Winnifred & Lyle's Everyday Miracle
…
The First Time You Ever – Part 2
-Winnifred-
She had slept beside Mirelle.
Dawn volunteered to sleep at Mirelle's space on the couch, the main reason being that she could be ready for surprise guests. It occurred to Winnifred that her brother might come back in the night and demand a place to sleep; Mirelle responded by putting his stuff out in the hallway. Mirelle tied her hair back and suggested sleeping in her studio on some laundry, suggesting that everyone 'just needed space' tonight. Winnifred refused.
So, they had slept in the same bed.
Mirelle did not snore, but she did kick. Winnifred didn't mind. Her thoughts wandered. Did Lyle kick in the night?
She had blinked in and out of consciousness through the night hours. She shot up the first time, forgetting Mirelle was beside her and reaching for Blitzerella's ball on a phantom nightstand; the second time she woke, she thought it was Lyle returned to her, and brushed a pink lock out of Mirelle's face before remembering Lyle was a blonde.
When there was a bang on the apartment front door in the morning, Winnifred got up easily. She didn't bother to put on real clothes and went to the living room in her long pajama shirt and underwear. Dawn stood sentry, arms down and fists clenched. She had to borrow Mirelle's clothes—Winnifred's was a few sizes too big—but even in a Dave Matthews Band shirt and loose gray sweats, Dawn seemed ready to crack skulls.
Dawn's stern blue eyes flitted to Winnifred. Another bang at the door.
"Who is it?" Winnifred asked.
"Your brother. Open up."
Winnifred's eyes rolled on their own. She gave a loose wave, and Dawn backed away. "Your stuff's all there. Get out of the building, find another place to be." It was easier to say than she'd expected.
"Would love to, but can't."
"No vacancies on Homecoming weekend? Bummer." The H-word caught in her throat.
"It's not that. Do you live under a rock? The city's on some red-alert lockdown. Whack-jobs came after the Homecoming event. I can't get a room anywhere if I tried."
"Doubtful," Winnifred said, seeing this conversation's outcome. "I'll get you a room at Uncle Howard's place."
Instead of sounding remotely thankful: "There's gridlock from the incident. No cabs are—"
"We're walking." If it got Dawson out of here—because this was not what she needed—she'd walk to Eureka and back. And she didn't even know if Eureka was a real place or just something people said.
Winnifred started back toward her room, but a groggy Mirelle stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and craning her neck. "If that's that Dawson character, I'm calling my folks up. Dad's got his leg-busting bat behind the register."
"Don't bother. I'm...I'm on it." The words rolling out before processing: "Are you busy right now? Can you come with me? It's hotel business."
Mirelle raised her head for a nod but froze before coming down. "I have a project," she said quietly, not even trying to mask guilt. "I actually overslept. I can't...I'm sorry."
Other Mirelle apologies were quick, innocuous things that made it impossible to hate her. This was a full-blown apology. Had such a thing ever existed before?
Because if this were any other morning, Winnifred could handle her brother on her own. Even if she couldn't, Mirelle would have no obligation to help her bizzaro roommate.
Mirelle didn't know anything, still hadn't been brought into the loop, and lamented not being able to help.
Where did people this good come from?
Meanwhile, Dawson slammed on her door and demanded room and board.
Winnifred wondered what that said about family.
"What's this for?" Mirelle asked when Winnifred pulled her into a bear hug, nuzzling her head into the nook of Mirelle's neck and squeezing her arms tight.
"For being you," Winnifred said.
Mirelle pushed her away slowly. Winnifred expected some kind of remark, but then she followed Mirelle's gaze behind her. Dawn was waiting patiently, hands folded.
"I'm going with you," Dawn said. Winnifred did not argue.
-Lyle-
"Lyle Forrester. Age eighteen, Pokemon Ranger stationed in Oblivia. Went to Ranger HQ in Almia, did his residency right there with the Murph man himself. Huh."
That voice.
"Michael," Lyle groaned. It was supposed to be an agonized yell.
"Open your eyes, Mister Forrester," Michael said. "Before we get down to business, I want to make sure I have the right man. Securing my investments and all that."
Lyle's eyelids refused. He fought to see, but each muscle felt weighted down. His legs were fuzzy. One arm had gone entirely asleep from being elevated by the wall shackle, and the other was made of iron.
"What did you…do to me?"
"It's a mild sedative," Michael crooned. "You can see, though. If you really want it. Work for it, Mister Forrester!"
Seconds later, a swift backhand ripped across Lyle's face. His eyelids shot open. His retinas screamed. Also, no glasses meant blurry vision. He could barely make out the vague shape of his leg from that of Wes's, across the room.
"There he is!" Michael squatted down and looked square into Lyle, his shark eyes and confident grin impossible to obfuscate. "Good morning, Ranger. According to your Styler nub, the time is nine forty-two in the AM."
Michael's shape flipped the silver puck in his hand and caught it.
"Wes?" Lyle asked.
"I'm here," Wes said. The unclear blue outline of Wes did not move.
"That he is. Mister Forrester, I'll cut right to the chase. It's early, and I kind of like my mornings productive."
Each word registered felt like catching spitfire.
"You're here because you tried to take my Shadow Lugia, correct?"
"Sounds about right," Lyle said. May as well humor the man that has you shackled.
"Correct, then. You decided to work with Covenant members, one of whom is my good friend Wes, and another of which spent time infiltrating my HR department. See, I like the part where that's espionage and a punishable offense under the law." He beamed. "Do you see where I'm going with this, Mister Forrester?"
"Yeah, I do. And I like the part where a terrorist is waving legal red tape at me."
"A terrorist?" Michael feigned a gasp and put his hand on his heart. "Wes, he called me a terrorist. I'm hurt. Wounded, even."
Lyle said nothing.
"Mister Forrester—"
"I'm Lyle."
"Lyle, then," Michael said with a hand wave. "I'm not a terrorist. Terrorism features a perpetrator who strikes fear into the people for the goal of social upheaval. I took my Covenant-gained fortune and poured it into Aspartia Town's infrastructure. If that's not the opposite of social upheaval, I don't know what is.
"And besides," Michael tapped his heels. "Be honest with me, both of you. Neither of you have a clue what I'm planning to do with Shadow Lugia. Or even why I brought it here, besides just the vague 'release it in a populated area' theory." Then: "Though to be fair, that's pretty accurate."
Lyle continued his silence.
"Wes," Michael prompted. "Do me a solid. Tell me, what happened to Hilbert?"
"Hilbert?" Lyle asked. "The guy from your tower? What's he have to do with—"
Cue the kick to his gut. Lyle's stomach convulsed at the strike, but there was nothing inside to reject.
"I'm talking to Wes right now, Lyle." Then: "Right, Wes. Hilbert. Remember that guy? He had this hat and these cargo jeans, and he always had those two friends of his. Doesn't one of them have a Gym here in town?"
Here in town.
Meaning wherever this was, they were still in Aspartia Town. Lyle held onto the tidbit.
After a pause, Wes: "Hilbert wanted nothing to do with us. You're fixated on someone who could care less about—"
"That's where you're wrong. Hilbert was definitely on-board with saving the world." To Lyle: "He was about your age. Same kind of build, same rugged looks. Probably had the same thing for fatties, too. Anyway."
Lyle swore, he'd get Michael for that. Not even for Winnifred, just for himself.
"Hilbert had this thing where he thought Wes and I were...well, he used your term, Lyle. He said we were terrorists, something I'm pretty sure your Ranger Union agrees with. So, Hilbert went on one mission with us, just to show that he was on our level. And then he took off, never to be heard from again. Not even the Kruyem Incident could bring him back. Some new schmoe had to enter the picture...but I digress."
"Indeed you do," Wes said. "What's Hilbert have to do with any of this?"
"He has everything to do with it, old chum. I'll get to that. I'm trying to convince Lyle that I'm on his side."
Lyle felt the laugh form in his gut, but his muscles were too tired to realize it.
Michael stood again and paced the length of the small cell-like room. Ran a hand through his hair, gestured a few times before starting. In body-language: he was formulating the truth. Or at least, the truth according to Michael the Metal Arm.
"The world has changed, gentlemen," Michael said. "Wes and I, we tried to be decent men in an indecent time. A fifteen-year-old and a twenty-something believing they could change Orre...God, that's only something that could have happened ten years ago."
"What are you talking about?" Lyle asked.
Raising his voice, Michael: "Johto and Hoenn have had weapons pointed at each other's throats for years. Orre has yet to be inducted into the UN, Ranger HQ clearly thinks its job is to police the world, and then Unova and Kalos act like they aren't part of a global community...it's all a recipe for disaster. It'll take one calamity—just one—to bring it all down."
Lyle hated this.
"Wes and I, we couldn't save Orre. Two men—two boys—couldn't save a country. We just had the luxury of being able to think so."
There were so many gaps in that logic that he wanted to pick apart, but the sedative and his own exhaustion prevented concentration. When you keep silent when an ignorant person spouts nonsense, that person thinks it means they're right. Lyle couldn't have that, drugs or not.
Wes spoke for him.
"The Covenant keeps disasters from happening, Michael. That's why Red formed us. You know this! We're not terrorists, we're the peace-keepers!"
Michael held up a finger.
"That's where Hilbert disagreed. In Hilbert's view, the Covenant was just a gang of glorified vigilantes. Pokemon Rangers are supposed to be peace-keepers, but since they're sending superpowered lackeys wherever they want, they could use some restraint. There is nobody."
Michael stopped. Only for a second, but still.
There is nobody.
"What happened, Michael?"
Michael: "Excuse me, Lyle?"
"You think there's nobody to protect us. Right? You're saying that it wasn't possible to protect Orre…You used to be one of our protectors. You lost faith in yourself. What happened to make you...believe that there is no hope?"
Michael's hands lowered. His mouth went taut, his knees locked.
What could make someone who gave hope suddenly give up? What could make them lose faith in faith itself?
Lyle took a breath.
The answer was so obvious.
"You lost somebody," Lyle said. "And you blame us for it. The Covenant and the Rangers."
"Enough."
"You were a Covenant of Light member and you failed them, whoever they were…You blame yourself, and the other Covenants, too."
"That is not what I—"
"Who was it? Who did we hurt?" And genuinely: " Michael, if this is about a personal vendetta—"
His words thundering in the small room: "Enough!"
Lyle wanted to push harder. He had a hint. He almost had the motive behind this. He was so close, but Wes shook his head. Asking him not to. Now wasn't the time.
They had pushed Michael. He lost control. That had to be enough for now, right?
Michael laughed, hollow.
"You're not going to figure me out, Lyle. But since you're not going to even let me explain why you should work with me, and not with riffraff, I'll have to resort to something else."
He reached to his back pocket and pulled his smartphone. Tapped a handful of gestures into it.
"Now, if I'm not mistaken, your little pact with Suicune, it's programmed into your actual Styler, not the Styler attack nub, right?"
Lyle's eyes went wide. So much for heavy lids.
"Yes, Lyle. I know all about that. Winnifred probably doesn't, though. Chosen Ones don't go around advertising it."
Wes, sensing the power balance shifting, stayed quiet.
"And with that," Michael finished at the phone. "Room 14, checked out to Ranger HQ. My guys should be back with your Styler pretty quickly." And beaming, again: "Winnie shouldn't be at the desk today, should she?"
-Winnifred-
Just being near Dawson made Winnifred want to vomit.
Walking with Dawn again made her want to break down.
Even with her backpack with Zella and her one glove, and with a new hair tie at her wrist, Winnifred felt vulnerable. Enough that she led the entire way to the hotel with her head down, one hand on her bag strap and the other in her pants pocket. Dawson brought his duffel bag and his rolling suitcase. Every time they crossed the street and the suitcase caught on the curb, she hoped the duct tape would split open. Behind them, Dawn—in Mirelle's overalls—moved in a steady pace.
"Mom says you're buying me new luggage," Dawson said. Then, after she didn't reply: "Where were you last night?"
"Out," Winnifred answered. She had to yell it over a passing truck's engine.
"Out where?"
"Out."
Dawson flinched. "Touchy. Try to make conversation with your big sister and get your head ripped off."
The immediate reaction: rip his head off.
The delayed, post-Lyle reaction: "Little brother, you came into my apartment, acted like you owned the place, and you ticked off my roommate, who has to be one of the sweetest people on the planet. I'm not in the mood for conversation."
Dawson clicked his tongue. "Fair enough." He jabbed a thumb behind them. "What's her story? The cutesy one with the scowl."
"Her name is Dawn. She's my friend."
"Huh." He stole another glance at Dawn, who was stretching her arms above her head. Her neck cracked. "You know, I wondered what kinds of friends you made. I'm not surprised."
The hotel appeared on the next block. Winnifred kept breathing. Just keep breathing.
Let your brother be a snide pimple on the ass that is your life. It's fine, because once he's checked in he's Uncle Howard's problem.
Uncle Howard, who was due back in who-knew-how-many days, and would want to know why his paintings are missing and why she was only just now showing up for her morning shift. Who would want to know why the Pokemon Ranger he holed up in his hotel was missing.
The door to the hotel rushed open. Mac stood from behind the desk, relief washing over his lean face. "Thank God. Where have you been? The boss-guy's been trying to call us, something about the news and being transferred to room 4, or room 40, or—"
"Room 14," Winnifred offered. She put a hand up, and Dawson and Dawn stopped while she pulled herself up and over the front desk. Mac slid the chair her way, but Winnifred didn't bother to sit while her fingers tacked at the keys.
Lovely. Desk work.
She searched for a vacancy. A window popped up, advising against offering rooms while Aspartia Town enforced a lockdown. She clicked out of it. New vacancies.
Her eyes were glazing over as the computer loaded. It occurred to her: how many hours had she actually put in at the hotel desk?
As if responding to her thoughts: "It's great having you here for once," Mac said. "I've had Willa cover your shifts, but she's...well, she doesn't catch on as quick as you do. I'll put it that way." He grinned.
Dawson: "Huh. Is this Willa person brain-dead?"
Mac's face twisted. "I'm sorry, welcome to our hotel," he said smoothly. "Can I help you?"
"I'm being helped," Dawson said.
The new rooms generated on Winnifred's screen. She scrolled and—
"Wait. Mac, room 14 is vacant."
"Yeah?"
"It shouldn't be," she said. And casting discretion to hell: "That space gets it bill paid by Ranger Union. There's no way it should be vacant."
Mac spoke slowly. If he was piecing together Lyle's rescue days ago, or how close she was getting with him when she was around, or her sudden interest in hotel business, he wasn't voicing it. "Some guys came in. Like, ten minutes ago. They said they were here to close that account out."
"And you just let them?"
Mac put his hands up, defensive. "There's no name given to the account, just a routing number, and they knew it. That was enough for me to do my job." Then: "Winnifred, are you...are you feeling okay?"
"It's just her," Dawson said. "You should see what she does to baggage she doesn't like."
Room 14 would never be vacant, because Lyle was still on his mission. Unless Ranger HQ pulled the plug on him, which was all kinds of unlikely. Hopefully unlikely.
So it begged the question: who would know Lyle stayed there?
And what would they want out of—
"Dawn, did Nate ever get Lyle's Styler from his room?"
Dawson's eyebrows shot into the stratosphere. Dawn shoved him aside and approached the desk, then craned her head to see the screen. "Nate was on his way hours ago. He took Cossette with him. I was planning to check in." And without missing a beat: "Room 14, you said. Which way?"
Winnifred tore across the desk. Her hair flopped every which way; she pulled it back and wrapped the hair tie around once, twice. She bounded across the lobby floor, her footsteps bouncing off of the high ceiling, and Dawn raced to follow.
Mac and Dawson yelled something. Winnifred didn't hear, and—mental apology to Mac—she didn't care.
Up one floor, then make the hard right.
Five days ago, she made her first trip up the stairs to Room 14.
Two days ago. A trip to Room 14 because its cheeky inhabitant got on her nerves.
Two and a half days ago. A trip downstairs, hoping teen dramas lied, and that people didn't really have a sixth sense for people on walks of shame (even if it wasn't technically a walk of shame).
And...now. The door open and hanging at an angle in the corridor. Opened outward, meaning it wasn't kicked in, so Mac wouldn't have heard it break. Winnifred heard the voices inside, one a deep baritone and the other...No way.
She entered the familiar room, barely stomaching Lyle's smell and his two beds and the sheets they cuddled with and the noodle containers that he kicked to the side when he picked her up and tossed her down on the mattress, barely pushing that to the side, because this was just too much.
"You're kidding," she laughed. "Biker Roy."
Roy stood at Lyle's desk. In his fat, veiny hand rested Lyle's blue-and-orange Styler, and in another, a phone.
It took Winnifred a moment.
So.
Nate, held with his arm behind his back by a guy built like a brick house. A bruise spreading along Nate's face.
Cossette huddled in the corner, a guy with Lyle's build hovering over her with an arm braced against the wall. She hugged her laptop and shook.
Then Roy, in the middle of it all, looking pretty smug.
"Alice in Wonderland," he said. Then on the phone: "I'll get back to you, sir. Something came up...No, nothing at all." He pocketed the phone. "Alice in Wonderland, great to see you! How's it been? What's your boyfriend up to these days?"
Dawn remained in the hallway. She pressed her body along the wall, breathing steady. Dawn hadn't seen how many men there were, couldn't see Nate and Cossette. What did she do? What did a Covenant do in this situation?
Winnifred swallowed.
"Roy, whoever you're working for—"
"Michael says 'hi', by the way." Roy said in a snarl. "So, my pals and I, we heard the news. What's it like, being a criminal? Breaking into Hilbert Tower, threatening an executive and harboring fugitives...You're not a changed kid now that you've tasted how the other half lives, are you?"
Roy walked toward her, dropping the Styler back on the desk.
Winnifred started backing up instinctively. That one delinquent strand of hair bounced out of the ponytail and flopped in her face.
"Or let me guess, these are your friends here?" Roy asked, his voice going lower. Like a predator. "And you're trying to help them save your boyfriend, right? Because you've been sheltered your whole life, and this is the first time you ever lost something that couldn't be replaced. Am I right?"
His rancid breath stung Winnifred's eyes, but she kept her eyes peeled and kept moving back. She was almost at the hallway. Almost close enough to get out of the way and let Dawn—
"Where are you going off to?" Roy whispered—god—as he took her wrist. What was a gentle squeeze to him had Winnifred wincing and bent at the knees. Roy tugged her back inside—
Dawn's arms were lightning fast. (Which explained the Luxray, Winnifred realized.)
She zipped out from the hallway and one hand went behind Roy's elbow, the other staying at chest level. Roy had enough time to just register her there. Dawn pushed the hand at his elbow toward her body, and the other one out past the arm.
The elbow snapped. Like a wishbone at Thanksgiving dinner.
Roy gave a blood-curdling scream, half from pain and probably half from the shock of it. The hulking man craned over in his agony; Dawn pushed his bald head against the wall. It crashed into the plaster, and Roy slid down slowly.
Nate took his opportunity. The man behind him blinked rapidly, trying to process Dawn's motions and giving Nate leverage. He kicked his right foot into the man's left knee, and the man tumbled under his own weight. A fist to the side of the skull had him down for the count.
That left one more. Too bad he was smarter than the others.
"Anyone moves," he said, pulling Cossette to her feet and holding her by the shirt collar, "And the little one gets it."
Cue the 'clank' sound effect of head meeting metal laptop. His eyes rolled into his head, and his body hit the floor. Cossette's arms remained outstretched, the laptop in her arms dented and her chest heaving. Her glasses had fogged.
At everyone's stunned reaction: "Good reflexes," Cossette said. "Engineering school trick."
Dawn went to Nate's side, stepping over the unconscious thugs and ignoring the Styler at Lyle's desk. They were talking, the three of them, something about Wes being taken and a tracer being activated and them still being somewhere in Unova, but none of it registered. The Styler was still there.
Lyle's Styler.
He wasn't really gone, then. He wasn't.
Lyle wasn't gone, because she had a piece of him, right here, in the room he had isolated himself in for weeks.
She took the Styler from the desk and held it, felt the solid metal weight of it in her hands. It was larger than she expected. On Lyle's arm, the Styler was another accessory. Here by itself, the Styler was a complex machine to itself.
Winnifred ran her hand across the blank blue touch screen. Remembered where she tapped it to sign up for Ranger Net, remembered how Lyle had let her use her skills for something legal when he had absolutely no reason to.
Or did he have a reason?
Had he been in love with her already, back then, when she was just FrontDeskSupport and he was the weirdo in Room14?
…And did that change a single thing about him?
Never.
-Lyle-
The attack nub buzzed in Michael's hand. The three of them sat in silence for the last minute or so after Michael hung up with whomever he spoke with. A deep voice. Nobody Lyle recognized. He was feeling the sedative wear off, and feeling slowly came back to his fingertips and toes.
"So when I need to use the bathroom," Lyle asked, not entirely joking.
"Let me know. Potty breaks are allowed, even to known criminals." Michael flipped the buzzing nub in his hand again. "Lyle, tell our pal Wes here what a vibrating attack nub means."
Lyle did not. Michael knelt in front of him.
"We'll try this again, kiddo."
Michael's hand flew to Lyle's face and gripped it like a vice. Michael's piercing stare filled Lyle's vision.
"Tell us what the vibrating nub means," Michael said.
Still Lyle said nothing. Michael let him go and stood quickly.
"It means someone has activated the Styler base," Michael told Wes. "My IT department figured that out overnight. So, if I press this tiny button here," he gestured to a small black dot beside the Styler remote, "I'll get direct contact."
"You've got the kid's Styler already then, Michael. Suicune's not a threat to you."
"Maybe, Wes. But we don't know for sure that a Guardian Sign only works when paired with the right Styler, as opposed to the right person, do we? It's a strange world, this Pokemon World of ours." Back to Lyle: "Now, for the Stupid Test. I bet you two think I'm stupid."
-Winnifred-
The Styler screen sprang to life. Dawn and Nate turned to it; Cossette ran on her stubby legs.
Winnifred read aloud: "Activating remote contact with Nub Component."
-Lyle-
"I bet," Michael continued, "You think I'll touch base with my old hired grunt. For the record, never employ a guy calling himself 'Biker Roy' if you want him to actually succeed."
-Winnifred-
She continued reading: "Nub Component Voice Contact established."
Cossette opened her laptop. Her fingers flew. She was saying something about tracing the number, about it coming from downtown Aspartia Town—
-Lyle-
"Now, supposing I knew that Winnie and her newfound buddies would go after your Styler, Lyle, what then?" A beat, then: "Suppose I planned for the Styler to end up in their hands, right at this exact moment?"
Michael waited for Lyle reaction. He did not give one.
Michael held up the nub. "Did you want to talk to her first? Or can I do the honors?"
And then, into the nub—
-Winnifred-
That voice.
The one that haunted her past, her present. And if she didn't do something soon…
"Winnie? Are you there? It's me, Michael. Your boyfriend says hi."
I am back. I survived the finals month between November and now. I wrote eight papers in six weeks. I am MIGHTY.
Anyway.
Expect hella updates! I'm finishing this story, by hook or by crook. Or by, well, writing. Thanks for reading! Thanks triple-time for reviewing and letting me know what you think!