A certain scene in this chapter is dedicated very LOVINGLY to Aina.

Oh, how I smirk lolliliciously.

Teehee . . . don't worry. In joke. She'll know what I'm talking about.

Well. Here's your chapter. And before my birthday, too. Paulie-lovers will really like this. Jesse-fans will hate us.

Wow, we're really moving along, aren't we? 28! That's HEAPS.

Also to people who think that Jesse will go completely psycho in this chapter . . . do you really think Hayley and myself would characterize him like that? No. He loves Suze. He's HURT. He will not go on a killing spree because of it.

Silly peoples . . . O ye of little faith.

Love, Lolly and Hayley.

- 8 -

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

He fell silent.

He stood rigid, closed his eyes, and underwent the hell of what I'd just said. I started shaking all over again. It wasn't supposed to come out like that . . .

Then, his eyes opened. Once again, they were narrow with fury.

'If Felix Diego could have killed me again with a knife, Susannah . . . he would have stabbed me in the front, and for that, I would thank him.'

I almost suffocated on a sob that developed deep in my soul, striking my heart and hooking on my airways. 'That is SO not fair, Jesse!'

'All is fair in love and war, Susannah,' Jesse said coldly.

'Well, I've been in this battle for far too long,' I said, trying to find a stance stable enough to keep standing. 'And quite frankly, I'm tired of it, Jesse.'

Jesse didn't say anything. He just stood there with his eyes shut, looking tortured and pained. He was shaking his head to himself, not wanting to believe a single word he was hearing.

Almost like I did not want to believe any bullshit I'd been hearing from him. I couldn't take it anymore. It annoyed me beyond belief, what he'd done in the past and how he was acting about it now.

So I snapped. Terribly. So much so that when I spoke, I had to choke each word out slowly in order to keep it all from spewing out into a loud sob or an angry yell.

'You sent me away five years ago, remember that? I felt sad and rejected and- hell, I felt so pitiful. I thought I was nothing without you, Jesse. You wanted me to get over you Jesse, and I did. It took me five damn years, but I finally did. And now . . . now you're expecting me to feel this again? I've been through all this crap before. What makes you even think I'd do it all over again?'

Jesse looked like he'd just received a blow much like the one Paul accidentally gave me earlier when I tried to break him and Jesse from fighting. Only, I wasn't exactly putting peas on it to make him feel any better.

In fact, it was more like I was throwing those frozen peas in his face.

In other words . . . ouch.

But at the time, I didn't care. I was gone. Far, far, FAR away.

'Make up your freaking MIND, Jesse. What the hell do you want from me?' I shouted at him.

He winced, but remained quiet for a moment. He looked numb, like he couldn't feel anything anymore. I mean, that wasn't too far off since he was a ghost and in a certain way he couldn't feel anymore. But death can't detach you from emotional pain. You're stuck for all eternity.

Which is why I'm convinced being a ghost would SUCK. I'd rather slip off into the unknown than stick around this hellhole.

In a different, more breathy tone, Jesse whispered his normal Spanish curse, 'Nombre de Dios.' It always puzzled me why he said that, since it was, after all, taking the Lord's name in vain. Only, when he said it this time, it was more like he was calling upon God in desperation. To save him from this pain. To save him from what I was putting him through.

Clearly dejected, he took a step away from me. 'Susannah,' he breathed, looking so, so sad, 'you must know this . . . Te amo. I love you. And most importantly, I always will.'

The tables had turned and now I was pretty sure I was the one who looked like she'd been punched. Every girl loves those three little words (two words in Spanish, I guess). But it's hard to relish in them when you don't return the feelings. It took me five long, painful, torturous, and pathetic years to finally realize, though. It hurt me because the realization was still fresh.

Part of me was curious. Why couldn't this work? It asked. I guess I could make it work.

But deep down, I knew I couldn't.

I wanted to tell Jesse to stop. Stop this, stop loving me! But before I could say anything, he continued, 'You can go . . . go and enjoy a life with the likes of Paul Slater-'

He made a disgusted face, like he was swallowing a bad taste in his throat.

'-But I will still love you. Nothing will change it. Nada.'

Forever. As in, all eternity.

Remember when I said I'd been to that Madame Zara lady that one time when I was younger? And, besides pointing out that I was a Mediator, she'd said some other stuff too. Like that I'd have this one love that'd last all of eternity.

One love . . . one freaking love. What the hell did that mean?

I mean, I'd loved Jesse first, a long time ago. Now, I'm in love with Paul. If my math is correct, I believe that's two loves, not one.

Either Madame Zara can't count, or there's some other meaning behind it.

There's many types of love, I guess. There's lust, which doesn't really count as love, but is often mistaken for it. That's the most temporary. Then there's true love, where two people trust each other with their whole mind, body, and soul. It's like they know each other on every single level.

And then there's the worst type of love. Unrequited love, what Jesse has for me.

Could it be? What if . . . what if this love was received instead of something mutual? Jesse said he'd love always. As in forever . . . eternity. Maybe Jesse was the one love that would last for an eternity. Just because he loved me, it didn't mean I had to love him back . . .

Did it even WORK like that? I mean, God that SUCKS.

My mind was now working overtime and my whole heart was in overdrive. Meanwhile, Jesse had managed to close the space between us. I hadn't noticed this, of course.

Jesse took my hand gently in his own and looked down at it. He swallowed a century and a half of loneliness, five years of pain, and an eternity of new torture and misery, and said, 'Susannah, I speak no truer words than these. My love for you is a infinite thing . . . as eternal as my immortal soul. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I just . . . I always thought there would be a chance you might, perhaps, come back to me. I thought we could, then, make things right again. Now I know, as you have helped me realize, that this was but wishful thinking. A fool's silly dream.'

Jesse was love's martyr. And I was the one casting stones at him. One and then another . . . more and more and more . . .

'Oh God,' I gasped, 'Jesse . . . no . . . '

I was about to give him more false hopes, but I felt so terrible. I mean, Jesse didn't deserve any of this. Jesse didn't deserve ME. He was on a completely different plane from me. He was everything that was perfect while I was everything that was not.

And instead of letting him try to pull me up with him, I had to retreat back down. But his love for me caused him to follow me . . . follow me down to the deepest depths. He was now in hell . . . where I had been stranded for five years.

I wanted more than anything to heal his aching heart. I didn't want him to hurt like I did. And not because I loved him, but because I cared. I cared because he cared. Because of everything we'd been through together . . . escaping a flying statue head, jumping out of windows to escape perilous fire, crushing killer geeks, surviving purgatory (and a vicious ex), helping me through the biggest grounding of my life after that party . . . I owed him.

He'd saved my life so many times. Now I knew why.

He looked at me expectantly, but I couldn't say anything. No sentence I could ever form would ever, EVER fix this. The pain would never leave his downtrodden brown eyes. The only thing that would fix this would be lies, and those would just end up breaking it up and blowing it to smithereens.

And besides, I was tired of lying. I was over that now. Sometimes the truth is so beautiful that hiding it seems like a sin . . . a crime against humanity and you. Lying would be like dressing it up as werewolf for Halloween.

My hands were still in his, but now I could feel them shaking in my own. Their usual un-ghostly warmth had gone away, now accompanied by the cold. It was a new, cold, and harsh reality for Jesse.

'Please, Susannah,' he begged, dragging a cold thumb across the back of my hand in his.

And that, my friends, was where it all went downhill. I began to cry my tears painful and merciless.

'I just . . . I don't know what you want from me,' I sobbed, my voice barley audible through the thickness of my throat. 'I don't know what to say, Jesse.'

His expression looked mournful, as if he'd just lost his best friend. But it wasn't a friend it was losing . . . it was a part of himself, the part that was me that I was ripping away from him right then.

Once I got stung by a bee at recess in the third grade. I was just minding my own business, playing with Gina under the slide . . . the place we always hid and played games, just the two of us. Well, one day I was totally captivated by this little bees' nest that was there when we came to play there that day. Well, I saw a bee crawl out of it, and being a little loser I was, thought it'd be fun to play with the bee. I tried to touch it and it stung me right on my finger!

I ran, screaming and crying, to my teacher. I was so mad at the bee, I told her, that I wished I could squish it.

'You don't have to worry about that,' she told me. 'Bees die after they sting you.'

I was satisfied with that answer. It stung me, therefore it should die. I suffer, it suffers.

It wasn't until fourth grade science class the next year that I figured out why bees died after they stung you. It didn't just happen like that. When a bee stings you, it's stinger gets attatched to your skin, so when it pulls away, the stinger is ripped from his butt. Then, it dies and the stinger is stuck in you until you pull it out.

Jesse was already dead. And I had just stung him, and now that I was trying to pull away, I was ripping a big part of me off. And that part would linger with him forever.

Jesse wasn't the only one feeling this pain. I was, too. It was killing me.

Jesse looked as if he wanted to say something, but then he closed his eyes and let out another sigh.

'No . . . no, I cannot ruin your life more than I already have,' he said, putting a stop to his words, now trying to choose them carefully. Because, like I said, I was sobbing way beyond my control.

'Jesse . . . you gave me the best two years of my life,' I choked, swallowing down a major lump in my throat. I could hardly call that ruining my life. I mean, if he hadn't been there, I'd be dead. 'When I was sixteen, I was living in a blissful dream. And I have you to thank for that. But right now, I want to thank you for . . . for loving me and respecting me enough to just let me go. I know, now, why you did it the first time. It was because you cared, not because you didn't love me-'

'There hasn't been a moment where I have not loved you,' Jesse said, his voice as heavy as his heart.

I bowed my head and stared at our hands entwined. Jesse had strengthened his grip on them now, as if I might fall away if he wasn't.

'Jesse,' I pleaded with a single tear rolling down my cheek, 'you have to let me go again.'

His gaze met my watery eyes, screaming of hurt and injustice. For eyes so dark, it was amazing how much emotion they held. I couldn't take it any longer, so I slipped my hands away from his.

Jesse blinked a few times and said in the softest whisper, 'Mi querida . . . '

He called me querida again. The one word that used to cause my heart to do somersaults in my chest now caused my heart to rip into two as I was tearing Jesse's apart.

It had ended. It was done. The long battle was over, and I was being shipped back to home. Back to the real world where everything had its own way . . . its own place.

There was no place for ghosts on this earth. That's why God gave us this freakish ability. So that we could help them find their peace, and they could get on to where they actually do belong.

Another place a ghost doesn't belong is in your heart.

I took a slow, cautious step back.

'If there was anything I could do to make this right, I would do it in a heartbeat,' I said, trying to comfort him and myself. 'If there was something that would take away the pain.'

Jesse smiled weakly and replied, 'Love me.'

'Jesse, you know I can't,' I said.

He let out another large sigh and ran his hand through his hair. His gaze was no longer on me, but transfixed in the distance. I suddenly felt a wave of coldness affecting the vibes.

'I am sorry. I should go,' Jesse said, his eyes narrowing. I looked behind me for a moment and saw that Paul was leaning on the door of his Jaguar. I turned back to say something to Jesse, but by the time I did, he had already disappeared.

Again, I faced Paul. I wondered how much of that he'd just heard. He must have heard it all, because he slowly walked towards me, his expression giving his little eavesdropping bit dead away.

And the next thing I know, I'd fallen right into Paul's arms, my ear against his chest.

I was holding on to something real now. Not a childish fantasy anymore. But then, why did it hurt so much to let him go?

'I can't believe I just did that,' I said, realizing that I was now sobbing uncontrollably again.

Paul massaged my back with his fingers, trying to get me to calm myself a little.

But I didn't feel better yet. My world had just spun of its axis, but for another reason entirely. It had spun so fast that it plummeted to the ground and began rolling in the universe's mud-puddle.

That little breakup . . . it had torn apart this huge chunk of me. Who I was now, and who I was when I was sixteen. What Jesse did five years ago had changed my life in a way I thought was the worst. But it turns out this chunk, this important chunk, needed tearing a long time ago.

'I feel like I've destroyed him, Paul,' I said, closing my eyes. They hurt so badly from all the crying I was doing.

Paul didn't answer me straight away. I guess he really didn't know what to say. He'd witnessed the whole thing, but in a distant way.

'Have I?' I demanded, looking up at Paul urgently. 'I mean, this isn't something he can just get over right away.'

'You would never destroy anyone intentionally,' Paul said, smoothing down my hair. 'You aren't capable of that, unlike some people. You've got too big a heart.'

'Then why do I feel so heartless?' I cried.

'Truly heartless people don't feel,' Paul pointed out.

He was right. I wasn't a terrible monster, was I? I felt bad. I felt guilty. The stinger had ripped off my ass and now I was in pain, too. That doesn't make me bad, does it?

I buried my head in his chest, suddenly overcome by the cold I had previously been numb from. I stood there, shivering in his arms for another minute. And he was right there with me, the whole time.

Like this morning, when I was making sure that Cole would never hurt me again.

He was right there.

I could feel his hand in my hair and his other on my back.

I was still shivering when he finally suggested that we go back to his car, or the cold would kill us.

"We."

"Us."

Two very acceptable words, all of a sudden.

A few steps away, Paul opened the door for me. I climbed in. Then he sat in after me, and wrapped his arms around my upper body, pulling me back into him and dragging the quilt over the pair of us. He was still tickling my stomach with his fingertips when I was falling asleep from sheer exhaustion.

One would think I would have stayed awake in terror, mulling over all of the things that had just happened.

But when you're that tired, you can barely function any longer, let alone think. So my consciousness slipped, and I soon found myself asleep. The type of sleep that makes you forget who you are, where you're from, and exactly what you did the day before.

That is, until you wake up.

8-

Paul was right about the leather interior. It really isn't as comfortable as it looks. Especially when shared between two people.

We were sleeping just fine, all comfy and cozy, for a really long time. That was until my foot fell asleep. Given the amount of discomfort that caused, I had to re-adjust.

I tried to do it really quietly so it wouldn't wake Paul up, but one thing he forgot to mention about the leather is that it's so NOISY.

Seriously. I moved my foot, like, two inches and SQUEAAAK. Needless to say, Paul woke up, grunted, and shifted around (making more leathery noises) until he fell back asleep.

All in all: Worst sleep ever. But at least I got to share it with a good guy.

Did I mention that the seatbelt fastener-dealie was digging into my ass?

I must have fallen back asleep again, because the next moment when I opened my eyes, pale sunlight was filtering through the tinted window's of Paul's Jaguar. My head was on Paul's chest, and my hand – for reasons beyond me – was on his crotch. Thankfully, he was very much so asleep, and therefore wasn't experiencing any "happiness" about my accidental hand positioning. Quickly, I moved my hand away, and went to sit up, but his arms tightened around me as I went to pull away.

Even in his sleep, Paul was still pretty damn strong.

I sighed, smiled a little to myself, and closed my eyes again, tossing around random things in my brain . . .

Like how nice my legs felt seeing as I'd recently shaved them.

And what exactly I was going to write in my speech for the Junipero Serra reunion when the reconstruction in the Mission was completed.

And how I needed to pay a visit to Father Dom in hospital to see how he was going, since, according to Jesse, his radiotherapy funding was finally in and the actual radiation was underway.

And how good Paul smelt.

No really. He smelt good. Like he'd just popped out of the shower or something. Only, he did that last night but was somehow still fresh. My eyes could have stayed closed forever, just breathing in that scent.

Of course, random musings come at a price when said musings actually locate something of significance. And that was, how I'd ended up in Paul's car last night at like, 3am something. That reason being, oh, I dunno, I'd just wrenched out Jesse de Silva's no longer existing heart with my clawed hands, leaving a bloody cavity of pain and heartache.

Yeah. That.

However, the sunlight put me in a different frame of mind about the situation. No longer was I so cold that I couldn't move, or feel my fingertips. I was warm, and comfortable against Paul, who was still asleep, his breath fluttering my hair slightly and tickling my cheek.

What was done was done. What had been done had needed doing for a long time.

Closure.

The only thing was . . . that brought me to another matter entirely.

And that was that the man whose hold I was currently basking in, claimed to love me.

Love me. Me. Suze freakin' freakazoid Simon.

And that knowledge made me glow brighter than the rising sun . . .

Reminiscing how I'd felt the moment those words had sunk in last night, (or this morning, if you're picky,) a wide smile stretched across my lips. Because it felt NICE. Not only did I feel warmer physically, but there was a different kind of warmth that was NOTHING like what I'd felt when I'd woken up that morning after Paul and I had . . . um, done the dirty, one might say.

If I thought I'd felt warm then, it was nothing like now. Then, I'd still been chilled with insecurity, uncertainty, fear, and cold excitement.

Now, I knew.

Or at least, I was sure I did. Because Paul SO could have been lying.

. . . But I didn't think that he was.

I really didn't.

I honestly couldn't believe that I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I'd been too . . . I dunno, caught up with all of yesterday's events to have a shower, or you know, give the naughty Misforties a chance to see me in the buff. Now, I was kind of regretting that. I hoped that I didn't reek or anything.

I turned a little, just enough so that Paul didn't stir. I looked at his face, and smiled giddily at the serene look on his face. There was a quirk in his lips, like he knew that I was there. You know that smirk? The one that could chill your bones or make your heart melt, or even both at the same time? He even did a Mini-Me one of them when he was asleep. Which is kind of creepy, you know. Makes one wonder what he's dreaming about.

But yeah. From the angle that I was at – below his chin – I could see the determined outline of his jaw, and I got a . . . hey, what's the opposite of a bird's eye view? Ant's eye view? I don't know . . . I got an ant's eye view of his infamous eyelashes. No, seriously. They looked all long and sexy when he was asleep. His eyelids flickered a tiny bit, making me believe that he was in the deep end of his REM cycle or whatever. You know . . . rapid eye movement.

Again, I shifted around a bit, so I was lying on him rather than against him. His arms loosened, and I repositioned myself momentarily to bequeath a feather light kiss just below his ear.

I didn't know why . . . I just needed to kiss him. Even if he didn't realize I was doing it.

However, he must have been on the outskirts of REM, because his eyelids stopped moving a little, before very slowly blinking open. He looked sideways out the front window groggily, and then down at me.

'Oh,' he grinned, his voice rusty with sleep, 'It's you.'

Well, THAT made me feel special.

Not.

Who was he expecting, anyway?

. . . I hoped to God not Dani.

Because sorry, but . . . something told me she wasn't coming back.

His large hands came to my waist, and he sat up a little, till we were both sitting. He cast an amused eye over at the quilt that we'd both kicked off. It was jammed under the driver's seat, pretty much.

'It must have gotten hot,' I said.

'Well obviously, since I was here,' he raised an eyebrow.

'Wow, and he's modest too.'

'Sleep well?' he asked routinely.

I laughed a little, and he rubbed his eyes, before dragging his hand through his hair. 'Not particularly . . . just – car and all. Kept squeaking.'

'Hmm,' he agreed. 'Should have stuck with the bed. Then again . . . ' he trailed off, with a trademark smirk.

I gave an uncomfortable little giggle, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. His hand flirted with my hair in slow movements, making my nerves go all tingly.

'So . . . are you okay though?' he asked. 'I mean . . . last night, with de Si - Jesse, that was pretty full on. And you were upset when – '

'Yeah,' I interrupted, not really fancying a detailed reminder of what had gone down, 'I'm okay now.'

'And – ' Paul said into my hair, lowering his voice for some reason, 'him?'

I stayed silent for a moment.

'I'm okay,' I repeated, meaning it more now that the subject was Cole Kennedy.

'Good,' he said, with some relief. 'Good.'

He knew that I finally wasn't lying this time.

Paul moved the arm that was around me – consequently squeezing me against him briefly – to check the time.

'Six thirty,' he reported. 'What should we do until it is the usual waking time, Ms. Simon?'

'I don't know,' I shrugged, because I honestly didn't.

He snickered a little. 'We could always do this . . . '

With that, his fingers grazed along my neck, sweeping away my depressed-afro-ish hair, and he started kissing my neck softly. A fat little groan wormed its way out my throat, and I tilted my head back a little, before moving away a little.

'Paul,' I said quietly, 'Not now . . . not here, anyway. I mean . . . I don't want Jesse to see. It's bad enough that – but to make a big production of it where he can – '

Paul nodded in understanding, still looking a little put out. 'Fair enough.'

I know. I had a perfectly good-looking gentleman to suck-face with in a closed in a sexy, sleek looking Jaguar, but NOO I couldn't freely have a morning make-out session because I felt guilty.

It was weird. Even when I wasn't in love with Jesse, he was still keeping me from fully being with Paul.

I could, I guess, just say "screw this" and grab Paul by the collar of his shirt and kiss his lips off. You know, without caring what Jesse thought. But that seemed wrong. Jesse was my friend . . . I could never hurt him like that. I would never do that on purpose.

Just like he hadn't meant to hurt me when he told me to go to Massachusetts on my own. It DID hurt, and I suffered for five years. And now, since it was over, I could enjoy myself, right?

Yeah. At the expense of Jesse.

Maybe the hurt is inevitable. One person can't be happy without having another be miserable. Maybe that's why some people are well off and stuff in America, and then there's the starving children sewing clothes in sweatshops making, like, ten cents an hour.

OH GOD. WHAT AM I DOING? I'M SO CRUEL.

I looked back at Paul apologetically, feeling really rotten. It seemed like I was always choosing between Jesse and Paul. And I'm sure Paul always felt that, no matter what, I would always somehow choose Jesse over him.

But what he didn't realize is that this time, I was choosing him over Jesse. In a backwards sort of way.

Paul had the looks and the manner that would make you give up anything, EVERYTHING, in an instant. Cars, houses, starving children, long lost lovers . . . you name it. It wasn't just because he looked good. It was this aura he possessed. If he tells you to do something, you do it. Where he walks, you follow. If he says something, it's the LAW.

He had a command over everything, whether you liked it or not. Your head, your heart, and, in more passion-filled moments, your body.

And he'd finally managed to capture my heart.

After years of attempts, it seemed.

It was weird, actually, how light I felt at the moment. You know, in contrast to the dark misery I'd felt the night before. It was as if, with the sun, my spirits had risen.

The pain and the hurt over the pass few days seemed so far away.

You know . . . the self-hate after Paul had said that stick-you-for-one-night crack . . . generally feeling disgusting . . . being repeatedly thrashed by my ex . . . Dani's death, and how it stunned us all . . . almost dying in the Misfortunates' flames . . .

One would think that all of that suffering wouldn't be worth it.

But if you felt how I did then, you would have realized how worth it that feeling was.

I'd go through a hundred trials of that pain to have felt like this.

You know . . . to be in the arms of someone who loved me, who I actually had feelings for in return.

. . . Finally.

I thought back to that night when I'd come home, devastated, after Paul - the guy who was CURRENTLY HOLDING ME - had called me a whore. That had been the last straw after a series of horrible happenings, and I'd cracked.

And when I'd run back to this God forsaken school, Jesse had been the one to hold me while I cried.

. . . He was someone who loved me.

The only thing was, after all this time, the love had no longer been mutual.

That was the difference between then, and now.

Because now, I felt something for my captor. There was that uplifting sensation in my heart that eased the corners of my mouth into a gentle, happy smile . . .

And it felt nice.

I don't feel nice very often.

. . . I felt REALLY nice then, though . . .

You know what else would feel really nice right about now? A shower. A good, long, hot shower.

I crawled to the door and opened it. Before I could get out, Paul grabbed my hand and pulled me back in.

'Where do you think you're going?' he asked, his voice low and silky.

'To take a shower,' I answered, trying to sound casual.

'Good idea,' he said, 'I probably should take one too. I need one.'

I didn't point out to him that he smelled really good and that he could get away without one. I mean, his long, curly hair wasn't nappy, and his skin didn't lack any luster to it. He didn't even have that gross-sticky feeling you feel when you wake up.

He smiled at me, in a manner I could hardly call innocent, and then went, 'Oh . . . but I think I'm out of soap. You wouldn't mind sharing, would you?'

I was kind of shocked. I mean, I've never showered with anyone before. Nobody's even ASKED me before.

Okay, so Paul hadn't necessarily flat-out asked, but I knew that's what he was getting at. I just know him too well.

'Uh,' I started unsurely.

I know, you're probably thinking "What are you afraid of? You've done the naked thing before".

Yeah, we did. But that was kind of different, you know? I mean, that was in the dark and stuff. In a way, my body was still masked by the darkness. He probably couldn't see any of my imperfections . . .

But now he could. And, bonus, he would be able to see what was left of Cole's influence on me.

Yeah, the bruises were still slightly there. Last time I checked, they were gruesome. I can't imagine a doctor even wanting to see them. And there's some in places I can't even see myself. But Paul would be able to see them.

I was like a broken toy. Nobody wants to play with the broken toy.

Of course, showering alone meant becoming vulnerable to more bruises from the Misfortunates.

I swear, those four – erm, three – have caused me to be the most paranoid I've ever been. Any spare moment I'm alone, I always count the seconds until they come to harass me. Even if they don't choose to bug me, I always feel watched. And the smallest thing will freak me out. Like I'll think I hear distant laughing and stuff.

I'd rather NOT have a repeat of my first shower here. The blood and everything . . . God, that was SICKENING.

But it goes to show how serious they are. Serious enough to take away my freedom to shower . . .

And to take away Dani's life.

I bit my lower lip and replied, not very confidently, 'Um . . . oh – uh . . . yeah.'

Paul was going to have to see the real me sooner or later. All of me . . . the scars, the bruises, the flaws . . .

That would be the true test. If he really loved me, he would look past my brokeness.

I kind of hoped that maybe he'd see and mend me. Polish me and make me better than I ever was before.

So that was a yes.

What? Sue me if I shower with him. I mean, he's out of soap! It'd be a shame for him to get all smelly (even though I doubted he could) all because I wouldn't share with him.

What would my first grade teacher say about that? All of her hard work, trying to get everyone to share . . . I owed it to her.

THINK OF THE FIRST GRADE TEACHER, GUYS.

We're saving water. Did you know that a five-minute shower uses up about 25-50 gallons of water? At minimum, I take a fifteen-minute shower. So that's, like, 75-150 gallons of water. If he takes the same amount of time in the shower, that'd be 150-300 gallons.

And, you know, since only 2 of our water is drinkable freshwater, that's A LOT of water to waste on getting clean. We're cutting our water usage in half. We should be given an award for our water conservation.

And, okay, I was still kind of scared of showering alone. I mean, it was scary to think that cleaning off might come at a price. I might end up like Dani, maybe even worse.

Gulp.

Um, I think I've justified myself enough.

Exiting the car, Paul opened his truck and rummaged around for a towel and some clothes. I found myself straining to get a peek inside his bag to see if he really didn't have any soap. Maybe if I saw some and brought it to his attention then-

SUZE, GROW UP. It's just a shower, right?

Once he collected everything he needed, he threw his towel over his shoulder and walked with his clothes tucked under one of his arms. The other hand, of course, found its way in my own somehow.

We entered the school, still looking the same. Not that I expected it to look any different. I just expected the new light that lit up my life to change my attitude about it a little.

Light or no light, that place still overflowed with darkness, destruction, and death.

Speaking of death . . . Jesse was sitting on the steps leading upstairs, looking distant, his eyes full of emotion. But when he looked up at us, he had to strain himself to keep it all from spilling out.

His gaze lowered to my hand in Paul's, and his expression went blanker.

I quickly dropped my hand and smiled awkwardly at Jesse. Paul seemed a bit annoyed, but was understanding.

'Buenos dias,' he said in a toneless voice. 'I . . . I trust you both slept well?'

His voice sounded forced, and rusted.

'Uh,' I said, 'fine – '

However, he cut this encounter extremely short. 'I'm going to go . . . to see Jack. In Carmel,' he added, his eyes darkening as they looked at me. But not . . . AT me. Just near me. He wasn't meeting my eyes. 'I shall come if you call, Susannah.'

'Jesse,' I said in a soft voice, but he hoaxed a smile, and dematerialized like he couldn't wait to get out of there.

I guess I couldn't blame him. Talk about awkward/

Paul's hand came to my shoulder. 'Hey,' he said. 'Stop that.'

'Stop what?' I asked.

'That look,' he said. 'You've got . . . that look you get. When you think something's your fault. It's not. So stop looking like that.'

I raised my eyebrows a little, still looking at where Jesse had disappeared from.

Why did hurting him hurt so much?

I feigned a different expression, and sighed. 'Sorry. Anyway . . . I need to get stuff from my room.'

The, um, fourth floor.

We were at the foot of the stairs, and I looked up them tiredly. I hadn't jogged this morning, because frankly, I was too tired. I felt worn out enough, and even the prospect of climbing stairs was daunting.

'I've got a better idea,' Paul said. He took his position behind me, his hands sliding to my waist. Then, the pair of us dematerialized. That split second of non-existence felt horrible. The feeling of insignificance was very uncomfortable. When I reappeared, Paul and I were in my room. He waited by the door, a serious expression on his face now. He wasn't making innuendoes anymore.

I think he was starting to realize the impact that Jesse was having on me.

I grabbed my stuff, noticing that once again, my underwear had been strewn across the bed. Seeing as I had certainly not left it there, I knew who the culprits obviously were. Paul mustn't have realized that it wasn't normal for my panties and brassieres to be spread out across my bed, because he made no comment.

Armed with a towel, a change of clothes, soap and a face washer, we walked to the nearest bathroom on that floor. The fourth floor was nothing like the third. The bathrooms on this floor were better, and had single showers in them, rather than the block of shower cubicles that Dani had been discovered in, downstairs. The big guys lived on the fourth floor. The people who mattered.

I had reason to believe that I was in Robin's room, actually . . .

I don't know why. It just felt like his. I knew that it was one of the Misforts' old rooms. But I could feel him the strongest.

Oh, my mistake. Not one of the Misforts'. Charlie's, Nathan's or Robin's. Bart was not on this floor.

He didn't have the money, or the power to reside on the fourth floor.

Meh. In the bathroom, I dumped my stuff on the counter near the basin, next to Paul's. Then, he went to the shower, outstretched an arm, and touched the tap with his hand, but didn't turn it.

He turned around, and regarded me with a humoured look.

'Hot, Suze?' he smirked.

I felt the very first blush heat up my face. I nodded a little, and his smirk turned wry. He twisted the 'hot' handle. I saw water descending, creaking a little at first. I realized suddenly that this was the shower that had spurted out blood that one time.

. . . Might not be cool not mention that to Paul. Mood breaker and all . . .

The water cascaded down, and eventually started to steam. Paul turned back to me, his smirk barely playing on his lips. He kept looking at my eyes. Even when he moved so he was standing right over me again, he looked at my eyes. He pulled down the zipper of my cardigan slowly till it hung open. His gaze finally fell to his fingers. His hands slid inside the shoulders of the cardigan, pushing it off of my arms. His fingers running down my arms made me shudder momentarily. I still had a black camisole on underneath, but already I was starting to feel insecure.

Taking a deep breath, I repeated a mantra in my head.

I. Can. Do. This. I can do this. IcandothisIcandothisIcandothis!

I pushed my hands to the edge of his shirt. I pushed it up. I could hear the water falling behind me in rhythmic, constant sound, and the heat was starting to diffuse throughout the bathroom. The corners of the extravagant mirror were getting slightly foggy, save the dust that already coated it.

Self-consciousness started trickling in once again. I didn't really want to – oh, but I did . . .

My hands slid up his chest, his shirt hooked on my thumbs. He raised his arms and I pushed it off, over his head, and it fell noiselessly to the ground. MY eyes unavoidably lowered to gawk at the chest that was RIGHT in front of me.

. . . Holy crap. Grab the knife and fork, Susie's eatin' good tonight!

The never-ending contours of his abdomen were certainly a sight to behold, and behold just a little bit more for good measure. However, my view of pure masculine hotness was interrupted when his hands worked the same moves on me.

Funny how that time when the Misforts had almost burnt me to a crisp after I attempted to exorcise them, Paul stopped them just in time before they annihilated me. In the process, he'd caught a peak at my bra, and I'd been HORRIBLY ashamed.

Yeah, funny all right, seeing as now I was standing right in front of him in one. The water was still running, hitting the tiled floor loudly, the only sound in the room beyond my increasingly fast breathing.

He tilted his head, his gaze falling lower again. His lips were parted. His iced eyes looked shadowed, and stormy. Like there were grey clouds passing over the muted blueness, concealing anything which threatened to be exposed.

This wasn't the darkness. This was the daylight, and he could see me.

My body, my faults, my bruises.

Moments later, the pair of us were both stark raving naked. I stepped into the shower, facing the wall, and he came behind me, his hands holding my hips. The water was hitting my shoulder, hard and hot. I sighed out a million and one burdens.

I didn't want to face him, though. Not yet. I felt too . . . weird.

There's something about being naked . . . it's complete and total exposure. There's a certain vulnerability involved, whether you're looking at your nude self in the mirror, or if you're naked in front of a live audience.

Either way, there's always someone judging.

When you're alone, you find yourself going under some intense self-criticism. I can handle that. I KNOW about my imperfections. But when someone else is there . . . well, they usually have no idea. They know you at face value. They don't know what you're really like underneath your clothes.

I was also kind of freaked about seeing Paul in the buff, too. I'm not saying he's ugly or anything . . . just the opposite, actually. But I don't think I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to see someone else in theirs.

And, as I've said, I HAVE NOT SHOWERED WITH SOMEONE WHO HAS A GUY-BIT BEFORE, OKAY?

Paul, however, had before. Not with GUYS or anything, I mean- I hope not with guys. You never know . . . maybe Paul was experimental in college?

WHAT IF I'M AN EXPERIMENT? Like that one time at school when he backed me into the pillar and tried to kiss me . . . JUST AN EXPERIMENT!

I need to chill out. Seriously.

I didn't know what to do. For the first few seconds, I just stood there letting the water pour down on me while Paul stood behind me. But I guess he realized that I must have been a partner-shower virgin, too, so he kind of turned me around to face him.

I didn't want to meet his eyes, but where else could I look? And besides, he'd tilted my chin upwards so I had no other choice but to face him.

He took my hand in his and held it palm up. He squirted some soap into my hand. He didn't break eye contact the entire time, and neither did I. It was like I was trapped in his icy gaze.

But no matter how chillingly blue his eyes were, I still felt hot. And not just because of the water, either.

He backed me up a little, and I felt the water saturate my hair completely, making it heavy and slick. I bowed my head as the water trickled either side of my face, not getting my eyes. Instead of rubbing my handful of soap over me, I pressed my palm against his chest and began circling it around. His eyelids were fluttering a little, and he breathed out noisily.

And he smiled.

I began dragging my hands so they were beyond his shoulders, grazing around his back. I kept having to have staggered breaths. The shower was more like a sauna. I mean, not only was the water hot, as I have already indicated, but well . . . THINGS were kind of hot.

I mean, the feel of his skin WHILE IT WAS WET AND KIND OF SOAPY was A LITTLE MORE THAN HOT, I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW.

This wasn't like giving a sponge bath to a toddler, folks. This was the big leagues.

It didn't take me long to figure out the rest of it. It was nothing I'd ever experienced before, but it felt like something natural. Something only pure instinct could guide me through.

Next, I went to pick up the shampoo, but Paul placed his hand on top of mine before I could reach it.

'Allow me,' he said, his words breathy. The steam caused the air to be a little heavy, so we had to adjust our breathing.

He took the shampoo and put it his hands and worked it into a rich lather. Then, he gently massaged my scalp with it. My head rolled back in pleasure, my eyes closed.

Paul had this way of changing the pressures of his hand that each movement caused my spine to tingle and my knees to buckle underneath me.

When he was done, he tilted my head back, letting the shampoo rinse out of my hair. The next thing I know, he'd placed his hand on the small of my back and arched me into him. I brought my head back up from the water and looked at him once more.

He smiled down at me, as usual. But then he took a few steps and backed me into the shower wall. The steam rose all around us as the water beat down fast and hard.

Once again, I won't go into TOO much detail on the effect that this was having on me. You young, impressionable little girls might get ideas that this is an okay thing to do with some random guy.

It's SO not. But with Paul, there, then, certain feelings towards him that were apparently reciprocated, made it more than okay.

More than okay . . . ha.

Understatement.

The shower wall was really cold at first, and was a blatant shock to my skin. But it got hotter.

Everything got hotter, with Paul.

. . . Okay . . . eww.

I ran my hands up and down his chest, as his fingers were pressing my lower back. When I got to his shoulders, I trailed fingers down his arms, before linking my hands behind his neck, and kissing him.

Water was trailing down between my mouth and his, but I didn't care. I could barely breath. The air was too suffocated with evaporating liquid and arousal.

My eyes were jammed closed, and I could feel his chest against mine. After the aggressive kiss, I broke off, trying to find SOME oxygen that would keep me functioning. He was pretty much doing the same thing. He leaned his forehead against mine, water streaming down his neck and proceeding down his chest, catching briefly on my outstretched hands. His skin felt like it was on fire.

He was looking at me intensely. I'd seen that look only twice before. When . . . um - that night before Dani was found, and surprisingly, directly after we'd danced at the club.

Only now did I recognize the look that he'd given me. You know, the one BEFORE he went around calling me Jesse's whore and stuff.

That look . . . that hungry look of want, of desire, of lust, of NEED.

He pressed me into the wall of the shower harder. It was cold on my back, but that didn't last for long. As things got, um, a little hotter and heavier, he made sure he put his hand behind my head so I wouldn't accidentally hit it on the wall as things heated up. The gesture was much appreciated, as I felt on several occasions that one or both of us would end up getting hurt. The surprising thing was, we didn't.

As he kissed my neck hungrily, I felt like I was going to slip from his arms into a puddle of blissful goo. It seemed like there was a chemical reaction between his lips, my skin, and the water raining down on us.

A reaction which was hard to explain and even harder to ignore.

I felt that my insecurities were being washed off of me. Off my body and down the drain, with the rest of the used water.

At one point, we thought the shower might better serve its purpose if we actually got clean.

Paul handed me the soap. 'Hold this, would you?' he asked after he had put some in his hand.

I took it in my hand and watched him work it into a lather. I thought he was going to clean himself off a little more, but instead he used the soap on my own body.

Let's just say, after a few moments of that, I ended up dropping the soap.

With shivering one could not anticipate in such heat, I grabbed both of his wrists and opened my eyes.

'Okay,' I said in a voice that was NOT mine, 'I think we've wasted enough water now.'

He smirked. 'Well considering I would have had a shower this long on my own, I still think we have to use up your shower time slot . . . '

We were both dripping from the boiling hot water.

I dragged my fingers through his hair, and he smiled lazily, closing his eyes. The heavy beating of the water on the tiles between our feet was a sound that I could have gotten very used to. One of his legs pressed between my own, and -

You know what? I believe I'm going WAY too far into this. Go away, allow me some privacy please.

Pfft . . . teenagers. Honestly.

Ten minutes later, he was still kissing me neck and I was breathing very hard, when the water stopped. I opened my eyes, and saw that he'd turned the shower off. The heat lingered, caressing me with warmth that I knew wouldn't last. He was still touching my body ardently, gently, with slow burning passion. The both of us were completely wet.

. . . Heehee.

I'm so immature.

Paul tickled his fingers along my navel, making my stomach collapse into itself. A broken giggle spurted out of my mouth, interrupted harshly by a gasp. He pressed his other hand against my hair, and I felt water coursing down my back, the excess that had been saturated into my mane.

Ha. I have a mane. I'm like a lion or something.

Rah.

With a final kiss on my lips, Paul stopped, smirking down at me. I was breathing hard. Again.

'Well, well, well, Ms Simon, you're looking very sexy at the moment,' he commented.

'Can't help it,' I quirked an eyebrow. 'Just happens, I guess.'

He laughed, and slid the shower door open. Yeah, the fourth floor? SLIDING SHOWER DOORS.

Whereas the THIRD floor had little locky doors that didn't even go the whole way down. Hence the tiles were pretty much all covered in water by the end of Shower Time at Fortunaschwein.

Gosh, I rhymed.

. . . Well, almost.

I grabbed my towel, and very quickly wrapped it firmly around me. Paul, however, took his time. He casually grabbed his, and then began mopping his face up, seeping a confidence that I wish I had. I looked away, flushed, and he laughed at me again.

'Shut up,' I said. 'No need to get cocky.'

'Too late,' he replied.

. . . Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I raised my eyebrows in disgust.

'Just happens, I guess,' he added.

I threw him a sarcastic look, as my heart thankfully began to slow. It went so fast when he touched me, that it was sometimes scary. Paul wrapped his towel loosely around his lower half, and then came and slid his arms around my waist from behind me.

He combed my wet hair aside with his index finger, and kissed my neck leisurely. Again with the heart rate increase.

Cardiologists all over the world must get a lot of female patients, thanks to Paul Slater.

Paul's lips on my skin were so . . . soft. And sensuous. They made me feel things that I care not to print.

'I love you,' he breathed in my ear. 'Now, I'm allowed to say it.'

I shivered in delight.

Paul noticed, and snickered against my neck. His fingers began dragging the bottom of my towel up, till he was able to run his hand down my thigh. My head lolled back against his shoulder.

Then he just stopped.

'What are they?' he asked, curiosity absorbed in his voice.

I looked in the direction of his gaze, quite annoyed he'd ended that so suddenly.

'Oh,' I said, as I caught sight of the corners of two envelopes sticking out of the pocket of my jeans that I'd been wearing, pre-shower. 'Nothing. Just something me and Jesse found yesterday. I haven't read them yet.'

Paul's hands, still firmly holding me, and very warm through the fluffiness of my towel, went still. 'Can we read them?'

'Sure,' I said dully.

Great. He finds letters more interesting than moi. That's complimenting.

He started for my jeans to retrieve the letters, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards me, adding, 'AFTER we get dressed.'

Paul held up his hands in a teasing retreat.

You're probably wondering . . . boxers or briefs?

God forbid he should go commando.

You know . . . lettin' it all hang out, wild and free –

Boxers.

Black ones also made by Calvin Klein. He actually kind of reminded me of one of their models. Except now I KNOW he doesn't stuff his boxer shorts to enhance his manhood. He doesn't need to.

WHAT?

Some of those men are of questionable size.

It's not NATURAL to have a package bigger than a baby's head. It's NOT.

Heh. At least Paul doesn't wear a thong.

. . . HAHAHAHA.

I shouldn't laugh, seeing as Dani's friend Miles probably does.

Oh yeah. Did I ever mention his last name?

I probably didn't, right.

It's Long.

His name is Miles Long.

I do not kid.

"Miles Long, could you please come to the principal's office? Miles Long?"

Poor kid.

Anyway . . . then there was simple ol' me, with my ever impeccable fashion sense. It's not Gucci or Prada, but my Seven Jeans boot-cuts were still very figure-flattering. Like the cotton commercial says, those were my "Turns butts to booty" jeans.

I paired that with this totally cute light green Juicy Couture tank top. Casual, yet designer.

By the time we turned back to page each other, we were both fully dressed. When I saw him again, I'm sorry, but I just started giggling.

He'd pulled on a pair of black Calvin Klein jeans and a very, VERY nice olive green button down Michael Kors shirt. He'd left the top two buttons unbuttoned, leaving his chest to peek out.

There is a God.

'What?' he asked, his brows raised.

'Nothing,' I giggled. 'Just . . . this is so weird. Everything, I mean. It's – it's insane.'

'And so are you,' he acknowledged. 'But . . . I know what you mean.'

'Yeah,' I said quietly.

My hair was still wet, so my towel was around my shoulders. Paul turned around to my discarded jeans and extracted the two aged envelopes from my pocket. He put them both in HIS pocket, and then grabbed all of his stuff off of the floor.

'Now that I think about it,' he smirked at me, 'I don't think I'm out of soap. My mistake.'

He laughed at the very dirty look I threw him.

- 8 -

In the library, Paul sat on one of the plush green chairs, and pulled me onto his knees.

WHY did that stupid pick-up line flash through my mind?

Why don't you sit on my lap, and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up?

Pfft . . . Suze, keep it in your pants, okay?

My hair was drying a little by then. Even so, it wet the front of his shirt a little. Paul fished out one of the letters, and then encircled me with his arms as he slid his thumb along the envelope's flap, ripping it open carefully.

'You know who they were for?' Paul paused to ask me.

'The envelope's are blank,' I said. 'Me and Jesse found them in Mr Head's bedroom though.'

'What the hell were you doing in there?' Paul asked in some alarm. 'I hope you weren't getting too committed to this whole crime-solving thing, and decided to go undercover as a dominatrix or something to get –'

I elbowed him hard in the chest, and he laughed, choking on a cough at the same time.

'No,' I said pointedly. 'His old bedroom. As in, at this school. NOT his house, dickweed.'

Paul's arms tightened around my waist a little. 'Okay, okay. So touchy this morning, aren't we? One would think that you hadn't gotten any for a whole week, whereas I have it on good authority that you in fact, have.'

'Eat me,' I said snappishly.

'Can't wait to,' he assured.

'Just read the letter,' I told him. 'You know what?' I snatched it out of his hands, 'I will.'

'Hey – ' he made a grab for it, but I held it higher than his arm could reach. Resourcefully, he tickled me under my arm. With a yelp of horror, my hand shot back down, and he seized the letter back off of me.

'Oooh,' he grinned evilly. 'Someone's ticklish . . . '

'Don't you DARE,' I warned him in fury.

He dared.

By the time I'd managed to force his hands away from my overly sensitive sides and stop squirming around like a live worm on a fishing hook, he'd managed to shove the letter in his back pocket again.

'Are you going to quit it?' I demanded, 'Or not?'

'Not,' he said from behind me, before shoving me forward off of him, and then bringing me down so the pair of us were on the ground.

OW.

'Just let me read the God damned letter, Paul,' I glared.

'You had ages to look at it,' he gave me this infuriating smirk. 'But you didn't.' He started kissing me again, jamming my wrists against the floor.

Of course I kissed him back. For one, this time around, I actually LOVED him as much as wanted to kiss him.

That still didn't change the fact that I was now burning with curiosity at what the stupid letters said. I mean, yeah, I had forgotten about them. But now, the suspense was killing me.

However, Paul wasn't letting up.

He moved to my neck, and I gasped. NOT fair. 'Get off,' I snapped at him, 'We need to – ohhhhh . . . '

May in reinforce that Paul is a VERY good kisser?

He sucked lightly against the skin over my throat. 'You smell like that shampoo,' he whispered with a grin.

Thank God he put the "sham" in front of it.

I don't think any girl would appreciate the guy on top of her telling her she smelt like poo.

'That does NOT change the fact that I have told you to g – ' I began, but he let go of my hands, and slid his own beneath by back, arching me against him, still kissing my neck and whatever wasn't covered on my chest.

It felt incredible. I can't even DESRIBE how incredible it felt.

However, I then realized that my wrists had been released. Trying to ignore the pleasure pulsing through my veins, I very carefully guided my hand to his back pocket. However, the moment I'd touched the tip of the page, Paul's hand clapped over mine rapidly.

'Nice try, Simon,' he leered. He sat up a little over me, holding my elbows down. I couldn't reach his pocket, damn it.

'Look,' I said. We might as well have still been in the shower. It was just as hard to breathe here, as it was in there. 'This is a library. It's for – for EDUCATING, not – ' he ran his hands over my stomach, ' – not . . . um . . . copulating.'

He stopped, and then completely cracked up.

I turned a perfect shade of red.

You know what? I shall no longer say "See ya later" to Paul. I shall say "Cop ya later."

. . . Think about it.

Cop ya later, Paul Slater.

God, I'm so funny.

Not.

Paul tried to stop laughing. He did try. But he looked down at me again, and kept sniggering.

With narrowed eyes, I whipped my hand out and snapped up the letter from his pocket.

The minute he noticed, I had already read the first line.

Dear Mrs. Abigail Head.

'Hey – ' Paul said, but with a blank face, I shushed him. 'What?' he asked slowly. 'Read it out, Simon.'

By the time I got to the second line of skimming, I had blanched.

'Shit,' I said.

'Read it,' Paul urged me.

I did.

'"Dear Mrs. Abigail Head",' I read aloud.

We regret to inform you that your husband is in a relationship with another woman. She is the Deputy Headmistress at Fortunaschwein Boarding School for Boys. Her name is Karen la Rosa. She's married, is twenty eight, and teaches English. This affair has been going on for some time now, and are showing no sign of ending their trysts. We believed that you should know about it.

You deserve better than Richard Head.

Yours in sympathy,

Anonymous.

I moved the letter down from my face, and looked up at Paul. He looked very grave indeed.

'Why do I get the feeling that we weren't supposed to see that?' I asked in a small voice.

Why the hell would THAT letter be in MR HEAD'S ROOM?

Paul, still astride my lower half, looked pensive. He dug out the other envelope, and handed it to me. 'Read that one, too.'

I ripped the letter out, and spoke in a steady voice . . .

'"Dear Sir".'

When I was through with that one too, I lowered the page.

'I get it now,' I said quietly.

Paul narrowed his eyes in confusion. 'Get what?'

I blinked, trying to comprehend it all, and process the evidence that backed my theory. 'I know how the Misfortunates of Fortunaschwein died.'

Paul nodded. 'Read it again.'

"'Dear Sir.

The letter is written. One word out of you and we'll drop the bomb on your wife. Get us into the colleges we all want, and we'll stay quiet. Expel us, and you're reputation is shot. And everyone knows how important your reputation is. Your stupid school is in our hands. Do anything to pique us and Fortunaschwein goes down the drain.

For your reference:

Charles Austin: Yale.

Nathaniel Blake: Harvard.

Robin Lawrence: Princeton.

Just so you don't get confused as to who WILL be attending where.

All we can say is, we do hope that you little indiscretion with Mrs. La Rosa was worth all of this commotion. Such a pity that we caught the pair of you. A word of the wise, sir: Choose better places for your love making.

Also, in future, never underestimate the three of us. We have the money and the power to crush you and your reputation, and you'll do well to know that. Refer to us no longer by our last names. It's Mr. Lawrence from now on.

How we pity your wife for every being so foolhardy as to marry the likes of you. What an obscenely bad judge of character on her part. Divorce is an unfortunate history for a man to have. On that note, let us hope that you cooperate and do as we've asked.

Yours sincerely,

Mr. Lawrence,

Mr. Austin,

Mr. Blake".'

I was completely gobsmacked. 'Oh my God,' I said. 'It was so OBVIOUS . . . '

Paul moved off of me, and grabbed my hands to help me up. 'I think we need to pay our three friends a visit, don't you say?'

I got to my feet. 'Definitely.'

Two letters in one hand, and Paul's fingers in my other, we dematerialized to the fourth floor of Fortunaschwein.

'I'm right here,' he assured me, the moment that he saw me tense. 'They won't do what happened last time.'

'No – ' I stammered, 'Just – um . . . nothing.'

He turned to face me. 'Tell me.'

I shrugged. 'The three of them didn't exactly . . . help, when Cole was here.'

Paul frowned. 'You expected them to?'

'No,' I said quickly, 'I mean . . . I would have gotten out, but the Robin had to grab me and shove me into Cole again when he SO knew what was going to happen to me when he did and deserves to go to hell now and I guess I just didn't think he was capable of being that much of an asshole – you know, to practically GIVE me to someone who wanted to . . . do bad things to me – but he DID and I dunno – '

'He what?' Paul 's eyes flashed in anger.

I shook my head. 'It doesn't matter. It wasn't anything less than I could expect from someone like him.'

Paul looked away in outrage. 'I'm going to kill those little pindicks . . . '

I saw in his eyes, that he wasn't just talking about yesterday.

That only added insult to what they'd done to Dani . . .

'They're already dead,' I pointed out flatly.

His eyes met mine again. He stared at me. The rage deteriorated a little, but not completely. 'Come on, Suze,' he said. 'We're going to sort this out.'

As we neared the attic, I could smell the strong stench of fresh smoke. The fire from the other day stank badly. I would have asked how the Misfortunates could have STOOD to be in that room, what with that PONG, but then I realized that they didn't have to smell it if they didn't want to.

They were dead.

And now I knew why.

And how.

Paul shoved the attic door open, we climbed the barely intact stairs, my hand in his. He squeezed my fingers when he reached the top of the steps, and his face went void of all compassion.

'Oh look, boys. The suit's paying a visit,' I heard the heartless drawl of Robin Lawrence sound in my ears.

There was some sniggering, which stopped when I came to stand beside Paul. Robbie's smirk slid off of his face.

The three of them – Bart was not present – went very silent.

'I thought you were gone,' he glared at me.

'You thought wrong,' I replied dryly.

His nasty look softened, and moulded into a sinister sneer once more as he looked me over. 'Oh well,' he shrugged. 'Waste not, want not . . . you look nice, Susie. Can't say your hair's doing anything for me at the moment, however.'

I HADN'T BLOWDRIED IT YET, OKAY? GOD.

I, angrily, said, 'Listen. We just want to talk. Nothing funny.'

'Oh so you WON'T try to exorcise us this time?' Nathan cocked his head.

I shook mine. 'We won't if you behave yourselves.'

That must have struck a little nerve. You know, the fact that we were older than them, and they WERE still students.

They never made it to graduation, you see.

Charlie nodded towards Paul. 'Lose him, and we shall talk to you.'

'Are you high?' Paul asked derisively. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Thin-lipped, Robbie turned his eyes back to me. 'What do you want, Susie?'

I brushed the half-dry locks of hair away from my face. 'Well,' I started, 'Just to say that . . . um . . . we know – we – '

'We know how you died,' Paul finished for me. 'At least, Suze does.'

The three of them sat up VERY straight with THAT little revelation.

'Oh,' Nathan raised an eyebrow delicately, attempting to look uninterested. 'You do, do you?'

I nodded. 'Yes. Mr Head murdered you, didn't he?'

- 8 -

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