Chapter Two.Even though I've got like the next two or three chapters done, I'm going to redoportions of them so I can fit my plot together and stuff.

I woke in the middle of the night. I had a dream of someone sitting atop my window seat, as if he belonged at that one spot. When I opened my eyes, there was no one there. I had that sinking feeling that I was being watched studiously by an unseen force. I strained my sight that much harder, but nothing gave way.

I couldn't settle back into bed, however. I had a feeling that despite how hard I tried, I wouldn't get any more sleep tonight. Instead, I found me in my black hoodie and slipped it over my pajama shirt. Tossing my pj pants aside, I pulled on a pair of jeans and got my sneakers. It wasn't my usual mediating outfit, but it would have to do until the standard get-up got washed.

With impeccable grace, I swooped out of my bedroom window and climbed onto the ground. So common did I sneak out that the descent from my bedroom window was now second nature. My feet landed with a gentle thud causing something rattled in the bushes. A second later, Spike darted out distancing himself as far from me as possible. As he bounded onto the empty street, he soon became a shadow in the night and was no longer visible.

The damn cat hates me; I need to find proper owners for him. I don't even know why I've kept him so long. I don't even think he possibly qualifies as a cat.

Pocketing my keys, I scrambled over to my Jeep. In its red shining glory, it was my prized possession. I worked hard for it this summer.

Unfortunately, I met Paul Slater in the process.

Despite the constant reminder of Paul every time I saw my jeep, I loved it. The Slater's are loaded and they gave me hefty tips that contributed towards my jeep. If only Paul Slater wasn't a requisite member of his otherwise almost normal family. I don't know how my summer would have turned out if I hadn't met Paul.

I climbed into my jeep quietly, turning the ignition. The best part of all, the jeep didn't sputter crazily upon ignition unlike the monstrous Rambler. It was perfect for middle of the night ghost-hunting excursions.

Since Paul, I've found another way to relieve stress: ghost hunting. They don't even come to me anymore. I go to them. The asshole drove me to it. When I was getting over our break-up, mediating was the one thing that kept me sane after I got over my anger. Old habits die hard; although this particular one isn't all that old.

I rolled my windows down, letting the crisp night air float into the contained space of the jeep. The cool air splashed against my face, reviving me. No other cars lighted the way as the roads were desolate this late at night. The Carmel residents had let slumber take them long ago. I had too, but I'd been awakened by an awkward dream.

I replayed the dream in my mind, but there was not much to it; only my window seat with a young man sitting upon it, reading. The young man glowed. No other features were visible, however. I saw enough to figure out he was a ghost and a man, just barely older than myself.

I drove around slowly, casting glances all around, looking for any hint of spectral activity. Somehow, I ended up driving past Paul's glass home, where one stray light was turned on. I shivered at the repulsive memories. I knew the light came from his bedroom, and I couldn't help but wonder if he had some bimbo up with him in his room right now. Hopefully I was more than just another girl to him.

No love was lost between either of us, and I don't think I could ever forgive myself for what happened between the both of us. As much as I wanted to blame Paul, it was no more his fault than mine. So, I keep pushing him away. He hurt me, and I suppose I hurt him as well. He told me he cared about me; but I don't want to believe it, it may just be a lie.

He made me feel great in those two weeks. But two weeks of greatness do not change the fact that he is an asshole. Nothing ever can.

I kept on driving, ending up eventually at Big Sur. I pulled over and stepped out of my car. The roar of the ocean was calling me, drawing me in. I leaned over the rail and looked out below me. The waves kept crashing noisily against the cliffs. I easily lost myself in the sight. Almost a year here, and the ocean still had the same effect on me it did when I first landed; it entranced me.

It was because of the ocean that I didn't notice him. The sudden changing of light didn't clue me in to his presence, nor did the fact that the temperature dropped slightly to my right. I didn't even notice the fact that he was staring at me–though I could feel his gaze burning right through me.

It was when a cold hand landed on my forearm that I finally realized someone was beside me.

One thing, Susannah Simon does not scare easily. She simply does not. So, when I felt that cold hand atop my arm, I am ashamed to admit that I jumped a mile high in the sky and shrieked much like Kelly Prescott would.

I did not notice someone had decided to join me–it could've been anyone. For all I know, it could be an escaped convict or murderer. Thinking about it, I actually realize how stupid it was of me to just be standing out there in the middle of the night with no one around.

This is situation could've had dire consequences for blatantly obvious reasons; one: it was the middle of the night; two: there was absolutely no one around.

When I finally calmed down, and my heart beat steadied I turned to face the perpetrator, his face aglow with a very ghostly luminance. His face was creased into genuine concern as he stared ponderously at me.

"Jesus Christ. You scared the hell out of me." The ghost took a step back, bewildered that I was speaking to him. "You know, 'boo' would've worked just fine."

He looked at me in confusion, silence penetrating the thing air. He took yet another step backward and I finally got a good look at him. After nearly experiencing a heart attack, the moment my eyes fell upon his gorgeous features all other thoughts ceased to exist. One thought came to mind and that was how hot he is. He beat Paul by a long shot, and that's saying something.

I noticed most of all, how a scar slashed across his eyebrow which was nearly white, as he excruciatingly–and confusedly, too, probably–scrutinized me. He had crisp black hair, and strong facial features. His eyes were two ominous black pools, but yet soft, and filled with sincerity; almost as if I could trust him easily and as if though he could never hurt me intentionally. Despite the manly bravado he possessed, I could easily tell he was a lot softer on the inside.

There was something familiar about him, as I gazed upon his lovely face, but nothing seemed to register.

He finally spoke at last, "Perdón, lo siento." I stared at him bewildered. Maybe he didn't even understand English. After registering his words–pure blubbers–I noticed how deeply tanned his skin was. I hadn't noticed it at first, but now I could see it clearly.

I opened my mouth to speak, and then closed it again. I wasn't sure if he knew English.

He chuckled softly at me, looking down at me from his staggering height. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Bewildered all over again, I looked up at him. My gaze had strayed down to his perfectly shaped abdomen. "I thought you were aware of my presence." I could not figure out why he was speaking so calmly to me. Usually, it was the ghost that couldn't get over the shock of being seen by me; not the other way around.

I blame his hotness.

"I… um… it's–I… don't worry about it."

Smooth, Suze. Real smooth.

"Who are you?" His brows knit into confusion at last, as if the answer should be obvious.

"Y-you don't know?" I shook my head. I don't make it a point to hang out with ghosts. "I'm Je-Hector de Silva." I nodded, registering his name.

"I'm Su–"

"Susannah Simon, as in 'don't you cry for me.'" He cut me off, smiling.

"H-… how do you know?" I didn't even correct him on the fact I liked to be called 'Suze.'

"I know you. You know me, too. Somehow. Perhaps things have changed after you met me."

No way, buddy. I think I'd remember the ghosts I've dealt with. Especially if they're particularly good-looking. Sweeping my gaze across him one more time, I knew I had never met him before. Otherwise, I'm a cruel heartless bitch for not remembering those who I presumably help.

My gaze lingered; I looked up at his handsome facial features, looking for anything that might allow for me to distinguish him. Other than the scar across his eyebrow, nothing else stood out.

"What?"

He shook his head, probably confused as well. "I don't understand. You knew me. You came to me." He was muttering softly under his breath, but I clung to every word despite the fact he wasn't speaking to me. "I met you in my time. You came to me." he spoke clearly and confident, as if he were explaining something obvious to me. I still didn't comprehend what he was trying to tell me.

Arching one eyebrow up, I took in his appearance. By the looks of what he was wearing, he was either one: an actor who died in a fateful accident shooting a western movie; or two: from some century long ago. I think the former is much more suited.

"Whatever, cowboy…"

"Don't call me that," he growled, his voice harsh compared to the conspiratorial tone from earlier. Recomposing himself, he said, "I'm sorry. My voiuce should not have taken such a harsh tone, especially towards you a lady. But never call me 'cowboy.'"

I looked up at him, the visible anger diminishing quickly from his face. He looked down at me, sorry for using such a tone. "Um, alright…" I looked away. Damn dreams had to wake me. I could still be in bed, having avoided this particular ghost completely.

Although, I was thoroughly intrigued now. No ghost had ever come to me claiming to know me. The guy either had a few screws loose or was maybe actually telling the truth.

"So," he spoke again, breaking the silence. "You really do not recognize me?"

"No. I don't. Should I?"

"I figure you should. You sought me in my time to rescue me." He looked away from me suddenly. "For that I owe you my life. Had you not come to me that night, I would not have had a complete life. I never did get the chance to thank you, though." I looked up at him, as he too turned his gaze toward me. "Thank you." His voice dropped a few octaves but I heard him loud and clear.

I nodded my head. "I still don't understand."

"I can help you understand, if you need to. You got me to understand, I'm sure I could succeed in the same mission. Every night since then – when I was a live, that is – I wondered if the whole thing had been made up. I thought perhaps I'd gone mad. All these years–now that I'm dead, too–I've been waiting in Carmel, hoping to find the ones who rescued me. Now that I have found you, I know I have not created the event in my mind. It was real. You saved me from unfortunate death."

He looked down at me and smiled. I was still too awestruck to contribute much to this seemingly one-sided conversation. "There is no comprehension for how deep my gratitude is towards you, Susannah, and your companion."

"Companion?"

"Yes. Companion. There was a gentleman," his voice grew bitter with the word gentleman, but softened immediately, "Accompanying you that night. The two of you were quite quarrelsome, and I can tell you do not have a strong liking towards him…" He trailed off, looking off into the distance. "I believe his name was Paul."

"Paul?" I squeaked.

I stared upon the face of the ghost, who nodded when I repeated Paul's name. There was no way in hell Paul could have any contact with ghosts…

Could he?