THE FIFTH SENSE.

Disclaimer: Meg owns everything you recognize. I own everything you don't, and all the alterations.

- 8 -

'I swear, Father Dominic, you are a saint,' gushed my mother.

I trailed my fingers over and over again across my book. So sue me if I wasn't exactly listening? Sorry. But adults talking about enrolment?

I'll pass.

'It's quite all right,' Father Dominic, my new principal, responded kindly. Well, at least his tone sounded kind. If I could have pictured him, he would have been tall, and old, with a smile. A nice smile. One that you could trust.

'No, really,' my mum went on. 'Really. You have no idea what a beautiful thing you've done. I can't . . . honestly, I can't believe that you'd be so kind as to do this for Suze. For our family. I really insist that you take our donation – '

'Nonsense, Mrs Ackerman,' the priest dismissed. 'I cannot accept such a large sum. It is only humane to accept all pupils to attend this school. Regardless of their disabilities. I'm sure that Sister Madelyn and Susannah will get on famously, and I can only hope that it will be enough for Susannah to learn just like a normal student – '

Blah, blah, blah . . .

My finger ran endlessly over the dots. I had the low tingling in my stomach. I knew exactly what it meant. There was one here. So? They were everywhere. It wasn't anything special. They followed me all the time. Even, apparently, into the office of the principal of JSMA on my first day.

Hopefully it would better than NYSSB.

Don't you just loooooove mysterious acronyms?

I could hear every single thing in the room. Mum picking up her pen. The priest fiddling with his glasses. Papers rustling. Chairs moving. Swallowing. Breathing. Sighs. Coughs.

. . . You know. The type of things that normal people take for granted.

I could also hear the gentle footsteps that normal people didn't have the CHANCE to take for granted.

Because they couldn't hear them at all.

Because . . . those footsteps technically weren't there.

The conversation between my mum and my principal was boring. I mean, okay, yeah. Father Dominic was an okay guy. All right, more than okay. I mean, not many asshole principals would want someone like ME handicapping their schools. I can't say how many high schools have given me the "get lost."

All I'll say is, a hell of a lot.

I mean, seriously. I guess I can't blame them.

I'm a LOT of trouble.

Ha. In so many ways . . .

That was when a voice. One I'd been suspecting to pipe up after a while. I mean, didn't they always want to talk to me? They always had something to say.

"Please! Please, mediator! Tell him that it's under the bed!"

"Tell her that Rob did it."

"Tell him I love him and I miss him . . . so much . . ."

"Please, please! Help me, you're the only one that listens to me!"

They ALWAYS had something for me to do.

However, this voice had something to say that kind of surprised me.

'Padre . . . she knows I'm here.'

I went still, and my fingers stopped running across my book. I sat up in my chair, turning my head quickly, trying to find the direction of the voice. It had been a male. Youngish. I mean . . . you know, young adolescent. Nothing younger than eighteen or anything. Definitely not a student. And definitely lilted with a Spanish accent.

Father Dominic, who'd been explaining the brilliance of his big plan for me and my chaperone Sister Madelyn, stopped in mid sentence. And I felt his very intense stare. It crept across my skin like hot liquid. I opened my mouth to say something, but then closed it again.

'Suze?' Mum asked in a voice soaked with her concern, 'Suze, what's wrong?'

'Nothing,' I said.

A million things were going through my mind, at a hundred miles an hour.

My Spanish vocab may be limited to like, adios amigos but I DID know that Padre meant "Father."

And the only Father in here was the priest. This was, after all, a Roman Catholic school.

So that only meant one thing.

One thing that I could hardly dare to conceive.

I wasn't the only one who could hear that voice.

A loud silence accompanied my single word. I could feel mum and the priest still staring at me. I could sense their worry. And I could sense another stare, too.

'Si, Padre, she definitely knows my presence.'

'Well, Mrs Ackerman,' Father Dominic said loudly, ignoring the voice pointedly. 'I believe that we've discussed everything. I believe that I should introduce Susannah to Sister Madelyn now? So they can start getting to know each other.'

Movement of chairs indicated that it was time to go. I closed my book carefully, slipped it under my armpit, and then fumbled in front of me for the desk. Supporting myself on the sturdy furniture, I rose to my feet, as Mum handed me my stick.

My guide.

'Now then,' Father Dominic's smiling tones hastened, 'I will see you after school, Mrs Ackerman. We shall talk then, and I will tell you if this initiative is a success for Susannah. I have faith that it will be, and that Susannah will be very happy here at the Mission.'

They shook hands. I heard the gentle collision of skin. Then they began saying things under their breath.

'Are you going to talk to her, Padre?'

GOD. Refer to me in third person, why don't you!

'Hello? Standing right here?' I hissed, annoyed.

That was kinda stupid. I mean, Father Dominic and Mum totally stopped talking. Mum thought that I'd heard what they were whispering. The priest knew otherwise.

I heard the door creak. Footsteps outside the office. Laughing. Kids laughing . . .

I hardly ever laughed.

I mean . . . it's not as if I could see anything that amused me.

'Yes,' the priest answered cleverly, in response to whatever my mother had been saying to him, and to the voice. I knew what mum had been saying to him, anyway. She said the same thing to everyone.

Suze's quite an impatient girl. She's incredibly stubborn, and gets angry easily. Don't try to help her too much. She likes her independence. And she won't trust you for a while. You have to earn it, with Suze. And God help you if you act sympathetic. She'll hate you for it . . .

All of the above?

True.

And the third thing?

More than true.

Mum assumed that I was mad at her. I got mad at her a lot. Which is not to say I don't love her. I do. I love her more than anything in the world. I appreciate how much she loves me, too. For who I am.

She doesn't deserve someone like me.

I'm a total burden. On anybody.

'Okay, Susie,' she said softly to me. I heard the click of her tongue, and I felt her fingers in my hair. I could hear her breathing. And her heartbeat. Arms pulled me into a tight hug that only my mum can give. 'I'll see you after school.'

I'd love so much to say that I'd see her after school, as well.

But that would be lying.

And there was a priest, like, a couple of meters away.

Ugh.

Stupid holy person.

'Whatever,' I muttered, hugging her back.

'Be nice,' she warned, in my ear. You know, undertones. I could feel her voice on my hair, as it got lost in the many strands. Strands that I'd been told her dark brown. 'He's doing a very nice thing for you, okay? Not many people would do this for you. So, yes, be nice.'

Am I anything but?

I let go of her wordlessly, my fingers grazing over the delicate, soft feel of her cashmere sweater. It made my fingertips tingle in warmth. She pulled my book out from under my arm.

'Don't look at me like that,' she sighed.

'How can I be looking at you?' I asked flatly. 'I can't look at anything.'

Honestly. My mother for sixteen years made a slip-up like that.

She sighed in apology. 'No, I didn't – you're just – Suze . . . please smile?' she finished off, her voice now pleading. I could hear her hands writhing within each other. I could feel her apprehension.

I faked a smile. I didn't even know what a smile truly looked like.

An upward curve of the lips. That's what it felt like. I'd felt a smile.

I'd just never seen one.

Father Dominic and the unseen Spaniard were remaining completely silent.

'Okay, go,' I said to mum, dropping all falsities. 'I'll be fine. Unless I walk into a wall or something.'

Shut up. It's happened before.

And it's not cool.

. . . When I was five I ran into a wall.

COUGH.

After another minute of telling mum to get lost, she finally left. Not willingly, but she was officially out of the office. An office that wasn't very big, judging by how my voice bounced off the walls and back to me.

That was when I spun around.

'Okay,' I snapped at the priest, 'Who the hell is the Spanish guy?'

'Please sit, Susannah,' I was advised.

I felt around with my stick, trying to locate said seat –

That was when hands came around my waist.

So what?

I punched whoever dared to touch me, and I punched HARD.

'Jesu Cristo!' came a strangled yell, at the same time as, 'Susannah, no!'

WHAT? SOMEONE TRIED TO MANHANDLE ME. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE TRIED TO DO THAT.

I got my BUTT felt, and people would laugh because I couldn't see who the butt-feeler was.

It was cruel.

And so, I learnt the easiest way to protect myself from being touched by those I couldn't see.

Punching sure helped.

Oh, it helped a lot.

SO CAN YOU BLAME ME?

'What?' I retorted hotly. My skin still stung from where the hands come into contact with my hips. 'I'm sorry, but I don't like it when people touch me. Especially people like him,' I emphasized rudely.

I guess I wasn't being very nice.

But hey. People haven't been nice to me in my life.

I'm just returning the favour.

I heard another groan, and the tutting of the priest. 'Susannah, please sit down.'

'Senorita, I was just trying to help,' came a very hastened apology.

'I don't need your help,' I spat back. With my stick still in my hand, I guided it slowly across the floor, till it came in contact with a chair leg. Then, I ran the stick up the leg, and onto the cushioned seat, where I slowly approached, walked around, and sat in.

Susannah Simon is officially sitting.

Round of applause?

Thanks. It was nothing.

I heard the priest take a seat what I assumed was opposite me. The vibrations in the floor travelled up my feet when his chair scraped across the ground. 'So . . . you are a mediator,' he said softly.

I laughed, staring right ahead, at the blackness that I saw. Well, people told me that what I saw was black. I'd told them it was dark, and it scared me, and made me feel trapped.

So this colour I'd described was apparently black.

'State the obvious, why don't you?' I replied gruffly.

All the "be nice" warnings in the world couldn't keep my in line. My mum's words were wasted on me.

Father Dominic readjusted himself. I heard movement of fabric on skin. I didn't know what it was wearing, but it must have been uncomfortable. His body heat was obvious to me.

'So,' I continued. 'You didn't answer my question.'

'And what was that, Susannah?'

'Who the hell is he?' I repeated for his convenience. God. All these normal people don't hear properly.

I was forced to hear things properly.

Hearing is way underrated.

'This?' he must have motioned to the guy, but then realized that I couldn't exactly detect his direction of pointing. 'Oh . . .yes, this is Jesse, Susannah.'

'Why is he still here?' I asked. 'Is he like, one of those annoying ones that won't move on? Because I find that exorcisms make those ones get the hint.'

There was a very startled silence in response to that. I could even sense the sudden horror of the ghost. Of Jesse.

'You . . . you exorcise ghosts, Susannah?' the priest said stiffly.

I grinned. You know, when you expose your teeth, to portray your humour. 'Um, yeah.'

What a loser.

The Spanish g – um, Jesse, muttered something under his breath.

'Huh?' I asked sharply. If people around me didn't talk up, I got mad. I mean, I couldn't SEE what they were saying. You know, see their expressions, or their actions.

If I couldn't HEAR what they were saying, that made me REALLY pissed off.

'Susannah,' Father Dominic's tone sounded severe, 'You are not to, under any circumstances, exorcise Jesse. Or any ghosts. I cannot believe that someone like you would be so – '

'Someone like me?' I said suddenly. 'What's THAT supposed me mean.

My world turned from black to another colour.

When I described this one, I called it angry. And also scary. And loud. And hot.

People called this colour red.

So my world was now a black-red.

'I didn't mean – '

'Someone who's BLIND?' I stood up brusquely, my hand gripping my stick tightly. 'You think I'm some naïve, boring, nice and sweet little girl because I'm BLIND?'

That's it.

In fury, I spun around, and kicked the chair to the left. With my stick, I held it out wildly, guiding it across the floor till I reached a wall. My hand rapidly swiped around for a door handle. I didn't have to put up with that. People ASSUMING things about me just because THEY had this beautiful world around them that they could look at and appreciate and remember and dream about, and I MISSED OUT ON IT ALL BECAUSE I WAS BORN WITH ONLY FOUR SENSES.

Well . . . okay, five . . .

Jesse here was evidence of that one.

I couldn't find the STUPID doorknob.

'Susannah, please sit,' Father Dominic said perfectly calmly. I turned fiercely, and glared. I didn't know what he was. But I glared. I glared at someone I couldn't see. But I felt my eyebrows tense, and my world go redder.

'No,' I defied, 'I want to leave. Where's the door?'

'You will not leave – '

'You just teased me! Just because I can't see! You just – '

'I did no such thing,' he objected softly.

My breathing slowed down. My hand relaxed a little on my stick. And I just stood there.

I heard Jesse straighten up the chair that I'd knocked over. I knew it was him. I could hear the click of his shoes. Father Dom's shoes sounded more muffled.

I didn't like this Jesse guy.

In dislike, I looked out at nothing. Kids in New York teased me. They said that my eyes were funny. That was until mum got me "special things" to put in my eyes so they were normal looking.

She said I could look just like the other kids with them.

I just couldn't BE like them.

I was wearing my "special things" now. But still, the fact that my eyes focused on nothing was probably hideous enough.

'You are a mediator, Susannah,' Father Dom said AGAIN. Nuh, ya THINK? 'But you are not behaving like a very responsible one, as far as I'm concerned.'

'And why do you think that is?' I bit back, 'All these stupid ghosts, like him, coming up to me, giving me messages – what am I supposed to do? Look names up in the Yellow Pages, Braille Edition?' I laughed. 'Funny. I am a completely useless mediator. I can't get rid of these . . . these ghosts and they follow me and – ' I stopped, and turned away.

It was still such a huge thing to know that there was another one.

Mediator, I mean. Not ghost.

I got plenty of ghosts. And I hated every single one of them.

Because the rougher ones? Yeah, when I couldn't do what they asked, and help them move on?

Um. They got kinda physical, like.

It's just a good thing that I'm such a good fighter, and I can practically see attacks coming. Especially from the dead.

I just wanted to get out of this stupid office. This PRINCIPAL thought he knew better than me. He wanted to change my way of life. Condescend me just because he'd seen a rainbow.

God.

Some priest.

'This is a school,' I said instead of my rant. I found that it's best to keep my emotions bottled up inside. If the world insists to have secrets from me, then the least I can do is have secrets from the world. 'Then aren't I supposed to be learning? And who's this Sister chick I'm supposed to meet?'

I didn't care what my mum said. I had no reason to be nice to this Father Dominic.

Or the Jesse guy. He was just another one of them.

'Indeed,' Father Dominic said. And he proceeded to fiddle with something that sounded electronic. I heard whirring.

PA system.

He DID want me to meet someone.

. . . But it wasn't "Sister Madelyn."

'Good morning, students. Could Paul Slater please come to my office? Thank you.'

- 8 -

I dunno where I'm going with this story. It's very A/U. This would take place in Shadowland. But there is no Heather. What ghost there actually IS, I don't know yet.

And yeah, as you just discovered, Paul Slater is going to this school.

And this "initiative" thing that Father Dom's set up for Suze, is so that, even as a blind girl, she can still learn in a normal school. It was very hard for Andy to be giving up everything he had in Carmel, and Mrs Ackerman wanted to try and adjust to him, so they made arrangements with Father D. He wants to make it work, and he wants to help Suze.

And I know Suze is aggressive. But seriously. Under the circumstances . . . wouldn't you be?

Seriously. Poor Suze. Can't see the hotness of Jesse. Or Paul.

She's SERIOUSLY missing out.

Love Lolly.