I flattened a hand to my chest, as if doing so would cause my heart, which had practically jumped through my ribs at the sight of him, to beat normally again.
"Why do you have to do that?" I demanded testily. "You scared the pants off me."
"I wish." Paul's smile was decidedly irreligious, considering the fact that we were standing only a few hundred feet away from a church. "So. Where'd you disappear to?"
I could have lied, I suppose. But what would have been the point? He'd learn the truth as soon as he got home and his grandfather's attendant told him I'd stopped by.
So I stuck out my chin and, ignoring my stuttering pulse, plunged. "Your place," I said.
Paul's dark eyebrows came down in a rush as he frowned.
"My place? What'd you go to my place for?"
"To have a chat," I barreled on, "with your grandfather."
Paul's scowl grew even deeper. "My grandfather?" He shook his head. "What the hell would you want to go see him for? The guy's a complete gork."
"He's not well," I agreed. "But he's still capable of carrying on a conversation."
"Yeah," Paul said with a sneer. "About Richard Dawson, maybe."
"Well, that," I said, knowing what I was about to say next would enrage him, but also knowing that really, I didn't have any other choice, "and time travel."
Paul's eyes widened. As I'd expected, I'd shocked him.
"Time travel? You talked about time travel? With Grandpa Gork?"
"With Dr. Slaski," I corrected him. "And yes, I did."
The two words - doctor and Slaski - seemed to hit him like physical blows. He certainly looked as stunned as if I'd hit him.
"Are you . . ." He couldn't seem to find the right words to express himself. "Are you crazy?" is what he seemed to settle for.
"No," I said. "And neither is your grandfather. But I think you might be," I went on - recklessly, I knew, but no longer caring. Not now that I knew what he was after.
"I know your grandfather is Oliver Slaski," I stated. "He told me so himself."
He just stared at me. It was as if, right before his eyes, I was turning into a completely different person than the Suze he'd known. And maybe I was. I was certainly angrier at him than I'd ever been before - more than the first time, even, that he'd tried to get rid of Jesse. Because he hadn't known then what he surely knew by now. . . . That Paul and me?
Yeah, that was never going to happen.
"He didn't talk to you," Paul said linally, his blue eyes flat and cold as the Pacific in November. "He doesn't talk to anybody."
"Not to you, maybe," I said. "Why should he, when you treat him the way you do . . . like he's a big inconvenience, a - what do you call him? - Oh, yeah. A gork. I mean, your own father changed his name, he was so ashamed of him. But if you'd ever taken the time to find out, you'd know Dr. Slaski isn't as far gone as you think . . . and he has some pretty interesting things to say about you."
"I'm sure," Paul said with a smirk. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I can guess. I'm the spawn of Satan. I'm up to no good. And you should stay away from me. That about sum it up?"
"Pretty much," I said. "And considering that you plan on traveling back through time and keeping Jesse from dying? I'd say he's one hundred percent right."
At that, the flatness left his eyes - but not the coldness. He even smiled a little, though it was with just half his mouth. "So you finally figured it out, huh? Took you long enough - "
But I didn't let him finish. I took a step forward until my face was just inches below his, and said as fiercely as I could, "Well, I've figured it out now. And all I can say is that if you think making it so Jesse and I never met will change my feelings about you, you're dreaming."
Paul looked hurt. But I knew it was all just a put-on. Because Paul doesn't have feelings. Not if he really intends to do what I suspect.
But he was doing his best to prove me wrong.
"But, Suze," he said, his blue eyes wide and innocent. "I'm just doing what you want. After that whole thing with Mrs. Gutierrez, you got me thinking. . . . I'm really trying to tread the path of righteousness. And isn't saving Jesse's life the right thing to do? I mean, if you really love him, you must want what's best for him, don't you? And wouldn't his living a long and happy life be what's best for him?"
I blinked at him, completely thrown by the way he'd twisted everything around.
"That isn't - I - " I couldn't seem to get the words out. All I could do was stand there and stammer.
"That's okay, Suze," Paul said, reaching up and laying a hand on my arm - to comfort me, I suppose, in my hour of need. "You don't have to thank me. Now, don't you think we'd better get back? You don't want Sister Ernestine to find you skipping class again, now, do you?"
I stared at him, dumbfounded. I had never in my life met anyone as manipulative as he was . . . with the exception, maybe, of my stepbrother Brad. Only Brad didn't have Paul's smarts and was rarely able to pull off anything more twisted than a house party . . . and even that had gotten busted by the cops.
"You're - you're high," I finally managed to stammer, "if you think saving Jesse that night - the night he died - will guarantee him a long life. Who's to say Diego won't try again the next night? Or the next? What are you going to do, stay in 1850 and become Jesse's personal bodyguard?"
"If that's what it takes," Paul said in a sickeningly sweet voice. "You see, I'd do anything - anything it takes - to make sure Jesse dies peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age, so that he never, ever has need of a mediator."
The colors in the courtyard - the red roof tiles along the Mission, the pink hibiscus blossoms, the deep green of the palm fronds - spun dizzyingly around me as his words sunk in. I tasted something awful rising in my throat.
"Why are you doing this?" I stared up at him in horror. "You must know it will never work. Getting rid of Jesse won't make me care about you. I don't like you in that way."
"Don't you?" Paul asked with a smile that was as cold as his gaze. "Funny, I could have sworn, the last time we kissed, that you did. At least a little. Enough, anyway - "
His voice trailed off suggestively . . . but just what he was suggesting, I couldn't imagine.
"Enough for what?" I demanded.
"Enough," Paul said, "that you're thinking about transferring my soul out of my body and throwing Jesse's in here instead."
Chapter eight
"Don't bother denying it," Paul said as I stared up at him in utter shock. "I know that's what you've been planning ever since I first made the mistake of telling you about it." The heat from the hand he'd placed on my arm seemed to singe my skin. "My saving Jesse's life is more a preemptive strike than anything else. Because the truth is, I kind of like my body. I don't really want to give it up for him."
My mouth was moving - I know it was, because Paul seemed to be waiting for some kind of reply.
Only I couldn't make a sound. I was that stunned.
Because it finally made sense, now. That accusation Paul had hurled at me the other day in his kitchen. That his plans for Jesse were a lot more humane than what I'd had planned for Paul. Because he was planning on saving Jesse, whereas I, apparently, am planning on killing Paul.
Except, of course, that I'm not.
But that didn't seem to matter to him.
"It's okay," Paul assured me. "I mean, it's kind of flattering in a way, really. That you think I'm hot enough to put your boyfriend's soul into. It proves that, whatever you say, you do like me, a little. Or at least that you like making out with me."
"That is so - " I found my voice at last. Unfortunately, it came out shrill as a banshee's. I didn't care, though. All I cared about was proving to him how very, very wrong he was. " - so untrue! How could you even - what could have given you the idea that I - "