Chapter 4
"Act the way you'd like to be and soon you'll be the way you act."
—Leonard Cohen
It's a little hard to justify yourself as a fourteen-year-old and the main face of a "terroristic incident" in the largest city in Johto, but I give it my best shot anyway.
"This wasn't my fault."
A-1 acting. They've gotta be total blowhards to not buy this.
Suffice it to say, my only saving grace was that Sean had to go to the hospital, and "as his son," I was obligated to tag along. It was hard to stay quiet during the ambulance ride as Grit, Pong, and Stein talked up a storm, but I kept my mouth shut until we pulled up. Then I bolted to the hospital bathroom and locked the door.
"Why would ya do that?" Pong demands, sparking all over the small area. Stein reins him in with a tired exhale.
"I had to else that Jellicent would've killed us."
"And this won't?" Grit protests, floating closer until I can see into the depths of her blue and yellow eyes. "Think a little more, would you, Oswald?"
"I was thinking," I grumble. "What would you three have done, huh? Let him get killed?"
"That blowhard? Yes!" Pong says.
"Yes, but if not for that blowhard, we'd still be 'Red,'" Stein points out dryly.
"We were jus' a side effect of his goal," Pong argues.
"Either way, if he hadn't come, we'd still be there and silent." He had mentioned that while I was "Red," their consciousnesses were in some kind of sleep or stasis like mine. If they weren't already dead, I would've panicked.
"You have a point," Grit agrees hesitantly. "Nonetheless, Oz, I wish you would consider yourself a little more. Your death would mean a lot more than our disappearances."
"No way!" I yell, startling her a little. "If you guys went away, I wouldn't have a purpose left. Please, don't sell yourselves short like that . . ."
"Please don't start this conversation again," Stein complains. "I don't feel like flying in circles today. And . . ." He vanishes for a few seconds, then reappears with his candle lights flickering in distaste. "There's a guy waiting to pee, and he looks desperate. We'll talk later." Stein turns into a purple flame that melts back into my skin. Pong zaps his way back inside of me, but Grit lingers.
"Stein may not want to beat a dead horse, but I'll never stop trying." She rests her small hands on my face. Cold constantly emits from her skin and I shiver a little. "You should've let us go when our time came."
"You're saying you didn't want to stay with me?" My voice cracks when I say it. Grit's eyes widen, then she frowns.
"Don't twist my words around, Oz. That's not what I mean. But this . . . Doing this isn't healthy either. Please. You've gotten your life back—make it worthwhile." She exhales before fading into mist, dying away.
Why do they have to tell me the same thing all the time?
Sean still isn't waking up, and his third day is about to finish. He's in a hospital bed with some needles poking into his good arm—ack, needles—and his other arm's in a bright green cast. I poked it a few times to see if it hurt, but he's drugged with so many painkillers he didn't even roll his eyes in his sleep like before. I watched him for a while, then I went down to the hospital's café and got a ham sandwich and orange Kool-Aid in a cheap paper cup. The sandwich is better than the Kool-Aid. I try giving him a piece, but even though his mouth is open enough to let a bucket load of drool through, it can't fit a portion of sandwich.
"You little shit," I tell him. "Or, I mean, you're a big shit, because you're bigger than me. You big shit."
He doesn't wake up.
"Come on, man, you're wasting our time here. We're not exactly running on stardust . . ." His wrist is turned so that his palm is up, showing the mark Arceus left on his skin. It looked real angry before at the library, but now it looks like a tattoo again. I feel the weird texture of it—it's not like ink, not like anything I've ever felt before—and Sean finally moves.
"Did you know that Wilder agreed to be in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory only on the condition that he could limp up, fall on his face, and jump to his feet? No one expected it either, because he didn't tell any of the other actors, so their surprise was real."
He groans, pressing the back of his hand into his eyes and grimacing. "What in hell are you blathering about early in the morning— Wait, is it early in the morning? What time is—ouch!" He sits up fast, then doubles over in pain. I look up from the bed's remote.
"Oh yeah, the doctor suggested you don't do that." He gives me this really homicidal look and I figure that he can't be too injured. "It's actually a couple of hours before midnight, so we're still pushing the clock on the same margin we've been."
"Good," he says, then winces. "Bad. One or the other. I don't know. I feel like I haven't slept in a week."
"Yeah, the doctor said that too. It's a side effect." He shakes his head sluggishly.
"What happened to the man and his Jellicent?" I shrug.
"Beats me. I was too busy not getting arrested myself. For all I know, he's escaped to terrorize another day." He sighs, dragging his hand down his face as he stares at his broken arm. Then, slowly, he looks at me, and he looks even more depressed than usual if that's even physically possible.
"Why are you still here?"
"What? Because I actually think of you as a friend?"
"No," he says, a little appalled. "Because you're stupid enough to hold Ghost-type Pokémon within your body." I freeze up in shock.
"Wha— Who told you?"
"I'm not an idiot, Oswald, and as much as you act out, neither are you." He grimaces as he tries to move his broken arm. "Their energy saps yours. Like that, you won't have too long to live."
"It doesn't matter."
"Then what does matter?"
"That they can live."
"Oh. Oh, oh, ha-ha." He laughs, but it's weird and bitter. "Putting the lives of dead Pokémon before your own. That's a paradox at its peak."
"Shut up! You don't understand because you don't have anything you care about, just yourself!" His face darkens, and with some effort he swings his legs around to face me.
"I care about my father and my sisters. I care enough not to throw my life away over Pokémon that have already passed. Moreover, you're preventing them from passing into the next world, and for what? Because you don't want to be lonely?" I want to snap back, but somehow, he's hit the nail on the head.
"How . . . do you know that?"
"In Goldenrod, you were speaking in your sleep," he explains.
"So you heard something that isn't your business. So, what?"
"So, I don't want to watch someone die in front of my face while I can prevent it."
"Since when do you have ethics?"
"I've seen death," he says grimly, squinting a little at the memory. "It's . . . not pleasant."
"Really now?" I say matter-of-factly. "And—look, none of this has anything to do with how I run my life."
"For you, it does matter, doesn't it? You want to live?"
"I don't want to die."
"That's not the same thing," Sean says. He tries to clench his casted fist but only wiggles his fingers since he can move just the upper half of his hand. He stares at it for so long that I start wondering if I should call the doctor back. "With that Jellicent, I saw death, and it's not pleasant," he repeats, letting his arm fall back in its sling. "It made me think . . . To say you don't want to die means you're happy with any sort of existence. Would you rather be 'Red?'"
"No way," I say and shudder. He shrugs a shoulder and looks out the room's window.
"There are a lot of books that I want to read, a lot of mysteries that I want to solve. Only by living can I do those things, by being able to walk free. Being 'Red,' that's no sort of life—to do what you want and enjoy it, that's what it means to live." He rubs his chin with a sigh and looks back at me. "It's strange. I've never given that much thought to these things before now, but this week has been oddly eye-opening." He raises his eyes to the ceiling. "I considered you a smart boy, Oswald, but if you'd be willing to give up the greatest opportunity in this world—that is, to live—then you are a fool."
Sean doesn't blink and his voice doesn't crack—he's really intent on what he's saying. The problem is, I've heard it all before.
"Having fun there, giving your big grand speech? This isn't the climax of the story, you know."
"Perhaps not mine, but your denouement is soon coming. Am I now speaking in terms that you understand?"
"You're really into my life," I grumble instead. "Don't you want to know what I found out while you were napping?"
"You actually managed to get information."
"I'm not useless, you know. The television in the cafeteria, it was on a news channel that was playing the same stories over and over. There are Pokémon all over Kanto and Johto going wild. They're kinda zoning out and flipping on their Trainers and private property . . . Sound familiar?"
"It means you were right," he says grimly, scowling like it's painful to say. "That whatever Mt. Silver was containing is escaping and causing problems for everyone, not just us." He squints at his hand and flexes his fingers thoughtfully. "And that is far from good news."
"Oh, really?"
"I am not being jocular, Oswald." He clenches his fist so tightly that his hand goes bloodless. "This is some sort of primal force as old as the world, perhaps even as old as the Legendary Pokémon themselves. It is malevolent enough that Arceus would have the strongest Trainer of the instant constantly guarding it and keeping it in check. And now it's leaking past its bonds and causing havoc in the immediate area. Imagine if it spread farther, if it affected Pokémon as distant as Hoenn or even Sinnoh."
My parents.
I haven't thought about those two in a long time, and even when I do, it's not with worry like right now. I remember endless nights of shouting, flashes of pain, crying—nothing that would make me love them like a child should love their parents, but even so, I'm concerned that they'll be hurt. Does that make me weird, then? Well, I guess I crossed that line long ago, but still . . .
"We can't let that happen," I decide. "No way." I try to remember what else I learned, but the thing about having three minds on top of your own is that your thoughts get pretty damn jumbled. "There was, uh . . . Oh yeah! Blue is going to be in Johto's Pokémon League tomorrow evening on, uh, business. Something like that. But he's going to be there."
"It's across the water, further than even Cianwood City," he points out. "We wouldn't make it in time."
"Not if we fly!"
"Flying-type rentals are hard to come by, and on top of that—"
"Ghosts can fly too," I point out. He stares at me for a moment like he's just gone brain-dead. "Oi, Sean?"
"The mark," he mutters, holding his hand up. It's throbbing with a faint light. "It's been bothering me for a while now."
"It means . . .?"
"You might just be joining me here."
I stand up and start to tell him to run, then I remember that he's all hooked up. "Where are your Pokémon?"
"In my box." He grimaces. "I'm stuck."
"No you're not." I choose Stein since he's more responsible than Pong and I need Grit. He manifests right next to Sean, and I'd be lying if I say I didn't die on the inside when I saw his panicked expression. It took all my willpower not to laugh in his face.
"Just a Lampent," he mutters, pretending like he didn't just jump two feet in the air.
"I was an Absol one time," Stein says. "What's going on? Who's he?"
"He's the prick," I explain. Stein's candle lights flicker as he sighs.
"Well, I guess I owe you some thanks for saving Oz."
"It wasn't on purpose, trust me," he deadpans. "Not a second passes that I do not regret meeting him."
"I love you too, Sean."
"Well, even so." Stein's eyes turn purple when he looks at me. "I'll keep an eye on him, don't worry. Nothing gets past me!"
"I feel so safe," Sean says with the same lack of energy. I let it slide.
"Give me your Trainer's card. I'll go to the Pokémon Center downstairs and—why are you making that face?"
"I don't have a Trainer's card," he admits.
"But you can't walk around with a full team without a Trainer's card. Wait, then—wait, how did you put them in the box at all?"
"Hacking," he answers. "I bypassed the system's security and placed them in a sort of . . . how to say this in layman's terms? In a nonexistent box, like null space."
"Then can't you tell me how to do whatever the hell you did?" He looks at me dubiously. "I'm no idiot, man. We're in this together—have some faith in me."
"I can't . . ." He changes his mind mid-sentence and holds out his hand. "I can't write with this hand. Get a pen and paper."
"Gotcha." I find some stationary lying around the room and write the passwords as he's saying them. There's a lot, and they're pretty long and, uh, alphanumeric, but with Grit and Pong reading them too, I doubt I'll forget. "I'll be back," I promise in a deep, accented voice. It looks like he's still giving me a homicidal look, then his mouth twitches.
"You're not going to drive a car through the hospital, are you?" he says. And then he laughs. Like, an actual, human laugh. I feel like I died and woke up in a parallel universe. Can that darkness thing work opposites on people that are already heartless? It's the only explanation.
". . . You know what? I'm gonna leave. You're scaring me, Sean."
There are still people walking around, visitors and patients, so at first I think I'm just being paranoid, then when I get off the elevator into the lobby, I realize that every other living soul is gone from the area. The desk is abandoned, the waiting area is empty, there's even a flickering fluorescent light that makes the whole room dim. That's what ticks me off.
"Muk, Sludge Bomb."
Grit makes me jump to the side as a huge ball of purple gunk splatters all over. The polished tiles rot away where it touches, and it sinks into the dirt and leaves rusted metal pipes in its wake. At the other end of the room is a taller, lankier dude in a trench coat and with his hat tipped low like the guy from Casablanca. Next to him is a Muk, which is infinitely harder to deal with than a Jellicent.
"I remember you," the man says with a weird echo-y voice, like there's three people speaking at once. "You were 'Red' not too long ago, for two years."
"So I'm guessing you're not happy about that." I roll to my feet but there's a lot less standing space now. "Pong?"
'I'm hungry,' he complains. Well he's a lost cause.
"Grit, could you make a Shadow Ball?"
'No. You know how I feel about that.'
"Don't really have a choice here, ya know . . ."
"Talking to yourself?" the man jeers.
"What's it to you, huh? That ain't even yer body, yer just hijackin' it," Pong says for me. The man stares for a second, then laughs sharply.
"And with ghosts inside of you! It seems as if I didn't need to intervene—you would've killed yourself eventually. But since I'm out here, I can't help but cause mayhem. It's what I do, after all." He snaps his fingers and the Muk races forward, slopping everywhere like the aftermath of a mudslide. I jump onto one of the couches and use it like a spring, vaulting over its head and onto the receptionist's desk behind them. Muk splatters all over the wall and melts it in a second.
"Thanks, Grit," I mutter, even when I feel my muscles tighten up in the aftermath. The man growls and his hand flashes out too fast for me to track. The pain doesn't hit me for a few seconds, not until I see blood dripping at my feet. I drag my palm across my face and find a big bleeding bruise on my forehead.
"Don't think that I play nice, kid," he warns. I remember that pain doesn't affect me as strongly and I try to find what he threw, but all I see is a bloodstained Iron Ball rolling across the ground. It doesn't make sense though—it should've hurt a lot more, not to mention cracked my skull. A full-body shiver goes through me as Grit appears in front of my face. I can still see through her and I get a perfect view of the Muk, now extraordinarily pissed off. "What are you . . . I thought you don't like to fight?"
"I don't like seeing you get hurt either," she says, giving the man a look that could freeze lava. It reminds me of when she was alive, as a huge and naturally intimidating Mamoswine. Not that being a Frosslass makes her any less terrifying. "And I don't care if it's a Muk, evil itself, or Arceus—I won't let off anyone that lays a finger on you."
"How noble," the man sneers, and as he raises his head, I see that there's nothing solid beneath that hat, just roiling blackness like the inside of a thunderstorm, no CGI needed. "But if Arceus itself has to delegate the task of keeping me in check, then I doubt that an expired Pokémon such as yourself can do so."
"Then you obviously are underestimating me." The air around her chills until three huge icicles are stationed in a circle around her, big and sharp like swords. Her eyes are shinier than 135 film. "I may only be half of what I was, but that's still more than strong enough to fend you off." The icicles snap forward, points out, and shoot forward. They stab into the Muk, and while that in itself doesn't do much, considering how gelatinous it is, ice covers it faster than I can blink, completely immobilizing it.
"It seems I have," he notes. "You're fast." His tone of voice sends chills down my spine worse than what Grit can cause. He snaps his fingers and the coat and hat fall to the ground as he disappears. There's nothing but silence and the humming broken light for a few seconds, then Grit falls to the ground.
"Grit!" I dive down and take her up, and I realize she's shaking.
"G-Go on ahead." With her eyes squinted in pain. "I'll be f-fine."
"You're hurting!"
"Oz, go ahead!" she repeats vehemently, and her body gets so cold that I have to drop her. She shakes even harder and frost appears on the ground around her. "Go! I don't want to lose control and hurt you."
"I'm not gonna let that bastard hurt you!"
"You can't do anything right now! Just—" A gust of frigid air bursts from her and knocks me off my feet, but the ground's all the way frozen over and I slide on my back until my shoulders and head crash against the wall. It hurts, but with Pong left it doesn't hurt too much, and after a few breaths I'm back on my feet. She's staring me in the eyes with a homicidal expression to rival Sean's. It's hard, but I tear myself away and keep running down the hall. There are signs pinned to the wall that locate the Pokémon Center—I'm close, real close. I just hope Pong still remembers the—
"Oz, freeze!" Pong cries, stretching his electric appendages into a net. I skid to a stop just as a cluster of big heavy boulders come rolling from a corner and slam into his barrier, but it holds. One of said boulders glare at me with red eyes.
"Pong, I have to get through—the Pokémon Center's around the corner!"
"Ground yerself!" I jump back as he explodes in a shower of blue electricity, which doesn't really hurt the Golem but sends it backwards in shock. It's slow to recover, and I take the opportunity to slip past and through the shattered glass doors. The lobby of the Pokémon Center is wrecked with a few Pokémon lying KO'd on the ground, but I ignore them and head to the machine. The paper is frozen, so I have to handle it carefully as I enter the passwords into the system. I get a few letters wrong a few times, mostly because my fingers are numb from the cold and electricity, but after a while six Pokéballs roll out into the tray. I'm barely aware of the place's clock chiming midnight as I take them up and clip them onto my belt, seconds before the top floor of the hospital blows like a James Bond movie.
