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]

22. Show Time

We are so, so, so sorry.

SO, SO, SO, SO, SO SORRY!

No, REALLY. Like, REALLY sorry.

- 8 -

With a loud gasp, I sat up in my bed, my hand on my heart.

I was sweating. My forehead was damp. I felt clammy, and hot, and my – my covers were – twisted –

Breathing hard, looked around and –

'Oh,' I said in shock, 'Hi.'

Bart Ford was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking concerned. I could feel the dip his weight had caused in the mattress. 'Nightmares?' he asked me.

I nodded. 'Just a bit.'

He gave me an empathetic look. 'I know what you mean,' he murmured. 'You should have seen what I used to dream about.'

Somehow, I believed that the seventeen year old young man should keep his night time fantasies to himself.

I shrugged it off, and lay back, calming my breathing down. 'What are you doing here, anyway?' I questioned.

'Well,' he gave me a guilty look, 'Your cowboy was not here. And you should not be alone.'

. . . You'll never be alone . . .

'Well,' I said, 'He needed to look out for my friends. At least I can see someone if they're gonna try and kill me. They can't.'

'But ghosts can make more contact with you,' Bart reasoned. 'They can do more damage.'

Was he even at the graveyard thing? Do I need to remind him that his buddies were, in fact, able to pummel my friends?

'Whatever,' I dismissed, 'Well . . . you can go now . . . '

He looked a little guiltier still. 'Oh, no. I never leave. I always watch over you, what with Robin as mad as he is at you.'

I blanched. 'A-a-always?'

SHOWER TIME? When I was in the buff!

There's a difference between being protective and being a peeping Tom. Bartie-boy was walking the fine line there.

He must have seen where I was going. 'Oh – no, I mean – not – not when you're – dressing or something – ' He blushed ferociously. 'I wouldn't do that – '

'I know,' I smiled. 'Calm down.'

I noticed how Bart was really set apart from the other Misfortunates. I mean, not only was he the youngest, shortest, and most blonde of the bunch, he was also the nicest and shyest. His noble humility was so endearing, that you couldn't help but smile at him. He had good intentions; he just hung around with the wrong crowd.

It kind of makes me wonder how he got stuck with those hell-raisers in the first place.

That's the thing about Bart: sure he seemed like a simple boy. But there was something mysterious about him. Like he was hiding some big secret behind his small physique and floppy blonde hair. Maybe there was more to him than I think…

Well, I didn't get to find out then because he stood up. 'I'm always here. I watch you from where you – or Robin – can't see me. When your cowboy isn't watching. Just in case.'

I guess that's kind of cute. I mean, in a totally weird sort of way. It kind of made me wonder whose side he was really on. He seemed to want me alive while his little pals . . . well, didn't.

I nodded. 'Then thank you.'

He looked at my curiously, as if something was bugging him. 'Susie? Can I – can I ask you something?'

For some reason, I was able to ignore the Susie-thing. 'Uh huh. Sure,' I replied.

He looked sideways. 'It's about you and the cowboy – '

'His name's Jesse.'

'Oh, I know that,' he said quickly.

'Right.'

'Well . . . what happened between the two of you?'

I went rather red. 'Er . . . were you watching then, too?'

He mumbled a 'No-mayb-yeah.'

In other words: yes.

Okay. Now I felt sort of humiliated. 'Just,' I said weirdly, 'Um . . . well, back when . . . I mean, I was only sixteen . . . we just – then he . . . I loved him but now I don't,' I shrugged. 'That's really all there is to it.'

'You loved a ghost?' Bart said incredulously. 'Why?'

Good question.

Bart had crinkled his nose in mild disgust for a moment, which was kind of weird. His little friends didn't seem to have a problem with ghost/human interaction. What was his deal?

'It just happened,' I said quietly. 'Neither of us could really stop it.'

'Why don't you love him anymore? Did he do something to you?'

'No,' I said quickly. 'We just . . . lost touch, you could say. And I forgot about him.'

More or less.

'Oh,' Bart said. 'There was something else I wanted to ask you.'

'Shoot.'

'Yesterday . . . in the graveyard, how did you do that?'

'What?' I asked stupidly, realizing that of course he meant the whole blowing-up-headstones thing.

'Oh, that,' I said. 'God, not even I know. I was just scared that your friends might have killed MY friends.'

Bart, this time, looked a little more than mildly disgusted. 'They're not my friends,' he denied quite openly, shaking his head. 'We just happened to die in the same room.'

For some reason, this piece of information was not as assuring as you might think. I think it was the way he said it, with a sort of hidden malice for these guys. I couldn't tell whether or not to brush it off or take him seriously.

'Right,' I said unsurely. I looked at my watch.

3AM.

Stupid dream . . . pfft . . .

I rolled back over.

'Goodnight,' Bart said quietly and nervously. 'I'm still here . . . '

– 8 -

When I woke up the following morning, as in, NORMAL waking up time, and NOT 3am, Bart was gone. Well, at least I couldn't see him. But he was probably still there.

How embarrassing.

I went and had a shower, due to feeling all sticky from my sweaty awakening the previous night after that dream, and pulled a pair of faded Calvin Klein jeans on, and a red turtleneck.

Even though Bart assured me he wasn't spying on me while I took showers, I still felt a little weird about the whole thing. Bart may not have been watching me, but it kind of made me wonder who else was.

I blow-dried my hair as per tradition, and then I went downstairs, my heart and mind half weighed down by what had taken place last night between me and a certain Mr de Silva.

When I got down to the kitchen, I was surprised to see that everyone – minus Dani – was already down there, dressed and fed, looking very anxious.

'Hey,' I said as I walked in. CeeCee looked up at me with a half-smile. Her hand was in Adam's.

'Hey,' she said back. 'You ready to go?'

I frowned. 'Huh?'

Adam gave me a funny look. 'The hospital. Remember?'

I was confused. I stopped, and looked around. Paul was looking very uncomfortable, and Jack looked rather terrified. They were at opposite ends of the kitchen, not looking at each other. I guess the fire was still burning down between them.

'What do you mean, hospital?' I demanded, my heart starting to thud. And with good reason. Hospitals have never been good news with me. My dad was pronounced dead at a hospital. My girlish fantasy of true-love was shattered in a hospital. See what I mean?

CeeCee's eyebrow raised. 'You were there, you heard Father Dom's doctor talking to you.'

WHAT WAS GOING ON? I don't remember that . . .

'Eeeeeeeeeelaborate?' I begged.

'Father D's got surgery today,' Adam informed me, sounding slightly annoyed. 'Weren't you listening?'

I just stood there. Uh . . .

I guess I'd spaced out that night when Father Dom had told us about his tumor. I hadn't been thinking clearly. I couldn't. I was too busy trying to calm down long enough and find a way to brace myself for when Dommy kicked the bucket to get the gory details of it all. I guess I hadn't retained the information of this very important date, either. 'Erm . . . sorry, I must have missed that bit,' I mumbled.

Paul clearly snorted. Which was REALLY rude of him.

'Shut up,' I snapped.

'Well,' CeeCee said loudly, 'Father D was scheduled for today. They're going to try and surgically remove the tumor from his head. And we're going to be late if you don't hurry up, Suze.'

'Right,' I said quietly. 'Okay . . . '

Adam started making me cereal, but I stopped him. 'I'm not hungry,' I said quickly.

Because suddenly, I wasn't.

I REALLY wasn't.

Which is weird. Because I hadn't eaten last night either.

Paul looked at me firmly. He seemed to have noticed my lack-of-hunger last night as well. 'Eat something,' he commanded me in a needle-sharp tone. 'You didn't touch dinner last night, and you had a full-blown power-out yesterday in the graveyard.'

'I don't feel like e – '

Paul walked over to the bench briskly, seized the cereal from Adam and started pouring it determinedly. Why the hell was he worried about my STOMACH at a time like this? There's other things to worry about like – oh I dunno – Father Dom's brain.

'Paul,' I said, trying to jerk him out of his breaky-making stupor, 'Paul, I'm not going to have it anyway, so don't bother – '

He finished the bowl, shoved a clean spoon into the milk, and jammed it in front of me on the table. He then whispered furiously in my ear, 'Eat it, Simon. Don't you dare be like her.'

And he left the kitchen.

I was stunned. I really, really was.

But I ate the gay cereal.

. . . Because I knew exactly what he meant.

– 8 -

Me, CeeCee, Paul, Adam, Jack and Jesse were all standing in the reception of the hospital. It was so white, and clean, and cold, and impersonal. It kind of reminded me of Paul's grandfather's house, except without the cheesy modern décor. It was horrible. I felt kind of sick. I really shouldn't have had that cereal. I mean, I needed food, yeah, but the milk had done me no good. I felt like puking it back up anyway, but I didn't, pretty much for Paul's sake.

Never thought I'd be doing anything for PAUL, but there you go.

CeeCee was talking with the receptionist. Jack was avoiding Paul's eye. Adam was looking into space, with an expressionless look on his face. And Jesse kept staring at me, but looking away whenever I noticed.

Everything was really tense.

When a doctor – Dr. Saunders – came out to talk to us, he pretty much just talked to CeeCee and Paul. After all, they were the only two who would really understand what he was going on about. I mean, Paul's dad was a doctor, and CeeCee…well, she knew everything.

Paul was nodding and looking serious, and CeeCee's face got blanker with each word, in attempts of detachment.

When he was done, he looked over at all of us. 'You can see him now, if you please. It must be very brief, though, we have to get him prepped for surgery.'

I stood up immediately, as did Jack. Adam was still looking very lost. Like CeeCee had just rejected his marriage proposal or something.

Which she never would.

But if she ever DID, he'd probably look something like that.

We followed Dr. Saunders down the echoing corridor of white. It was seriously one shade. Even the doctor's hair was white. And his shirt.

His clipboard was black, though.

When we got to Father Dominic's room, the first thing I noticed that his hands were shaking.

. . . Oh, God . . .

I rushed in there and threw my arms around him. 'I'm sorry,' I said quickly, 'I'm sorry I was mad at you, I'm so sorry . . .'

The second thing I noticed was that his eyes were in fact, closed. They opened quickly when a half-blubbering girl leapt at him, though.

'Susannah,' he said warmly, and his arms came awkwardly around my shoulders. 'It's . . . it's quite all right – '

I pulled away from him as my SIA colleagues filed into the room, standing back and looking very dead.

Jack then came over and gave Father Dom a big hug, too.

Which was the sweetest thing.

A grateful, pained smile broke out on Father Dom's tired face. It looked pasty, and pale.

And more wrinkly than I had ever seen it.

'Hello Jack,' he said to the thirteen-year-old who was embracing him. 'Yes . . . that's enough – '

I yanked Jack back. Poor Father Dom had been subject to the Slater strength.

'H-how are you?' Jack asked a bit shakily. I obviously wasn't the only one a little disturbed about seeing Father Dom like this. Only, Jack wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to his emotions. I, on the other hand, kept them all inside until they bubbled over dangerously. Now, more than ever, I felt like my heart might explode from all of it.

Father Dom gave Jack a weak smile and replied, 'I have been better.'

Oh, that was assuring. Not.

I couldn't understand how he managed to smile at a time like this. From the solemn expression on Paul and CeeCee's face, I could judge that this surgery was very serious. You didn't even need a doctor to tell you that Father Dom wasn't at his best. He looked so pale, and his eyes were sunken in . . . it kind of reminded me of a living skeleton.

And you won't believe this: they shaved off his hair. Father Dominic's pure-pure-as-snow hair. It used to be so white and fluffy, like a heavenly cloud. I remember the first time I ever gave Father Dominic a hug when Jesse got exorcised that one time . . . I remember how it felt like cotton candy on my cheek as I wept hysterically.

But now it was gone. All of it shaved off. And I still felt like crying hysterically, but I didn't.

His skin was so pale on the top of his head it was almost transparent. I could see the veins.

I really regret eating that cereal now.

I swallowed back something that was hard, prickly, and painful.

Similar to a ball of wire, most likely.

I guess I didn't really know what to say. This sight . . . it was one of the most horrible I'd seen, and probably ever would see.

Seriously. It was heart-rip-out-able. Pretty much the same caliber of what I did to Jesse. It was THAT heart-breaking.

I was kind of startled when I heard a deep, soothing voice say, 'It's time.'

I looked over my shoulder, only to see that Dr. Saunders had wandered back into the room. I hadn't even noticed that he left in the first place, but then again I was a little more than distracted.

Adam stood a little closer to the hospital bed. 'I don't know what to say at a time like this, Padre. What do you say to someone going under the knife? I mean, I guess . . . I guess I can wish you good luck,' Adam said with a nervous chuckle.

Father Dominic smiled and said, 'Thank you, Adam. But I think your prayers will make me feel much better.'

'I know,' Jack piped in, 'Maybe we should all pray right now. Like, join hands and say something quick. All of us together.'

. . . How fast should I run, exactly?

No. Really.

'That sounds like a good idea, Jack,' CeeCee responded, her voice a little shaky. I think for a moment, she forgot that she was an atheist . . . that seeing was believing to her.

Well, if that was the case, then why was she praying? Even if she did believe, God certainly wasn't right there. Otherwise, none of this would be happening, especially to His faithful servant Father Dominic.

But, sure enough, she slid her hand into Jack's, and Adam slipped his into hers. Paul took Jack's other hand, and Jesse stood near Father Dom's bed. Dr. Saunders stood a respectable distance away.

Paul, looking rather wry, held offered me his hand, but I didn't take it. This whole thing was stupid. I'd be wasting my time, because obviously God doesn't hear me.

'Er . . . Suze?' Paul said.

'There's no point,' I told him.

'But Suze,' Jack pleaded, 'Father Dom said – '

'Prayer might make Father Dom feel better,' I said, backing away slowly, 'but it never did me an ounce of good. Go ahead. I think I'll just watch.'

Everyone closed their eyes reverently, except for Father Dom, who gave me a withering look. He wouldn't have any of it.

'Susannah, please,' he pleaded, with his dull blue eyes drooping. 'Please do this for me.'

I felt my heart – not to mention my entire world – shatter right there. I couldn't stand to let Father Dominic down . . . not after all the times he was there for me. It was my turn to be there for him.

'Fine,' I sighed, 'I'll do it.'

I took Paul's hand reluctantly, and tried not to look down at Father Dom. I just kept telling myself I was doing this for him.

'I would like it very much, Susannah, if you led us,' Father Dom requested weakly.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa, I said I'd pray, but I never said I'd – '

'Please, Susannah,' was all he said.

I bit my lower lip to keep myself from crying. I took a deep breath, and tried to find something worthy to say. I mean, the Big Guy has a lot of stuff to take care of. Somehow, Dommy made it on the lower end of the To-Do list, just like me.

'Um God,' I faltered, 'I know you're out there somewhere. I've never been really good at this whole praying thing, you know. I'm part Jewish, part Catholic, so I guess that makes me . . . confused. Doubtful. Whatever. But it doesn't matter how I feel about You right now. All I know is, there's one guy here that's depending on you a whole lot. Please, please, don't let him down.'

I paused, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. My eyes were stinging, and my nose felt all prickly, meaning the waterworks were about to flow abundantly from my eyes.

I hung my head down and finished my prayer, 'Don't . . . don't let me down.'

And then I started crying.

I felt a strong hand come down on my shoulder. I looked at it, and realized it was just Jesse's attempt to be supportive. He couldn't hold my hand or anything, because of Dr. Saunders. That'd look weird, you know? Holding an invisible guy's hand, I mean.

After what I'd done to Jesse, he still supported me. That little known fact only caused more tears to stream down my face, which was so frustrating. And then everyone else had to make it all worse by saying their little 'amens' and making it seem all final.

Well, except for Paul. He just squeezed my hand firmly, and didn't say anything.

And, well, that made me cry too.

How come I can't control anything? What was wrong with me?

Angrily, I ripped my hand from Paul's and tossed Jesse's hand away from my shoulder. I turned to face the wall . . . anywhere but looking down at Father Dom.

And then, we were all asked to move aside, as two nurses came either side of his bed and wheeled it away, one of them holding onto his drip.

8 -

'Where's Dani?' I asked CeeCee blandly. All we were doing was sitting and waiting. I was seriously thanking Paul for making me eat that morning. Because I was starving now. God knows what I would have been like if I had have just kept going from yesterday onwards without food?

Ghastly.

'Apparently, she's out with this underwear model friend,' CeeCee shrugged.

'So she went out to have a jolly good time with His Royal Gayness rather than be here Father Dom while his head gets cut into?' I demanded coldly, 'God. I hate her, I really do.'

'Well, think about it,' CeeCee said fairly. 'She's the only one in the SIA who is currently not completely bummed out at the moment.'

Ha. Let's thank God that her British friend Miles is very gay, otherwise she may very WELL have been bummed out.

If you know what I mean.

'But it's – it's disrespectful,' I scowled.

'She doesn't know Father Dominic like we do,' CeeCee replied.

'Why are you defending her?' I asked viciously, shooting a cutting look at her.

She sighed impatiently. 'I'm not,' she replied. 'I'm just saying, she doesn't technically have an emotional obligation to be here.'

And Paul Slater does? He barely even spoke ten words to Father Dom while he was at school. He was too busy being Mr. High-and-mighty, you know, being the Tennis Captain and Prom king and all. He was the epitome of Mr. Popularity back then.

Speaking of which, SOMEONE'S cell phone just went off in the hospital waiting room. Someone who'd obviously ignored the "PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CELL PHONES AS IT INTERFERES WITH OUR EQUIPMENT" sign near the Triage nurse's desk.

Me and CeeCee stared across the room as Paul quickly dragged the little cell phone out of his pocket, and was all, 'Slater.'

Hahaha. He answers with just his last name. What a retard. Like he expects people to know who he was or something.

Yeah. As opposed to my, 'Um . . . hi.'

Shut up.

A darkish look came onto his face as he was listening to whoever was talking on the other line. At one stage, he looked intently over at me with someone of shocked guilt, and then he looked away hurriedly. 'Let me see if they have a copy here,' he growled quietly, before quickly going to the Triage nurse and asking her something. She smiled brightly, and produced a newspaper for him. Paul went back to his seat, said a, 'I've got it,' into his phone, and then hung up.

Then he began reading avidly, paling at each word, and then his face went rather read in anger.

Me and CeeCee were staring in fascination. Wow. I never seen a face change so many colors.

Hmm. Paul, the Technicolor dreamboat. Teehee.

After about two minutes, he started swearing at the newspaper, before crumpling it up with some anger. Then, he stood up, shot me a deadly glare, and announced to me and CeeCee, 'I'm going to take Jack now and go.'

'Why?' I asked.

He looked sideways. His eyes were looking like they could kill someone.

. . . Laser vision? Please? Because that would mean that I could do it too. And laser vision would rock the world –

'None of your business,' he spat in a quiet anger at me.

Um . . . okay.

When Jack came back then, with a bag of chips in his hand that he'd just bought from some vending machine, Paul grabbed his arm and said, 'We have to go, Jack.'

Jack looked up at him questioningly. 'Why?'

Ha. Wonder if Paul would NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! him too?

'I'll tell you in a second,' Paul snapped, and then they were both gone.

Me and CeeCee looked at each other. Adam had nodded off beside CeeCee. Apparently, he was really tired. And sore.

I would like, for my own sanity, to believe that he was sore at his pelvis region because of, um, the whole nearly-getting-killed-by-a-million-tonnes-of-dirt-yesterday thing, and hopefully NOT an aftermath of the marriage proposal.

. . . Eww.

I stood up, and went over to where Paul had just been sitting. Then, I slid the newspaper from the seat, and carefully sat down, unfolding the pages –

Whoa. Dani.

I stared in shock.

It was all about Danielle Moore. Apparently, that McDonalds employee guy had gone to the press with his photo and had told them about how she'd caused him to lose his job and stuff. And the SAME GUY, Steve Lawson, had followed the (living) members of the SIA (excluding Jack and Father D,) to that Club Peacock, and he had been taking pictures on his STUPID digital camera. There were a bunch of pictures everywhere. Her, her and Paul, her at McDonalds, her at the bar, one of her and Miles with Adam and CeeCee in the background . . .

And then there was one of me and Paul dancing.

Oh my God.

I swallowed my heart, and choked on it violently as I read the caption:

Dani's Paul Slater (boyfriend) getting too friendly with another woman only known as "Suze". Perhaps there's trouble in paradise for Miss Moore?

CeeCee had come to sit next to me, after watching my facial expressions also. When she saw the photos, she was all, ' . . . Whoa.'

I blinked, wide-eyed at the photos. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Whoa.'

In the article, I was mentioned briefly. Apparently, someone had caught up with that loser Ben guy, and I was now a "flirtatious, conniving little New Yorker, out to ruin the Britain's hottest supermodel's fairy tale romance."

I was on the very of laughing and vomiting. I mean . . . CONNIVING? Me? I think they got the wrong girl.

HAHA – Oh, Jeez.

CeeCee looked at the newspaper in disgust. 'It's a load of crap,' she said confidently. 'Don't worry about it, Suze.'

Easier said than done. I wasn't just a whore to Paul anymore…I was to everyone.

8 -

About one or two hours after that, Jesse finally dematerialized to me, and asked me if I might accompany him on a stroll. I nodded gently, and we both left the hospital to promenade around the perimeter.

'So,' I said softly. 'What, then?'

Jesse had been in the operating theatre, observing everything. How he can BEAR to watch someone's head being cut up, I have no idea.

But then again, he had apparently wanted to be a doctor. So I don't know. I really don't.

Jesse nodded graciously, and said, 'I'm afraid it appears that . . . the surgeons were discussing it . . . they may not have been able to remove all of the cancerous matter in his cerebrum.'

I stopped walking, and gave him a you're-not-serious look.

SEE? SEE WHAT I MEAN ABOUT PRAYER? IT DOES NOTHING.

It's all CRAP, and it makes people BELIEVE that God is listening when REALLY he doesn't give a flying TOSS about who lives or dies because - more than likely - he doesn't EXIST but sometimes it's NICE to believe that God exists so you can finally pinpoint blame on a HIGHER BEING.

Jesse sighed. 'I'm sorry Susannah. I'm very sorry.'

I looked away rather quickly, at the grass that was below my feet. It was brown.

Guess our stinking PRAYER only made it to God's answering machine. And it didn't matter if he "got back to us later" because the damage had been done. The surgery was a flop.

'That is not to say that this operation was not successful,' Jesse assured me hurriedly. 'The tumor was removed. It just appears that there is other cancer that has spread through his brain. It can be cured, Susannah.'

I gave him a rather sarcastic, depressive look. 'Uh huh,' I muttered. 'Okay, so what now then?'

'I believe that a Sister Ernestine was called today,' Jesse said. 'She has told surgeons that she is raising money for the radiation therapy - '

'Money?' I said suddenly, 'Hang on there - will Father Dom not have this operation if we don't get MONEY for it?'

Jesse looked glum. 'Men who have been called to the Lord do not get paid very much, Susannah. It is their vocation. They are cared for by the Church. They give up all luxuries in their life for their God. And I believe that Padre has this . . . insurance that this modern day speaks of so much.'

FATHER DOM DIDN'T HAVE INSURANCE. OH MY GOD. HE COULDN'T AFFORD THE OPERATION-Y THINGIE.

'What then?' I asked, panicky, 'I mean - how much does it cost?'

Jesse looked perplexed. 'I haven't a clue,' he said sorrowfully. 'I only know what Padre's surgeons discuss.'

I sighed, as we began walking back to the hospital's entrance. This probably appeared funny; a girl pacing by herself and talking to thin air, occasionally stopping in shock, then looking stressed out suddenly.

Seriously. It's a wonder that I haven't been checked for schizophrenia.

I'm your modern day Gollum.

. . . Yay.

Except unlike Gollum, (and Dani,) I do not have an obsession with a ring.

Jesse said very slowly, 'So . . . how did you sleep last night, Susannah?'

Hah. That could have been a VERY good way to start a nice fat guilt trip.

YEAH, HOW DID YOU MANAGE, QUERIDA? AFTER YOU DISINTEGRATED MY PREVIOUSLY DISINTEGRATED HEART? NO, TELL ME, I WANNA KNOW.

I mumbled quietly, 'Fine.'

He was silent for a moment. 'Susannah . . . you must tell me . . . where do we stand?'

I suddenly realized that being alone with Jesse after what I'd done to him last night? Yeah, not such a hot idea.

I gave him a pleading sideways look for him to drop it, one which he made a point of missing.

'You tell me,' I said.

'I could not say that, or it would only serve to embarrass myself,' he responded quietly.

Right.

I stopped again, making all the schizophrenia hunters scream, "THERE! ATTACK!"

'Look,' I muttered.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

And I'm sorry, but again I had to look away.

'We're . . . we're friends,' I said. 'I mean . . . that's what we were originally, right? Friends?'

This was obviously what he had known he would hear, but not what he had been WANTING to hear. He gave me a small smile. 'Oh,' he said. 'Yes. Friends, Susannah.'

Although, it's kind of hard when one friend is in love with the other.

Nothing hurts more than flesh burned, than love that remains unreturned.

CeeCee had made that up when we were in twelfth grade, about Adam.

Haha. Very cute, Cee.

Very true.

So, as we reached the hospital doors, Jesse stopped me before I went inside, and murmured softly to me, 'Know this, then Susannah. You have a friend who desperately loves you.'

Then he gave me a soft kiss on my forehead, and dematerialized.

. . . Oh, God . . . WHY did he do that?

Feeling giddy and sick with guilt, I went back inside.

CeeCee - and Adam, who was now awake - we copping the news from Dr. Saunders, in detail. Their faces were masks of grimness, and when they saw me, they were like a sea of sad-clown faces.

'Suze, the doctor just told us that - '

'I know already,' I said flatly. 'Jesse told me.'

Father Dom was not better. He was NOT on his way to recovering.

I'm sorry, but I had a BIG problem with that.

HOW COULD THE DOCTORS HAVE NOT SEEN THAT FATHER DOM DIDN'T NEED SURGERY, BUT THIS RADIO-THINGIE INSTEAD?

Is this a pack of DUMBASSES?

I mean . . . REALLY. That was a man's life. Just because he's a PRIEST and he doesn't have INSURANCE coverage, mistakes are ACCEPTABLE, are they?

"Doctor, he didn't need to have his head slit open. It wasn't strictly necessary."

"Meh. Just a priest."

"Oh, cool."

IS THAT HOW CONVERSATIONS GO AT THIS DICKHEADED HOSPITAL?

Because that's RUDE.

I voiced a select version of this to CeeCee, and she told me that Father Dom WOULD have needed surgery anyway, because the tumor wasn't just going to go away from his radiotherapy.

I was like, 'Oh.'

I wanted to see Father Dominic again, to see how he was . . . but he was unconscious, apparently. Knocked out by the anaesetic.

So there was nothing more to do but leave.

. . . So we did.

8 -

By the time I got back to Fortunaschwein, I felt well on the way to having a status of dead.

And not in a ghost way, either.

A ghost has preservations of his previous humanity. He still feels, still thinks, and as demonstrated by our Mr de Silva, still falls in love.

However, a corpse does none of those things. A corpse is really, truly dead. It is still, and unfeeling, and cold.

I felt like one of those.

Father Dom's surgery had more or less gone down the toilet. I mean . . . all of that had been for basically nothing. He STILL had his tumor scattered all over his stupid holy brain.

And they SHAVED his holy HEAD.

Everything was the pits. Jesse was acting strangely around me, as if suddenly, he didn't even deserve to look at me or something.

Hah. I think that he's got the roles a little mixed up.

I felt awful about what I'd done to him. As I've said, I knew only too well the pain of heart ache. It was no fun triggering this torture upon another.

Even if it had to be done.

. . . The aftermath of breaking a physically non-existent heart was so silent.

But it twisted my mind like any scream could.

As soon as I walked in the school, the first thing I heard was a yell.

Me, Cee, and Adam stopped dead.

'JACK?' I screamed, a fresh wave of hot, sick horror overtaking my senses. I could recognize that yell from anywhere, especially since I could still recognize it from the first day dumbwaiter incident. It was loud, urgent, and unbearable to hear.

Then, I pelted in the direction of the yell.

'I said get AWAY from him!' Paul's commanding, furious voice roared from the distance of the corridor.

My feet pounded hard on the ancient wood planks beneath me. Jack was wailing for help, and I felt my corpsification had been resurrected to a dark world, again.

This was what this school was about now.

Sadistic fun.

At the expense of the living.

I reached the origin of such terrified shouts. It was a classroom, and a large, black bookshelf had been shoved against the wall, although was not RIGHT against it. I room realized this because there was a hand peaking out the corner of it, where I could hear Jack begging his brother for help.

A sick feeling plowed through my stomach, and a protest was born and killed in my throat.

'Paul - ' I felt the need to alert him of my arrival.

Paul, standing still in the centre of the room, turned his head rapidly towards me, 'Get OUT of here!'

A violent squeal from Jack told me that the bookshelf had just been thrust against him again in a crushing manner.

Oh my GOD.

'Let him go!' I screamed at the invisible presence in the room, which was asphyxiating my shifting abilities all over again.

There was an adolescent snigger, which echoed immaturity as much as a darker, deeper danger that chilled me to the bone.

Jack was begging to be released. They were CRUSHING him -

'Suze!' he half-cried, 'Make them st - AAAAAH - '

Paul was white with rage, and yet he didn't know what to do. He stood there, his hands shaking and his forehead slick with sweat. He was at his worst…he was absolutely powerless, thanks to shifter-block.

I had to do something, but I knew better than to bargain with these schoolboys again. Who knows what they might make me do next?

'If you don't STOP, what I did to the graveyard yesterday is going to look an Easter egg hunt!' I threatened in the strongest, most convincing voice I could.

I had to shield the fear that laced my voice.

The snickering stopped.

And then the bookshelf fell forward, revealing a half pulverized Jack who fell to the ground the minute there was nothing to support him.

Instantaneously, me and Paul bolted over to him and dragged him to a sitting position, and before I could see how BAD the wound on his head was, Paul pulled him into a taut hug that made Jack burst into tears.

Shakily, I edged back, and observed just how tightly Paul was holding his little brother. It was like nothing happened between them before.

'They – they – ' Jack attempted, but another fit of uncontrollable sobs snatched his voice.

And I don't know. Something so intoxicatingly enraging in his voice made me realize . . . these boys had not only attempted to murder two of my best friends . . . but they had just tried to kill a little boy who COULDN'T defend himself.

And that made me snap.

To know . . . it had just been because they were BORED -

I stood up, in a dizzy wave of fury. 'That's it,' I growled.

Then I exited the room with Jack demanding to know, 'What's it!'

I heard Paul calling after me, 'Suze! Suze, come back! I know what you're going to - Suze, DON'T - '

Ha. You think I listened to HIM?

Yeah. Right.

It was things like this that truly reminded me that I was not dead, and buried. The dead, whose souls do not linger on this plane of existence, do NOT feel what I felt then.

An undeniable rage that demanded immediate action.

How could you punish someone who was already dead?

Why . . . break the rules set out by the priest, of course.

What did HE know, anyway? Obviously that tumor in his brain clouded his judgement GREATLY. This all would have been a LOT faster if I had have just done my OWN thing as soon as my life was first attempted on. Or, you know, Jack's. I mean . . . what could Father Dom do after I'd done it, anyway?

. . . You can't undo exorcism.

Unless you're a shifter, that is.

But honestly. Why WOULD we go and bring them back? They were life-endangering.

They didn't DESERVE to share this realm with those who had not croaked yet.

And it was this driving force that guided me to the library. The books appeared ever daunting, and the dust seemed to be a plague of locust rather than just . . . dust.

I felt buzzing in my ears. Of angry, angry things.

In an auto-pilot directed by this drunken-on-rage sensation, I shoved a chair against the tall shelf that stocked the yearbooks.

I carefully selected 1968, and yanked it down.

Turning the pages stiffly, I saw nothing besides what I'd set out to find. The words and the images of other people were a blur.

I was only looking for three faces.

And the first one I found was Charles Austin.

My hands started shaking as the rage slowly seeped from my mind, to my fingertips. It dissolved into the fluid of my blood, pumping hotly beneath my searing skin, and my eyes went misty from a red that I saw. It penetrated my lungs, making my breath erratic as I tore the paper where his stupid face grinned up at me. I made the square of his head neat. Not that he deserved it.

One down . . . two to go.

With something of savagery now, I ripped the pages over rapidly, taking no heed that they were historical documents of this school.

Screw the school . . . these guys deserved this all.

My eyes homed in on Nathaniel Blake's arrogant smirk, as he stood among a football team. That page was too ripped out, and his photograph was placed on top of Charlie's.

When I found Robin Lawrence . . . my hot blood reached boiling point. He'd been the one that had dumped the dirt on CeeCee and Adam . . . he'd kicked me, and kissed me, and had threatened me, and had touched me . . . and it was HIM who'd almost done this to Jack. I knew it.

I knew it deep within me.

He was the only real one capable of this.

A roar wanted to come screaming out from my throat.

I reigned it in, though.

With my three pictures, and a Roman Catholic book, and a special bag that I had grabbed out of my room, I went up to the attic.

. . . Show time.

The doorknob, once again, felt crumbly beneath my fingertips. Burnt. I got a thrill of something horrible that shot up my left arm. It was hot, and quick, and painful. With intensified fury, I yanked the door open with a sharp breath, and looked up the stairs as they gaped down at me, looking to swallow me whole.

My hands were shaking, as my right hand clutched the three photographs of the ones who had to go, and Father Dominic's book. The charred steps smelt damp and strong. The eternal odor of smoke, ash, and death. The wood that made up the floor was useless. Again, I breathed in, and held the air in my lungs prisoner. Then I climbed the stairs slowly, which was weird seeing that inside I felt like screaming and running.

And when I was in the attic, I looked around. My hair fell limply around my face. I was breathing hard, by now, and I didn't know why. I got another flash of the side of Jack's face. It was recoverable . . . but that was just a physical manifestation of the hidden cruelty within those three boys.

I mean . . . okay, yeah. They had died. Maybe at least Robin had been killed. Maybe the others suicided. Maybe it was an accident. I don't know. But I DO know that they have NO RIGHT to take it out on the living.

On Jack . . .

The floor was black, and the crisped planks of wood looked ashy and dark. Through the window seeped in strange afternoon light. The weather outside was being weird.

It was cold.

And foggy. So unlike the sunny, cheery Gilroy I knew.

I sank to my knees slowly, and placed the photos of three of the Misfortunates. Charlie, Robbie, and Nathan grinned back at me toothily, the essence of life and opportunity.

But the souls of these three boys were twisted. They were monsters. There was something about them . . . it went much deeper than almost killing my friends, or trying to crush Jack for NO REASON.

No, there was something about them that made me realize . . . they were much more than a couple of dead eighteen year olds. Maybe they were normal when they died.

But they have been in this school for, as they said, almost fifty years or something.

And this school isn't the nicest place to haunt.

Cliché, maybe.

But from the ghost's point of view?

Well . . . if a dead spirit still had the capacity to go insane, they would.

And since ghosts can't technically undergo any psychological alternations within the supernatural preservation of their brain, well . . . they go to the closest thing to insanity. And if they were alive, and in that stage . . . one little thing would tip them over that edge.

Make them cross that line.

Point of no return.

My eyelids compressed as I stared at the three boys, captured in time. It was their own fault. This realm was not theirs. If THEY couldn't behave, then they had to go.

After that, I placed my little bag down on the floor also, and opened up the drawstring. Then, I collected the twenty incense candles from within it, and placed them in a large circle. My hands shook as I did so, and I didn't know why.

There was no box of matches in the bag, I realized in annoyance.

But then again . . . I'm a shifter. Who needs a little red-tipped twig?

With as much concentration, I narrowed my eyes at the very first candle, focusing on the hate that was building up inside of me.

Hate: a special kind of love given to those who suck.

Go on . . . ignite, you stupid lump of scented wax -

The tip of the wick flickered, and lit up, swaying in the non existent breeze. I narrowed my eyes more, and in slow sequence, the other nineteen candles were lit, one by one . . .

I felt a small spurt of that untapped power, again, making the twentieth candle flare something HUGE, so a rush of incense hit my nose, and the wax melted halfway.

When it was controlled, I stared at the perfect ring of twinkling light around me, intended for a dark purpose.

I brushed my hair back behind my ear in frustration, and opened the book, with now continuously shaking hands. Something weird was happening to me. Or . . . in me.

Which sounds really gross, but shut up.

I flicked over the pages, scanning the Latin.

God, where the hell WAS it?

I flicked the pages irately.

. . . Blah, blah, blah –

There.

Diabolus Expulsum.

Or, you know, your A-grade exorcism. God may not have shown his gratitude for us mediators when he gave us these powers, but he sure gave us something to help. A very efficient recipe for an exorcism that'll truly get the job done.

Well, Father Dom'll be glad to know that it was Catholic, at least.

I stopped, and drew in a deep, deep breath. Then, I ran my fingers across the old page, scanning the Latin and familiarizing myself with the pronunciation.

Then I began.

As the words were droning quietly from my lips, monotonous and unbroken, tiny wispy plumes of incense ascended in meanders from the tips of the candles, spiraling up mistily to the roof. The intensity of the incense increased a little as I kept reading. My eyes kept flicking up to the now helix shape of the smoke. More smoke began flooding the room, making me wryly realize that this was not the first time that this room had entertained smoke.

The roof above began to dome from the smoke. I glanced up at it rapidly, reminded of my own exorcism long ago. Oh, God . . . this Roman Catholic stuff is HARD.

Chicken blood is the only way to go.

Then, a half-outraged voice made me hesitate.

'Susie! What are you – you said you wouldn't do – the priest told you not to – '

I kept chanting. I knew the incantation, now. I spun, and waved furiously for Bartholomew Ford to go. He wasn't who I wanted.

He didn't know what I meant. 'Susie, what – '

'GO!' I yelled at him. In that instant, the smoke started dissolving. SHIT. Angrily, I snapped at Bart, 'This isn't for you. It's for – '

'Us?'

My previously hot blood ran cold, as Bart hurriedly dematerialized.

I gradually turned around, and swallowed. Charlie, Nathan, and Robin were situated separately across the wall opposite me, glaring at me through the sinking smoke.

. . . Shit.

Oh, oh, oh God . . .

My eyes went wide as I saw the three of them . . . just standing there.

'Now, what do you think you're doing, Susie?' Robin asked in a chiding voice that triggered alarm bells deep within me.

I couldn't respond. I just -

BART RUINED EVERYTHING!

GAWD.

I just remained on my knees, frozen, not knowing what to do. The three of them were just smirking at me.

Angrily.

. . . VERY angrily.

I swallowed, very hard. 'Oh,' I said. 'I got new candles. I was testing them out. Yeah . . . they're . . . they're scented like vanilla,' I nodded. 'And - '

'You wouldn't be trying to exorcise us, would you Susie?' Nathan asked me with an arrogant toss of his head.

I shook my head. 'What makes you think that?' I asked.

Charlie acknowledged the almost closed porthole in the roof, leading to the Shadowland.

'Oh,' I said in nervous recognition. 'Yeah, that's a bit of a give-away - '

Robin laughed unkindly; one that shot through my head like a bullet, and then, with the swipe of his finger, all the candles in the circle went out.

'NO!' I yelled, and went to relight them, ala shifter powers, but suddenly, I was flung back REALLY hard against the wall. I yelled, crumpling to the ash.

As I went to stand up, Robin marched to the centre of the room, no trace of a smirk on his face now. It was a palette of complete, utter murder.

There was a fire dancing in his eyes, as if it had never left from the night he'd been killed. Been burned to a crisp. And now he wanted the same thing for me.

I froze again. I mean, if they ALL grabbed my hands, then I could shift with all of them to the Shadowland, somewhere I despised, as once it had taken me three days to wake up after I'd gone! THREE. The headaches were worse these days.

I hadn't been there for months . . .

But if I just shifted with one, or even TWO, that was leaving my unconscious body at risk in the realm of the living.

So I was NOT going to be SHIFTING.

'Look,' I snapped, 'You brought this upon yourself, okay? What you almost did to Jack - OW!'

My hands, by an unseen force, were flung back against the burnt wall, with my elbows bent and my arms flat. The red turtleneck that I was wearing suddenly suffered a, um, RIP, as - again, by their power that I could not see - the woolen fabric was torn from the bottom of the sweater to my midriff.

Oh, God . . .

WHY THE HELL COULDN'T I MOVE?

'We deserve NOTHING that YOU do to us,' Robin spat, stepping up to me wrathfully. 'You come into OUR school and make US leave? I don't think so. And I think we've been far too accommodating up till now.'

Yeah. Right. And that welcoming committee treated us with flower leis and cocktails. Yeeeaah.

All I had to do was get that circle of candles lit . . . then just - just keep chanting. The photos were there, and -

I squinted my eyes at the first candle, willing for it to light.

Come ON -

It flickered, and lit. Then, as I went to spread it again, Robin saw what I was doing.

He laughed furiously. 'You don't give up, do you?' he whipped his head back to me. 'You are NOT GETTING US OUT OF THIS SCHOOL!'

My sweater ripped the rest of the way with a short, sharp tear of the material, and I gasped sharply, as the now separate front halves of the sweater hung uselessly over my bra. I felt mortified. Charlie and Nathan stood behind Robin, focusing each on one of my arms.

Intently.

I started shaking again. I mean . . . exorcisms had gone wrong before. Sure. Heaps of times.

But this was one occasion where . . . well, I didn't see a way out.

They were too POWERFUL.

'STOP IT,' I yelled at him. 'Don't you talk to me like that, you pisshole. You tried to kill my friends. And as far as I'm concerned, you don't merit an invitation to remain on this plane of existence, buddy. Considering that your attitude towards the LIVING has been a little HOSTILE - '

I was spun around by this intense power that was washing over my body like the most corrosive acid. It freaking burned.

'OW - '

Robin came right up behind me. 'It seems like such a waste to kill you,' he said in my ear. I was still rendered immobile. I winced as his hands slid to my hips.

'Then DON'T.'

He laughed. 'Pity you're so . . . rebellious.'

That's supposed to be one of my GOOD POINTS.

'Okay,' I tried reasoning, 'If you just maybe stop trying to kill people then maybe - '

Only then, he dematerialized, and suddenly, I heard the ROAR of fire. I spun around, and to my utmost horror, a wall of flame blocked off ANYTHING else in sight.

I admit, I screamed initially. I mean - it was CLOSE, and -

'Ha-ha,' I shouted, 'Nice illusion - '

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! HAND, OWIES, OH MY GOD, IT WAS REAL - OWWW!

'Now you will see what it is like, Susie,' Robin's deadly voice could barely be heard over the toxic fire, 'Burn.'

The waxy candles fell into immediate puddles on the ground, and smoke started gushing into my lungs . . .

I wasn't cut out for this stupid mediator thing . . . I can't handle it.

I can't handle men.

. . . No way . . . none of them . . . they always. . . burned me in the end . . .

YEAH, THANKS FOR BEING FRIGGING LITERAL THIS TIME, PAL.

I tried to control the fire and make it go away, but I was too busy coughing to ATTEMPT concentration and control. My fingertips were searing, and it was HOT -

'STOP IT!' I wailed in fury.

The fire was now so close that, if I didn't shrink against the wall, the licking of the flames would reach me. My skin was wet, and my hands were being coated with black ash.

Oh, God -

And then there was a yell, and the fire went out, and there were no ghosts, no where.

I sank on all fours, coughing my heart out, my dark hair draping the sides of my face. There was smoke in my throat that seemed determined to do me in. I kept coughing, till someone was patting my back, in their attempt to help me breathe again. When I was done, I sucked in the still smoky air sharply, held it, and then released noisily.

'You,' Paul said angrily, 'are a frigging idiot.'

Yeah, thanks. I Noticed.

I started laughing angrily. 'Shut up,' I snapped at him. I looked at Father Dom's book.

It was burnt beyond repair.

Oops.

Paul helped me to stand. He held me under my arms, against his side. I was still coughing weakly. 'What the hell did you think you were doing?' he demanded. I didn't answer. What? What the hell had I done wrong, huh?

It's your every day run-of-the-mill revenge. Simple.

Paul, however, kept pressing. The air smelt so strongly of soot that my eyes were watering. 'Well?'

'You saw what they did to Jack,' I replied, 'I was just - ''Father Dom told you NOT to perform exorcisms - ''Oh, piss off. Don't tell me you weren't about to do the EXACT same thing. I just beat you to it - '

'Actually, I wasn't. You see, Suze, I'm smart. I don't rush into things, and lose my head. I know exactly what I'm doing, and when I'm doing it. And I DON'T almost get myself killed!'

'It was BART'S fault!' I said defensively. 'He showed up and - my incantation was - he made me lose concentration and then the other three turned up - '

'It's not his fault,' Paul snapped. 'It's yours.'

We were finally in the hallway. Oh well, dust was SO much better than smoke. I started taking deeper breaths, and my head wasn't as cloudy. Paul went to kind of let my go, but my stupid kneecaps went all funny, and he quickly grabbed me again before I fell flat on my face when I'm sure he would have enjoyed to laugh at.

'How did you know where I was?' I asked rustily.

He let out a bark of laughter. 'You, Suze, are pretty predictable. I saw the cut outs in the library from the year books. And you're a classic shifter - you're the kind to go to the site of a ghost's death to perform an exorcism.'

OH MY GOD.

Said on my God was a thought that ran though my mind when Paul's eyes fell from my face, to . . . erm . . . lower.

OH MY GOD (again).

WHAT? He STILL looks at my breasts? I thought he got OVER that stage when he was eighteen-OHMYGOD - MY TURTLENECK WAS RIPPED RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE FROM BEFORE, AAAAAAAAAAAH!

'Whoa - ' he looked away in embarrassment. Then he whipped his head back and was all, 'Did THEY do that?'

I folded one section FIRMLY over the other, my face going scarlet. 'Um - yeah, kinda - '

Oh my God . . . Paul Slater just saw my BRA.

Eww.

Things to do before I die: Kill myself.

Paul's eyes kept flickering down, as if checking to see whether I'd covered myself up or not. Then he was all, ' . . . You wanna go get changed?'

NO. I WANT TO PARADE AROUND THE SCHOOL LIKE THIS.

OF COURSE I WANT TO GO CHANGE, YOU MORON.

I nodded firmly, and pulled away, feeling my knees go all squidgy again. He walked with me towards the room in which I was residing.

I then went inside, and tugged on a purple V neck, and pulled a cardigan over it. It was really cold, all of a sudden. My body had just gone up to an extreme heat, and then I had suddenly froze. I didn't know why. My forehead was still damp from the heat waves of the fire, but now it was more of a cold sweat. I quickly gathered my hair off my face, and pulled it up into a ponytail.

Then I quickly went back out. I thought that Paul would have gone, for some weird reason, but he was still waiting for me. Now that he saw I was fully dressed again, he started getting pissed at me again.

Yeah. I guess he was a little too distracted earlier to get mad at me when I was half-naked. But now that I was fully clothed, he could have it all out without occasionally peeking at my rack.

'Don't try another exorcism,' he warned. 'Because I might not be there next time to save your ass.'

'My ass does not need saving,' I sniffed in disdain. 'My ass is quite capable.'

. . . Okay . . . Suze?

EWWW.

There was no NEED to make suggestions like that when my clothes were practically falling off of me earlier.

Paul gave me a sarcastic look. 'I'm sure it's very capable,' he said, with the ghost of a smirk, 'Just obviously not in the department where you have to not get killed by the haunters of this school.'

Shut up, smelly.

I rolled my eyes. 'Minor detail,' I muttered.

'No,' he said, 'Suze, you don't get it. You didn't even have enough strength to use your OWN powers. That's bad.'

NUH, FREDDIE.

'It won't happen again,' I assured him. 'That was a little slip up - '

'No. It was blatant stupidity - '

'All RIGHT already!' I rounded on him. 'God, LECTURE me why don't you? I get it. I screwed up. Again. Yay. Okay, move on. Just - don't go ON and ON and ON about it - '

He grabbed me by my shoulders suddenly and roughly, and snapped in my face, 'I'm trying to HELP you!'

I laughed, and jerked away. 'Oh yes,' I humoured him agitatedly. 'Paul Slater, always trying to help those weaker than him. How generous of you, Paul. Snobby little rich guy just loves doing charity work. Your mum and dad would be so proud - '

In disgust, he shook his head at me, and walked on ahead angrily. I waited three seconds, before following, but you know, not going UP to him or anything.

That would only invite more conversation. And more ragging on me.

As he was about to go down the stairs, he stopped, turned, and waited for me. His fingers drummed in annoyance on the side. His hair seemed to get curlier by the day, now. Just tiny curls. You know. Ones any girl would die to have in long-hair version, for her school prom.

Not that it looked girly on him or anything. It actually looked kind of, well, nice on him. But I was not going to openly admit it to him or anyone else for that matter.

When I reached where he was standing, he gave me another hard look.

'How's Jack?' I asked him, and we started walking down.

'He'll live,' Paul said. 'He's got a mean abrasion on his face, and some bruising all down his side and his arm. It looks worse than it is.'

'That's the thing, though,' I said in my defense still, 'They had NO REASON to do that. So do you think that I was just going to let them - '

'Yes,' Paul said sternly. 'You, obviously, can't handle them properly.'

'Hey!' I snapped, 'Look, just QUIT it.'

'Quit what?' he shot.

'Giving me heaps!' I snapped. 'It was ONE screw up - '

'That you almost died from - '

'I KNOW THAT!' I exploded at him. 'God, and you say that I live in the past? Paul. I'm not dead. Yay for me, nay for you. Now, get over it, and tell me what our action plan for the Misfortunates is, as of NOW.'

Paul stared at me like I had just developed another set of eyeballs. Which, you know, may be a good for him since he apparently LIKES my eyeballs, as mentioned before, after The Lake Incident. 'We make them move on. Naturally, as you used to always want it to be.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Yeah,' I said, 'That was for the ghosts that WEREN'T homicidal. Those DESERVED a fair go. But these ones don't.'

He was being illogical. What the hell was he waiting for? What, a reason WHY they were still here? What? They're bitter about their suicide/murder/death/accident or WHATEVER the hell happened to them. Frankly, I didn't care much anymore. Lives were starting to become fragile. Jack, CeeCee, Adam . . . me . . .

And I'm sorry, but I was getting freaked.

I mean . . . this was like, me CONTINUOUSLY putting myself in the path of danger. That's just stupid. At least I'd actually TRIED to, you know, get rid of the stupid ghosts so we could all go back to our lives, whether they involved thesis that needed to be written, going down a catwalk in a leopard skin thong, or getting their face constantly bruised by their "lover," so to speak.

We'd almost reached floor one, and Paul was about to reply with another biting argument when the entrance door opened, and Dani stumbled in.

Apparently, a little drunk.

'Paaaaaaaaaulie,' she looked around, her eyes wide. 'Paaaaaulie, are you theeeeeeere?'

Paul stopped mid-step, so his foot hovered over the next stair. He frowned, looked sideways at me, and then looked at Dani again.

Dani, who was leaning heavily on the door, hiccupped and looked up, sighting us.

Then she exploded.

'PAUL! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH HER? AFTER WHAT THAT HORRID LITTLE PAPER SAID ABOUT US? IS - IS THAT TRUE? DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE? AND YOU WENT TO HER? God! You can do BETTER than the likes of HER - '

I glared. 'HEY,' I said angrily.

I'M RIGHT HERE, YOU DRUNKARD.

She just IMPLIED that Paul Slater was BETTER than me. I mean, maybe it was a little true in some cases, (okay, a lot...)

But the fact that DANIELLE MOORE pointed it out to me is just...MEAN.

Paul ran down the rest of the stairs. 'Where've you been all day?'

'At Miles'. He's darling. Hmph,' she snapped, 'HE'D never cheat on me.'

'He's gay,' was my addition. What? It's TRUE.

Paul rolled his eyes and dragged her away from the doorknob. 'So you just drank all day?' he demanded.

With all her friends.

Samuel Adams. . . Jack Daniels . . . Jim Bean…

She rolled her eyes. 'What was I SUPPOSED to do? You all went off to watch the stupid priest get his head sliced open. Is THAT why you're so stroppy, Paul? Did he die on the operating table, or something?'

I swelled up in a sliver of the rage that I'd been feeling before, stormed down the rest of the stairs, shot Paul the cattiest glare, and headed for the kitchen angrily.

GOD . . .

I HATED HER SO GOD DAMNED MUCH.

'Wait!' Paul yelled at me angrily, 'We're not done – '

'Tend to your drunken mistress,' I replied. 'I'm going to help CeeCee with dinner.'

Paul swore at me, as I stomped down the corridor. However, it was just before I got to the kitchen that I bumped into Jesse, who was standing in the doorway, smiling kind of wistfully.

'Hey,' I said, trying to hide any leftover emotion that hung in the air with the last thing I'd said. I wanted to keep it light and simple. Our newly re-established friendship was still on the rocks, and I didn't want whatever blinding anger I felt towards Paul to interfere with it. Again.

Jesse regarded me with one of his great smiles. The smile that used to melt my insides into a huge puddle of goo. Then, he continued looking off into the kitchen, the same smile plastered on his perfect Latino face.

It amazed me how Jesse could find something happy in the midst of all this, well, sadness. I only wished I could do the same.

'What are you all smiles about?' I asked him.

With one finger, Jesse turned my head towards the kitchen, where I saw CeeCee hold a spoonful of sauce to Adam to taste it. Adam, being somewhat clumsy in his eagerness to try it, had accidentally gotten some on his face. CeeCee giggled girlishly and then put down the spoon and kissed the sauce off his face.

Okay, it was kind of gross. But in the cutest way possible.

'They are in love,' Jesse said. He continued to look at them and said again, with a small laugh, 'They are truly in love.'

'I knew that,' I reminded him.

'I cannot help but imagine that it must be truly wonderful,' Jesse said, turning my head back towards him, 'to be in love with someone like that, and to have them love you in return the exact same way.'

I blinked up at him awkwardly.

Just then, Jack came into the room, slowly. He looked really tired and really freaked. The bandage on his head covered the huge gash he'd received earlier.

Jesse dropped his hand like my face suddenly caught on fire and then cleared his throat. 'How are you feeling, Jack?' Jesse asked.

Jack smiled weakly at Jesse and, in a manner quite like Father Dom's, replied, 'Oh, I've been better.'

Isn't that how it always is?

- 8 -

A/N: Hey, it's me, Hayley. Deepest apologies. Lolly and I are just cruel and maniacal by nature. But, THE CHAPTER will be out before I go to Colorado. We love you guys for reading . . . and DANG, I just looked at how many reviews we've gotten. WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS.

Do you love us back? Because I think our man Jesse's hit the nail on the target with his little theory earlier.

Lolly: Guys, we are really sorry that this was not The Chapter. It WILL come soon. But homework has been horrible, and Hayley's poor Auntie . . .

AND THE POPE. WE MUSTN'T FORGET THE POPE.

REST IN PEACE, DEAR POPEY.

But yeah, we PROMISE that it won't be long. And we truly are sorry . . . please be nice . . .

Love,

Lolly and Hayley.