Author's note: I had originally planned to end this story at Chapter 14, but after reading several reviews, I decided that one more chapter was necessary. And when you're through reading this, go read and review Blackjack Gabbiani's "Amethyst Remembrance", which helped inspire me to complete this fic in the first place.
"Professor?"
No response. He knocked on the door again, louder this time.
"Professor?" He tried the doorknob and to his surprise, the door opened easily.
At least he finally got some sleep, he sighed at the sight of his friend curled up on the bed. But then he noticed something odd…why did he have a pink sweater over his face?
And then a chill ran up his spine.
Oh no…oh God, no.
He held his breath for a moment and realized that it was too quiet. The only sound in the room when he had left it earlier had been his sleeping friend's slow, quiet breathing – and that sound was now gone. He strained his ears for any sound, any sound at all…but there was none except for the frantic hammering of his heart echoing in his ears.
And then he saw the empty syringe lying on the floor next to the rubber tourniquet.
Oh no, oh no…
With trembling legs, he drew closer to the bed.
"Professor?" he whispered in a shaky voice. No reply.
He slowly reached out and touched the older man's arm and jumped back in horror when he felt how cold it was. Too frightened to even look underneath the sweater, he stared with wide-eyed terror at the body of his dead friend. He knew he was dead – there was no point in even checking to see if he was still alive.
He did it. Oh God, he did it.
He fell to his knees and started sobbing hysterically.
"No, no….oh no!"
"Tracey! Tracey, sweetheart, wake up!"
Tracey awoke with a start and found that he was lying in his own bed. The dark-haired woman lying awake next to him was looking at him with concerned eyes.
"You had another nightmare, Tracey," May Sketchit said as she reached over and wrapped her arms around her husband. As she rested her head on his bare chest, she could feel his heart pounding rapidly against her cheek. "It's okay, Tracey," she whispered soothingly. "I'm here now. You're safe."
Tracey sighed and pulled his wife closer to him. Twenty years and he was still having nightmares about that awful day. Moaning slightly, he reached up and rubbed his temple.
"Do you still have a headache, darling?"
Tracey nodded. Ever since his near-fatal encounter with Team Rocket twenty years ago, he had been plagued with intermittent headaches. And May knew every time her husband had one of his headaches, it would almost always be followed by a nightmare.
"Maybe you should go take something," she suggested as gently kissed him.
Tracey nodded and slid out of bed. He made his way to the kitchen and found the bottle of ibuprofen in one of the cabinets. He downed two pills, then followed them with a shot of vodka. Even though he didn't drink as much as he used to, he found that the alcohol helped him sleep better and dulled the pain.
"Daddy?"
Startled, Tracey turned to see a brown-haired little boy of about five standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Why aren't you in bed, Sammy?"
The name had been May's idea. She had been close to her grandfather and wanted to honor his memory by naming their firstborn child after him. What was surprising was that the boy looked eerily like his great-grandfather had at his age. Sometimes that haunted Tracey, too.
The little boy clutched his stuffed Marill toy closer to his chest. "I…I heard you yelling and you sounded like you were scared, Daddy. I got scared, too."
"I'm sorry if I scared you, Sammy," Tracey said as he sat down at the kitchen table and his son climbed into his arms. "Daddies gets nightmares, too. Just like you do sometimes."
"Mommy says that if you get scared, the best thing to do is to find someone or something to hug." The little boy reached up and wrapped his arms tightly around his father. "Don't be scared, Daddy. I'm here now."
"Thank you, Sammy," Tracey said as he hugged his son tightly to him. "Thank you."
---
The tall, elegantly-dressed man stood in the hallway of the funeral home reading the list of services until he found the name "Peccati". He made his way down the hall to the first parlor on the right and surveyed the crowd. Most of the mourners were Team Rocket members, both present and past. In one corner of the room a blue-haired man and a woman with bright red hair, both of whom appeared to be in their late thirties or early forties, were busy trying to keep a red-haired little boy and blue-haired girl -- obviously twins -- from chasing an elderly Meowth around the room.
They look familiar, the elegant man thought as he watched the adults attempt to control the two toddlers.
"Miya! Jimmy! Leave Meowth alone!" the red-haired woman snapped as the little boy grabbed the Meowth by the tail and held it down while his sister tied a pink bow around its neck.
The blue-haired man sighed. "Forget it, Jess. As long as they don't strangle Meowth, let them play."
"I'm getting too old for dis," sighed the Meowth resignedly as the little girl wrapped her arms around the Pokemon's neck and hugged it tightly. "Gahh!"
The man smiled and went into the adjacent room where an open casket sat against the opposite wall. Seated next to the casket were three young women, all in their twenties. The dark-haired woman sitting closest to the casket, spotting the latest mourner to arrive, stood up and went over to him.
"It was good of you to come, Jiri," she said as she extended her hand.
"Thank you, Tessa. Or should I say, Madam Boss?" Jiraldan smiled slightly as he took her hand in his and kissed it softly.
"Rest assured, Jiri," Giovanni's eldest daughter said with a determined look in her eye, "That even though my father is gone, I will still continue to carry on his business dealings. Papa always spoke highly of you and your contributions to Team Rocket. Your partnership with us will continue."
"Thank you again, Tessa," Jiraldan said as he released her hand and went over to the casket were Giovanni lay.
Oh Gio, you don't look anything like the man I knew, Jiraldan sighed sadly as he looked at the frail, skeleton-like man lying in the casket. Even though Giovanni had only been in his sixties, the cancer that had taken his life had ravaged his body so much that he looked like an old, old man. Jiraldan had gone to see him a month before he died and had been shocked by Giovanni's appearance.
"With all my money, Jiri, the doctors can do nothing for me," Giovanni coughed as he struggled to sit up in his bed. "How's that for irony? I spent my whole life trying to get all my money and power and it won't help me now."
"Gio, are you sure there's nothing...?"
"Yes, Jiri, I've been to dozens of doctors and there's nothing more they can do for me. All they can do now is make the end a little less painful. Sit down." He pointed to a chair next to his bed. "Why I wanted you to come today was so that I could tell you personally that I'm leaving you a quarter of my estate. The rest will be divided among my daughters." Jiraldan's mouth fell open in shock. "It's my way of showing you gratitude for all you've done for me through the years."
"Gio, I don't know what to say other than 'thank you'. But you don't have to…"
"Spare me the crap about how I don't have to do this because I'm not really dying and they're going to find a way to make me well. I'm dying, Jiri. Deal with it." Giovanni leaned back on his pillow. "Tessa will take over Team Rocket, of course. One thing I'm grateful for is that at least I have some time left to get my affairs in order. I have no regrets, Jiri. No regrets at all. Well, except for one."
Jiraldan looked at his friend curiously. "What?"
"The ring, Jiri. The ring. Haven't you ever wondered what things would've been like if the ring hadn't been destroyed?"
Jiraldan's mind flashed back to a scene twenty years ago.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S BEEN DESTROYED?" Giovanni raged as Jiraldan cowered against the wall.
"It's true," the younger man gulped. "The boy destroyed the ring." Jiraldan ducked as his partner sent a paperweight flying in his direction, then watched as Giovanni slumped down on the rococo desk and buried his head in his hands.
"Giovanni?" Jiraldan said softly once he felt it was safe to get up.
"What?" was the harsh reply.
"Giovanni, are you all right?"
Giovanni lifted his head, looked at his partner, and sighed. "What do you think, Jiri?"
Jiraldan slowly got to his feet and went over to the small bar in the corner of his office. "Do you want a drink, Giovanni? I could use one."
"You are the only other person in this world who knew what that ring meant," Giovanni said as he took the glass of scotch from his companion. Jiraldan watched in amazement as Giovanni downed his in one gulp. "Stupid brat. I should have killed him when I had the chance."
"How much longer do you think you can hide from the authorities, Giovanni?" Jiraldan asked nervously as he sipped his drink.
"As long as necessary," Giovanni replied as he reached over to pour himself another drink from the flask that Jiraldan had put on the desk in front of him. "And as long as you keep your mouth shut," he said with a threatening glance in Jiraldan's direction.
"Giovanni, you know I'd never tell anyone your whereabouts," Jiraldan assured his friend. "Why would I have helped you escape in the first place?"
Giovanni finished his second drink and placed the glass down on the desk. "I don't know, Jiri. Why did you?"
Jiraldan said nothing.
"Were you afraid that I'd tell the police that you were the one who led me to Delia Ketchum in the first place? That you helped murder her just like my son said I did?" Giovanni smirked at the sight of Jiraldan's stricken face. "Oh, don't worry, Jiri. I won't tell anyone if you don't. And besides, like I told my son, I didn't kill her."
Giovanni helped himself to another drink. "Women are nothing but trouble, Jiri. Oak was definitely a fool for killing himself over one." Giovanni downed his third scotch with amazing rapidity and smiled crookedly at his companion. "Have you ever been in love, Jiri?"
Jiraldan shook his head.
"Men are so much better, anyway," Giovanni said as put down his empty glass, seized Jiraldan roughly, and kissed him on the lips.
No, I don't regret losing the ring at all, Jiraldan thought as he silently whispered farewell to Giovanni Peccati one last time.
---
Ash had just finished giving his daughter her 5 AM bottle and was getting ready to go back to bed himself when he decided to see if the morning paper had arrived yet. He opened the door and was surprised to see an envelope taped to the door labeled "Ash Ketchum". Puzzled, Ash removed the envelope, picked up the newspaper lying on the porch, and went back inside.
Maybe it's an invitation to Gary and Molly's wedding, he thought as he tossed the newspaper facedown on the couch, sat down, and opened the letter. Even though the expensive-looking stationery appeared at first to be an invitation, it wasn't. Inside the envelope was a letter penned in elegant handwriting that Ash didn't recognize. Ash unfolded the letter and started reading.
I'm sure you've heard by now that your father is dead.
Ash went cold with fear.
"My father…" he whispered. Ever since the events of twenty years ago, Ash had never again referred to Giovanni being his father. Only Misty and a few close friends knew his secret, but Ash never discussed it with anyone. It was one secret that he would rather let die.
"Die...Giovanni's dead?"
Ash picked up the newspaper and started searching through it. The headline was on the second page in small print: Former Viridian City Gym Leader Dies.
"Former Viridian City Gym Leader Giovanni Peccati died Tuesday of liver cancer at the age of sixty-four… " Ash quickly scanned through the rest of the article and returned to the letter.
Enclosed you will find instructions to obtain the money that is rightfully yours.
"What?" Ash couldn't believe that Giovanni had left him money, or anything, for that matter.
Giovanni left it to me, but it should go to you for two reasons. One, you are his son and heir.
"I'm not that sonofabitch's heir!" Ash said angrily as he made a move to rip the letter in two, but then calmed down and decided to continue reading.
And two, because it will help alleviate the guilt that I've been carrying around with me for the last twenty years, for I was the one who led Giovanni to your mother. I was the one who told him about your mother's ring, so I am the one truly responsible for her death.
"What?! Oh God…Mom…"
Ash looked over at the collection of family pictures on the mantle over the fireplace. In a silver-framed photo at the far left end, his mother, clad in her favorite gardening hat and apron, smiled out at him. Shaking, Ash continued reading.
Considering that you have in the past thwarted my plans, I was at first hesitant to do this, but guilt is a powerful thing. It has not been easy having to live with the knowledge that I was responsible for the death of an innocent woman. By accepting the money, I hope that this will help right the wrong that I've done.
You were right to destroy the ring of Maldiavolo. Others, including myself, would have come looking for it. At least now we will both have some peace.
The letter was unsigned, but Ash noticed that the expensive-looking paper was embossed with a raised monogram of the letter "J". He spent the better part of an hour reading the letter over and over, trying to figure out who its sender was. Ash gave up as the sun started peeking over the horizon and returned to bed just in time to hear his daughter whimpering for her next feeding.
---
Several days later, a dark-haired man stood in front of a large marble crypt in a shady corner of the Viridian City Cemetery. On the side of the crypt in large capital letters was the name "Peccati". "Aldo….Sofia…Giovanni…" Ash shuddered. Just saying Giovanni's name still gave him chills.
"I suppose I should say something like I'm sorry that you're dead, but I'm not," Ash addressed the bronze plaque with the name Giovanni Peccati on it. "You may have been my biological father, but you never really were my father. Professor Oak, Brock…they were more of a father to me than you ever were."
Ash reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter that had been left on his door a few days earlier. "At first, I wasn't going to take your money, but Misty and I talked it over and decided that we're going to use the money to help take care of Ashley."
Ashley had been born nine weeks premature. She had spent the first month of her life in intensive care, and the doctors had warned that she would likely be delayed developmentally and would require long-term therapy.
"At least that way you can say that you did one good thing in your life. You helped take care of your granddaughter. And that's what a good father –and grandfather-- would do."
And as Ash headed down the path that led out of the cemetery, the man who had been watching him from a distance smiled.
"Bravo, O Chosen One."
THE END