A/N: Hi, sorry for the long wait for an update! I hope this was worth the wait. I promise this won't be abandoned, I just don't have a lot of free time. I'm sure a few of you are going to have lots of questions after this and I look forward to trying to answer them. But please bear with me, this idea is purely from my crazy imagination and a few beliefs of my own. Anyway, read on and please no rotten tomatoes at me, thanks! Love! :)


'Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of a pure heart.' Jose N. Harris

Chapter Two

"Can I get you anything else, Jesse?"

The sound of my name broke me out of my reverie of me staring into space as I looked up and straight into the eyes of the waitress across from me; frowning in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked, a little embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming in such a public place. It's only the Coffee Clutch, a local hang out for most students, high school or college, so no doubt there are a few people daydreaming over their lattes. But my concentration is usually a lot sharper, more focused. With the exception of recently apparently, when my mind has been wandering to far off places and other people have had to rouse me again.

Smiling and leaning forward to rest her arms on the counter opposite me, the waitresses' flowery perfume overwhelmed me and made me stand up a little straighter to get away from it without seeming rude. Why do some women feel the need to saturate themselves in those kinds of scents? The waitresses' eyes became hooded; a keen look of interest plain to see. "I said can I get you anything else...Jesse."

I tried not to wince at the purr of my name I dug into my pocket for my money as fast as possible. "No thank you, that's it." I handed over the notes, trying to ignore the deliberate brush of her fingers over mine as she took my money from my hand. Nodding once in thanks I grabbed my hot coffee to go and the paper bag holding my muffin, turning away as fast as possible, the exit and sunshine outside beckoning me. I'm sure the pretty waitress is a nice girl, but with my lack of focus already causing me a problem, the possibility of dating isn't something I need either. My last year of college is the most important one yet, I can't afford to have anything get in the way of that.

To get in the way of my dreams of attending medical school in New York, that's the big picture. Something I have to remind myself of every day.

Once I was outside I took a deep breath of the fresh crisp air, the fog that covers the land all but gone, burnt away by the morning sunshine. Maybe the lack of desire to date was more than just my drive for finishing college and moving out of Carmel. What it could be, I don't know. But the feeling that there is more to it than the former has been nagging at me for a while. I guess my baby sisters prodding hasn't helped me out either. She's been filling my head with unknowns and nonsense.

"Damn interfering sibling," I muttered as I climbed into my car and placed the coffee in its holder. Opening the paper bag I lifted it to my nose, taking a deep breath of the cinnamon and ginger scent, making my stomach rumble. Another thing my lack of focus had done, made me forget to eat breakfast, hence the muffin on the run. As I opened my eyes to look down at the muffin though a piece of neatly folded paper caught my attention. Frowning I reached in and took it out, a name and a number quickly scrawled on it grabbing my attention. "No thank you." I winced, screwing the paper up into a ball and dropping it back into the bag.

Deciding I needed the chance to clear my head I chose to drive the long way to work at the Historical Society building. One thing I will miss dearly about Carmel is the ocean. The chances to grab my surfboard and hit some waves, letting the physical wash away the metaphorical stress weighing me down. I will miss the sun warmed sand between my toes as I step from the water and the intense heat of our local star on my back. I'll miss watching it set on the horizon and the quiet that falls over the land with it. In those short moments when it feels like time is standing still. I'll miss the independence and freedom that living in Carmel offers me. But what I will gain, I have told myself again and again, is far more rewarding. And once I have received my doctorate and gotten all the titles I need, I will come back to California and stay here for the rest of my life.

Stay where my heart belongs.

The Historical Society approached sooner than I wanted it too and I reluctantly pulled into a free parking space in the staff car park. Being the end of the summer break the tourists visiting us has dwindled and the school terms have started up leaving the car park mostly empty. Pushing my way into the building I took in the sterile smell of the place. The chemicals they use to keep precious and valuable artefacts from being damaged lingering in the air heavier today than normal.

Mrs Lampert, Dr Clive Clemmings' receptionist sat at her desk, filing her nails as I approached. She lifted her grey curled hair to smile up at me when I stopped before her, kind eyes gleaming back at me with intelligence and life. The complete opposite to Dr Clemmings' detached and dull expression. She had quickly taken me under her wing when I first started working at the Historical Society and though I'm reluctant to admit it, it felt nice to have a motherly person fussing around me again, dulling the ache of missing home and my equally doting mother waiting there.

"Good morning, Mrs Lampert," I greeted her warmly, smiling back without a second thought.

"How many times have I got to tell you to call me, Mary," she lightly admonished me, not for the first time since working with her boss. I wanted to call her Mary, but a good upbringing always had me falling to her married name instead. "Here, I brought you this in." She reached down beside her and lifted a Tupperware container and passed it to me. My eyes lit up as I took it and peered through the tub to see the spaghetti and meatballs inside. When I looked back to her questioningly she shrugged easily, resuming her nail filing. "You're looking a little thin dear, and spaghetti and meatballs are my speciality."

I couldn't help it; I cocked an eyebrow at her. Thin is not something I have started to become and she knew it too.

I am also fully aware that without any children or grandchildren to spoil, Mrs Lampert has thoroughly enjoyed placing that on me to make up for the years of loneliness not having a family has brought to her. Not that she would ever admit as such to me, but someone very close to her has shed that light for me. Who am I to ask those affections to be passed along to someone less willing? So I tucked the Tupperware tub close to me and grinned at her.

"I promise it won't be wasted." I told her gratefully, pleased to see a happy flush rise in her cheeks.

Dismissed I strolled past her desk and along to my little room tucked in the back, away from public view and next to Dr Clive Clemmings' office. One of the reasons I chose to go to college in Carmel was because of the job offered to me here. Being a de Silva, that name has a lot of sway around here. My family stretches as far back as the 1800's settling in Salinas County where the family ranch is still being lived in and worked from. Having its foot so firmly stuck in the history of the area my family has donated a few heirlooms to the Historical Society over the years and as such I was able to get a job here touring, cataloguing and giving speeches about what life was like back in the 1800's.

After all, they have my great, great, great grandfathers' letters to his then fiancée showcased in their museum. The same person I was named after, except by his nickname and not birth name. Thankfully my parents decided Hector was too old fashioned for this day and age, something I am willingly agreeable on. Growing up many people has commented on my striking similarity to him and over the years, whether I realised it or not, he has fascinated me too. I have always found myself drawn to him in some way, curious to know more about him. Coming to work at the Historical Society has felt like a way of connecting those dots. The job isn't terrible either, if not a little slow and boring on some days.

But then, I do have other things to occupy my time too.

"Ah, Jesse you're here. Good," Dr Clive Clemmings, PhD strode into my office without knocking, his thick coke bottle glasses slipping down his nose as he held a sheaf of papers in his hand, only glancing at me for a second as he absentmindedly thumbed through his stack. There were no pleasantries or small talk from Clive, just straight to business. Sometimes I wonder if he has a foot permanently stuck in the past. "I have a school trip coming in on Friday for a tour and will need your help with the talk. Besides, they seem to listen to you more than they do me." he remarked, scratching his head confused by why that would be.

Trying not to roll my eyes I simply said, "I'll put it in the diary."

"Good. Good. That's good," he answered, already gone in his mind, no doubt not even hearing my answer. But then my attention was diverted from him to the person standing behind him anyway. The same person he strolled straight through without a second thought other than a slight shiver as he headed for my door, mumbling to himself along the way. Having tuned him out the moment my eyes landed on the young, devastated girl standing before me I smoothly moved out from behind my desk, my eyes never leaving her trembling incorporeal form. Her next words only served to make my stomach drop and my head suddenly start to pound though.

"I'm looking for the mediator?" she crumbled, wringing her hands together in front of her as she stepped closer to my desk.

Smothering the urge to sigh and verbally remind myself why I have the patience to help spirits I took a deep breath, inwardly keeping my fingers crossed my last year of college doesn't get started with a particularly troublesome ghost. And then a heavy cloak of sadness fell on my shoulders as I realised how selfish and unfair I was being and prepared myself by trying to give her a reassuring smile and a quiet tone as I replied. She looked like she would take flight and disappear with any sudden movements or noise.

"I'm the mediator, how can I help?"

The young, waif like girls shoulders shook with silent tears as she peered at me through water logged lashes. My selfish feelings now completely evaporated my big brother instincts kicked in and made me want to wrap my arms around the young ghost and offer her some kind of condolence. But the raw pain visible in her shimmering eyes held me back, the intensity of her grief pouring off her and making the air thick with emotion. I like to pride myself on not squirming away from emotions, unlike my father. But when you're faced with spirits on a weekly and sometimes daily basis, you learn to not hide from them. But this girl was making even my strong resolve shake and stumble.

"It's my boyfriend; you need to help my boyfriend. He's in so much pain, it's killing him," As she said the last few words her shaking legs gave way beneath her and dropped her weightless body to the floor of my office. Sparing a quick glance out the open door of my office I dropped before her, hesitantly reaching out to touch her small shaking shoulder. The moment I made eye contact she gasped and physically pulled away from me, wide eyes staring back at me. I presumed she hasn't been touched since her unfortunate death, but her next words told me otherwise.

"You...Who are you?" her voice was as soft as a whisper as she stared at me long and hard, making me want to squirm where I was kneeling before her.

"I'm Jesse de Silva, the mediator. What's your name?" I replied, calling on my seemingly never ending patience.

"No," she forcefully replied, the strength to her voice surprising me considering how weak and frail she physically looks. "Who are you?"

I opened my mouth to say the same thing I just had, not understanding her question when she suddenly snapped her eyes away from me and crumbled into tears again. "He's in so much pain, I can feel him," she sobbed, my chest tightening just hearing the scratch of defeat to her voice. "Find him; find Ethan before it's too late. We have to save him. Please."

"Of course, I'll do all that I can, but - no, wait!" I called as she shimmered out of the space in front of me, my sentence cut off before I could finish or even find out who this Ethan is. "Dammit," I cursed, wishing not for the first time that I could make a spirit stay with just my will until I got all the information I need. But then that would be messing around with someone's free will and even as I thought it I knew it was wrong. But I have to question whether it's just a thing spirits do, giving you titbits of information and then leaving you to find the rest for yourself. Either way, it isn't very helpful; especially when this young girl has given me such a strong feeling that time is not on this Ethan's side.

Getting back up from kneeling on the floor I walked back around to sit at my desk, firing up my laptop as I prepared myself for the next little while of research hunting with just a name to go on.

And so the hidden, secretive part of my life once again interrupted my normal day. As it has since I can remember.