Chapter 22
Blaine was good. Brock knew that. The question pecking at Brock's mind was: how will Blaine fare without a fire type at his side? Chances were that Blaine could very well be battling without one.
Brock fidgeted anxiously. It had been a long time since he had engaged in any sort of Pokemon tournament. Technically he WAS a gym leader, but it was not his lives -passion. Pokemon breeding was. Battling for glory did not appeal to him. Brock would much rather interact with a Pokemon by feeding, grooming, and playing with it. He enjoyed teaching Pokemon new attacks and perfecting their potential combat skills. But he preferred not to be the person to actually use those skills - especially not in the way he was about to use them.
I don't have a choice. I have to fight Blaine. I don't want to go back to that hospital room. I wonder what will happen to me if I lose? I somehow doubt they will actually release me when this is all over, and I have a terrible feeling that the fate of the winner may be far worse than death.
Brock glanced up to the score board. Ash and Misty both won their battles. I'm sorry I missed them, but at least that means that they must both still be okay.
Brock tightly squeezed the two pokeballs in his hands. His pulse hammered behind his ears as a rush of adrenaline surged throughout his system. He felt as though he had consumed a twenty-pack of energy drinks. The rush was euphoric, unnatural and unnerving. It was unnerving because Brock suspected its source. The purple drug he was infused with – the one that magically seized him from the edge of death and hurled him back into the land of the living. What was that purple drug? What is it going to do to my organs? I am alive . . . but at what cost?
"BEGIN!"
The Seers command jolted Brock's attention. He did not have the time to theorize about his own physical state right now, he had a battle to play.
Across the arena Blaine's bald head gleamed; reflecting light as he hurled his first pokeball forward.
An unusually large Fearow appeared. The bird began circling the arena; it actually seemed irritated that there was not yet an opponent on the field for it to attack.
Brock mashed his lips together; channeling the adrenal to power his brain. Fearow. A normal and flying type. It can shoot itself suddenly very high, and drop downward at an alarming rate. I will have to hope my Pokemon has quick reflexes. Fearow most commonly attacks using its beak. . . I'll have to maneuver my Pokemon cautiously.
Blaine cleared his throat, yanking Brock from his private examination. Brock nodded at his opponent and tossed a Pokeball forth.
A Mantine, Brock identified. The Mantine had an impressive fin-span. It joined Fearow above the arena. The two Pokemon glowered maliciously at one another. It's very large. Well muscled. Sleek, smooth movements. It was raised impressively. It's a kite Pokemon. Both water and flying capabilities.
"Go, Fearow, Fury Attack!" Blaine wasn't wasting any time, and neither was Fearow! Its beak was ignited by light as it swiftly swooped towards Mantine.
"Super Sonic!" Brock yelled, knowing that Mantine could never evade the attack in time.
Intangible rays of confusion rippled through the air. Fearow flew directly into the rays and consumed by them.
Fearow began spinning madly throughout the air; crashing downward into the flooring. It clearly injured itself, then flogged weakly upward and repeated the self-abusing process.
"Shake it off, Fearow!" Blaine ordered frantically. Fearow's eyes were glazed over with insanity; it could not even hear Blaine over its own cries of lunacy.
Mantine watched Fearow with disturbing amusement. Brock on the other hand felt a pang of sympathy for the bird.
"Mantine," Brock yelled. "Take Down!"
Mantine thrust itself forth at full velocity. It viciously slammed into Fearow, snagging ahold of it in the process, then heaving its dazed body downward. Fearow was unconscious before it even struck the ground.
Blaine shuffled backward, his expression ruined by shock. He had obviously underestimated the Pewter City gym leader.
Quickly regaining his composure, Blaine pitched his final ball forward.
A Haunter, Brock recognized. Ghost and poison. A gas ghost is what it is. My normal attacks will be useless. I could be in trouble if Blaine knows how to handle Haunter.
The Haunter began laughing hysterically as its gloomy form glided towards Mantine.
Mantine keenly watched the Haunter's shifty movements.
"Haunter," Blaine growled, "use Toxic!"
"Neutralize It with Bubble Beam!" Brock countered.
Haunter at once spat a flesh-sizzling burst of venom. Mantine blew jets of bubbles directly towards the toxin. The water began to dilute the potency of the Toxic. The two elements seemed to be dissolving one another as they collided.
"Haunter, get through that Bubble Beam, NOW!" Blaine was enraged, his voice trembling.
Haunter snickered madly again; the volume of his toxic discharge elevating, overwhelming the protective Bubble Beam. The poison flooded over Mantine. Mantine whined in agony as its body was completely soiled. The Toxic was fast-acting; Mantine recoiled several times, desperately trying to ignore the pain.
That Toxic is going to chafe away all of Mantine's reserves! I have to hit fast and accurately . . . I need to knock that Haunter out!
"Mantine, use Blizzard!"
Mantine responded at once. Haunter was struck by a barrage of glacial pellets. The ghost twisted frantically, trying to evade the pelting ice. But Mantine's aim was flawless. Haunter was submerged by snow, utterly buried alive within a capsule of ice.
"Haunter is . . . frozen?" Blaine gasped, his head quaking with denial.
Haunter was indeed frozen. The battle had already ended.
Brock pressed a clammy hand to his brow. "Good job. Return, Mantine."
Blaine needs a fire type, Brock decided at last. I won. Okay. I won. Now what? What happens to Blaine? And what happens to me?
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"Move faster!"
The rope binding Misty's throat was rigorously tightened. She panted loudly, vying to swallow even a small mouthful of air. Misty knew that she would not get another chance to breathe until the man relented his grip. It could be a few seconds or it could be minutes. The agony continued to stack as a dire ache gnawed at her stomach. Misty was starving. The protein bar given to her that morning had done little to satisfy her ravenous appetite. Misty concluded that the Revivalists wanted to keep them weak and were starving them just for that purpose. In this moment the combination of 'no oxygen plus hunger' equaled: either this Revivalist needed to slacken the ropes or toss her a sandwich or she was going down.
"Faster!" the rope was yanked again and Misty's legs crumpled to the flooring. "Get up!" she was jerked to her feet. The man permitted her a shallow breath, and with it she somehow found the strength to keep moving.
Gary was being dragged behind her, Derrick controlling his lead. Derrick was amusing himself by harassing his captive. Derrick would randomly pick up significant speed and then suddenly halt, causing Gary to choke himself. He repeated these harshly unpredictable actions every few moments. No matter which pace Gary moved at he was always wrong, resulting in his own asphyxiation.
"Why are you hurting yourself, Oak?" Derrick taunted. "If The Seer finds out you are suicidal he'll kill you, you know that right?"
Gary hadn't enough breath to conform any sort of retaliation. Every scrap of strength he possessed was being rationed just to keep weight off of his injured ankle.
Misty and Gary were headed back to their cell for the night and Misty was grateful. Her emotions and body had long-been exhausted.
Misty did have one positive sentiment to cling to: the knowledge that she would soon be separated from Derrick and his associates and she would be alone with Gary. Then she could learn about his amazing recovery; hear if he had discovered anything new about their situation . . . if he knew anything at all about Ash.
But at this moment -more than anything else- Misty longed to simply relax within Gary's warm, protective arms and to allow her consciousness and body to collapse there. She just hoped that Gary would repeat his offer to hold her, and if he did not then Misty was prepared to ask. The mere thought of sleeping alone on the freezing stone flooring was more than she could handle right now.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, Misty played the glorious word over and over in her mind.
Brock's battle had been the last of the day. If it were not for the presence of the bandage around his throat, Misty never would have believed that Brock had almost bled to death before her eyes. Misty found herself thankful for the first time that these Revivalists were so well-prepared. If Brock had died, Misty knew that she would have wholly lost the tattered remains of her sanity.
Brock is fine for the moment, Misty assured herself, and so are all of my sisters. And so is Ash. Ash battled bravely and won - won against Clair. No doubt the Revivalists are threatening Pikachu for him to fight with such drive. Ash does not deserve this. Ash is just so good. He is somehow able to befriend every person and every Pokemon that he meets. He is so real. No games. What you see is what you get. I think that every trainer in the arena was proud of him today . . . I know that I was.
The man directing Misty became inspired by Derrick and decided to mimic his cruel behavior. This man also began bolting forward and then stopping abruptly. Misty was unable to predict his jumbled speed. She gagged wildly, again toppling to her knees as a desperate fit of choking seized her.
"You damn coward!" Gary managed a yell and succeeded in drawing the man's savage attention away from Misty and upon himself. "Leave her alone."
The man snickered beneath his shroud; he and Derrick exchanged conclusive nods.
"Leave her alone?" Derrick rasped, "Those are brave words coming from a kid who almost died today. Lucky for you a victory occurred. But when you lose, Oak, I'll be waiting."
Gary fronted an incredibly nonchalant façade: "A threat, huh? Sure, you seem tough enough while I'm shackled up with these ropes, Derrick. But I guarantee you'd never even touch me in a real battle."
Derrick snorted, genuinely entertained by Gary's rash words. "A REAL battle?"
"A Pokemon battle," Gary stated matter-of-fact. "Obviously you must suck, or else that crazy beast would have snagged you too."
Without warning Derrick whacked Gary across the face. "Shut up! You know not of whom or what you speak."
Gary's head snapped backward; blood drizzling freely from his upper lip. With his arms bound he could not wipe the gore away. Derrick began moving hastily forward again. The four of them traveled in complete silence.
After a short moment they arrived at Gary and Misty's cell door. Derrick unlocked the door, removed their bonds and shoved them inside. The door slammed shut behind them.
Gary and Misty traded relieved stares. They were both freaked-out by Derrick's crazed reaction to Gary's comment. They were also extremely pleased that they were rid of his presence, for a few hours at least.
Gary exhaled warily, granting his body a moment to actually breathe without constraints. Once his respiratory system was again operating at a comfortable pace, he hunkered down upon the floor. Gary seemed to welcome the support of the wall behind him. He leaned his head against it and sighed as though he were resting his weight against the trunk of a familiar childhood tree – relieved to have something recognizable to support him. Now settled, Gary raised a finger to his damaged lip and traced the scab which was already beginning to form.
Misty also lowered into a sitting position. She situated herself across from Gary so that she was facing him. Misty then crossed her legs a few different ways until she found the most comfortable posture. Gary regarded her fidgety movements with mild amusement, but kept his thoughts to himself.
Now that she was set, Misty centered her attention upon the young man before her. Reflexively, she reached out and touched his knee. "Gary, why did you say those things to Derrick and that other guy? Why would you egg them on like that?"
He did not hesitate: "They lost interest in hurting you, didn't they?"
Misty nodded, uncertain if she should be thankful or angry. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me. You can't play the martyr every time those jerks target me! In fact, I think that's what Derrick is counting on you doing, giving him an 'excuse' to be awful to you. Gary, I can't stand to see them . . . hurt you."
A gallant smile influenced his lips. "I know."
Gary grinning broadly was NOT the reaction Misty had expected. What she expected less was her own - how she could not help but mirror his smile. As tired and miserable as she was, it still felt nice to turn her lips upward - a direction that they had not ventured in sometime. However, Misty's gladness was fleeting as she redirected her thoughts past Gary's grin.
"Gary, I- I thought you were going to die this morning," the grievous confession tumbled from her lips.
His chest stiffened at her words and he quickly pressed a hand over the one she laid upon his knee. "I'm sorry," Gary interlocked their fingers as he spoke.
Misty savored the sincerity within his eyes. Gary's face may have been solemn; but his eyes cast a ray of affection upon her that actually warmed her body, however impossible it seemed.
After a moment Gary released her hand. Misty did not attempt to hide her frown - in place of his warm hand was cold air.
"Did you see Ash's battle?" Gary asked.
Misty nodded. "Yes, it was an impressive display with a Tyranitar. But Ash being captured here . . . it's terrible. I don't know what this place will do to him. Ash has been through some tough situations in the past, but Brock and I have always been there alongside him. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to him, or any of us-."
Gary cut her off, a glint of annoyance in his tone. "The worst thing that's ever happened to Ash is that he was born without a brain."
Misty's eyes widened at his blunt remark. Her initial reaction was anger; however the authentic irritation puckering Gary's face caused a small giggle to escape her. Even beaten and dirty the young man could not resist a cheap jab at his childhood rival. That was a good thing. This place - Derrick – had not crushed his morale, Derrick had not won.
Gary raised an intrigued eyebrow at her response. "You agree?"
"No," Misty snapped, flushing. "Of course not, Ash is brilliant."
Gary did not argue her defense. "Yeah, Ash always manages to come out on top."
Misty hesitated, unsure if Gary's words had been sarcastic or not. At last she decided that they were genuine.
An uneasy moment lagged by until Gary peered upward. Yawning casually he asked: "Soooo, what's up with you and Ash anyway?"
Misty slanted her head to one side, confused by Gary's question.
"You obviously like him, right? So, are you two together or what?" Gary's tone was informal, yet the question was considerably personal. Misty felt as though a Houndour were panting on her face. She avoided his shrewd eyes, hoping that he did not notice her burning cheeks.
How does he know that I have feelings for Ash? I never told anyone!
"I don't know what you mean, Gary." Misty replied, suddenly finding the floor quite interesting to study. "I am Ash's friend, his coach."
"Coach?" Gary wrinkled his nose, doubt drenching the word. "Then I take it you've never kissed him?" a smirk played on his lips, but there was an earnest curiosity bubbling within the bluest depths of his eyes - an earnestly that Gary Oak was trying to drown.
"Gary Oak!" Misty shouted his name a little louder than she had intended. "How DARE you ask me that! It is none of YOUR business!"
Gary laughed loudly, reaching forward and tousling her orange locks. "Aw, Misty, you're so cute when you're flustered. I was just kidding," he grinned innocently, batting his lashes.
Misty countered his angelic front with a devilish one of her own. "This is coming from a guy who traveled the world with a bunch of skimpy-dressed cheerleaders! I don't think you are in any position to wonder about my kissing history when yours was shoved in all of our faces!" Misty stuck out her tongue. Not her most mature move, but she couldn't help it.
Gary chuckled, shrugging. "That's my fan club. I can't help my popularity."
Misty was as unsuccessful in stopping her next question as she had been stopping her tongue: "Have you ever kissed any of your cheerleaders? For real?"
Gary blinked, just a tad surprised by her obvious intrigue. "I'm not really into older women."
"That's not an answer. Did you kiss them, yes or no?"
"Maybe," he conceded flatly, "and maybe not. Kissing interrogation aside, I did learn a lot about you girls from my cheerleaders. I learned how to properly behave when in the company of females. For one: don't ever burp unless you wanna hear a chorus of ewwwww's. Two: always lower that toilet seat or you'll be harassed for hours. Three: don't flirt with anyone even remotely attractive if another girl is in the same five mile radius. Some girls can go from sweet to crazy-jealous in a heartbeat - and for reasons I can't even explain."
"Are these the reasons why you don't travel with your cheerleaders anymore? Trust me, we're not all like that."
"I know that. And my fan club is great . . . recently I've just wanted some quiet time. No offence, but half a dozen girls around you day and night doesn't allow for much privacy. The girls still support me and all, but it's much different now that I am a researcher, or . . . I want to be . . . once I get out of here."
"Someone, somehow, is bound to rescue us. In the mean time," she leaned in closer to Gary. "You can answer my question about kissing your cheerleaders."
Gary laughed again. "Persistent! I like that," he teased with a wink.
Misty puckered her lips, imitating a pouty kiss. "Come on, Gary, so what's it like?"
He cocked his head to the side, amused by her melodrama. "What's 'what' like?"
"Well . . . well, kissing?"
"Ah-ha!" Gary raised a triumphant finger. "You've never kissed a guy, and so you haven't kissed Ash."
The Houndour returned to pant-away on Misty's cheeks. "No, okay! I haven't kissed anyone before! Happy?"
Gary flashed an impish grin. "I can show you what it's like. It's easy."
"No way!"
Gary shrugged as he prattled on: "Just trying to help. Prepare you for the big moment with Ash."
"No way Gary, I want my fist kiss to be real. Not a fake 'lesson type' of kiss. Besides, I am not kissing Ash, I'm not kissing ANYONE! Not unless I am crazy about him and he is genuinely crazy about me," Misty released an exasperated sigh. "Good Lord, Gary Oak!"
"I wasn't serious, just teasing you. You know, 'ha-ha' a joke? Besides," he added quietly "I have the same standards as you, Misty."
Misty studied his eyes – a blue so electrifying, intense . . . unnerving. She almost looked away, but Gary raised his right hand and grazed his thumb across her lower lip. Misty smiled shyly at his unexpected touch; realizing the power he held - the ability comfort her with a mere touch.
Gary pulled his hand from her face and Misty tried to mask her relief . . . and disappointment. "Let's get some rest, okay? We're tired, starving and cold - again. Who knows what they have planned for us tomorrow."
Misty dipped her head in agreement. "Hey, Gary?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for beating Lilly today."
"Your sister got flustered. I can't take all of the credit."
Misty gasped playfully. "What's this?" she lifted her hand, pretending to hold a microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now witnessing Gary Oak in a rare moment of modesty."
Gary clutched his chest, faking a wound.
Misty continued, frowning: "Hey, I have a serious question."
Gary grimaced. "Not about my kissing history again?"
"No," Misty knew that she sounded grave. "Did they somehow catch your Pokemon?"
Gary shook his head negatively.
"Then why did you battle today, Gary?"
Gary's face buckled weakly at her words. His cheeks tightened as an unforeseen emotion threatened to consume him. "Misty," he breathed her name like it was more essential than air - his potent reaction causing chills to bristle down her spine. "I'd rather not say."
"You'd rather not say? This whole thing doesn't make any sense. And now neither do you," Misty did not bother to mask her frustration. For a brief moment she and Gary had been joking around, for a brief moment she had almost forgotten what was happening around her. The bitter-sweetness of it all. "Gary, I don't know how much longer I can take this place. I'm going to break down. I feel like - like I keep falling with each new horrible mystery and one of these times I won't be able to get back up."
"Don't talk like that! That won't happen," Gary's expression was unwavering. "But if it does, Misty, then . . . I'll be here to carry you."
The iron door swung open, slamming their conversation closed. Derrick and three other shrouded men were standing in the doorway.
Instinctively Misty tried to pull Gary behind her – away from Derrick. But Gary was much stronger than she was and quickly reversed her intentions, placing himself between Misty and the Revivalists.
"Oak," Derrick sneered, tone dripping with vice, "we need to borrow you for a little while, or rather, we need to borrow your blood."
Derrick gestured for one of his partners to rope Gary. "Someone had a little accident. Lost some blood. Your blood-type matches. We'll be needing a minor pint, but if you struggle, I can't be responsible if you're short a gallon by the time we reach the laboratory." Derrick cracked his knuckles, adding, "and if that doesn't convince you, we'll gladly bleed Miss Waterflower here until you are."
Misty sized the collar of Gary's robe, tugging frantically. "Don't listen to him!"
Gary turned to her; his face was extremely pale, as if Derrick had already drained him of blood. "Don't worry, Misty. I'm going with them and everything will be fine. Someone is hurt, they need a transfusion and I can help."
"Good boy," Derrick cooed bitterly. "You're becoming more obedient by the hour."
The other shrouded man looped the ropes around Gary's throat and wrists. Not once did Gary complain as the men brutally jerked him out the doorway.
The door crashed shut. Misty trembled, wrapping her own arms around her. Never in her life had she ever felt so alone.
"He did it for me."