Chapter 40
The child comes to blurrily, and for a moment is almost all right. It’s not until it tries to shift from its cramped position in the sand that it finds out how much everything hurts, inside as well as out, like even its stomach has somehow gotten bruised. Something in one leg gives a shout of indignation, loud enough that the child comes fully awake, biting its lip against a cry.
A small noise near its head makes the child seize with fear and another jagged note of pain. But it isn’t Mewtwo, only Absol, peering down at the child. “Are you all right?” she asks.
The child turns its back on her, which hurts, too, but is worth it. It stares dully at the wreckage of its house while it lies there trying to heal, slowly putting things to right within its body. The smell of burning overwhelms even the clean saltiness of the ocean breeze, and smoke still rises from the jumble of boards. The wreck is dark and jaggedly skeletal against a sky that’s only just beginning to think about dawn.
The child wonders whether anyone on One Island saw the smoke, whether someone might come and investigate. That would serve Mewtwo right, wouldn’t it? Or maybe he’d enjoy it. A couple curious humans turning up on his shores would be all the excuse he’d need to justify a murderous rampage.
The clone is meditating or whatever not far away. As dead to the world as though he were asleep. Untroubled. The child lies where it is, hurting, with tears sliding down the side of its nose. Absol moves around so she’s in its line of sight again, and the child ignores her; she leans down close like she wants to touch it with her nose, and the child scrunches to put its face out of reach, which finally makes her go away.
The child watches smoke curl up and away from its home until it finds itself thinking of Cinnabar and turns its head aside. Whenever it moves it feels like the vertebrae in its neck grind past each other on splintered edges.
Today the child leaves for Orre. It would like to be excited about that. It will get to ride on a big boat and then it’ll be in the desert, someplace it’s only ever seen in movies.
And how long is the boat going to take? How long is the child going to be stuck in the middle of the ocean with Mewtwo? Despite itself the child moves again to rest its hand against the pokéballs on its belt, which by some miracle still clings to its misshapen form. At least it won’t have to be alone, if it can ever get up the courage to talk to its pokémon again.
Simply lying there, awake, is exhausting. The child should be fixed, completely healed, but it still aches, deep inside. It doesn’t want to move. It doesn’t want to go to Orre. It doesn’t want to be awake at all. But sleep won’t come.
To the east the sky is taking on a burnt purple-pink just above the ocean. Soon the sun will come up, and then Mewtwo will rise, and he’ll make the child do whatever he wants. He’s in charge now. He’ll make the child take him to Fuchsia, find their boat… The child’s going to need new clothes. These ones are shredded and bloody. It doesn’t have any others because they all got burnt up.
The child’s tears are barely warm, sliding down its face. Stupid Mewtwo. Everything seems too hard, all of a sudden. The child can’t even lie there and not hurt and the entire day stretches before it with painful certainty.
It could run. It could just run away and Mewtwo would never be able to find it. He can’t teleport, and the child could live out in the wild, far from humans, where no one and nothing is.
And then Mew might never get free, because of the child. What would it be then, except a coward?
The sky’s shading purple to red to orange. There’s no need to wait for Mewtwo to get up. The child knows what it needs to do: find new clothes, and food and things for the trip, and where the boat is. Mewtwo will be mad when he finds the child gone, but he will be pleased if it was out doing what he’d want it to do anyway. It will mean they can leave faster. And that means Mewtwo will have to go into his master ball sooner, because obviously there’s no way he can be out on the boat. The child can go now and that will mean it has to deal with Mewtwo less, and especially not right away.
And… and. The child drags itself to its feet, makes itself turn and look at Mewtwo. He’s stretched out casually on his side, grayish skin whole and unmarked, the master ball resting in the sand nearby. That, at least, is chipped and dented, shiny metal showing through where paint’s flecked off. If not for that it would be like nothing even happened. That, and the belt that now sits around Mewtwo’s waist, the one that holds the great Nathaniel Morgan’s pokéballs.
There will be a little time before the child has to get on the boat. Maybe even a little more time than it will need to run errands. It stares at Mewtwo, whose eyes glow flat purple through the lids. The air sizzles with his psychic field, but it’s nothing more than a flat feeling of presence, the ambient sense of someone being nearby. None of the usual anger, no emotion at all.
The child feels like it can’t breathe. It takes a step closer to Mewtwo, and nothing happens. He isn’t watching. He’s not going to notice a thing.
Unless he does and he wakes up.
And then what is he going to do? Not much, if he wants the child to be in any state to take him to Orre today.
But he could make it hurt.
The child stands there with its hands going clammy, watching Mewtwo do nothing at all. What’s wrong? Mewtwo won’t notice anything. Coward. Wasn’t the child always supposed to be a hero? Wasn’t it supposed to do the right thing no matter if it hurt?
The child forces itself to breathe and wipes tears from its face. It won’t think now, not of what it’s going to do, especially not what might come after. Just like before, it needs to keep its mind blank and act. Act now. Now.
It doesn’t act now. Or now. But something moves, something white and silky silent. Absol steps back into the child’s peripheral vision and watches, the way she does. The child can already hear the question she’s bound to ask, Are you sure that’s a good idea? and is overcome with such a surge of anger and disgust that it clenches its teeth and darts forward, with one swipe grabbing the pokéballs from Mewtwo’s belt. Easy. Of course it was. Who was ever going to stop it–Absol?
The child doesn’t even see if Mewtwo notices before it teleports away.
The child knows Fuchsia. Its favorite teleport spot is one where a scraggly stand of trees borders an abandoned lot. Like always, the child can’t appreciate how oppressive Mewtwo’s psychic field is until it’s gone. Fuchsia’s air feels light and clean, the breeze tingling as it plays across the child’s skin.
It helps, a little. The sounds of the waking city are a reminder that the child’s not alone, but they’re far away enough that they don’t intrude. The child lets out a long, shaky breath, holding its stolen handful of pokéballs tight against its chest. It can count them without looking, feel each round bump under its fingers: three. Not all of them, still, but this is the best it can do.
What now? Go try to find the great Nathaniel Morgan and give them back? Release them here and let them go looking on their own? The child rolls the clutch of pokéballs against its skin. No. It has things it needs to do first. Find clothes–it can’t even go anywhere if it doesn’t have clothes.
But it has to do something with the pokéballs, and it doesn’t trust the pockets in its mangled swim trunks. There aren’t enough clips on its belt. The child runs its fingers over the pokéballs that are already there.
Rats feels like too much effort right now. Thunder, too. War is always a problem because he can’t move around on land, and Titan will be conspicuous while the child’s out shopping. Togetic would want to help, but the child’s hurt would only scare her. Duskull, though–Duskull never asks many questions.
The ghost appears in a flash of white and immediately edges sideways to be more fully in the shade. He pauses, red eye swinging back and forth behind his mask, and makes a slow circuit of the child, grumbling to himself. “It’s okay, Duskull,” the child says, fully aware that he can tell that’s not true. “I’m going shopping. Want to come?”
The ghost darts forward and hangs close to the child’s shoulder, bravely in the sunlight. The child smiles. Yes. This was a good idea. It hadn’t even realized how much it had missed this.
“Okay. Can you take these for me?” It holds up the great Nathaniel Morgan’s pokéballs, and Duskull extends a scraggly tendril, wicking them up so they rattle around inside his skull alongside his glowing eye. “Be careful with those, okay? We don’t want any of them opening by accident.” Mightyena popping up in the middle of a crowded Fuchsia street would be a nightmare. Duskull burbles and sinks back into shadow, waiting.
Waiting for the child to change. Waiting for it to become whoever it’s going to be. The child hesitates for only a moment.
And who are you now? You’re Jade Winstead again, Jade Winstead who is as old as you want her to be and as rich or as poor and who comes from wherever you wish. In fact, she has her own house somewhere, somewhere not too far, and she comes into the city to shop and to see other people, to feel like she belongs. You stretch and flex your fingers, frowning at an unexpected twinge, getting used to your body again. It feels like forever since you’ve been somebody human. Somebody human besides…
“Let’s go,” you say to Duskull. You need clothes first, clothes like what Jade Winstead would wear, which you imagine to be tasteful and refined. Not what you have, some ragged blood-soaked swim trunks. You don’t know of any clothing stores that are open this early, but they don’t have to be open for you to get clothes from them, so that’s all right. The harder part is getting to one without attracting attention. Even at sunrise there are people here and there, going to early jobs or coming back from late ones. The fresh-minted sun leaves few shadows for you to hide in, and you dart from one to the other like Duskull, hustling across exposed areas at what you hope are reasonably human speeds.
It could almost be a game. It is a game. A fun game, and you’re having fun. Certainly Duskull seems to be, sometimes shooting ahead to show you the sneakiest way to go. You totally have fun, and you make it to the clothing store without incident, except for toppling a garbage can or two and startling an old vulpix sleeping on a porch. Then you get to pick out some new clothes, which is always great. You leave money behind at the register, careless, throwing in a bit extra. Why not? You are Jade Winstead. You are extremely generous and don’t have to worry about money anyway.
So, what now? All the lemon ice stands and balloon stalls at the beach are closed, and even most of the stores along Main Street won’t open for hours. You could go down to the wharf to look for your boat. But on the way there you end up in a twenty-four-hour pharmacy, pulling flip-flops off the rack, considering a beach ball, maybe a plastic shovel and pail. There’s one here that’s a pretty blue.
You get the flip-flops, get the pail, grab some of your favorite candy bars and chips to go with. But outside, in the growing morning light, everything seems wrong. You put on the flip-flops, but they’re stiff and uncomfortable, and the pail looks cheap and flimsy, you can tell the handle’s going to break in no time. You crush it into a garbage can the first opportunity you get. Even the food you bought doesn’t taste right, and you get rid of that, too.
At another drug store you grab a scarf, candy, sunscreen, why not, a pikachu toy that lights up and squeaks that fascinates Duskull, maybe because the red-glowing cheeks remind him of his own roving eye. He stays with you while you shop, drifting in and out shelves. He’s not very expressive, and you can’t remember him ever saying a single word you could make out, but he’s always there. You let him keep the toy, even after you decide the scarf is ugly, resolve to save the candy for Togetic, wonder why on earth you bought the sunscreen, it’s not like you get burned. Fuchsia gradually wakes around you, roads filling with morning traffic, people with coffee and briefcases on the streets. Down at the beach sunbathers start to appear, families with children, vacationers getting an early start to their day. You try to lose yourself in the hum of the city, there but not there, benignly ignored by the people going by. You wander up to the little zoo outside the Safari Zone, then back down past the gym. In nearby battle courts gung-ho trainers are practicing for their big matches.
When you come across the pokémon center you realize, immediately, that this is where you wanted to be all along. Of course. It was dumb not to realize. You buy a newspaper and get some terrible coffee and sit down in your usual spot. Duskull floats just above the surface of the table and plays with his toy, phasing a ghostly tendril in and out of the little pikachu’s head so its red cheeks flicker. You drink the coffee and read the paper just like you’re supposed to, just like every other time. You can relax. This is your ritual, and you know exactly how it goes.
But no, even this is wrong. The center lights are too bright, the air too cold, as cold as the cheap plastic seat under you. Everything feels far away, the center’s noises faint over the pulsing of blood in your head. Everything you read keeps sliding away into nothing, and sometimes it feels like you aren’t reading words at all, like instead of being inside yourself you’re only reading what you do and think and feel, telling yourself a story and a lie. You grip the edge of the table, hard, to feel it solid and true between your fingers. This is real. You’re real. Who are you? You are Jade Winstead. You are a real person and you need to focus on reading the paper now.
Read the paper. Read it. The same as you always have. You have to do it. You have to do everything right or things won’t be like they should. That means you have to get the great Nathaniel Morgan’s pokéballs back from Duskull because they shouldn’t be bouncing around in his head like that. You tuck them safe into a pocket while Duskull mumbles sulkily. Is that better? Maybe a little. Is anything else wrong?
Yes. Where’s Officer Feldhorn? He should be here by now, making his morning rounds. Your frantic searching gaze finds him over at the counter, talking with the nurse. He’s here, actually here! The only problem is he’s supposed to be talking with you right now, not her. You’ve been waiting for him, haven’t you? All along this is what you actually wanted, to speak with him, you were looking without realizing it and now here he is at last. “Hey! Officer Feldhorn! Good morning!”
He glances your way, raises his hand in greeting, then goes back to his conversation. That’s no good. “Officer Feldhorn! I need to talk to you!”
For a second you think he’s not going to stop talking, that maybe you will need to go over there and screw everything up just to get his attention, but thankfully a few last words with the nurse are enough to satisfy him. Then he makes his way to your table like usual, the way it’s supposed to be. “Jade! Fancy seeing you again so soon,” he says. “Now, what’s got you so excited? Did Viridian PD have your pokémon?”
“I wanted to tell you, Officer Feldhorn,” you say, gripping the edge of the table tight with one hand, “I found Leonard Kerrigan. He is out in the woods by Indigo Plateau. If you send somebody to look, I bet you will find him.”
“What?” Officer Feldhorn says. “What are you–what are you talking about, Jade?”
“Leonard Kerrigan,” you say patiently. “The computer guy who went missing after the Indigo League tournament. He is out in the deepwilds between Viridian City and Indigo Plateau, and he is not even dead.”
“Jade,” Officer Feldhorn says, “Do you mind if I sit down?” Which is weird, but okay. He slides into the booth across from you to take the spot Rats would normally occupy. It’s a tight squeeze, and Duskull pops out of the table to grumble at him, then scoots over to haunt your side instead. “What were you saying about Leo?”
“What I said. Leonard Kerrigan is in the woods near Indigo Plateau. Unless he already came back on his own, I bet he managed to do that, he is smart. But if you need to find him, that is where he is.”
“He hasn’t been found, to my knowledge,” Officer Feldhorn says. “But, Jade, how do you know about that?”
“Oh, I saw him on my way back from the League finals,” you say, and your smile feels tight. You want to smile wider, stretch it until everything hurts, until you can feel it properly.
“Are you all right, Jade?” Officer Feldhorn asks. He looks so grim. Isn’t he happy to find out where Leonard Kerrigan is?
“Of course, Officer Feldhorn. I am feeling very well.” Duskull mumbles a question at you, your arm going numb where his ethereal body brushes against it, but you keep your attention centered on Officer Feldhorn. Smiling. Still smiling. Officer Feldhorn can fix this. He can send somebody to get Leonard Kerrigan, and then no one will bug you about him ever again.
“And why are you telling me this now, and not–?”
“Also, if you are wondering about that guy who stole Mewtwo, I bet he is somewhere in east Kanto. Probably by Lavender Town or something. Definitely not near Viridian City.”
Officer Feldhorn jerks backwards like you just threw a punch. “The guy who… Nate Morgan?”
“That is just what I heard. I do not know much about him.”
Officer Feldhorn studies you, and his eyes are hard, almost. This isn’t like him at all. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong. Your fingers are white from pressing down on the table as you try to anchor yourself here, where you are, in reality. You focus on the dusting of powdered sugar on Officer Feldhorn’s uniform. He must have just eaten a donut like a proper cop. He’s always been a proper cop. That’s right. That’s good. He is what he is and real.
“Jade, you understand that you can’t lie to me, don’t you?” Officer Feldhorn says. “That would be very serious.”
“I am not lying.” At least indignation comes easily to you this morning.
Officer Feldhorn sighs and rubs the back of his neck, looking side to side as though searching for something. “You realize I’m going to have to…” But he never says what. “Why don’t you go back and explain this to me from the beginning? Now, you were at the Indigo League Finals, am I right?”
He wants to start there? What time is it? You don’t have–you have things to do. This wasn’t supposed to take long. “I was, but I already said what I wanted to say.” Duskull’s still nudging at you, and you recall him and get up from your seat. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Officer Feldhorn stands up, too, not at all graceful. “Jade, if you know anything about Mewtwo, that’s important. That’s extremely important. If you can’t talk to me now–you shouldn’t talk to me. This is over my head. I’ll have to call Koga. Will you speak with him, if not me? Later, even, if you have to?”
That… is interesting. “Koga?” you ask. “Ninja Master Koga?”
Officer Feldhorn smiles, but not as enthusiastically as he should. “The very same. Koga used to be the gym leader here in Fuchsia, you know. We’ve worked together more than once.”
Officer Feldhorn knows Ninja Master Koga. That’s cool. You didn’t think Officer Feldhorn had even a single cool bone in his body, but here he is actually personally knowing a member of the Elite Four. “Will he bring his crobat, too?”
Officer Feldhorn gives another weak smile. “I’d imagine so. You’ll talk to him, then? I can call him. I’m sure he’d get over here right away.”
How much time do you have? Mewtwo won’t be understanding, not even for something as incredible as getting to actually speak to Ninja Master Koga in real life. You shy away from that thought, almost physically recoil from it, and say without thinking, “Sure. Okay.”
Officer Feldhorn nods. “Give me a minute to make that call, then, Jade.” And just like that you’re alone, fidgeting and empty. The table’s beginning to feel solid again, the overhead lights no longer blinding. You could be excited about meeting Ninja Master Koga, but… Why did you come here? Even if someone went to find Leonard Kerrigan now, what would it matter? You aren’t helping anything.
You don’t have long to think before Officer Feldhorn comes back. He’s still too serious, but at least what he says when he settles back across from you is, “He’s on his way, and he’s very interested to hear what you have to say about Nate Morgan. This could be big, Jade. This is a very important case. Anything you know, anything at all, would be a big help.”
“Sure.” You could almost feel bad about telling him the wrong thing about where the great Nathaniel Morgan went. And why you did that, you really don’t know. You could turn the great Nathaniel Morgan in and get a big reward, be famous, maybe, and when he’s in jail he won’t be able to do bad things anymore. But thinking of it only makes you feel tired, immeasurably tired, and of everything.
“Officer Feldhorn, why did you become a police officer?” you ask out of a small measure of curiosity and a large measure of wanting to think about something else. And Officer Feldhorn delivers, recovering at least some measure of his jovial self as he recounts stories of the tyrannical lunch lady at the police academy, how he got lost in the Safari Zone his first week on the job, whatever he can think of to tell you until, abruptly, Ninja Master Koga walks in.
At fist you think he’s some other police officer, out of uniform. He doesn’t look anything like he does on TV, just any old person in a dark turtleneck and jeans. It’s not until he turns towards you that you recoginze his angular face and sharp dark eyes.
“Ah, Koga. Thank you for coming so quickly,” Officer Feldhorn says, halfway to standing. For someone who’s supposedly Ninja Master Koga’s old friend he’s certainly acting tense.
“Of course. This is the woman you were telling me about?”
“Yes, this is Jade. Jade, could you tell Koga what you told me? In as much detail as possible, please.”
“Well, I do not know much, but I do know the Rocket guy is not near Viridian City,” you begin, and go on from there. This is the hard part: saying things that sound real and important without them being true or giving any clues at all. Ninja Master Koga asks about everything: how you know, who told you, what is all this about your stolen pokémon? Officer Feldhorn must have filled him in on the phone. You say as many true things as you can and mostly try to not really answer instead of lying, then wait with sizzling nerves, fully present now and terrified, to see what Ninja Master Koga thinks.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar pokéball, purple top, “M” embossed above the button. Your heart lurches, but then you realize it can’t possibly be Mewtwo’s master ball. It has none of that lowering pressure, none of that awful stinging power. It’s like any other pokéball, except fancy. With fear ebbing, you’re consumed by curiosity. “What’s in there?”
“Nothing,” Ninja Master Koga says. “It’s for you. My thanks for helping us with the investigation.” He offers you the master ball on an open palm.
Ninja Master Koga’s here, and he’s offering you a gift? A master ball? Ninja Master Koga wants to give you his own personal thanks for helping him? You hesitate, throwing a glance at Officer Feldhorn. He’s standing now, arms crossed. He nods at you, slightly, still looking grim. So it’s for real. You turn back to Ninja Master Koga, who’s waiting patiently.
You still can’t entirely believe it. You start to raise your arm, hesitate, then carefully reach for the master ball. Ninja Master Koga steps forward and presses it into your hand. Button first.
The world dissolves into red, and pain.