Hullo my darlings!!!

I'VE finished my exams!!! Dunno about passed, but WHO CARES? Nothing I can do about it now.

. . . Except sleep with the markers.

Which presents some problems if they're female.

But, that aside, I have for you; another chapter. Many thanks to xtotallyatpeacex for putting up with me. This was, by FAR, the hardest chapter I've ever done; both my most favourite and hated, so I HOPE YOU APPRECIATE IT.

It was difficult for several reasons,

Number One: I will explain at the bottom of the page because it's a spoiler,

Number Two: It was just damn DIFFICULT to write, but I love-love-LOVE the direction.

However, that's not to say you will.

BEWARE, I really start to earn my T rating in this chapter, so CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED.

X

SEX

True to females everywhere, I never actually realised how many bags I had. Until I had to pack them, that is.

"Oww!!!" I yelped as Alanna finally lost patience and in a move of desperation, hurtled my—empty—suitcases, one after the other, across the room at me.

"Pack!!" she demanded.

I HAD been packing. Just . . . slowly. The arranging of my assorted Betsey Johansen and Calvin Klein is a process that cannot be hurried. I mentioned this to Alanna.

She just sighed.

"Hey." I said. "Not my fault! I don't DO mornings!!!! And besides; don't you be looking all down on my shallowness, girl!"

That was my Gangsta talk. Good, eh? Or . . . not.

"I'm allowed!!" I continued, "And furthermore, who was it I saw fluffing in front of the mirror for a good THREE HOURS before Daniel picked her up???"

It wasn't Wilfred. That's all I'm saying.

The girl in question (Alanna. Duh.) Flushed.

"Yeah . . ." I was triumphant. "That was YOU, Miss Slutty Mc Slut Slut."

"Unjust!!! I am in now way a Slutty Mc—What did you call me?"

"Slutty Mc Slut Slut."

"Yes, THAT. Daniel understands about—"

"Your unwillingness to put out?" I teased.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have said it like that, but . . . Yes."

"I know," I sat on the top of my suitcase—Now a quarter full!—And batted my eyelashes. "I have a way with words."

Alanna groaned. "Something like that. Of course, some would call it an incapacity to shut up . . . "

"Forget some." I agreed. "Try most."

She smiled.

"I think its sweet that you and Daniel decided to wait." I gave the verdict. Go me. "Pure romanticism and all that. And it's perfect for you two."

Alanna blushed. "So not a life of chastity for you and Nick, then?"

"Ha," I laughed, "I might tell him that, see how he takes it. It'll be good for his blood pressure."

(A/N: Warning. Religious joke. Couldn't resist.)

Sure it would be good for his blood pressure . . . and the Virgin Mary's a dirty, dirty skank.

(A/N: Joke over. My apologies.)

"I really think I love him. Daniel, I mean, not Nick."

Well Duh. For Alanna, I imagine Goldmember off Austin Powers would hold more appeal than Nick. Well . . . almost.

Funny how she was the last to know she loved Daniel.

"And you know he loves you." I said.

She smiled softly.

"But ask him if he's ever seen Shanghi Knights."

She frowned. "I don't think so . . . why?"

"You know. He breaks your heart, I break his legs."

She made a face.

Pretty girl, Alanna. Her and Daniel were a perfect match, and in many more ways than just appearance.

"He's so sweet, and courteous and kind and gentle . . . and when he kisses me—"

"OK!!!!!!" I interrupted, "Stop, stop, I'm packing now, I promise!! Jeez . . . all you needed to do was ask."

She threw a shoe at me. I ducked and it landed in my suitcase. With any luck, Alanna was going to have my suitcase entirely packed soon.

X-x-X

He met me downstairs and threw me his keys.

I missed. "Hey, wait, what???" I was confused, definitely not at my best.

"My mistake." Nick grinned and fished his keys from the ground at my feet. "I should have remembered how lousy your reflexes are in the morning."

"Yeah?" I hefted one of my (Full!) suitcases up and threw it at him, "What about—"

He caught it.

And then laughed at me.

"Go boil your head." I muttered.

"Witty . . ." he smirked. "I want you to drive my car back to Carmel for me." He grabbed my other suitcase from the bottom of the stairwell and started out the door with both of them.

"What, Why?" Then I understood. Or thought I did. "OK, what's gone wrong?" I skipped over a puddle in the gravel, "There is no way you'd let me drive your car unless something was seriously wrong."

I followed him out to his BMW and he popped the trunk and stashed my bags. "I'm going to se a friend of mine," he replied, turning to me, "And I thought the best way to get you to go without argument was to give you a fast car."

I acquiesced, "that's true."

"And before you ask, I'm borrowing a car to get to my friends."

" . . . Is it faster than this one?" I asked innocently.

"No." He smiled, seeing where I was going. "So." He strided around to the car door, opened it, and stuck the keys in the ignition. "Be careful—" I rolled my eyes. "AND—" He kissed me quickly on the lips, "Don't go looking for trouble."

"Between here and Carmel?" I scoffed, "yeah, it will be a journey fraught with peril."

He hugged me in response. "I mean It." then, "I'll see you back in Carmel."

Fine by me, I decided, sliding into the drivers' seat of the BMW. FAST CAR, FAST CAR.

Three minutes later I was on the road, sliding past the landmarks and enthusiastically praising all things BMW.

I'd actually enjoyed my stay at the resort. Not just because I to shoot people and make out with Nick, either.

Ok. Mostly that.

Great faculties though!!!!

. . . Yeah.

Like any true American girl in a FAST CAR I had the stereo up and great song on. I hummed along with the song, happy with my foot hard on the accelerator.

So please excuse me Mr.
You've

got things all wrong
You make if feel like a crime
So

don't confuse me Mr.
I've known you too long
All I need is a little of your time

For most love comes for free
They don't pay the high cost
Of

mental custody
I'll pay bail for a guarantee
Please make space for me
In the time yet to be
Excuse me... Excuse me Mr.
I've been waiting in

line
And I'd like to buy
Some of your time
I've been saving up my life,
What's your price?

A bunch of static interrupted my (Number one!!! Not.) Solo. I frowned and leant over to fix the dial.

Just my luck to break Nick's car. Ooh, that would be BAD.

I kept fiddling with the dial, but the static was just getting worse and worse—

"Don't you just HATE that?" murmured a voice beside me.

I screamed and slammed my foot on the brakes, and we were thrown forward. I say WE because beside, me, in the passenger seat, (NOT worrying about a seatbelt. Fucking know-it-all.) Was a ghost. THE ghost.

I knew it was him. How I knew that was irrelevant, but I could PICTURE him making Stacy kill herself . . . while he laughed.

Snapping Brian's neck . . . And laughing.

"No . . ." I whispered, staring at him.

"Yeah." He exhaled, obviously enjoying himself. I didn't say anything I was too frozen. "A pleasure," he continued, "At long last!"

God, Stacy was right. This guy wasn't too easy on the eyes. He had the look of a stereotypical mechanic; fat and sleazy.

I swallowed. "Er, Hi. Would you mind fixing the radio? That would be great . . ."

"Why?" he smiled condescendingly. "It won't matter, you'll be dead soon anyway."

OK!!!!! That's—that's—NOT VERY NICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was determined to show calmness, however. I put the car back in Drive (D for drag!!!) and eased back on to the road. "Uh, who EXACTLY are you?"

I mean, I knew who he WAS, but I didn't know who he WAS if you follow.

"Keith." He replied with a sneer. "Just Keith."

"Well . . . er, Keith. Fix it, please."

Keith sighed dramatically but stoped the static and flicked the radio off. "It's almost a shame this has to end." He said, adjusting the passenger seat and stretching out.

I couldn't help but feel disgusted. "Why am I going to die?" I asked.

"Simple. You're in the way. I want you to know, this has been fun. You're friend Stacy was such a trick. The way she screamed and cried. And you're little gay friend! Don't worry about him though; I made sure he knew he was dying because of you. That it was all . . . your . . . Fault." He finished, leering horribly at me.

They died because of me . . .

I gritted my teeth and stared straight ahead. I was close to loosing it. So close.

"Go on," he taunted me. "Cry. Give up. Beg."

"Fuck." I whispered slowly and clearly, "You."

"LOOK AT ME." he demanded suddenly, "LOOK AT ME!!!!"

I looked at him. Sort of.

Lets just thank God it was a relatively deserted road. Otherwise creamed corn and the BMW (Not to mention me,) would have had a lot in common.

And, when I say look at him, I mean that I got a pretty good look at him when I twisted my torso around in my seat, grabbed Keith by the side of his head, and smash his face into the dashboard.

Although I didn't give it much thought at the time, I managed to smash some glass out with Keith's head. Which meant (According to senor Slater,) that this was no freshman ghost. He, Keith, could touch stuff, REAL STUFF with ease.

I was in big trouble.

I let go of him quickly and tried to ease my foot off the accelerator, but it was stuck fast. I threw a look at Keith, whose neck had snapped back against the seat. I was disgusted to see his nose moving back into place. "Bitch!!!" He shouted, throwing out a hand and catching me on the side of the face. "Not ready yet?" he said, looking at me horribly, "You need more persuasion then."

My face stung and I felt a great pressure on my foot, it was being forced down, till the accelerator was flat against the floor, I screamed and put my hands back on the wheel.

It was no good.

The corner was coming up too fast—

At the last minute, I released the wheel, and grabbed Keith by the front and threw him forward, a reaction more than anything.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and waited for the impact.

X-X-X

Fog. A lot of it.

And doors. A lot of them as well.

I had no IDEA where I was. I was lying all alone in a misty corridor thing, which seemed to go on forever.

I pulled myself up from the ground an took a look around to see if I'd missed something, anything to help me get out.

. . . Not a thing.

I sunk back down to the foggy floor. This didn't look like a place where I'd find an emergency exit just around the corner.

And I had no idea if I should try a door, but only one of them could be the right one and there were a lot more than one.

WHAT HAPPENED???

Last thing I remember was Keith showing up in the car—the car!!!!

Ooh, I am so screwed, I crashed Nick's car, and he's going to KILL me!!!!!!

That is, if I wasn't already dead. Which was a possibility. But If I were dead, would I know as much?

No, I'm pretty sure I'm not dead. I was a little weirded out by this place, but not dead.

Which means Keith didn't kill me.

SUCK ON THAT, you evil murdering, BASTARDO.

Where was he anyway???? It was my turn to BEAT THE CRAP FROM HIS ASS.

I needed to get out of here.

I gathered my feet under me and went to push off the ground, when suddenly there were hands helping me up, of course, it didn't register that these hands were helping hands instead of hurting hands, because I may have kick boxed the body attactched to the helping hands.

"OWW!!!!!" yelped a voice.

"Oh god!!!! I'm sorry mom, I didn't see it was you!!!!!"

"Oh, that's great." Mom straightened up and winced. "Just great, I raised a gangster."

I grabbed her and hugged her. "I'm sorry."

"Its fine," mom shrugged, "Good reflexes."

I love my mom.

"So." I let go of her, "Where's the exit?"

Mom rolled her eyes. "Whatever you do, DON'T open any doors, DON'T ask the doorman if he's a gladiator, and DON'T try to find the exit. Just close your eyes and picture being at home. Try the living room. And get ready for a killer HEADACHE."

This was getting a little too Wizard of Oz for me, but I squeezed my eyes shut and did it anyway.

There was a weird feeling of not belonging, and then I opened my eyes and was there.

Home.

That's a nifty little trick, though. Materialization. Who would have thought?

THAT'S going to save me some petrol.

"Oww." I mumbled, something finally registering. "I hurt."

"Really?' Mom said, rolling her eyes as she helped me over to the couch, "Could that be because you drove a BMW convertible into a telephone pole?"

I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic reply, found I didn't have one, and closed my mouth.

I really hit the pole?

Damn.

It didn't hurt that much though. Not all over. But my head felt like it had been hit with a croquet mallet.

Don't ask me how I know that feeling. You don't want to know.

I closed my eyes and grimaced. Nick was going to KILL me.

"Melinda?" dad called out.

"In the living room!" mom replied.

"Melinda." dad said flatly, coming into the room. I know this because his voice was suddenly that much louder. "Could you possibly—" he grabbed my wrist and started doing whatever it is that doctors do to make sure the patients still alive.

Is that all you had to be able to do to get through law school? Tell if someone was alive or not?

Shit, I could do that.

"—Possibly fill us in on the sequence of events that lead us to you wrapping Nick Slaters car around a telephone pole?"

Where to start? And where to finish? And what to say in between?

I didn't really want to tell them all about Keith. They'd never let me out of the house ever again.

And that just did not work for me.

"I barely remember," I hedged, "in fact, I don't remember. At all."

As far as lies go, not one of my best, but whatever.

"No." said dad firmly. "Try answer that question again, please, truthfully this time."

'I'm not—I didn't—ok. I lied. What gave it away?"

"Besides the fact that you have absolutely no amnesic symptoms? Your pulse sped up for a few seconds before you spoke."

I snatched my arm back off the know-it-all-Doctor.

"So what are you so worried about Melinda?"

Ooh, SNAP.

"Remember that ghost you were a little . . . bothered about?" I began hesitantly.

"Yes." Said dad emphatically.

"Basically . . ." No easy way to really tell this story. "The ghost had been . . . inactive, for so long to lull us into a false sense of security. His name is Keith, he's all about mentally fucking around with people—" dad's expression didn't change, "—and he tried to kill me in Nick's—in the car. I grabbed him before we hit and he . . . well, I dunno."

"He shifted to shadowland." Mum filled in. "You were in contact with him so you went with him. If Paul's right, he was a shifter and could shift out."

IF "Paul" is right. Big IF. Although I didn't say that out loud.

Not having much of a death wish and all.

"This is going to stop." Dad said. I knew what he meant, but I also know what Father Dominic would say. There's no strong PROOF that Keith was behind all this. He'd say Keith deserve god's chance.

Who knows? Father Dominic might be right.

But I doubt it.

Trust, too much trust, is only going to get you hurt. Look at Dumbledore!!!! He trusted, and as a result he DIED, and the world was thrown into mourning.

No.

Slater is so sure an exorcism won't work. I figure I'll try it anyway. And if he's right . . . I'll improvise. With my fists.

This bastard is after me. What I have to do was wait for him to come to me again, and then give him a bit of a surprise.

As in, "OH SHIT, I'M IN HELL" surprise.

And it's no more than he'd deserve.

X-x-X

"You didn't."

"I did."

"You didn't!!!"

"Oh. He did." Arabia assured us. "I had to take him to the hospital afterwards."

"Whoa." We all looked at Scott with a newfound respect.

"I know, I know," He held up his hands and tried to look modest. "I'll never again be able to look at Zoo animals in the same way."

We ate in silence for a few minutes; no doubt everyone was wondering why Scott hadn't been awarded a knighthood already. I know I was.

"Hey, hand over that ketchup."

"Nuh uh." I said, glaring at Arabia. "I'm not done."

She rolled her eyes at me, but waited for me to finish drowning my hot chips in ketchup. Satisfied – at last – I handed over the ketchup.

You can't have Carmel mall hot chips WITHOUT lots of ketchup. It's just not done. Hee. It's UN-DOABLE.

"So, Melinda, how are you folks?" she glanced up at me, and stuck a fry in her mouth.

"Oh, fine," I answered, stretching out on the mall bench. "Speaking of parents, did you know Stacy's mom invited me around?" Arabia frowned. "I know. She said she wanted Nick to come too. Whatever's up with that."

Ugh. Can't think about Nick right now. He still doesn't know about his car.

God.

"That's kinda weird," Alanna said, "no one—Oh my gosh!!!!" she cried suddenly, "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE!!!!!!!!!!!"

"It's always been—" Scott started.

"No, look!!!" Alanna protested, leaning towards me and shifting my hair, "LOOK!!!!"

I pulled back sharply. "Hey!!!" I cried.

They'd found where Keith had got me in the side of the face. And, as fucking usual, I was the centre of attention with everyone wanting to know if I was OK.

And a mall really isn't a good place for a private discussion. People STARE. And stare and stare and STARE SOME MORE.

I can understand now why mom hates them (Malls) so much.

"What happened?" Daniel asked, wincing.

"IT NOT THAT BAD, OK!!!!!!!!" I shouted, offended by the oh-that-must-have-hurt face's being pulled by everyone. "And I'm fine. Nothing—"

It was at this point that I found myself at a learning curve. Being all cryptic and 'nothing happened!' wouldn't do me any good. It would just get everyone more interested.

But now . . . I have a chance to be creative.

"Oh." I said with what I hoped was a sheepish expression, "I managed to . . ." I adopted a hesitant tone, "Well, I . . . walked into a pole."

They looked at me

And looked at me.

And looked at me SOME MORE.

And then Scott started laughing. I took a closer look at those scrutinising me, and realised they were all trying so hard not to laugh.

"It's OK." I said, tilting my head and looking like I found something extremely embarrassing, "You can laugh."

They did.

And things carried on as normal.

And normal is best . . . Keith just loves interrupting normal.

We were having lunch (We'd already done the shopping part. I brought these GREAT shoes. They were plain black stilettos with a height equivalent to the length of my hand. Walking was going to be the trick, but WHO CARED??? They were so flickin.)

I went back to hogging the sauce . . .

Scott was sharing more stories that ended with him at the Hospital/Police Station/Bus stop . . .

Until our conversation found its way to Nick.

"I wonder why he isn't here yet." Mused Arabia. " I called him and left a message, telling him to meet us here."

"What time was that?" asked Daniel, "I know he went to visit a friend of his or some such thing but I don't think he planned on being away long, I thought he'd be back by now."

"Around half an hour ago."

"Hmm."

"That's right!" added Alanna, "I thought it was odd . . . he asked me to make sure Melinda didn't end up killing herself while he was gone."

UNFAIR!!!!

It's OTHER people trying to kill me!!! THAT'S the problem!!!!

I didn't voice this objection, however. I just kinda . . . sat there and felt bad.

I hadn't even talked to him.

What kind of girlfriend am I??????

I made up my mind to text him. I whipped my cell phone out under the table and nodded occasionally as Daniel began to talk.

Hae, I killed ure wheels

DELETE.

Is ure car insured?

DELETE.

I O U

DELETE!!!!!!!!!

I am so sorry

SEND.

I twisted my phone closed and drummed my fingers on the table listening to the last of Daniels conversation.

"So, I went to the Doctor this morning and asked him to give me something the migraines. Speaking of," he glanced at his watch. "I'm supposed to take three now. Anyone got any water?"

"Uh, somewhere," I said distractedly, looking up from my cell phone—like watching it was going to make him text me—and saw that Daniel did, in fact have a prescription bottle in his hand, filled with bluey coloured pills.

OK, the guys legit.

Thought we had a druggie on our hands here.

I rummaged through my bag, found bottled water, and chucked it to him.

"The old man's gotta take his meds." Joked Scott.

Everyone ignored him.

"Hey, look who it is," Daniel said, pausing with the water bottle halfway to his mouth and abandoning his attempts to beat the childproof seal on his medication bottle. "How's the friend?" He grinned at someone behind me.

I jumped off the bench and spun around, knowing who was back. Striding towards us past the hoards of other shoppers was Nick, with a funny look on his face.

Reaching us, he didn't pause for words, but surprised me, reaching out and grabbing me in a bone-crushing hug.

I was stunned.

He was hugging me when I CREAMED his BMW??????????????????

Well fuck me.

I had no IDEA what was going on here.

"Why the HELL didn't you call me???" He demanded, not letting go of me.

"I—" I stumbled over my words, "I sent you at text . . ." Yes. Deep and meaningful text that it was.

"When?"

"Oh, uh, just then." I mumbled.

"I thought you were DEAD," he said angrily, "No one knew where—"

"I'm fine," I said quickly, pulling away and taking a step back. We were drawing a lot of attention, and I didn't need that. In fact, I needed that like I needed my organs splattered along a backcountry road.

NOT AT ALL.

"Fuck." He said quietly, then louder, "Fuck!"

People were staring. Scot had even paused while eating; he still held a hotdog halfway to his mouth. And Daniel, Arabia and Alannah were watching me way too intently for my peace of mind. And having them knowing about the car crash was DEFINITELY another problem I could do without.

"We need to leave," I said quietly, gesturing Nick to follow me as I weaved out of the food court. Some of the shoppers had been watching our scene with avid interest; others were carrying on their daily lives. I glanced behind me and saw Nick following me with a frown on his face.

I'm in it now, I thought. Now Nick's gotten the pleasant 'oh, you're not dead, how nice,' out of the way now he could move onto the: 'what the fuck did you do to my car, you crazy bitch?!?!'

Which would be pretty understandable. I hadn't seen the wreck, but both the look on dad's face and the memory of the solidity of that tree as it got closer and closer . . . Well, it was enough to clue me in.

I couldn't find a relatively unpopulated place, so I went where few people as possible liked to dwell.

The guy's bathrooms.

"So . . ." I hesitated, once I had gotten in there—and it STUNK—and had turned to face Nick. "You've seen you car then?"

"Yes I've seen the car," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "And how the HELL did you get out of that???"

"Oh. Um . . ."

"I can't believe you're alive," he murmured, pulling me back toward him.

"Nick, don't," I said, moving away from him again. "I'm sorry about your car, I swear I . . . well I . . . I am so, so sorry," I finished quietly.

"The car?" he said with a frown, "Yeah, it's pretty smashed up, but it's all taken care of, so don't worry about it."

I just stared at him.

And stared.

And stared at him.

And stared SOME MORE.

That car was worth, like, fucking HEAPS, and I know how guys can get attactched to their cars. Yet here Nick stands telling me NOT TO WORRY????????????

So he'd been angry because he was worried? About me?

Unbelievable.

I mean, mom and dad were worried about me, of course they were, they're my parents.

But Nick wasn't—he didn't have to—he cared because—

Holy shit, mother of god, fuck it!!!!! El COGIDA!!!!!!!!!!!

That's just . . . that is . . . I didn't know what to think. Either Nick had LESS than his share of screws left or . . . or . . .

I couldn't even contemplate THAT.

"Melinda," Nick said, "I saw that car—dad called me, I don't know how he knew—and I though I'd see you inside it, crushed up worse than the front fender."

Well, I thought to myself, if I hadn't grabbed Keith, I probably would have been. Air bag's can only do so much.

"You have no idea how I—" he broke off and looked at me. "Well. It doesn't matter now. What I wasn't to know, is how you got out, unhurt."

Well, unhurt other than the side of my face. I'm telling you, IF MY FACE ENDS UP NEEDING MILLIONS OF DOLLARS WIRTH OF WORK WHEN I'M OLD, I KNOW WHO I'LL BE BLAMING.

"The-ghost-was-in-the-­car­-that's-why-I-crashed-" I reasoned saying this all really fast might make it less fantastical, "and-he-jammed-the-accelerator­-and-I-grabbed-him-before-impact-and-he-must-have-shifted-to-that-shadowland-place."

Nick nodded once; apparently having followed all I'd just said at high speed, and said, "That works. And Dad would know because one of his ghosts would have sensed a problem up in the astral plane."

"Wait, what???" I gasped, "He's been, like, FOLLOWING ME???"

"Not exactly. But he always knows when something goes wrong with a ghost involved. A long time ago he made it his business to, well, sense disturbances in the force, shall we say?"

"So he doesn't KNOW about you—you with me?????"

"No," Nick said, "You were being watched . . . but it was only at the resort."

"WHAT??? I'm not—I don't—who??"

"Me. Your parents asked if I'd keep an eye on you, as your ghost seems to only target you when your alone."

That's bullshit, I thought but didn't say. That was all part of his 'False sense of security' trap.

"My dad AGREED to you shadowing me?" I asked.

"He wants you safe, more than anything."

I could understand it. I didn't LIKE it, but I could understand it.

The MENS door unexpectedly opened and a fair-haired guy about our age walked in. I think I recognised him as being one of the RLS guys. A footballer, I think. "Uh, sorry guy's," he said, "I didn't mean to—Hey, this is a men's toilet. Does she know that?"

"Yeah, she knows that." Answered Nick, with a sudden grin.

"Dude . . ." The unfamiliar guy winked at Nick and pulled one of those guy faces, the Someone's-­getting-some-tonight!!! Face, then he turned and left.

"Wonder if I'll get my name scrawled on the guys room walls for this?" I asked Nick with a smile.

"Oh, it's already there," he assured me, returning my smile.

"Really?" I asked with no small amount of interest. "Brilliant. What's it say???"

"We should get out of the bathroom." He said in was of an answer. "Everyone's probably wondering where we are. And why I was so glad you were alive."

We got out of the guys toilets—not a moment too soon either. Boy's toilets smell HORRIBLE. What do guys do, piss on the walls???? I want to know.

I was absurdly happy, I realised as we walked back into the throng of people, to have things OK between Nick and myself again. It was odd. Fucked-in-the-head-ghost-intent-on-spilling-my-blood, sure no problem, I try and lure him back. However, Totalling a car belonging to Nick causes me no end of distress.

I truly am fucked in the head.

"Hey!" Arabia called once we got within yelling distance. "What's going on??"

"Calm down, Arabia." I said once we got to the table. "We just had a small misunderstanding."

"Explain." She said.

"Oh," I said happily, smiling at her facial expression as I had a sudden flash of inspiration. "Nick's dad's going senile."

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Nick roll his eyes. He didn't look too upset though.

Probably because it's TRUE. I mean, who HAS a spy network of dead people????

WEIRDO'S, that's who.

"I understand." Said Arabia, looking very much the opposite. "Anyway. Nick, you'll have lunch with us?"

"Sure." He replied easily.

"Oh . . ." I remembered as he sat down, "You might want to check your phone, too," I said as I slid into my own seat. "Might be a few messages."

"Yeah, Thanks Melinda."

Sarcastic fella, isn't he?

"So guys." I turned to Scott and Daniel. "What EXACTLY is written about me on the boys room walls?"

"Don't tell her." Said Nick, not even looking up from his phone. "I don't need the grief."

I waited, but apparently this was one secret destined to elude me. Unless I snuck into the boys room to see for myself. But was I REALLY willing to put myself through that ever again??

The answer was no.

"Ok, we really have to get going." I said, looking at Nick. "NICK—" I threw a chip at Scott (Who looked like her was bursting to tell me what was written on the wall) and, predictably, missed, "—has to go and see Stacy's mom."

Nick frowned.

"Oh," I said sweetly, "I didn't tell you about that? Well come along," I pulled a bewildered looking Nick up off the bench and forcefully linked my arm through his. "I'll fill you in when we get there."

"But I'm not finished my burrito." He complained.

"Tough luck."

"Us too." Said Arabia. "Scott has to give the Zoo back their monkey." (A/N: While I don't actually know if Carmel has a Zoo, GO WITH IT.)

Scott looked crestfallen. "Can't I keep—"

"NO!!!"

"You know Scott," said Daniel in a teasing voice, "Monkeys don't actually enjoy living in bedrooms and eating only marmalade. That's just a myth."

Scott scowled.

"C'mon Lana." Daniel said with a laugh at Daniels expression. "Your mom will never forgive me if you're late."

"Bye everyone!!" Alanna called as she let herself be led from the table.

"Is this true?" Scott hissed at Nick, who shrugged, not caring one way or another.

Of course, his distraction was understandable. Carmel mall burritos are distraction wrapped in lettuce.

"Fucking know-it-all." Muttered Scott at Daniel's retreating back. "If he's so damn smart then how come he LEFT HIS PILLS HERE?????"

Daniel was too far way to hear him.

Scott was right though. Daniel's unopened prescription bottle and my water still lay on the table.

"I'll take them." I said, stuffing pills in my jacket pocket, "Alanna's coming over tonight, I'll give them to her."

"Right. See you then" said Arabia, gathering her stuff and heading off.

"Yeah. Whatever." Muttered Scott, following her.

"Look, come on." I said to Nick, "We have to go."

This afternoon had been fun, almost a small holiday from reality. But after my visit to Stacy's mom, I couldn't shirk my culpability. And I didn't want to. Keith was either going to come to me, or I was going to go to him.

Same result either way.

Because he fucked his own chance at having this, having LIFE, doesn't mean I'm going to let him take everyone else's. Including, but not exclusive to, mine.

"Sure." Nick said. "Lets go be mediators and clean up everyone else's mess."

He was joking, but not really.

Did I ever know that feeling.

X-X-X

"Be Nice." Nick muttered to me as Stacy's mom—I mean Lisa—showed us to her living room.

"Back at you." I hissed. What exactly is he implying? That I can't CIVIL? That I can't be POLITE and NICE?

. . . He may be right.

I sat down on the familiar grossly extravagant plush green couch and observed my surroundings.

No change.

Same disgusting ornaments. To think, a few minutes earlier I would have had a perfect use for these ornaments.

Throwing them at Stacy.

We'd been arguing over her insane compulsion to tell the world that I could see dead people.

"Tell her!" She'd shouted at me as we walked up her driveway. "TELL HER!"

I gritted my teeth and ignored her.

"TELL HER OR I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I WILL SERIOUSLY HURT YOU."

. . .Raw nerve.

People are always, ALWAYS, trying to hurt me.

"NO!!!" I screamed. Nick winced at my volume. "I don't WANT to be telling your mom that I can talk to ghosts!!! Remember what happened LAST time I told someone because you wanted me to?"

". . .That was just bad luck." She mumbled.

"Melinda's right." Nick said calmly, stepping up onto the doorstep. "Stacy, I realise your desperate for any form of contact with your mother, but forcing Melinda to do something that will only hurt her . . . You can't ask that."

Wether he was saying this for my sake or simply to save his own ass, I didn't know, but either way, it was damn good of him.

"I—I know." She said in one of the saddest voices I'd ever heard. "I'm sorry Melinda."

I stared at the steps in silence, contemplating what she'd said.

I took a deep breath. "I'll do it."

"What??" Nick was incredulous as he turned to face me, "Are you crazy?"

"Yes. I want to do this. Stacy's my friend. If I can help her, I will."

He stared at me.

Stacy looked me in the eye. "Melinda . . . what?"

"Stacy, remember that time in fourth grade when I got a detention for throwing paint at Mrs Bablac?"

"Trust me, I will never forget that."

"And you took the blame because I had to go straight home after school, because it was grandma's birthday?"

"Yes . . ."

"You didn't have to do that. You did it because you were my friend and I needed help. This is just like it was then, except no paint, no angry teacher and our roles reversed."

She didn't reply. Just nodded.

Nick was still staring at me.

"Don't worry." I said to him. "I won't drag you down with me.

"That's not what I—I mean . . ." he cleared his throat. "Never mind. Are you going to knock or what?"

"No." I said sarcastically as I stepped up to the door. "I'm going to stand here and sing twinkle twinkle little star in C major until she opens the door." I rolled my eyes and knocked.

He smirked.

The door swung open almost instantly. "Hello you three!!!" Stacy mom—LISA, her name is LISA—chirped.

"Two." I corrected. She couldn't see Stacy, so I put it down to more dedication to cheerleading than academic's during the critical years.

"So it is. And this is Nick?"

No. Crocodile Dundee.

"Yes."

"Come in, come in!"

And so here I was. Sitting on a hideous couch, staring at equally hideous ornaments, while the ghost of my dead best friend paced behind me.

Forgive me, but life wasn't good.

"So, Melinda, darling, how have you been?"

"Fine. Actually Mrs – Miss – uh, Lisa . . .There's something we have to—"

"Oh dear!" Stacy's mom laughed brightly. "I did raise a teenage daughter, you know!! Of course, Stacy killed herself, but I remember what it means when a girl has a look like THAT on her face!"

I blinked.

Nick said nothing. Just sat there, unmoving.

"So . . ." Stacy's—LISA—continued, "What do you two know that I don't?"

I restrained myself—with difficulty—from snorting. What did I know that she doesn't?

Like, EVERYTHING.

Including that her sweater made her look like Camilla Parker Bowles.

. . . But perhaps this wasn't the time.

"Well, what I'm trying to say . . . Lisa, Is that I—"

"We." Nick interrupted.

"We?" I was confused. "I thought you--?"

"No."

"Are you—?"

"Sure? Yes."

"Um. OK. see, we can … er …"

Nick took over. "You see Mrs Vanderleigh—"

"Lisa." She corrected firmly.

" . . . Lisa, then. Certain people . . . and more than you'd think . . . are capable of interaction with deceased members of the human race on a semi-regular to regular basis. This antediluvian practise dates back to ancient Egypt, where hieroglyphic proof specified the existence of—"

"Wait." Stacy's mom interrupted. "I'm … confused."

I sighed. "We can talk to ghosts."

Silence.

I looked around for Stacy, probably so I could be just a little bit I told you so but she'd disappeared. Typical ghost. When things get uncomfortable, they just dematerialise or whatever.

Must be nice.

Nick hurriedly relapsed his explanation, no doubt trying to make up for my tactless admission. "—a gifted race, devoted entirely to the matters of the afterlife and it's inhabitants. Referred to as a Shaman, a word derived from a shaman's ability to shift, wether that be time, or form, or through the dimensions of mortal life—"

"So . . . " Stac—Lisa—Interrupted, 'Let me make sure I understand. You're saying . . . You see dead people? You've seen my daughter?"

"Er . . . I shifted uncomfortably. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

Nick shot me a shut up you're not helping, look, and realising he was right, I complied.

S—Lisa started to cry. "Stacy … my little girl!!! Have you found her murderer yet? Oh my poor little girl . . . "

I grew even more uncomfortable. Thankfully, Nick had more presence of mind than me, he pulled from his pocket a handkerchief—I was not so distracted that I did not notice this, and catching my eye, he mouthed, MAKES A GREAT GAG.

"Mrs Vanderleigh, we regrettably have to leave you now. Anything you need to ask, any questions you might have, here is—" he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen he seemed to have pulled from thin air and scrawled something on it. "—My father's number. Paul Slater. Don't hesitate." Then to me; "Come."

Once outside with the door shut firmly behind us I said to Nick, "Boy your dad' going to be mad you gave his number to a needy housewife."

"I know." Said Nick with a grin. "He'll be mad as hell . . . But—" he added thoughtfully, "He'll probably help her. After a while." I shrugged and started out the driveway but Nick pulled me back. "Call Stacy, would you?"

"umm, what? How do I do that?"

"Call her name. Honestly. Try it."

I thought it pointless, but complied. Imagine my surprise when Stacy materialised not three feet away from me.

Coincidence?

Not on my aunt Gertrude's life! Not that I like her that much anyway.

. . . Andy's got some ODD skeletons in his family closet.

"Stacy, keep an eye on your mother." Nick instructed. "She's currently somewhat unstable."

"Currently?" Stacy scoffed. "The broad's always been like that."

"Just go in there."

"Nuh uh." She protested violently. "No freaking way. You don't know my mother. She grieves alone. Trust me. She'll be having a major breakdown in there, and then by dinnertime she'll be smiling and doing housework. No WAY am I going in there."

"But Stacy." I said reasonably. "She can't see you."

"Doesn't matter." She argued. "That woman KNOWS."

I shrugged, finding he argument a little loopy, but decided not to argue. When Stacy set's her mind on something it's like a bulldog and a leg of meat.

Bad analogy . . . shouldn't have called Stacy a bulldog. " . . .Ok." I said.

Stacy shot me a quick smile before shimmering into nothingness. I stared at the space she'd just vacated, thinking. Her mom was a bit of a fruitcake.

But, loosing her only daughter. Understandable. And because Stacy and her never got on, maybe it was the guilt.

I shook my head to clear it and turned to Nick. "Ok. I have to go, Alanna's coming over, remember?"

"So?"

"So YOU—" I turned him and gave him a shove in the direction of his car (borrowed off 'the friend') "—Have to leave me and go home."

"What am I?" he grumbled, "Your bitch?"

I smiled sweetly. "Pretty much."

He groaned comically. "Well then you'd better make it worth my while."

"Nuh uh," I taunted, dancing away from his wandering hands. "You can wait." I turned away and walked off, teasing him by exaggerating the swing of my hips. "Buh Bye Nick!"

I heard a thump as he hit the car in frustration and I laughed. A little sexual frustration never killed anyone.

It wasn't until later that night I found out how wrong I was.

X-X-X

Twenty minutes!! I had only twenty minutes before Alanna got here!!!

"Mom!!!!" I called, running down the hall and making it into the kitchen before the front door swung shut, "Mom can you please—shit!!!"

A note on the bench.

Gone out for dinner.

Hope Alanna can cook otherwise you'll starve.

XoX

Mom

"Oh Shit." Then the phone started ringing. "Shit!" I hopped from one foot to another, debating over wether or not to answer it, and ended up diving for the phone just in time. "Hello?"

"Melinda? Hello dear, it's Shirley here . . ."

Shirley … Shirley … Oh! Our next-door neighbour!

"Hi, Mrs Grey—"

"I'm just calling, dear, to see if you're all OK."

"Yes, of course, why wouldn't—?"

"I heard a shot, dear."

"A—A Gunshot—?"

"Yes dear. About, oh, five or ten minutes ago now."

I hung up.

"Hello?" I called through the house, trying to keep my voice steady, not to sound as panicked as I felt. Ringing the police would be futile, if it was who I thought it was.

If it was Keith.

"Hello?" I repeated, cautiously moving back down the hallway.

Something was wrong. Now that I'd slowed down, I didn't need Mrs Grey to tell me something was wrong. I could even pinpoint to knowing about the gun. I'd guess it would be a handgun. Small and black. Exactly like the one Stacy used.

The air around me seemed tight, and drawing breath seemed like a loud noise giving my presence away. I was agonizingly aware I was the only movement. No cats. Nothing.

. . . Just me.

. . . for now.

I was almost frozen with the thought of what I might find, and as I walked into the dining room, I felt like someone had emptied a bucket of freezing water over me.

This was the room.

"Keith? Keith what—?"

Then I saw them.

A man and a woman sprawled together on the floor, naked and entwined, their lips in a motionless kiss.

Both of them unmistakably dead.

They were too still, too quiet for life. Tears sprang to my eyes as my gaze was drawn to the one gunshot wound that had both mixed their blood and killed them.

I swallowed and tried not to look at the stained carpet, to ignore their naked bodies, pressed together as though they'd die from lack of contact.

. . . They'd died from lack of contact.

I fought back my tears and took a step closer, a mistake, as I realised two last things, and let out an agonised scream, and stumbled backwards crying hysterically.

I'd gotten close enough to recognise him.

. . . And her.

X-X-X

Who are they, do you think?

Could be anyone.

But the more reviews, the quicker the answer!

Go forth and review!!!

Love and kisses,

Mariah

Right, reason number one was because after I finished writing the car crash, one of my closest friends was seriously injured in a car crash. So . . . well, I'm sure you understand how that made things difficult.

And:

Shoutout to Mary: I miss you; get your shiny ass back here. Throws butter dish

009&1/2: Thanks for all the encouragement and for making me—actually—laugh. And thanks for dedicating your oneshot to me, too. Stuff dedicated to me ROCKS!!!