A/N: Why hello there! As you may have noticed, this is not a new story. It's actually a very old story that I abandoned after losing inspiration and motivation. I always felt bad about leaving it unfinished, especially when I realized people were still occasionally reading it after all these years. That's why I'm back to finish this once and for all. However, I couldn't just pick up where I left off. My writing has changed a lot in the almost eleven years since I first posted, so the other chapters have been temporarily removed for major revisions and rewriting.

If you've come across my story before, you will hopefully find a cleaner, more focused plot and better writing overall. If you're not familiar with this project, I hope you enjoy it, and I promise it will have an ending this time!

CHAPTER 1

"No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness."

Aristotle

Delia Ketchum stared out the kitchen window. I'm being ridiculous, she told herself. Nothing sinister ever happened in small towns like this. Practically nowhere was safer than Pallet Town. And yet, the letter...

A sudden movement caught Delia's eye, and she felt her pulse quicken. There he was again – the same young man she had been seeing outside her house for close to a week. He had to be from out of town, or Delia would have recognized him. At first glance he looked like any other tourist with his baggy shorts, cheesy button-down shirt with a tropical print, and a camera hanging around his neck. However, even if he was renting one of the summer cottages up the road, the man spent too much time in front of her house for her liking. No matter how hard she tried, Delia couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Turning abruptly from the window, Delia crossed the house and threw open the back door. Mimey was sweeping the path to the garden, happily muttering to himself as he worked.

"Mimey, come inside!"

The Pokemon turned and cocked his head, frowning with concern. Delia realized the fear must have been evident in her voice. She forced herself to smile and carefully controlled her tone.

"The path looks very nice, Mimey. Why don't you come in and watch TV for a while?"

"Mime!" the Pokemon agreed.

As soon as he was inside, Delia slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. She had almost forgotten what it was like to be afraid, but the timing of the letter coinciding with the appearance of this stranger frayed at her nerves. Delia leaned against the door and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her eyes fell on the phone, and for half a moment Delia was tempted to call the police like Professor Oak had urged her to do.

But what would she tell them? It wasn't illegal for a tourist to walk past her house. Officer Jenny certainly had better things to do than to deal with a housewife's paranoia. Besides, she'd eventually have to explain why she found the man suspicious, and that would raise awkward questions Delia didn't want to answer. Rumors had a habit of spreading quickly in Pallet Town.

Once she found the strength to move from the door, Delia checked to make sure Mimey was happily settled in with his cartoons and peeked out the window. The street outside was deserted.

"It's just my imagination," Delia whispered to herself as she climbed the stairs up to the bedroom.

The familiar surroundings brought Delia comfort until her eyes fell on the letter sitting on the dresser. Nothing about the plain white envelope would seem out of place to the casual observer, but to Delia it stood out like an unwelcome intruder. For what must have been the hundredth time, Delia picked it up with a shaking hand. Nothing on the envelope indicated where the letter had come from. There was no return address, just Delia's name and house number printed on an impersonal label. Delia sank down onto her bed and extracted the neatly folded note. By now she had read it so many times that she had the words committed to memory, but each time she half-expected to find something she had missed.

Delia,

Be extremely careful about who you let into your home in the coming weeks, and make sure your doors and windows are locked at night. Someone is trying to discover the truth about you, and they are much closer than I would like. This issue will be resolved shortly. In the meantime, I urge you to be cautious and vigilant on matters relating to your personal safety.

I cannot say anything more in case this message falls into the wrong hands, but I am sure you understand my meaning.

Sincere regards.

That was it. There were no pleasantries or even a signature, but Delia would know the handwriting anywhere. She set the letter aside and yanked open the nightstand drawer. Flipping a small latch allowed her to remove the false bottom of the drawer and extract the two treasures she kept inside. The first was a ring with an impressively large stone that seemed to glow with its own internal radiance. It was moonstone, Delia knew, cut and polished until it shined even brighter than a diamond.

"Such an uncommon beauty deserves more than a common diamond," he had said so long ago as he slipped the ring onto Delia's finger.

Delia tried to ignore the lump in her throat brought on by the memory and stared down at the second item, an old photograph creased around the edges from too much handling. A younger, carefree version of herself cradled an infant Ash in her arms and leaned back into the embrace of the handsome, dark-haired man standing behind her. They both smiled as the warm summer sun beat down on them. Delia sighed, envious of the happy young woman who didn't know that her life would be turned completely upside down in a few short months.

A few tears welled in her eyes, but Delia angrily brushed them away before replacing the ring and the photograph in the drawer. No contact, that had been their agreement. Delia picked up the letter once more. No contact until she and Ash were safe. She had kept her end of the bargain, living a lie these past fourteen years. If he thought he could just start sending her letters after all this time –

"Damn it, Giovanni," Delia whispered, crushing the letter into a ball in her fist.

She tossed the crumpled paper across the room where it bounced off the wall next to the window. She froze. The man was outside again, loitering on the edge of her lawn. The sight of him did nothing to quell her rage. Be cautious? Ha! She'd show him.

Delia stormed down the stairs. Mimey was so engrossed in his favorite cartoon that he scarcely noticed her. Delia unlatched the dead bolt and slipped out into the backyard. She crept around the side of the house and peered around the corner. The man stood on the edge of the grass with his back to her, poking around in the bushes. He never heard Delia's approach.

"What are you doing on my property?" Delia demanded, grabbing the man's shoulder and spinning him around.

The young man was so startled that he toppled over. He stared up at her with wide eyes, his mouth agape. Delia realized he couldn't be any older than Brock, but being young didn't make her have mercy.

"Answer me, or I'll call the police. Who sent you?"

The boy scrambled to his feet and took off running. Delia made no effort to stop him. As she gazed after the retreating figure, her anger melted away, leaving confusion and emptiness in its place.

Delia made up her mind right there. She was tired of being a pawn in someone else's game. It was time to get answers to her questions.