A/N Gee, I seem to be getting the hang of this long chapter lark! 992 words, without the authors note. Woo! Thats good for me. Anyways, dedications (drum roll please...)

To/ Maz, Amy, Megan - the motley crew. This one's for you.

(Cue the aaahs)

Chapter 31

"So, what colour hair did this... gunman have?" asked the detective, stading before us. He was kinda too short to be taken seriously, and on his head was what I was sure was a toupe.

"Brown," I said, at the same moment that Paul said, "Blonde." I glared at him.

The officer lifted an eyebrow.

"He had highlights," I assured him quickly. "Right, Paul?"

"Uh-huh," Paul replied, pulling the sheets of his hospital bed closer.

"And how would you describe his physique?" asked the cop. "Was he fat? Thin?"

"Definitely fat," we said together, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Right." The guy nodded. "We'll keep a lookout for this guy, and I'll get my officers a'searching. I'll leave you to rest, Mr Slater. Miss Simon." He nodded to me.

Once he was gone, I closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"That was close," I said. "I mean, geez, nobody goes round shooting randomly in Carmel. I can't believe he bought it."

"Don't question it, Suze," said Paul. "I mean, do you really want to be thrown into the wacky shack?"

"I guess the truth is even less believable," I said, rubbing my forehead.

"Knock, knock," said a voice behind the door.

"Come on in," I said, shooting a warning glance at Paul. It was Jake.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, striding in and kissing me full on the mouth. Paul cleared his throat noisily, and we broke apart.

"Sorry."

"How you doing, dude?" asked Jake, sitting beside me. "You OK?"

"I guess," said Paul. "The guys said I should be able to walk in about 6-8 weeks."

"In time for all the surf competitions!" crowed Jake excitedly. I nudged him in the ribs. "Paul doesn't surf, babe," I hissed.

"hey, Paul," said Brad, walking in, smiling. "Hey Suze, Jake. You two wanna grab some 'za?"

"Sure," I said, turning to Paul. "You Ok if we go?"

"Yeah," he replied weakly.

xxxx

"We ended up, of course, with David with us.

"He hasn't had any lunch either," said Andy, giving David a little push. "And I need to pick Samantha and Lizzie up from the manicurist."

So that was how we ended up in the hospital cafeteria with David next to us, picking at his margaherita, more engrossed in his book.

"Hey, Jake, did you know that-"

"No."

"But you-"

"I don't care."

David huffed, and nibbled humbly at his pizza, then tried again.

"What about you, Brad? DId you know that-"

"No."

"Fine," he muttered. I looked up.

"I'll listen, Dave," I said, ignoring the stares of both Jake and Brad. I mean, somebody had to pay attention to the little guy.

"Oh." David looked startled. "OK." He turned a yellowed page. "Um... did you know that many moguls started out here in Carmel?"

"You mean, like that Beaumont guy?" I said. "He's pretty rich. Isn't he the guy who owns that huge mansion?"

"Yeah," said David. "And Hector De Silva started out here, too."

My head had started drooping into my pepperoni, but at the mention of that name, I had turned sharply to face David. I had never heard of this Hector dude (what a MEAN name) before, or of any De Silvas - the name wasn't like any I'd ever heard of during my stay in Carmel - but it was turning cogs in my subconciousness.

"You read his novel?" asked Dave, excitedly, noticing my - what he decided was - enthusiasm. "Its about a young farmer's son who is nearly brutally murdered by his love rival, but then a mysterious girl rescues him, and he falls instantly in love with her. But then she disappears, and he searches his whole life for her, and at the end he's still searching-"

"Aw, looks like Dave's gone soft," teased Brad, tugging at his brother's pizza. "Are you gonne eat that?"

"The novel made millions," declared David, pushing his plate aside.

"I've never read it," I said sadly.

"Its all based on a true story!" squealed David. "But about some guy called Jesse, not Hector."

Jesse, Hector... these names sounded so familiar, but I couldn't place them. Perhaps they were just coincedentaly names shared by those ghosts that I - as a mediator - had encountered. The only ghost I'd grown to wholly remember was that pf the rowdy, impolite Diego, who insisted in hanging around the bedroom of Lizzie and I - and I was yet to conquer him.

"Everyone done?" said Jake suddenly, as I watched in fascination as Brad crammed the whole of Dave's slice into his mouth - the only trace of the fact that Brad had even touched the pizza was a long string of cheese dangling from his mouth.

"Yeah," he grunted, attempting to chew.

"No!" cried David. "I want to finish my page: 'Those who weren't as successful'."

Jake sighed. "Fine," he said. "He's a speedy reader, so I'll hang about, order a soda. You two go on upstairs, check on Paul."

OK," I said, for Brad, who was still working on his 'za.

I kissed Jake's cheek, and together with Brad, we left the cafetaria, and proceeded down the corridor.

We turned a corner, and Brad pushed me against the wall. He'd apparently swallowed.

"Hey," he said, leaning closer. "We haven't hung out in a while."

"I guess," I said, casually, but tried to move out of the way. With one, quick strong hand though, Brad held me back, and moved in for a kiss.

"Brad!" I mumbled, struggling. "I'm with Jake!"

"Yeah?" he asked, laughing menacingly. "Like you have been these past months?" He continued to kiss me.

"Brad!"

"Hey, Suze, you forgot your coat-"

Brad stepped backwards.

It was Jake, with David behind him, mouth wide open. He'd caught us. I was dead meat.