hours and all, no one would be awake for at least another two hours. I could roam the school naked, and no one would know.

Not that I WOULD. Gawd.

Maybe it had to do with Jesse. My styling, not my desire to roam the school naked. I mean, it was kind of embarrassing to me that Jesse had seen me before I had even touched my hair, much less put a brush to it. And I probably had morning breath or something. Eww.

I guess it was just like old times. No WONDER Jesse didn't want to go to college with me.

. . . Then again, wouldn't everyone in Gilroy have permanent garlic breath? So in comparison, my breath would be pretty spiffy, right?

Out of the kindness of his heart, even if it was technically non-existent in this dimension, Jesse had agreed to walk me to the kitchen to grab some food. It was too early to eat breakfast and I really wasn't all that hungry, but I thought this little venture might take Jesse's mind off of analyzing what my subconscious decided to throw at me the night before.

I saw a little dim light coming from the school lobby. You know, that place where visitors are shipped off to in order to get aquainted with the school? Yeah, that. I hadn't been in there all that often because I thought it to be a little too fancy for my liking. I mean, the couches were so lavish and ornate and the walls were covered with these embellished paintings. It was, like, sensory overload just going in there.

They made the lobby to impress visitors. I bet it scared off more people than it sucked in. Of course I may have been afraid of it also because I had no idea when or where the Misfortunates might try to strike again. That kind of put an eerie slant on the entire place, not just the lobby.

'I wonder who's there,' I said. I know I said I didn't really like it in there, but I was a little curious. I already mentioned that it was too early for signs of life. But then again, it might have been the stirring of the undead that hung around. Who knew?

'We should find out,' Jesse said bringing his hand gently to the small of my back. With it, he steered me to the direction of the lobby.

He was touching me. Touching . . . not good. No touchy!

I nervously stepped a fraction ahead of his fingertips, which brought me away from the unwelcomed warmth I felt where his fingers met my back.

We continued on until we reached the lobby. Inside, in one of the huge over-decorated chairs, sat Johnny Depp.

No.

I'm kidding.

. . . Hehehe.

Nah, just lowly Paul Slater. Ugh. An old antique lamp cast a dim glow on him that almost made him look like some sort of otherworldly creature. I mean, he could have been a god with the majestic way he sat, bathrobe draped loosely over his bare-chest and pajama pants. A total change from his normal 9-5 chic.

This, for some reason, caused me to blush. A lot. All I could say was, 'Whoa . . . um . . . '

Yeah, I'm pathetic.

I really wanted to ask, what are you doing here this early? Have you even SHOWERED yet? And, oh my God, why are you only a bathrobe? And what IS that red mark on your neck . . . ?

Maybe I really didn't want to know.

'Morning,' Paul greeted, looking up briefly from a bunch of articles spread over his lap, 'I see you two are up early.' He paused. 'But it's hard to get up when you never went down,' he said, in reference to Jesse's incapability to sleep. He tossed me an evil look. 'Then again, maybe you did go down,' his eyes danced over at me, and he smirked in dark, crude humor, before to returning to whatever the hell he was reading.

Well. THAT sure put me in an instant bad mood.

You know, with the . . . um . . . sexual innuendo, and all.

Oh God. I was blushing harder than I'd ever remembered.

Paul FURTHER continued, though. 'And speaking of getting up, de Silva,' his eyes twinkled as they landed on Jesse in contempt, 'Does it still do that? I'm curious – '

'Okay, EWWW,' I scowled at Paul. My loud voice echoed down the early hallways of Fortunaschwein. 'Paul, just because your dick doesn't function correctly, don't ask Jesse about his.'

. . . Eww, eww . . .

Ewwwwwwww.

Paul looked pleasantly surprised with that response, while Jesse looked kind of scandalized.

You'd think he'd be happy that I'd just stopped mean ol' Paulie from bullying him, but noooo. He had the NERVE to looked disgusted.

Hmph. Maybe his dick DOESN'T work.

Stupid ghost.

Paul went back to reading his precious 1969 Year Book, looking for more stuff about ghosts by the names of Charles, Robin, Bartholomew and Nathaniel. Whether he was pulling up anything more than what Cee had found the day before, I didn't know. But whatever.

With a wrinkled nose at Paul, who was immersed in his book, yet still smiling very lightly, I tossed my hair, and started moving along the hallway again. However, Jesse quickly caught up with me, and, grabbing me unceremoniously by my arm, pulled me back to hiss in my ear. 'Susannah, wait – '

I spun back around to glare at him. How dare he touch me? Hmm? Who did he think he was? Paul, or something?

Only PAUL would be so bold as to lay hands on people who did not want to be laid . . . um, I mean, have hands laid on them.

Or, um, something.

'What?' I demanded. Paul still continued to read. I could only see two thirds of him now – I'd walked a couple of meters, and the wall of the lobby partly blocked him from view. 'I'm going to get breakfast. I'm really hungry – '

'Susannah, I think that . . . ' Jesse began, with a wince. It looked like he was trying to bite down something painful. Which I quickly discovered, was his pride. 'I think that you should tell Slater about what happened last night, with the Misfortunates and their tricks.'

I stared at him accusingly. 'Hell no,' I snapped. And that was that.

. . . Well, not according to Jesse.

'No,' he gripped my arm a little bit firmer when I tried to yank it from his hand, 'Susannah, listen. He is your colleague. He has a right to be . . . informed, of what happens to each and every one of this Agency, in any spectral aspect – '

'So if you give me a funny look, ghost boy, then Paul ought to know?' I quipped obstinately.

Jesse gave me a solemn look. 'Susannah. He should know. I regret to remind you, but his shifting ability far exceeds your own.'

Well, that did it.

NOW I was furious.

'Shut up,' I said, in a dazzling display of my maturity. 'I'm totally exceeding Paul. I can exceed his ass any day. I'm exceptional – '

'Tell him, Susannah.'

'You tell him, if you're so obsessed with him,' I flared up.

'Are you two still here?' Paul called boredly. 'What's this? Lover's quarrel?'

I threw a nasty look – and a nasty finger – at the two thirds of Paul that I could still see. He chuckled slightly.

Without saying anything else, Jesse merely pushed me back into the lobby, much to my protest. There, he pointed wordlessly at one of the couches, where I gave this enormous sigh, and sat, very grumpily.

'Slater,' Jesse said stubbornly, 'Susannah wishes to tell you something.'

I continued to glare furiously at Jesse, as Paul idly looked up.

'Susannah, please, return a favor,' Jesse asked.

'Favor?' I frowned nonchalantly, 'What favor?'

'Last night?' Jesse reminded me, his tone getting a little stronger.

Ugh. Big mistake, Jess.

Predictably, Paul's face cracked into a wide, impish smile. 'Oh, so you were exchanging favors last night?' he grinned darkly. 'She any good, de Silva?'

'Shut up, asshole,' I yelled at him, with a very unattractive scowl. And blushing furiously. Jesse, not comprehending Paul's meaning, still urged me to tell him.

'He doesn't even want to know!' I protested to Jesse.

'Know what?' Paul wanted to know.

I rolled my eyes. 'Fine,' I sighed. 'The Misforties paid me another gracious visit last night. There.'

Paul's eyes became a little more opaque. '. . . What happened?' he asked, suddenly no trace of ridicule or rascality in his voice. Something startlingly similar to concern laced his tone, in fact, and yet, I still just glared back at him.

What? He WAS a bastard, for that crack before.

Argh. Hiss, boo!

Lets all throw tomatoes and eggs.

'Nothing,' I said with a hollow laugh. 'And I mean that. They were tricking me.'

'Care to elaborate?' Paul drawled.

I folded my arms crossly. 'Well . . . they made me see things, is all. Paul,' I said unexpectedly, 'if these ghosts have such a control over perception, sensation and sound, I think that they're more powerful than we realized. I think that this school is under a very severe possession.'

'What did they make you see?' Paul asked impatiently.

'. . . Blood,' I said. 'They were laughing at me. Again.'

'Did they actually come to you?'

'No.'

'Did they – '

'They definitely DID die in a fire,' I said suddenly. Paul stared. 'How do you know that?'

' . . . I just know,' I muttered. 'They left . . . clues. Burnt things. And heat.'

I grimaced a little, and noticed with deep self-disgust that there was an eruption of goosebumps on my arm. I'd given myself goosebumps. What RIGHT did I have, getting goosebumps, huh?

HUH, PUNK?!

'So it's true, then,' Paul said tonelessly as he pointed to one of the articles in his lap, 'about their fiery suicides, I mean.'

'I guess.'

I couldn't help sounding a little detached. I mean, I didn't want to let on that I was feeling an ounce of fear. I HATED the thought of being scared or worse, telling Paul about it. But I was scared, if the Goosebumps were any indicator. I stared at the carpet, trying not to think about it as Paul's steely blue eyes bored into me.

It was so intricate. The carpet, I mean, not Paul's eyes. The design weaved in were so complex that you could barely tell what it was supposed to be. Kinda like Fortunashwein, now that I think of it.

'Let me guess. This is where Señor de Studly enters the picture, right?' gibed Paul, whose cutting glare had went from me to Jesse.

Jesse, who actually knew what Paul was getting at this time, explained in his defense, 'I watched her.'

'Oh,' Paul said as he rolled his eyes expressively, 'so I guess it's just like old times again.'

'What?' I really didn't know what Paul was talking about. I mean, I'm sure he was referencing the whole roommate situation, but I'm sure Jesse never WATCHED me sleeping. I knew because I would sometimes wake up to Jesse chuckling at something he read in his cherished books that Father Dom let him borrow occasionally. And when he moved into the rectory, he stopped dropping by at night. 'What are you talking about?'

Paul threw his head back and laughed. There was something in his laugh . . . it wasn't humor. It was something more acrimonious. 'Don't even pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Geez, Suze. I knew it was only a matter of time before your former flame rekindled, sparked by the fire of your passion – '

'Shut up! GOD, Paul!' I yelled viciously, my eyes shooting daggers at him. Why wouldn't he just leave me alone? I told him what he wanted to know . . . why couldn't he just leave it at that?

Scratch that. I knew why. Because he was Paul Slater . . . pain in the ass and ruiner of ALL things.

I'm sure my yelling would have been more effective if my voice hadn't creaked when I shouted his name. And there was also the whole thing about my face deciding to try to imitate a tomato. Seriously . . . it was THAT red.

'No wonder you were up so early.' Paul stopped laughing, but he had that stupid smirk on his face. You know, the one that makes me want haul off and punch all of his capped teeth out? Yeah. And I came pretty close to doing just that, except that Jesse rushed over and pushed my shoulder down, causing me to sink back down in the chair.

But that never stopped my mouth. 'And you? What were YOU doing, anyway? Screwing your brother, or something?'

Paul's sky-blues lit up as his smirk turned into a full-blown smile. 'Not my brother . . . ' he said, trailing off in hidden meaning as he gazed somewhere in the distance.

I didn't know what he meant, but I don't think I really wanted to. It probably had something to do with that red mark on his neck, which was ANOTHER subject I didn't want to get into.

God, I just wanted to get out of there and crawl back into bed and hide under the warm blankets. Without Jesse, thank-you-very-much.

'Slater. Leave her alone,' Jesse warned him, keeping his grip on my shoulder tight. 'I was just watching her in case they came back.'

'Yeah, leave me alone,' I added lamely, pouting.

Paul held his hands up in surrender, with a grin. 'Sorry. My mistake. I'll just leave you two with some privacy.'

He gathered the articles and old annuals in his lap and got up from his chair, holding it all in one hand at his side. I was already blushing hopelessly, and it didn't help that you could see Paul's perfect pectorals as he stood up. He was about to leave, when he stopped and looked over his shoulder, saying, 'Oh, and thanks for the information, Suze. Some of it was a little too much, if you know what I mean.'

And with one casual nod, he left the premises, his long robe flapping behind him.

'Thanks a lot, Jesse,' I said as I let out the breath I was holding in as Paul made his grand exit.

'What did I do?' Jesse asked cluelessly.

He didn't merit a reply. He'd practically let Paul just walk away, satisfied that he got away with making fun of us both. And Jesse had just LET him. Sure, he told him to leave me alone, but he didn't even TRY to take the defensive.

Note to self: when playing flag football, DON'T pick Jesse to be on the team.

I breezed out of the room in the opposite direction just as Paul had earlier, only the drama was hindered because I didn't have a cool robe to float behind me or anything. And besides that, I tripped over one of the chairs on my way out.

Really. Could I be anymore embarrassing to myself?

– 8 -

If the day hadn't started off bad enough, I was later forced to pay a visit to a Mr. Richard Head a.k.a. 'Dick Head'. I tried to get out of it, I really did. I put up quite a fight, too. But CeeCee and Paul, who were going to accompany me on this little 'escapade', insisted that I had to be there to tell Mr. Head all about our little ghost friends since I was unfortunate enough to meet them.

'Why didn't you take Dani?' I whined from the backseat of Paul's snazzy Jaguar. 'I mean, she was there too.'

'Dani couldn't come because she's busy,' Paul, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

'Busy doing what? Giving herself a much-needed manicure?' I asked.

'Cool it, Suze,' CeeCee piped in from the passenger seat, trying to keep the peace. The mini-brawl between Paul and I was kind of impeding on Paul's driving ability. 'Dani said she was arranging a little surprise for all of us later on tonight.'

'Oh, joy,' I mumbled. 'Horrific Queer Eye makeovers, all round.' I slunk down in defeat and looked outside the window.

I couldn't imagine what kind of surprise Dani had up her sleeve. I mean, she obviously can't cook or sew or anything. She usually had her slew of fashion-biz minions to do frivolous things like clothes washing or cleaning for her.

Another thing she had in common with Paul. Minions. Although Paul's minions, mostly of the ghostly variety, were just as happy to do his bidding as they were trying to kill him.

Then again, if I had to work for Dani, I'd want to kill her too. Or myself.

If I were cruel and heartless enough to have minions, I would use mine as bodyguards. Dani shows disgust in my outfit – BAM! Jesse gets too feely or whatever – SMACK! Paul . . . well, does Paul-stuff – KAPOW!

But I don't know how effective they would be against Cole.

Eeek.

Anyway . . .

Before we left, we dug around for the little 'contract' we make Mr. Head sign. There, we jotted down his address, while Adam used CeeCee's laptop to find directions to his place on MapQuest. Mr. Head didn't exactly live in Gilroy. He lived just a little outside of it, though, really close.

Well, um, we . . . uh, arrived.

Mr. Head's home must have been worth a FORTUNE. It was freaking HUGE. We had to ask a security guard to let us in the huge iron gate that guarded his estate. Presentation of ID and everything. There were all these trees everywhere, casting an eerie shadow on his front yard. But it was still pretty, in a spooky-old-house kind of way.

It was very old. I knew that much. But, you know . . . grand. Ritzy. And all that jazz.

. . . Yeah.

Here we were. Informing our employer of our progress.

Just one thing . . .

'So, um what is our progress?' I asked in a whisper.

Paul rolled his eyes. For like, the eighty-million-and-seventh time. 'We've found the ghosts and we have their story. Well, at least bits and pieces of it. We'll just tell him what we have and hope for the best.'

'Well, that's a great plan when –'

Only, Mr Head chose to answer his ritzy door then.

He looked, for an old guy, very intimidating. I mean, you know. Dark, harsh, rock-solid. Like we'd just interrupted him banking or something.

I stood up a little straighter, trying to look professional. But failed miserably. Biting my lip, I cast a sideways look at CeeCee.

'What do you want?' he demanded. 'I told you, I don't take solicitors.'

Um . . . okay.

AND I DON'T TAKE SHIT!!!

MUAHAHAHA!!!

. . . Oh, if only I could say that and keep my job.

Sigh.

Mr Headykins tried shutting the door on us, but Prince Paul propped his foot in the doorway politely – I don't know if you CAN do that politely, but whatever – and leaned in a little. 'Mr Head, we're the SIA, remember? The group assisting you in your "ghost problem" at your school? We came to inform you of our progress.'

'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Progress.'

CeeCee propelled me a shut-the-hell-up look. Only matched by Paul's.

She – Cee, not Paul, as girly as he is – continued addressing the D.H. 'Yes, Mr Head. We have made progress in your school. We have vaguely identified who the ghosts are. However, we need to ask you some things in order to carry on with our research, because there aren't full records of the –'

Mr Head grunted suddenly. 'I'm rather busy at the moment, so sorry – ' and he tried slamming the door again, but Paul's foot was still there. Paul pushed the door open a little wider, and gave Employer of the Month (cough) a stern look.

Stern look'll put him in his place, Paulie. Oooh. Let's all run and hide and paint lamb's blood on our door frames. Paul's giving stern looks now.

Shudder.

'Paul,' CeeCee said reprovingly, 'Come on –'

He ignored her. 'Sir, it won't take but a few moments of your time. This is part of our job, you know, and I'm sure you want to see that you are getting your money's worth. Right, Mr. Head,' he stated, rather than asked.

Mr Head stared at him for a moment, looking perplexed that Paul dared defy him or something. Poo to him.

He shuffled, and gave a grunt. 'I guess I can spare a few minutes.'

I don't know what it is about Paul that just makes you want to give in. Maybe it was his manipulative tactics, and the way he made things unfold surreptitiously behind your back. Or maybe it was because his persistence was just plain tiring.

'Oh, this won't take long,' Paul said, in the CREEPIEST VOICE EVER.

Ugh.

God, Paul was so bossy. I reckon that the only person who can make him do something he doesn't want to do is Dani.

They deserve each other.

. . . Losers.

CeeCee was giving Paul a criticizing look, but just shrugged at me. I rolled my eyes, and we shuffled into the Ritzy House after Prince Pathetic.

I mean, Paul.

For some reason, Mr. Head's house reminded me of Donald Trump's mansion. You know, how it's, like, practically made of gold and stuff? Only, I doubted that Mr. Head owned any gold toilet seats, but somehow I wouldn't be surprised.

His whole house was decorated much in the same fashion as the lobby in the school was, excessively extravagant. I couldn't imagine why anyone would just blow a whole bunch of money on an abandoned all-boys school when they already had a huge house with just about anything you could possibly want in it. But the guy didn't even SEEM happy about this place. Something was obviously missing . . .

I guess money doesn't always buy happiness.

After walking for what seemed like ages, we finally arrived to Mr. Head's home office. I guess when you're filthy stinking rich, you have the luxury of working from your home with flexible business hours. Which kind of made me wonder what exactly Mr. Head did for a living. I assumed it was something business-y. Maybe Real Estate, since he'd bought the school and was planning on fixing it up. Who knew?

But anyway, we walked into his office, where three chairs were set up opposite of this huge mahogany desk, which had an equally huge rolling chair behind it. Mr. Head took a seat and motioned for the rest of us to join him. Paul took his seat rather confidently, and when I hesitated he threw me a look that urged me to take a seat as well. CeeCee seemed comfortable, too, probably because she interviewed people on a daily basis. She and Paul were professionals, and I was just little Miss Susie-Starbucks.

Mr. Head was no small man, as I may have mentioned before. Sure he was thin. Just, very tall. I felt like a midget, or something, among all of these tall people. Ha. Me and Bart were outsiders. But whatever, Mr Head's chair was so large that it almost seemed to engulf him. He rolled the chair with great effort and began filing away some papers, locking them in his desk drawer and putting the small key into the breast pocket of his sports coat.

When he was done with that, he leaned back in his chair and scowled at us, as if he felt this was a huge waste of time. Well, I could relate. I didn't even know why I came in the first place. I had nothing to contribute, except for maybe a little ghost story. Would he really be impressed about a bit of blood? I mean, if he wanted that he could have watched Saving Private Ryan or maybe some horror movie or something. He cleared his throat, saying, 'You say you've made progress, then?'

Paul spoke up, eager as always, 'Yes sir. Our researcher, CeeCee-' he made a graceful nod in Cee's direction, '-has their story. Would you please acquaint Mr. Head with our ghosts?'

'Certainly,' CeeCee piped in, glad to finally share the research she'd worked so hard on. 'We have, as I've said before, been able to identify the ghosts by first name. Their names are Nathaniel, Charles, Robin, and Bartholomew.'

'Hmm,' was all Mr. Head said.

'And they are referred to in old newspaper articles as "The Misfortunates of Fortunashwein". Does this have any meaning to you at-?'

Mr. Head cut CeeCee off and wheeled his chair around so he was facing away. He shuffled around some papers and replied in a very discourteous, disdainful tone, 'No. It's doesn't. Should it?'

CeeCee replied timidly, 'No sir. We were just wondering.'

Poor CeeCee. She was just doing her job, but instead of praise, she got verbal abuse. No one deserved that, especially Cee, who was now sinking low in her chair as her scalp turned a bright purple color.

I tried to help her out by asking, 'How did you get the school?'

CeeCee just glared at me, as if to say "Hey! I'M talking here!".

Mr. Head's answer was curt. 'I bought it.'

'We know that, sir,' Paul intervened before I, too, got chewed out, 'but was there any specific reason you bought it?'

Mr. Head turned his chair around to face us again and glared. 'What is this,' he asked coarsely, 'twenty-one questions or something? I've got more important things to do than undergo interrogation by people I hired to get rid of a pesky ghost problem.'

CeeCee said, 'We're sorry, sir, but we need to-'

'Why don't you all run along and get rid of these ghosts you speak of? That's what I pay you for, after all. I don't pay you to waste my time.'

That's it. Dick Head is a real DICK. I couldn't just stand by and watch our group get chewed out. I had let too many bosses do that to me before, and I couldn't let it happen again.

'Dude – um, sir,' I said awkwardly, 'we already have . . . encountered the ghosts. Or, at least I have. And these guys aren't anything like Casper, if you know what I mean. They're bitter about something, that's obvious, but we don't know what it is. Paul, CeeCee, and I were wondering if you may have some sort of history of the school, or if you knew something else that might help us get a step closer to finding out their mystery –'

'You saw them,' Mr. Head said. He didn't ask, he just stated it, as if he himself couldn't believe it.

'Well, yeah, they appeared to me one day in the attic. Mr. Head, from the encounters I've had with them, these ghosts seem seriously dangerous. I mean, they are, like, upset about something, and that's why they are sticking around.'

Mr. Head shook his head and let out a dark laugh. 'I wouldn't let a couple of kids get to you.'

That statement caused an instant red flag in my head. It was funny he said that, especially since we hadn't mentioned the ghosts' ages. We gave him names, and that was it. How could he have guessed? I mean . . . okay, sure, it was a school. But still. It could have been anyone. Teachers. Staff. Janitors. Burglars. Anyone. Because, he claimed to know nothing about the Fortunaschweinian Misfortunates, right?

Paul caught on, too, and he looked at me the same curiosity I felt. But he didn't say anything. The Dick's statement triggered something in CeeCee that I had never seen before. 'You knew they were kids?' she asked, looking very interested in Mr. Head's answer.

'They are? Oh. It was a lucky guess,' he grunted in reply. This answer, however, did not satisfy CeeCee's journalist mind.

'Dead on lucky,' she commented. 'No pun intended.'

Mr. Head searched for something to say, when all of a sudden the phone on his desk let out a loud ring. He picked it up quickly, almost in relief as he said into the receiver, 'Richard Head, Gilroy NorthBank consultant, speaking.'

Ugh. Banker.

. . . No wonder he was so annoying.

The voice on the other side, though I couldn't understand what was being said, was quick and urgent. Paul, CeeCee, and I exchanged uncomfortable glances as we tried not to be impolite by listening.

Mr. Head placed his hand on the receiver and went, not at all pleasantly, 'I've got a very important conference call on the line. I'm afraid we'll have to continue this chat some other time. You can show yourselves out.'

He waved his hand as if to shoo us off. CeeCee and I were almost jumping to get away, but I had to practically yank Paul by the collar of his nice striped Oxford dress shirt in order get him out of the office.

We walked past the extravagant kitchen. Paul and Cee walked on ahead. I, however, stopped.

Someone was in the kitchen.

. . . Don't get excited. It wasn't anyone dead.

Although, judging by what I knew, it was someone who could have been.

'Mrs Head?' I asked softly to an old woman who was cooking.

The lady turned around. She was wearing an old-styled dress, and an apron. Kind of odd. Very 1960's housewife-ish to me. Like, she was wearing a Mrs. Cleaver costume or something. And the dress wasn't flattering, either. Her wispy white hair was curled around her head. She had a chubby face, which could have looked cheerful, but she didn't look as if she was that all that happy at the moment.

'. . . Who are you?' she asked curiously. 'Friends of Richard?'

She must have realized, though, that her hubby probably wasn't exactly a social butterfly. 'I mean, clients?'

'Actually, he's our client,' I said. By then Paul and CeeCee had come on either side on me. Paul was nudging me in the side, trying to get me to make this quick. However, what he was neglecting was the fact that Mrs Head had also had an encounter with our ghosties. Perhaps she could offer some assistance.

'Oh?' she asked, putting down her wooden spoon into the pasta that she was boiling. She regarded me kindly.

'Yeah,' I nodded. 'Um . . . we're here about Fortunaschwein's . . . erm . . . haunting.'

Her face darkened. 'Oh. That,' she murmured. She turned back to her pasta, turning down the heat on the very expensive looking stove.

I persisted. 'So . . . I heard that you've had a brush with the ghosts there?'

She sniffed. 'I didn't believe in ghosts,' she said quietly. 'However, recently I've been forced to believe otherwise. So, you believe in them?'

I smiled wryly. 'Me and Paul here see them on a daily basis.'

Her fingers flew across her mouth. 'That must be horrible, dear,' she sympathized.

'Well, for Suze, there are perks,' Paul muttered from behind me. I turned to give him a steady glare, before looking back to Dicky's wife.

Mrs Head regarded Paul and me with a gentle smile. 'Are you two married?' she asked serenely.

I blushed, and shook my head severely. Paul gave a cold laugh. 'No,' he replied. 'We're not.'

'We're SO not,' I assured her further.

She smiled. 'Sorry, I just . . .assumed. You were standing so close.'

Not so much anymore. Paul and I looked, and when we realized she was kind of right, we distanced ourselves quickly. VERY quickly.

'Don't get married,' she warned me and CeeCee, 'It's a trap, I'm sure of it.'

'Erm, we won't,' I said awkwardly.

More stirring of the spaghetti pasta . . .

'So, Mrs Head – '

'Abigail,' she said.

'Sorry?'

'My name,' she smiled. 'It is Abigail. None of this Mrs Head nonsense.' She looked rather pleased to be denying her last name, actually. As if she was regretting she ever chose it.

Not that she CHOSE it.

But she was stupid enough to marry the bastard who gave it to her.

Suck.

Hahaha . . . Abigail . . . "Big."

Big Head –

. . . Sorry.

'That's a cool name,' I told her. 'Anyway, Abigail. Can you tell us what happened when you went into the school?'

She frowned. 'Well . . . lately, Richard has been discussing plans for a Bed and Breakfast. Wonderful idea,' she said with a soft smile. 'And he told me to go inside and look at the condition of the school. I asked him why he did not go in, and he said he'd . . . rather not say.'

'Go on,' I urged her.

She shrugged, and turned to stir her pasta for a second. When it started steaming, she picked up the pot with cooking gloves, and carried it to a sieve at the sink to drain it. Hot vapor poured into the air, right at her face as she tipped the pot.

'Well, I went inside. The school hadn't been opened in such a long time,' she chattered. I got the impression, suddenly, that she didn't talk to all that many people . . . 'and the doors creaked. It was like a haunted house,' she laughed.

'It is,' CeeCee said dryly.

'Oh,' Abigail looked thoughtful. 'Oh yes.'

Her bad.

'I perused around, admiring the beauty of the school. I hadn't been in there since . . . well, a long time ago. Nor had Richard. It was all very dear. Classic charm, you know? A very attractive building, if not slightly foreboding,' she added. 'And then I got onto the fourth floor. That's when things went strange.'

She went back to the stove, where she was cooking a creamy white sauce. 'Stay for lunch?' she asked with a pleasant smile.

'Ah, no thanks,' CeeCee said. 'Keep going though, Mrs – erm, Abigail?'

She looked crestfallen.

'Oh. Where was I? Yes, the fourth floor. I was walking down the hallway, when I noticed that, strangely, one of the doors seemed to be . . . ' she looked disbelieving for a moment, 'Opening and closing.'

'Eeek,' I commented. 'That must have been freaky.'

She stared at me for my word usage. 'It was extraordinary, yes. Cautiously, I advanced to the room, and entered it. It seemed perfectly normal. I had expected the windows to have possibly been open, letting in a breeze. But the windows had not been opened for years.' She stopped stirring her white sauce. 'It was most peculiar.'

Dude . . . you need to update your vocab.

'What happened then, Abigail?' Paul asked gently.

She blinked. '. . . I cannot explain it,' she murmured to us, her eyes wider. She had brown eyes. They were honest. 'The door slammed shut. I called out to Richard. I just assumed it was him. That was when the banging started. Loud, overwhelming banging. And I tripped on things that weren't there. I went to run back to the door, then, oh dear . . . ' she suddenly went very white. 'I saw the most . . . horrible thing . . .'

She just kind of spaced out for a second. Her mouth fell open a little. She looked like she was reliving something truly horrible.

'. . . Richard was just . . . hanging there. On the back of the door. There seemed to be something wedged in his chest, and redness was drenching his shirt . . . ' she continued stirring her sauce, looking past us.

Stirring . . .

'I screamed and screamed. I didn't know how he got there, but it looked like he'd been speared to the door! The banging wouldn't stop . . . and I fell down again . . . and everywhere felt hot . . . and there were four flowers on the floor that weren't there before – '

'Were they burnt?' I demanded sharply.

Abigail nodded dumbly, still not looking at us.

'Mrs – um, Abigail?' CeeCee said nervously.

She blinked and looked at her. 'Yes, dear?'

'Your pasta sauce is burning.'

Burning . . .

'Oh, my!' she exclaimed, and turned the stove off. 'Oh, dear . . . ' The color had gone from a creamy, delectable white to a grayish, half burnt ivory color.

She stared at it in dismay, and sighed. 'I've made such a mess. Oh, goodness me . . . ' With a pained look, she took the sauce off the stove. It was now thick and lumpy. 'Richard won't be happy.'

'Do you have any kids, Abigail?' CeeCee asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

Mrs Head looked mournful for a moment. 'Richard never wanted children,' she said in hushed tones. 'He told me he'd had enough of them. It is fair . . . he worked hard. I suppose that a man can only work for so long there before he loses his interest in ever having children of his own.'

God . . . Mr Head had stopped his wife from ever having a family.

That's IT. I OFFICIALLY HATED THE GUY.

It is OFFICIAL.

Yeah. Right there.

Dick Head is a dickhead.

Grrr.

Paul was staring at Abigail curiously. 'Excuse me . . . where was it that your husband worked again?'

Abigail blinked. 'Well, isn't it obvious? He was the –'

'ABIGAIL? YOU SAID LUNCH WOULD BE FINISHED TWENTY MINUTES AGO. WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?'

Mrs Head's pupils shrank, like she'd just had a flashlight shone in her eyes. 'Oh, my,' she cursed.

Eww.

Did this woman ever swear? Did she have a swear jar? She needed to say shit.

And fuck.

Or at LEAST damn.

Not any of this "oh, goodness me" crap.

. . . God. Had Heady locked her up in this ritzy house all her life, or something?

Sure seemed like it. She was like a woman version of C3PO, only she wasn't gold and she didn't have any cheesy jokes.

'Those nice people here about the school, Richard,' she called to him, her voice going high the way mine did when I was freaked out of my mind.

'What? I thought I told them to see themselves out!' he barked. I heard harsh footsteps coming to the kitchen. He burst through the doorway, and glared at me. Being in front, and all. 'What are you still doing here?'

'We were asking your wife about what happened to her,' I said calmly, with a note of coolness in my tone. I REALLY didn't like this dude.

His eyes bulged. 'I have asked you to leave,' he seethed.

'And I asked them to stay a moment,' Mrs Head said defensively.

'Abigail, stay out of it,' he snapped angrily.

She fell silent, and went back to her new pot of pasta sauce.

'I have told you. I am very busy,' he narrowed his eyes at the three of us, 'And I would appreciate it if you did NOT interrogate Abigail – '

'We weren't,' I retorted. 'We were having a civilized conversation with your lovely wife. Unlike THIS one, that we're having with a not-so-lovely Dic – '

'We'll LEAVE now, Mr Head,' Paul stressed very loudly over me. He nodded to Abigail. 'Thank you for your hospitality.'

And we were seen out by a very angry Dick.

Once back in Paul's car, he exploded at me. 'WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!' he roared at me from the front seat.

I glared. 'He was being an asshole, so I –'

'He's EMPLOYING US, Suze! If you EVER shout at a client again, I'll – '

'You'll what?' I goaded, 'Make me sit in the corner?'

He glowered. 'Don't do that again, Suze. He'll fire us.'

'Such a horrible loss that would be,' I scowled.

CeeCee intervened. 'He's right, Suze. It's not just you who could lose your job. We all could. And he's paying us a lot for this. The least you could do is be nice to him, even if he isn't all that genial to us in return.'

I sat there, stunned at the fantastic betrayal of CeeCee.

It was even more infuriating that she was speaking the truth.

Damn it.

I crossed my arms angrily. 'Fine. I'll play nicely. But he IS a freak.'

'Duh,' Cee muttered. 'We'd better get back.' She paused. 'Where do you think Mr Head worked? Mrs Head was about to tell us, but then he yelled at her.'

Well, he certainly wasn't the mall Santa, that's for sure.

'I don't know,' Paul said softly.

'Male gigolo,' I guaranteed them.

CeeCee snorted.

'He was extra popular,' I explained. 'Having two dicks and all. One, namely, on his head –'

Go the wit.

'We're leaving now,' spoke Paul, and we drove away from the Headquarters.

. . . Hehehe. Pun intended.

- 8 -

'Yoohoo! Everyone gather around. I've got something exciting planned for us tonight.'

Dani pranced around the house calling out to everyone, dragging them away from their normal activity and leading them to the entrance hall like the female Pied Piper.

Danielle's enthusiasm, though surprisingly bright, didn't catch on too quickly. I mean CeeCee, Paul, and I were just a little bummed after our meeting with Mr. Head. Adam and Jack just looked plain bored, while Jesse just remained . . . Jesse. Ghosts have the option of mingling in the spiritual plane when it gets too boring here on Earth. Lucky fools.

'Oh, I'm just so excited! I know you all will LOVE what I've arranged for this evening,' Dani squealed in excitement.

'What might that be?' Adam asked, boredly.

Dani ignored Adam. 'Forgive me, but I'm just so ecstatic about it all! We're all going clubbing tonight! Isn't that magnificent?'

'Oh,' I yawned, 'Goodie.'

'Don't sound so thrilled, Sue,' Dani sneered. 'It will be fun.'

'Cool. I've never been clubbing before,' said a wide-eyed Jack.

Paul stared at Jack sternly. 'Don't plan on starting now, little guy.'

'If I can't go clubbing,' Jack pouted, 'then what'll I do when you are all gone?'

Dani leaned down and put her hand on Jack's shoulder, making solid eye contact. 'I've made plans for you to stay at the hospital with Father Dominic. Just for tonight.' Jack scowled, muttering something under his breath. The poor kid, it just seemed like this had happened to him a lot. And I guess it had, especially with Rick and Nancy as parents.

Dani then patted his cheek and turned to the rest of us, saying, 'You all have an hour and a half to get ready. I expect you all to be dazzling.'

You gotta be kidding me. Clubbing? We were, like, in nowhere-land California. There wasn't even a mall there, so how could there be a nightclub?

'A nightclub?' CeeCee asked, cocking her head to the side, 'how'd you manage that?'

'Puh-lease. I'm Danielle Moore. Is there anything I can't manage?'

Yeah. Keeping your mouth shut.

But instead of quipping with my biting wit, I asked, 'There's actually a club in this Podunk town?'

I couldn't believe it. I mean, it was such a quiet town. You would have never guessed.

But I guess there had to be something else to grab the tourist's money. Garlic gets old after awhile. And, not to mention, smelly.

'Oh, yes,' Dani replied, 'It's a new little place, actually, not more than two years old. I have a dear friend that frequents it, and he told me how amazing it was. I figured I might as well give it a try, to see and be seen. And besides, you all look a little washed out.'

She sent a shooting glare in my direction and added, 'Some more than others.'

I tossed my hair a little at her.

'Yes,' she continued in the epitome of British-ness, 'We do seem to be run off our feet lately. What with CeeCee's endless researching . . . Adam, buying all the necessary household supplies,' she nodded graciously at the two, 'Jesse searching the school, Paul,' she grinned toothily, 'watching everyone's back, me, well, doing everything a girl can do . . . '

She looked at me, with a nasty glint in her eye. 'And Sue, well . . . seeing things that aren't really there.'

'Shut up,' I snapped, at the same time as Paul muttering a humoured, 'Now, Dani . . . '

NOW, DANI???

SHE NEEDS A FREAKING HORSE TRANQUILIZER.

UGH!

I'm gonna kill her.

I AM.

I SWEAR TO GOD ALMIGHTY, DANIELLE WILL PERISH.

RELEASE THE KILLER BEES!

MUAHAHAH!!! FEAR ME!!! LIGHTNING STRIKES ALL AROUND YOU!!! THUNDER CRASHES –

'Suze? Did you go mental?'

Adam was prodding me in the arm.

I blinked. 'Sorry . . . spaced out in my deepest fantasies,' I said.

'You were whispering about lightning,' Cee's eyebrows were raised.

. . . Oh.

Maybe I AM mental.

That'd be the day.

They were the only two that had noticed me go off into my separate world. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and, startled, I turned to see Jesse nod down at me. I guessed he'd been there the whole time. I just hadn't realized.

Or, um, cared?

Yeah. I didn't care.

. . . Yeah.

'Hello, Susannah,' he greeted nobly. He gave me a sweet smile, and I felt my heartstrings being played with the gentleness of an angel's harp. I stared up at him momentarily, before coughing and looking at Adam.

'That Jesse? Hey Jesse,' Adam waved, to Jesse's butt.

Jesse turned around, noted the direction of Adam's gaze, and looked puzzled.

No, Jesse. Your butt isn't sexy enough to make Adam go homosexual.

Adam can't even see your butt, anyway.

'He's not a Leprechaun,' I said, finding it hard not to giggle. I reached up patted Jesse's cheek (face cheek, not butt EW) and added, 'He's up here.'

Adam, being of normal stature unlike Paul and Jesse, looked up. 'My mistake. I had no idea Jesse was a giant.'

'In more ways than one, right Suze?' Paul pitched in, curling his lip in a humored sneer.

I just stood there, appalled at what Paul was insinuating. What a filthy bastard! I couldn't believe he'd said that! Maybe Paul's the one that needs the horse tranquilizers.

Or, you know, getting fried by lightning.

'Well, we haven't a lot of time to waste,' Dani said, looking boredly at her diamond encrusted watch. 'Sue, after all, needs all the time she can get to make herself presentable.'

'Do I have to go to the hospital?' Jack whined. 'I mean, there's nothing to do there. And Father Dom'll be gorked out on morphine the whole time. Can't I stay here with Jes-'

Paul broke in dourly, 'I think it's best you go to the hospital. Father Dominic could use some company.'

'Oh, let him stay, Paul,' I said, sticking up for the little guy. I mean, I'd feel the same way if I were him. The little dude didn't deserve to be stuck watching Father Dom at his frailest. Jack wouldn't have been as bored as he would have been depressed over seeing Father Dom like that. Dommy was, after all, his mentor as well as his friend.

'To get shoved down more dumbwaiters?' Paul demanded, sounding a little more overprotective than usual, 'I think not.'

I don't know what Paul's problem was. Jack was thirteen, not three. He more than learned his lesson about dumbwaiters. So, I argued, 'Jack can manage. And besides, Jesse will be here, right? Jesse is capable of handling him, aren't you Jesse?'

Paul gave me his trademark evil-glare and said, 'I'm not sure I want Jack to be "handled" by Jesse. Jack wouldn't be so pleased by that. You, on the other hand, don't seem to mind it so much.'

All right. That's IT. I was MAD. FURIOUS. GRRRRR.

I can't BELIEVE him. Paul Slater's got some nerve. He's got a lot of nerves! He's so nervy that he's . . . um, nervous?

Oh yeah, Suze. Way to put him in his place.

I growled at him, 'You son of a-'

Adam stepped between Paul and I, making him the only thing keeping me from ripping Paul's face to shreds. 'Would you two chill out?'

'Yeah,' Cee agreed, 'we're supposed to have fun tonight.'

'Paul's being a butt-head,' I grumbled.

Aren't I the mature one?

Well, you know what? He was being more than a butt-head. He was being a dickhead, just like our little boss. Next thing you know, he'll have Dani whipped and wearing an apron that says "Please don't feed the models" on it or something. Heaven knows Paul was already an oppressive, manipulative, argumentative, and-

Well, other bad things that ends in "ive" that I can't think of right now because of my blinding anger.

'Sue is right,' Dani said to Paul, 'I think Jesse will do a fine job. He's certainly strong enough. You'll use your muscle to fight them off if they bother Jack, won't you Jesse?'

Dani had placed her hand lightly on Jesse's arm, no doubt to get a cheap feel of his muscles. She gave him a quick wink, and then drew her puppy eyes back to Paul, who barely looked impressed.

Jesse actually blushed, and mumbled something humbly. Paul hardly seemed to notice that his girlfriend was totally scamming on him, but only because he had other issues to figure out.

Like how the club is going to fit him and his big fat ego, for instance.

Dani, having not convinced Paul enough, slid into his arms and looked up at him, her lower lip in a slight pout. Paul looked down at her, and finally went, 'Fine. Whatever.'

Dani giggled and gave him a quick peck on the lips before saying, 'All right. Be ready in an hour and a half!' Dani took Paul by the arm and led him away.

It amazed me, it really did. Paul had a weak spot. A genuine weak spot! For DANI.

HAH! Now I know his weakness. All I have to do is get some rope and tie Dani to some train tracks and wait for a train to come by –

Whoa, 1920's movie villain much?

Everyone took Dani's ushering Paul away as a hint to start getting ready. Adam and CeeCee seemed a little eager to get out of the school, and Jack was chattering excitedly about all the things he and Jesse should do. I, however, was not too enthused about the whole thing.

First of all this activity required actually spending time in close quarters with Dani and Paul. Secondly, as pathetic as it sounds, I was the only one without a date. CeeCee had Adam and Dani had Paul. Who did that leave me with? No one.

So I kind of shuffled from the room, but not before Jesse touched me lightly on the shoulder and said, 'Have fun, Susannah.'

I have to admit my head did that little spinny-thingie I always hated it doing. Especially in front of guys. Especially in front of Jesse.

- 8 -

'Suze,' CeeCee said before coming out from the bathroom, 'I want you to be completely honest with me . . . '

DOES THIS MAKE ME LOOK FAT?!

As I was halfway through smiling at my insanity, she then stepped out from the bathroom, and my jaw dropped.

CeeCee let out a sigh. 'You don't like it.'

. . . Wow.

'No, Cee. I love it,' I gasped.

CeeCee really did look stunning. You could totally tell she was a different person from the editor of the school paper I once knew her as. She had on this mysterious dark purple asymmetrical top that tied kind of like a halter-top while the rest floated around the curves of her body. She coupled the top with some tight fitting black pants that had a little flare which her black boots peeked out from. She'd even wore her hair down for the occasion, crimping it in some places. Some of her white hair fell in crinkled waves, framing her white face perfectly. Classy, yet sexy. Definitely CeeCee.

Daaaaang.

CeeCee looked at herself in the full-length mirror unsurely. 'Really? You really think so?'

'Totally, Cee. I mean, are you even looking at the mirror?'

CeeCee giggled and looked back at the mirror, playing with hem of her shirt. 'I don't know. I mean I'm no model like Danielle. And I'm certainly nothing compared to you, Suze.'

I couldn't help but blush. Sure, I didn't look bad or anything. I actually looked, as Dani quoted earlier "presentable" in this baby blue tube-top that had rhinestones randomly set in the top, while the bottom part of the top was somewhat sheer. I'd managed to snag the last top in my size at H&M, a feat I was really proud of. My skirt was white and made of the same floaty material as my top and hung very nicely in lovely layers a good three inches above my knee. I even had some nice clear sandals. My hair was still blown straight from this morning, so all I had to do was run my straightener over it a few times.

But that did not mean CeeCee could go dissing herself. I mean, I looked okay. CeeCee looked amazing! I really couldn't get over how the dark purple of her top made her pale skin look so creamy white. CeeCee wasn't a model, that was true. But she didn't need to be, because her beauty was something unique, something none of the goonies that run the fashion biz would ever understand.

She was decent. And I think, that's what made her seem so beautiful to everyone who knew her.

She was a really good person. She had everything I only dreamed of having (when my dreams didn't include the horrid face of my abusive ex)…you know, success, happiness, excitement for life…love…

My life sucks. I need to get over it.

I gave her a smile. 'Cee. Please. You look like . . . gah, you look awesome. Really, really. I mean that.'

An obvious flush came to her white cheeks, and she beamed prettily. 'Make Adam go gaga?'

I poked her in the stomach, and she giggled. 'Adam will be goo. You will turn him into wobbly, oozy goo.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'Maybe I should change –'

'NO!'

'I was kidding, Suze. I am all for the gooifying of Adam McTavish.' She had a very flirty look on her face.

Jesus Christ, she was in love . . .

Her radiance was amazing. It was a vibe that affected all around her. Something beautiful, and rare.

The beauty of love.

Ugh. I was just me who always saw the dark side of love.

Not that Cole loved me, or anything. He was just a crazy person.

. . . At least he wasn't a cannibal. Or a serial killer.

Yet.

Oh, how I gulp.

'What about you? Plan on melting any hearts this evening, Suze?' CeeCee asked as I applied glittery blue eyeshadow to my eyes.

I almost gauged my eye out with the applicator. 'Um, not unless I use my laser vision,' I replied, trying to suppress a squeak.

'Come on, Suze, there's gotta be someone special. Spill.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

CeeCee smiled, 'It's Jesse still, isn't it?'

. . . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

Eyeliner went everywhere. 'NO WAY. I mean, no. Of course not. You've gotta be kidding me, Cee.'

CeeCee frowned a bit in disappointment, 'I know. It was just a hunch. I mean, you seemed to be defending him earlier, and I thought maybe you two patched things up-'

'Hardly,' I mumbled, mostly to myself. I avoided the conversation further by pretending to look for my purse.

CeeCee snatched it from the bed and handed it to me almost apologetically. 'Sorry. I was just, you know, guessing.'

I couldn't stay mad at CeeCee for long. It's just that, you know, it kind of annoyed me. First Paul makes perverted cracks about us- I mean, Jesse and I- and then CeeCee. It really made me wonder if there was something I wasn't seeing . . . maybe something I didn't know.

Whatever it was, it could wait. Dani had an appearance to make.

'CeeCee! Sue! Hurry it up, we're going to be late!' Dani bellowed from downstairs.

You know, for someone so stick-like and skinny, she's sure got some lungs on her.

And it's Suze. GRRR! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ANYTHING BESIDES TROLL LOGIC?!?!

Gah. This was not going to be an enjoyable night.

. . . Little did I know, how true that statement would prove to be.

I gave CeeCee a look. She rolled her eyes a little, and I felt a surge of unbeatable triumph in my chest. YES. CEECEE LOATHED DANIELLE TOO!!!

. . . Or, um, got a little irritated by her.

But that was still something, right?

Yeah.

Hmph.

I should start the ADMA.

Anti-Danielle-Moore-Association.

. . . We'll have badges.

And jackets.

And contracts.

And free carrot cake.

With a high fat content. Hehehe . . . cop that, you anorexic freak -

'Suze, can I borrow those hair pins?' CeeCee asked me.

I shrugged, and handed her four. She slid them into her hair to keep it off her face.

I did my own hair up into an elegant high ponytail that hung straight down from the back of my head. I used to detest ponytails, but now my hair's longer, they actually look half decent on me.

Shows that a girl can change her mind, right?

I had sweet little bangs on either side of my face, so I didn't look too prudish with all of my hair drawn back. After applying gentle eye-make-up and a few pins to keep some of my hair up, I looked all angelic and innocent and crap.

Yeah. I'll just hide a gun down my top, or something.

Muahaha . . .

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' I called vaguely, brushing my hair again for good measure.

Jesse opened the door, but didn't enter, casting a wary eye over the underwear that was littered over the floor. I turned a hefty shade of scarlet, and he looked away quickly. 'Danielle would like you downstairs. She threatens to leave without the two of you.'

He was actually looking kind of windswept, or something. 'Susannah,' he breathed, when he'd looked at me properly, without the visuals of stray bras playing across his mind, '. . . You look lovely.' He nodded to CeeCee, 'As do you.'

'She can't hear you,' I reminded him, my cheeks now probably blood red.

'Is Jesse here or something?' CeeCee frowned.

'No. Invisible Easter Bunny,' I told her.

She smirked. 'Hiya Jesse.'

Jesse couldn't very well say hey back or anything. He just nodded towards her casually, causing the brush in her hands to lift and begin brushing her hair on its own. CeeCee giggled in good humor, looking flattered and nervous at the same time. I could tell that Jesse thought CeeCee was a decent girl. I mean, I remember the time Gina called Spike ugly and Jesse spilt nail-polish on her new swimsuit. No nail-polish, so far, so no problem.

'That's our cue, Cee,' I said. 'Jesse said Dani demands our presence, or they're leaving without us.'

We gathered everything, and with one last hair check, we were out. Before I left the room, Jesse tugged on my arm softly.

'You dropped this,' he said in that deep voice that used to make me melt. In his hand was one of the hairpins I was using in my hair. 'Oh,' I said lightly, though my heart was pounding, 'It must've fallen out.'

Jesse pinned back the loose hair that had come down when the pin fell out. I tried desperately to ignore my burning cheeks with no avail. A sudden overwhelming heat wave came over me when his hand accidentally brushed my cheek. My skin burnt brightly, and I felt very uncomfortable with his proximity, all of a sudden.

And suddenly a new nightmare haunted me. And I was still awake. But this one wasn't about Cole. It was about what had happened between Jesse and I. How we'd torn apart, and yet somehow found ourselves face to face again.

I don't know what was more scary. What happened five years ago, or what the future for us- I mean, me and Jesse- held.

'Thanks,' I nodded awkwardly. I hurried down the hallway to catch up with CeeCee, in an attempt to get away from Jesse before I had any other major costume malfunctions.

CeeCee, who'd been in my room on the fourth floor, by the way, was a few steps in front of me. I caught up with her, careful not to trip over my own feet. Suddenly, with a sideways look at CeeCee, it became a contest to see who could get to the bottom floor first . . .

With giggles of psychotic insanity, we raced each other down the stairs wildly. She was beating me.

Which was, you know, weird, because her shoes had a heel that must have been an inch bigger than mine. Makes you wonder why the hell we were racing down stairs with inappropriate footwear. But shut up.

Almost at the bottom floor -

I fell.

Yah.

Headfirst into -

Paul Slater's back.

. . . Oh, Jesus.

I crashed on top of him, and CeeCee started PISSING HERSELF LAUGHING.

Um, not helping the situation all that much? Adam, who was also obviously there, was laughing from behind me. And Paul was also laughing from beneath me, too. But not as hard.

With the equivalent humiliation of being caught naked on Live TV or something, I scrambled up, blushing like mad.

'Shit,' I said with a breathless quality, 'Sorry.'

Paul got up, and turned to face me, with a dark smirk.

Oh, holy cow . . .

WHY DID HE HAVE TO LOOK LIKE THAT?

I got hot all over again. Paul was dressed totally in black. Black jeans, black, tight-fitted shirt that made him look like a bouncer. Or Spike off of Buffy. Except Paulie wasn't a platinum baby. He was wearing a dressy black jacket that looked half-casual, half night-wear. His very demeanour reeked of sex. And darkness. It scared me all over again. His clothes were so dark. His tan. His shoes. His hair . . . The only things that were light were his eyes. They were icy light. But they still froze me like I was in a dark, cold place. I took a step back, and just . . .

Um, lamely blinked.

Well, ugh.

Who died and made Paul a Greek God?

. . . There is no frigging justice.

Adam wolf whistled me. 'Looking good, Suze.' I turned abruptly to him, and nodded at his classy choice of attire. 'Back at you, Adam.' The man in question donned denim jeans, and a deep maroon dress shirt, giving him an undeniable air of sophistication. He'd even gelled his hair into little curly spikes.

Of course, when he grinned, the sophistication blew up, and you could tell straight away that he was a lunatic. 'What did you expect, Suze? How could a man of my obvious sexiness look anything BUT good? For shame, wench, for giving me such a lowly compliment.'

'You look very good, then,' I amended with a smile.

'And don't you forget it,' he scowled.

I was beginning to wonder where Dani was in all of this. I mean, she went through all the trouble to get Jesse to send for us, and she wasn't even THERE yet.

But right as my curiosity set off, in walked Dani cat-walk style, strutting her stuff. Like a rooster. WITH SKINNY CHICKEN LEGS.

Well fine. As a model, of course she had great pins. But that's not the point.

But oh my God . . . what was she WEARING?

. . . Whoa. Complacent, much?

Her outfit was like none I'd ever seen in my life. I couldn't imagine that outfit grazing any store shelves.

It turns out that it hasn't. Yet. Apparently, Dani had gotten it from this new Italian designer who created this piece specifically for her. His name was Paolo Giorgio Matrinelli . . . try saying that three times fast.

She of course, told us all this with a voice that was saturated with maddening pomposity. She said that this Matrinelli guy was going to be as big as Versace. Yeah. Sure.

. . . I sure hope not . . .

GRRRRR.

Get a load of this. Imagine a lacy red triangle top that tied in only two places, the neck and the back. Meaning that the whole thing was only held up by a grand total of four strings. Then imagine that top going with this black micro mini that was so short that it barely covered Dani's butt and some black fishnet tights that covered her long, twiggy legs.

On her left leg was this matching lacy red garter with some black lace trimming around it. She finished the look off with these tall black platforms that made her legs look even longer than I thought possible.

Her jewelry was also specially made for her. I bet Dani never has to set foot in a store. Anyway, she had this black pearl choker necklace on, and dangling from one of her ears was this huge peacock feather dyed red to match her top in honor of the club we were attending that evening, Club Peacock. The other ear had an onyx stud that shone mysteriously.

Well. SOMEONE had just stepped off the slut train.

She looked like a hooker. I am so serious. She looked like she was going to go street-walking.

I am so serious. I know it's low to call someone a hooker.

But you didn't see her.

. . . Shit. That was disgraceful.

I was appalled on her behalf. On the behalf of all women.

I noticed, with a surge of hot, prickly jealousy, that Adam was even leering at her. And Paul, well, we won't even go there.

. . . I'm almost sure we won't go there.

Well, okay. Paul looked like he wanted to screw her there and then.

Which made me angry. Because he kept casting looks over to me, as if COMPARING ME TO HER.

Well, OKAY. I know I'm not as FRIGGING SKINNY AS MISS UNITED KINGDOM. But at LEAST YOU CAN'T SEE MY UNDERWEAR UNDER MY SKIRT.

. . . You can't, right?

She'd COPIED my hair-straightening idea. It was as sleek as anything. Fiery red.

. . . I hope she gets cursed with regrowth.

Stupid darn skanky –

WHAT? She made all women look EASY.

No WONDER Cole thinks he can get lucky with me.

"HEY SUZE? WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE THAT SLUTTY MODEL FROM BRITISH TELEVISION, DANIELLE MOORE? IF YOU DRESSED LIKE HER, THEN THERE WOULD BE NO PROBLEM HERE."

Ugh!

CeeCee looked a little overwhelmed, and suddenly self conscious.

She looked as bad as I felt.

Dani gave me a malicious smirk. 'Oh, Sue, I do believe I said we were going to a night club. Not babysitting.'

'Yeah, I thought that you said a night club too,' I frowned. 'Makes me wonder why you've come out looking like a prostit–'

'OH, LOOK? A BIRD!' Adam yelled randomly, pointing with exaggerated dramatic movements at the roof.

We all stared at him.

CeeCee coughed, looking a lot less confident. 'I think we'd better go. Is Jack fine with Jesse?'

'Yeah,' Paul said to her. He was still looking at me with dark, sideways glances.

Still comparing.

I felt really low.

Really, low.

I was always low.

And bitchy.

. . . This night was going to suck.

- 8 -

Sorry that was such a long time coming. We will try not to take as long with Chapter 17.

Love, Lolly and Hayley.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, OUR LITTLE CANDY CANES.