Disclaimer: It's all Meg Cabot's (or Jenny Carroll, YMMV) and as much as I and many others WISH we owned Jesse and Paul – I don't.
AN: I just blazed my way through all the Mediator books, and, because I am especially insane, all four 1-800-WHERE-R-U's.
Damn homie.
And I have slaved in between hours at work, to complete this new chapter, so I hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER THREE: Forgive Me Father, for I Have Sinned...
I don't know how long I stood there, cradling Mrs. Ackerman in my arms.
It seemed as though many questions had been answered by the appearance of this strange girl; Susannah. The sadness that was so obvious in the family, the pictures on the wall, and the resentment of the youngest boy, David.
Nombre de Dios, she was so young. She looked to be around the age of sixteen, and yet for some reason, she was ripped away from her life and her family to this cursed existence. My chest tightened at the thought of the pain this girl must have suffered, but I tamped it down. I have helped many ghosts that were close to her age, and sometimes younger; so why did I feel this acute sense of loss for her? It made as little sense as the endearment that slipped out of my mouth when I saw her tears.
Querida.
Beloved.
Susannah seemed to not only haunt my bedroom, but my thoughts, as I made my way with Mrs. Ackerman down the stairs. She excused herself to go 'freshen up' and I made my way over to the kitchen, Max hot on my heels. The table was practically groaning with the bounty of food laid upon it. My mouth watered as I smelled the unique sent of a freshly grilled quesadilla.
I made myself comfortable sitting in between Jake and David, staring at the arrangement of salads, quesadilla, rice and various toppings that would be the envy of any restaurant back home. I swiftly made a promise to myself that I would try to enjoy it even if it didn't live up to mi abuela'srecipes.
It didn't live up to it. It surpassed it.
"Dios, Mr. Ackerman, these are amazing, where did you learn to cook them?" I managed to get that out between my first and second helpings. He made a comment about his TV show, while I marveled at the speed with which his children ate. When Mrs. Ackerman and I had first sat down, there was a pile of about fifteen quesadilla in the middle of the table. After about two minutes, Jake and Brad had inhaled about three each, while David was finishing his second, and Andy was on his third. Mrs. Ackerman and I had only eaten about half of one. Brad and Jake were eyeing the last one, and I resigned myself to going hungry for the rest of the night as Andy roughly barked that the last one would be for Mrs. Ackerman, and that Brad could get started on the dishes.
"We rotate chores between each of the kids, except when Jake is in university. Of course, we don't expect you to do them, since you'll be so busy with your course work, Jesse dear." Mrs. Ackerman smiled at me from across the table, and I couldn't help but smile back. In the strange way that most mothers have, she seemed more at peace after crying than she had before. I will never understand women as long as I live.
"Mrs. Ackerman, please, I would like to contribute in some way. Perhaps I could cook a meal, at least once a week." I looked more towards Andy as I said this, as it had been his effort to provide dinner tonight. I briefly felt a moment of nervousness – how could I stand up to this man's obvious skill – when I realized I could cook many Spanish dishes that probably did not get served very often around here. It was a challenge I was willing to take on, in order to ease the pain of this family. Perhaps what kept Susannah back from wherever she is supposed to be, was the happiness of her family. If so, I would do everything in my power to fix the situation.
For Susannah.
I felt a brief pang at the thought she would be leaving, but I shook it off. After all, it was unfair for such a beautiful person to be stuck on Earth when she deserved to be in heaven. I resolved myself to getting in contact with this other Mediator that Susannah had mentioned; Father Dominic. I was no stranger to the Catholic Church, and I admit, I felt a surge of relief knowing that I had a Padre to confess to, one to whom I could confess everything. It had always been a point of strain between Madre and me that I rarely went to confession. It always seemed to me that if I merely avoided confession, I would not be forced to lie to a priest, something I'm sure Dios is very harsh on. I began to wonder if the lack of ghosts could be attributed to the presence of the Padre, for Susannah said she had lived in New York until a few weeks before her death.
The family began to split as soon as the meal was finished and I made my excuses to go back to my room. Some part of me was hoping that Susannah would be there, which is insane as I am clearly supposed to be getting her out of that room, and onto her next life. So when I entered the room to find it empty, I was annoyed to feel a pang of disappointment. After all, hadn't I asked her to leave the room? Still, the room, and the house, seemed so empty without her. This was insanity, I had only known her for a few short minutes, and yet I was pinning for her presence as if I had known her all my life. Dios, how bad would it be when she finally moved on? I sighed and shook my head as I changed out of my clothes. It had been a very long day, and I could feel the jet lag catching up with me. All I wanted to do was take my shower, and go to bed, without any… incidents.
Taking that shower was heaven. I hadn't realized how much my muscles had been aching from sitting in the plane all that time, but they were melting in the blissful heat of the shower. As much as I loved the feeling of hot water coursing over me, I didn't want to waste all the warm water in case someone else wanted a shower that night. So regretfully, I had to step out of the shower, and get ready for the rest of the night. I was mentally making a to-do list for tomorrow, including visiting the Padre and visiting my guidance councilor at the university, when I felt a familiar shiver go down my spine. The kind of shiver I get when a ghost appea-
"Hey Jesse, I just wanted to apolo- OHMYGOD." I whirled around to come face to face with Susannah. Her mouth was open in a state of shock, and her eyes had a strange glint to them as she looked me up and down. Finally she turned an interesting shade of red before swiftly placing her hands over her eyes and turned around. "Jesse! Jeez, I am so sorry, I mean, I didn't know you were - and then I wanted to apologise, but you're - and I'm…" She broke off her rambling and cleared her throat. "I mean, I didn't mean to look at you while you were changing." I was so caught up in my joy at seeing her again; I had completely missed the meaning of her statement. What was she talking about?
Oh.
"Susannah, I - " I cleared my throat and hitched my towel a bit higher up on my hips, feeling a blush start to stain my cheeks. "It's nothing. Would you mind, er, facing the wall for a few moments?" I cursed myself mentally. Why hadn't I thought that she might reappear? I should have taken my clothes with me into the bathroom, and remembered that I was now sharing a room. With a girl. A very attractive, very beautiful, and yes, slightly dead girl.
Nombre de Dios, Madre would kill me if she knew.
"Yes! Of course! You uh, go ahead and change. I'll just look at the wall. Yep. Nice pretty wall, with all the plaster, and uh, stuff." Susannah squeaked and spoke about a mile a minute. I wasn't sure if I had caught everything she said, and chuckled as I quickly pulled on my night clothes. Normally I would sleep in just my boxers, but I figured I had shocked Susannah enough for one day, and quickly pulled on a pair of pajama pants Maria had bought for me last Christmas. There, now there would be nothing to distract Susannah as we lay down some rules.
Such as not appearing while I'm changing.
"Alright querida, you may turn around now." I felt a strange grin creep over my face as she turned around, hands still over her eyes. She split her fingers to allow one eye to look about - making sure I was really dressed no doubt – before lowering her hands and looking me in the eyes. I quirked an eyebrow at her, and found myself becoming very pleased as her blush intensified for a moment as she raked her eyes over my chest, before snapping back to my face. She mustn't have seen many boys before she died, if she found me anything to look at. I don't think I am feo exactly, but not a stud as I hear my sisters call the movie stars in their magazines. After all, I had gone 19 years without a date, so obviously I wasn't the most attractive person around.
"So, Susannah, what were you saying earlier?" I leaned back against one of the posts of the bed, and crossed my arms, feeling quite at ease. I took a moment to drink in the sight of her legs as gleamed silvery white in the moonlight while she moved to sit in the window seat. She had taken that clip out of her hair again, and I found myself fascinated by the movement of her chestnut locks as they swept over her shoulder. I snapped back to reality as she let out a dejected sigh, and felt a concerned frown knit my brow. "Is there something wrong querida?" Dios, I need to stop saying that, what if she found out what it meant? Surely she would tell the Padre, and that could only end in a very uncomfortable situation for me, especially at confession.
"It's just... kind of weird. Seeing you sit where I sat, eating dinner with my family…" She shrugged uncomfortably and tugged on her leather jacket, as if she was cold. "And I just wanted to apologise, you know, for earlier with my mom and stuff. I though we got over that weepy stage, but, evidently not." She lay back on the window seat, and again afforded me a nice view of her legs as she began to swing her right leg back and forth off the edge of the seat. I forced myself to drag my eyes from her leg to her face, lest she catch me leering at her and decide to throw the dresser at me.
I am, of course, speaking from experience. Furniture is a favoured weapon of the angry dead.
There was no need, however, for my cautionary move. Susannah had her eyes riveted on the opposite wall, as if seeing something that I couldn't in my mortal state. When she began to chew her lip worriedly, I knew I had to speak, or else I wouldn't be able to control my urge to go over to her and nibble that lip myself. "Querida, you were not being – what was it you said – all weepy. Your mother obviously misses you still, and needed to express her grief. As do you." She shot me a glare that would have killed a lesser man on the spot, but I had been raised with the hellish glare of Rebecca de Silva, and nothing could compare to the sheer terror of that look.
"Don't look at me like that, Susannah, as a mediator you know that the dead have to grieve for themselves as well." She gave a snort and began fiddling with the buckles on one of her combat boots, but I could see from the brightness of her eyes that she understood what I was talking about. I wondered if this Father Dominic had not already tried to mediate Susannah. I knew firsthand that she was a willful girl, but surely, he must want her to go to heaven rather than stay and watch her family live on without her. I felt my heart begin to ache as I imagined Susannah, never changing, never aging, watching as her entire family got older, grew up, and died before her eternally youthful eyes. "Oh querida" I breathed, no longer caring as the endearment slipped out of my mouth. I watched as she visibly struggled to get a hold of herself, and was shocked as she sent a quirky grin in my direction.
"What does that mean?" She must have seen the obvious look of confusion on my face, because she gave a light giggle and continued, her mouth struggling to form the unfamiliar word. "Keh-reed-ah. What does it mean?" I chuckled and shook my head, moving from my perch over to the bed. As entertaining as teasing Susannah would surely be, I had to drive to both the Mission and the University tomorrow, and needed my rest. I was just slipping under the covers, when I felt a cool hand on my wrist. I looked up into Susannah's emerald gaze. "Come on, you can't just call me things in Spanish and not tell me what it means." She whined, and gave a pout that severely tempted me to kiss it away. I settled myself for sweeping my thumb over the satiny skin on the back of her hand. I gave it a quick kiss, followed by a wink, and grinned at her quick gasp.
"Goodnight, querida."
- - dream - -
"Jesse." I rolled away from the insistent voice, and burrowed deeper into my covers. I was in the middle of a strange dream, one that I've had before. Can one have a déjà vu for a dream? It was Susannah and I, when we first met. But… different. The room, her clothes, me, everything was different.
"Look," She said, standing up quickly and swinging her leg over the back of the chair. I noticed her strange clothing,old jeans that were ripped at the knees, a silk tee shirt, and that ever present motorcycle jacket. I was once again drawn to those irresistible green eyes, which were at the moment, narrowed at me in annoyance. "You can do all the hanging around you want, amigo. Slack away. I don't really care. But you can't do it here."
I frowned internally at her hostility towards me, but decided to carry on politely. "Jesse." I smiled as I realized this was taking a similar path to our conversation in reality. I watched as she struggled to think through my meaning, and evidently gave up and shot me a what-the-fun-are-you-talking-about look.
"What?"
"You called me amigo. I thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Jesse." She nodded, but I could almost feel her frustration at being interrupted. It brought a very lovely flush to her face, and I was surprised to find I liked the way that looked almost as much as I liked her blushing. But she wasn't finished with her tirade.
"Right. That figures. Well, fine. Jesse, then. You can't stay here, Jesse." I felt a flash ofannoyance at her tenacity about me departing. After all, I had been here for over a century and a half, who does she think she is, to tell me to leave. Then I felt overwhelming confusion over my last thought. A century and a half? I had only arrived in California today, and I was only 19 years old. Susannah definitely had reason to order me out.
"And you?" I felt my dream-self's face stretch into a smile, and began to panic. If this was my dream, why could I not control what was happening? It almost felt as though I was remembering something, as if it were from a long time ago. But that was impossible.
"And me, what?"
"What is your name?"
Susannah shot a glare at me, and said in a biting tone; "Look. Just tell me what you want, and get out. I'm hot sand I want to change clothes. I don't have time for-"But Susannah couldn't change clothes. She would never change her outfit again, because she was dead. Or was she? This Susannah was different, more so than just her clothing. The colours of her person were so much more vivid.
"That woman -your mother- called you Susie. Short for Susan?"
"Susannah, as in, 'Don't you cry for me.'"
"I know the song."
"Yeah. It was probably in the top forty the year you were born, huh?"
"Jesse! Jesse, wake up! You're going to be late!" Why was this person bothering me? Couldn't they see I was talking to Susannah? I need to finish this. I need to talk to her, to ask her about her clothes, and the room. This suddenly pink, flowery, feminine room. And why, why can't I make my mouth form those questions?
"So this is your room now, is it, Susannah?"
"Yeah, this is my room now. So you're going to have to clear out."
"I'm going to have to clear out?" I felt irritation rising quickly within me, or rather, the dream me. "This has been my home for a century and a half. Why do I have to leave it?"
"Because." I could see the anger growing on her face, much as it had when we had argued in reality. Or was this realtiy, and the other… a dream. She glanced quickly at the window behind me, and then returned her eyes to mine only to glare. "This is my room. I'm not sharing it with some dead cowboy." I felt the insult rile anger within me, and was shocked to find the antique mirror over the dresser shake as I stood up. I was curious to see what would happen, and I was beginning to lose the sense of separation I had felt earlier on. More and more, I felt this room, this Susannah, and this me, becoming reality.
Until I felt the water.
- - reality - -
"Nombre de Dios!" I spluttered, swearing in Spanish and flailing amongst my bed sheets for a moment. I blinked my eyes sleepily as I took in my surroundings. I was relieved to see the familiar dark blue walls as well as all my things scattered about the room. I looked over to the side and saw Susannah glaring at me as a glass hovered in the air beside her, looking the same as I remembered her, miniskirt and all. I was about to grumble at her about the water when I looked at the clock.
The water suddenly made more sense.
I swore heavily enough in Spanish to make any ranch hand blush as I shot out of bed. I ignored Susannah's squeak as I tugged my pajamas off and threw on a nice shirt. I spent some time hopping around the room, one leg in my good jeans, while I furiously brushed my teeth, Susannah just staring at me with wide eyes the entire time. So I tried to solicit her help. "Susannah, could you find my belt please, and my shoes?" But since I had a toothbrush in my mouth, and my hands were busy zipping up my fly, what came out was more like "Usamma. Ud oo fie eye elf peas, an eye foos?"
Either Susannah is a cunning linguist, or she merely noticed what was missing from my outfit, as she quickly found a belt, and my comfortable shoes, with socks. I rinsed my mouth and quickly tugged my socks and shoes on, and was almost out the door when Susannah's voice stopped me. "Um, Jesse?"
"Yes, querida."
"You might want to fix your hair, and uh, shave first." I turned to look in the mirror, and groaned in frustration as I saw my reflection. Apart from the rough stubble that now covered my cheeks and jaw, my hair was sticking up as though I'd stuck my finger in an electrical outlet. Not the best first impression. I heard Susannah's laughter as I raced into the bathroom.
Today was not looking like a good day.
-
AN: Alright, alright. I know it wasn't the longest chapter, and I SWEAR I'm going to start making them at LEAST 10 pages long. But This one just didn't want to flow into the next scene, so I decided to cut it off here, and make the next one a doozy. And of course, to waste even more of your time, I give REVIEWER COMMENTS!
Dreamcloud818: Ha ha, Blast from the Past? I'll have to check it out. I know what you mean about the pairings, there's this absolutely brilliant fic, F L A S H L I G H T by Lolly Pop Ali, and I was addicted to reading it until I came upon a P/S scene. I read the last chapter (Bad Divi! Very bad Divi!) and it was so heartbreaking, so poignant, that I'm forcing myself to read through the entire story, even though it's breaking my heart. I definitely recommend you to read it, even if P/S isn't your thing, because it's just such a wonderful story. Anyway, enough of my shameless ranting, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chappy!
creating apathy: Oi woman! Long review! That's excellent, makes me feel all important-like. What help have you been? ARE YOU KIDDING? Without you and your uplifting reviews, I'd be all emo and sobbing into my mediator books in a corner. And asking questions is good, it means I'm doing my job in making you think, tee hee. 1) mebe. 2) mebe 3) mebe. Was that significantly vague? Yeah? Okays, moving on.
I admit it. You caught me.
I'm NOT from the US. I was surprised you guessed though, and on such a little detail. Clever, clever you. Maybe when I'm old and grey, I'll go back and edit that in the chapter, but I'll leave it as is for now. Ha ha, well, you got another chapter anyway, because I love you guys so much (and I needed a break from work). Thanks for reading babe, and I hope you enjoyed it!
Amattsonperdue: I… erm… that is…SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! throws a lovely rug over the plot holes. Ha, actually, after reading your comment, I went back and looked through the books, and realised you're right. Heh heh. Whoops. However, I don't think that either of the brothers Ackerman would know that it is Suze. Even as your comments sent my into an apocalyptic fit, the plot bunnies began hopping around in my brain. And instead of trying to invent a way to retcon the ability to notice spooks out of the boys, I've found a way to work it into my plot line, and all thanks to you! So here's a very big THANK YOU, because it really is going to make some comic moments in future chapters, that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't called me on my stuff. So yes. You are right. You are always right.
And also, a huge ball of thanks to: Nights-girl, Lessien-Elensar, and emm-is-da-bomb.
Goodnight!
Divi
