Holy cow! Sorry it's taken so long to post more and sorry it's not a very long chapter. They'll get longer once I'm out of school and that happens on the 20 of this month (yay). And I'm also sorry that this chapter might be a twinge bit confuzzling–I changed my aim for this story somewhat and had to incorporate new info into it. Yeah...Drag me out back and shoot if you must. And just a little side note, most of my chapter titles will be song titles, cause I'm weird like that. But that doesn't always mean there's lyrics in the chapter. Just so you know.

Okay onto the replies:

Arianna Sunrise: I swear (ok I hope) that after this chapter it won't seem like Mary Sueing so much. And thank you for the wonderful complements. They always make my day!

Angelic Chocolate Fairy: Chocolate! Sweet! I love all he "SO"s :D As for Paul and Saben...hmmm...still thinking about that. But the chances are looking 50/50! Lol. Sorry, I've had to much Dr. Pepper. I'm a little wired. Yay! I'm on your favs list! I rock? You rock! Rock on! Thanks for the wicked awesome review!

LordLanceahlot: Well thanks!;)

Nikki007: Danke! (Thanks)

And thanks to everyone else who reviewed...I'd add more thanks, but my printer cut off the reply sheet...Ahem.

Ch 5: True Parallels

It's all her fault. If she was just honest with us to begin with, we wouldn't be in this mess. I swear, right now, if murdering weren't illegal I wouldn't be able to control myself.

The floor I'm on is cold, wet, and hard and the air is deathly humid. "Where am I?" you ask. No freaking clue. All I know is it's dark..really really dark. So dark I can't even see my hand in front of my face, let alone the other people here with me.

Wait, I've gotten ahead of myself—let me explain. Let me take you back to when the crap first his the fan.

The next morning. Oh the next morning was a lovely one.

Not.

I got up at 4.00 A.-freaking-M. What is up with that? Oh, I hadn't set my alarm, I didn't have a bad dream, oh no. Even better. I had a visitor, of the dead variety.

"Are you the mediator?" someone asked, while shaking me violently. I groaned and rolled onto my right side, trying to ignore the person, well, spirit.

"Are (shake) you (shake) the (shake) mediator (shake shake)?"

"Giroffme."

"Wake up."

"Nuuuu."

There was a sudden crash behind me and my eyes shot open. I slowly rolled back around and saw my lamp on the floor, in a million pieces.

"What do you want?" My eyes narrowed upon the guilty party who'd destroyed my lamp. Little bugger.

Yawn.

"You must stop Qain," he groaned and shoved his hands into his baggy-jean pockets.

"No dip, Sherlock, I already know that."

"No. You must stop him now, before he kills everyone. Over fifty people have already died! You must stop him!"

"I'm sorry," I sighed. "You have reached the answering machine, for I'm not in right now. Office hours begin at 8 am. Call back later. Bye now!"

With another yawn I rolled back to my right side, and closed my eyes.

"What part of now," he growled. "Don't you get?"

I rolled back over to face him again. Man I'm getting sea sick. Woo.

"It's four in the morning, Sunny-Jim, what can I possibly do?"

"Look, Lady,"–haha Lady–"I don't care what time it is, let alone what you do or how you do it. Just stop him! For God's sake, do you have any idea what it feels like to have your bones eaten away at? Lettme tell ya–it ain't pleasant. Now, unless you want to end up like the rest of us, I suggest you do something. Anything. Now."

And with that he disappeared, leaving me, and my broken lamp, in peace. Well, pieces. The lamp anyway.

With a long sigh, I rolled onto my back and tried to get back to sleep. Tried mind you. You know I hate being a mediator. Shifter. Whatever. I just hate it. Over three hours of sleep gone...GONE!

Pfft. Foam. Pfft.

I lay in bed for three hours, trying to just doze off, before giving in and just waiting for the sun to rise. Meanwhile, I pondered over what exactly I was going to do. I'm good at stealthiness, yes, but I'm no 007. I mean, even if I were Batman or something, going after someone with bone-go-bye-bye power is just wrong...on so many levels. I glanced over at my clock as shades of pink and orange began to paint the sky. Oh yeah the sunrise, I got to witness again. Except without Jesse–which did suck, but oh well. It was still beautiful. Even if my clock was blaring an ugly 6:59 AM at me. Mer. Damn that ghost. Damn him. So much for beauty sleep.

6:59 quickly changed to 7:00, and with a groan I rolled out of bed, still cursing said ghost that woke me. I actually took my time (since I had time) slipping into my pink capris and filmy top. Since I didn't have much energy, I just pulled half my hair back, then applied my normal makeup quota. You know, lip gloss and mascara. Wha-la. Grabbing my backpack and pink flip-flops, I headed to the kitchen, dropping my bag and shoes off at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's official! The world is coming to an end!" my stepbrother Dopey, aka Brad, boomed when I walked into the kitchen.

"Sod off," I narrowed my eyes at him and opened the refrigerator to get the orange juice. At least the one that didn't contain stepbrother back-wash in it.

"Suze Simon, awake! And before 8:00 AM! It's a miracle! Someone, call the press!"

"Brad," Andy, my stepfather, warned as he stood over cooking bacon and eggs.

"Why are you up so early?" Doc–I mean--David, asked from the kitchen table. "It wouldn't have to do with the crash I heard this morning, would it?"

My eyes narrowed upon David. That mini Bill Gates doesn't know when to keep quiet, sometimes, I swear.

"I had a bad dream. That's all." My teeth gritted as I spoke. "I must have accidently knocked it over."

"Oh," David's expression suddenly changed as realization dawned upon him. "Oh!"

"Yeah..."

My toast was dry and my bacon greasier than usual–and Max stole one of my eggs...but other than those incidents, breakfast was just peachy.

Again, not.

My mom came in and thought I was sick, or something, because I was awake already. Thus getting me the third degree from her for, like, twenty minutes.

"Are you okay? Are you running a fever?"

"I'm fine, mom."

"Are you sure? I could get you a doctor's appointment..."

"I said I'm fine."

And this is just the beginning of my day! Luckily, things got a little better when Jesse asked me over for dinner. That's right-a date–at 7:00pm. He wouldn't tell me what he's making though.

And of course I queried the whereabouts of his roommate, to which he said she'd be gone...all evening.

Ex-cellent.

"You look magnificent, Querida," Jesse smiled at me when he opened his front door. The wonderful aroma of some roast and vegetables immediately flooded my senses. I wasn't hungry on the way over, but now I am. Really hungry.

"As do you," I returned the smiled, and pulled him down for a kiss. Naturally, he obliged, but not for very long. After all, we were still in the doorway–I don't think the neighbors would appreciate watching us make out.

After we pulled apart he took my purse and hung it up, then took my hand and led me to the table. I was right. It was roast. Some mustard and molasses glazed roast.

"Where'd you get the idea for this?" I asked, when I tasted it. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but still...

"Your stepfather."

Bingo. Man I'm good. Did I mention Jesse's a great cook? Yeah...That's my man. Tall, handsome, a wonderful cook...alive. My love life couldn't get any better. Well, almost, if you catch my drift. Ahem.

What? I'm a teenager I have raging hormones! Now, back to the point. I'm babbling.

Ok, he must have spike my roast. This can't be me talking.

Anywho...

My evening was going perfect–delicious dinner, gorgeous boyfriend, the Godfather pt. II (that, not so much, but who cares). That is, until, oh, 9:30pm, when someone started banging on the front door.

"Simon! De Silva! Let me in!"

Paul! What does Paul want? Other than to ruin my life of course. That's just a given.

Jesse got off the couch, where we were 'watching' the movie, and opened the door with a groan. And was nearly run over by Paul, who was dragging Saben in behind him, bound and gagged.

Must she always ruin my life as well? It so figures she would join the dark side with Slater. Though 'joining the dark side' wasn't quite what I was thinking when he drug her over to the couch and forced her to sit down, then undid the gag in her mouth.

"Fuck you, Paul," she growled, once she could speak again. Jesse ignored her cursing and shut the door, then came and took a seat by my confused self.

"Slater, what are you doing here? And why did you tie up my house-mate?"

"Guess where I found her? Go on, guess!"he yelled, pacing around the living room. Jesse and I looked at one another and shrugged. " Fine. Tell them!"

"Why? You seem to think you know it all, so you tell them!"

Paul stopped and glared at her, then turned to us.

"She was at Qain's house, you know, the supposed murdering bastard? Yay! And let's just say they weren't talking!"

Saben raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Actually, that's exactly what we were doing, thank you very much."

"I bet."

Reporters usually do talk when they're interviewing, unless their at a Bunny Ranch..." Saben trailed off. "But I wasn't, so you get the point."

"Sure."

"Granted, I had to pose as a reporter from Carmel Times. I asked him about his opinion on the medical epidemic occurring, since, after all, his father was the first and only person in this part of California to be diagnosed and die from the disease."

"What?" I interjected.

"My guess is, Qain's trying to get revenge for his father's death."

"While all of this is seriously interesting, it's not what I was actually talking about," Paul sighed, rather aggravated, then threw himself on the couch by Saben. "Her name isn't Saben, she's not Clive Clemming's niece, and she's not a porter, whatever the hell that is."

"What are you talking about?" came my voice again as I was still utterly confused.

"She's a doppleganger, Suze."

"What?" How many times have I asked that in the last five minutes? Honestly, I'm losing count.

"Saben isn't Saben, Suze. She's you."

Thanks to everyone who's reading! I'd beg for replies, but I can't make you—my chickens are on a coffee break...(don't ask. Note the way too much caffeine bit).

Sam-