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, 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 in 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 in 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?"