Disclaimer: It's all Meg Cabot's (or Jenny Carrol, YMMV) and as much as I and many others WISH we owned Jesse and Paul – I don't.
AN: Wow, I really didn't expect to get so many reviews with the prologue, I mean, it wasn't exactly a fantastic piece of writing. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I was waiting to write the next chapter until I got all of the books, because I didn't want to mess up any points that are important to the plot. But never fear, Indigo.ca has once again come through for me, and so I present the next chapter of Chaos Theory.
CHAPTER ONE: Jesse de Silva
They told me there'd be palm trees.
I didn't believe them, but that's what they told me. They told me I'd be able to see them from the plane.
Oh, I know there are palm trees in California, but I thought that there wouldn't be any this far north, especially after Mrs. Ackerman told me to pack lots of sweaters. "Oh I know you probably don't wear a lot of warm clothes in Dallas, but it does get cold up here. Not New York cold, but chilly all the same." My Madre instantly warmed up to the woman who was to be my new land lord, packing many gifts to bring to the Ackermans as a gesture of thanks.
Her sun browned hands carefully placed hand carved figurines for Mrs. Ackerman, and special cookware designed by a local artisan into my bags. "Hijo, I want you to make sure these get to those lovely people in one piece." She gave me a very stern glance and continued as she helped me close the rest of my baggage. "I know you tend to have little accidents, but we really need these people to like you, so no more…incidents. ¿Comprende?" She was using what I like to call her business voice – the one that made ranch hands cower in fear, and CEO's rush to do her bidding. And right now that voice and the full power of her gaze were being used on her eldest son.
"Si Madre. No problemas." I smiled my best innocent grin at her, which promptly slid off my face as she rose on tip toe to shake a finger at me.
"I pulled a lot of strings to get you into University, with your record…" She made the sound of a choking cat and I quickly cut in before she could start on about my past. Admittedly, she has good reason, I've never been the best of children to take care of, and I'm sure most of her gray hairs were put there by me.
"And I'm very thankful Madre. I will be the perfect house guest."
"¿Lo prometes?"
"Si Madre, I promise. Absolutely nothing will go wrong."
And I was off to a good start. There were no problems, from the drive to the airport, boarding the plane, and then take off. That was pretty good for me. The one time mi Madre splurged some of our money on a trip to Disney World – let's just say there have been better flights.
I was five, and she was sitting in front of me on the plane. I thought it was nothing special, just a very eccentric old woman. What I didn't realize then, was that I was the only one who could see her.
She was a Ghost.
Not the white sheet 'BOO' type of ghost, but the real kind, the 'Sixth Sense' kind. Ghosts, at least to people like me, are exactly like regular people. I can see them, hear them, and if the occasion calls for it, touch them. But normal people, can't. And as you may have guessed, there are more normal people, than people like me. So when I walked up to the old lady and handed her a tissue saying "Señora, please don't cry, here is a tissue" her reaction was completely understandable.
She disappeared.
I told my mother about the ghost, but she shook her head and chuckled, patting me on the head. "Mijo, there are no such things as las fantasmasYou shouldn't listen to Maria and her friend's stories. Go back to sleep." And I did. But when I woke up, the old lady was back. She glanced at my sleeping mother and put a finger to her lips, telling me to keep quiet.
"What is your name, child?" She said kindly. Her voice sounded like a slow, lazy summer afternoon, with a drawl I'd heard from some of Madre's friends at work. It was her eyes, more than her voice, which made me trust her. Though they were sad, they also held warmth, like mi abuela when she spoke of summers long ago. She was the first ghost I ever talked to; I guess the first one I ever saw. We spent eight hours, just talking. It turns out this woman was a Mediator, someone who guided the dead to their final resting place. As best as she could, she explained the world of mediation to me, and I learned. It was a quiet, easy flight.
Until the other one showed up.
This ghost wasn't a nice, kind, southern belle. This ghost was bad. He stalked up the isle, tipping over people's glasses, breaking levers on chairs so people sleeping woke up, and causing general mayhem. When he noticed the old woman talking to me, his whole face changed. It was a look of unholy glee.
"Why Delilah, you've been holdin' out on me." He spoke with the rough tones of the people on our ranch, but unlike them, his tone was like ice. His eyes were brown, but unlike mine, they were like the oil sands my padre had bought the year before. "Another medium or whatever you're called." He let out a dark chuckle. "Going to try and use him to get rid of me Delilah?" The old woman, who before had seemed so nice, and calm, looked like a statue, as if her face was carved from stone.
"You'll stay away from this boy, Everet, if you know what's good for you." Her eyes narrowed at the man as the plane began to shake. "I mean it, you may have killed me, but you touch one hair on this boy's head -" And all hell broke loose. The plane just dropped, I thought I felt my stomach rise up into my throat. Then the entire plane began to shake, as if Dios himself stretched out his hands to shake us.
"¡Madre!" My sister had woken when the plane started to shake.
"I don't think so Delilah. See, I'm quite fond of you Mediators. Especially once you're dead." The lights on the plane went out, except for the emergency lights, which flickered ominously. Everyone on the plane started to panic, children cried, and mothers began arguing furiously with the stewardesses to find out what exactly was going on. My sisters were panicking, and my mother was trying to calm them down. It still seems strange to me that no one noticed a five year old staring calmly at seemingly nothing.
Delilah suddenly seemed to – well, glow. I mean, all ghosts glow but she was emanating waves of light, and said in a very scary voice; "I warned you. But you wouldn't listen. I'm not going to let you hurt these people." Waves of dark energy seemed to emanate from Everet, in deep contrast to the ones around Delilah. "And this time, you can't stop me." She smiled and turned her face upwards, and started whispering words in a language I didn't know.
"No!" The plane shook harder, and oxygen masks dropped down from the ceiling. I turned to my sister, Maria, to see if she knew what was going on. She was crying into my Madre's shoulder, and my mother was staring wide eyed at the front of the plane.
"Nombre de Dios." She breathed. That is the only time in my life I have ever seen my mother afraid. She turned to look at me, and frowned. "¡Héctor de Silva, you buckle your seatbelt este momento!" The plane shook harder, and I made my way carefully over to where Delilah and Everet were standing. "Jesse! JESSE!" Madre sounded upset, but I knew what I had to do. I took Delilah's hand, and watched as a dark cloud swirled over Everett's head.
"Jesse. I need you to repeat after me, alright sugar?" Delilah held onto my hand so tightly, I was sure I would have bruises. She spoke the strange words again, and I repeated them after her, and finally, red smoke surrounded Everet. I'm sure it must have looked insane, if anyone was paying attention to a small boy in the aisle. I didn't know what I was saying, just that it was making the bad man that had hurt Delilah go away. And that was suddenly very important to me.
"No! I will not be put away by this child!" Everet struggled against the red smoke, and plane shook harder, but Delilah kept talking, so I did too.
"I told you Everet, you had to move on. And now I'm making you." And with a final scream, Everet was sucked up into that dark cloud. The plane stopped shaking, and all the lights came back on. Everyone started cheering and clapping, some people were crying. But I kept staring at Delilah, who looked at me with wide eyes. "Why child, I think I'm going to -" And then she was gone. Just like that, she faded away.
And Madre? Well, let's just say we don't fly places very often.
So when I tell you I had no problems on the plane, you can understand how grateful I was. The flight was uneventful, besides an overly attentive stewardess who kept checking up on me every ten minutes. I guess I must have looked really uncomfortable, because she kept bringing me drinks and talking with me. She even gave me her phone number so 'If you ever have any questions about flying, y'all just gimmie a call, ya hear?'
Creepy, but nice.
When I arrived in the airport, I saw a cluster of people, holding up a large sign saying 'Welcome Hector!' It clearly had been created with care, and showed that someone with proficiency had used a computer program to make it.
I didn't know Photoshop had an 'instant mortification' tool.
"Oh! Mr. de Silva, we're so glad you came. How was the flight?" Mrs. Ackerman bustled over and crushed me in a hug, one I had to bend in half to reciprocate. Her green eyes twinkled up at me as she introduced me to whom I can only assume were her sons. "This is Jake, he's my oldest, Brad's with Andy grabbing your bags, and – oh. Jake, where's David?" The tall blonde man blinked slowly and looked about. He gave me the impression of someone who is continuously asleep. He pointed out a gangly red head teenager who was frowning out at the airfield, glaring seemingly at nothing. "David! David, come meet Hector!"
'David' turned and glared at me over his shoulder and stalked past us over to who I assume were Andy and Brad. "Please, call me Jesse." I smiled at the woman who was clearly distraught with her son's behavior. "There was no need to put yourself out like this, Señora; I was prepared to make my way into Carmel myself." Mrs. Ackerman blushed, and mumbled about it being nothing, but I could see the comment pleased her, and I resolved to try and make this woman happy. There was a certain sadness that lurked in her eyes, even when she looked at her children.
"Hey, got enough luggage here? You know, it's a felony to smuggle cattle across state borders" Andy joked, as soon as he and Brad dragged over my luggage. Really, it was only two suitcases, and I picked them up myself and followed Andy as he led us to their vehicle. I smiled as David finally spoke; interjecting a fact that you couldn't fit an entire cow into a suitcase, and how it was too heavy to pass the guidelines for flight. David seemed to know a lot of strange things for a boy his age, and received a ribbing from his older brother Brad. David must have received most of the brains and left Brad with nothing but brawn, as David shot back how Brad was still in grade 12, along with him. Jake seemed to find this interesting enough to drag him out of his stupor, but only for the few minutes it took to get us to the car.
"Oh Jesse," Mrs. Ackerman gushed, "You'll just love your room. It's got a big lovely bay window, where you can see the whole town, and a lovely window seat." Her voice seemed a little choked as she continued to describe the room to me. I noticed Jake's mouth tense a little, as if he tasted something incredibly sour. But it was David's reaction that drew my attention. He glared at the back of his mother's seat, and tears started to pool in his eyes.
"It's not fair." He muttered. When I raised an eyebrow at him in inquiry, he glared so hard at me; I was surprised not to find myself bursting into flame. I frowned and filed this away for future reference. Clearly there was something wrong with this family. On the surface they seemed happy and healthy, but the sad look never left Mrs. Ackerman's eyes, and the anger never left David's. Jake frowned at David, and Brad grumbled from his spot beside the luggage in the back.
"It's really lovely. It was a nineteenth century boarding house, but Andy had some of his carpentry friends fix it up, and it's really quite cozy." She smiled at me in the review mirror, until she caught sight of my face. "What's wrong dear?" I quickly pasted on a smile and tried not to show my discomfort.
"It's nothing Señora, truly, I am … uncomfortable in old buildings." I ran a hand through my hair distractedly, feeling the short black strands brush against my fingers comfortingly. Old places usually are teeming with ghosts; it looked as though my Madre was right in warning me against any… incidents. It's probably why she hadn't deigned to tell me the history of my new home, for fear I would try and back out of all her hard work.
"That's funny; Suzie was the same way…" She trailed off and quickly glanced out the window, but not before I saw tears gathering in her eyes. This instantly gained me a glare from all three of her sons, and I sighed before slouching in my seat, thinking that this was the longest hour I had experienced in my life. I turned to look out the window, and smiled as I saw the sun dipping down over the ocean. It was a truly beautiful place, my new home.
We finally pulled up outside the house, and I felt my jaw drop in surprise. It really was a lovely house, with Victorian style turrets, and even a widow's walk. It was painted blue, white, and cream, probably by Mrs. Ackerman. It was also surrounded by big shady pine trees, and sprawling, flowering shrubs. Three stories high, constructed entirely from wood, and not the common glass-and-steel or terra-cotta materials so prevalent in the houses around it. It seemed to me to be the loveliest, most tasteful house in the neighbourhood.
And I didn't want to set foot in it.
Mi Madre was an amazing woman. She had put up with so much from me, the broken objects, and the broken bones numerous run-ins with the law… Nothing serious, only a few charges of breaking and entering. Being a Mediator interfered with many aspects of my life, straining my relations with my family, and making me a social outcast at school. Many people assumed I had gotten involved with Mexican gang members, which is of course, preposterous. My family is Spanish, not Mexican, and believe me, there isn't a lot of mingling allowed by Madre.
Still, these incidents, though few and far between were still enough to make colleges and universities have second thoughts. My lack of extra curriculars and less than stellar record with the police managed to counter the allure of my four-point-oh GPA. But my Madre was nothing if not determined, and she swore that every child of hers would go through university, and not waste the talent of the de Silvas.
As you may have noticed, she is a rather formidable woman.
She exhausted every resource, pulled every string, and managed to get me into a premed program out in California. She then found a family willing to allow me to rent a room to avoid the hassle of staying in the dorms, to avoid any 'incidents' as she called my more colourful altercations with the dearly departed.
So it was not without recognition of irony that I stepped into this house. After all the trouble we had gone to, it seems Dios is determined to make Mediation a large part of my life. Which I wouldn't really mind if it were possible for me to be both a Mediator and someone with an actual life to speak of. Sadly, my university years were looking more and more as if they would be like my high school years, lonely and tedious.
Until I saw her.
The house was as beautiful inside as it was outside. All shiny maple and cheerful blues and yellows. There were baby pictures on the walls, I could clearly identify the male Ackermans, but there were also pictures of a girl, placed beside those of the boys in the living room. I spared a brief thought for those pictures – there was no girl at the airport, and no one had made mention of a sister. My gaze was then drawn to the plants scattered across the house; on wooden stands, hanging in front of the stained-glass windows, and perched on top of the newel post on the edge of the stairs. Incredibly feminine touches to what seemed an incredibly masculine family.
The evidence of four men was strewn around the house. A sleek white computer sitting on a desk covered with college books and what looked like news sides alike; a wide-screen TV incongruously tucked into a fireplace in the den, to which a new game consol was wired ostensibly for videogames, along with four surfboards which were leaned up against the wall by the door to the garage.
"Hey Max." Andy smiled as the family dog came jaunting into the room. He sniffed my hands with his big cold nose before deciding that I was acceptable to have in his house and leaping up to lick at my face. This didn't really ruffle me, as I was used to dogs from the various ranches my mother owned, and was pleased that my new home would have one. After all, if you can love a dog, you can't be a bad person.
My room was upstairs, just above the roof of the front porch. I was led up there by an enthusiastic Mrs. Ackerman, who was clearly pleased that I liked her home, and she explained the work that Andy had done on the window seat years ago. When I saw how much trouble they had gone to, to make the room feel like home to me, I instantly felt horrible for my behaviour in the car. The room was painted a muted navy blue, with cream coloured wallpaper, dotted with blue forget-me-nots all along the top of the intricate white wainscoting that lined the walls. There was a beautiful four poster bed, with a white satin canopy that was a tad feminine, but classic all the same.
I quickly commented on the beauty of the room to Mrs. Ackerman, who smiled sadly and motioned toward the large window seat Andy had made. Luckily Mrs. Ackerman was not looking at me, or she would have wondered why all the blood had left my face, and why my eyes bugged out a bit. It wasn't the stunning view, the window gave a sweeping vista that incorporated the entire peninsula, and allowed the occupant to have a view of the entire town and the ocean. I quickly glanced at Mrs. Ackerman to see if she had noticed the girl, but she said nothing, and that's when I knew.
I was sharing my room with a ghost.
The girl looked at me inquiringly, her gaze sweeping over me in what I would have called a hungry gaze. Except that's absurd as someone this beautiful could never find a freak like me interesting. She had beautiful chestnut hair that was swept up into a clip as a make-shift ponytail. Beautiful emerald eyes looked out at me, framed by dark lashes that I assume were the result of careful application of make up, because no one's eyes could possibly be that large and beautiful. She was dressed very strangely, a blue halter top and dark green miniskirt fit with the image of a popular girl, but the leather motorcycle jacket and unlaced combat boots were at odds with her feminine image.
And then she stuck her tongue out at me.
Many ghosts have done strange things to see if I was truly looking at them and not through them that I tamped down on my urge to laugh and settled for raising an eyebrow at her. Her look of surprise and embarrassment eased my worry that I would have to deal with a ghost so soon, and the light blush that graced her cheeks made a part of me positively gleeful.
Madre is going to kill me.
