Chapter Five: Getting Serious
On the day listed on the envelope, four days after receiving his exam, Samuel Milone put on the mask sitting on his desk, wore a dark, baggy hooded sweatshirt, stuffed his left shoe with five hundred dollars, bought himself a few potions, and snuck out while his mother was working at her pottery shop. He followed the directions to the deserted alleyway, just far enough out of the main residential areas to avoid having anyone overhear a brawl. Though the streets were deserted, Sam felt eyes staring at him from the shadowy recesses of dark alleyways and building corners.
Sam heard the brawling ring before he saw it. Roars of laughter clashed with snarling pokemon, beers clicked as pokeballs hissed open and shut, and shouts of wagers drowned out the cries of pain as each pokemon suffered blow after blow. Sam took a deep breath, shifted his mask, and walked up to the brawl. Three dozen hoodlums, all sporting flashy masks, baggy jeans, and sweatshirts with a motley display of stains and spray-painted symbols, crowded the chalk circle in the pavement, cheering and hissing at every swipe of claws and clamping of teeth. A handful of women lounged around, some surrounded by large groups of ogling, fondling men, others mingling in their own groups.
Four muscular women flanked the ringmaster's chair, offering him beer and chips every time he held out a hand. Those four were clad in skintight black suits that left only the lower half of their breasts and a slim portion of their hips to the imagination, and sometimes, when they moved, their clothes would shift just enough to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath. When one turned to throw away a beer bottle, Sam saw that she had a .44 Magnum holstered in the crack of her ass.
The ringmaster, Mr. Rizoni, was an enormous, beefy man with a wild mop of greasy blonde hair, a huge pair of glittering Oakleys, a thick gold jacket that was just tight enough to curve around the man's enormous biceps and pecs, faded dress pants that hung loose around his waist, and a set of cracked, rusty knuckledusters, carefully polished around his fingers, clasped onto his hands.
One of the girls nudged the ringmaster, and he looked over at Sam. He stood and roared into the crowd, "Ladies and gents, here's the guest of honor! Let's give a round of applause to our newest, youngest brawler here!"
Sam received a mocking applause full of jeers and shouts of "Get back to kindergarten!"
Sam gritted his teeth and scanned the eyes of the crowd. Each man there looked like an older version of all the students in the juvie brawl rings. He considered what retort would best win them over and then shouted back, "At least I graduated from kindergarten!"
The crowd laughed, and shouts of "Damn, that kid's got guts!" and "Gimme dat burn heal!" rippled through the ring. Mr. Rizoni clapped, his hands making a metallic chinking sound each time his knuckledusters rapped against each other, and he waved Sam over.
"Not bad, kid," he said, holding out his hand. Sam shook it, and despite the man's formidable, muscular hands, his handshake barely grazed his skin. "You can call me Smiles. So, what should I call you?"
Sam almost said his own name, and then he fumbled around for the first word he could think of.
"Feathers? Good to meet you, Feathers. Ready to bet?" Sam nodded. Smiles stood up and shouted, "Now, Feathers, here thinks that none of you pussies can last a round against him. Who wants to prove him wrong?"
Several hoodlums moved forward, but the first to reach Smiles was a lanky, tall, pimple-faced man with a skull mask.
"Let me at the kid," he said. "I promise to be gentle and not make the pipsqueak cry."
"Sure Bones," Mr. Rizoni said, "Sounds like a good match. Your terms?"
"Two on two, and nine hundred to his three."
"Let's make it two on one," Sam said.
Bones thought it over and said, "Well, you caught me on a good day, so why not? I'll go easy on you."
Sam grinned. "Who said you were the one?"
Bones slapped his hands together and laughed. "Wow, you crazy kid! Tell you what? I'll put down my nine-hundred to your fifty dollars. Gotta make sure you have enough of your allowance left to buy yourself a sucker."
"Easiest nine-hundred bucks I ever made," Sam retorted. He held out his hand, and Bones shook it. Then they handed Smiles their wagers and told him their pokemon.
"Alright everyone, you heard the bet. Eighteen to one, Bones' favor, for a one-on-two fight, with Feathers' eevee against Bones nuzleaf and machoke. Who wants to bet on that?"
Sam heard whispers in the crowd. "Ooh, the machoke, he's getting serious." Almost everyone bet on bones, but a few staked a handful of dollars on him, including a rabbit-masked woman in a slim brown leotard.
"Everyone ready?" Smiles asked. "Sweet. Let's get started!"
The crowd cleared out of the chalk circle. Sam and Bones stood on opposite ends and called out their pokemon. Bones' nuzleaf stretched its arms and flipped its leaf back, while Luna crouched and kicked at the dusty, gritty pavement.
"Alright, stay sharp Lu–" Sam stopped himself from saying her name. "Lucky. Stay sharp. We're fighting blind here, alright?"
Luna looked back at him and growled.
"Ready? Begin!" Smiles shouted.
"Fake out!" Bones ordered. His nuzleaf raced forward, arms outstretched.
"Sand attack!" Luna flung pawfuls of dust forward, and the nuzleaf raced into it. It covered its eyes tried to stop, but its momentum carried it up to Luna.
"Now, sweep with iron tail!" Luna bunched up her tail and slammed it into the nuzleaf's legs. It tumbled forward and landed on its back, rubbing its bruised shins.
"Follow through with double kick!" Luna jabbed both hind paws back and sent the nuzleaf hurtling through the air. It rolled to a stop inches from the edge of the ring and propped itself up on its knees.
"B-bullet seed!" Bones shouted.
"Swift!"
The nuzleaf spat out a few seeds, but they were swallowed up by a torrent of stars. With a blinding flash, the nuzleaf was thrown into the crowd.
"And the first knockout goes to Lucky the eevee!"
The crowd roared with cheers and taunts. Sam heard a mixture of "Hot damn, that kid's got some moves!" and "C'mon Bones, I got money on you man! Don't let me down!"
Bones called back his pokemon and shook his head. "Wow, kid. I almost went easy on you. But, too bad for you, I'm not a nice guy. Go, machoke!"
He threw out his final pokemon, a burly machoke wearing a skull mask. The machoke slid it off and threw it towards Bones, who caught it with one hand.
"Right, machoke, don't let that eevee fool you. It took out nuzleaf like he was nothing. Keep on that eevee, you hear?"
The machoke grunted and lowered its stance. When Smiles started the match, it rushed forward, with its right arm poised back for a chop.
"Keep your distance and harry it with swift," Sam called. Luna ducked back and fired stars at the machoke. It didn't stop running, but all the flashes made it squint its eyes. It flung its arm forward, just a hair to the left.
"Deflect left with iron tail, and follow through."
Luna swept the arm aside, turning the machoke and leaving its right side exposed. Luna turned, and slammed her tail beneath the machoke's ribcage, making it gasp for breath.
"Grab it!" Bones shouted.
"Get out of there!"
The machoke scrambled towards Luna, but she hopped in between its arms and came out behind it.
"Now, shadow ball!"
Luna collected shadows from across the alleyway. Bones stared in shock at the growing sphere and shouted, "Oh fuck, get down!"
The crowd parted, leaving the alleyway empty behind the machoke. As Luna fired, the machoke flattened itself against the ground, and the shadow ball glanced off its back, leaving black scorch marks across its skin. The shadow ball then skipped against the ground, chipping fragments out of the pavement before slamming into the building behind it, sending cracks through the mortar.
The machoke stood up, and its muscles rippled, bulging outward and stiffening. It wiped the blood from its lips and smiled at Luna. "Alright," Bones said, "We're still in this. Now, finish it in one blow! Revenge!"
The machoke sprang forward, unnaturally fast. Luna barely had time to block with her iron tail before the machoke sent it flying with one massive undercut. Blood welled up from Luna's face, but she twirled her body to face the ground. Sam paused for a moment, imagining how much the next move would hurt, but he shoved the feeling aside and flung out his arm.
"Now, shadow ball, and give it some backspin!"
As she fell, Luna gathered the energy, spun it towards her, and fired it at the machoke. It leapt back, but the spin of the shadow ball kicked up a barrage of concrete chunks, lacerating its face and chest.
"Now, shadow ball with forward spin!"
Using residual energy from the last attack, Luna charged the second shot even faster and sent it hurtling towards the first ball. When the two balls touched, they both spun each other, flinging even more gravel at the machoke's face before the oncoming shadow ball slammed into its legs. Its momentum and spin made it travel up the machoke's body while shoving it into the ground, clawing at the machoke's chest and spraying a fountain of blood into the air. This time, when the shadow ball slammed into a wall, the machoke stayed still. Blood gushed out of its chest, pooling into the ground around it, and half the belt around its waist was torn away.
The crowd broke out in a mix of loud applause, a lot of heckling at Bones, and a few wild, joyous shouts. Sam picked up Luna, wiped the blood out of her eyes, and carried her over to Smiles. As Sam collected his winnings, a thick handful of bills bound with a frazzled rubber, Bones walked up to him and held out his hand. Sam hid a grimace as he took his grimy, sweaty hand.
"Damn, I don't know what's worse, losing all that money or losing to a kid like you. But damn, that was some fine brawling! What the hell do they teach kids these days?"
"If I actually listened to what they told me, then I wouldn't be here, now would I?"
"Hah! Wow, I'm betting on you from now on. Win me back all that money and we'll call it even, alright?"
"Uh, sure. I need to take care of L – Lucky."
Sam turned away from the crowd and sat over in a corner. He sprayed a potion onto Luna's gashes, angling the sprayer so it wouldn't burn her eyes, and he worked it into her skin with a cotton swab. Once he was done, the woman in the rabbit mask sat next to him, facing away from him. She lounged back, laying on the ground and baring a generous slice of cleavage. Sam looked up at the buildings.
"Thanks kid. You won me a lot of money tonight."
"Uh, sure."
"So, what's a kid like you doing here? Wait, let me guess – you need money for college."
She chuckled when Sam turned away from her. "Oh, don't worry sweetie, I'm not gonna arrest you."
Sam turned back around. "Wait, arrest me?"
"Oh, so you don't know?" She giggled and said, "I'll let Smiles handle it. Just don't let me catch you with a gun or drugs, and we're cool, alright?"
Before Sam could say anything else, she sprung up and disappeared into the crowd. Sam looked around and saw Smiles, handing out generous sums of money to the few adventurous betters that won on Sam's match. He waited until Smiles was done before walking up to him.
"Hey, mind if I ask you something?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"Who's that woman in the rabbit mask?"
Smiles slapped his forehead, leaving lines from his knuckledusters, and said, "Oh shit, I forgot to tell you. That's our bunny."
"What?"
"Bunny – cop. She's the reason we can run this joint without getting busted. Mr. Deltoro – the guy who owns all the rings – he's got a deal with the cops. He lets them watch and make sure nothing serious happens here, and in return, we don't get busted. So, if you see a bunny mask, keep your distance, okay? They're not out to get you, but you shouldn't go grabbing a cop's boobs either."
Sam felt himself burning underneath the mask. He stayed for a few more matches, placing token bets each time. He tried to pay attention to the pokemon, but without his notebook, his eyes kept straying into the crowd, hunting for a pair of lily-white ears, and each time he'd find them, a shiver ran down his spine.
Chapter Six: Loss of Senses
Sam tried to concentrate in class, but a buzz echoed in his head all morning. No matter how hard he shook his head or whacked his ears, the buzz wouldn't stop. His vision also felt blurry – he could tell that his math teacher was writing an integral on the smartboard, but all the numbers faded into blobs of green and red, melting into the white smear of screen on the wall.
His teacher said something. Sam saw her lips move, but he couldn't make out any of her words. His mind wandered away from the classroom, and he saw, in vivid clarity, a pair of ears poking out from a sea of heads. The ears dipped and bobbed through the crowd, winding ever closer to him. He tried to stand up and run, but his body wouldn't move from his desk. The ears reached the edge of the crowd, and a woman's body emerged from the writhing mass of faceless hoodlums, wearing a brown bikini tight and flexible enough to show every curve beneath them. Around her ring finger twirled a pair of glittering golden handcuffs. Sam strained, tugged against the invisible strings that pinned him to the desk, but he could only watch as the woman's hand snaked forward and clamped the handcuffs around his left wrist.
"Sam!"
The teacher's shout snapped him back to reality. Though his vision remained fuzzy, he could see the wrinkled teacher's hand shaking his wrist.
"Sam, snap out of it! Are you feeling alright?"
"Oh, sorry. Didn't sleep well last night."
"You're pale as a sheet!" She pressed a hand against his head and said, "You're awfully cold too. Maybe you should go to the nurse's office."
"I'll be fine. Thanks though."
The teacher frowned, and Sam could only tell because her forehead bunched up into rows of wrinkles. "Well, don't be shy. If you have to go, then go. Don't ask."
For a split second, Sam saw a pair of rabbit ears above the teacher's head, unnaturally clear and bright against the blurred mess of reality. He blinked, and the image vanished, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that they were still there.
"I – okay."
As the teacher walked away from him, he heard another set of footsteps, muffled scrapes of soft pads against a rough stone floor. Sam tried to turn, and though his body stayed still, his vision whipped around the room. For a split moment, he saw burning buildings, and then pain raced through his left eye. It felt as though his eye had turned into molten lava and seeped into his veins, scorching further into his head with each heartbeat. Sam tried to scream, but the shock from the pain kept his throat too tight to let any air out, or in. He choked on his own neck muscles as he tipped out of his chair, and he blacked out well before his head hit the floor.
When Sam woke up, he lay in a bed he didn't know, staring up at a ceiling he didn't recognize. His head throbbed on the left side. He tried to lift his head, but he couldn't move. A shadow loomed over him, and Sam peered out of his peripheral vision. The figure seemed blurry, but he could make out the large red cross on Nurse Delita's uniform. A light shined in his eyes, and he blinked at the sudden brightness.
Her words seemed as though they swam through molasses to reach him. Each time her lips moved, it took a few seconds for her words to reach his brain, and the desynchonization of lips and sound made Sam's head spin. "Don't try to move," she told him. "We called for a Doctor to take a look at you, but it's probably just stress. Some kids get it worse than others, especially when they're about to finish high school. You also bumped your head, but your pupils are normal, so it's nothing too serious."
Sam tried to tell her he was paralyzed, but his tongue wouldn't move either. Every inch of his body, from his eyelids to his toes, wouldn't answer his brain's frantic attempts to get them moving. Sam struggled against the heavy, invisible blanket holding him down, but he felt smothered by his own body. His breathing, spurred on only by his body's instinct for survival, supplied him with a thin, steady dose of oxygen, leaving his brain in a suffocating state that sent tingles of pain through his chest. His mouth felt as though it were stuffed with salt, so dry that his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, and his nose had an intense, burning itch.
He heard a knock, and his eyes flicked up towards the door. Brandon was standing outside, bending the corner of an envelope in his hands.
"I hope you don't mind a visitor," Nurse Delita said. "I normally wouldn't allow it, but I think he'll do you some good. Just shake your head if you don't want to see him."
Sam tried to move, but he couldn't even make his neck muscles twitch.
"Alright, I'll let him in. I won't let him stay too long – you need your rest."
Brandon pulled up a chair, sat next to the bed, and pulled a thin slip of paper out the envelope. The sound of paper rasping against paper felt like sand rubbing at Sam's eardrums.
"Sam, I, uh, well, everyone at the drama club's worried about you. They tried to see you, but the nurse wouldn't let them in. But, well, she let me in after I asked her. I, uh, want to give you something. I talked it over with my dad, and he took a look at your exam, and he decided to help you out, in exchange for being his intern. So… here you go."
Brandon took his hand, pried it open, pressed the paper inside, and pushed the fingers closed. "There. That's two-hundred thousand, everything you need to get to grad school. My dad will talk to you himself to go over being his intern, and all that." Brandon scratched the back of his neck and said, "I hope that makes you feel better." He looked up at the clock and stood. "Well, I should be going. Get some rest, and get, uh, get better soon, okay?"
Sam stared at the paper in his hands. It felt heavy, as though it were going to crush his arm under its weight. He could just barely make out the neat, six-digit figure written in vibrant black ink, along with an eloquent and flamboyant signature at the bottom. There it was, everything he needed to go to college, leave with a successful career, and have an easy life, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to drop it. Sam willed his fingers to move, staring at them until the fingertips started to shake. Millimeter by millimeter, his hands parted and his wrist twisted until the check slid out of his hand, floated through the air, and landed gently on the floor.
Brandon turned just before he left the room and saw the check on the floor. He walked over, picked it up, and placed it on the table next to Sam's bed.
"I got that for you. It'll be right here when you wake up."
Brandon turned towards the door. Sam pried his mouth open and forced himself to whisper, "Wait."
Brandon stopped. "What is it?"
Sam reached towards the table. Inch by inch, his trembling hand crept forward until it fell on top of the check. His fingers twitched closed, and he shuffled his fingers so they wouldn't crumple the check. Then he forced himself to stand, first by dragging his left arm back and pushing up, then reaching out with his right and propping himself up on a bedpost. His legs shook as they struggled to bear his weight, and his back hunched over. Sam eased his hand off the bedpost and held the check towards Brandon.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely, "But I can't take it."
"You don't have to worry!" Brandon said. "My dad's doing really well, Sinex just – uh, well he's doing fine. So don't worry and take it."
"That's not it." Sam took a few deep breaths. He could feel warmth seeping into his muscles. His back straightened, his hands stopped shaking, and his tongue felt limber. "I want to be a pokemon professor, but I want to get there on my own. I could take the money and have all my problems solved, but I'll spend the rest of my life thinking it was too easy. I'd rather earn it."
"But you did earn it!" Brandon shouted. "I mean, yeah, I asked my dad to look into you, but he would've given you that internship regardless. You're just as good – no, better than I am, and nobody deserves this money more than you. So please, just take it."
"I don't want it."
"Then how? How the hell are you going to come up with this kind of money by yourself, huh? I – look, I understand. I feel that way all the time. I feel like I'm just handed everything. I don't have to worry about finances, and I have my dad to teach me everything I need to know. But it would be stupid not to take it. So please, take the god damn money."
Sam pushed the check into Brandon's arms. "I'll find my own way."
Brandon clenched a fist as he took the check. "Fine. Go ahead and try. I – the offer still stands, Sam, so when - if you give up, let me know." He turned away, said, "Get some rest," and ran out.
Sam walked towards the door, but Nurse Delita stopped him.
"And where do you think you're going?"
"I've got two-hundred thousand dollars to make."
"Not right now, you don't. The doctor will be here in ten minutes. He'll take a look at you, and then we'll see if you get to go or not." She pointed at the bed and said, "Lay down. At least sit. I don't want you hitting your head again if you pass out. Good lord, I should've known letting a visitor in was a bad idea."
The nurse mumbled to herself as she ran a towel under the faucet. She guided Sam onto the bed and placed the towel against the bruise on Sam's head. He winced as she applied pressure, but the cool, wet towel eased the throbbing pain.
Sam itched to get out of bed, but under the stern gaze of the nurse, he resigned himself to lying in bed. Each minute dragged on, and the clock announced each momentous second with a thunderous tock. He tapped his fingers against the sheets, willing the clock to go faster, and he sighed in relief when the doctor arrived five minutes early.
"Hello there!" he called, entering the room with a flamboyant stride. His black hair stuck up in a weird, bobbing point, with streaks of gray adding subtle shades to his groomed sideburns. He had astonishingly thick corrective lenses held in place with dull bronze frames heavy enough to press down the man's ears, a gleaming white lab-coat with five bulging pockets, and instead of a stethoscope, the doctor wore a lead pocket watch around his neck on an iron chain. He held a large black toolkit that clanged and rustled each time he swung his arms. "I hope you don't mind I'm five minutes early."
"Oh, not at all, Doctor Drake! He's already awake, and he was standing on his own and talking just a bit ago."
"Good! Probably not a concussion then, but I'll still have to do some extensive testing. Cases like these are pretty rare, so we better make sure nothing else is going on." He clapped his hands and said, "Right! Let's get started!" He strode over to Sam's bed and loomed over him. Then he looked back at the nurse and said, "Could you leave us alone for a moment?"
"Oh, sure," she said.
"And be sure to lock the door behind you, okay? I don't want anyone walking in on this."
The door clicked shut, and a bolt slid in place. Once they were alone, the doctor smiled down at him.
"Can you do me a favor, young man?"
"Uh, what is it?" Sam asked.
The doctor took the pocket watch off of his neck. "When I open this watch, whatever you do, don't look at it."
"Got it," Sam mumbled.
"Let me repeat that," Doctor Drake said as he put on gloves from his pocket. "No looking into the watch. Understand?"
"I said I got it."
"No no, say 'I won't look into the pocket watch', okay?"
"Okay. I won't look into the pocket watch."
"Good! Instead, I want you to look into my eyes. Just look at me, alright?"
"Okay." Sam shifted his gaze up to the man's eyes. Behind the man's lenses, his eyes were two giant blue spheres with a tiny black speck in the center.
"Good! Here we go."
The watch clicked open. Sam felt nothing at first, but then the drowsy, heavy sensation he felt when he woke up returned. It felt as though the watch were putting out heat like a lamp, and the longer it stayed open, the greater the urge he felt to look at it. Bit by bit, Sam lowered his gaze down the doctor's face until he could see the watch in his peripheral vision. His eyes were blurring up, but he could tell there wasn't a clock in there, but a purple glowing something. He lowered his gaze even further, but the watch snapped shut before his vision could clear. Immediately, Sam felt the oppressing, stifling sensation lift from his body.
"Alright!" Doctor Drake shouted. "Very good!" He peeled off his gloves and stuck them back into his pocket. "Now for the next part. Could you do me another favor?"
"What is it?"
"Sleep tight."
The doctor pressed a rag against his face. Sam struggled against it, but within a second, his mind went blank, and he passed out as the doctor took a syringe out of his toolbox.