by Meg Cabot
“Twenty-five minutes,” Father Dominic corrected me. “We lost time, thanks to this young man’s interruption.” He took a pocket watch from his coat with the hand that wasn’t clutching the other end of the rope. “Go now, Susannah,” he urged me.
“Right,” I said. “Okay. Be right back.”
And then I swung my legs into the hole. When I looked down, I could see Father Dominic and Jack standing there, peering up at me. And I could also see me, asleep like Snow White, in a circle of dancing candle flames. Although I doubt Snow White ever wore Prada.
I got up and looked around me. Nothing.
I’m serious. There was nothing there. Just that black sky, through which a few stars burned coldly. And then there was the fog. Thick, ever-moving, cool fog. I should have, I thought to myself with a shiver, worn a sweater. The fog seemed to weigh down the air I was taking into my lungs. It also seemed to serve as a muffler. I couldn’t hear a sound, not even my own footsteps.
Oh, well. Twenty-five minutes wasn’t long. I sucked in a chestful of damp air and yelled, “Jesse!”
It was a highly effective move. Not that Jesse showed up. Oh, no. But this other guy did.
In a gladiator outfit, no less.
I’m not even kidding. He looked like the guy from my mom’s American Express card (which I frequently borrow—with her permission, of course). You know, the broom sticking out of his helmet, the leather miniskirt, the big sword. I couldn’t see his feet on account of the fog, but I assumed that, if I could, he’d be wearing lace-up sandals (so unflattering on people with fat knees).
“You,” he said in this deep, no-nonsense voice, “do not belong here.”
See. I knew the slip dress had been a mistake. But who knew purgatory had a dress code?
“I know,” I said, giving him my best smile. Maybe Father D. was right. Maybe I do have a tendency to use my sexuality to get what I want. I was certainly laying on the girlie thing thick for the Russell Crowe type in front of me.
“The thing is,” I said, fingering my rope. “I’m looking for a friend. Maybe you know him. Jesse de Silva? He showed up here last night, I think. He’s about twenty, six feet tall, black hair, dark eyes—” Killer abs?
Russell Crowe must not have been listening closely, since all he said was, “You do not belong here,” again.
Okay, the slip dress had definitely been a mistake. Because how was I supposed to kick this guy out of my way without splitting the skirt?
“Look, mister,” I said, striding up to him and trying not to notice that his pectoral muscles were so pronounced, that his breasts were bigger than mine. Way bigger. “I told you. I’m looking for someone. Now either you tell me if you’ve seen him, or you get out of my face, okay? I’m a mediator, all right? I have just as much right to be here as you.”
I did not, of course, know if this was true, but heck, I’ve been a mediator all my life, and I haven’t gotten squat for it. As far as I was concerned, somebody owed me, but big.
The gladiator seemed to agree. He went, in a completely different tone, “A mediator?” He looked down at me as if I were a monkey that had suddenly sat up and started saying the Pledge of Allegiance.
Still, I must have done something right, since he said slowly, “I know the one of whom you speak.”
Then he seemed to come to a decision. Stepping to one side, he said in a commanding voice, “Go now. Do not open any doors. He will come.”
I stared at him. Whoa. “Are you…are you serious?”
For the first time, he showed some personality. He went, “Do I seem to be joking to you?”
“Um,” I said. “No.”
“Because I am the gatekeeper. I do not joke. Go now.” He pointed. “You have not much time.”
Off in the distance, in the direction he was pointing, I saw something. I don’t know what it was, but it was something other than fog. I felt like hugging my new gladiator friend, but I restrained myself. He didn’t seem the touchy-feely sort.
“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a whole lot.”
“Hurry,” the gatekeeper said. “And remember, whatever you do, do not go toward the light.”
I had given the rope a yank so that Father D. would give me some slack. Now I just stood there with it in my hands, staring at the gladiator.
“Don’t go into the light?” I echoed. “You’re not serious.”
I swear to you, he sounded indignant. “I told you before, I do not joke. Why do you think I would say something I do not mean?”
I wanted to tell him that the whole don’t-go-into-the-light thing was way overplayed. I mean, Poltergeist one through three had pretty much run that line into the ground.
But who knew? Maybe the guy who wrote those movies was a mediator. Maybe he and the gatekeeper were pals or something.
“Okay,” I said, sidling past him. “Gotcha. Don’t go into the light.”
“Or open any doors,” the gatekeeper reminded me.
“No doors,” I said, pointing at him and winking. “You got it.”
Then I turned around, and the fog was gone.
Well, not gone, really. I mean, it was still there, licking at my heels. But most of it had given way, so that I could see I was in a corridor lined with doors. There was no ceiling overhead, just those coldly winking stars and inky black sky. Still, the long corridor of closed doors seemed to stretch out forever before me.
And I wasn’t supposed to open any of those doors. Or go into the light.
Well, the second part was easy. I didn’t see any light to go toward. But how was I not supposed to open one of those doors? I mean, really. What was going on behind them? What would I find if I opened one, just a crack, and peeked in? Alternate universe? The planet Vulcan? Maybe a world where Suze Simon was a normal girl, not a mediator? Maybe one where Suze Simon was homecoming queen and the most popular person in the whole school, and Jesse wasn’t a ghost and could actually take her to dances and had his own car and didn’t live in her bedroom?
Then I stopped wondering what was behind all those doors. That’s because coming down the hallway toward me—as if he’d just materialized there from out of nowhere—came Jesse.
He looked pretty surprised to see me. I don’t know if it was the fact that I was standing there in what was, I suppose, heaven’s waiting room, or if it was the attractive length of cord around my waist, which did not, I have to admit, go with the rest of my outfit.
Whatever it was, he looked pretty shocked.
“Oh,” I said, reaching up to make sure my bangs were covering my unsightly bruise. “Hi.”
Jesse froze in his tracks and just stared at me. It was like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He didn’t look any different from the last time I’d seen him. I mean, the last time I’d seen his ghost. The last time I’d seen him, of course, it had been a view of his rotten corpse, and the sight had, of course, made me lose my supper.
But this Jesse was a lot easier on the eyes.
Still, if I’d expected any sort of joyful reunion—a hug or, God forbid, a kiss—I was in for a disappointment. He just stood there, staring at me like I’d grown two heads since the last time we’d bumped into each other.
“Susannah,” he breathed. “What are you doing here? Are you—you’re not—”
I caught his meaning at once and went, with a nervous laugh, “Dead? Me? No, no, no. No. I just, um, I came up here because I wanted to, um, you know, see if you were all right….”
Okay, could I be any lamer? I mean, seriously. I had pictured this moment in my head a thousand times since I’d first decided I was going to come after him, and in all my fantasies, no explanations were ever necessary. Jesse just threw his arms around me and started kissing me. On the lips.
This, though. This was way awkward. I wished I’d prepared a speech.
“Um,” I said. What I really wished was that I could stop saying um. “See, the thing is, I wanted to make sure you were here because you wanted to be. Because if you don’t
want to be, well, Father Dom and I thought maybe it would be possible for you to come back. To, um, finish whatever it is, you know, that was keeping you down there. In my world, I mean. Our world,” I corrected myself, quickly, remembering Father Dominic’s warning. “Our world, I mean.”
Jesse continued to just stare at me.
“Susannah,” he said. His voice sounded weird. I figured out why a second later, when he asked, “Weren’t you the one who sent me here?”
I gaped at him. “What? What are you talking about?”
Now I knew what was so weird about his voice. It was filled with hurt. “Didn’t you,” he asked, “have me exorcised?”
“Me?” My own voice rocketed up about ten octaves. “Me? Jesse, of course not. I would never do that. I mean, you know I would never do something like that. That kid Jack did it. Your girlfriend Maria made him do it. She was trying to get rid of you. She told Jack you were bothering me, and he didn’t know any better, so he exorcised you, and then Felix Diego threw me off the porch roof, and Jesse, they found your body, I mean your bones, and I saw them and I threw up all over the side of the house, and Spike really misses you and I was just thinking, you know, if you wanted to come back, you could, because that’s why I’ve got this rope, so we can find our way back.”
I was babbling. I have a tendency to do this even when I am not standing in purgatory. But I couldn’t help myself. Everything was just kind of spilling out. Well, not everything. I mean, I totally wasn’t going to tell him why I wanted him to come back. I wasn’t going to mention the L word or anything. And not even because of Father D.’s warning, either.
“That is,” I went on, “if you want to come back. I could see why you’d want to stay here. I mean, after a hundred and fifty years and all, it’s probably a relief. I imagine they’ll be moving you along soon, and you’ll be getting a new life, or going up to heaven, or whatever. But I was just thinking, you know, it wasn’t fair of Maria to do what she did to you—twice—and that if you want to come back and figure out what it was you were, you know, doing down there on earth for so long, well, I’d just give you a hand, if I could.”
I looked down at Father D.’s watch. It was easier than looking into Jesse’s face, and seeing that he still wore that inscrutable expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. And hearing.
“The only thing is,” I said, “I can be separated from my body for half an hour before I wind up permanently detached, and we only have fifteen minutes left. So you have to hurry up and decide. What’s it going to be?”
Was that, I wondered, unfeminine enough for Father Dom? I was so totally not working it. No one could accuse me even of smiling. I was the picture of a professional mediator.
Only I didn’t know how long I was going to be able to maintain my businesslike persona. Especially when Jesse reached out, like he did just then, and laid a hand on my arm.
“Susannah,” he said, and now his voice wasn’t filled with hurt at all, but something that, if I wasn’t mistaken, sounded a lot like anger. “Are you saying you died for me?”
“Um,” I said, wondering if it would count as using my feminine wiles if he was the one who touched me. “Well, not technically. Yet. But if we hang around here much longer—”
The hand on my arm tightened. “Let’s go,” he said.
I wasn’t sure he really understood the situation. “Jesse,” I said. “I can find my own way back, okay? I’m like this with the gatekeeper.” I held up crossed fingers. “If you want to come with me because you want to go back, that’s fine, but if you just want to walk me back to my hole, believe me, I can get there on my own.”
Jesse just said, “Susannah. Shut up.”
And then, still keeping one hand on my arm, he grabbed the rope and started following it, back in the direction from which I’d come.
Oh, I thought as he propelled me along. Okay. Great. Now he’s mad at me. Here I risk my life—because let’s face it, that’s what I was doing—and he’s mad at me because of it. I actually should have thought of this. I mean, risking your life for a guy is practically like using the L word. Worse, even. How was I going to get out of this one?
I said, “Jesse, don’t flatter yourself that I did this for you. I mean, it has been nothing but one giant pain in the neck, having you for a roommate. Do you think I like having to come home from school or from work or whatever and having to explain stuff like the Bay of Pigs to you? Believe me, life with you is no picnic.”
He didn’t say anything. He just kept pulling me along.
“Or what about Tad?” I said, bringing up what I knew was a sore subject. “I mean, you think I like having you tag along on my dates? Having you out of my life is going to make things a lot simpler, so don’t think, you know, I did this for you. I only did it because that stupid cat of yours has been crying its head off. And also because anything I can do to make your stupid girlfriend mad, I will.”
“Nombre de Dios, Susannah,” Jesse muttered. “Maria’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well, she certainly used to be,” I said. “And what about that, anyway? That girl is a full-on skank, Jesse. I can’t believe you ever agreed to marry her. I mean, what were you thinking, anyway? Couldn’t you see what she was like underneath all that lace?”
“Things,” Jesse said through gritted teeth, “were different back then, Susannah.”
“Oh, yeah? So different that you couldn’t tell the girl you were about to marry was a big old—”
“I hardly knew her,” Jesse said, hauling me to a stop and glaring down at me. “All right?”
“Nice try,” I said. “You two were cousins. Which is a whole other issue which, if you really want to know, completely grosses me—”
“Yes, we were cousins,” Jesse interrupted, giving my arm a shake. “But like I said before, things were different back then, Susannah. If we had more time, I’d tell you—”
“Oh, no, you don’t. We still have”—I looked down at Father D’s watch—“twelve minutes left. You tell me now.”
“Susannah—”
“Now, Jesse, or I swear, I’m not budging.”
He actually groaned in frustration, and said what I think must have been a very bad word, only I don’t know for sure, since it was in Spanish. They don’t teach us swears in Spanish at school.
“Fine,” he said, dropping my arm. “You want to know? You want to know how it was back then? It was different, all right? California was different. Completely different. There was none of this mingling of the sexes. Boys and girls did not play together, did not sit side by side in classrooms. The only time I was ever in the same room with Maria was at meals, or sometimes dances. And then we were surrounded by other people. I doubt I ever heard her speak more than a few words—”
“Well, they were evidently pretty impressive ones, since you agreed to marry her.”
Jesse ran a hand through his hair and made another other exclamation in Spanish. “Of course I agreed to marry her,” he said. “My father wanted it, her father wanted it. How could I say no? I didn’t want to say no. I didn’t know—not then—what she was. It was only later, when I got her letters, that I realized—”
“That she can’t spell?”
He ignored me. “—that the two of us had nothing in common, and never would. But even then, I would not have disgraced my family by breaking things off with her. Not for that.”
“But when you heard she wasn’t as pure as the driven snow?” I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him, sexist product of the nineteenth century that he was. “That’s when you decided she wasn’t good wife material?”
“When I heard rumors about Maria and Felix Diego,” he said impatiently, “I was unhappy. I knew Diego. He was not a good man. He was cruel and…Well, he was always looking for ways to make money. And Maria had a lot of money. He wanted to marry her—you can guess why—so when I found out, I decided it might be better to end it, yes—”
“But Diego got to know
you first,” I said, a throb in my voice.
“Susannah.” He stared down at me. “I’ve had a century and a half to get used to being dead. It no longer matters to me who killed me, or why. What’s important to me right now is seeing that you do not end up the same way. Now will you move, or do I have to carry you?”
“Okay,” I said, letting him pull me along again. “But I just want to get one thing straight. I did not do all this—you know, get myself exorcised and come up here and all—because I’m in love with you or anything like that.”
“I would not,” he said grimly, “as you say, flatter myself.”
“Damn straight,” I said. I wondered if I was still being unfeminine enough. Actually, I was beginning to think I was being a little too unfeminine. Hostile, actually, was what I was being. “Because I’m not. I came because of the cat. The cat really misses you.”
“You shouldn’t have come at all,” Jesse said under his breath. Still, I heard him, anyway. It wasn’t like there was a whole lot of other noise up there. We had left the corridor—it had disappeared, I saw, the minute we turned our backs to it—and were back in the fog again, following the rope that, thankfully, Jack had remembered. “I cannot believe that Father Dominic allowed it.”
“Hey,” I said. “Leave Father D. out of it. This is all your fault, you know. None of this would have happened if you had just been open and honest with me from the beginning about how you died. Then I could have at least told Andy to dig elsewhere. And I’d have been prepared to deal with Maria and her bohunk husband. I don’t know why they are so strung out about people finding out they’re a couple of murderers, but they are very intent on keeping what happened to you a big old myst—”
“That,” Jesse said, “is because to them, no time has passed since their deaths. They were at rest until it became evident that my body was about to be found, which would inevitably open up speculation as to the cause of my demise. They do not understand that more than a century has passed since then. They are trying to preserve their places in the community, as the leading citizens they once were.”
