A/N: Okay, so here's the revised version of the second chapter. Let me know if it's any better, pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaase. Thanks!

Chapter Two

My heart froze in my chest and I gasped in shock, before realizing who it must be. It was about time, let me tell you. I began to turn, my heart now beating double time.

"Hey, Jes–" My words died in my throat as I looked at the ghost standing so close to me. Because no way, in Heaven or Hell, was this man the ghost I was hopelessly in love with.

"Hello, Miss Simon," he said, attempting – and not quite succeeding – to mask the utter loathing in his voice with what can only be described as pleasure. I quickly got over my disbelief though, and said with false cheer, "Hi there, Mr. Beaumont!" Yeah. That Mr. Beaumont. The same one who had tried to kill me – and his perfectly nice nephew – only a little while back. Apparently jail had been too much for this guy.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" I continued pleasantly.

"Don't give me that attitude, girl. We've already professed our mutual hate," he cut in venomously. So much for being polite. I snaked out of his hold, careful not to touch him lest he have some kind of poisonous skin in his spirit form – hey, stranger things have happened – and stepped back slowly, towards the knife drawer. Beaumont tossed the saline bottle in the sink but held on to the towel, slowly twisting it into a long (okay, so as long as a hand towel can get) rope in his hands. "Instead," he continued, his eyes on the towel, "let's get right down to business, shall we? No beating around the bush, like the last time I was lucky enough to have to deal with you." His eyes grew suddenly hard, and he broke his gaze on the towel to glare at me through his eyebrows. He took a small step towards me before flicking his eyes back to the towel. "See, Miss Simon, ever since I mysteriously disappeared – thanks to you – I admit to feeling a bit…cheated." He stalked towards me, still slowly, eyes remaining on that towel. That towel which, I might add, wasn't looking to friendly just now. I slid open the knife drawer and extracted the biggest one my fingers could find without moving too much; I sent out a silent thanks to Andy for keeping the drawers so well greased. Keeping the knife behind my back and my eyes on the menacing ghost, who was now only three feet away, I shut the drawer and slid still farther away.

"Really?" I asked, figuring it was best to keep him distracted as long as I could.

"Yes," Marcus Beaumont replied, still moving towards me with unhurried steps.
"See, I feel that every person has the right to try to make something of themselves in their lifetime…but, as you can see, my lifetime has come to an abrupt end. And, quite frankly, I blame you." With this last sentence, the half-crazed man raised the towel above my head and lunged at me, obviously expecting me to move away. I say 'obviously' because he lunged father forward than was necessary for his cause, although it suited mine perfectly.

As he jumped forward in the hopes of throwing the towel around my neck, I whipped the knife from behind my back and drove it with all my weight into his sternum. I was rewarded with a heartfelt grunt of pain as Mr. Beaumont slumped against my shoulder. Not one to waste time idling, I removed the knife from his chest and slammed the butt of the handle into his temple; he slid to the floor, unconscious.

I cleaned off the knife blade, even though the blood was only visible to me, and put it away before dragging Marcus' limp form out the back door to the grass outside. I ran back inside and grabbed everything I would need for an exorcism (since it was obvious that Mr. Beaumont wasn't going away of his own accord) and, checking to make sure no one else in the house had heard my brief scuffle, dashed back outside to the still unconscious – thankfully – ghost on my mother's mulch.

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An hour or so later, I cleaned up the mess left over from Mr. Beaumont's exorcism. He had struggled quite a lot, surprisingly, as he was unconscious the whole time. Unsettling images of the crazed man twitching involuntarily caused the bile that had risen to my throat the first time he had lurched threatened to come up again, and I grabbed my candles and stood up quickly.

"You know how Father Dominic despises Brazilian exorcisms," a deep, familiar voice said as I turned around to go into the house. I yelped and dropped the bundle I had in my arms at the voice, and at the sight of a tall, distinctly masculine figure leaning against the side of the house I was about to enter. I bent to pick up a stray rock, peering closer at the figure as I did so. Suddenly it dawned on me – this was no vengeful ghost. Oh, no. This ghost was one I had been waiting an awfully long time to see.

"Jesse!" I yelled, rather loudly. I dropped the rock and hurled myself at him as he started across the few feet of grass between us. His arms went around me reflexively as I crashed into him, hugging him tight. Then I noticed the tense way he held his body, angling it slightly away from mine. "Jesse?" My initial happiness grew to worry. "What's wrong?" But his eyes were amused as he looked down at me.

"Don't you think the neighbors will be a bit confused when they see you hugging air, Susannah?" he asked practically. Oops. I backed up quickly, bending to gather my things from the ground once more. He laughed without humor before fading with the words, "I'll meet you in your room, Querida."

I really needed to find out what that word meant. Really. I mean, he could have been suggesting something more than just a simple conversation by that phrase. I'll meet you in your room, Querida. That querida could be significant. Hmmm…then again, the distinctively humorless laugh he had given might have been a sign as to his behavior too…why do men have to be so damned hard to read? Or rather, the ones I am romantically interested in? I don't have any problem telling what's going on inside Dopey's head, that's for sure.

I snuck up to my room, watchful of anyone who might get curious at the sight of all my Brazilian exorcism stuff. I had just dumped my bundle in the back of my closet when my shoulders were seized by two strong, glowing hands and spun firmly around before being abruptly let go. I stumbled into the wall, faintly dizzy. I shook my head to regain focus.

Jesse sat on the window seat and looked over my appearance with careful scrutiny, checking out the view down my tight, ribbed tank top. I wish. More likely checking for any signs of injury. This is the story of my life.

"Susannah," he began, carefully keeping the anger in his voice under control, "would you like to explain to me what, exactly, just happened?"

I sighed gustily and dropped onto my bed like a stone, suddenly exhausted. Participating in a wrestling match (of sorts) and then performing an exorcism can do that you know. I sighed once more, collecting my thoughts into the most straight-forward explanation my tired brain could manage, and told Jesse my story.

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A/N: Okay, so there's the revised version. Was that okay? I just thought the whole "hello, querida"thing was too…un-Jesse-like. Am I right? Or no? I would appreciate any reviews, if you guys have the time. – Over and Out –