Hush
Fifteen
Note: Chapter sixteen is done and will be up by Friday. Seventeen is basically done and will be up by Tuesday. Hopefully, eighteen will be finished by next Friday.
Friday came sooner than I would've liked it to. My readiness to rid of the world of Alexa didn't quite outweigh my dislike of the idea of seeing Paul. It definitely didn't outweigh how worried I was that Jesse was going to wind up in jail again. How well would the legality of his identity hold up under scrutiny from a court? Sure, Father Dom had done a good enough job at procuring Jesse's identity that he'd been able to go through school and the loan process without incident, but I was always wary that we'd find the end of our rope someday.
"Ready?" Jesse asked as we pulled out of the clinic's parking lot.
"I'm ready," I said. "The question is are you ready? Ready to deal with Paul in the responsible grown up way?"
"I'll be on my best behavior," Jesse said, much too sweetly.
I didn't believe a word he said, but I didn't press the matter any further. Instead, I said, "Here's the plan. Get in. Call Alexa. Paul pushes her through one of those doors up there. We leave."
"As if I would want to spend a second longer than I have to around Paul Slater," Jesse said.
"Then we'll need to think about Patrick," I continued. "How long do you think it's going to take before he realizes Alexa's gone? And do you think he's the type to do anything rash afterwards?"
"Knowing what we know about that," Jesse broke off here to call her the same swear word he always called Alexa in place of her name, "she was the one leading their efforts. Without her, I doubt Patrick would be much of a threat."
"We have to find a way to pin the heists on him though-in case he decides to flee from us or something."
"One thing at a time, querida," Jesse said as we got on to 17-Mile Drive.
Traffic was terrible, as per usual on Friday evenings, but I closed my eyes to the warmth of the sunshine streaming in through the window.
"When do you want to tell your parents about the baby?" Jesse asked.
I nearly reminded him that he'd only known about the baby for a few days now, but I didn't. "How about we let them figure it out on their own? When I start showing or something?" I said.
"Susannah…"
I sighed. "Whenever they come up from L.A. next, I guess. Why's it matter?"
"Why don't you want to tell anyone?" Jesse countered.
"The more people who know the more real everything is," I admitted, and I slumped down in my seat slightly.
Jesse merged lanes, more smoothly than I could have done, and said, "Are you still thinking about the child being a mediator?"
"It's not that."
"Then what is it?" Jesse asked, and he took his eyes off of the road for a couple of seconds to look at me.
"It's everything," I said, avoiding his gaze. "Our lives are really going to change."
"You're not wrong," Jesse said. "But our lives are always changing. Did you see us here ten years ago? Married to… What was it you called me? Ghost breath?"
"Cadaver breath," I corrected. "But also, cowboy. You didn't like that one much either."
"I still don't-because my family was made up of hard working ranchers, not vaqueros."
"I know, cowboy."
Jesse groaned.
"We don't have to tell anyone until you're ready, Susannah," he conceded a few moments later.
We passed the rest of the drive without talking about the baby, and I tried my best to make my thoughts follow suit. It was another fifteen minutes before we pulled into Paul's driveway. Paul's car, a ridiculously expensive looking sports car that may or may not have been a Lamborghini, sat in the driveway.
I hopped out of the door the second Jesse put the car in park. I headed to the front door quickly though he was at my heels before I knew it.
"Just let me do the talking," I said.
Jesse rolled his eyes and gave no indication that he planned on taking my advice.
"I never called him back to tell him you were coming," I said. "He might not let me in if he sees you."
"I'm going to be there with you, so he'll see me eventually. Better sooner than later."
I was not entirely convinced of this logic as I rang the doorbell. After a few seconds without recognition from the other end, I started to wonder if Jesse was wrong, like I feared. But Paul opened the door soon enough, wearing a button down with the sleeves rolled up and a couple of the top buttons undone, a glass of champagne in one hand, and an annoyed look on his face.
It was always frustrating that despite how horrible of a person Paul could be, I'd never once seen him look anything less than incredibly handsome. He was no match for Jesse, of course, but I could grudgingly understand why he was engaged to a Hollywood starlet-obvious monetary reasons aside.
"Of course you brought him. The two of you don't go anywhere without each other, do you?" Paul said.
"Till death do us part," I said.
Paul looked over my shoulder, at Jesse, and seemed less than impressed by this statement. He was probably considering the fact that Jesse had already been dead before. He took a step back anyway, opened the door to his house a bit wider, and gestured with a tilt of his head for the two of us to enter.
The interior looked more or less like I'd last seen it all those years ago. It was still modern and minimalist, and light from the evening sun entered through the large glass windows the house seemed to be made entirely out of. The only difference was that there was a distinct feeling that this house was no longer lived in. There was no dust anywhere, but there was also no Dr. Slaski or Mark, his nurse.
Paul's voice shook me out of my own thoughts.
"You didn't think it was risky to bring de Silva along for the ride?" he asked.
"Why wouldn't I bring him?" I countered.
The answer to my question was pretty obvious. Paul knew, as well as I did and as well as Jesse did, that every second Jesse spent in his presence, the likelihood of someone, namely Jesse, being arrested increased exponentially.
"You're playing with fire, Slater," Jesse said. "If you give me any reason to touch you, I guarantee I'll be on trial for murder, not assault."
"Was that a threat?"
"No. Just a fact."
"A fact that won't matter," I implored, "because no one is getting hurt except for the ghost. Our child is going to have a father who's not doing twenty-five to life in the California penal system."
The last part was very much so aimed at Jesse, who did not have the courtesy to look even so much as a tiny bit sheepish. I was willing to bet almost anything that if Jesse had known Paul for more than thirty minutes back in 1850, he'd have killed him in a duel or something.
Paul drained the rest of his glass and headed off towards the kitchen, leaving both Jesse and I alone in the living room.
"Champagne, Suze?" Paul called.
"Still pregnant," I responded.
"So only a little then?"
Paul, who was still in the kitchen, missed the supremely annoyed look I was giving him. What he did not miss was Jesse calling out to him, not for champagne, but to remind him that there was still a ghost to take care of.
"I'd like this ghost to be gone before nightfall," Jesse said, and all of the annoyance in my face was present in his tone.
Why didn't we know any shifters other than Paul? This would've been so much easier if Father Dom was one, although he probably wouldn't have been up to shoving Alexa through one of those doors.
"First things first," Paul said as he emerged from the kitchen with both a glass brimming with champagne and a half empty champagne bottle, "the both of you have some paperwork to sign."
He set both the glass and the bottle down on a nearby table and exchanged them for a few pieces of paperwork. I could read "Non Disclosure Agreement" written clearly across the top of one. He handed me the papers and a pen.
"Sign wherever you see a red 'X,' and then pass it to de Silva. If you decide to tell anyone anything of note, I'll be seeing the both of you in court."
I skimmed the contract to make sure there wasn't anything lurid in it, and then I signed my name, my new name, Susannah de Silva. I handed the papers to Jesse next who did not seem quite as content with skimming as I did.
After a few moments had passed where Jesse was continuing to read the contract, Paul said, "You can sign it or not sign it. But only one of those options involves me helping you with your ghost problem."
Jesse scowled, signed the papers, and thrust it back in Paul's direction.
Paul thumbed through the pages and nodded after seeing that everything was in order.
"Let's get started then," he said. "Suze just has to summon up your ghost first."
"I'll get on that then," I said.
And I closed my eyes and thought about her. I scrutinized every aspect of her appearance, from her thin figure to her wavy hair. I even thought about the sinews of her neck and how they felt beneath my fingers while I had attempted to choke any remaining life out of her the other day. That is to say, I thought about everything in my mind that came up as Alexa related.
I opened my eyes and looked around, fully expecting to see her standing somewhere nearby.
"Alexa?" I called. There was no response, so I followed it up with a lie and said, "We just want to chat."
Silence followed again.
"There's no one here, Suze," Paul said.
"She could be lurking," I said. "She does that."
Jesse looked around the room, scrutinizing every corner with his eyes, but his search turned up as empty as mine did.
Then Jesse said, "She used to be a mediator. If she can pull herself out of purgatory, then it could also be possible that she doesn't have to come when you call, Susannah."
"I hate to say it, but I agree with de Silva," Paul said. "I'm surprised she showed up the other day when you tried to exorcise her."
I groaned and said, "Shit. If she knows I'm calling her and is just choosing not to come then that means she knows we're still looking for her. Which means Daniel's in trouble."
Jesse swore in Spanish and turned towards Paul.
"Do you know any way to force a ghost to come when you call them, Slater?" Jesse asked. His voice was rough and immediate. Time was of the essence, as it often was in the life of a mediator.
Paul looked slightly taken aback from Jesse's tone, that or maybe he was starting to get tipsy from all the champagne he had imbibed. "Maybe. But wanting ghosts around isn't typically my top concern," he said.
"Then make it your top concern," Jesse said, and he began to advance on Paul in a show of physical intimidation.
"Jesse, stop," I said.
But Jesse did not stop. Instead, he grabbed a hold of the collar of Paul's shirt, pulled him to him roughly, and said, without taking his eyes off of Paul, "A little boy's life is in danger. If you know anything, then-."
"It doesn't matter what he knows," I said quickly, before Jesse could start throwing punches. "I've got an idea."
Jesse grip on Paul's shirt loosened, but his eyes were still fixed directly on him.
"The whole reason Alexa showed up to our house in the first place was because we were talking to Patrick. So I'm sure she'll show up again if we decide to visit him."
"Sounds like a plan," Paul said, and he began to cautiously ease himself out of Jesse's grasp.
Jesse let him go and took a step back from him. He was still glaring at Paul, like he might decide to throttle him at any second for even the slightest infraction.
I pulled out my phone and started googling Patrick's name. I had his work address, but I doubted he'd be there on a Friday night, even considering how socially awkward he was. Besides, an industrial park was no place for a potentially violent exorcism.
Finding Patrick's home address was hardly challenging. The nice thing about living in the Information Age was that, if you had the willpower and just enough money, you could find out damn near anything you wanted. It didn't take much effort to find one of those stalker websites, the kind that let you screen employees and dates at your leisure, and search for Patrick's name. After all, I already had one of those websites bookmarked. Websites like these, the kind that give you access to information that would make the average person a bit uncomfortable, were an incredibly handy addition to the mediator toolkit. It was no more than a few clicks later that I had a home address for Patrick.
"Who's up for a field trip to Monterey" I asked. "Don't bother answering. You both are."
Paul stepped away from Jesse and closer towards me-and by extension, the door.
"Let's hit the road while the night's still young then," Paul said. He downed what was left of the champagne in his glass and picked up the champagne bottle from the table before opening the front door.
Jesse followed behind Paul quickly, like he was trying to make sure that Paul didn't make a run for it or something.
I left the house after Jesse at a much more normal pace and muttered, "Best behavior, my ass."