Tracey's Farewell
Re-write
Part 2
Disclaimer: Who is one Pokémon short of a full party? (Anne Robinson - my hero!) Besides, it's not like Nintendo really reads this stuff.
Summary: After what is soon to be known as "The Fight", Misty notices that Tracey has become extremely withdrawn. Worried, she goes to talk to him. But something a lot more unexpected happens...
A/N: Now THIS chapter was re-vamped! I don't know if it's sad, 'cause I wrote the thing while listening to "Elevation" by U2 from the Tomb Raider CD...not the kind of music to listen to if you're trying to write a tear-jerker!
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POV: Misty
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Brock was sitting in a corner, still cursing about what had happened. Personally, I thought that he was blowing the whole thing way out of proportion. He had asked for it, anyway. I knew that even Tracey, the most even tempered guy on the planet, had a limit and Brock had pushed that envelope way too far. He had deserved everything that he had gotten.
"Yo, Misty!" Ash's voice cut through my reverie.
"What?" I said.
"Are you okay?" He looked worried. "You've been really out of it lately...is this about what happened with Tracey?"
I nodded. "I'm worried about him," I said.
"Hey, I'm the one that got beat up, remember?" Brock said.
I looked at him. "But you were the one that went in there to bug him on purpose. You should have thought about what you were doing before you did it!"
Ash nodded in agreement. "She's right," he said. "It's your fault."
"Whatever," Brock muttered.
"Why are you worried about him?" Ash asked me.
I shrugged. "He hasn't talked to anyone since it happened...and he's been really withdrawn...I think there's something going on that he doesn't want us to clue into..." I sighed and decided that the best thing to do would be to go talk to him.
* * *
"I just feel so terrible about this, Tracey," I said. "I knew that we were ignoring you...and I never did anything...I'm just so sorry that it had to go this far."
Tracey was staring out of the window. He had been really out of it lately and, frankly, I was worried.
"I would have done the same if Brock had started reciting things that my sisters used to tell me...actually, I would have done worse."
He looked at me, and I saw nothing but sadness in his eyes. "But no one expected it out of me...and no one's gonna trust me anymore...and I know that you all hate me now."
"We don't hate you!" I said.
He sat down on his bed. "Misty...I've never felt this bad in my life...I just want out..."
I felt my heart sink, praying that he didn't mean what I thought. "Trace...what do you mean?"
He buried his head in his hands. "I don't want to feel like this anymore...I want it to end...no one would even notice if I'm gone..."
I tried not to let myself panic. "Are you...do you mean..."
"There's nothing left for me to believe in...there's no reason for me to live..."
Panic was rising in my heart. I had never known someone who had ever wanted to kill themselves, and now... "Tracey, you can't mean that..." I said. I sat down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He was so tensed up...
"I do," he said. "I feel like I'm powerless to do anything anymore...I want to die...I just want it to go away..."
"We'll help you out, Tracey, we're always here for you."
He was obviously in a lot of emotional pain. "Please...just let me be alone..." he said.
I nodded and left the room. No sooner had I done that than I realized that I had broken one of the most important rules of dealing with a suicidal person - never leave them alone. I ran back and tried to open his door, but he had locked it. That's when I panicked. I ran downstairs, not even noticing that Ash was locked in an argument with Gary, who had just appeared out of nowhere. I found the professor in the lab, on the phone with Professor Ivy. "Professor, I need to talk to you," I said.
He looked a bit annoyed at the interruption, but his mood changed when he saw the look on my face. "I'll call you back," he said to Professor Ivy. He hung up and stood to face me. "What is it, Misty?"
I didn't know how to say it, because I still wasn't sure if I had heard it right. "It's Tracey...I think...I think he's...suicidal...he's talking about wanting to die...and..." I was scared out of my mind.
I knew that I had scared the professor, but nothing compared to what happened next.
He was about to ask me if I was sure when something that sounded like a giant firecracker came from the floor above. Even Ash and Gary put their argument on hold, stunned at the loudness of it. My heart sank. I knew that the sound had been a gun, and the person on the receiving end had been Tracey.
The professor was just as shocked as the rest of us, and he took off running for Tracey's room. We followed. The door was still locked, but we could smell something like gunpowder coming from the room. The professor finally decided that Tracey's life was more important than his property and busted the door in. All of us had to fight back nausea, I'm sure. Tracey was there, lying completely lifeless on the floor.
The professor turned and ordered Ash to call an ambulance. He kneeled beside Tracey's body and pressed two fingers to his wrist.
I had my hands clasped against my chest. "Is he..."
The professor lowered his eyes. "He's gone," he said. I guess he knew that there was no point in trying to revive him. I saw where the bullet wound was, and there was no way that anyone could ever make it after being shot there.
Ash came running back into the room and stood right beside me. "Is he...he's dead, isn't he?" he said.
The professor nodded. He looked around for the gun and found it about two feet away. He didn't touch it, and I could tell that he didn't want to.
Ash had a stunned look on his face as he tried to process this. He had never seen a dead person, never mind the fact that the dead person happened to be one of his best friends. He dropped to his knees beside me.
I looked at him, just as an excuse to not look at Tracey's body. His eyes locked with mine, and I'll tell you, I have never seen so much pain in his eyes than I did at that moment. We both just kind of collapsed into each other's arms and cried until the paramedics came. They confirmed what the professor had said - Tracey was dead. I refused to look as they enclosed his body in one of those black body bags and carried him off. I just kept my face buried against Ash's shoulder. I could feel him shaking violently. He was taking it hard, as I was. I knew that I was shaking, too.
It was no more easier at the hospital. We all stood in that room where they keep dying/dead people until the relatives have a chance to come and say goodbye. In this case, we were considered to be his relatives, because no one knew who his parents were. I had always gotten the impression that Tracey was hiding something. What he was hiding, we'd never find out now. But we knew that it had something to do with what had happened to Brock.
I looked over at Ash. He looked so small, so much like a little boy, even though he was fourteen. He was clinging like a frightened four-year-old to his mother. Delia was whispering to him, but her words had no effect on him. I walked over. I didn't know why, but something was telling me to go over there and hold him close...I sat down and he almost gratefully wrapped his arms around me.
I looked up at the rest of the group. Professor Oak was sitting nearby, his head in his hands. Gary was standing near the door, obviously having a bit of trouble believing this turn of events. And Brock had left already. I'd seen him burst into tears just before he had run out of the room. None of us had even tried to convince him that this wasn't his fault, and the realization that he'd been the reason for someone's suicide was just too much for the guy.
Finally, the hospital people asked us to leave. We did, reluctantly. Maybe we believed that he could come back to life if we all stayed there with him. Outside, Ash was still in hysterics. I think that he might have been scared, not just sad. He refused to let go of my hand, but I didn't mind.
* * *
I heard Ash in the bathroom. He sounded like he was throwing up. Things were happening way too fast for any of us, but Ash was affected more than the rest of us. I still don't know why, that was just the way things were happening.
I looked up from my book - which I hadn't been paying attention to for the last eight chapters - to see him stumble back into the room. He was paler than I had ever seen him, and he was having trouble even walking. I jumped up to help him into bed. He sank into his sheets and he was asleep within seconds. I sat beside him, my eyes welling up at the sight of his pained expression. I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before walking out of the room. I headed downstairs, where Delia was talking to Brock, trying to make him stop blaming himself. She stopped and turned to face me as I came into the room. "Is Ash okay?" she asked.
I shook my head. "He's really upset over this," I said. "He's sleeping now, though."
"That's good," Delia said. "He needs some rest."
I looked over at Brock. "Are you all right?" I asked, trying not to let bitterness show through. No matter how nice I had to be, I was still mad at him, and I did blame him at least partly for Tracey's death.
Brock shook his head, not even looking at me. He kept his eyes focused on the floor.
I sighed and walked back up to Ash's room. I was still more worried about Ash than I was about Brock. I stood at the foot of his bed and sighed. Ash seemed to be lost in the depths of a terrifying nightmare. I walked over and gently shook him. "Ash, wake up," I said softly.
Ash's eyes flew open. "Was all that just a dream?" he said. "Please tell me that Trace isn't dead..."
I bit my lip. "He is," I said.
Ash sat up, holding his head in his hands. "Why did this have to happen?" he moaned in a voice that immediately made me wrap my arms around him.
"He was feeling pretty bad," I said, trying to offer some reasons to myself as well as to him.
"But why didn't he come to us?" he said, his voice muffled by my shirt. "Why didn't he talk to us about it?" He looked up at me, eyes wild with something I couldn't recognize. "Is it because he thought that we didn't care about him?"
I lowered my eyes. I haven't tried to lie to Ash for a few years, and I wasn't about to start now, even though the truth would tear him apart. "Yes," I said softly. "I think so."
Ash burst back into tears.
I just held him close. I think he needed to feel that someone cared about him, and I know that I did, too. I would just have to stay really close when it came time for the funeral.
* * *
I hate dressing up, everyone knows that. I've told everyone that I'm more likely to get married in jeans and a T-shirt than a dress. Ash hates dressing up, too. But the day of Tracey's funeral, we were both in our least favorite articles of clothing - Ash in a suit that his mother had bought a long time ago and ironically still fit, me in a long black dress - ironically, the same one I had worn to my mother's funeral.
Ash came out of the bathroom. I couldn't read the expression in his eyes, but I knew that somewhere in there was devastation. I knew that it was how I felt. The night before, I had had a dream where I had seen Tracey again - I asked him why he did it, but he wouldn't reply. The dream lasted for a few minutes, but the implications were still smacking me.
"It's not an open casket, is it?" Ash asked me slowly.
I tightened my jaw and gulped back a wave of emotion. I shook my head. "No," I said. "But they want us to go to the funeral home first...and it'll be open there..."
Tears sprung to his eyes. "I don't want to see him dead, Misty," he said tearfully.
"I know," I replied. "But it's just so we can say one last goodbye." I looked down at the picture I held in my hand. It was one of me and Tracey, alone. Brock hadn't been there 'cause it was taken in the Orange Islands, and Ash wasn't there because he'd been holding the camera. I smiled softly. In the photo, we were sitting on Lapras' back against a backdrop of ocean and fluffy white clouds. In one of my rarer moments, my hair was down, and in one of his rarer moments, he wasn't wearing his headband. He looked so happy, with his arms around my neck - and that was when it really hit me. One of my best friends was dead. Gone. Forever. I would never see him like that again. I would never hear him laugh again. He had always had a cute laugh. I'd never see him smile...that smile...the one that some girls told me could make them melt. I'd never be able to comfort him again - but I wasn't going to miss that devastated expression on his face as we had that doomed conversation... Tracey no longer existed. All there was to testify to his life was his body, which would be buried, lost to all but memory today. Tears began to roll down my face. I hadn't seriously cried since the day Tracey died, but now I was hit with an incredible wave of grief that was enough to send me right to the floor. I dropped to my knees, sobbing helplessly. I couldn't do anything but cry.
"Misty?" Ash said, kneeling beside me. "Misty, are you okay?"
I shook my head. "I miss him so much already..." I sobbed.
Ash didn't try to comfort me, because he was feeling the exact same way, but once again, I felt his arms around me and I melted into his arms.
* * *
The man who met us at the door of the funeral home looked like someone from the Twilight Zone. It's amazing how they refer to dead people as if they're still alive. I could have put my fist through the guy's mouth if the dead person had been anyone but Tracey.
I followed Delia into the room. She and the professor had basically planned out the entire funeral, including the casket and what clothes they would put on Tracey's body for this last meeting. I choose not to think about how they do that. They had decided just to leave him in the clothes he was most comfortable in - his infamous green T-shirt/red shorts combo. His casket was a basic one.
I shut my eyes as soon as they rested on Tracey's body. *No!* my head screamed. *I'm NOT looking at him like that! That's NOT how he's supposed to look, and I'm not looking at him when he's like that!* But I forced them back open. I was willing to admit one thing and one thing only - he finally looked like he was at peace. He had never looked that calm in the time I'd known him. He had always been worried about his work, or his Pokémon, or meeting the professor, or making the professor happy. And towards the end, he had just been....sad. There was no other way to put it. Sad. When you looked into his eyes, you could see him slipping away. You saw an expression in his eyes that should never be in a human being's eyes. Like he was emotionally dead, just waiting for an excuse to end his physical life. But now, lying amongst all that white padding stuff, he looked peaceful.
I heard Ash burst into tears behind me, and I turned to see Delia trying to keep him from running out of the room. She failed, and he bolted.
Brock sat in a chair in the corner of the room and buried his head in his hands. The professor took a seat not too far away and did the same. I turned to Delia. "I'm going to look for Ash," I said.
Delia nodded slowly.
I walked down a few halls before I heard his sobs coming from the washroom. I sighed and walked in, despite me being a girl. I saw him half-lying on the floor. He was freaking out, losing it. Some people do that when a friend or loved one dies, they just lose all grip on reality. And that was what was happening to Ash. I kneeled beside him. "Ash?" I said.
He raised his eyes. "Misty, what's wrong with me?" he said.
"You're just upset," I said. "You'll be fine in a few days."
"I don't want to be okay in a few days," he said. "I don't want to feel like this anymore..."
I remembered those words coming from Tracey the day he had died, and I suddenly grabbed Ash by the shoulders. "Don't talk like that!" I almost snapped. "I had to listen to Tracey say that, and he's dead now! I'm not letting you think that way!"
I had scared him. Great. Just what I wanted to do.
"Ash, I'm sorry...I just...I hate to think that I'm going to lose any of you at all...I've had nightmares all week about losing you and Brock just like I lost Tracey...I don't want those to come true."
Ash looked at me. "They won't," he said softly.
"Good," I said. I pulled him to his feet and helped him back to the room. He was so weak...
An hour later, they came in to put Tracey's casket into the hearse for the drive to the cemetary. I felt like someone puched me in the stomach as I saw them shut that heavy lid. I was tempted to cry out, tell them not to close it on him, that he would be scared, but my logical side took over, reminding me that his body was just that - his body. Nothing more.
Ash sat inbetween us, his head resting on my shoulder. "Can I see that picture?" he asked quietly.
I handed the picture I'd been looking at before to him. He forced a small smile. "I still remember when we took this picture...I was bugging him about it for days...saying that he must like you, otherwise he wouldn't have had his arms around you like that..." He closed his eyes. "I would give up my entire training career to see him alive again."
"So would I," I said.
Brock looked at the two of us. "I would give anything he wanted for a chance to apologize," he said. "I'm the one that killed him."
"No," I said. "He killed himself."
Brock looked forward at the hearse in front of us. "I may not have held that gun, but if I hadn't pushed him so far, he wouldn't have done it."
I sighed, knowing he was right.
I paid virtually no attention until they brought out the small speakers and played the song that Tracey had always seemed to like - "Don't Laugh At Me" by Mark Wills. He had liked it because he said that he had always been made fun of when he was little, and the song stood up for every kid like him. Then, the priest or whatever said some more stuff that I didn't want to listen to, and the funeral came to an end. Delia and the professor walked back to the car, the professor's arms around Delia's shoulders. Ash said a quick goodbye and promised to take care of Venonat and Scyther. I said my goodbye and promised to take care of Marill. We began to walk away, but stopped when we heard Brock talking.
"I wish I knew why I said those things," he said to the polished wood of the casket. "But what's done is done...I guess all I can hope is that you can hear me, wherever you are now...and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every solitary thing I said to upset you, Tracey. I was jealous...you meant so much to them...and I wanted that for myself...I was selfish...but I'm sorry. Take care of yourself."
I smiled at him as he joined us. Things had their own way of resolving themselves, and unfortunately, this had been Tracey's solution. All I could hope is that none of my friends would ever turn to the same as a solution. Suicide may seem like a best friend at times, but in reality, it's your worst enemy. Suicide will not only take your life, but it will change the lives of those around you forever. Now all we could do is try to go on without Tracey there. And it was going to be a long road.
THE END (Maybe)
A/N: Umm....the only thing I'll be accepting for this fic are good reviews and boxes of tissues. I got a few tear-jerkers in the works. After all, that is my specialty, you know. Sad or depressing.
Re-write
Part 2
Disclaimer: Who is one Pokémon short of a full party? (Anne Robinson - my hero!) Besides, it's not like Nintendo really reads this stuff.
Summary: After what is soon to be known as "The Fight", Misty notices that Tracey has become extremely withdrawn. Worried, she goes to talk to him. But something a lot more unexpected happens...
A/N: Now THIS chapter was re-vamped! I don't know if it's sad, 'cause I wrote the thing while listening to "Elevation" by U2 from the Tomb Raider CD...not the kind of music to listen to if you're trying to write a tear-jerker!
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POV: Misty
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Brock was sitting in a corner, still cursing about what had happened. Personally, I thought that he was blowing the whole thing way out of proportion. He had asked for it, anyway. I knew that even Tracey, the most even tempered guy on the planet, had a limit and Brock had pushed that envelope way too far. He had deserved everything that he had gotten.
"Yo, Misty!" Ash's voice cut through my reverie.
"What?" I said.
"Are you okay?" He looked worried. "You've been really out of it lately...is this about what happened with Tracey?"
I nodded. "I'm worried about him," I said.
"Hey, I'm the one that got beat up, remember?" Brock said.
I looked at him. "But you were the one that went in there to bug him on purpose. You should have thought about what you were doing before you did it!"
Ash nodded in agreement. "She's right," he said. "It's your fault."
"Whatever," Brock muttered.
"Why are you worried about him?" Ash asked me.
I shrugged. "He hasn't talked to anyone since it happened...and he's been really withdrawn...I think there's something going on that he doesn't want us to clue into..." I sighed and decided that the best thing to do would be to go talk to him.
* * *
"I just feel so terrible about this, Tracey," I said. "I knew that we were ignoring you...and I never did anything...I'm just so sorry that it had to go this far."
Tracey was staring out of the window. He had been really out of it lately and, frankly, I was worried.
"I would have done the same if Brock had started reciting things that my sisters used to tell me...actually, I would have done worse."
He looked at me, and I saw nothing but sadness in his eyes. "But no one expected it out of me...and no one's gonna trust me anymore...and I know that you all hate me now."
"We don't hate you!" I said.
He sat down on his bed. "Misty...I've never felt this bad in my life...I just want out..."
I felt my heart sink, praying that he didn't mean what I thought. "Trace...what do you mean?"
He buried his head in his hands. "I don't want to feel like this anymore...I want it to end...no one would even notice if I'm gone..."
I tried not to let myself panic. "Are you...do you mean..."
"There's nothing left for me to believe in...there's no reason for me to live..."
Panic was rising in my heart. I had never known someone who had ever wanted to kill themselves, and now... "Tracey, you can't mean that..." I said. I sat down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He was so tensed up...
"I do," he said. "I feel like I'm powerless to do anything anymore...I want to die...I just want it to go away..."
"We'll help you out, Tracey, we're always here for you."
He was obviously in a lot of emotional pain. "Please...just let me be alone..." he said.
I nodded and left the room. No sooner had I done that than I realized that I had broken one of the most important rules of dealing with a suicidal person - never leave them alone. I ran back and tried to open his door, but he had locked it. That's when I panicked. I ran downstairs, not even noticing that Ash was locked in an argument with Gary, who had just appeared out of nowhere. I found the professor in the lab, on the phone with Professor Ivy. "Professor, I need to talk to you," I said.
He looked a bit annoyed at the interruption, but his mood changed when he saw the look on my face. "I'll call you back," he said to Professor Ivy. He hung up and stood to face me. "What is it, Misty?"
I didn't know how to say it, because I still wasn't sure if I had heard it right. "It's Tracey...I think...I think he's...suicidal...he's talking about wanting to die...and..." I was scared out of my mind.
I knew that I had scared the professor, but nothing compared to what happened next.
He was about to ask me if I was sure when something that sounded like a giant firecracker came from the floor above. Even Ash and Gary put their argument on hold, stunned at the loudness of it. My heart sank. I knew that the sound had been a gun, and the person on the receiving end had been Tracey.
The professor was just as shocked as the rest of us, and he took off running for Tracey's room. We followed. The door was still locked, but we could smell something like gunpowder coming from the room. The professor finally decided that Tracey's life was more important than his property and busted the door in. All of us had to fight back nausea, I'm sure. Tracey was there, lying completely lifeless on the floor.
The professor turned and ordered Ash to call an ambulance. He kneeled beside Tracey's body and pressed two fingers to his wrist.
I had my hands clasped against my chest. "Is he..."
The professor lowered his eyes. "He's gone," he said. I guess he knew that there was no point in trying to revive him. I saw where the bullet wound was, and there was no way that anyone could ever make it after being shot there.
Ash came running back into the room and stood right beside me. "Is he...he's dead, isn't he?" he said.
The professor nodded. He looked around for the gun and found it about two feet away. He didn't touch it, and I could tell that he didn't want to.
Ash had a stunned look on his face as he tried to process this. He had never seen a dead person, never mind the fact that the dead person happened to be one of his best friends. He dropped to his knees beside me.
I looked at him, just as an excuse to not look at Tracey's body. His eyes locked with mine, and I'll tell you, I have never seen so much pain in his eyes than I did at that moment. We both just kind of collapsed into each other's arms and cried until the paramedics came. They confirmed what the professor had said - Tracey was dead. I refused to look as they enclosed his body in one of those black body bags and carried him off. I just kept my face buried against Ash's shoulder. I could feel him shaking violently. He was taking it hard, as I was. I knew that I was shaking, too.
It was no more easier at the hospital. We all stood in that room where they keep dying/dead people until the relatives have a chance to come and say goodbye. In this case, we were considered to be his relatives, because no one knew who his parents were. I had always gotten the impression that Tracey was hiding something. What he was hiding, we'd never find out now. But we knew that it had something to do with what had happened to Brock.
I looked over at Ash. He looked so small, so much like a little boy, even though he was fourteen. He was clinging like a frightened four-year-old to his mother. Delia was whispering to him, but her words had no effect on him. I walked over. I didn't know why, but something was telling me to go over there and hold him close...I sat down and he almost gratefully wrapped his arms around me.
I looked up at the rest of the group. Professor Oak was sitting nearby, his head in his hands. Gary was standing near the door, obviously having a bit of trouble believing this turn of events. And Brock had left already. I'd seen him burst into tears just before he had run out of the room. None of us had even tried to convince him that this wasn't his fault, and the realization that he'd been the reason for someone's suicide was just too much for the guy.
Finally, the hospital people asked us to leave. We did, reluctantly. Maybe we believed that he could come back to life if we all stayed there with him. Outside, Ash was still in hysterics. I think that he might have been scared, not just sad. He refused to let go of my hand, but I didn't mind.
* * *
I heard Ash in the bathroom. He sounded like he was throwing up. Things were happening way too fast for any of us, but Ash was affected more than the rest of us. I still don't know why, that was just the way things were happening.
I looked up from my book - which I hadn't been paying attention to for the last eight chapters - to see him stumble back into the room. He was paler than I had ever seen him, and he was having trouble even walking. I jumped up to help him into bed. He sank into his sheets and he was asleep within seconds. I sat beside him, my eyes welling up at the sight of his pained expression. I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before walking out of the room. I headed downstairs, where Delia was talking to Brock, trying to make him stop blaming himself. She stopped and turned to face me as I came into the room. "Is Ash okay?" she asked.
I shook my head. "He's really upset over this," I said. "He's sleeping now, though."
"That's good," Delia said. "He needs some rest."
I looked over at Brock. "Are you all right?" I asked, trying not to let bitterness show through. No matter how nice I had to be, I was still mad at him, and I did blame him at least partly for Tracey's death.
Brock shook his head, not even looking at me. He kept his eyes focused on the floor.
I sighed and walked back up to Ash's room. I was still more worried about Ash than I was about Brock. I stood at the foot of his bed and sighed. Ash seemed to be lost in the depths of a terrifying nightmare. I walked over and gently shook him. "Ash, wake up," I said softly.
Ash's eyes flew open. "Was all that just a dream?" he said. "Please tell me that Trace isn't dead..."
I bit my lip. "He is," I said.
Ash sat up, holding his head in his hands. "Why did this have to happen?" he moaned in a voice that immediately made me wrap my arms around him.
"He was feeling pretty bad," I said, trying to offer some reasons to myself as well as to him.
"But why didn't he come to us?" he said, his voice muffled by my shirt. "Why didn't he talk to us about it?" He looked up at me, eyes wild with something I couldn't recognize. "Is it because he thought that we didn't care about him?"
I lowered my eyes. I haven't tried to lie to Ash for a few years, and I wasn't about to start now, even though the truth would tear him apart. "Yes," I said softly. "I think so."
Ash burst back into tears.
I just held him close. I think he needed to feel that someone cared about him, and I know that I did, too. I would just have to stay really close when it came time for the funeral.
* * *
I hate dressing up, everyone knows that. I've told everyone that I'm more likely to get married in jeans and a T-shirt than a dress. Ash hates dressing up, too. But the day of Tracey's funeral, we were both in our least favorite articles of clothing - Ash in a suit that his mother had bought a long time ago and ironically still fit, me in a long black dress - ironically, the same one I had worn to my mother's funeral.
Ash came out of the bathroom. I couldn't read the expression in his eyes, but I knew that somewhere in there was devastation. I knew that it was how I felt. The night before, I had had a dream where I had seen Tracey again - I asked him why he did it, but he wouldn't reply. The dream lasted for a few minutes, but the implications were still smacking me.
"It's not an open casket, is it?" Ash asked me slowly.
I tightened my jaw and gulped back a wave of emotion. I shook my head. "No," I said. "But they want us to go to the funeral home first...and it'll be open there..."
Tears sprung to his eyes. "I don't want to see him dead, Misty," he said tearfully.
"I know," I replied. "But it's just so we can say one last goodbye." I looked down at the picture I held in my hand. It was one of me and Tracey, alone. Brock hadn't been there 'cause it was taken in the Orange Islands, and Ash wasn't there because he'd been holding the camera. I smiled softly. In the photo, we were sitting on Lapras' back against a backdrop of ocean and fluffy white clouds. In one of my rarer moments, my hair was down, and in one of his rarer moments, he wasn't wearing his headband. He looked so happy, with his arms around my neck - and that was when it really hit me. One of my best friends was dead. Gone. Forever. I would never see him like that again. I would never hear him laugh again. He had always had a cute laugh. I'd never see him smile...that smile...the one that some girls told me could make them melt. I'd never be able to comfort him again - but I wasn't going to miss that devastated expression on his face as we had that doomed conversation... Tracey no longer existed. All there was to testify to his life was his body, which would be buried, lost to all but memory today. Tears began to roll down my face. I hadn't seriously cried since the day Tracey died, but now I was hit with an incredible wave of grief that was enough to send me right to the floor. I dropped to my knees, sobbing helplessly. I couldn't do anything but cry.
"Misty?" Ash said, kneeling beside me. "Misty, are you okay?"
I shook my head. "I miss him so much already..." I sobbed.
Ash didn't try to comfort me, because he was feeling the exact same way, but once again, I felt his arms around me and I melted into his arms.
* * *
The man who met us at the door of the funeral home looked like someone from the Twilight Zone. It's amazing how they refer to dead people as if they're still alive. I could have put my fist through the guy's mouth if the dead person had been anyone but Tracey.
I followed Delia into the room. She and the professor had basically planned out the entire funeral, including the casket and what clothes they would put on Tracey's body for this last meeting. I choose not to think about how they do that. They had decided just to leave him in the clothes he was most comfortable in - his infamous green T-shirt/red shorts combo. His casket was a basic one.
I shut my eyes as soon as they rested on Tracey's body. *No!* my head screamed. *I'm NOT looking at him like that! That's NOT how he's supposed to look, and I'm not looking at him when he's like that!* But I forced them back open. I was willing to admit one thing and one thing only - he finally looked like he was at peace. He had never looked that calm in the time I'd known him. He had always been worried about his work, or his Pokémon, or meeting the professor, or making the professor happy. And towards the end, he had just been....sad. There was no other way to put it. Sad. When you looked into his eyes, you could see him slipping away. You saw an expression in his eyes that should never be in a human being's eyes. Like he was emotionally dead, just waiting for an excuse to end his physical life. But now, lying amongst all that white padding stuff, he looked peaceful.
I heard Ash burst into tears behind me, and I turned to see Delia trying to keep him from running out of the room. She failed, and he bolted.
Brock sat in a chair in the corner of the room and buried his head in his hands. The professor took a seat not too far away and did the same. I turned to Delia. "I'm going to look for Ash," I said.
Delia nodded slowly.
I walked down a few halls before I heard his sobs coming from the washroom. I sighed and walked in, despite me being a girl. I saw him half-lying on the floor. He was freaking out, losing it. Some people do that when a friend or loved one dies, they just lose all grip on reality. And that was what was happening to Ash. I kneeled beside him. "Ash?" I said.
He raised his eyes. "Misty, what's wrong with me?" he said.
"You're just upset," I said. "You'll be fine in a few days."
"I don't want to be okay in a few days," he said. "I don't want to feel like this anymore..."
I remembered those words coming from Tracey the day he had died, and I suddenly grabbed Ash by the shoulders. "Don't talk like that!" I almost snapped. "I had to listen to Tracey say that, and he's dead now! I'm not letting you think that way!"
I had scared him. Great. Just what I wanted to do.
"Ash, I'm sorry...I just...I hate to think that I'm going to lose any of you at all...I've had nightmares all week about losing you and Brock just like I lost Tracey...I don't want those to come true."
Ash looked at me. "They won't," he said softly.
"Good," I said. I pulled him to his feet and helped him back to the room. He was so weak...
An hour later, they came in to put Tracey's casket into the hearse for the drive to the cemetary. I felt like someone puched me in the stomach as I saw them shut that heavy lid. I was tempted to cry out, tell them not to close it on him, that he would be scared, but my logical side took over, reminding me that his body was just that - his body. Nothing more.
Ash sat inbetween us, his head resting on my shoulder. "Can I see that picture?" he asked quietly.
I handed the picture I'd been looking at before to him. He forced a small smile. "I still remember when we took this picture...I was bugging him about it for days...saying that he must like you, otherwise he wouldn't have had his arms around you like that..." He closed his eyes. "I would give up my entire training career to see him alive again."
"So would I," I said.
Brock looked at the two of us. "I would give anything he wanted for a chance to apologize," he said. "I'm the one that killed him."
"No," I said. "He killed himself."
Brock looked forward at the hearse in front of us. "I may not have held that gun, but if I hadn't pushed him so far, he wouldn't have done it."
I sighed, knowing he was right.
I paid virtually no attention until they brought out the small speakers and played the song that Tracey had always seemed to like - "Don't Laugh At Me" by Mark Wills. He had liked it because he said that he had always been made fun of when he was little, and the song stood up for every kid like him. Then, the priest or whatever said some more stuff that I didn't want to listen to, and the funeral came to an end. Delia and the professor walked back to the car, the professor's arms around Delia's shoulders. Ash said a quick goodbye and promised to take care of Venonat and Scyther. I said my goodbye and promised to take care of Marill. We began to walk away, but stopped when we heard Brock talking.
"I wish I knew why I said those things," he said to the polished wood of the casket. "But what's done is done...I guess all I can hope is that you can hear me, wherever you are now...and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every solitary thing I said to upset you, Tracey. I was jealous...you meant so much to them...and I wanted that for myself...I was selfish...but I'm sorry. Take care of yourself."
I smiled at him as he joined us. Things had their own way of resolving themselves, and unfortunately, this had been Tracey's solution. All I could hope is that none of my friends would ever turn to the same as a solution. Suicide may seem like a best friend at times, but in reality, it's your worst enemy. Suicide will not only take your life, but it will change the lives of those around you forever. Now all we could do is try to go on without Tracey there. And it was going to be a long road.
THE END (Maybe)
A/N: Umm....the only thing I'll be accepting for this fic are good reviews and boxes of tissues. I got a few tear-jerkers in the works. After all, that is my specialty, you know. Sad or depressing.