The Mediator #3: Reunion

by Jenny Carroll

  "Someone certainly did," Jesse said. "It might well have been your Michael."

  I took umbrage at that. Not at the suggestion that Michael might have done something so heinous, but at Jesse calling him my Michael.

  "Wait just a minute – " I began. But Father Dominic rather uncharacteristically interrupted me.

  "I have to agree with Susannah, Jesse," Father Dominic said. "Certainly it appears that the rail did not perform the function it was intended to. In fact, a rather serious flaw in its design seems to have occurred. But to suggest that someone might have purposefully tampered with it …"

  "Susannah," Jesse said. "Didn't you say that Michael seems to dislike the people who died in the accident?"

  "Well," I said, "he did tell me he thought that they were a waste of space. But honestly, Jesse, in order for what you're suggesting to work, Michael would have had to know Josh and those guys were coming. How could he have known that? And he'd have had to wait for them, and then when they started to round the corner, he'd have had to purposefully put down the gas …"

  "Well," Jesse said with a shrug. "Yes."

  "Impossible." Father Dominic straightened up, brushing dirt from the knees of his trousers. "I refuse even to consider such a possibility. That boy, a cold-blooded murderer? You don't know what you're saying, Jesse. Why, he's got the highest GPA in school. He's a member of the Chess Club."

  I patted Father Dominic on the shoulder. "Hate to break it to you, Father D," I said, "but chess players can kill people, just like anyone else." Then I looked down at the gouge mark in the earth where the guardrail had lain. "The real question is why?" I asked. "I mean, why would he do something like that?"

  "I think," Jesse said, "if we hurry, we might be able to find out."

  He pointed. We looked. The clouds overhead had parted enough to allow us to see the tiny slice of beach at the bottom of the cliff. The moonlight picked out four ghostly forms huddled in a circle around a pitiful little campfire.

  "Oh, God," I said as the clouds closed in again, quickly obscuring the sight. "All the way down there? I know I'm going to get bitten."

  Father Dominic had already started hurrying down the rest of the trail. Jesse, behind me, asked curiously, "Bitten by what, Susannah?"

  "A snake, of course," I said, avoiding a root that had looked a bit snakelike in the beam from my flashlight.

  "Snakes," Jesse said – and I could tell by his voice that he was restraining an urge to laugh, "don't come out at night."

  This was news to me. "They don't?"

  "Not usually. And particularly not on cold, wet nights like this. They like the sun."

  Well, that was a relief. Still, I couldn't help wondering about ticks. Did ticks come out at night?

  It seemed to take forever – and I was sure that I'd wake up with shin splints – but we eventually reached the bottom of the path, though the last fifty feet or so were so steep, I practically sprinted down them, and not on purpose, either.

  There on the beach, the sound of the waves was much, much louder – loud enough to completely drown out the sound of our approach. The smell of salt was heavy in the air. I realized, as our feet sank into the wet sand – well, except for Jesse's – why it was I hadn't seen any gulls earlier in the evening: animals, including birds, don't like ghosts.

  And there were a lot of ghosts on this particular beach.

  They were singing. I am not kidding you. They were singing around their sulky little fire. You won't believe what they were singing, either. "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Seriously. They were on fifty-seven.

  I tell you, if that's how I end up spending eternity when I die, I hope some mediator comes along and puts me out of my misery. I really do.

  "Okay," I said, slipping off my gloves and jamming them in my pockets. "Jesse, you take the guys. I'll take the girls. Father D, you just make sure none of them make a run for the waves, all right? I've already been swimming once today, and believe me, that water's cold. I am not going in after them."

  Father Dominic caught my arm as I started striding toward the firelit group.

  "Susannah!" he cried, looking genuinely shocked. "Surely you can't … you aren't seriously suggesting that we – "

  "Father D." I gawked up at him. "Earlier this afternoon, those jerks over there tried to drown me. Pardon me if I feel that sauntering up to them and asking them if they'd like to join us for root beer floats isn't such a good idea. Let's go kick some supernatural butt."

  Father Dominic only clutched my arm tighter. "Susannah, how many times do I have to tell you? We are mediators. Our job is to intercede on behalf of troubled souls, not cause them more pain and grief by committing acts of violence upon them – "

  "I'll tell you what," I said. "Jesse and I will hold them down while you do the interceding. Because, believe me, that's the only way they're going to listen. They aren't real communicative."

  "Susannah," Father Dom said again.

  But this time, he didn't get to finish whatever it was he was going to say. That's because all of a sudden, Jesse went, "Stay here, both of you, until I say it's all right to move."

  And then he started striding across the beach toward the ghosts.

  Huh. I guess he'd gotten sick of listening to the two of us arguing. Well, you couldn't really blame him.

  Father Dominic looked worriedly after Jesse. "Oh, dear," he said. "You don't think he's going to do anything … rash, do you, Susannah?"

  I sighed. Jesse never did anything rash.

  "No," I said. "He's probably just going to try to talk to them. It's better this way, I guess. I mean, he's a ghost, they're ghosts … they've got a lot of stuff in common."

  "Ah," Father Dominic said, nodding. "Yes, I see. Very wise. Very wise indeed."

  The Angels were at seventeen bottles of beer on the wall by the time they noticed Jesse.

  One of the boys swore quite colorfully, but before any of them had time to dematerialize, Jesse was speaking – and in such a low voice that Father D and I couldn't hear him above the sound of the waves. We could only watch as Jesse – glowing a little, the way ghosts tend to – spoke to them, and then, slowly, after a little while, lowered himself into the sand, still talking.

  Father Dominic, watching the proceedings intently, murmured, "Excellent idea, sending Jesse in first."

  I shrugged. "I guess."

  I guess my disappointment that I'd missed out on what probably would have been a first class brawl must have shown, since Father D tore his gaze from the group around the campfire, and grinned down at me.

  "With a little help from Jesse, we just might make a mediator of you yet," he said.

  As if he had a clue as to how many ghosts I'd mediated out of existence before I'd ever even met either of them, I thought. But I didn't say it out loud.

  "And how," Father Dominic asked quietly, "is your little friend Gina occupying herself while you're out tonight?"

  "Oh," I said. "She's covering for me."

  Father Dominic raised his eyebrows – and his voice – in surprised disapproval. "Covering for you? Your parents don't know you're here?"

  "Oh, yeah, Father D," I said sarcastically. "I told my mom I was coming out to Big Sur to deal with the ghosts of some dead teenagers. Please."

  He looked troubled. Being a priest, Father D frowns on dishonesty, particularly when it involves parents, whom his ilk are always encouraging us to honor and obey. But I figure if God really wanted me heeding that particular rule, He wouldn't have made me a mediator. The two things just don't mix, you know?

  "But evidently," Father Dominic said, "you had no trouble telling Gina."

  "I didn't, actually. Tell her, I mean. She kind of just … knows. I mean, once she and I went to this psychic, and …" My voice trailed off. Talking about Madame Zara reminded me of what Gina had told me, about the whole one single love of a lifetime thing. Was it true? I wondered. Could it possibly be true? I shivered, but this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.
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  "I see," Father Dominic said. "Interesting. You feel comfortable telling your friends about your extraordinary ability, but not your own mother."

  We had had this argument before – recently, in fact – so I just rolled my eyes at him. "Friend," I corrected him. "Not friends. Gina knows. Nobody else. And she doesn't know all of it. She doesn't, for instance, know about Jesse."

  Father Dominic glanced in the direction of the bonfire once again. Jesse appeared to be deeply engrossed in his conversation with Josh and the others. Their faces, orange in the firelight, were all turned in his direction, their gazes locked on him. It was strange they had built that fire. They couldn't feel it, any more than they could get drunk from the beer they'd tried to steal, or drown in the water they'd been under. I wondered why they had gone to the trouble. It had probably taken a lot of kinetic power to light it.

  All four of them glowed with the same subtle light Jesse gave off – not enough to see by on a dark night like this, but enough to tell they weren't quite … well, human was the wrong word, because of course they were human. Or had been, anyway.

  I guess the word I'm looking for is alive.

  "Father D," I said, abruptly. "Do you believe in psychics? I mean, are they real? Like mediators?"

  Father Dominic said, "I'm sure some of them are."

  "Well," I went on in a rush before I could change my mind. "This psychic Gina and I went to once, she knew I was a mediator. I didn't tell her, or anything. She just knew. And she said this weird thing. At least, Gina says she did. I don't remember it. But according to Gina, she said I would only have one true love."

  Father Dominic looked down at me. Was it my imagination, or did he look amused? "Were you planning on having a great many?"

  "Well, not exactly," I said, a little embarrassed. You would have been, too. I mean, come on. The guy was a priest. "But it's kind of weird. This psychic – Madame Zara – she said a bunch of stuff about how I'd just have this one love, but that it would last for, like, my whole life." I swallowed. "Or maybe it was all eternity. I forget."

  "Oh," Father Dominic said, not looking amused anymore. "Dear."

  "That's what I said. I mean … well, she probably didn't know what she was talking about. Because that sounds kind of bogus, right?" I asked hopefully.

  But much to my disappointment, Father D said, "No, Susannah. It does not sound bogus. Not to me."

  He said it in such a way … I don't know. Something about the way he said it made me ask, curiously, "Were you ever in love, Father D?"

  He started fumbling around in his coat pockets. "Um," he said.

  I knew what he was looking for so intently: a pack of cigarettes. I also knew he wasn't going to find any – he had quit smoking years ago, and kept only one pack for emergencies. And that, I happened to know, was back in his office at the school.

  I also knew, from the fact that he'd started looking for them at all, that Father D was stressed. He only felt an urge to smoke when things weren't quite going how he'd planned.

  He had been in love. I could totally tell by the way he was avoiding meeting my gaze.

  I wasn't really surprised. Father Dominic was old, and a priest, and everything, but he was still a hottie, in a senior citizen, Sean Connery kind of way.

  "There was, I believe," he said finally, when his search came up negative, "a young woman. At one time."

  Aha. I pictured Audrey Hepburn, for some reason. You know, in that movie that's always on, the one where she played a nun. Maybe Father Dom and his one true love had met in priest and nun school! Maybe their love had been forbidden like in the movie!

  "Did you know her before you took your, um, orders, or whatever they're called?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "Or after?"

  "Before, of course!" He sounded shocked. "For heaven's sake, Susannah."

  "I was just wondering." I kept my gaze on Jesse over by the campfire, so Father D wouldn't be too embarrassed thinking I was staring at him, or anything. "I mean, we don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." Only I couldn't help it. "Was she – "

  "I was your age," Father Dominic said, as if he wanted to hurry up and get it over with. "In high school, like you. She was a little younger."

  I had trouble picturing Father Dominic in high school. I didn't even know what color his hair had been before it turned the snowy white it was now.

  "It was …" Father D went on, a faraway look in his bright blue eyes. "It … well, it would never have worked."

  "I know," I said. Because suddenly I did know. I don't know how I knew, but something in the way he said it never would have worked just told me, I guess. "She was a ghost, right?"

  Father Dominic inhaled so sharply that for a second I thought he was having a heart attack, or something.

  But before I had a chance to jump in and start CPR, Jesse got up from the fire, and started coming toward us.

  "Oh, look," Father Dominic said with obvious relief. "Here comes Jesse."

  I had gotten over the annoyance I used to feel at Jesse when he'd appear suddenly, usually when I least expected – or wanted – him to. Now I was almost always glad to see him.

  Except at that particular moment. At that particular moment, I wished Jesse was far, far away. Because I had a feeling I was never going to get Father D to open up about this particular subject again.

  "All right," Jesse said, when he'd come close enough to speak to us. "I think they'll listen to you now, Father, without trying to bolt. They're quite frightened."

  "They sure didn't act very frightened when they were trying to kill me this afternoon," I muttered.

  Jesse looked down at me, a trace of amusement in his dark eyes – though what's so funny about me practically drowning, I don't know.

  "I think," he said, "if you listen to what they have to say, you'll understand why they behaved the way they did."

  "We'll see about that," I said with a sniff.

  C H A P T E R

  12

  I guess I was in kind of a bad mood because of Jesse interrupting my little heart-to-heart with Father Dominic. But that was no reason for him to come up behind me as I was walking toward the group around the fire and whisper, "Behave," in my ear.

  I flashed him a look of annoyance. "I always do," I said.

  You know what he did then? He laughed! And not in a very nice way, either. I couldn't believe it.

  When I got close enough to the group to be able to make out the expressions on their faces, I didn't see anything to convince me they weren't still the same ghosts who'd tried to kill me – twice – in two days.

  "Wait a minute," Josh said when he recognized me. He climbed quickly to his feet, and pointed accusingly at me. "That's the bitch who – "

  Jesse stepped quickly into the firelit circle. "Now," he said, "I told you who these people were – "

  "You said they were going to help us," Felicia wailed from where she sat, the skirt of her evening dress poofing up all around her. "But that girl there kicked me in the face this afternoon!"

  "Oh," I said, "like you weren't trying to drown me at the time?"

  Father Dominic stepped quickly between me and the ghosts and said, "My children, my children, do not be alarmed. We are here to help you, if we can."

  Josh Saunders, stunned, said, "You can see us?"

  "I can," Father Dominic said solemnly. "Susannah and I are, as I'm sure Jesse explained, mediators. We can see you, and we want to help you. Indeed, it is our responsibility to help you. Only, you must understand, it is also our responsibility to ensure that you don't harm anyone. That is why Susannah tried to stop you earlier today, and, if I understand correctly, the day before."

  This caused Mark Pulsford to say a bad word. Felicia Bruce elbowed him and said, "Cut it out. That guy's a priest."

  Mark said, belligerently, "He is not."

  "He is so," Felicia said. "Can't you see the little white thingie around his neck?"

  "I am a priest." Father Dominic hastened to cut the ar
gument short. "And I am telling you the truth. You can call me Father Dominic. And this is Susannah Simon. Now, we understand that the four of you feel a bit of resentment toward Mr. Meducci – "

  "Resentment?" Josh, still standing, glared at Father Dominic. "Resentment? It's because of that jerk that we're all dead!"

  Only he didn't say jerk.

  Father Dominic raised his white eyebrows, but Jesse said, calmly, "Why don't you tell the father what it was you told me, Josh, so that he and Susannah can begin to understand."

  Josh, his bowtie hanging loosely around his neck, and the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, lifted a hand and ran his fingers frustratedly through his short blond hair. He had obviously been, in life, an extremely good-looking boy. Blessed with looks, intelligence, and wealth (his parents had to have money if they could afford to send him to Robert Louis Stevenson School, which was as expensive as it was exclusive), Josh Saunders was having trouble adjusting to the only misfortune that had ever befallen him in his short, happy life:

  His untimely death.

  "Look," he said. The sounds of the waves, and now the crackle of the little fire they'd made, were easily drowned out by his deep voice. Had he lived, Josh might have been anything, I thought to myself, from professional athlete to president. He exuded that kind of confidence.

  "On Saturday night we went to a dance," he said. "A dance, okay? And afterward, we thought we might go for a drive, and park – "

  Carrie chimed in: "We always park at the Point on Saturday night."

  "The observation point," Felicia explained.

  "It's so pretty," Carrie said.

  "Really pretty," Felicia said with a quick glance at Father Dominic.

  I stared at them. Who were they kidding? We all knew what they were doing parked at the observation point.

  And it wasn't looking at the view.

  "Yeah," Mark said. "Plus no cops ever come by, and make us move. You know?"

  Ah. Such honesty was refreshing.

  "All right," Josh said. He had shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. Now he took them out, and held them, palms toward us. "So we went for this drive. Everything's going fine, right? Same as any other Saturday night. Only it wasn't the same. Because this last time, when we went around the corner – you know, that hairpin curve up there – something rammed us – "