Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon or "The Shining." All rights are reserved to their owners.
Last time, Ash, Misty, and Brock settled into the third and hopefully last night at the Fireside's Warmth Hotel. Brock was awakened during the night, and discovered something quite frightening: the hotel wants HIM.
Summary: Taking hold of his mind and actions, the hotel convinces Brock that he should be the owner of the hotel. . .and Ash and Misty must go.
Midnight! Pokéball Go!
by Spruceton Spook
Part 12:
Brock's Realization
Almost immediately, Brock's jaw dropped to the ground and his eyes bugged out. The woman leaned against the frame of the door, and smiled the most gorgeous smile Brock had ever seen.
"Who are you?" Brock asked dreamily, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and blushing a deep red. "You're beautiful!"
The woman walked over to Brock and held out her hand. She had long blonde hair, and she was a couple inches taller than Brock. She wore a flowing, white evening gown that dragged a bit on the floor. Brock realized it was silk as he grabbed the woman's hands and it brushed across his skin.
"I've never seen someone so pretty in my life!" he told her. She just smiled down at him. "So, what's your name?"
"Come dance with me, Brock," she said soothingly, gripping on lightly to Brock's hands. She began to lead him out of the bar and towards the dining room. Brock grinned. "Well, that's a weird name, but sure! I'll dance with you! I'll dance forever with you!"
The woman's gown flowed gracefully as she walked, and Brock tagged behind in a romantic trance. Upon reaching the dining room doors, the music playing on the jukebox suddenly got louder, and appeared to be coming from behind the dining room's closed doors. The woman pushed the huge, swinging doors open, and Brock found himself standing amidst a huge dinner party. His eyes widened as hundreds of fancy dressed couples danced happily and romantically on the large dancing floor, while others sat at the tables, which were no longer stacked up in the corner, but scattered around geometrically. An immense buffet table was now set up in the corner. The three big chandeliers were lit up brightly and glimmered brilliantly. And an enormous big band was blasting away on its instruments, playing the same song the jukebox had left off on.
The woman smiled seductively and led Brock onto the dance floor. Brock looked around strangely at all the people, who smiled at him as he passed them as if they knew him. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, then opened them again. It was all still there, and just as active.
"I must be dreaming," Brock said nervously, sweatdropping. "That's it--I'm dreaming. Might be that wine, too. They DO say that kids who drink need less alcohol to get disoriented. . ."
"Shhhhh," the woman said softly, and brought her finger up to Brock's lips. She locked her arms around him as did he, and they began to dance slowly to the music. Brock's eyes met the beautiful girl's, and he smiled and blushed even more. Whether he was out of it or not, he was enjoying this. He laughed.
"I feel kinda out of place," he said to the woman, who was smiling happily as she gazed at him. "You know, all these fancy dressed people and me in my street clothes."
"I think you look wonderful," she replied. The song changed, and even though they were dancing slowly, they slowed down even more to match the pace. The whole time the woman gazed dreamily into Brock's eyes.
Brock was going crazy. Here was a beautiful woman, and she liked him! But was it real? Brock shook his head insanely. He didn't care.
"So, do you like it here at the Fireside's Warmth Hotel, Brock?" the woman asked. "We like it here. See how much fun we're having?"
"Yeah!" Brock answered. "The hotel's great."
The woman looked down at her feet. "It's a shame Mr. Vrenden gave it to your friend. I bet you're a way better Pokémon trainer than he is. You deserved it more."
Brock shrugged, running his hand up and down her smooth side. "Well, we--we didn't know that that's what he was battling for."
"But still, you should be battling also," she said disappointedly. "All your skills going to waste."
Brock looked at her weirdly. "How do you know what skills I have?"
The woman lifted her hand up to Brock's face and stroked it soothingly. "Someone as handsome as yourself has to be successful trainer. Am I wrong?"
Brock got hotter as her hand brushed against his skin. "No! No, you're not wrong," he said, basking in the enjoyable moment. "I. . .I am a GYM-LEADER after all."
The woman smiled in surprise. "Is that so?! That's so impressive! Tell me more things about yourself Brock." She leaned her head against his chest even though she was taller. Brock's heart took a leap of joy.
Brock laughed nervously. "Well, I don't know. What do you want to know?"
The woman looked up at him. He became totally absorbed in her gorgeous blue eyes and pearly white smile. "Do you have a girl, Brock? Being so cute, I'd assume you do."
Brock grinned. "Well, actually no. . ."
"What about your friend there?" she asked him seriously.
"Who?"
"That girl that you spend all your time with," the woman answered. "I believe her name is Misty. Do you have thing with her?" As soon as she finished her sentence, she pulled Brock's face up to hers, planting a romantic, indulging kiss on his lips. Brock instantly connected fully to the kiss, and it lasted for a few seconds. It sent stimulating sparks up Brock's spine, and his heart began to beat faster.
The kiss finally broke off, leaving Brock in a love stupor. If his tongue could touch the floor, it would have. "No! No! I--I. . .no, I don't have a thing with her. You're the one I want to be with! Nobody else!"
"Good," she answered proudly. Then she began to look sad. "It's a shame, though."
Brock looked at her in shock. "Whaddah mean?"
"Well, of how nasty she's been to you in the past. Almost like she's had it out for you since the beginning."
"No, that couldn't be possible," Brock answered immediately. "I mean, Misty's my friend! I don't think she'd--"
"She's always pulling you away from other girls," the woman continued energetically. "Quite forcefully, I believe."
Brock stood speechlessly.
"Just think of all the dates and girlfriends you could have had if it weren't for her!" the woman nearly shouted. They continued to dance all the same. "Just think of how many times she's ruined what would have been perfect moments!"
"Yeah, but--"
The woman leaned over and kissed Brock once again. This time, the kiss lasted a good whole minute. Brock closed his eyes and engulfed himself totally in it. It was the most romantic and wonderful thing he had ever felt in his life. Suddenly, the woman gently lifted her lips off of his, and looked seriously but lovingly into his face.
"You don't need her," she said simply but almost sternly.
Brock nodded, his heart pumping, his body revved up.
The look of sadness swept over her face once again. "You poor guy. All those girl troubles of yours."
Brock looked down morosely, but the woman brought his head back up to hers. She smiled mischievously.
"Have another drink, Brock," she said. She pointed towards the bar. "You deserve one."
Brock smiled innocently. "I really shouldn't."
She giggled. "No, go ahead! I won't tell anyone!" she said with a wink.
She pushed him playfully off the dance floor. "Go on, Brock. You know you want to. Don't worry, I'll be right here when you come back. Promise."
Brock looked at her and nodded. He turned, the music of the big band blasting away. The couples were still dancing joyfully, and as Brock began to walk out of the dining room, he glanced into the mirrored reflections of the party. He gasped loudly when he noticed his girl behind him. Her clothes were ragged, torn, and eaten, and she smiled a hideously tooth-less smile. Her once beautiful face was now green and rotted as well, her hair almost completely gone. Brock's heart skipped a beat and his breathing froze. Quickly, he turned on his heels around to her.
She stood there, still smiling back at him. She was normal now, her beautiful young face and body as he had left them. Brock closed his eyes and shook his head furiously. Now his eyes were playing tricks on him even in his fantasies! The headache that plagued him wasn't going away, either.
Brock pushed open the doors that led to the bar. The bar was now filled with other guests, some drinking away and others busily chatting at the tables. The jukebox was silent, overshadowed by the band. A man stood behind the bar, and he smiled at Brock when he entered. Surprisingly to Brock, he looked very much like Mr. Vrenden.
Brock sat down at the bar, giving the bartender a weird, confused look. Noticing this, the bartender smiled warmly at him.
"Would you like a drink, sir?" he asked, holding up a bottle of something.
Still looking at him strangely, Brock nodded.
"Is there something wrong, sir?" the bartender asked, pouring a small amount of the liquor into a shot glass. "You look flushed."
Brock took the glass in his hands and smelled it. It smelled all right to him, yet he did not take a sip. "Are--are you related to Mr. Vrenden, the last owner? You. . .look like him a little."
The bartender grinned. "I should. I'm his great-grandfather. I was one of the first owners of the Fireside's Warmth. It's been family owned since my family opened it in 1911."
Brock nodded. "I know. . .the scrapbook."
"Ah, yes. The scrapbook." The bartender looked at Brock and nodded down to his drink. "Take a sip, my boy."
Shaking his head, Brock pushed the glass away. "I shouldn't. I'm underage."
"But that didn't stop you before."
"That's all I was going to have."
The bartender pushed the glass back to Brock. "Go on. It won't hurt you. Nobody'll know. . .or squeal, if that's what you're worried about."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Brock replied coldly. He narrowed his eyes to the bartender and paused. "Am I really talking to you?"
"Oh course you are, sir," the bartender answered sincerely. He smiled. "Anything's possible here."
Brock smiled weirdly. "Is that so?"
The bartender smiled and motioned to the drink again. Brock glanced down at it and grasped it in his hand. He looked down into the glass and took a small sip. His face bunched up as the hot liquor coated his throat. But he liked it, and took another sip.
"You know, sir, I'd like to tell you that I've noticed the interest you've taken in the hotel," the bartender began. "I'm proud to have been a part of this hotel. And I've been proud to see that the hotel has been passed down during the years to my descendants. They all took care of it so well."
Brock nodded, his eyes fixed to the glass, which was now empty.
"It deeply upset me when my great-grandson gave it away to your friend there," he continued. "Never in my life did I see such a horrible mistake being made."
"What are you talking about?" Brock asked almost angrily.
"Nothing offensive, sir," he replied. "But leaving the grandest hotel (in my opinion) to a ten-year-old boy is something I would have never approved."
He suddenly pointed at Brock, which made Brock flinch back a bit. The bartender looked seriously into Brock's eyes. "But you, son. . .I've been watching you and from what I've seen I've realized that YOU should have been the rightful owner."
"Why?"
"Well, your friend. . .Ash, isn't it? I believe that he may be too young to truly understand the hotel."
"Understand it?" Brock asked.
The bartender nodded. "You understand it. You've researched it. Our history and whatnot. They're too scared to accept what the hotel really is."
Brock sat quietly and listened to all of the bartender's words. As he heard this, his face twisted into one of concern and interest.
"But that's always the way it is, isn't it?" the bartender asked.
"What?" Brock asked, confused.
"You never get a break, do you? You're always on the outskirts of Ash's spotlight. Am I right?"
Brock shrugged. "It is HIS journey that I'm on."
"I'm not talking about his training," he said. "He takes everything from you. The attention from all the people you meet. The credit for all the problems the three of you have solved TOGETHER. How everything must REVOLVE around him somehow. But you. . .no, you're always the FRIEND. The tag-along. Well, we don't think of you as one, Brock. We see you as the next owner of the Fireside's Warmth Hotel."
Brock looked directly into his eyes. "What do I have to do?"
"Do you want the hotel, Brock? Would you like to own it?"
Brock nodded. "I've wanted to since I took the tour with Ash and Misty."
"Well then, do what you have to do."
"What's that?"
"Get rid of them, Brock," the bartender said with added emphasis. "You don't need them anymore. Exterminate them, Brock. Think of it. . .the hotel all to yourself. . .their Pokémon in your hands."
Brock sat silently, his head still throbbing. He didn't know what to say, but the bartender's words rang in his head, and seemed to hang above him like a cloud. He did have a point. Suddenly, his eyesight became hazy and his body felt light. Shutting his eyes, Brock let himself drift away, and his world became black.
TO BE CONTINUED. . .