a/n: I woke up this morning to find that Jesse has gnawed through his bonds and sadly escaped. There will be a time of mourning scheduled for later this week. Also, I don't own Mediator nor do I own "The Mourning Bride" by William Congreve. The poem Jesse recites mentally is straight from the play.

Las Memorias

We walked in silence for a long while, me pushing the young lady's bike. I knew her arm was probably sore, even if she didn't want to admit it. From what I seen so far of her Susannah was excessively stubborn.

I glance down and was alarmed to see confusion etched on her face. Was she still thinking about Heather? I knew she felt responsible for Heather but she shouldn't. The girl was only sixteen; the age Marta had been when I had died. Marta would have never assumed it as her duty to destroy a demon. Marta was content to work on her cross stitch and cooking. She trained to be a good wife and before long she had become one.

Before I watched her whither away. She'd given birth to a still-born and then died within the week. All my sisters had died eventually but the one I had been closest to, Marta, had died first.

God, how could it have happened? Why couldn't I have been alive to comfort her? What kind of brother was I? What kind of son?

Madre wrapped in white linens calling for her son as she lay on her death bed. I had been there. Nothing could have kept me away. But she couldn't see me. I held her hand as she died and I felt her body go cold.

Padre was shot by bandits. I should have been there. I should have been there, helping protect the ranch. Before I had died my father and I had never agreed. I wanted to be a doctor and I knew father could never understand that. I never told him. The last time I had told him I loved him was when I was ten.

But oh how I sobbed it when he fell. I had not known the extent of my powers then. I could only stand and watch as the light left my father's eyes. Watch and whisper. Whisper, "Te amo, Padre… te amo…"

It had all happened over a century ago. But now, since Susannah came, the hollowness I had felt after watching my family go was beginning to ebb. I was surprised to find that however painful the waking dreams were I lapped them up gladly. The feelings were filling me. I found if I didn't flinch from them they gave me sustenance. They gave me purpose. There had to be a good reason I was still here. There had to be a reason God would leave me here, alone, a shadow.

A reason that did not involve killing out of revenge and spitefulness….

And then for some reason William Congreve's "The Mourning Bride" popped into my head. It had been one of the first plays I had read after I had died; I had stolen it from the trunk of a traveling statesmen. I remember being fascinated. Never before had I seen such… such beauty in words.

As you'll answer it, take heed
This Slave commit no Violence upon
Himself. I've been deceiv'd. The Publick Safety
Requires he should be more confin'd; and none,
No not the Princes self, permitted to
Confer with him. I'll quit you to the King.
Vile and ingrate! too late thou shalt repent
The base Injustice thou hast done my Love:
Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress,
And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;

"Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd…" I said softly, breaking our silence.

Susannah looked up at me curiously. "Are you speaking from experience?"

I smiled ruefully. I had been quoting William Congreve but now that I thought of it… Maria must have known I was going to call off the engagement. That might have been one of the reasons she had been so quick to have me killed.

"Actually," I said, "I am quoting William Congreve."

Susannah looked thoughtful. "Oh," she said after a moment, adding, "But you know, sometimes a scorned woman has every right to be mad."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

I was surprised to hear her snort then add flatly, "Not hardly." She blushed slightly and then said, "But we don't know what went on between Heather and Bryce, not really. I mean she could have every right to be resentful.

What did you ever do to her? What have you done to deserve death? Maybe Bryce. Not you, querida.

"Toward him, I suppose she does," I said with a sigh. "But not towards you. She had no right to try to hurt you."

Susannah didn't reply to that. We had arrived at the gravel at the base of her driveway. We had been climbing for a couple minutes before she said softly, "Hey. How'd you die anyway?"

I didn't answer at first, only stared at Susannah's home. It had once been a boardinghouse. I had been on my way to call off and engagement when… I had died. I don't know how it happened; only that it had.

I had so many questions myself. How could I answer Susannah's?

After a while Susannah said, "Um, you know what? Never mind. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to."

"No," I said, "It's all right." My death wasn't quite has touchy as had use to be. Maybe it was the fact that I had a century and a half to get used to it.

"I was kind of curious, that's all. But if it's too personal."

"It isn't too personal." We had reached the house and I placed the bike where I had seen the Ackerman boys put it.

"You know this house wasn't always a family home." I said.

"Oh, really?" Susannah asked a little too brightly.

"Yes." I said looking off toward the sea. The only thing that hadn't changed. El sòlo cosa enterna.

"And… something happened while you were staying here?"

"Yes." I glance back at Susannah. There were bags under her eyes. She wasn't just pretty, I realized then. Even with the bags under her eyes she was very beautiful. Her eyes were so green. So determined.

And strangely enough, I suddenly felt tired myself. For the first time in one hundred and fifty years I felt tired.

I could have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Deciding that the tale of my death could wait I said, "But it's a long story and you must be very tired. Go to bed. In the morning we will decide what to do about Heather." I added just to appease her.

"Wait a minute! I am not going anywhere until you finish that story."

I shook my head, "No. It's too late. I'll tell you some other time."

"Jeez! You can't just start a story and then not finish it," she whined, "You have too…"

She sounded so much like one of my little sisters that I could not help laughing. She sounded like Alejandra at bedtime. Yes, Alejandra.

"Go to bed, Susannah." I gave her a gentle push towards the front steps. "You have had enough scaring for one night."

"But you…"

"Some other time," I said firmly.

Susannah turned and looked me squarely in the eyes. "Do you promise?"

I smiled at her. "I promise. Good night, querida."

And it actually made me happy when she replied, "I told you not to call me that."

a/n: review!