James had been dead for ten years now. For all Jessie knew, his bones were still rotting under the pile of rocks that had ended him. Jessie probably would have made a yearly pilgrimage to the place where he'd given his own life for hers and Meowth's, except for one problem: she'd spent all but a few weeks of the ten years in prison, mostly in solitary confinement.

Well, not exactly solitary. There WAS that Weedle she'd found in her salad one morning midway through the second week of the first year, a Weedle that was, oddly enough, the same color green as a Caterpie (which had led to Jessie almost only finding half a Weedle in her salad that morning, which wouldn't have ended well for either of them). Jessie wasn't sure if it was a boy or a girl, but she'd named it James after her late partner anyway. Besides, if it turned out to be female, she could always rename it Jamie. James, not having any battle partners in solitary confinement, had never evolved, but it was as good a companion as any, even if it couldn't actually talk back to her. Jessie had told it everything about its namesake (while the guards weren't watching; she couldn't let them know she had a Pokemon in her cell, even a weak one, because they'd no doubt take it away from her), and it seemed to sympathize. "Weedlepie," it would chirp sadly, rubbing the non-spiky part of its forehead tenderly against Jessie's fingers. (Apparently being hatched lime green had given it a bit of an identity complex. Either that, or it was a hybrid, something Jessie had never seen before. Or maybe her former employers had genetically engineered it, then slipped it into her food to poison her before she could give away any Team Rocket secrets. If so, she thought, she really ought to thank them when she got out of this dump. Thank them... with a chainsaw.)

It was Christmas Eve, which ironically was the day before she finally got let out of prison, and the ironic part was, as miserable as she was in there, Jessie was terrified to leave. She had nowhere to go, no family whatsoever – even Meowth, her only friend left in the world, had ditched her to rejoin the Twerps when he'd found out she was turning herself in to the Jennys because she couldn't bear to go on thieving without James by her side. Some loyalty! At least he'd agreed to take care of her Pokemon for her while she was doing time – which, ironically, meant that the Twerps now had HER Pokemon. It was almost as sickening as prison food, which incidentally was a total oxymoron.

I am NOT going to go to the Twerps, Jessie swore to herself as she climbed into her prison cot, prepared for another night of crying herself to sleep. I may have nothing else in the world, but I still have my dignity. Not that she had very much dignity left, considering her track record. But she intended to keep whatever shreds that remained. Suicide wasn't an option either, not with James the Weedlepie depending on her – and anyway, it would be stepping on the human James' grave after what he'd done to save her.

She'd do anything just to see his clueless face again, absolutely anything.

And then, suddenly, she did.

"GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

James the ten-years-deceased human being was standing right there in her cell, covered with what appeared to be a mass of bloody chains with a rusty pair of scissors and a... Santa hat?

"It's not what it looks like!" yelled the ghost that really shouldn't have even been there.

Jessie buried herself under the covers anyway. James was back from the grave, and he was after her! WHY? Hadn't he WANTED her alive and well? Was he vengeful over something, like how she'd broken away from Meowth and surrendered to the police? Or (and this seemed the most likely of all the options) had he simply decided he'd missed her so much that dang it, he was dragging her down to Hell with him whether she liked it or not?

"Jessie! I just want to talk to you!"

Jessie heard paper rustling, and taking a swift peek between the covers, realized that the chains weren't bloody after all. They weren't even heavy. They were red paper tape, and somehow James had managed to completely engulf himself in them to the point of looking like a bright crimson Tangela, which explained the sheepish expression on the poor man's face.

"I just thought your cell could use a little holiday cheer, and I had all this..." He gave her a stern look. "Don't ask. PLEASE. Let's just say that 'bureaucratic hell' turned out to be a bit more literal than I expected."

No one can give a stern look like a human ghost, but Jessie had to ask anyway. "Bureaucratic hell?"

"I mean, I would have come sooner and all, but do you have any idea how poorly the Underworld is organized? You wouldn't believe how many Dusknoir I've had to bribe to get myself here. And when they find out I've got nothing to pay them with, well, I guess I could say that they can only kill me once, except I'm already dead. Do you realize what I've been through to come here?"

Jessie was thoroughly terrified. "You're not real, James. Please tell me you're not real!"

"What good would that do? You already know I'm a liar."

"No, you're not." Jessie glared at the tangle of red tape and ectoplasm. "You're a hallucination caused by my unbearable loneliness locked away in this hideous dungeon of -"

"You think this is bad?" James looked thoroughly disgusted. "You should see MY apartment. Fire, brimstone, not even any running water! And don't get me started on the sanitation!"

"So? You'll complain about anything."

James groaned. It had barely been three minutes, and already he and Jessie were fighting. Some things never changed, even in death. "Look, the only reason I was able to come back in the first place was because all I wanted was for YOU to be happy."

"Then don't scare me like that, you nimrod!"

"I'm a freaking GHOST! How was I supposed to NOT scare you? This is a maximum security cell; did you think I could just knock first and open the door?" Reaching through his overwhelming tangle of Christmas decorations, James put one hand on his Santa hat. "Look, the Dusknoir even gave me this stupid hat so I wouldn't have to show you that hideous head wound that I'm sure you remember – and maybe you'll be glad to know I actually DON'T remember getting it, being hit on the head and all. But that's not the point. Maybe you've given up on yourself, Jessie, but I haven't. I don't want you to wind up the way I did!"

"Just go to Hell, James!"

"I already did!"

"You know what I mean! SHUT UP!" Jessie stuck her head back under the covers and howled in misery. She'd finally cracked, she was certain of that much. James-the-ghost was an illusion, nothing more. "Just go away. You don't even exist. You're a hallucination caused by stress, guilt issues and solitary confinement." Now she definitely wanted to die. "You can't possibly be real."

Pause. Jessie closed her eyes and willed this nightmare to end.

It didn't. "Okay, so if I'm just a figment of your imagination, then where's Meowth?"

Jessie's eyes snapped wide open again. Dang it, James was right! If this whole thing was really just her own guilt berating her, she'd have imagined Meowth right with them. Blasted supernatural phenomena! "Okay, okay already!" she snapped. "MAYBE you're real. But what does that have to do with me?"

James relaxed slightly. "I've come to show you that there's something better out there for you..."

And suddenly, neither of them were in the cell anymore.

Next Chapter: Christmas Past