A/N: I finished this a long time ago and just never posted it. Don't know why. But people have been getting rabid and whatnot and I don't know...I figured it would be a waste if I never put it up. Don't get too excited, it doesn't mean I'll be posting like mad again, my life's too much of a mess for that right now.

Anyways. It's not that great a chapter but it progresses the story a bit and Twister learns a bit more about the "dead".

ENJOY.


Chapter 5: Nombre de un Fantasma (Name of a Ghost)

Twister let the water rock him loftily, splashing up onto his board and caressing his legs. He watched the even break, staring off into the horizon in an almost zombie-like state. As much as he tried, he couldn't shake the image of an underwater garden of bodies, and each time the water lapped up against his legs, he flinched, thinking of their rubbery flesh against his skin. Too caught up in his musings, he didn't realize when Otto sailed in next to him, plopping down on his own board and looking expectantly to the zoned-out redhead.

"Yo, Twist," Otto called suddenly, waving his hand in his friend's face. Twister startled backwards, swaying back and forth on his board, before regaining balance and slumping forward to scowl at Otto.

"What's your problem, man?" Twister demanded, "I almost fell in."

"Oh no, what a tragedy that would have been. Getting wet at the beach," Otto jeered, rolling his eyes, "Dude, why aren't you surfing? The waves have been supreme all day and you've been off in…"

"La La land?" Sam offered, as he paddled over on his long board.

"I'm just thinking, alright," Twister snapped. Otto and Sam exchanged looks before breaking into laughter.

"That's a good one, Twist," Otto chuckled, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, "But honestly, what's wrong with you, man?"

Twister slammed the water with his hand, sending an angry spray up at his friends, and turned, laying flat on his board and paddling into shore. Reggie sailed up to Otto and Sam from her run in the pipe and stared quizzically at Twister's retreating form.

"What's with him?" she asked, turning her attention to the other two boys. Otto shrugged and Sam twirled his fingers guiltily in the water.

"We may have been a little harsh on him," Sam said sheepishly, then looking conspiratorially between the Rocket siblings, "But haven't you noticed…Twister's been acting really weird since the camping trip."

"Maybe he caught a cold," Otto shrugged, "It's my run," he paddled into the break and Reggie and Sam shook their heads at him.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy," Reggie said, reaching forward to ruffle the younger boy's hair, "Twist is getting older…and he is at that age…maybe he's just got girls on the brain." She grinned, turning to watch her brother and cheer him on. Sam found Twister in the distance on the shore. He'd dropped his board unceremoniously on the sand and was slumped, sitting beside a half-ruined sand castle and staring at something on the shore line in a seeming daze. He looked sick, if anything. Sam shook his head, forcing himself to chuckle.

"Love sick," he muttered, turning around to watch the infamous Rocket boy as well. But he couldn't shake his intuitive feeling, that Sherlock Holmes need inside him to solve any mystery that presented itself, that something was seriously wrong with Twister.

Twister had, however, practically collapsed when he'd reached the dry sand of the beach. Everything had weakened inside of him. He wanted to attribute the feeling to the hot sun, soaking in the salt water, and the fact he'd only had half a dry piece of toast that morning, and it was already evening. He hadn't touched his Shore Shack burger. He'd lost his appetite completely when he'd left his house, and it didn't look like it was coming back any time soon.

That body of the broken woman still lay there. But now it was so close, he could practically reach out and touch it. He tried to avoid looking at it, but it was so grotesquely beautiful, he couldn't peel his eyes away, even as young shoobies ran past him giggling and screaming, kicking sand up on his lap and hands. Even as it began to grow dark and his friends sailed up to the beach, walking up to join him, still talking about the killer moves Reggie and Otto had each pulled off, and trying to decide who had given the most awesome run. Sam was trying to remain neutral, but it was obvious he thought Otto's run had been better and he just didn't want to say so, as Reggie was his best friend, and he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"What about you, Twist?" Otto demanded, and Twister flickered a glance up to his best bro.

"Huh?"

Reggie fell to her knees in front of him, saying, "Who was way gnarlier out there? Me," she smiled prettily and Twister faintly smiled back, "Or my lame-o brother." Twister looked between the two of them, who stared expectantly down at him. Finally, he blinked several times, as though breaking from a trance.

"Are you guys done surfing?" he asked blankly, and Otto groaned loudly.

"You weren't watching? Bro, I landed a perfect McTwist, which is more than I can say for my sister's pathetic…"

"Inverted aerial with major backside air and my own little style added in, bro, even you have to admit it was sick," Reggie interjected.

Twister pulled himself to his feet, trying to dust the sand off himself to no avail. It stuck to his still damp body stubbornly. He grabbed his board up, also covered in sand, and followed his friends up towards the Pier and the Shore Shack, Otto and Reggie still arguing while Sam attempted unsuccessfully to play mediator. Twister gave in to the urge to glance back at that broken body, and he found himself staring once more. A hand brushed his arm and he looked startled. Sam and Otto were almost up to the Shore Shack, still talking, but Reggie had stopped and was looking at him with concern.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Why's everybody asking me that, again?" Twister snapped, and she pulled back as though burned.

"Sorry," she muttered. He winced.

"I'm fine, okay, Reg," he sighed. She smiled encouragingly.

"Look, don't let Sam and Otto bum you out. You know how Otto can be, and he doesn't mean to come off as harsh…he really doesn't…"

"I know, Reg," Twister grinned, and they stood silently looking at their sand covered toes, each a little pink in the face. Suddenly, to break the reverie and not knowing what else to do, Reggie lightly punched his shoulder and smirked at him.

"I'm so craving fish tacos," she told him earnestly.

"Yeah…uh…me, too," Twister lied. For the first time in his life, he wasn't even sure he could eat a fish taco. He followed her begrudgingly up towards the bay side restaurant, struggling to keep his eyes forward. They set their boards against a pillar with Otto's and Sam's, and joined the two boys at a table. Both already had food in front of them and were quickly gorging themselves. Tito was quick to swoop on the table and lay more plates in front of the just arrived teens. He grinned at them.

"How's it going, little cuzzes?" the large Hawaiian man asked, and Reggie was first to pipe a "great", Twister muttered a half-hearted "fine" and seeming satisfied with their answers, Tito moved back to the grill behind the counter, glancing every now and then over his shoulder at the television, perched high up on one of the pillars, that was tuned in on the local news. Raymundo was behind the counter running a rag over it's top. The Shore Shack was pretty empty that evening, which wasn't too unusual. It was the slow season. Beginning of the school year, very few shoobies in town.

"Sam, your mother called," Raymundo told the stout blonde boy, who nodded between mouthfuls, "I told her you'd be eating dinner here. She said it was fine."

"Okay," Sam swallowed hard, nodding and taking a gulp of his soda. The other kids were eating their dinners quite heartily, but Twister simply picked at his. His three friends began chatting about different things, skateboarding at Madtown tomorrow, the upcoming X-Games, the next snowboarding trip up to Mt. Baldy. Twister tried to pay attention, but his thoughts were flooded with voices that he was becoming a bit more successful at pushing to the back of his mind, and thoughts of that ghost boy and his dream, most of which he couldn't remember, and so many other things clouding his head.

"…Little Thomas Mackeroy…" Twister's eyes shot up the moment he heard it and he quickly scanned the dining area of the Shore Shack, looking for the person who had said the name. His heart was pounding, and he was desperately searching, straining his ears. And then, his eyes trailed up to the television. A pretty anchor woman standing in front of a fancy collage filled with missing children's posters was on screen. She wore a somber expression, talking in a strong, grave voice.

"Thomas was eight when he disappeared five years ago on a school field trip…" the woman was saying and Twister straightened.

In the few days that had passed since the camping trip he'd looked everywhere for a sign, for some kind of proof, that the things he was hearing, and the things he was seeing, were real. But he was beginning to doubt, beginning to wonder if he was cracking. That the conversation with Tommy had been a figment of his imagination, and that he'd made it all up. And there, on that screen, pouring from that woman's lips, was the proof he'd been waiting for. He felt like crying. He didn't know whether he was happy he wasn't losing it or devastated that ghosts really were floating around him and he was the only one that could see and hear them.

"That's a major bummer," Raymundo commented, leaning across the counter and staring up at the screen, "He'd be about you kids' age now," Sam, Otto, and Reggie fell silent, looking to the older man curiously, and then glancing up at the screen, where they were showing a picture now of the boy that was Thomas Gerard Mackeroy. Twister swallowed hard, studying the little glowing and smiling child on that screen. He had a wide grin, though he was missing his two front teeth. He had shaggy blonde hair, and a neat little suit. It was a picture provided by his parents to the police at the time of the disappearance, the somber woman was saying. The picture faded away and the woman filled the screen again, a number flashing in white beneath her.

"If you have any information regarding this or any missing child featured today, please call…" she pleaded, saying aloud the numbers on the screen. Ray lifted the remote, turning the television off and sighing.

"It's so sad, kids disappearing like that," he lamented, tossing the damp towel into a nearby pail of sanitizer. The kids chirped agreement, but Twister gaped at the screen, not even hearing as his friends began chatting again. He wasn't sure how to feel. Now he had a face to go with the name. There was something eerie about that. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt the chill of death.

"I always hated that picture…" Twister startled, bolting to his feet, his chair tipping over behind him. He darted his head back and forth around the Shore Shack dining room, his friends staring at him in stun.

"Twister, are you okay?" Sam was the first to ask.

"Uh…" Twister stammered, "I'm…uh…I have to go." Before any more could be said, he turned, bolting from the Shack.

"That was weird," Otto noted.

"He didn't even take his board," Reggie agreed.

Twister ran, though he wasn't sure where he was going. All around he heard the bodiless voices following him, taunting him, tormenting him. He pushed his way through the few people walking along the Pier who shouted disgruntled indignation at him. He kept going until he couldn't run anymore and realized he didn't know where he was going as it was. He found himself at the edge of the Pier. There weren't a lot of people around, as it was late. Just shop keepers closing their stores down and patrons rushing home. The lights on the railings of the boardwalk were turned on, illuminating the pathway like little fairies dancing in the night. The moon reflected brilliantly off the ocean. The whole atmosphere seemed serene and calm. Twister took a moment to catch his breath before speaking.

"Tommy?" But without needing an answer he knew the little ghost boy was there. He could feel it, shivering beneath his skin.

"Did I scare you?" Tommy eagerly questioned. Twister shuddered, glancing warily over his shoulder. He was, for the most part, alone. Nobody around to think he was insane.

"I thought…" Twister started, but shook his head decidedly, "No. It doesn't matter what I thought. How did you…when did you…why are you here?"

"I thought we were friends," Tommy pouted, his voice catching. Twister felt the harrowing sadness echo in his mind. He frowned, taking a few deep breaths and sorting through what he should say.

"Uh…we are. I mean…yeah. But I…you were at the mountains. How did you get here?"

"It wasn't hard," Tommy admitted, his tone lighthearted again. Relief washed over Twister but he didn't relax, "When you're dead, you can pretty much go anywhere that you think about being. I wanted to be where you were so…I went. And here I am!"

Twister sighed, crossing to the Pier railing and leaning over it to stare out at the open ocean. He felt the chill of the dead boy against the back of his neck, but wasn't sure what to say. Was he going insane? Was this all just a figment of his imagination?

"Twister…?"

"Yeah…sorry," Twister cleared his throat, straightening somewhat, "I just…well…I was kind of worried about you is all. And here you are…so I guess I was worried for nothing."

"You were worried about me?" Tommy restated in a solemn whisper. Twister took a deep breath, rubbing his bare arms.

"I should probably head home. People will think I'm strange standing around alone out here," Twister announced with certainty. He waited for an answer, but Tommy was silent. Twister could feel his presence like a glimmer in the back of his mind. He shoved his hands in his pockets, starting down the Pier towards his cul-de-sac. He could sense Tommy following him, "So…did you get lonely on the mountain, or something?"

"Sort of," Tommy mumbled.

"I thought dead people…you know…haunted places," Twister continued. It seemed awkward to not say anything, but at the same time, he found it uncomfortable to think it were awkward not to converse with the dead boy, "Like…couldn't leave the place they haunt or something like that."

"Dead people can go anywhere they want. Places don't really mean anything to the dead," Tommy explained quietly, and Twister could tell by that nagging knowledge prickling under his skin that the little ghost was distractedly deep in thought, "You really just start to forget things like that. I don't even remember where I used to live. I stayed in the mountains so long because that's where I died. It's the only place I can really remember anymore."

"Oh," Twister murmured, only partially paying attention.

There was so much going through Twister's mind at that moment. He could barely concentrate on any one thing. The feeling rushing through his system was similar to that of adrenaline. The dead were all around and he could feel them pressing in on him. Tommy's presence was the most resolute. It was foremost of all others. The emotions of that little boy became Twister's own. It blurred his reality to the point were he could barely separate his own thoughts from Tommy's. The dead weighed heavily on his shoulders and drew the heat from his body, the breath from his lungs, the energy from his heart. He forced himself to focus on the sidewalk.

"So…" Twister started quietly, "You just going to follow me from now on?"

"For now, I suppose…if it's okay with you," Tommy answered.

"I don't see how I could stop you if it wasn't," Twister replied, turning the corner to his cul-de-sac and frowning up the street at his house, "My ma's going to wonder why I'm home so early. I usually hang out with the gang until I absolutely have to come home…and even then I'm usually past curfew."

"You could tell her you didn't feel well," Tommy suggested. Twister shook his head.

"I don't want her to worry or nothing."

"Oh." Tommy was quiet a long time and Twister edged his way forward, but made no real progress towards his house. "You could just not go home yet."

"I don't have anything else to do. I already told my friends I was going home and…"

"We could sit out here and talk…like we did on the mountains."

A shiver ran down Twister's spine. The taste in his mouth was brittle and metallic. He closed his eyes and thought it through. Part of him knew that this was all crazy. Not surfing when the waves were gnarly, bolting from a hot Shore Shack dinner, and talking with a ghost. But he was curious. There were so many things he wanted to know about the little boy. The face on that television set came rushing to the front of Twister's mind. Shaggy blond hair, two missing front teeth. A wholesome looking young kid. Someone Twister probably would have hung out with when he was eight. Thomas Gerard Mackeroy. With a heavy heart and a deep sigh, Twister stepped down and took a seat on the curb. He wrapped his arms about his knees and leaned forward, eyes studying each dipping crevice of the asphalt.

"What do you want to talk about?"

It was an odd question, Twister was taken aback. Tommy seemed so eager just to get Twister to sit and chat with him, Twister was sure that the little boy had some topic in mind. Was it just attention that Tommy craved? After so long alone in the mountains, watching campers come and go and never being heard or seen.

"How long have you been dead?" he asked carefully. He wasn't sure how Tommy handled the "being dead" thing, but in their past conversation the little boy always changed the subject when they came to it. Twister recalled the woman on television mentioning that Tommy had disappeared five years ago, but had Tommy died then? For what seemed a long while, Tommy was silent. Twister would have even thought that he'd left if it weren't for the pervading knowing that the little ghost was indeed still there.

"I don't know," Tommy answered candidly. There was a sorrow in his voice but an almost uncaring as well, "Time really doesn't matter when you're dead."

"I guess it wouldn't," Twister returned, "So…why did you…why are you still here? Like…don't people go to heaven or something when they die?"

"I don't know," Tommy replied, his tone wavering slightly, "I think I was supposed to go…somewhere…but then…I don't think I was supposed to die."

"That doesn't make sense," Twister retorted, straightening somewhat, "I mean, when it's your time, it's your time…there's no 'supposed to' in dying…is there?"

"I was talking to some other dead people…"

"You talk to other dead people?" Twister gaped.

"Um…yes. Sometimes they don't always talk back, too into what they're doing…but…why? Does that seem strange?"

"Uh…I just didn't think…I mean…"

"We all see each other. It's like people who are alive are in one place, and people who are dead are in another, and it's all connected. I don't understand it though," Tommy explained. Twister furrowed his brow, pondering on that statement for a moment while Tommy continued, "But when I talked to other dead people…to other ghosts like me…they said that not everyone stays here. That sometimes they go somewhere else. That there's a reason that some people become ghosts when they die. But I never met anyone who knew why that was."

"Have you…or any of the other ghosts you've talked to…have they ever met any people…living people who could see or hear ghosts like me?" Twister asked, licking his lips that were chapped and cracked. He could taste a hint of blood on them. Tommy was quiet and Twister could sense that he was deep in thought trying to remember. It was a painstakingly long time before he answered.

"No."

Twister felt his heart sink. For a moment he'd been filled with the hope that maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe there were others out there who had to deal with this as well. People who could help him, explain things to him, maybe tell him how to make this all stop. With that one word, all his hopes were crushed and once more doubt infested his thoughts. Maybe he was really going insane.

"That's why you're so cool! Because you can talk to me," Tommy exclaimed. Twister really didn't feel cool. He swallowed hard, pushing down the lump that was now blocking his throat. "I'm kind of happy I died. Because I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't! You know, dying isn't so bad. You're life doesn't really flash before your eyes…and there's no bright white light…"

"I know," I whispered, leaning back and pressing my palms into the cement sidewalk. I took a deep breath, "I died once."

There was a heartbeat pulsating through the night air. I could imagine Tommy with blinking eyes as he let that sink in.

"You did. When? How? Why? What happened?"

"A long time ago. I don't remember," Twister lied, quickly dismissing it, "I just know I did."

"Maybe that's why you can see ghosts? Because you're part dead…or something," Tommy suggested excitedly, "It's like in comic books. You're a super hero! I could be your sidekick…"

"Do you think about your life much?" Twister questioned solemnly. There was something eerie about how casually Tommy talked about being dead. Twister had to know. And then a great sadness overwhelmed Twister. He bent inside himself, it was all too much, his head felt like it was going to explode. And then as suddenly as it happened, it was gone. Twister grimaced, taking a few calming deep breaths before attempting to straighten somewhat.

"That's kind of the reason why I came here," Tommy whispered, and Twister was enveloped with a shadowing darkness creeping over him, "You see…no one ever found my body. It's still up in the mountains."

"Oh?" Twister murmured, his heart pounding malevolently in his chest.

"I was thinking…wondering…if maybe…would you please…could you…find it?"


END A/N: That's it for now, I guess. Or forever, I don't know. We'll see what happens when it happens.

Please REVIEW. I don't get paid for writing these stories, it doesn't give me any great benefit of any kind. The only way I can "profit" from writing these things is if the people who read it give me a REVIEW. And now just some dinky little, "great story, write more" type of blurb, but an actual critique of what you liked and didn't like about the story. That's all.

Excuse any grammatical or typing errors, I didn't really get much of a chance to thoroughly proofread this one, so...yeah.

Thanks for reading.