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Russel sighed as he looked out at the city of Valparaiso from his hotel suite. Everywhere he looked, beautiful and charming white buildings sprawled up the surrounding hillsides or clustered down around the seashore. Trolley busses darted this way and that on the streets below and strange, tilted cable cars trundled busily up and down the hills. The warm, gentle breeze brought the scent f the seashore, a real seashore, not the filthy mockery that was Plastic Beach, to his nose, and somewhere he could hear Latin music playing. Normally, such a place would be ideal for a relaxing vacation, especially after the long, tiring and miserable swim he had endured on his way to Plastic Beach. But right now, Russel looked down at the lovely, Chilean city without seeing a single square foot of it. Because all he could think about was Noodle, Murdoc, and 2D. They had disappeared without a trace, and Russel had no idea how to go about finding them. And now he was cooling his heels in some hotel room with absolutely no idea what to do next.

He had apparently passed out when the Evangelist shot him with that white light, because he remembered nothing after being hit by it except falling in the water. When he had finally woken up, he had been aboard one of Murdoc's submarines and had been both surprised and delighted to find that he had been returned to his normal size. But his happiness was short lived, once he had talked to the crew members of the sub. They told him that Plastic Beach had been destroyed and Murdoc and 2D's sub had disappeared without a trace. None of the subs had been in contact with Murdoc's when it disappeared, so they had no idea what had happened. Worst of all, none of them had rescued Noodle from the water, and they hadn't gotten confirmation from Murdoc that he had done so either. None of them knew for sure if Noodle had been rescued at all, or if she had been left behind to drown.

Upon hearing this grim news, Russel had been frantic, terrified that Noodle had been abandoned to die yet again, and he practically pleaded with the others to return to Plastic Beach to search for her. But apparently, they had gone too far from point Nemo to be able to return there without running out of fuel, and so there was absolutely nothing Russel could do but sit there and go along for the remainder of the ride to South America.

Once there, everyone had been too busy accessing bank accounts, setting up accommodations, and finding transportation back to their homes to listen to his pleas that they return and find his friends. After all, most of them had little appreciation for Murdoc after he had gotten them involved in a dangerous pirate battle and then abandoned them in the middle of the ocean with no warning. And those who he could get to listen to him doubted that Noodle or 2D were in any danger, assuming them to simply be with Murdoc wherever he had gone. In fact, the most Russel had gotten from any of them had been sympathy that Murdoc hadn't brought HIM along to wherever he had disappeared off to as well.

The crew of musicians and Plastic Beach staff had dispersed at last, heading home or off on spontaneous Latin American vacations, and Russel was left alone in his hotel room to try and decide what to do next.

He tore his gaze from the beautiful landscape outside and resumed his pacing of the spacious suite. Several options had presented themselves to him, but without knowing what exactly had happened, there was no way for him to know if any one of them would lead him to his friends. He still had the subs, and he knew he could get one of them refueled and head back to Point Nemo, if that was what he decided to do. But he had no idea if going there would lead him to Noodle and the others or if it would simply be a wild goose chase, since he didn't know if Murdoc had managed to rescue Noodle from the sinking pirate ship and the insane cyborg. And if he had, then Noodle was probably safe, but Russel had no idea where to look for her. And if Murdoc hadn't, then she was probably dead. Drowned, or killed by the cyborg or the pirates. And if she had managed to survive, there was no guarantee that she would still be at Plastic beach (or whatever was left of it). Maybe she was adrift on the open ocean, or she had stowed away aboard a ship or any number of things. There was no way for him to know what had happened, and without knowing that, he could do nothing but chase after shadows.

Russel sat down on the edge of the bed and placed his head in his hands. If only the Evangelist hadn't attacked him. While he appreciated being returned to his normal size, it had prevented him from helping Noodle and the resulting unconsciousness had kept him in the dark about what had happened. Leave it to Murdoc to hire a "holy man" who turned out to be just as two-faced as he was. ******** Murdoc. This whole mess was his fault, just like every other mess the four of them had ever gotten into. And always, ALWAYS, it was Murdoc's bandmates, rather than Murdoc himself, who ended up paying for his mistakes and his carelessness.

"I'll find you, Baby Girl," Russel said, choking back a sudden attack of grief. Noodle had been like a little sister to him. To all of them, of course, but Russel had always been especially close to her. Murdoc was too much of an a*****e and 2D was too much of a space cadet for either of them to form a proper big brother bond. But Russel had always prided him on being the responsible one, and it had been he who had made sure Noodle was safe, that Noodle was properly fed and clothed, that Noodle was protected from their debauchery, that Noodle was happy, all the time she was growing up. And then he had been unable to protect her when those helicopters had turned on her and shot her out of the sky. For years he had beaten himself up, hating himself for not being there for her, for letting her down when she had really needed him. And then she had reappeared a few days ago, and he thought he'd been given a second chance, a chance to make it up to her, a chance to show that he would never let her down again. And then he had been knocked unconscious by some crazy freak with a fishbowl on his head and slept through Noodle being killed. Or kidnapped. Or left behind to drown. He'd been twenty times the size of every single antagonist they'd faced on that beach, and he STILL hadn't been able to save her. He was a ******** useless piece of s**t and a pathetic excuse for a "big brother." What good was responsibility when you were horribly inept?

But…he also knew that, inept or not, he was the only chance Noodle had. If she was still alive, anyway. He HAD to try and save her. Even if he couldn't, even if he would fail, he knew he still had to at least try. Because she was his little sister, his "Baby Girl." And that was all that mattered. For her, a man had to give his best. Even if his best turned out not to be good enough, he still had to give it to her. She was worth it.

He almost got up and headed for the subs right then and there, determined to find his way back to Point Nemo if it was the last thing he ever did, but he had to remind himself not to be rash. He had to make sure he had a plan. If he went sailing off blindly toward the middle of the Pacific Ocean, he would probably get lost, run out of fuel and die. True, he had done it once before and made it there all right, but that had been due to the most blind of luck. If he hadn't run into that patch of floating, radioactive waste, he wouldn't have grown large enough to make the swim without becoming exhausted and drowning. And if he hadn't come across the cruise ship that Noodle had been on and followed its wake, he probably would have missed Plastic Beach entirely and ended up in Antarctica or something. There was no way he would get that lucky twice. Since he didn't have demons whispering in his ear this time, he had the luxury of thinking clearly, and he knew he should not waste it.

The thought of the ever-present demonic voices made him get up and start pacing restlessly again. They were silent now, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they started up again. They were a constant thorn in his side. Russel had never quite understood why he had been susceptible to the supernatural, but he seen and heard strange things ever since he was young. Whispers in his closet when he was five, calling him bad names. Grasping hands in the doorway in the middle of the night. A pair of red eyes, one hundred yards distant, seen out his bedroom window, watching him. A twisted figure in an alleyway, calling his name, encountered when he was a young teen goofing around with his friends after dark one evening. The supernatural had been a part of his life for a long time. He supposed he had just been born "gifted," although he considered such a thing to be no gift at all. But after Del and his other friends had been exorcised from him, the experiences had increased in frequency and intensity. Perhaps a "gateway" had been opened when they had left, and now demons were free to come through it and make his life miserable. And make him miserable they had. His nervous breakdown several years before had only been partly caused by the loss of his friends' spirits. A good chunk of it was also caused by the incessant whispering, the screams which woke him up in the middle of the night, and the dreams of blood and flesh and twisted perversions. They had ruined his first solo album, hounding him while he was recording it and making their presence known in the backgrounds of all the songs. He had only learned to suppress them enough to lead a relatively normal life in the last year or so, but they still acted up often, especially when he got upset.

And that, he reminded himself, was the last thing he needed. He had to remain calm and keep his head clear. And he had to admit that he found it ironic that clearing all his old friends out of his head had actually left him MORE muddled in the brain than before.

He paused in his pacing as the first disjointed pieces of an idea came to him. He had to wonder…even though all his old friends were gone from his mind, he was clearly still susceptible to the supernatural. Would it be possible to…to contact…someone…from the other side? If he really tried? Not the demons…they certainly wouldn't help him, and he wouldn't trust their help even if they did, but maybe…someone who had passed away? In stories and such, the dead were always good at giving cryptic advice passing important messages on. They always knew things that the living did not. And while he knew that stories were certainly not paragons of truth when it came to anything, let alone the supernatural, he couldn't help wondering if maybe…maybe it was worth a try. If he could contact someone, perhaps they would be able to tell him where Noodle was.

Immediately, his stomach clenched up and he heard the hissing whispers start up again, gradually increasing in volume as though someone was pressing the button on a TV remote. He shook his head to try and clear it, but it did no good. Go away…go away… he begged them. I don't need this right now…please… But of course, nicely asking a demon to do something was an exercise in futility akin to trying to drain the ocean with a sieve. He took deep breaths to calm himself, trying to stave off the panic attack he could feel coming. If I do this…if I try it…there's no telling WHAT could happen. I've never actually TRIED to reach out to the other side before. If this much ******** up s**t happens when I'm not even trying, who knows what could happen if I purposely reach out. There's no telling what could come through…and what it could do to me.

The demonic whispers reached a hissing crescendo and Russel swore he could hear laughter in their harsh gibberish. His stomach lurched again, and then he was running toward the bathroom. He just barely managed to get the toilet lid up before he emptied his stomach. He clutched the porcelain bowl in each hand, fighting off subsequent attacks of the dry heaves, trying to keep control, to clear his mind, to push the voices away.

"This is a bad ******** idea…" he groaned to himself.

Immediately, the voices rose up again, whispered louder, and suddenly, for the first time, Russel could make them out clearly.

Oh no, Russel, it's a lovely idea. A perfectly lovely idea…you do want to save her don't you? Let us out, let us out, let us into you and we'll have such lovely times. We'll find her together and then we'll enjoy her together…we'll do things to her you never dreamed of…and oh, how you'll enjoy it. She'll be so lovely when we take her, she'll scream when we open her up, she'll scream and scream and scream and…

"SHUT UP!" he screamed. "SHUT THE ******** UP YOU ******** SONS OF BITCHES, YOU c**k-SUCKING p***y-LICKING PIECES OF ******** s**t! YOU TRY AND HARM ONE HAIR ON HER HEAD, AND I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL END EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU. I'LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND FIND YOU AND END YOUR s**t! JUST TRY ME! TRY ME YOU ********! I CAN'T ******** WAIT!"

The voices stopped. It was as though someone had pushed a button and turned them off. One moment, there was a cacophony of hissing whispers in his ear, the next, almost complete silence, broken only by the person in the room above him pounding on the floor in an attempt to get him to stop yelling.

They're…gone? Just like that? All I had to do was yell at them and they went away? It seemed too easy. But, he realized, it was also something he had never tried before. He had always run, fled, withdrawn into himself, or cowered and begged them to leave him alone. He had never stood up to any of the supernatural things that had haunted him. He had regarded them as too dangerous, had let them into a position of power over him, and they had taken advantage of it. But perhaps…perhaps it didn't need to be that way.

Maybe I'm more powerful than I think…I've never tried controlling it, tried using it, tried facing it and harnessing it. But maybe I can. And if I can do that, I can use it to find Noodle. I don't know if it will work…I don't have anyone to teach me or any time to learn. I'm going to have to figure this out on my own, and I'm going to have to do it tonight. Somehow. But I've got to try. I promised her I would do my best, even if it isn't good enough. And that's what I've got to do.

Taking a deep breath and doing his best to banish the doubts from his mind, Russel headed out the door.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

A few hours later, Russel sat in a secluded spot along the beach, near where the subs had been "parked." The sun was down, and he sat looking out at the inky sea with a Ouija board in his lap, feeling equal parts nervous and ridiculous. The board had been his best idea for trying to contact the spirit world, but now that he was going to try it…well, he felt like an idiot. It was something for giggling preteens or shady fortune tellers, not a grown man with a serious mission. Still, it had been a pain in the a** to acquire, so he supposed he might as well put it to good use. Valparaiso wasn't like the States, after all, with a Wal-Mart on every corner. He'd had no idea how to find a Ouija board in the unfamiliar city. He had had to do a lot of wheedling and throw a lot of money around at the concierge service at his hotel, but he had finally gotten someone to track one down for him. Now he just had to figure out how to use it.

Sighing, he picked up the planchette and placed it on the center of the board, still feeling like a teenage girl at a slumber party. He placed his hands lightly over it, feeling even more ridiculous when he realized that they were far too large for the planchette and covered it entirely. He readjusted his grip, so that just his finger tips were touching it. Better. He paused for a moment more, glancing at the handgun that was at his side. He had taken it from one of the subs (all of them were well-stocked with supplies, including weapons), and was planning to use it as a last resort if things got…out of hand. If he failed, if a demon tried to possess him, he would take the gun and end it as quickly as he could. He didn't want to hurt anyone else they way he had hurt his classmates at the time of his first possession, when he was just a kid. He would make sure that he never harmed anyone like that again.

He shook his head slightly and tried to put the possibility out of his mind again. He couldn't let it come to that. Not only for his own sake, but for Noodle's as well. If he blew his brains out, there would be no one left to rescue Noodle. If she needed rescuing. He had to make sure he didn't fail.

Closing his eyes, he steadied his hands on the planchette and wondered how exactly he should begin. He had absolutely no idea how to "start" a session, and the board hadn't come with any instructions. He supposed he would just have to make something up. Trying to clear his mind, to open himself to the spirits, or whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing, Russel reached out tentatively with his thoughts.

Hello? Is there anyone out there? This is Russel Hobbs…I'm trying to contact the spirits. I need to ask a question. Is there anyone out there who can hear me?

He was greeted with a huge silence. No voices from beyond, no shining revelations. The planchette didn't budge an inch.

Maybe I was too clinical. I suppose I need to speak the right language, as they say. The language of the spirit world. He tried again.

Oh spirits of the great beyond, I send my aura out to you. Please grant me your moonbeam blessings and present me with a holistic solution to this evil karma that I have found myself afflicted with!

Nothing. In fact, if any spirits had been listening, Russel was almost sure they would have been offended.

Desperation was beginning to set in. He gripped the planchette harder, not caring anymore if his hands were too big for it. C'mon guys! I need some help here! My friend is in trouble. Isn't there anyone out there who will help me? Anyone at all? Please, I need your help!

The spirits were silent as the grave.

"Oh man, ******** this s**t!" He almost threw the board into the sea in frustration. "It ******** figures! Spirits and demons and every other ghoul under the sun bother me without permission my whole life, but the one time I WANT to get in contact with them, they all run the other way like I'm ******** Typhoid Mary! The spirit world must be full of assholes!" He realized he almost would have welcomed the whispering demon voices back if it meant he was making some progress. "Maybe I'd have better luck if I giggled a lot and asked it who was going to take me to the prom!"

He let go of the planchette and lowered his face into his hands in defeat. He hadn't been able to find out a damn thing. He had tried his best for Noodle and failed miserably. There was no one in the entire afterlife who wanted to talk to him.

He was just about to get up and head back to the hotel to try and formulate a new plan when he realized he could hear a soft scraping noise coming from the board in his lap. Hardly daring to hope, he lifted his face from his hands and stared down at the board.

The planchette was moving.

RUSSEL, it spelled out, zipping from one letter to another at high speed. IS THAT YOU.

Trying to steady his nerves, he put his shaking hands back on the planchette. "Yeah, it's me," he told whoever it was. "Who am I talking to?

The planchette started moving again. I AM, it spelled out, then paused. A moment later it resumed its zipping around the board. THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST. It paused again for a moment, then resumed "writing." YOU HAVE BEEN A NAUGHTY BOY THIS YEAR RUSSEL. NO BLING FOR YOU IN YOUR STOCKING.

"What the hell?" Russel stared at the board in utter disbelief. "What the hell is this s**t?"

BAD LANGUAGE MEANS COAL RUSSEL, the board spelled out.

"Stop it!" he snapped at whoever was "talking" to him. "Be serious!"

WHY, the board spelled out.

"Because I'm not goofing around!" he told the spirit. "I'm contacting you because I need help!"

The planchette paused again. Then it wrote: NO I WILL NOT DRIVE YOU TO THE AIRPORT RUSSEL. CALL A CAB. OR A U HAUL.

"I said knock it off!" he snarled. "I'm not here to joke around." Of all the ghosts in the afterlife, he contacted a smartass. What luck. "I'm trying to find my friend Noodle. She's missing and I think she needs my help. Please, can you tell me where she is?"

The planchette was still for a long time, and Russel began to wonder if the spirit had gone. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, it began to move again. OUR NOODLE, it spelled out.

Our?

"Who am I talking to?" he asked again, beginning to think he knew the answer to that question.

Suddenly the air around him seemed to buzz with energy, energy which was focused on the middle of the board. As the energy intensified, the barrier between the physical and spiritual words seemed to…thin. Russel became aware that there were things around him, things that until now had been invisible. Shapes, black and insubstantial, moved about at the corners of his vision. A figure, tall and wiry, stood among the scrubby trees off to his right, staring at him. There was something dark under the water, about twenty feet out, waiting for him. Something sighed in the woods behind him, long and regretful, and he heard something else laugh, a small voice, angry and sharp. Worst of all, the whispering demon voices were back, off in the distance now, but seeming to increase in strength and proximity by the second.

Demons…there are demons all around me…and I got their attention…oh ******** this was a horrible idea… His hand began to inch toward the gun at his side. He wouldn't let them take him. Not again.

The energy increased around the board and he felt something reach out to him. Unlike the forces around him, there was no malice in this presence. It seemed to want him to reach back, to make contact.

Russel hesitated, his hands shaking so badly that that he could barely keep his grip on the planchette. Should he? If he made contact, there might be no going back. He could be possessed again, or brought into the spirit world and trapped, or his mind could be broken completely. There was no telling what could happen if he reached out to that spirit

But…if it was who he thought it was, then perhaps it would be all right. He would just have to take the chance. This was the only way to find out the information he needed.

"For you, Noodle," he said, and reached out to the spirit with his mind.

The barrier between the two worlds thinned even more and the demonic whispers became louder. The shapes around him stared at him with interest. Russel felt like he was at the center of every supernatural being in the world's attention…alone and vulnerable.

Remembering his confrontation with them in the hotel room, Russel did his best to ignore them all. They are gnats…that's all they are. They get in your face, they buzz in your ears, but they can't hurt you and they know it. ******** 'em. I'm in charge here.

It seemed to work. The demons didn't shut up completely, but they did fade into the background again. As they did so, the energy from the spirit in the board increased, blocking everything else out in a milky white light. Russel felt the light envelope him, pull him in, and then he was falling…through light…through time…through memories…baseball in the overgrown city park…killing time downtown on a lazy summer afternoon….smoking cigarettes behind the school…arguing the finer points of the music they both loved…sharing their first pathetic attempts at compositions with one another, correcting, helping, teasing, laughing…dreaming of success and what they would do with it…..a drizzly day, late afternoon…gunshots….blood on the sidewalk…on the wall…on everything…the future gone, the music gone, his best friend…..gone…

The images faded back into the milky whiteness and slowly a familiar figure began to appear. Blue skin, large white eyes, dreadlocks, and a huge, welcoming, gap-toothed grin.

Russel's fear was gone. There were tears on his cheeks. He could hardly believe his eyes.

"Del…"