Chapter Two

"Hey, Suze. My parents are taking me and Jack to Tahiti. You wanna come?" Paul was asking me in his car. It was the last day of school, and Paul was driving me home.

"Um, I can't, Paul. I'll be going to Alabama, with my stepbrothers, to visit their grandmother."

Paul looked like the devil incarnate. Suddenly, his blue eyes darkened like whirlpools, and I was sinking in them. Then it was gone, and I'm confused: had I imagined it, or was Paul really evil?

But he's so hot. How can he be evil?

"Goodbye, Suze," Paul said, as he pulled me in for a kiss. That's when I realised: perfect kiss, not-so-perfect character.

Then he released me, and I was able to rush upstairs. I fell into my bed, and I spent long hours wondering about our relationship: why do I still go out with him even though I don't love him? Why?

"Hey, kiddo." I glanced up from my pillow. It was my dad. I just nodded.

"You don't like that young man?" He asked.

"Well… he's OK, like he's caring, driving me home, and—"

"But he kept all those things about himself. You know something, Suze? Paul Slater's a mediator. Like you. And Jack."

My throat had suddenly gone dry. How could he be a mediator? He doesn't even believe in ghosts. Like, when he overheard Jack asking me all about mediators, he had said, "What are you saying, Suze? That you believe in ghosts?" And he had said that with a curled upper lip.

Actually, I hadn't got a very good impression of him. Like, he's actually being sexually harassing. Also keep on bugging me about going out with him. I mean, even though I'm wearing my incredibly unstylish Pebble Beach Hotel and Golf Resort uniform khaki shorts. The ones with the pleats in them.

And OK, even though I am not creepy-looking (in fact, when I am not wearing my uniform shorts, I am frequently complimented on my appearance by the occasional construction worker), I am no Kelly Prescott.

Who is, unfortunately, warm for Paul's form. Every girl is. And apparently, as CeeCee likes to remind me, I am incredibly lucky to be ordinary-looking and yet had a boy like Paul wanting to go out with me. So, she advises, I had to grasp my chance while I still had one.

Anyway, all I'm saying is, I don't believe Paul can be a mediator. I mean, yeah, Jack is a mediator too, but so what if they came from the same gene pool? It's not a hereditarily trait. Plus, Paul's not even

the mediator type. I mean, so aren't Jack and I, but at least we can deal with that. I mean, I'm professional, and Jack is, well, polite to ghosts. Not Paul. He'll look down at them. Or refuse to help them.

"Suze," my dad continued, "what about Mrs. Gutierrez?"

Mrs. Who? Oh, you mean the poor woman who'd came to ask me and Father Dominic and Jack for help. But we could offer no help, as we don't speak Spanish.

"Yes, Mrs. Gutierrez. She came to Paul for help. But Paul just… well, took the money and sent her in. He blasted her to the Great Beyond. I was watching, Suze. Something's not right. I can just sense it."

I am familiar with my dad's enigmatic warning, which he'd given several times, about Marcus Beaumont and when my dad first met Paul. I thought it's just, you know, typical father reaction.

Apparently not. But I don't believe my caring (well, he appeared to be) boyfriend can do such a evil thing. Like, if he had the ability to communicate with the dead—that's a pretty big if—and yet chose to use his gifts for his own selfish purposes. At least, not then.

"Take care, Suze. I'll be spying on him for you." My dad hugged me as he disappeared. "If you need me, just call me, and I'll be there." Then he disappeared.

I rolled my eyes. Really, out of how many times had he done what I'd asked him to do? Only once, when I was calling for help when trapped under falling masonry. And the second time? Well, I couldn't get through. In the end, I had to settle with Mrs. Fiske, blowing the window shutters off.

And that was just typical dad. Giving me cryptic messages and then not sticking around. And making me have nightmares, too, I was sure of it.

Well, that'll be a welcome change from the recent nightmare I was having. The one about a fire. A barn fire, to be precise. And it must have been in the nineteenth century, seeing as how it was near my house, and that was when my house still doesn't have light switches.

Still, and my dad expected me to "be good, stay out of trouble" when I don't even know what trouble I was in. Or my boyfriend's dark past.