Chapter One
I ran, ran in
circles around the clearing, Meowth out cold and cradled in the crook of my arm
while I searched frantically, yelling his name loud enough to echo.
The
thought stopped me dead in my tracks.
Echoes. Echoes
meant something solid
to echo off of. We must have landed in
a canyon, or under a cliff. Either way,
we were surrounded by rocks.
I gasped sharply, the realization of
this discovery hitting me full force, and turned towards the edge of the
clearing lined with only a thin ring of bushes and a few thin trees. Gut instinct told me the worst had happened.
Sure enough, after traveling far
enough past the circle of brush and far enough into the rain, a rock wall rose
up before me. A cliff edge, no doubt,
lined with hazardous rocks and black briers twisting their piercing branches up
the stone and into the many cracks. I
broke into a run. I was still too far
away and the rain was too heavy to decipher the dark shadows at the base.
But I didn't have to see, I
knew. And I was proved right when I
reached the wall.
Crumpled against the side of the
rock lay James. His uniform was torn in
several places from the sharp rocks and blood streamed down his face from a cut
hidden in his hair, running off his cheekbones and staining the collar of his
jacket red. I bit back a cry, feeling
as if a knife had twisted itself into my heart.
Kneeling beside him, I brushed the
stray hair out of his face. He didn't
stir; in fact he barely breathed. I
choked back a sob.
"James…James can you hear me?" I
cried, trying to sound tough but a tremble in my voice betraying myself. My only answer was the gentle thrumming of
the rain hitting the rocks and splashing down our faces.
"James!" I screamed, as if begging
would make him wake up. He lay still as
ever, the blood washing down his face and onto his jacket from the rain.
"I've got to get you out of here," I
whispered, more to myself than to him.
Taking
off my jacket I ripped it into shreds and tied the pieces over his larger
wounds. I removed his jacket and threw
it into the bushes. If I was going to
get him help, it would be best to leave the Boss out of it. Better if they didn't know who or what we
worked for—I had learned that the hard way.
Squaring
my shoulders, I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him to his feet.
"This
is going to be hard," I groaned, cradling him in my arms with some difficulty.
Meowth
moaned from the ground where I had left him.
I nudged him lightly with the toe of my boot to wake him up.
"Wha…?"
"James
is hurt. I'm going to have to carry him
so you're going to have to wake up and walk."
The
Pokémon moaned painfully and struggled to his feet.
"You
found him?" He stumbled unsteadily,
catching himself against my leg.
I
nodded and looked down at James tightly.
He looked so peaceful, like my mother when she—
I
jerked slightly, shaking myself out of a dark memory. No! He wasn't dead! And I wasn't going to let him!
"Yeah,"
I murmured finally, answering the cat's question. "Now let's go find a phone booth or something. We'd better get you two some help."
He
nodded stiffly, a shadow crossing over his face. And the rain continued to fall in gray, depressing sheets like
the shroud of misery that hung over us.
I
looked around. The sky had never seemed
so blue. Big puffy clouds, waiting for
the eager eye to decipher what they were, surrounded us; golden rays of the
setting sun reflecting off their pristine white and casting dancing patterns of
light along the ground. Happy laughter
met my ears and I looked down. James
was lying on the ground; hands behind his head and watching the clouds go by, a
content expression on his face and a delighted twinkle in his eye.
"Ash?! It looks like a shapeless blob to me,
Meowth!" he laughed, studying a cloud indicated by the Pokémon. Meowth sat up, earnestly pointing towards
it.
"But
look! Dere's the hat, and dere's his
hair and dat thing right dere is his thumb givin' a thumbs up." James squinted skeptically.
"Oh,
I see it now," he replied with a laugh.
"We'd best not ever tell the little brat, we don't need him any cockier
than he already is."
Meowth
snickered.
"I
always knew da kid had his head in da clouds."
I
smiled and lay back contentedly, relishing the relaxed atmosphere and my
partners' and friends' enjoyment.
"Hey,
Jesse, what do you think?"
I
blinked and turned towards James.
Propped up on his side with one elbow, he studied me with an amused look. I smiled back.
"About
what? The 'Ash cloud'?"
He
chuckled and leaned over me playfully.
"No,
that cloud over there," he whispered huskily, pointing to a different point in
the sky. I pulled my gaze away from his
face and followed his hand. And frowned.
The
indicated cloud was dark and foreboding, flickering with ethereal light. I shivered and turned back towards him,
balking at his smile, which no longer appeared light and humorous.
"Why
that cloud, James? Why the dark one?" I
found myself pleading, feeling trapped against the ground by his darkening
smile. His eyes narrowed and his grin
widened, seeming to darken the very air around us.
"Because,
Jesse. Doesn't it remind you of your
heart?"
I
gasped, the strength of his words burning me like a red-hot iron.
He
leaned closer, his malevolent grin turning to a frown of contempt and
accusation.
"Your
heart, Jesse. Dark and unfeeling. All you ever feel is hate and fear and
rage. A hateful heart can't love."
He
turned away, as if disgusted by me and I could feel the bitter tears spilling
from my eyes.
"A
hateful heart can't love," he repeated, like a knife to my soul. Then he pulled away and was gone.
I
struggled to wake myself, frantically pulling towards consciousness. Finally the scene went black, the gentle
thrum and beep of hospital machinery meeting my ears. Opening my eyes, I chased the start of tears from them. After a few seconds, the whiteness dissolved
into a sterile hospital room, a heart monitor on the far side of the only bed
in the room sending out a steady, beeping rhythm. I sighed raggedly and hugged myself tightly, trying to forget the
horrible dream.
The
far door swung open softly, causing me to start in my chair.
"Oh,
I'm sorry I startled you, Miss," came a kind voice. A tall, brown-eyed man with short, wavy white hair smiled down at
me gently. Dressed in a white lab coat,
he carried a clipboard under one arm and walked to the side of the bed.
"Doctor…"
I ventured, trying to recall his name.
"Mastison,"
he finished helpfully, recording some information off of the heart
monitor. I got up from my chair and
went over to the bed, looking down at James with concern. A large white bandage had been wrapped
neatly around his forehead over the cut as well as a few other places on his
arms and legs. The peaceful look was
still on his face, and my eyebrows knitted with worry.
Dr.
Mastison smiled at me sadly.
"You
were asleep when we diagnosed him.
Would you like the good and bad news, miss…?"
"Jesse,"
I answered absentmindedly, unable to tear my eyes away from my comatose
partner. "Just call me Jesse, please."
He
nodded in understanding and looked down at his clipboard, a shadow falling over
his face.
"Well,
the good news is that the cuts, including the one on his temple are minor and
not very deep. They'll probably heal in
a few weeks and leave no scars at all…"
He
trailed off, waiting for me to request the bad news. I merely looked at him, a sinking feeling in my stomach causing
me to go cold.
"The
bad news…the bad news is whether he wakes up or not. Apparently when he hit his head, it rebounded off the back and
caused extreme trauma to the spine and cerebral cortex."
I
could feel myself go deathly white. It
felt as if a knife had been driven into my heart, punishment for my years of
crime and coldness towards others. The
only person in the world I actually cared for was going to be taken away from
me.
"Isn't
there something you can do?!" I cried, an almost crazed tone in my voice. The doctor looked even more regretful, subconsciously
running a hand through his thinning hair.
"The
best thing we can do now is wait. The
damage was concentrated in a delicate spot that is hard to examine without
causing more damage. If any more
symptoms arise, we may be able to operate but as of now we're not completely
sure of what and where the damage is."
I
wanted to scream at him. I wanted to
punch him in the face for not being able to do anything and just standing
there. I bit my lip and looked down at
James. This was not a time to let my
fear and frustrations control me. I
needed to be strong and calm for James.
Taking
a deep breath to calm my rattled nerves, I looked up at the doctor.
"I
understand, Dr. Mastison. What are
his…chances?"
I
gripped the edge of the bed with white knuckles. My heart wanted to believe he was going to be all right but I
knew I'd have to face the facts, whether they seared or not.
"At
the moment, with the information we have, he has a twenty-percent chance of
recovery and an extremely slim thirteen-percent chance of survival."
I
couldn't take it. I crumbled to my
knees, staring forward through blurring vision at no particular point, gripping
the sides of the bed so hard my hands shook.
I
heard the doctor sigh, a deeply regretful and sympathetic sound, and then he
was gone, leaving me to my pain.
Gasping
raggedly, I squeezed my eyes shut tight against the tears which still continued
to flow freely.
"James…"
I sobbed, grasping one of his hands, which was laid out on the bed. It was warm and I leaned my cheek against
it, trying to pretend he was awake and okay.
But there was no answering movement and my chest clamped tighter.
"Don't
die on me, James! You're not going to
die!" I cried harshly, imitating the tone I always used to reprimand him. But it seemed so hollow without his replying
cry of terror.
A
hollow that echoed in my hate stained heart.
Meowth
stared at me in horror, his face white with fear and pain.
"Thirteen…percent?!"
he repeated incredibly. I nodded
numbly, not wanting to face the facts.
He swore lividly and got up from his seat, proceeding to pace the small
cafeteria.
I
simply stared down at my food, unsure of what to do. One side of me wanted to do the same as him, while the other
newer half—developed out of the shock and pain of the last few days—wanted to
break down in tears. I was all mixed up
and my feelings were split.
After
calming down somewhat, he came back over to the table, wincing under his many
bandages.
"Did
dey tell ya how long he's sposed ta stay in da coma?" he asked, gazing at me
with concern. I shook my head.
"No. I forgot to ask," I answered dully, staring
down at my full tray—meal now cold and unappetizing. Pushing it away from me in disgust I got up from my seat.
"Well
ahm gonna' go ask, den," said Meowth, looking hesitant to leave me in my
present condition. Like I would hurt
myself while he was gone.
"I'll
be fine, you go do that," I replied, trying to muster a smile to assure
him. He looked skeptical but left
anyway.
The
lounge was only a little ways down the hall.
I went there, not wanting to have to face James' still form so soon
again and being unable to control the pain welling up inside.
It
was fairly empty, to my luck—a man pacing near the door and a pair of women
sniffling quietly amongst them selves near the back being its only occupants.
I
chose a seat on a comfortable couch near the center. The room was comfortably furnished, large cozy couches and
stuffed chairs were spread about the room and the walls had been papered in
cheery floral designs in an attempt to lighten its dreary occupants'
moods. Coffee tables piled with
magazines and books were positioned in front of each couch and a TV played
silently from its ceiling jack, unwatched by the nervous and devastated
occupants.
After
what seemed like hours, in which I stared unseeing at the television in vain
attempts to forget my reason for being there, Meowth returned, looking angry.
"Bastards! Dey wouldn't tell me anything! Told me dat information was none of my
business! Family only, dey said! Wouldn't even tell me when I told 'em I was
da family pet! Lousy, goddamn hospital
staff…!!"
He
flopped down moodily on the couch beside me, his expression softening into
worry.
"Jess,
are you okay? You've been acting so
strangely," he asked with concern, looking up at me with worried eyes. I smiled bitterly.
"Just
shocked, I guess. I mean, how many
times have we been blown up, fallen off a cliff, crash-landed or been in a car
crash without getting seriously injured? What happened differently this time?"
I replied, choking on the last words. I
looked him in the eye and he was forced to turn away. It must have been the pain in my eyes. It nearly radiated like a furnace.
"Why
did it happen?"
Meowth
took a ragged breath and turned back to me, looking more serious than I'd ever
seen him in my life.
"I
dunno', Jess. We'll never understand
this sort of thing. All we can do is
wait and…"
He
trailed off, embarrassed at his newfound sincerity.
"And
hope," he concluded after the brief pause, finally looking me in the eye
again. I leaned over and hugged him
tightly, something I was in desperate need of—a sympathetic shoulder.
Chapter Two
Two nights later, I had another
dream. This time not a vision, but a
memory…
I peered through the dark glass into
the dimly lit room. An altar stood at
the front, surrounded in lavish flower arrangements and candles of all shapes
and sizes. I tried to ignore the large,
dark brown casket lying with its lid open among the flowers and candle glow,
instead focusing on the window lock as James worked away at it with quick
precision.
Finally the lock clicked open. James made a quiet sound of triumph and
turned to me in the thick darkness, the only illumination the flickering glow
of candle light on his face.
"You sure you want to do this,
Jess?" he whispered, putting his lock picks away in their appropriate
case. I turned my gaze to the candle
glow and flowers, finally allowing myself to focus on the casket at the center. Taking a deep breath, I nodded my head.
"Sure. This is something I have to do," I replied calmly, grabbing the
edge of the window in my gloved hands.
He nodded in approval and helped me lift the window wide enough for the
two of us to slip in.
Once inside, a sort of solemn
sadness seemed to fall over me. The two
of us tiptoed softly to the altar, refraining from speaking. James seemed to have sensed my sudden change
in tone and stayed silent, watching me with a look of slight concern.
We reached the altar, and James fell
back to give me privacy to do what I had to do—watching the door and window for
signs of discovery.
I stared at the flowers and candles;
my eyes flitting to the pictures scattered artfully among them but never to the
open casket. A woman, beautiful and
painfully familiar smiled back gently through the frames and dusts of time—in
one, a professional photograph, her chin resting daintily upon a hand; in
another, laughing joyfully from the back of a horse; long red hair pulled into
a sleek bun at the back of her head, and yet another, smiling youthfully under
a white veil next to her new husband as they stood hand in hand, ready to face
the world together. And in the last,
smiling broadly and proudly with her head perched lovingly upon her young daughter's;
the exact replica of her mother smiling happily back at me from along time ago,
in a life that was far away and dead.
Bitter tears stinging my eyes, I turned away—wanting
desperately to fling the wonderful picture away like I had with my life. Even with my eyes closed, the picture stood
burned into my very soul, imparting a deep and ancient guilt, long since
buried.
With
old wounds burning anew, I allowed myself to look down at the woman in the
casket. The same red hair and kind
features, cold with death and slightly worn with age. She was smiling in her perpetual sleep, a smile that brought back
memories of birthdays, Christmas, swinging in the park. Her musical laughter, filling the cold house
in winter as she sang along with the radio while baking the Christmas cookies,
laughing at her meager singing talent.
Handing the little girl with the red braids her bologna sandwich and
sending her outside.
Cradling the same girl in her arms;
covered in tender blue bruises, as she cried away the pain in her mother's
comforting embrace. And she herself
lying on the carpeted floor; curled in a fetal position around her battered
body unaware of the little girl watching at the door. Never once crying from the pain—simply lying there while her
daughter lay silently sobbing from her hiding place, terrified by her mother's
vulnerability.
A strong woman, who'd take on the
world for her daughter but never once thought of herself. And then her daughter abandoned her, and she
was left with no one to help keep her mind off of the pain, the misery. Like a coward, the daughter ran, leaving the
mother to fight it alone. But without
her daughter's love and dependency, there was nothing left for her to fight
for. Like a beautiful rose, she wilted
and crumbled, and finally died.
"Like a coward," I whispered
bitterly to myself, hating myself for abandoning her. "I left you like the coward I am. And now you're dead."
I hung my head in shame, the guilt
welling up in my chest to spill out in the form of tears. They landed on the death-cold cheeks, like
jewels upon a queen. She deserved
jewels.
"I'm sorry I never made something of
myself; never made you proud. You
deserved to be proud! But you were
treated like the lowest thing that walked the earth, like some sort of lowlife
that didn't deserve its humanity! And I
did nothing about it, choosing to ignore it instead! And you took it all in stride.
I never once heard you complain, or cry out. And I called you a coward!
People call me brave, but my cowardice at deserting you dirties the
title that should rightfully be yours.
You were the bravest most selfless woman I ever knew! You didn't deserve to die!"
I ran my fingers along the familiar
cheekbones. I seemed to look like her
more and more each day.
"I love you, Mom. And I'm sorry you had to die alone because
of my cowardice," I whispered, leaning over and kissing her cold cheek
tenderly.
There was a whisper of cloth beside
me and I turned to see James standing beside me, a rose in hand. He offered the flower to me—understanding
and sympathy shining in his green eyes.
Taking the proffered rose, I lay it
gently on the woman's chest between her clasped hands. Immediately a flood of relief and happiness
washed over me, a feeling I hadn't felt in years, like a hefty weight being lifted
from my shoulders. Straightening my
shoulders, I wiped away my tears.
"Let's go. She's in good hands now," I said with a relieved smile, shooting
one last glance at the open casket. The
photo with the gilded frame caught my eye.
Gently, so as not to disturb the floral arrangements, I picked it up and
slipped it into my jacket.
"She would have wanted me to have
it," I said softly, hurrying after James towards the open window and the night.
I awoke in a cold sweat, sudden
terror gripping me with icy fingers.
Why had I suddenly dreamed of my mother's death, an event that had
happened years before? Then I
remembered how the peaceful look on James' comatose face reminded me of the
look on my dead mother's, and I scrabbled hastily out of bed.
Being a small hospital, the rooms
only had one bed each so I was forced to rent an adjoining room while we waited
for James to come out of the coma.
Still in my pajamas, I rushed out of the room and tore down the hall,
fierce determination and dread fueling me on.
Flinging open the door hastily, I
expected to find a dark and silent room.
To my relief, the steady thrum of the heart monitor filled the room,
along with the soft pale glow of moonlight streaming in through the
curtain-less window.
Sighing deeply in relief, I flopped
down on my knees beside James' bed, studying his face in the dim light. He looked peaceful but the expression no
longer haunted me. Reconciling with my
dead mother for the second time had eased the pain of bitter memories. The peaceful expression now gave me a bit of
hope.
The moonlight gave the scene a
surrealistic glow, playing over James' features and causing him to appear to
fade away, as if he was part of the ghostly white light. I reached out a hand and caressed his cheek
softly, as if to assure myself that he was real, and not merely a figment of my
imagination brought to life by the taunting moonlight.
Tracing my finger up his face, I
tried in vain to slide the forever-stubborn strand of hair across his forehead
to the side. When it merely swung back
in place, swishing softly against my fingers, I smiled sardonically to
myself. Perhaps that hair was another
sign. If James was half as stubborn, I
knew he would make it.
My smile vanished as quickly as it
came, reality sinking like a weight upon my shoulders. Thirteen-percent chance rang in my
ears. I had an eighty-percent chance of
losing the person I cared about most in the world.
"James, if hateful hearts can't
love…how come I love you so much?" I whispered hoarsely, resting my head on his
chest. The only sound was the gentle
beat of his heart in my ear and I watched my tears spill onto the blankets,
sparkling jewel-like in the bright moonlight before dissolving into the white
sheets in an expanding stain of blue.
Chapter Three
Someone shaking my shoulder gently
awoke me from my first peaceful sleep in a long time.
"Jesse? Wake up, goil!" whispered Meowth urgently. My eyelids fluttered open, balking at the
bright light. The cat-like Pokémon was
crouched on the bed in front of me, studying me with head cocked.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, a
twinkle in his eyes. I blinked and
struggled to my feet, which buckled under me at once. Apparently I had fallen asleep kneeling beside the bed with my
head lying on James' chest. Not exactly
the most comfortable position and I was definitely feeling proof of that in my
back and legs.
"Sort of," I answered, yawning and
stretching. He jumped down from the
bed, staring up at me impatiently.
"We've got visitors," he said,
eyeing my reaction.
I started in surprise.
"Visitors?! But who on earth—"
"We followed Meowth in," interrupted
a familiar girl's voice. We both spun
on our heels, caught unawares by our uninvited guests. Three people I never would have imagined being
there stood before us, clustered somewhat nervously in the doorway.
"What are you brats doing here?!" I snarled, angered at being caught
off-guard. The trio, however, was not
fazed; they never were, which only seemed to irritate me more. Couldn't they see we had a crisis on our
hands and really didn't need their annoying interference?!
"We were in the hospital visiting an
old friend of Brock's when we saw Meowth sneaking down the hall, so we decided
to investigate," continued the girl, a redhead with a short side-ways ponytail
and aqua-green eyes. She blushed
slightly. "We thought he was up to
something the way he was sneaking around, but he ended up coming in here and we
figured out what he was doing here."
I stood there, caught in an awed
shock. No threatening and glaring or
combat stances; just somewhat embarrassed concern. It felt like I was being treated like an equal for once in my
life; by someone other than James, Meowth or my mother.
Nevertheless, I found myself backing
up against James' bed protectively, afraid they were going to pull something on
us in revenge for all the times we had tricked or double-crossed them. But they simply stood there, a shadow
falling over the girl's face, giving me the impression of someone watching a
sad movie. Meowth and I exchanged a
worried glance, tinged with awe and shock.
The taller of the two boys stepped
forward nervously.
"I know you don't trust us, and we
don't trust you, but we're really sorry about James," he said, the words coming
out somewhat reluctantly. The younger
boy's Pikachu made an agreeing murmur from the boy's hat. Normally I would have tried to think up a
scheme to steal the little Pokémon, but now I was too engrossed in the strange
situation and James' protection to do anything about it.
"It's kind of…our fault…" murmured
the younger boy, even more reluctantly.
A hint of a passing expression flickered on the girl's face, somewhere
between smug victory and pride.
"You…want to…apologize?" I
stammered, my shock doubling at the priceless admittance. Perhaps if told during a different situation
I would have gloated and savored the moment, but at the moment in only seemed
to shock me into immobility.
The girl nodded in answer.
"Just call this a momentary truce,
until James gets better," she said, extending her hand invitingly. I wavered, caught between my hate for the
three friends and the thought of a temporary peace from all the fighting.
"Never, you old hag!"
"Yuck! Double yuck!"
"Don't
you ever get tired of saying the same things over and over again?!"
"What
are you clowns up to this time?"
"You
guys hanging around again?"
"AAAAGH!!! ZOMBIES!!!!"
And
another voice, stinging more than their childish insults of days gone by:
"Hateful hearts can't
love."
The remembered words stung hard and deep, but
resolved my uncertainty. With grateful
enthusiasm, I took the redhead's proffered hand and shook it firmly.
"A
truce," I replied, allowing myself to smile for the sake of the moment. I really didn't want to, but James'
dream-self's words had struck me deep.
I had been living in too much hate, revenge, anger and fear. It was time to take the proffered hand of
forgiveness, temporary or not, and dig myself out.
The
two boys seemed shocked, glancing at the two of us shaking hands and then back
at one another. Meowth seemed similarly
shocked as he watched the silent handshake, an unreadable expression on his
catty face. Amazement, disgust and even
a tinge of relief seemed to flicker across his features, dissolving into a
completely different expression before the reader had a chance to decipher the
first. The girl, however, smiled back
at me with genuine human compassion and forgiveness, obviously trusting more in
the human heart than her two companions.
I suppressed a giggle at the memory of how I had used to call her a
"scrawny little brat".
The next moment I was searching my
hands for my voice, struggling hard with the words struggling in the back of my
throat.
"Thank you…for caring. No one else would have," I murmured, the
color rising in my cheeks, and I turned away to glance at James lying
peacefully in his hospital bed; hands lying neatly at his sides on the smooth
covers and that one stray, blue hair arching elegantly over the stiff white
bandage.
The girl followed my gaze, her face
becoming overcast with sympathy and I felt another pang of gratefulness towards
my former enemy. She turned towards me
and I could read deep sincerity and compassion in her aqua-green eyes.
"Is it bad?"
I opened my mouth to answer but the
words lodged in my throat, forcing burning tears to my eyes. Dropping my eyes to my gloved hands, I
nodded my head dully instead, feeling the familiar and dull ache rise again to
my chest.
During this entire small exchange,
her two companions had stood uncomfortably some feet behind us—having crept
uneasily from their doorway position—unsure of what to do. Similar expressions of sympathy were
mirrored on their faces, but unlike their friend, they felt at a loss at how to
show it.
I turned to them, causing the
younger of the two to subconsciously lay a protective hand over the little
Pokémon perched upon his hat and I smiled, somewhat bitterly.
"Old habits die hard, huh Brat?" I
asked, a sardonic tone to my voice. He
blinked momentarily, unsure of what to make of my light jest, then grinned
tentatively.
Yes, old habits do die hard. But they die, all the same. And I was working at it, slowly and
surely. Because hateful hearts can't
love…
But reformed hearts can.
Chapter Four
Three
nights went by, un-plagued by nightmarish dreams or forgotten memories. I had abandoned all attempts at trying to
sleep in the separate room, worrying constantly over the chance that James
could slip away while I was far away down the hall and sleeping unawares. I began curling up in the large,
over-stuffed chair in the corner of his room; pulled up next to his bed so that
I could keep constant watch over him.
Eventually even the chair was abandoned, choosing instead to curl up
next to him on top of the covers; head resting above the curve of his shoulder
and fingers curled child-like over his heart.
And the nightmares stayed away.
But only for a little while.
I
was standing in a cramped, dark room, surrounded by people. The only light in the room was a few weak
rays of moonlight shining over the many heads and shoulders packed tightly
together. The whole mass seemed to
moan, a few crying from somewhere behind me.
I struggled my way through them, terror rising in my throat. I could smell them, rotten like death and
the heat of their breath—though hot—chilled me to the bone.
I
struggled my way towards the moonlight, hoping for some sort of escape at the
source of the light. All I found was a
tiny window at the far wall, high and out of reach. The moaning rose into a wailing, and then a nightmarish scream,
and I began to cry, terrified and trapped under the tiny window.
"You
have to widen it," came the redhead's voice as she appeared out of the crowd to
my left. She took my hand and shook it,
disappearing as quickly as she had appeared, and I turned back to the
window. All of a sudden it was a
doorway to a balcony. I could see plush
lawns spread out beyond the rails, bathed in cold, silver light and the fragrance
of roses touched my nostrils. With
another glance, I saw that the dark red flowers were growing in huge, neatly
trimmed bushes up the side of the wall and along the balcony railing; the
blossoms glowing eerily with an odd sort of inner light.
And
standing amid the heavily perfumed bushes, leaning against the balcony railing
was James. He was dressed in brown
dress slacks, white dress shirt and emerald green vest, and he looked straight
at me, sending an odd sort of thrill up my spine.
I
went to follow him onto the balcony but some invisible force stopped me at the
doorway. I gasped, panicking, and tried
in vain to go through the doorway. I
could hear the room of people screaming at one another in some strange tongue
and panic gave way to complete terror.
I crumbled to my knees against the invisible wall and cried out towards
my partner. "James! Help me!
You have to help me!" The terror
enveloped me, and I shuddered violently; deep, choking sobs racking my
body. I desperately wanted to run to
him, have him hold me and ease the fear away but the goddamned invisible wall
stayed firm, causing me to cry even more miserably.
He
simply stood there, staring at me through unseeing eyes, a peaceful expression
on his moonlit face, then turned away.
The moonlight seemed to brighten, then he and the balcony were gone,
leaving me crumpled in a miserable heap in the dark room, surrounded by the
unnerving room of groaning and screaming people.
And
then I was gasping myself awake, bathed in a cold sheen of sweat. My head was still resting under the curve of
his neck against his shoulder and I could see my fingers curled comfortingly
against his chest. I cried in relief,
burying my head in his unresponsive shoulder.
I wished he were really there,
comforting me, saying it was only a dream and would I please go back to sleep
now? He had always been good at that:
comforting.
"Well…Jesse, I hope that
this time will be different!"
"Since you didn't get the real doll set…"
The Princess Day Contest came back to
me. How he'd cried lightly at my sad
remembrance of poverty and grasping my hands, had wished me luck in the
contest.
"I
hope you win those dolls, Jess!"
And then how he'd
dressed himself and our Pokémon up to look like the dolls when I lost. The memory of that caring action caused me
to smile to myself in the dark room.
With that thought,
more old memories resurfaced. Him
happily holding a slingshot and grinning triumphantly, laughing gleefully as a
score of Butterfree's fell into our open net, rocking me back and forth in an
ecstatic hug as it appeared that we would win for once, tangoing beside our
most recent trap as we proudly proclaimed our motto. I smiled at the memories, few being bitter, as they flashed like
pictographs before my eyes.
And then I was crying
with realization, an exhausted sort of tearful gasping that clenched my chest.
My tears put me to
sleep.
Dr. Mastison was
flipping through the many sheets on his clipboard, an amazed look crossing his
face.
"I…I can't…This is
unbelievable!" he muttered to himself, staring at the notes he and his nurse
had taken just a couple minutes earlier.
I leaned forward
intently, clutching the edges of the bed in my clammy hands for support.
"What?!" I cried,
"What is it?!" An overwhelming
excitement filled me. In fact, it
seemed to permeate the very air, as if the entire room was holding its breath.
The elderly doctor
didn't look up, still flipping through his papers in disbelief.
"His…his stats! His heartbeat's jumped to regular and his
REM movements have gone up!" he said in awe, shaking his head at the papers in
amazement. "It's like he's no longer in
a coma, but a deep sleep!"
The excitement rose,
threatening to overwhelm me. Holding on
to what control I had left, I looked him straight in the eye.
"You mean he's going
to make it?" I whispered, afraid to use a louder voice for fear I would
shout. The doctor seemed to look at me
like I was stupid, snorting lightly in sharp laughter.
"I would be shocked if
he didn't," he replied. I took his
answer as the direct equivalent of a "Duh!" but thought nothing of it, too excited
with James' inevitable recovery to mind being slightly insulted. Instead I stood there, amazement and joy on
my face, gasping and laughing in relief.
My legs eventually became too shaky from the excitement and I fell back
heavily into my chair.
"When should he wake
up?" I asked, looking up at the doctor questioningly. Mastison seemed flustered but fluttered hastily through his
notes. Scanning them lightly out of the
corner of his eye, he turned to me, "We're not sure, because this sort of thing
has never happened. Possibly in a day
or two. But that's not definite; things
could still change for the worse."
But I doubted it. I doubted it with my entire heart.
Looking down at James
(Dr. Mastison was in serious need of some time alone) I could already see the
change. His face had darkened, the
peaceful look gone, his forehead furrowing slightly as if plagued by bad
dreams.
I took his hand and
squeezed it affectionately.
"Don't worry,
James. The nightmares will be over in a
little while."
It could have been the
lighting, or even just my imagination, but his features seemed to relax
slightly.
Three days later,
James came out of his coma.
I was sitting in the
hospital cafeteria—a small room with only a few tables, a microwave and a
fridge—contemplating a questionable looking turkey-on-rye when a flighty little
nurse with elbow length cotton-candy pink hair tapped me on the shoulder
nervously.
"Excuse me, miss!" she
tittered, smiling winningly. I wanted
to punch her prissy little face in; couldn't she see I was busy?!
"Yeah?" I remarked
coldly. Cotton Candy seemed
surprised. I had been at the hospital
for over a week and never been curt with the staff, perhaps upset but always
accompanied by wild worried eyes and shaky tears. The incident with James had shattered my usually abrupt and cold
misdemeanor, but with that threat nearly gone, my attitude had slowly changed
back from tearful, silent and worried, to sharp, indifferent and
impatient. Not that I was no longer
worried, but my natural defenses had finally kicked in after the news of James'
improvement and I covered over my worry and pain with my familiar cold
indifferent shell. It occurred to me
suddenly that I had gone backwards in my effort to heal my heart, but the
thought vanished as quickly as it came.
No, I had only toughened up. It
was still healing; my heart was more open and responsive than it had been since
I could remember, but I was no longer in the shattering stage caused by the
accident.
"I mean, yes?" I
corrected hastily, smiling sheepishly at the confused nurse. She smiled back somewhat nervously, still a
little startled by my snappy retort.
"Uh…are you Jesse?"
I nodded, a tiny shot
of suspicious excitement worming its way into my mind.
"It's James, your
partner. He's come out of the coma and
has been asking for you quite adamantly, miss," she informed me. She blinked, eyes widening. "M-miss?!"
I didn't answer. I was about halfway down the hall at the
moment, running in a wild dash, a huge relieved grin on my face.
I skidded to an
unsteady stop in front of James' hospital room, my arms pin-wheeling wildly in
an effort to keep my balance, then burst into the room, nearly running over
another nurse who had been turning to leave.
She screamed, startled, and jumped back.
I smiled
sheepishly. "Er…sorry about that!" I
apologized hastily, skirting around her and into the room. She grimaced at me nervously, slightly pale,
and hurried out of the room in a somewhat panicky flurry, causing me to grin
mischievously.
Dr. Mastison was
standing beside James' bed, said person sitting up with one hand to his
head. The two of them looked at me in a
kind of dumb shock, a hint of humor in James' expression.
"Um…hi…Jesse…" said
James slowly, looking a little nervous at my almost destructive
enthusiasm. I calmed myself a bit and
perched on the edge of his bed.
"How are you feeling?"
I asked, smiling brightly. James
grimaced and rubbed his head sorely, looking at me through one eye.
"Like I ran into a
freight train head-on," he moaned, the familiar whine seeping into his
voice. I laughed lightly, feeling like
my heart would burst with happiness. He
had made it! Though I had insisted he
would from the beginning, I was still ecstatic with the fact that he had.
The doctor smiled
warmly at us, then gathered up his equipment.
"I'll leave you two to
yourselves. The nurse will be back in a
few minutes with your medicine, James.
Just buzz us if you need anything else," he said, turning to leave.
"Doctor Mastison."
He turned, blinking.
"Thank you," I said,
deep sincerity showing in my eyes. He
smiled benevolently down at me and ran a hand through his thinning hair,
reminding me of a grandfather modestly receiving his grandchild's admiration. Then he nodded, turned and left.
James turned to me, a
serious expression on his face.
"Are you alright,
Jesse? You're acting strange," he
remarked, looking at me strangely.
Before I could answer,
the nurse came back with his aspirin.
He took them gratefully and she left.
I smiled wanly at
him. "I was worried about you. The doctor said there was a big chance that
you…wouldn't make it."
He looked
uncomfortable at that thought, then a look of shock crossed his face.
"You were worried
about me, Jess?" he said softly, his voice hinting amazement and delight. I nodded, feeling a blush creep into my
cheeks.
He leaned back,
looking shocked and touched.
Before he could say
anything else, I leaned across the bed and hugged him tightly.
"I'm glad you're
okay," I whispered, burying my head into his shoulder so he wouldn't see my
tears.
And then his arms were
wrapping around me and he was hugging me back, causing me to cry even
more. After a week of nightmares, and
fear and missing him, he was finally back to comfort me like he always did. At the moment, it was good enough for me.
Afterwards
In another week, James
was allowed to go. His cuts had almost
completely healed, as to be invisible, and all that was left of the blow to his
head was a weak headache that surfaced every once in a while. Basically, James was back to his regular,
whiny self. No complaints here, of
course.
"Ow! Jesse, you can't hit me, I've got a
headache!"
"Well stop whining so
much! You're giving me a headache!"
"Share the wealth!" he
tried to sneer, but it came out as a timid remark in which he crossed his arms
over his head in a fetal position, in case I should decide to hit him again.
Meowth sighed, shaking
his head like a middle-aged father as if to say, "Kids!" He crossed his arms behind his head and looked
up at us, the beginnings of a smile peeking through his stern expression.
"You two fight like a
married couple!" he retorted, looking completely serious. James and I paused and looked down at him,
all wide eyes and glares.
"WHAT?!"
Are faces had gone
pure red, whether out of embarrassment or anger I really wasn't sure. Meowth backed away, snickering.
"I said—" but he was
cut off as I leaped for him and he was forced to make a hasty retreat. James hit the ground beside me as he dove
for him too, making a loud 'oof' as he hit the concrete.
"YAAA-AAGH!" screamed
the cat-like Pokémon, arms and legs pin-wheeling madly. Soon he was off in a cloud of smoke, the two
of us yelling and threatening after him.
We lay there on our
stomachs, watching him go propped up by our forearms as we tried to catch our
breaths.
"He probably thinks
we're right behind him," commented James matter-of-factly, not looking at
me. There was a moments pause, then the
two of us collapsed in laughter, rolling about the cool pavement.
"It's nice to know
some things don't change," I sighed, lying on my back. The sky was a bright, cheery blue covered in
fluffy white clouds. Something like
déjà vu hit me but I ignored it, simply enjoying the moment of rare, worry-less
peace.
"But some things can change, right?" I heard James ask, a
kind of hopeful question. I turned to
him, a slightly confused expression on my face, and nodded slowly.
"Of course. Some change is good," I replied, turning my
gaze back to cloud watching. Suddenly a
shadow was blocking my view. I gasped,
startled and a bit excited. Not a
shadow—James. He was leaning over me,
an intent expression on his face.
"Like what kind of
changes?" he asked, his voice almost a husky whisper. The same enticing voice from my dream. My stomach fluttered nervously, my heart feeling like it was
going to jump into my throat.
"I don't know," I
replied in a shaky voice, unable to tear my eyes away from his face. I could feel a deep blush creeping up my
face and a similar bit of color was appearing across his own. I suddenly realized the courage he had had
to build up to do what he was doing, and my nervousness fell away, an
overwhelming feeling of compassion and admiration replacing it.
He was about to speak,
but wrapping my arms around his neck, I leaned up and kissed him deeply. He seemed to sigh, as if greatly relieved,
and then fell into my embrace, returning the kiss with enough passion to make
my head reel.
Above us, the perfect
white clouds rolled silently by in the clear sky, the only witnesses to
change. Not a single gray cloud touched
the glass like blue, leaving the clouds unmarred by darkness. And it was perfect.
Because hateful hearts
can't love. And all such hearts were
gone.
