Monday
"You got a flop?" Brenda asked.
"I- what?" Mewtwo stared at her.
Brenda sighed, switched the radio off. It wasn't going to help conversation any. Now that the song was finished, she didn't want to listen to music, either.
"A flop," she explained, with only a little bit of irritation. "Where you sleep. Generally, it has walls and a roof. You got one?"
"No," Mewtwo said. "No, I don't. I don't really need one."
"Trust me, you need one." Brenda glared at an idiot in a blue van. Going to get himself in an accident, she thought. When the idiot in the blue van turned left, Brenda turned right. She'd take a different way home.
"I don't need a… what was it? Flop? Such a charming word, I'll have to work it into casual conversation sometime." Mewtwo leaned back. "I'm a pokemon, Brenda. I don't require walls and a roof."
Brenda pursed her lips. "That radio real?" she asked, gesturing towards him. "Or is it an illusion too?"
"Illusion, but I'm sure I could make it work like a real radio, if I could hear what was being said."
"Like if you were in this car, or listening to me on my radio. No good. You need a real one if this disguise will work; I got to get me a new radio anyways. The other one was smashed and requisitions takes forever. I go down, I can get you a good one- we'll call it your spare- and I can wring a few necks."
"Why, exactly, would you want to kill people?"
Brenda turned onto a suburban street. "Because then my life will be much, much easier."
"…I see. I thought you lived in an apartment?" Mewtwo stared at some of the larger houses.
"Just because I say something, doesn't mean it's true. I could say you make a very handsome human but then I'd be lying. Get it?"
"…Should I thank you?"
"Never mind." Brenda turned down another street, this one a dead end. She drove to one of the smaller houses. "You, out."
"Fine. I don't know how I'll get to the wilderness from here, but I-"
"Did I say you were going to the wilderness? No. You stay here."
"I am not a pet, Detective." Mewtwo's eyes flashed bright blue.
"Did I say you're a pet? No. You're my partner, and it'll make life easier for all of us if I don't have to wait three hours for you to show up. You want the rest of the reasons?"
"I believe I do, yes." Mewtwo got out of the car. "I believe the only person whose life will be made easier by this is you, Detective."
Brenda bared her teeth. "Just wait. First reason, accessibility. You're my aide, which means you're on call when I'm on call, which is twenty-four-seven."
"I'm aware of that. Why, Detective, are you saying such obvious things?"
"Starting with the simplest first. Shut up and keep quiet. Second reason, you're not human. You're a pokemon. You drop that illusion, trainers will want to fight you. Maybe one will even manage it, might have a bug or dark type with them."
Mewtwo blinked. The illusion flickered in his shock. Brenda smirked.
"Yeah, I know what'll take out a psychic type. Know your enemy, didn't you ever hear that phrase? Anyways, I can't have my aide hurt. That just won't do me any good. It'll bring up questions that can't be answered, and you can't go to a doctor, either.
"Which just brings up reason number three. You won't have any money until you get a paycheck. If the fake person you created just for this little jaunt stands up, you will get paid. Trust me though, you won't be able to buy anything for a long, long time."
Mewtwo shook his head. (I'm going to get paid he asked.
"Shit yeah, didn't you figure?" Brenda shrugged. "Fourth reason, bad weather. Don't need you coming down with a cold, since you're my translator, right?"
Mewtwo stared at her. Brenda covered her unease by opening the back door, letting out the houndoom. "Oh," she said. "I thought of a new name. Rhonwen. Completely random, I know, but… What?"
(You are a very strange human, Detective. Very well, I will stay here.)
"Hope you don't mind the couch. I don't have a guest room."
Monday
Mewtwo stretched out on the couch, tried to ignore the void staring at him.
He had attempted to explain to the scientists, once, how he saw the world. They'd pumped him full of drugs in response to what they thought were mad ravings. Two months lost, forever, because he'd tried to answer their questions.
He'd learned from that mistake. Answering questions was dangerous, no matter who asked them. Giovanni had been the most dangerous of all. Had the man known, then, that his mind was a partially open book? Mewtwo had known about Team Rocket, about Giovanni's plans for the scientists once he was finished with Project M2. Finally, Mewtwo had learned about Giovanni's plans for him.
Mewtwo rolled over onto his side. He didn't want to think about it, he thought. He stared at 'Rhonwen', a houndoom. A void, to his mind, though his eyes saw the physical form well enough.
He carefully, casually reached his mind back, brushed over jagged shards of metal and glass softened by sleep. Brenda wouldn't wake up unless there was a burglar prowling at the doors, Mewtwo thought. He pulled away from the pain, stared at 'Rhonwen'.
(What is your real name?) he asked.
It was Demona. Now, it is Rhonwen. If you mean what did my mother name me, she was not allowed to interact with her pups.
(I'm sorry.)
Are you trying to get along with me, Psychic? That cannot be allowed. Rhonwen shrugged. I am a dark type. You are a psychic. Our respective Gods would not be happy if we were to get along.
(But we can have a truce, can we not?)
A truce is fine, but don't get any ideas, I will still hate you.
Mewtwo smiled. (Of course.)
You can sleep now, Psychic. Part of the truce is guarding you as I guard my new master.
Mewtwo yawned. He stretched a little, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. (I believe the term is 'mistress'.)
Very well then. My new mistress. Go to sleep, Psychic. You will wake to see the morning.
Mewtwo closed his eyes. He felt the void that was Rhonwen walk away, to take up position near the kitchen door.
He fell asleep, aware of a distant ache from being around Brenda's sharp metal and glass mind.
Tuesday
Some fucking thing was ringing in her ear. She was going to shoot it, as soon as she opened her eyes and found her gun.
Brenda groaned, stunned to find herself reaching for the phone. Wait, no, it was ringing. Pick up the phone, ringing stops. That was a very good system, she thought.
She had the phone upside down.
With a snarl, she fixed the phone. Grunted into the mouthpiece. "Wh-th-fu'r you?"
"Dispatch. Johnson, Detective Brenda, acknowledge."
Brenda forced herself awake. "Johnson, Detective Brenda acknowledges. What do you want, dispatch?" She yawned, stretched out her legs, and listened to the details. They were sparse, but the dispatch might just not know.
She memorized the details, got out of bed. "I am on route. My ETA is thirty minutes."
She hung up the phone, rushed through her shower. She thought nasty thoughts at Mewtwo, was rewarded by a yelp.
"Get up, get ready to go," she shouted. She hoped, for once, that he'd be able to read it from her mind. "Dead body by route- damn it- the route by Victory Road!"
Brenda was finished with her shower, dried, and dressed, in five minutes. Mewtwo was waiting for her, somehow had a cup of coffee.
"Better be real," she snarled. It tasted real when she gulped at it, ignoring a scalding tongue. "Car, now."
They were driving towards the scene eight minutes after Brenda had gotten the call. She got to the scene in twenty-nine minutes, just long enough to tell Mewtwo what he would be doing as Officer Smith.
Brenda parked- no one cared about neatness, at a crime scene- and got out of the car. She took a minute to pause, take in the scene. A field of grass lit only by the whirling blue and red lights of police vehicles. The police tape was up already, Brenda noticed. It encircled a very wide area.
She glanced at Officer Smith, nodded towards the tape. "Let's go," she said. "Pick up a recorder from one of the officers."
"Yes sir," Officer Smith said. He walked away to do just that.
The first hint Brenda had was the blood splatter. She stopped at the crime scene tape, saw the blood. The body was a good eight feet away, she thought. There was blood splatter eight feet… probably further, except it was dark and a damn field. They sure as hell wouldn't encircle all of it.
Brenda ducked under the tape. She flashed her badge at the uniform watching her. "Tell me what you can." She sensed Officer Smith move up behind her. "Record on, Smith."
"Sir."
"Sir, the witness called it in."
"There's a witness for this?" Brenda glared at the uniform. "No one told me this."
The uniform looked away. "The witness is ten years old, sir. He's in a vehicle, completely incoherent. Got himself a pikachu, for comfort I guess. He saw his sister… I'm not sure murdered is the right word, sir."
"What word would you use, officer?"
"Dismembered," the uniform said. He gestured at the body. "Here you go, detective."
Brenda stared at the remains. She didn't flinch. She'd stopped flinching a long time ago.
"Victim appears to have been gutted," she said, careful not to step on glistening intestines. That dew could settle on such a gristly scene wasn't something that Brenda wanted to think about too much. "One arm and one leg have been torn from the body."
She had to stop, step back, breathe. There was violence, she thought, and then there was violence.
"One arm and one leg have been torn from the body," she said again, once she had herself under control. "That would be the left leg, the left arm. Both are lying next to the body. The victim also appears to have been beheaded. The head is lying five feet from the body."
Brenda licked her lips. She forced herself to walk forward and kneel by the remains. "Claw marks," she murmured. "Not knife wounds, claw marks. It's too violent, too messy, to be human. Not unless drugs are involved. You rip someone's head off, you're freakishly strong. Same goes for limbs." She looked away from the remains.
"When the ET's get here, make sure they get all of her."
Brenda walked away from the victim. Forced herself to, really. Tears of pity were beginning to threaten. She had to blink them back, focused on the point. "You," she snapped. "Officer… Dylan. When will the witness be available for questioning?"
"He says now, sir," Officer Dylan said. "He wants to know what happened to his sister. He didn't see, not all of it, he said."
"Which car's he in?" she asked.
"Mine." Officer Dylan gestured at one of the black and whites. "I'll introduce you."
Brenda nodded, fell into step behind the officer. "Were you first on scene?" she asked.
"Yes, sir. It didn't take a genius to figure out homicide needed to be called. We did a search of the area, not too far out, looking for people. Kept our guns in hand, as is standard. Found the kid."
Brenda nodded again. "Let me take the lead in questioning," she said. "What's the kid's name?"
"Wasn't able to get that, sir," Officer Dylan said, face and voice apologetic. "Kid was shell-shocked. He might talk to you, though."
"Let's hope he does." Brenda opened the car door, crouched down. "Hey, kid," she said.
The kid lifted his face from a furry yellow rat's fur. His eyes were bloodshot, face puffy from tears. "You're police?" he asked, in a voice that was as tired and defeated as anything Brenda had ever heard before.
"Yeah," she said. "My name is Detective Johnson. I'm going to find out what happened to your sister."
"Pokemon got her," the kid said. "Fell from the sky on her. She screamed. I ran." Two tears ran down his face. "I shouldn't have run. I'm the trainer. She just went with me so mom wouldn't be scared. Now she's dead."
Brenda shook her head. "There was nothing you could have done," she said, not sure that was true. "What's your name?"
"Max. Max Pearson. My sister's name is- was- Wendy. Her name was Wendy." Max started to cry again. "She's gone."
"Max, can you tell me what the pokemon looked like?"
"Big," he said. "Big and white and scaly."
Brenda nodded. "Would you be willing to work with a police artist?" she asked.
"I want my mom," he said. "But yeah. You'll find what happened to my sister?"
"I will," she said. "I can promise you that. Officer Dylan will take you to the station, call your mom for you, okay?"
Max nodded, held onto his pikachu a little tighter. "Okay."
Brenda walked away. "Officer Dylan, get an artist with that kid as soon as you can. Call the mom, watch the kid, all that happy shit."
"Yes, sir. I'll get my partner and leave now, sir."
"You do that," Brenda said. She looked towards the remains- being transferred to a body bag by the ET's- and couldn't look away.
She stayed until the sweepers had arrived, until dawn was just beginning. Then, and only then, did she go to her car. "Is the recorder off, Smith?" she remembered to ask.
"Yes."
She didn't question the tightness in Mewtwo's voice. He'd just seen the remains of a girl who'd been ripped to shreds. He wasn't going to be all light and sunshine.
Instead, she drove. She just knew she wasn't going to the station, not yet. Not until she'd settled down.
She ended up parking in front of a closed and condemned restaurant. She might've sat there ten minutes, staring at nothing, when Mewtwo broke the silence.
(How can you be so heartless?) he asked, mental voice tight, cold.
Brenda looked over. "Heartless?"
(Don't you care anything at all for that girl?)
"The dead one?" Did he just call her heartless?
(Of course the dead one! How could you just stand there? Ignore what's been done to her-)
"Stop right there." Brenda's voice was icy cold. Her face was twisted in fury. "You fucking stop right now.
"I care, alright? It's my job to look at her, to look at what's been done. It's my job to hunt down and catch that girl's killer. I sure as hell ain't ignoring what's been done to her, and I sure as hell won't let her killer get away with this.
"Turning away won't help," Brenda said, surprised to find her voice sounding thick. She had better control then this, damn it. "Neither will tears. Won't catch her killer, won't bring her back."
Mewtwo's mouth dropped open. He reached out to her face. Brenda was too tired to slap his hand away.
His hand came away from her cheek, wet with tears.
(No,) he said. (Tears won't help the dead. They can only help the living. I'm sorry for what I said.)
"Forget it," Brenda said. She sighed, rested her head against the steering wheel. "Just forget it."
The car radio crackled to life. "Dispatch to Johnson, Detective Brenda."
"Acknowledged, dispatch." She no longer sounded tired, wiped away the tears with one hand. "What is it?"
The dispatcher hesitated, cleared its throat. "Other then your girl, Brenda? Damn, there's three other dead bodies, same MO."
Brenda closed her eyes, let her head fall back. "Damn it," she said. "Damn it all to hell."
End Notes
By this point, it should come as no surprise to you that I don't own any character that's been claimed by the Pokemon franchise. I'd put up a fight for Mewtwo- he's a damnably fun character- but their lawyers don't play fair.
Also by this point, you should note that the rating has been upped to M, not just for murder. Next chapter there will be a character who exercises some very odd clothing choices, discussion topics, one or both of which will be mentally disturbing to readers. That said, you've been warned, as much as possible without my spoiling what happens next.