THE DAUGHTER OF:
Hi Ladies! … And guys. But I don't think any guys read my story. If they do, well, WELCOME. Ok, this is the second section of a double chapter. Meaning, the last chapter – What you don't know . . . – and this one - . . . Can hurt You - Are Buddies! That's right! Just thought I'd clear that up In case someone's having an off day. I'm just saying. Another thing I have to clear up is the name thing; Melinda calls Paul 'Slater' and Nick 'Nick,' (Or any other foul names that come into her head) and Chenaol is 'Chenaol.' So yeah. Melinda won't ever refer to Nick as 'Slater.' Why? Because that would be weird. And as I'm the creator, I am on a power trip. But don't panic. That's nothing new. But did I mention I have finished my exams? Passed is another matter entirely, but who cares! FINISHED!
This Chapter is for Char, I don't know if she'll get to read this – and that's fine – but Char is a truly brilliant writer, and before the imploding, she STILL found time to read this. And, well, now . . . just; All my love Char. XX00.
To all my other beautiful – and handsome – reviewers, feast your eyes! You non-reviewers? FOR SHAME.
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To BlueSea14 I'm super glad you like it! Stay tuned! . . . hey I sound like a news reader. Cool. Although, it never ceases to amaze me how they always start with, "Good evening," and then they list all the things that tell you why it is NOT, indeed, a good evening. But, I will forever love you, because you are my 70th REVEIWER! YOU MADE SEVENTY! WOOHOO! AM JUMPING UP AND DOWN!
Sarah, otherwise known as The Cee Factor – which do you prefer I call you? And Oh yeah Baby. I have humour. Somewhere . . . You know, I crack myself up, so I figure that's what counts. Of course, it also grants me some REALLY weird looks, but whatever. Am hoping to see some of THE up soon, hmm? That was a not so subtle hint. Lol.
Mary, the infamous-or I dunno, are you famous? Hey cool. You could be like Jane Seymour or, or, Lisa Smith, or, or MARILYN MONROE – wait. Marilyn's deceased, isn't she? Damn it. Marilyn Monroe isn't reading my stories. CURSES! Can I pretend? Anyway. sing-to-the-stars. I'm glad you like my writing enough to quote me. Seriously. That is just so freaking cool! I liked the tough titties thing too. I meant to censor it to "Biscuits" before I updated, but I forgot. You didn't mind though? Well the cliffy got a fair bit of sweating – I MEAN SWEARING! Lol. – Out of people. It was fun. Seriously. This must be how god feels when he, like, throws down a thunderstorm or whatever. Yeah . . . I'm sane. I swear. When you said sloth the first thing that came into my head was like, the seven sins, And I was all, 'Dude. Dudette. What have you done now?' THEN I got it. And fended off the sloths accordingly.
Dear chloe; Yay! I'm glad my story has been discovered by you! Its so brilliant. I have another reader. Thank you so much for the review, I'm sorry, the cliffie is not all that great. I'll let you in on a secret. This cliffie wasn't actually planned, I just couldn't be bothered writing any more. SHHH!
Right on Gabrielle. You got it right sista. Thank you for the praise. I love praise, its just so goshdamn praisy! Wow. I sure have a way with words. Not. Anyway. The idea is Melinda and Nick will end up scrapping it out sometime, but I only just realised I haven't written that into the plan yet. Something will happen, rest assured. Oh! I'm just dying to give you a spoiler now, but I can't! Ahh! I so want to. But unfortunately, my lips are sealed. Look out in approximately two Chapters from now. WEAPONS bro. WEAPONS.
Wasn't out vase interaction just the coolest aYmIn? Lol. As I said to chloe, the cliffie isn't even that great. And an arranged Marriage was NEVER going to happen. It just wouldn't belong in this story. And it would take a truly brilliant writer to de-cheese the actual idea. Not I my friend. Not I.
As I said, Booklover777, glad to be of service. lol. Did I mention I finished midterm exams? Guess what? I finished midterm exams! Once more? I finished midterm exams! Sorry. And Go nuts with the printer. Just don't slag off or copyright me. Lol. You wouldn't, would you? I think you seem too nice. That's reminds me. I haven't written a disclaimer in a while. God. I truly am a loose cannon, aren't I? Cue the eyerolls.
Heh heh, aD3LINE, I don't mind caps. I USE THEM ALL THE TIME! Well, with exclamation points. Lol. Don't panic. And someone – cough Adeline coughcough – has a crush on Nick! Nick and Adeline, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, Lol. Shut up. I never laid any claim to maturity.
SEVVY101 HAS A COOL NAME! Thank you for reviewing. Ooh, the ones who didn't . . . boy, GLARES are heading their way! Laters to you too hon, thankies for reviewing.
Don't I know it Missymee! Don't I know it! I had midterms. Lucky for me I gave up on French after one year. I figured once I knew how to say; "Hello." And "I think your hot." And "HEY! Look! There's a monkey!" I really had all the essentials down. I was kidding about the arranged marriage. I wouldn't be the person to write that at all. Lol. Lets just say I wouldn't stop at tension.
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OK. And I'm glad someone appreciated the models brain cells. Chenaol is based loosely on a friend of mine who is truly gorgeous, but she doesn't see it. No one can hold a candle to her, yet she's still one of the nicest people I have ever met. Enjoy the chapter.
. . . Can Hurt You.
"What?" I said slowly, more than a trace of wariness in my voice betraying me, "What?"
"Jesse? I believe you wanted to take this one?" Mom said with a smile.
Dad just stood up, and putting an arm around me, lead me over to one of the windows next to the china cabinet that mom hadn't wanted, but grandma said it was only right that it should be passed down. If I looked out, I could still see some of the evidence that builders had been there recently.
Granddad – Andy – was so cheesed at the people dad hired to fix my doors. He didn't think their work was good enough. Which made us all smile, as they were doing a fine job. I think dad was trying to get it done as quickly as possible, so I wouldn't be reminded of what happened every time I looked out the door. It was a good idea, but it didn't stop me from pulling the drapes over the curtains and refusing to go out there, even after the people grandad got to 'fix this mess properly.' Had fixed it according to granddads instructions.
"Dad. Spit it out." I said, looking back at everyone in the room behind us. Dad chose to ignore them, which was gratifying, but a little confusing.
We were standing next to the windowsill, where mom had put her various bouquets, and because there were so many of the beautiful stems, they were threatening to fall.
Dad reached past the dead flowers Adam had given mom (Adam had said as he'd given them to her "I think these are daisies. I don't know. They looked better before they died.") and gently touched one of the beautiful white orchids that he – dad - had given her.
"Well . . ." he said as he looked down at me. "You remember asking your mother about shifters and ghosts? And her replying she didn't know much, only what Slater had told her?
"Yes . ." I said, shooting a look at Mom.
"Technically, when Susannah went through that window . . . she should have been able to see her assailant. The fact that this ghost was able to put himself one up over a shifter . . . Well, it doesn't look good."
"I know. That's what I've been saying since the beginning."
"No." dad said, shaking his head. "You don't understand. Ghosts have a variety of different . . . abilities—"
"Like telekenetics?" I said darkly, thinking of Stacy and her stupid mirror trick. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen her in a little while. I wonder where ghosts go when they're not pissing off members of the living? Well, as long as she was stalking someone else for a change . . . I won't be complaining.
"—Yes like telekenetics. But Susannah is a shifter." He said, sounding a little frustrated. "I don't know what's so different about this ghost. There's just something . . . and it bothers me.
"I don't mean to sound impertinent-"
"And yet," dad said dryly, "You manage it all the time."
I ignored that. "But isn't a lot of this based on guess work? I mean, who really knows?"
"Melinda. Who was the ghost in this room?"
"Oh. Right. Damn." That took the wind right out of my sails. I just KNEW this was all going to come back and bite me in the ass. Why do I even bother to get up in the mornings? WHY? WHY?
"What your dad is saying Melinda," Slater said smoothly from his seat across the room, and as I turned around to face him, mom came over to dad and pulled him down into a couch then sat next to him. "That your ghost—" My ghost! I resent that. "Isn't like anything any one of us has come across before."
Is there EVER a run of the mill dead person? I didn't THINK so. "So what, you're saying that I get the 'special' one?" I said with a roll of my eyes. "I can take care of myself, ok?"
"Oh sure Melinda." Nick snapped suddenly. I'd forgotten about him. He was standing in the shadow of the doorway. Again. God, what is it with guys like him in doorways? What, if I'd turned around, would he have jumped out and attacked my jugular? Something to keep in mind. "That's why you had a breakdown when you found Brian dead." He continued, unaware of my vampire suspicions. "You were BESIDE YOURSELF. I don't exactly think that comes under the heading of 'taking care of yourself.'"
"Oh shut up." I snapped, startled off the vampire train of thought. "What do you know? And personally, I don't think its any of your business what I get . . . EMOTIONAL about and what I don't!"
Whys he so pissed anyway? I'm human. Am I suddenly not ALLOWED to be upset that my boyfriend died? I mean—EX Boyfriend! Ex boyfriend! . . . I need help. Several corses of intense psychotherapy might do the trick.
"Of course its my business! If you go around practically asking to be murdered, then I consider it my business!"
"I don't ASK TO BE MURDERED." I shouted, suddenly furious. He has no CLAIM to me! "No one ASKS to be murdered! Can you even HEAR yourself?"
"Ahem." Chenaol cleared her throat and I looked over. "I believe we were discussing ghosts. Paul?" Slater was smirking again. God I hate that smirk. Nick looks JUST like that when he smirks. Well, despite the fact that Nick doesn't usually have a model hanging off his arm.
USUALLY.
"Yes. And before one of our topics of discussion got hot and bothered about Nick taking a concern in her welfare . . ." I felt my cheeks start to colour.
"I don't need his concern."
"Sure you don't." Nick snapped. "That's why you needed me to save your ass with Brian and Gary."
"I didn't NEED you to 'save my ass'!" I shrieked, moving away from the window so I could directly accuse him, "Do you remember that I was the one that had to stop you from grinding Gary into the pavement?" I was getting a little beside myself now. Slater stopped whatever it was he was going to say and settled back, like he was watching this great show. Well pooh to him.
"Maybe," Nick said, coming out to meet me. "But I wasn't the one looking like I'd been slapped when I saw who Brian chose to replace you with!"
"That's because you never went out with Brian." I said, guessing what he was getting at, and determined to stop him revealing this to the entire room. He couldn't be right. That would be ridiculous.
"You were CRUSHED when you saw those two together. You knew there was no chance of you getting back with Brian." Nick said coldly.
He was wrong, I decided. He was wrong. I didn't have true feelings for Brian. Right from the beginning I think I knew that. I didn't feel anything for him, but I was upset that he didn't feel anything for him either.
In a way, I was using him as much as he was using me.
Boy is that a revelation. But I still don't exactly feel like sharing that with Nick. God knows what he'd make that out to be. So yeah, seeing Brian and Gary was a shock, but not bad. And I was PLENTY torn up when I saw Brian dead. But that's the natural reaction of finding someone you knew reasonably well lying with a broken neck in your school gardens, his neck broken, because, well, your best friends murderer – who happens to be dead - had taken a shining to you, and was now trying to hurt everyone you loved.
Well, I'm not exactly sure how many people this has happened to, but I'm assuming my reaction was pretty normal. Boy, do I feel wise now. Just like that crazy monkey in the Lion King. He was WISE AS. But he could be a total nutter. Wonder if he too saw dead people? Now that's food for thought.
"Of corse I was crushed." I said, now a hundred percent sure of what I was saying. "Hello! Gary was wearing a VIOLENTLY ORANGE CARDIGAN. No wonder I looked like I'd been slapped." I saw Chenaol wince at the idea of a VIOLENTLY ORANGE CARDIGAN on a guy. Shudder.
"Could that be the reason for your outfit today? You're jealous that Brian wants Gary not you?"
On that, Mom got up and suggested we carry this discussion some other time. No one listened. Least of all me.
"Excuse me?" Why? Why did he have to go and mention this! God, let sleeping dogs lie, OK? I've figured it out! Let me be!
"You heard me. You're in love with Brian, and when you saw him lying dead in the gardens, you lost it."
WHAT? I JUST DISCOVERED I DIDN'T EVEN LIKE BRIAN IN A 'SPECIAL WAY,' AND NOW NICKS TELLING ME I LOVED HIM? Boy has he got his wires crossed.
"In love with Brian? Are you KIDDING me?"
"No."
And I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I just got a glimpse of this story from an outsiders perspective, and realised how ridiculous all of this was. Nick looked so startled when I started to laugh too. "I'm not in love with Brian." I managed to choke out. I don't think Nick's seen this in a different light yet, but there's nothing I can do about that. Mom was looking a little worried too, and as soon as I'm able to draw breath, I'll have to set her straight on that. "I wasn't- I'm fine mom – I'm not in love with Brian.' I continued. "I just admitted to myself that I didn't even like him, and you come up with that and I'm sorry but—" I couldn't help it. I started to giggle again. Just the irony of it all, "Then you go and suggest I'm in love with someone who's dead? Well that's a . . . nice view Nick."
Then Slater started to laugh. And I realised what I said. "Hey." I said to Slater. "They're different and you know it."
"Don't I." he said, still laughing slightly. Nick looked somewhat chagrined, but he could go and molest a chicken for all I cared. And yet . . .
Oh whatever. Go and find that poor chicken.
But for the Lords Almighty's sakes! I'm seventeen. Seventeen! I know mom was younger when it was she and dad but, they're – they're SPECIAL ok? just like snowflakes. Special and unique.
Snort.
I crack myself up.
Isn't that sad?
"Moving on." Said Slater with a grin that made it easy to forget he wasn't Satan's Spawn, but instead, an actual man with emotions.
But I know your kind!
I actually . . . I don't really know what to think anymore. SO CONFUSING. But, in the light of current events, I'm just going to have to suppress this. Very unhealthy, psychologically speaking but really, what can you do?
"So . . . " I drawled "we know my ghost is 'Special!'" I said in an adult humouring a preschooler voice ... 'Yes dear, that DOES look like your mommy . . . ' when really; the drawing could be mistaken for a frog. But you know. Personal interpretation RULES! "But do we know WHY?" I continued.
DETAILS PEOPLE!
"Well . . ." Slater said with the air of a teacher who doesn't want to tell a student the answer because the teacher wants the students to work it out for themselves. What the teacher hasn't realised is WE DON'T CARE. Just give us the goddamn answers!
I rolled my eyes. "C'mon. Just chuck it out there."
"Why you cant see him? Simple. Gramps laid this out to me about a few months before he died."
Oh, TACT.
"Essentially, just because someone dies, doesn't mean they lose their characteristics or personality or talents. A Brilliant painter would still be able to paint . . .well, if they could touch paint. Do you see where I'm going?" he questioned.
Oh goddess . . . this is so, so bad.
"I- I think I do . . ." I said, going still as I contemplated what this could mean.
"We know ghosts retain charactereristics . . . Jesse here-" he said with a grin. Which I saw past. Slater wasn't finding this funny. I could be mistaken, but he WAS worried. God knows what about. "Jesse here," he said with a grin for mom, "Didn't lose his talent with the ladies when he died—"
Ho!
That would be funny if I didn't see where he was going with this. Daddy as a ladies man. SNORT. I think he'd take offence at that. Dad can take a joke, sure, but not when it comes out of Slater's gob.
"—I think it was the spurs." Slater turned to Chenaol. "Would spurs turn you on?" She just smiled. Ridiculous. "No you are more a romance chick. While Suzie here, Suze has always liked it rough . . ."
SNAP.
Truly, dad looked like he did that time when I was five and asked him what 'stinking hoebag' was. It was AGES before I was allowed to talk to uncle Brad again.
Well, think dad decided to break their little agreement, and beat the crap out of Slater anyway. Good move Daddy.
AND THEN HE DIDN'T.
SERIOUSLY.
He just looked at me then, with an expression of great strain, its true, stayed seated! No Fair! Gods, don't stop on my account.
Slater just carried on.
"I think I've made my point. So what do you think," he asked, suddenly looking at me, "Would happen to a dead shifter?"
. . . fuck.
"No . . . "
"Yes."
Mom suddenly crossed the room quicker than I'd have expected - well, for a woman who broke hr collarbone A FEW DAYS AGO. But then, I've always known mommy was special. I think it was the dead people thing that clued me in – she grabbed Slater and demanded, "So even if we exorcise . . . He'll just come back?"
"In theory." Slater nodded.
"SCREW THEORY!" mom snapped, "I want some goddamn answers. I don't want my daughter DEAD."
"Yeah, well I don't exactly relish the idea of rattling chains for the rest of my life either, But is there anything I CAN do?"
This should be bothering me. More than it was. But know I knew – or suspected what I was up against, I felt ready to beat some serious crap out of someone.
Namely the stupid fat ghost who KILLED Stacy.
You know, if it weren't for her murderer, I still wouldn't know that I could communicate with the dead. They were going to tell me, point, but would I know now? So that's the one thing stopping me from hunting him down right now and murdering him with a chainsaw. I'll settle. But only for something extremely lethal looking. Gruesome I know. But what the HELL would you expect when you murder someone as wonderful as Stacey. Her friends would just sit back and be all; 'OK. dude, have a nice day.' I don't THINK so.
"Yes." Slater said, sounding like he was pleased at my astuteness. "But you're not exactly a stereotypical shifter either Melinda. Who knew what would happen with a shifter and an ex ghost? YOU. You might have the power to be different—"
SWEEEEET.
Maybe, like X-RAY vision! Or TELEPATHIC-NESS! FINALLY! I GET MINE! Ooh! INVISIBILITY!
"—Or not." Slater finished.
"Oh," I said, not quite able to keep all of the disappointment out of my voice. For a minute there—darn. "Ok. So your telling me I MIGHT be able to do something about this – this –" with a quick look at dad I changed the word I had in mind," person - but you don't know?"
"Pretty much. I'm sorry I'm not more help, Melinda."
I ignored the fact that I'd just got an apology out of a Slater – no mean feat! – and cast my memory back to the strange unexplained things that's happened to me. Obviously, that number gets cut dramatically in half when you take into account that I can see ghosts, (Suddenly there's shitloads of explanations for nearly ALL the weird crap that happens to me.) Nearly. There's a few. Most of them I suppose are just coincidence. But I'd swear theres been a few times . . .Like that time I had that dream about the fire. That was odd. And then at the hospital and I SAW that cord linking mom and dad. And then that time I was little and . . .
I am a walking freak show.
Truly. I'd just dismissed all that as my having an over active imagination. But what if that's not it?
Great. Well someone got the message seriously mixed when they said what you don't know can't hurt you.
THEY. LIED.
BIG TIME.