They had only been in Los Angeles for about a week, give or take, and already the mansion was the location of a massive party.

Right when evening set in, strangers, fans, celebrities, and movie producers clambered like a crazed mob to the American headquarters for Gorillaz. Their cars occupied every available in the long driveway, even parking on the freshly trimmed lawn when space grew limited. Tire marks would be hell for the landscaping people to deal with in the morning after. Bright lights shined through the mansion's many windows, contrasting against the white of the building. Music of indistinguishable genre rocked the entire place to the core and could be heard from miles in every direction. No one would be surprised if it drew in more people like moths to and open flame.

Inside was equally as loud the outside, or even louder. Most of the patrons gathered in the foyer and the gigantic carpet lined staircase. It split off into two directions at the top, creating a railed balcony close to the crystal chandelier attached to the ceiling above. There wasn't a single person that didn't have a drink in their hands and slurred words on their tongues. Reddened cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and louder than normal voices was a sign of a good time in a place as this place. Someone could say the mansion was now a den of vice and sin. Where one's inner demons reared their ugly heads, and no one there would or could disagree.

From one of the dozens of bedrooms on the first floor, Russel walked out and paused at the top of the staircase as he yawned. He spent most of the afternoon sleeping and conserving enough energy to face the inevitable party. It wasn't like he hated parties. He loved to have a good time but they were draining as hell. Wouldn't surprise him if he dozed off in the next few hours and Del escaped to have his own fun. He could sleep through almost any noise. Loud music and talking was white noise to his ears.

He maneuvered his way down the stairs, passed drunk partiers and nearly tripped over a guy out cold on the last step. Groaning, Russel planted his foot on the guy's back and shoved him off the stairs. He didn't move when he hit the white tile floor with a heavy thud. God, he hoped the guy wasn't dead. When Russel pushed himself through the literal ocean of people, several people called out towards him and raised their drinks. He replied with a quiet wave in their direction and kept going on his way. He had no idea who those people were.

Connected to the foyer was the dining room. A bit too large of a room for the band to use themselves but perfect for holding a party in. Two thirds of the party goers were in this room, either in smaller groups, dancing or talking amongst another. Maybe he would see the others here. It was hard to lose those three in a crowd.

A long buffet table at the end of the hall grabbed Russel's interest but a familiar face in the crowds caused him to break his attention from food. He saw 2D on his own, standing off to the side of the hall, chatting it up with a woman. Curious, Russel began to observe from a distant.

The young man was flirting with the woman by the way he gestured his arms and how he stood close to her. The woman, a short haired brunette, stood at the same height as 2D. She was dressed rather formal for a party like this one: a black suit with matching black heels. Did she not have enough time to change into something more comfortable before she came here? In her hands she held a white platter and and teacup that she slipped from occasionally. Russel raised a brow. He didn't remember there being any kind of teacups out for use. Where did she get it from? Her face was unreadable. She seemed to be listening to 2D yet ignoring him at the same time. She turned her head slowly to face Russel and her thin, red lips upturned into a tiny smile. The woman raised her cup to his then turned her attention back to 2D. Russel felt himself get goosebumps at her gaze.

Food sounded much better than questions about random women. That night would be the only time he would see her then she would be forgotten like the others around him. The buffet table called out for him and he couldn't refuse its beckoning sweet smells. A brisk walk brought him to his destination. No one else had gathered where he was so the food was right for the taking. Russel reached out for a stack of mini sandwiches when he saw something from the corner of his eye. Retracting his hand, Russel glanced over at the figure close by.

Well, they were certainly a person, he could say. Where they came from, it was a mystery. Russel swore no one was at the table when he approached it. They were a small person, shorter than he was, and thinner than a twig. The only article of clothing he saw was an oversized hooded jacket, zipped up and with the hood pulled over their head. Their fingers, shaking, reached out and snatched up cocktail wieners from a large plate. They shoved the meat in their mouth, toothpick and all, then returned the drool covered toothpick back on the plate.

Russel watched them repeat the process several times. They were really going to town on those weenies. It was when they began shoving the ham in their pockets that Russel noticed something odd. They were trembling uncontrollably and looking over her shoulder, over and over again. He scowled when he piece two and two together.

Russel grabbed the person by their wrist right when they reached out for another helping of weenies. He pulled them in close. He was probably being rough but from past experiences, you can't go easy with these type. Most of the person's face was obscured by the shadow of their hood with the exception of the bottom of their face. Their lips were pressed thin and their cheeks puffed out from all the food stored in them.

"Thought you could walk in and no one would notice your twitchy ass?" he said.

They looked up at him but didn't make an attempt to respond or pull away from him. All they did was chew the food in their mouth and swallowed. The smell of cooked meat wafted off of their shaky breath.

He wasn't going to wait for them to answer anyway. Russel dragged them out the dining hall, pushed through the crowd again, and stopped at the entrance. He took ahold of the door handle and swung the door open in a swift motion. With a hard shove on the back, the person stumbled into the chilled Los Angeles night.

They turned to face Russel and took a step towards him. "B-but…" they stammered. Their voice was tiny, almost like a small child's. "I-I was…"

"I ain't fall for that shit. I know everything about you junkies. If I see you around here again, I'm kicking your ass and calling the cops. Maybe at the same time." Russel warned then slammed the door shut. He wasn't joking with the threat. Like hell he was going to let some tweaked out junkie steal their equipment again.

"There you are, Russy-Wussy!"

The sound of a shrill woman's voice calling out from behind him over the noise of the party. It made him grimace but, not wanting to be rude, he turned to face the voice's owner. It belonged to a busty young blonde stuffed in a skin tight red dress. Clinging to the woman with an arm draped over her neck was Murdoc. He slumped up against the woman on wobbly legs, eyes closed and head down low. Incoherent mumbling fell from his mouth as he tried to keep his balance on his own.

"You're a hard man to find in a crowd, aren't you?" she commented then held out her free hand to him. "My name is Victoria but you, darling, can call me Vicki. You can say I'm one of Murdy's friends."

Russel gave her open hand a quick glance and then focused back on the woman's face. "Of course you are," he said. The older man had plenty of 'friends' he told no one about. "What happened to him?"

Vicki replied, "Oh, Murdy just had a little too much fun, that's all. You boys and your partying. Other than that, have you seen my Ghostie-Goo? I swear I can never keep her with me. She is wearing this unflattering black jacket with a hood. Ugly little thing, really. I told her to wear something that shows off her assets."

Russel frowned, "So she's with you? Want to tell me why you brought a damn junkie her?"

"Junkie?" Vicki repeated then she laughed, "Russy, I didn't know you were so funny! Ghostie is no junkie. Far from it, actually. She's only 17 and more nervous than a wild bunny rabbit. She's too much of a prude to do any fun stuff." She lifted Murdoc up on his feet, almost cradling his torso. "I'm going to lay Murdy down for some shuteye. Tell me if you see Ghostie anywhere, okay? I don't want her all cooped up in a corner." The woman, dragging Murdoc along with her, was absorbed by the crowd and disappeared from sight.

Dread filled the emptiness in his stomach. Oh, he fucked up and he fucked up badly. Russel left the warmth of the party for the cool September night. The lights from the mansion illuminated but so much of the darkness outside. He saw no sign of the girl, as if she was going to stand there and wait for someone to get her. Rough handling a teen and threatening her with violence? He really hit an all time low this go around. Sometimes his paranoia did more harm than good...