a/n: Thanks for all the great reviews. I needed them. Alas I had a nervous break down this morning: my car broke down, I failed miserably on the Theory Test at a Band competion thus probably losing my first chair privileges, woke up to find that my lap top was nonresponsive and virus ridden. I'm not having a good day. My only outlet is writing (this chapter is being typed quickly on my sister's computer which I was horrified to find doesn't have spell check) fanfiction at the moment. That and I might get a lift to Star Bucks later. A Venti Caramel Frappacino should calm my frazzled nerves. Anyways, I'm not Meg Cabot and I don't own The Mediator. I'm just expanding onto Meg's brilliant world.

Chapter Eight: Desesperado

Of course Susannah and I didn't end up discussing Heather in the morning. That was because I was confronted by Heather shortly before sunrise.

I had been sitting in Susannah's room, reading "Jane Eyre" by my dim light. Every once in a while I would glance up and watch Susannah sleep. What was she dreaming of? Did she remember her dreams? Waking dreams would then fill my mind and I would have to tear myself away and continue reading my novel.

It was shortly before sunrise when it happened. I had just been about to wake Susannah up, she needed to warn Father Dominic after all, when I felt my nose itch. It was the same sensation I was coming to indentify with Kinetic energy, the power the dead gave off if they were angry or about to fling something across the room.

I jumped up, setting down my novel and looking around.

Nothing.

I glanced out the window.

Again there was nothing at all to suggest anything out of the ordinary.

And abruptly the itching stopped.

Walking away from the window I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, finally resting my hands in my pockets. I winced as they came in contact with a soft square of cloth.

I pulled it out and there was the handkerchief, the fine white letters, M. D. S., stitched in the cloth. I cruppled it up and threw it to the ground.

"Will you always haunt me?" I spat, pacing the floor.

I needed to get away. Just for a second, I needed solace.

And that was how I ended up, for the second time that night, at the Mission. Only this time I was kneeling before the alter, my head bowed in prayer.

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life."

It was the tradiontial prayer of contrition. The prayer for forgiveness of sin. I still did not yet know what I had done but imagined whatever it was must have been huge for God to have forsaken me all these years.

I continued, "O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings of this day in union with the holy sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world. I offer them for all the intentions of your sacred heart: the salvation of souls, reparation for sin, the reunion of all Christians. I offer them for the intentions of our bishops and of all the apostles of prayer, and in particular for those recommended by our Holy Father this month."

I finished in a whisper, "Amen."

And broke into tears right there at the alter.

It had been years since I had said my morning prayers on the alter. They had eventually faded out of my routine. Was that why I was still here? Was this all just a test? If it was I had failed miserably. I had forgotten my faith.

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Brushing off phantom tears I made my way out into the court yard. Heather was sitting on an upturned bench, looking pouty. Her head snapped up as I entered.

"You interfered. You saved her. If you hadn't been there she'd be dead now," she hissed.

I chose to ignore her and started to walk past. I was already dead. She couldn't do anything to me.

As I passed she jumped up and grabbed my wrist. I recoiled and jerked away.

"Don't touch me."

Heather crossed her arms, looking annoyed.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you touching me."

"No," Heather said, rolling her eyes. "Why did you save her? I saw how you looked at her. It's so cold here. So empty. She's alive. You're dead. Why should you have to be cold alone?"

I backed away from her.

"I do not know of what you speak," even though I was perfectly aware of what she was suggesting, but what she was suggesting was so horrible... I shuddered.

Heather's eyes glinted, seeing that involuntary action.

"You know what, cowboy," she said smuggly, "I get the feeling you don't like me and that's fine with me because I most certainly don't like you... or that little biotche you insist on protecting. But let me tell you, if I ever see her with Bryce again..."

She made a slicing action across her throat.

"... I'll make sure you won't be there to save her."

And then she dematerialized, leaving me alone in the ruined court yard.

a/n: review!