Chapter 37: Pernicious Emotions

"Indubitably, Ebby, ol' pal! I had been considering such action anyway, frankly."

"Really?" Ebgin was standing outside the hotel, looking down the long road from Loamy Town toward Stackers Inn and beyond. He had his eyes ahead and his wrist to his mouth, speaking directly into his PokeGear.

"Quite so," Tolby's voice came from the tiny PokeGear speaker, trebly and piercing if Ebgin held the speaker too close to his ear, "Do you want paper documentation, photographs, digital files?"

The suggestions were overwhelming. Ebgin didn't know one way or the other. "Uh," he hedged, hoping Tolby would be able to figure out what to do based on just that.

"All of them, then? Tell me all of them."

"All of them," Ebgin obliged.

"Splendid. I'll confer with you shortly."
Ebgin opened his mouth to speak. The PokeGear beeped at him, indicating the disconnected call. Alright, good enough. Now he just needed to wait. Ebgin was happy with that. He could - well, he was thinking he could speak to Nancy, but he was avoiding that.
For how long, though? Was he really going to avoid her until all of this was over? Well, what choice did he have? He needed Spark. Without him, this whole thing would collapse.

Revealing to Nancy that he was holding her lost Pokemon would end his very short and already pathetic career as a trainer. Anyway, this was for her, too. She'd want him to stop this organization, and she'd want him to stop Tarah.

An unusually cool breeze whisked by. Ebgin hunched his shoulders against it, hugging himself. The days were becoming cold. Ebgin shoved his hands in his pockets, wincing as he mistakenly put too much pressure on his injured wrist. The waning flames in his chest began leaping again as his wrist throbbed. Tarah! He shouted her name in his thoughts. When he met her with his group, she'd be sorry for what she did, to him and to Nancy.

A few hours later, Ebgin sat in his room finishing some school material. A pain shot through his wrist and, for the fourth time since he'd started, his pencil fell from his curled fingers and rolled across the paper. Instead of picking it up again like he'd done each time before, he just stared at it. Gingerly, he removed his knuckle glove. The purple was fading now to a sickening greenish-yellow on the back of his hand and along his wrist. If he turned his hand over there was a clear outline of fingers in the bruising, a visual memory of Tarah's clutch.

What would he really even do if he fought her and won, he wondered. Hurt her? Threaten her? It all seemed odd and separate from him or his life. He didn't really know what to do, other than to stop the organization from hurting anyone else.

His PokeGear, sitting near the edge of his desk, began to beep and vibrate. He reached for it, but the vibration sent it sliding toward the edge of the desk and it dropped just before his fingers could touch it. He snatched at it as it fell, and then grunted in pain and held his wrist to his stomach. Agh! Tarah! You cruel, mean jerk!

When he'd managed to calm down and the pain had subsided, he leaned over in his chair and grabbed the PokeGear to see the message.

Got it. Now what'll I do with it?

Ebgin considered for a moment. Then he smirked. Are you free tomorrow?

No, but I can make provision.

Ebgin leaned across his desk and lifted up his thick dictionary. He slammed it down in front of him and flipped to the word provision.

Then meet me at the town square. I'll send you a time when I have it.

Right-o.

Ebgin changed numbers to Tairn.

I have the evidence. We'll meet at the square tomorrow. What is a good time?

The response was almost instantaneous. Noon?

Ebgin almost typed "O.K.," but he remembered he had school. He typed that instead.

Oh, right. Kids. I'm glad I'm done with that part of my life.

That was the whole message. Ebgin didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. Although, now that he considered it, he'd be happy to be done with this part of his own life.

I'm off school at 2pm, he decided to write.

Great, then meet us at 2:30pm. The whole gang will be here.

O.K.

Ebgin changed back to Tolby's number.

Meet me at 2:30pm. I might be a little early or late.

Fantastic. This is becoming quite the caper, Ebgin. If you ever do manage to achieve that dream of yours, I hope that you will allow me to accompany you. You have insinuated yourself into a position that is as exciting as it is ridiculous.

Ebgin stared at the message, pondering its accuracy and not knowing whether to feel excited or embarrassed. How had he managed to get this deep? At any time he could have stopped, returned Spark, left. Even now, he could stop. What was he thinking when he gave Tarah that empty pokeball?

Well, he knew what he was thinking. He didn't want evil to win, that's what it was, and as simple as that. He wanted to do something heroic because it was the right thing to do. If all of this somehow resulted in something awful, then Ebgin could hold fast to that at least: He did what he felt was right. Maybe he could keep away the guilt by keeping that sentiment close at hand.

These were the thoughts sifting through his mind as he lay in bed that night, the same thoughts when he felt himself drifting to sleep, and the thoughts still preoccupying him all the next morning. Those thoughts, and the thought of speaking to Nancy - or rather, avoiding her.

For most of the next day he managed to not see her at all, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he was sprinting out of the door and well on his way home. His luck didn't hold out, though. He passed her in the hallway. A powerful desire to go to her filled him, but he just tucked his chin, lifted his shirt collar and avoided eye contact.

He couldn't tell if she saw him or not, but she did not call to him and he did not turn to see. When he was in his next class he just stared at his desk, barely hearing the teacher and doing none of his work. The guilt that seemed to be pumping through his veins with every heartbeat made it too difficult to focus.
When the bell rang, he couldn't gather his things fast enough. The guilt was turning into frustration at his situation and anger at his own incompetence. There had to be a better way than this, a better way than treating Nancy like a stranger whom he hated.

He jerked his book-sack up, slung it angrily around his shoulder and marched with long strides toward the door. Outside, head down and brows furrowed furiously, he went down the steps and almost collided with Nancy who was standing right in the middle of the path. Ebgin looked up and their eyes met. Darn it.

Nancy's expression was focused and furious. She had her arms wrapped around a stack of books, just like the first time they'd met, only now she seemed ready to slap him right in the face.

Ebgin's mind blanked.

"Why are-" Nancy started, but paused with obvious emotion. Ebgin couldn't look away from her piercing gaze, but he really wanted to. "Why," she began again, slower, "are you treating me like this?"

Ebgin watched a tear trickle down her cheek. "I-" He stammered. Alright, what to say? Could he make it better at all? Were there words to fix it? Not if he wasn't willing to change, and, searching his emotions, he knew he wasn't willing to change. He needed to do this, even if it hurt their relationship. With that realization he felt himself about to cry too. He smothered the impending tears with anger, and then he projected that anger.

"There's something I have to do," he said. "When I do it, everything'll be alright."

Nancy wiped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeves. She sniffled without any self-consciousness. "What is it you have to do? Why can't I join you? Why can't we talk to each other?"

Ebgin realized that he could talk to her. There was nothing stopping him. He'd just have to keep lying through his silence, just like he'd been doing since they'd met. There was an anger within him, though. He felt foolish and it just made him mad.

"Because I suck," he said angrily, lips turned down, facial muscles displaying every bit of his frustration. "I'm a liar and I hate myself." He could feel himself about to say something he knew he'd regret. He became quiet, breathing heavily with building rage.

"Tell me what it is," Nancy said gently. "I can help."

"I want you to help," Ebgin said honestly. "I just can't take it right now. It's too hard to explain. I'm going home."

He skirted around her and headed for the main street.

"I'm always here," Nancy called from behind.

Ebgin stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. Nancy hadn't turned around, but he knew by the shake of her shoulders and by the strain of her voice that she was crying again. He wanted to go embrace her and say he was sorry and tell her everything. Instead he looked ahead and began walking, leaving Nancy standing alone with her books and her tears.

He was going to regret every step.