Earth, Air, Water, Fire
Chapter Twelve
-1991-
“It just all seems so trite to me, it leads nowhere. It’s an interesting concept, but the ending doesn’t match up,” said Emerson, adjusting his tiny spectacles in agitation. J.T. rolled his eyes; he knew the older man only wore the glasses during these regular book club meetings so that he might seem more academic. The powerfully-built man was sitting across the room from Emerson in a circle of comfortable chairs in a very nicely furnished, warmly lit room.
The Violet City gym leader had a great affinity for reading, and after several conversations with his close network of friends, began an open book club held every other week in the Violet City Meeting House. J.T. had been attending regularly for a half year upon invitation from his friend Will, who was perhaps the youngest member in attendance.
“Maybe dystopian novels just aren’t your cup of tea,” J.T. mused, the corners of his mouth twitching. This elicited chuckles from several other members of the group. Emerson frowned, but kept his tongue, instead allowing others to lead the conversation about the book that had been suggested at the last meeting by Desmond.
“But what about that beautiful sentence, right at the end? When that poor man falls eight stories…what is it…? Ah, here: ‘And as breath left his lips, he felt his body broken, and one final thought crossed Kieran’s mind: I don’t understand.’ How does that not move you?” Desmond asked, and several others nodded sympathetically, J.T. among them.
“Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? It seems manipulative, it’s just so...so maudlin!” Emerson began, quite irritated now, his glasses flashing, but he was interrupted. The door behind him cracked open, and a woman with a small face and plump cheeks framed by tightly curled blonde hair and a high-necked black sweater sidled into the room apologetically. Emerson seemed quite disconcerted. “But who are you?” he asked, his thin eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
The woman smiled warmly, and J.T. felt his heart stop. “I’m sorry, I’m new. This IS Emerson’s Book Club, right? Reading Broken Things by Huswell?” Emerson nodded once, still nonplussed. “Hi, everyone. I’m Carrie, Carrie Phelps. I’m a friend of Jamie’s?” There was a general murmur of consent; Desmond stood, going to take Carrie’s coat. She thanked him, looking around the room and taking in its occupants.
“Well...um, well, welcome, Carrie…” Emerson said, quite flustered. It was perfectly clear he disapproved of the interruption. “Why don’t you take a seat...there’s an empty one between Will and J.T. over there,” he said, pointing across the room. Carrie’s eyes flashed to J.T., who smiled at her, his gray eyes alight.
“Will?” she asked, crossing to J.T. and taking his hand.
“No, no, I’m Joseph. J.T., if you like,” he said, standing to offer his own seat, forgetting there was an empty one beside him.
“I’m fine right here, Joseph,” she said, chuckling and sitting down beside Will, who was also smiling. J.T. returned to his seat, slightly embarrassed, beaming nevertheless.
“Well, I’m glad everybody is so happy,” Emerson said agitatedly, clearly ready to continue his rant about the flaws inherent in the book being discussed. “Can we continue, please?”
“Yes, sir,” Carrie said, feigning rapt attention. J.T. stifled a laugh. Carrie winked at him, leaning forward and appropriating a very somber expression.
Emerson adjusted his spectacles and crossed his legs. “Well then, where was I?”
“He hates all aspects of this book,” J.T. whispered to Carrie, anxious to keep her attention on him. Her eyes flashed his way and she leaned very slightly toward his armchair.
“To be honest, I haven’t read it. I came to suggest a book for next week,” Carrie said, and J.T. noted she was very good at talking out of the side of her mouth while keeping her head forward. He leaned closer to her.
“Really?” he muttered, “What book?” He felt Will staring at him in amusement, but he kept his attention to the blonde woman.
“Ever read Water-type Down?” J.T.’s eyes widened in excitement and he nodded rapidly. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“The best!” He did not want to seem overeager, but she had just named his absolute favorite book, which very few people seemed to know even existed.
She smiled and looked at him, her pale blue eyes meeting his gray ones. “Why don’t you take me for coffee and we can rave about it together?”
J.T.’s heart skipped a beat. He could see Will’s face vaguely beyond Carrie’s; the psychic winked at him, pointing at Carrie and flashing the thumbs up. Go for it, he mouthed, nodding in encouragement.
“I...I would like that very much,” J.T. stammered.
“Could we?” Emerson asked. He was frowning over his glasses at J.T. with the sourest of expressions, visibly unimpressed.
“Yes, sir,” J.T. said. Carrie snickered and he felt his heart leap.
….....................................................................................
-2009-
With Preston’s injury, escape had not occurred to either him or Logan as a viable option; instead, the two had allowed the gray-clad wiry man confiscate their Pokémon and escort them into the smaller pocket of the tunnel he had come from. It was dimly lit by warm red lamplight, but after his eyes adjusted, Preston could make out the dimensions of the chamber well enough.
There were three other figures in the room, two women and a Crobat, clearly unconscious, its wings draped sadly around its violet body in the corner of the stony recess. Preston started at the sight of the younger of the girls. It was the same ruby-haired Skye member who had been pulled out of the Olivine Gym with Alec, who had held the boy at gunpoint by the harbor. She was sitting with her knees pulled protectively to her chest, her eyes wide and her face bloodless. She alone was not dressed in gray-blue uniform; instead a stained white dress hung limply around her thin limbs.
“You,” Preston said, disoriented by the look of distress on her face; she was in company of teammates, after all. She didn’t look to be on the best of terms with them at the moment.
“Where’s Alec?” she asked immediately, and Preston was surprised to hear genuine concern in her voice. Before he could answer, the other female voice cut through the dim cave.
“You’re NOT in a position to be asking questions, Natalia.” Standing over Natalia was the woman Preston attributed the deeper voice to; Amy, her partner had called her. She was impossibly tall, at least six-and-a-half feet by Preston’s estimation, and as such her figure seemed stretched disproportionately. Her face was long and angular, her complexion dark. She had applied bright ice-blue lipstick to her thick lips, which contrasted garishly with the precisely cut black bangs that ended at her eyebrows. Her eyes were black and sharp, calculating.
“But of course,” she said, sweeping Preston over quickly with her cold eyes, lingering a moment on his splinted leg, “Will would assign Joe Preston to Alec’s protection. It’s been a long time since I’ve laid eyes on you, Joe.”
The familiarity of the way she addressed him made Preston uneasy. Her male partner seemed confused as well. “How do you know this guy, Amy?”
The woman smiled, and it wasn’t a kind gesture. “Well, Brodie, I was surveillance on this guy back during the hunt we were doing for Skylar. In ‘04.” Preston felt his blood go cold. “I helped capture his poor wife. I was there to witness the beautiful descent into madness as we tortured her for information.”
Preston lunged and fell to the ground for his effort; his leg was not capable of holding his weight. Logan ran to his side immediately, but he refused her help. He was heaving, his gaunt face pale. His bandage was beginning to bleed through. He regained his composure, pushing himself to an upright position and glaring at Amy, a vein pulsing in his temple. “Did you do it?” he asked levelly after a time.
“Do what?” Amy asked innocently.
“Were you the one,” Preston began quietly, “who branded the Skye logo onto her back. The one who ripped her hair out, kicked her ribs in? Did you drive the chutes up her fingernails personally? Did you -” He stopped here, shaking with suppressed rage. Brodie looked just as shocked as Logan at this information, his jaw dropped. All eyes fell on Amy, who was smiling calmly.
“Now Joe,” she said coyly, “Do I look like a woman capable of that kind of violent behavior?” Preston continued staring at her, his breathing ragged. Logan realized in horror that he was very close to passing out. Amy turned to Brodie. “You did take their Pokémon, correct?” Brodie nodded, indicating the bundle of Poké Balls in his arms. “Good. But just to do the job perfectly,” She pulled out a gun, pointing it at Preston, its silver barrel catching the light of the lamp lit at her feet. “Gabriel would want them out of the way for the next stage of his plan.”
Brodie stammered. “Would The Phoenix like that? I thought he said that nobody gets hurt-”
“These two...quite dangerous people, I’m sure, at some point,” Amy started, shaking her head at the injured old man and the scared blonde girl, her blue lips curling upward, “are part of Alec Gideon’s pathetic ‘guard’. He must be in the cave somewhere. If we removed the opposition and delivered the Wing to Gabriel, do you really think he would care if a few people died?” Logan was inching toward Preston, whose forehead was dripping, his eyes trained warily on the gun.
“Look at her hands,” he muttered to Logan, who seemed to find this an odd request. She looked all the same.
The hand holding the gun was like the rest of Amy’s body, slender and dark. But the other hand was gloved in sleek forest-green leather. Logan frowned, looking at Preston, more than a little worried about his sanity in his present state. “Why does that matter -” she began, but she was interrupted.
“Oh, shut UP,” Amy said, her eyes rolling. The bare hand cocked the gun trained on Preston’s forehead. “If you must know, I only watched your wife’s torture. A shame, really. I would’ve liked to say I took part in the removal of both Prestons from our world.” She smiled at this prospect, finger tightening.
Logan shouted, “NO!” but not before the woman pulled the trigger. Logan slammed her eyes shut just in time, the last image burned in her brain Preston’s weary face frozen in disbelief. She heard the body hit the ground with a sickening crash.
….....................................................................................
-1995-
Will was helping J.T. into his newly-purchased tuxedo; the thirty-five-year-old man had never worn such fine clothing and was unfamiliar with the feel of a form-fitting vest and coat. The two were in the small groom’s suite that had been rented at the Victory Inn in Violet City, along with Morty and J.T.’s childhood friend Jesse.
“You feeling up to this? Not gonna back out?” Jesse asked, stroking his grand black mustache and chuckling heartily. He had been hitting J.T. with quips like this all weekend, poking fun at the fact that he had been a bachelor for thirty-five years. J.T. did not answer, but then again speaking would be quite difficult at this moment; Will was working furiously at the burgundy-colored bowtie around his neck, constraining the air allowed into his lungs.
“He’s gonna be fine,” Morty said, his cool fuchsia-colored eyes trained calmly on the setting sun outside; the wedding was to take place at sundown. The decorations were all in order on the lake. Will had arranged everything exactly as his friend had requested: a wedding on the water, a smooth glass deck erected over the small body of water surrounding the Sprout Tower. There were a large amount of canopies and arches laced with delicate cream-colored flowers: white chocolate roses, whipped-butter Jaboca berries, patience ivory tulips. Lights and lanterns were erected everywhere, poised to be lit at the arrival of dusk.
“Of course he’ll be fine,” Will said, still attacking the ribbon around J.T.’s neck. Finally he succeeded at tying the bow, letting out a cry of victory and patting down the gym leader’s lapels. “There,” he announced, and stepped back to admire his handiwork. J.T. did look very pale, but otherwise quite becoming. His long, dark brown hair was brushed and neatly party back so the curls were not quite as prominent; the product covered up the gray hairs that were beginning to creep in at the roots. His strong jaw was covered with the faintest of stubble which only served to highlight his strongest features, throwing shadow on his high cheekbones and smoothing out the slight lines that were beginning to form around his mouth. His jacket fit his broad form quite well.
“Feeling good,” J.T. said, putting his hands in his pockets and looking himself over in the mirror, shaking his head slightly and adjusting his position to a more confident stance. “How does that look?” he asked, patting his hair on the right side. His groomsmen burst out laughing.
“Sexy as ever,” Jesse said, his thick belly shaking with mirth. J.T. allowed himself a grin as well, realizing how ridiculous he was being.
“Carrie’s going to love it,” Will said, smiling fondly at his friend. J.T. sighed, nodding and checking the clock on the mantle.
“Almost time,” he said. “Is there anything we haven’t done yet? One final, wild thing we need to do before I’m committed forever?” The four exchanged glances, frowning and giving this great thought.
“Haven’t gone skinny dipping with Carrie,” Jesse said hopefully. J.T. shot him a dirty look and his youngest friend smiled apologetically. He had an often-articulated soft spot for the gentle blonde from the book club, the one that his good friend happened to be marrying in half an hour.
“Know what we need to do?” Morty said, his voice so different from the other men’s, soft, never more than a silky whisper.
“What’s that?” Will asked eagerly.
Morty smiled mischievously. “Burn the bachelor pants.” J.T. blushed; it was common knowledge that the man owned a set of ridiculous Horsea-covered flannel pants that he wore at every available opportunity when alone in his apartment. The others laughed again and lunged at the groom’s suitcase, digging for the horrid pants. J.T. grudgingly allowed Jesse to torch the pants with his Growlithe, the final step of acceptance that he would never be alone again.
Night fell, and the lamps were lit. The lake glowed with gorgeous golden light, the lanterns glowing exquisitely and illuminating the glassy still water. A thistled arch stood in the middle of the clear extension off the waterfront, a live band comprise entirely of string instruments to the right. The waterside echoed with excited voices, every seat on the transparent deck filled. The body count for the wedding was relatively small; J.T. and Carrie had mutually agreed to limit the wedding to family and very close friends. “And everyone from the book club,” Carrie had insisted, pointing at the name she had pencilled onto the very small list.
“Fine,” J.T. had muttered, rolling his eyes and adding Emerson to the queue of people to invite. Emerson was sitting near the back now, his spectacles flashing in the lamplight, peering back at the tent which contained the bride, groom, and the wedding party.
J.T. and Carrie were very careful not to look at each other. J.T. was near the front of the enclosed space, peering out, Will over his shoulder. Carrie lingered toward the back with the bridesmaids and her parents, and although the groom had made sure to shield his eyes when his fiancé entered the tent, Jesse immediately assured him she looked radiant in her vermillion dress.
“I think it’s time,” Will whispered, slapping his back. “Good luck, kiddo.” He extended his arm, indicating J.T. stand behind him. The flower girl, Carrie’s little cousin Laura, was hopping up and down anxiously in the back, spilling purple petals everywhere. J.T. took a deep breath and resisted the urge to look back at Carrie, remembering their promise that neither would lock eyes until the wedding.
“Let’s go,” said Lance brightly behind them. It was traditional that a wedding be officiated by a Pokémon League member, usually the city’s gym leader, but in special cases like this, when an actual League Official was being married, the Champion himself was summoned for the ceremony. Emerson had been very bitter at his exclusion.
Jesse and Morty walked out first, followed closely by Will, who winked at J.T. before exiting. J.T. clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and emerged from the tent, smiling nervously at the crowd and singling out his parents in the front row, his father leaning heavily on his cane and waving merrily, his mother tearing up. He made his way across the glass deck, feeling each step reverberate off the water. He took his place next to Will slightly to the left of center, awaiting the bride with mounting excitement.
Carrie was led in by her parents, Kevin and Michelle. She had been quite insistent that both walk her down the aisle, atypical to the traditional wedding in Johto, where the mother alone traveled with the bride. J.T. felt his heart skip a beat when he finally laid eyes on his fiancé. She looked resplendent, her figure covered in scarlets and crimsons like a…
“Like a phoenix,” Will said, grinning, reading his best friend’s mind.
“This is a dream,” J.T. muttered back to him, still awestruck. Will laughed and patted his back.
“Til the end?” he asked.
J.T. smiled. “Til the end.”
The ceremony was supremely quick, a heartbeat, perhaps the one that had been skipped over moments before. Lance did most of the talking, but Carrie and Will had agreed they would write out their vows.
“Joseph Thomas Preston,” Carrie said, her eyes sparkling, clasping his calloused hands and squeezing, a familiar squeeze that set J.T. at ease. “Everyone who knows me knows that my life has been all over the place. No stability, no rhythm, no...structure. I was a wild child,” she said, grinning, and the Phelps guests especially tittered in amusement at this, “that is, until I met you. You are my rock, Joseph, you are the gravity that keeps me from floating into outer space. You are kind, you are charming, you are smart, Arceus’ Plates you don’t know how rare that quality is.” Another laugh from the guests. “And above all, Joseph, you are good.” She smiled, her voice breaking and her eyes sparkling for an entirely different reason. “Thank you for marrying me.” A sigh from the audience.
J.T. squeezed her hands, sensing his time had come. “Caroline Scarlett Phelps,” he began, reaching into his breast pocket to pull out his carefully written vows, his hands trembling. He realized his reading glasses had been left in the groom’s suite, and he felt panic overtake him. “I left my glasses in my room,” he whispered, squinting at the card.
“Can you remember what it says?” Carrie asked gently. J.T.’s heart was pounding and he stared blankly at the paper, looking back at Will for support. Will only shook his head, raising his eyebrows over his horn-rimmed glasses and looking expectantly at his friend.
“Screw it,” J.T. muttered after a moment, Carrie’s eyes trained on his. “Okay, so, this is from the heart,” he said aloud, addressing the audience, throwing the card over the side of the deck and retaking Carrie’s hands. “Carrie. My life up to this point has been full of wonderful friends, family, and Pokémon. But...but that’s it! I was alone, for thirty years I was alone, and I was fine with that. ‘When’s J.T. getting married,’ I was asked this every holiday. But I was fine with it. Until the day I laid eyes on you. When you walked into that book club, I suddenly realized how truly alone I was, because you weren’t part of my life. Carrie, you…” He trailed off, his own voice shaking with emotion. Carrie gave his hands another squeeze. “You are my everything. You give me purpose, a reason to wake up every day. I look in your beautiful eyes and I see the man I can be, not the one I am. You are the reason I will never be alone again.” He beamed, his gray eyes lighting up in a rare fully-engaged smile. “Thank you for marrying me.”
….....................................................................................
-2009-
“Did you hear that?” Alec asked quickly. The path he and Chase were traveling along had been gently sloping downward for the past ten minutes, and according to Preston’s map, at the next turn there would be a way into the lower tunnel. A great cracking sound had echoed from that general direction, and it made Alec’s blood chill; he knew a gunshot when he heard one.
Chase had gone very white. “That’s not one of our weapons,” he said.
Alec frowned. “Well, I hope not, unless you think Preston was secretly hiding a gun in his coat...that wouldn’t surprise me, come to think of it,” he said after a moment of consideration.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Chase said quickly. Alec shook his head, still confused. Chase’s lips had dried; he wet them slightly before speaking again. “During the war, I heard more guns firing than I would ever wish on anyone. I think you know this, guns weren’t really a thing before the war. Our side’s weapons were...kinda lame, really. If we didn’t have Pokémon NeoEarth would have creamed us in two days. And, well, during the war...our side got ahold of some of their weapons, learned how to use them. How anyone could want to use machinery designed to kill is beyond me.” He shuddered although the cave had not changed temperature.
“So, what…” Alec prompted after some time.
Chase shook his head, his voice soft.“So that was the sound of one of THEIR guns. NeoEarth’s guns. It just doesn’t sit right in our world.”
Alec considered this, then: “Well, still! It’s a gun! Somebody just freaking shot a gun in the same cave as us!” He and Chase looked ahead in silence, waiting to hear more noise.
“Do you think we should...check it out?” Chase asked after a while. Before Alec could answer, the ground underneath them began to shake.
“Oh, for Ho-oh’s sake, is it another cave-in?” Alec cried, but he was saved a verbal answer by a practical one. A group of several Lairon were storming from the direction of the gunshot, icy blue eyes wild and solid silver armor flashing in outrage.
“Lovely,” Chase said, and he reached for his belt.
“What are you doing?” Alec asked. He had already scooped Magby’s small warm body up into his arms, ready to run, the duck-footed creature shaking his arms in excitement.
“Were you actually going to run away?” Chase asked, astonished. He had Torkoal and Nidoking’s Poké Balls in his right hand, Heracross’s in his left.
“Were YOU going to fight them?” Alec yelped, staring at the furious rampaging creatures, clearly shaken up by the foreign sound in their tunnels. Chase scoffed, throwing his own Pokémon into play and standing his ground. Alec took a deep, calming breath and put Magby down, not about to be one-upped by the older trainer.
“Machop, Magby, let’s do this,” he said, producing Machop’s Poké Ball. There was an enormous roar, and the cave wall up ahead exploded. In the cloud of dust and rubble that billowed out from the breaking point, another dozen Lairon and Aggron swarmed out. Chase looked at Alec, wishing he had a slightly more experienced trainer fighting by his side. If there was one thing he missed from the war days, it was having Will fighting by his side in perfect synchronization.
“You take the left, I’ll take the right?” he asked, understanding it was basically his fight to win. Alec glared at him.
“I’LL take the right,” he said, being difficult for difficulty’s sake. Chase gritted his teeth but complied, not needing petty arguments at a moment like this; the first group of Lairon were seconds away.
“Torkoal, Overheat! Nidoking, Earth Power, Heracross -” he began, and Alec interrupted him.
“Magby, Smokescreen!” The miniscule red creature puffed his cheeks, producing great clouds of black smoke. In seconds, Chase couldn’t see three feet ahead of him.
“GREAT, Alec, just perfect!” he yelled, biting his lower lip to avoid yelling. He had no idea what was happening now; they were fighting blind. An ominous crashing and roaring announced the arrival of more stampeding cave-dwellers.
“I’m sorry!” Alec called out bitterly. He and Chase stood, united but separate in the darkness, and steeled themselves, waiting for the wave to hit.
….....................................................................................
Logan screamed, squeezing her eyes tighter and covering her face, sobbing uncontrollably. That poor man, she thought, Preston’s frightened face still burned into her memory. She prepared herself for her own fate, her body tense and her breathing restricted, expecting the second shot to be as agonizing as the first had sounded. She whispered Tracey’s name and waited.
Moments passed and all she could hear was grunting and angry growls. She allowed herself the tiniest of glimpses at the area directly in front of her. Amy was wrestling with the ruby-haired girl who Logan had completely forgotten about. Brodie lay unconscious on the ground by the exit to the tunnels, and suddenly Logan realized whose body she had actually heard.
“Natalia, let GO of me!” Amy roared, twisting the other girl’s arms so that she was bent into submission in front of the tall figure, who had not relinquished her gun. Natalia cried out and there was an ugly cracking sound - it seemed her shoulder had been dislocated. Logan’s heart pounded and she looked to her left. Preston was lying prone, but she saw no signs of a bullet wound.
“Preston,” she said, taking his shoulder and shaking. He moaned, his eyes fluttering and a shadow crossing his lines face. “Preston!” she said, her voice shrill, relief spreading through her body. A scream echoed through the cave and Amy’s gun flew across Logan’s blurred vision; it seemed the woman had been disarmed.
“Logan,” Preston said firmly, his eyes snapping open, “get the Pokémon.” He pulled himself up, wincing in pain at his leg. Logan hesitated, looking at the continued wrestling between the Skye members. Natalia now seemed to have the upper hand; she had Amy in a headlock. Preston nudged Logan urgently and Logan started her way, slowly and quietly, away from her companion and toward Brodie’s motionless body.
“Come ON!” Natalia shouted, kicking Amy’s long legs out from under her. Amy fell, her limbs flying, and let out a snarl. Logan chose each step carefully, trying not to draw attention to herself. Brodie’s lanky body was strewn face-down across a jagged rock, blood seeping gently from his temple. Logan checked his pulse; he was still alive, the beat steady. Stealing furtive glances back at the fighting, she kneeled down, scooping up her own Poké Balls along with Preston’s.
Amy screamed; Natalia had stepped on her gloved hand. Tears filled the uniformed woman’s eyes, and she uttered one final curse before falling unconscious. Silence pervaded the room.
“Clever, targeting the wounded hand,” Preston said finally. Natalia had fallen to her knees, long flaming-red hair falling over her face. She was clutching her dislocated shoulder, trembling. Preston had pulled himself into a sitting position. Logan stood up and crossed to him, handing him his own Pokémon. “Thank you,” he said. “Can I see your shoulder?” he asked, reaching toward his bag, which was just beyond his reach. Logan grabbed it for the older man, surprised at its weight, dragging it to his side and crouching beside him, eyes trained warily on the Skye girl’s shivering figure. “Natalia, is it?” Preston said kindly. Natalia was proving unresponsive, holding herself and looking down.
“Maybe we should knock her out, to be safe,” Logan said uncertainly. She had no reason to believe the girl was worth helping; at this point, it seemed more worthwhile to return to the main tunnels and renew the search for Alec and Chase.
Preston looked the injured girl over for a long time before speaking. “We can’t just leave her without taking care of the shoulder. She saved us from a pretty certain death; the least we can do is return the favor. And healing is the only way I know how,” he said, reaching into his bag for the remainder of his supplies. “Does it hurt?” he asked conversationally, heaving himself up to a sitting position and looking inquisitively at the girl who was quite possibly lethal.
Natalia nodded slowly, her deep brown eyes lifting and looking incredulously at Preston. “You know who I am,” she said blankly, shooting a swift glance at Logan before refocusing her gaze on the man’s kind face.
“I do,” he said, pushing himself up and shouting in pain. “Logan, help me move,” he said, reaching out. Logan took his arm, helping the tall man stumble over to the area Natalia was crouching in. The girl showed signs of discomfort, but did not move.
“Why aren’t you leaving me?” she asked in astonishment. Preston shook his head, reaching out and grasping her shoulder gingerly. She shouted immediately; Preston recoiled, putting his hands up in a gesture of goodwill.
“You must not have many decent people on your Team if you think I would just leave you like this,” Preston said, reaching toward her shoulder again. Logan seemed just as confused as Natalia.
“Preston,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down, “She’ll be fine, let’s go.” Preston ignored her, kneeling down with difficulty and looking Natalia in the face. The girl’s attempt to remain stone-faced crumbled; the pain was too much.
“Do you trust me?” Preston asked steadily.
“I don’t have any reason to trust you,” she said slowly. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Preston smiled slightly. “Well, that’s certainly one way to lead your life.” Logan failed to see the humor in the situation. “This might hurt a little,” he said, and he turned to Logan. “Can you give me that loaf of soda bread we packed in the blue container?” Logan obeyed hesitantly, handing the cold bread to the older man. “You look like you need this,” he said. He broke off a small piece, offering it to Natalia, who did not accept.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she asked derisively.
Preston shook his head. “No.” He offered the bread again. She reached out slowly with her good arm, staring at the doughy gift and frowning. “You eat it,” he said helpfully. Natalia did so, her eyes fixed sharply on Preston, as if searching for betrayal in his calm gray eyes.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
Preston handed her the rest of the loaf. “Now, bite down on this but don’t chew. We don’t want you biting your tongue off. That would bite,” he said, smiling in apology at his own small pun. Natalia did as he said.
“Preston,” Logan began, but in one fluid movement, the man had grabbed hold of the girl’s shoulder at the collarbone with one hand and pulled at her injured arm with another. In one great, resounding snap, Natalia’s shoulder was popped back into place. She let out a muffled scream through the soda bread, her eyes widening in shock.
“There,” Preston said, clasping his hands together. “Now you can eat the rest,” he said, looking Natalia over for further injuries. The girl ate hungrily, although her eyes never ceased darting between Preston and Logan.
“Could you help my Crobat? He was banged up pretty badly by Brodie,” the girl said after a time. Preston looked at the violet bat’s motionless form and nodded, reaching into his bag for medication.
“Preston!” The man turned his head to Logan, who looked positively livid. “What are we doing?” She was looking in disgust at the ruby-haired girl, taking in the tattered sundress and badly made-up face.
“We’re helping a girl who helped us,” he said simply.
“She said you know her,” Logan said, not backing down.
“I do, in a manner of speaking. This is that girl from Team Skye who keeps tracking Alec for Gabriel.”
Logan gasped, now positively repulsed. “How could you? What are you doing, associating with someone who’s been trying to hurt Alec?”
Preston shrugged. “I’m helping a girl who helped us,” he repeated.
Natalia stood up, drawing all focus back to her. She was scuffed and bruised, but it seemed she had sustained no other serious injury. “It’s true, I worked for Gabriel,” she said shakily, clasping her right hand with her left demurely. “But that part of my life is over. He betrayed me, he threw me out and left me to fend for myself in the harsh elements. I’m...I’m deeply sorry for everything I’ve done, for all the pain I’ve caused Alec,” she said. Preston heard absolute sincerity in her quiet voice.
“That’s actually the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” Logan said impatiently, looking to Preston for backup. He seemed interested in hearing the rest of Natalia’s defense.
“Look, I haven’t led a wonderful life. I’ve fallen in with the wrong people, made wrong choices at least a hundred times, but...well, Gabriel always said, to everything there is a balance. My choices kept me alive. And...well, I think now is the time for me to change. To begin repenting,” she said softly, shivering and hugging herself.
“Repenting?” Preston asked.
“I want to do what I can to help. I have information, I know Gabriel. I can protect you from him, I can help protect Alec. I only want the best for him.” Again, Preston recognized truth in the girl’s voice.
“You were burned, back at the gym,” Preston said. Logan let out an ugly noise which he ignored. “Were they able to fix it, at the hospital?”
“My face has been like this for a long time,” Natalia said, touching the left side of her face involuntarily. “Gabriel pushed me into a fire once. It’s just a fact of life, by now. I do what I can not to draw attention to it.”
A shadow crossed Preston’s face. Although she had made all the right inflections, kept her eyes evenly on his and touched her cheek in the correct, sad way, the ex-gym leader knew a bald-faced lie when he heard one.
….....................................................................................
-2004-
Chase was still on a high from his date with Kira; the two had gone ice skating at the Vermilion City Skatium, and after walking her home he had decided to venture into the Diglett’s Cave, perhaps do a little training with his Pokémon. He was whistling, his spirits lifted. The whole world seemed brighter, the boy felt invincible, and very little could change his mood. Grovyle strode beside him, his short green legs trotting at twice the speed his trainer’s did in order to match pace.
“This girl’s pretty special,” Chase said, winking at Grovyle, who merely shook his head, having seen Chase flip for girls twice as pretty as Kira and grow bored with them a week later. The fourteen-year-old ran his fingers through his black hair, humming and staring at the darkening sky. The clouds were a little thicker than he would have liked; perhaps it was going to rain. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Chase asked, his face falling slightly.
“Grooove,” Grovyle said, ignoring his trainer’s question and indicating the entrance to the Diglett’s Cave, eager to begin a fast-paced session of training. Chase held up his hand suddenly, shaking his head slightly and listening.
“Do you hear that?” There was a scream, a piercing, sustained one, coming from the rocky area just beyond the cave entrance. Chase looked at Grovyle in distress, and in unspoken agreement the two began running towards the source of the noise. They made their way around the gigantic boulders and walls that separated Diglett’s Cave from the rest of the grassy route beyond, halting when they reached company.
The sight was dreadful; a blonde woman was being accosted five-on-one by men in blue uniforms bearing a big ‘S’-shaped insignia. They had her pinned to the grassless ground, arms behind her small back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shrieked, kicking one of them wildly.
“You know exactly what we’re talking about. But no matter,” said one of them calmly, a red-faced man with blunt features, “We have ways of making you talk.”
“Leave that woman alone!” Chase yelled, throwing caution to the wind. Grovyle sighed, understanding there was no turning back and calling the police now. The blunt-faced man turned slowly, rigidly, to face the young black-haired boy.
“No! No, leave, get away from here!” the woman yelled, clutching her stomach and locking eyes with Chase, shaking her head frantically. Chase took a hesitant step forward, unsure of what to do. “You don’t know me, don’t do anything stupid for me!” she shouted. She received a blow to the head, effectively silencing her. The man with the flat red face looked Chase over critically.
“Tie him up, too,” he said in an ugly, steely voice. Before Chase knew what was happening, he was knocked over the head from behind; apparently there had been more than five gang members. He blacked out.
When Chase came to, he was tied to a jagged stone, his arms wrapped far behind his back, his mouth gagged. A great group of blue-uniformed men and women were surrounding the woman from earlier, who was not attached to anything but bound all the same. The sky was dark, and a fire had been lit in the center of the mass of bodies. A red-haired man was standing over the woman, apart from the rest of the group. The flames lit him so that he looked positively demonic. Chase struggled, but could not move his body even an inch; out of his periphery he saw that his bag and Poké Balls were lying abandoned by another black rock with a bunch of other assorted goods.
The woman looked positively dreadful. Her emerald dress had been ripped open in the back; her flesh was charred and raw, a crude ‘S’ pulsing in the angry welts across her shoulder blades. Her curly blonde hair was partially gone, entire sections of her scalp bare. Her face was pale, empty, her eyes blank.
“So only Will knows how to harness the power of the legendary birds, that’s what you’re saying,” the man said slowly, smoothly. He had an icy-blue stare that seemed to penetrate the woman’s very white skin.
“Yes,” she said, her voice hollow.
“You MUST know, your husband and Will are so inseparable, the man practically sleeps with the psychic. Preston MUST have been told the secret at least once! How do we capture the birds?” The woman remained silent. The mention of her husband seemed to have rattled her.
“That’s all we’re going to get from the girl, Gabriel,” belched a deep voice from the mass of gang members.
“Oh, we’re just getting started.” The man nodded to a reedy, thin man with nervously clasping hands at his right shoulder. “Get the chutes,” he said, leering. The man nodded, his bulging eyes sparking with sudden energy. “Amy, bring the boy here,” he said, his eyes stabbing into Chase as he glanced the boy’s way. A dark, impossibly tall woman towered over Chase, bending down and untying his hands, shoving him roughly forward, so that he was mere feet away from the fire.
“Not the boy!” the woman shouted. This alone seemed to motivate her. She placed her hand on her stomach, and Chase noticed in horror that there was a gentle bulge beneath her hand. This woman was nearly a mother.
“Here they are, Gabriel,” said the reedy man, his voice quite anxious. Chase locked eyes with the woman, who looked positively terrified now that she understood what the next step of the torturing process was. Chase watched numbly as they kicked the woman, tore at her, as Gabriel drove the bamboo chutes up her fingers...the woman was a ghost, nothing more, and Chase could do nothing, still bound and gagged, lying powerless not two yards away.
“Maybe we should torture the boy, too, maybe that will loosen her tongue,” Gabriel said quietly.
“No, Gabriel, the boy doesn’t matter,” said a rational voice behind him.
“Do you want to find the birds, Skylar?” the red-haired man said impatiently.
“Yes…” The level voice again.
“Then let me do things my way,” Gabriel growled. He looked down at Chase, smiling, a very nice smile which terrified Chase more than anything else so far. He reached delicately for Chase’s bound hands, smiling still more broadly. He bent down to the boy, looking him in the face.
“I don’t mean to cause pain when it isn’t necessary,” he said somberly, “but in this case...it absolutely is.” He fingered the chutes delicately, his icy blue eyes fixed on Chase’s hands. The next two hours were beyond pain; they were insanity, all spots and red flashes, splinters and screams and searing hot pain.
The next thing Chase Tang remembered was awakening in a cool white room, a man in a lab coat sitting across from him.
“How are you today, Chase?” He had a very welcoming voice. Chase flinched at the sound of it.
“Where...where am I?” he asked, trembling.
“This is the Vermilion Psychiatric Hospital, Mr. Tang. You’ve been here for a month. Don’t you remember?” Chase noticed his hands were shaking. He looked down at them; they were quite as he remembered, not a blemish or scar to be seen. “I’m Dr. Hume,” said the man, looking expectantly at Chase. “We’ve had regular sessions together for two weeks. Surely you remember…”
Chase had lifted himself from the couch he had been sitting in, crossing to the single mirror hanging above the minty-green potted plant in the corner. “Chase,” Dr. Hume said quietly. But Chase merely gasped, staring in awe at his reflection. His face had remained quite intact; still roguishly handsome, with a soft chin and long nose, soft brown eyes. But his hair was what caught his eye.
It was pure white.
….....................................................................................
-2009-
“Leaf Tornado, Servine!” Chase called in a last-ditch effort. Despite the best efforts of both boys, the flux of Pokémon that continued attacking had reached insane heights, forcing both trainers down to one Pokémon: Chase, his Servine, and Alec, Pupitar. The horde was thinning, though: it seemed at least that the Lairon were retreating, many turning from the fight and burrowing back into the dark recesses of the tunnels. Servine glowed his signature jade color, releasing a frenzied storm of thin, jagged leaves from the collar around his neck at the silver-backed opponents.
“Pupitar, Chip Away!” Alec said half-heartedly. His worst fears had been confirmed: Pupitar was slower than her previous form, and this was royally messing with the boy’s battle tactics. Pupitar seemed overwhelmed, her large white eyes watering slightly and her diamond-shaped gray body wilting under stress.
“Use Roar,” said a familiar voice. Alec raised his eyes in disbelief. Standing on the other side of the remaining Lairon and Aggron were five figures, two of which were Pokémon. The taller of the creatures, Electivire, pumped his large meaty fists together and released a cry that was less deafening than the one that had caused the cave-in, although apparently far more lethal. Immediately the wild Pokémon scattered, all thoughts of attack put out of mind in desperation to escape the screeching noise emerging from the big yellow tiger-like form. When the room was still again, all sounds of battle dissipated, Chase and Alec looked at each other. “Seriously, neither of you thought to use Roar?” Preston’s soft voice sounded weary. “How long have you been a trainer, again, Chase?” The two boys ignored the older man.
“We made it,” Alec muttered in a small voice, looking from Chase to Pupitar, who seemed relieved and slightly frightened of her trainer.
“Yeah, we did,” Chase said, kneeling down next to his reptilian companion. “Thanks,” he whispered to Servine, and then, looking up: “You too.” He stood and crossed to Alec, reaching out a hesitant hand. After a brief, awkward handshake, the two turned their eyes to the figures on the other side of the room.
“You survived,” Alec said bleakly. Logan seemed fine, although Preston looked like he needed immediate attention: the man was pale, dust filling the lines on his face. His right leg was in a rough cast, and he was leaning on his Sawsbuck for support. Alec exhaled, his heart rate slowing in relief from the battle, before his eyes landed on the third person in their group. “You,” he said, his eyes narrowing. Natalia was standing behind Logan and Preston, still dressed in her sundress from the encounter outside the tunnels. It seemed she was working very hard to go unnoticed, lurking in the shadows.
“Alec, I was so worried!” Logan cried, stepping forward and then sprinting to close the distance between herself and the boys. She pulled Alec into a deep hug, her eyes falling on Chase behind the boy and smiling weakly at him. “Hey,” she said softly, pulling back, her robin’s-egg eyes looking Alec over for injury. Chase returned Servine to his Poké Ball.
“Alec, Chase, it’s good to see you found your way,” Preston said, his tired voice breaking from the effort. Chase held up the small journal he and Alec had been taking turns interpreting. “Ah, yes, I’m glad you figured that out,” he continued, his eyes falling on the book. Upon Chase’s look of confusion and Alec’s of rage, he followed their eyes to Natalia and nodded. “Alec, I believe you know Natalia already. Chase, Natalia, Natalia, Chase,” he said, indicating the two should meet. Chase did not move. “Natalia’s going to come with us out of the caves.”
“This is a joke, right?” Alec said, looking to Logan for confirmation.
“No, he’s gone mad,” Logan whispered, shaking her head and glaring at the ruby-haired girl. Natalia pulled at her dress and locked eyes with Alec, her fierce gaze too much for him. He looked back at Preston, incredulous.
“I think he has,” Alec replied, shaking his head indignantly.
“I’m confused,” Chase said slowly. Preston urged Sawsbuck to move forward, reaching a hand back for the Team Skye girl.
“Chase, this is Natalia. She has tried to kill me twice, she’s the one from the gym who works for Team Skye. For Gabriel.” Alec’s voice shook. “Seriously, Preston, you aren’t serious, right?”
Preston shook his head. “Alec, she’s told me she’s sorry, and I believe her. She wants to help us. To help you.”
Alec hesitated, looking at Logan, who had taken his hand. “Help me what?”
Natalia cleared her throat. “I can speak for myself,” she said softly to Preston, stepping forward. Alec, Chase, and Logan stared. “Um, hi. Alec, I know you have no reason to trust me. Nobody ever has any reason to trust anyone, right? But...well, I do want to help you. I’ve wanted to for a long time now. Gabriel has a plan, Alec, one that you can’t stop. Or at least, you couldn’t.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to trust in me. But trust in this: I want Gabriel dead just as much as you do.”