Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon or The Blair Witch Project, and I certainly don't own a sense of regularity.
This chapter is dedicated to my father-in-law, who passed away in March. He never knew I wrote, but...well, perhaps he does now. Despite the drama and angst and ill-feelings within this installment, and him having been one of the most even-tempered, lighthearted men I ever had the privilege to know, I'm sure he would have loved it, and been proud of me for it.
SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING
by Spruceton Spook
Chapter 10
"Falling Far Too Far Behind"
Spending the rest of the precious daylight hours cooped up in the house fighting his deceptive body wasn't the worst thing Ash could have envisioned. Unbelievably, there was something far more upsetting and infuriating. It was having been forbade the choice to rebel against the former obstacle that was whittling away what little was left of his fractured disposition.
To him, the day couldn't have been more of a tragedy. Knowing he was partly to blame for it only fed his sullenness. Turns out it wouldn't have been any use begging Dad not to tell Mom about the tiny mishap he'd had on the lawn of the poor citizen who, Ash reflected, still might not have happened upon his unintended parting gift. The second bout of his system's collapse soon after they discovered the stick formation in the front yard, inconveniently in his mother's presence, was all that would have been needed to lead to his undue internment.
If only he did feel better, he'd have fought his parents with much more vigor. Alas, it wasn't just them he was resisting. His stomach refused to ally with him, despite his resolve to will the nausea away. It just wasn't fair. He wasn't sick sick—this wasn't a bug. A bug he would have been at the mercy of. Instead, this was his emotional vulnerability doing this to him; it was all in his mind, which meant he should have been able to overcome it with mulish endurance alone. But his body had made it implicitly clear it was in control, no matter what he told himself. What the hell had he done to deserve all of this?
Gnawing at his bottom lip to fight the tears that threatened his eyes to the point of a sharp ache, Ash seized a fistful of his hair and forced his attention on the television. His father had chosen a dreadfully uninteresting documentary on space exploration, and Ash tried to focus on the monotonous narration to distract himself. He wasn't all that successful; as cool as black holes and supernovas were, this program sure was doing a fine job of making it as boring as possible, and Pikachu did not drift long from his mind.
At least his dad had the sense not to tune into the National Ground-Battling Championship semifinals that, on any other day, Ash would have been scrambling to the nearest TV to catch. Right now, he most certainly did not have the heart (or the stomach) to watch any pokémon battles.
He couldn't believe he'd gotten sick. He just couldn't believe it. It made him angry more than anything else. His mother, trying to be sympathetic, said she felt terrible, but Ash didn't buy it. Not to say that she wanted him sick, but Ash couldn't discount the nagging suspicion that Delia was relieved there was something wrong enough with him to keep him home. Of course she cared fiercely about him and was acting out of concern for his wellbeing, but it still didn't wash away the resentment building inside of him. How could she stop him from searching for his best friend and be as okay with it as she was?
Sadly, it wasn't just that. Oh, no. Perhaps Ash might have been able to deal with it slightly better if so. No, it was her actions after telling him to stay home that troubled him most. If she really did feel terrible, she would have done anything possible to make up for it, to show him she genuinely cared, to help him in the face of his restriction. Right?
Carving jack-o'-lanterns as if everything was right and well in the world was not something he considered any of the above.
Ash tried to tune out the attempt at merriment happening behind him, but it was too difficult to swallow the extreme bitterness he felt from being aware of it to begin with. Though an obvious effort to lift the mood of the household, which was dismally akin to that of a funeral parlor, Ash couldn't believe the gumption his mother had. Was she really that insensitive to his pain, or was she just plain clueless?
To make matters worse, Misty and Brock were getting involved, as well. Brock had brought the pumpkins in from the front stoop while Misty had spread newspaper across the kitchen table, and Delia settled Riley in his highchair, giving him a prime view of the activities. They did it quietly, halfheartedly even, but did it nonetheless. No one had dared an attempt to include him, and Ash was grateful. At least they knew better than to expect him to engage in such stupidity.
Still, while he couldn't bring himself to do anything enjoyable so unreservedly in light of the situation, his heart did ache slightly at the thought of missing out on the tradition that always filled him with so much delight. He loved carving pumpkins, even if in years past he was no more than a spectator, keenly watching his mom or dad wield the knife as he dictated the type of look he wanted the pumpkins to take on. Deep down, there was a small but striking part of him that desired, craved to join them, but of course he wasn't going to. His spirit was certainly unwilling, and it wouldn't be fair to Pikachu. It was inappropriate, plain and simple. If they chose to act that way, so be it; depression aside, he wouldn't—couldn't—reduce himself to such disrespect for his friend.
So instead he tried to watch TV with his dad, who had, except for refusing to keep secret his sickness, given him a tremendous amount of support. Jay wasn't talking much now, but he wasn't abandoning him to go have fun, either. He was sticking by him, just as he'd done all day, even after all the ugly moments. Ash still couldn't believe the roller coaster ride his relationship with Jay had taken the last couple of days. He held such appreciation for his father, and lamented the fact that he was going to lose that indispensable assistance the next day. Jay needed to go back to work, but Ash knew he felt guilty and torn. He'd offered to drive the kids to Viridian to search there, but as much as Ash valued this, he realized it would only serve to make him doubt the miles passed by in between. They needed to cover as much ground in the vicinity as exhaustively possible. Thus, he and Jay would part ways in the morning.
Dusk was creeping in, and dinnertime would soon follow. Ash contemplated bypassing the meal and going straight to bed instead. He didn't really want to bear sitting at the table and forcing conversation, and plus it would bring the morning faster—if he was able to sleep. With all hope, whoever had Pikachu would be slowed by the night just as he was. It was the theory Ash had to concentrate on if he had a shot of gaining any semblance of rest. But with his recent luck, he was convinced insomnia had a greater chance of inflicting its pitiless wrath.
Plagued with dread at the thought, his stomach responded, making an unwelcomed lurch. Ash squeezed at his temple, finding himself yet again dragged into a struggle against his body. Breathe, breathe. In, out, in, out. God, this sucked; he didn't have anything left to throw up, so why couldn't it just stop?! Why was he letting this happen to himself?! Wasn't he suffering enough?!
Occupied with his strive to maintain peace in his system, Ash didn't notice his mother's approach until he felt the couch dip gently but suddenly beside him. Funny enough, the queasiness seemed to be gone in an instant, swapped out with vexation.
Oh, no. Here we go...
So, that was her strategy? Wait until he was too sidetracked with keeping himself from vomiting to ambush him with her ridiculous request? Of course he knew that's what she was there for—it was silly to really think they were going to carve pumpkins without trying to draw him in. Well, they could try all they wanted; he wasn't budging from that couch—no way.
"Ash?" Delia ventured delicately. Ash had only conceded brief eye-contact with her, mostly out of surprise from her stealthy arrival, but now his attention was fixated back on the TV. "Honey? How would you like to help us carve the pumpkins?"
One more deep breath. "No, thank you," he replied listlessly. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to be accepted—not right away, anyhow. Sure enough:
"Why not?" she pressed, her tone as calm and affectionate as could be. "You love carving pumpkins. It'll be fun."
Fun. Ash blinked long and hard, incredulous of her nerve. Calm down, he bid himself, though, almost chidingly. She's just trying to be nice. She's trying to help...
"I don't want to," he answered evenly.
Delia sighed and edged in closer to him. Ash shied; he would have moved aside, but unfortunately he was already wedged as much as possible against the armrest. His mother reached over to caress his hair.
"I know you don't," she acknowledged. "But I think it would be good if you did something to make yourself feel better. Take your mind off what's going on."
Keeping his eyes glued to the program, Ash chose not to respond. There was nothing else he needed to say. He'd already declined; she'd just have to accept it.
"Misty and Brock are in there—they want to do it. Riley, too. This is his first time making jack-o'-lanterns." She smiled. "Wouldn't you like to show him how it's done? I'm sure he'd love to watch you do it, Ash."
Great, now she was using the allure of getting his baby brother involved—or the guilt of disappointing him, whichever way one could look at it. His mother knew Riley would be a weakness for him, and it made tons of sense to exploit it—he had to give her that. It wasn't going to work, though. He was stronger than that.
"I said, I don't want to," he repeated.
Across the room, Jay snuck a glance at the exchange. As subtle as it was, Ash noticed and he tensed, wondering how his father was going to chime in, whose side he was going to take. His dad could certainly throw a curveball ever so often, and Ash hoped this wouldn't be one of those times. He needed his alliance.
The surprise, though, came in the form of silence. Jay went back to watching. So, his father wasn't going to speak for or against him. He was going to leave the decision up to him. Ash was first inclined to feel a bit deserted, but then, he realized, maybe it was a blessing in disguise, given Jay's unreliable throws of support.
Delia must have picked up on the irritation in his tone, for she sighed. "Look. I know you're upset that you're not out looking for Pikachu," she said. "But you have to understand that you're not well enough to do that right now."
Ash inhaled loudly through his nose. "Yes, I am," he grated, praying that she wouldn't associate the resentfulness in his tone with the truth of her judgment.
"No, you're not," Delia disagreed carefully. "You threw up twice. There's something going on, no matter how much you deny it.
"Besides," she added, "it's late; it's getting dark. You wouldn't have been able to keep looking, anyway."
Says you.
"I know the last thing you want to do is carve pumpkins, but sweetheart, all I'm trying to do is find something for us to pass the time a little easier. Wouldn't that be better than sitting around all night being sad?"
"I'm not the one making that decision."
Delia dipped her head. The exhale she made this time sounded a bit more frustrated, and it granted Ash a slight victorious feeling. She wasn't making this easy for him, so he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for her.
"Ash, I don't want you to be sad," she made clear.
"Whatever," he sneered, surprising himself at his spite when, seconds earlier, he had been trying so hard to be standoffish.
"Stop that," Delia admonished lightly, sounding hurt. Still, her voice never strayed from the soft, fragile tone she'd begun the approach with. Ash marveled at her patience. He certainly didn't feel any at the moment. "Why are you being that way? I'm not asking you to stay home because I don't want you to find Pikachu—it's because you're sick. And it's late. It's been a long day—you need to rest, Ash."
Maintaining his attention obstinately on the TV was getting more and more difficult. "You never asked me to stay home. You told me to stay home."
"...Fine, I told you to stay home," Delia corrected, somewhat dismissively. "If you want to be so specific about it."
It was that remark that promptly liquefied his cold shoulder. "I do, because you are what's keeping me from finding Pikachu!" His mother's head jerked back as his vitriolic, steely eyes penetrated hers.
"Ash," Jay spoke at last, his attention flicking from the TV momentarily, "chill out."
Aided by her husband's interjection, Delia quickly found her voice in the intensifying dissension. "Ash, if you want to be angry with me over this, go ahead. It's not going to make me change my mind. I'm concerned about you, and I know what's best for you..." She frowned. "But I think you do, too. You can't look for Pikachu twenty-four hours a day. Whether you're healthy or not. You need rest. It's okay for you to rest, and be home."
"I'm not gonna be home for long!" Ash declared.
"...Yes, I know," she acquiesced. Ash had made it quite clear to her that he (presumably with Misty and Brock, though he hadn't solicited them for any semblance of agreement) was going to head out the next morning—the possibility of not returning all but definite. Destination was largely unknown, but there was no doubt the Johto League was nothing more than a forgone dream for the moment.
"I just hope you're better by then," she affixed.
"Or what?!" Ash exclaimed, slapping the armrest of the couch. "You won't let me go?!"
"I didn't say that." Delia tried to remain as stoic as possible in the face of her son's mounting rage.
"Yeah, but you're probably thinking it!"
"Of course I'm thinking it," she conceded. "If you're still sick, I don't know if I'm really going to be up to letting you go wandering off to wherever it is you're going."
Ash's heart pounded in his chest. If his mother dared to tell him he couldn't leave to look for Pikachu the following morning, he didn't know what he'd do.
Actually—scratch that: yes, he did know.
"I'm leaving no matter what," he ground out, leaning in to her space to buttress his avowal.
He could tell from his mother's hardening expression that he was striking a nerve in her. But instead of being deterred, it fueled him. She believed she'd have the final say in the matter, no doubt there, but she was going to be sorely disappointed to find that wasn't to be. Not only was he not going to go down without a fight, he wasn't going to go down at all.
"We'll see how you are," she concluded squarely.
Ash bristled at her complete disregard of his resolution. "No, we won't."
"Ash! Do you honestly think I'm going to let you leave this house if you're still throwing up?"
"It doesn't matter whether you let me or not!"
Delia's eyes narrowed. "It certainly does! I'm your mother."
"I don't care!"
"Well, tough," she retorted sternly. "Whether you like it or not, if you're not well enough in the morning, you will not be leaving."
Ash's assertion was hardly shaken, but his mother's audacious try at exerting authority still managed to rattle his cage. "Well, if that's the case, I'll just leave in the middle of the night!" he countered. "You can't stop me then!" At first he thought the threat sounded impetuously juvenile, but then in a rush it felt real, inspiring. His nerves buzzed with sudden motivation.
For a charged moment, Delia eyed him. "Don't you dare do that." Although meant to be a word of warning, Ash could hear a tremor of fear in her voice at the notion.
"Then don't you dare tell me I'm not leaving tomorrow to look for Pikachu!" he returned unflinchingly.
"Ash!" Jay cut in again, fixed his son a displeased look that alerted Ash he wasn't satisfactorily "chilling out" as his father had requested. Ash prepared for the rest of the reproach, but Jay left it at just a lingering glare. And again, it presented Delia that much needed second to grasp her bearings and lay into Ash another dose of reasoning.
"Ash, you have to stop with this nonsense that you are the only person who can find Pikachu," she insisted. "Just because you aren't out there doesn't mean the search is off. You know there are other people looking for him—as we speak. We filed a report—the police know. And Professor Oak told all his colleagues—"
"None of that's gonna make a difference, Mom! They're not going to find him!" Ash cried, taking his wrath out on the armrest again. "I'm the only one who'll be able to find him! I'm the only one who knows where to look! Especially if it's Team Rocket!"
"Would you settle down, please?" she appealed as his voice grew more hysterical. "You're going to make yourself sick again!"
"Why? That's what you want—isn't it?"
Exasperated, Delia's head plunged into her palm. "Ash," she moaned, "saying such ridiculous things is not helping the matter."
"No! You know what's not helping the matter, Mom? You are!" Ash was on his feet so fast he slammed into the coffee table and nearly fell. The brusque move certainly got his parents on edge. Delia leapt up on impulse while Jay was finally seized entirely from the TV.
"ASH!" he barked, but he may as well have not been in the room, as Ash didn't grant him even half a second of attention.
"You're the one who's being ridiculous!" he jabbed a livid finger in Delia's direction as his tirade continued. After minutes—no, not minutes, days—of barely tolerating her efforts to suppress his actions, he'd finally had it. "You're the one who wants me to carve stupid jack-o'-lanterns when my pokémon is missing! You're the one who keeps trying to stop me from going out to find Pikachu! All you want me to do is wait, wait, wait! All you want to do is keep me home! You don't want me to find Pikachu!"
"Ash, that's not true—stop it," Delia disputed.
"Yes, it is! Any time I've tried to leave this house you've given me a problem!" he ranted.
"That's because you keep trying to go when you're sick or tired or when it's not safe!"
Her son shook his head heatedly. "No, no! This was before Pikachu went missing, too! When I wanted to leave days ago for my journey, and you stopped me! I wanted to go but I let you convince me to stay! I knew I shouldn't have! And now look what it's gotten me!"
"Quiet! That's enough!" Jay yelled.
But Ash was far from done. He could see his mother's face sagging more and more with grief as all of his feelings, some pent up for what seemed like forever, expelled savagely and bitterly from his mouth.
"If I'd just left days ago when I wanted to none of this would've happened! But no, I stayed and what do you do?! You let Pikachu out and then forget about him! You let him out and went back to bed and he got stolen! All of this is happening because of you! All of this is your fault! IT'S ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!"
"All right, that's it!" Jay jumped from his seat, gesturing furiously at the stairs. "Enough! Either shut your mouth or get upstairs! You're done here!"
Ash's glare, distorted by looming tears, daggered into his father's. "Fine! I'm going to bed, anyway!" he spat.
"You do that!" snarled Jay.
Ash managed one more intense look at his mother, who was stock-still, rendered speechless by his ruthless condemnation, before stamping with purposeful closure toward the stairs. His heart was racing and his temple throbbed from anger, but his chest and mind at last felt clear. Sure, just like that the honeymoon with his dad was unequivocally over, but it was a necessary casualty if it meant getting his mother to understand how he felt. Which, if her stunned gawk was any indication, he was pretty sure he had.
No sooner did he get to his room did he begin to assemble his things, cramming clothes into his bag with furious vigor whilst desperately fighting back a burning urge to sob his eyes out. He knew if he cried as his broken heart desired, he'd throw up again. In spite of his stubbornness, it was the last thing he wanted repeated—the previous two times had been awful enough. He forced himself to slow down, took a deep, unsteady breath, and continued on with his packing.
Retrieving his Pokédex under a mess of magazines and papers on his desk, he froze as he suddenly spied his badge case beside it. His hand hovered over it momentarily before he picked it up and opened it, revealing the five glistening, colorful badges he'd acquired thus far.
The sight was enough to tempt his stomach back to illness. Memories and sorrow flooded his head, and with a sharp crack the case was shut again. For a minute, Ash contemplated tossing it back on his desk, compelled to never want to see it again. But all that did was suggest giving up, and no way was Ash going to surrender to the possibility of Pikachu never helping him earn another badge. Thus, he shoved the case into the front pocket of his bag and zipped it up decisively.
"Ash?"
It wasn't as if he hadn't anticipated company following his pretentious exit, but Misty still succeeded in taking him by surprise, quiet and heedful though her voice was. Indignation refortified, he spun to face his girlfriend, a deep scowl gorging his brow.
"Don't you have pumpkins to carve?" he asked scathingly.
She looked taken aback for a second before her face fell, wounded. "Come on, Ash. What else was I to do?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe help me out a little down there?"
"Ash, I wasn't going to get in the middle of you and your mom's argument," she reasoned, her shoulders dipping.
"Whatever. It doesn't matter," he shrugged sourly, turning his back on her to continue packing. "I handled it fine by myself, anyway."
"You're...you're not really going to leave tonight, are you?" she asked worriedly.
Ash closed the rest of his bulging backpack and flung it carelessly to the floor. "I don't know—maybe! Still thinking about it." The strategy honestly remained enticing, no matter how convincingly he'd put his mother in her place.
"But that's crazy!" Misty exclaimed. "Please don't think about doing that!"
"Why?" he challenged. "So I can stick around tomorrow morning for my mom's inspection? So I can have her tell me whether or not I'm allowed to go and find Pikachu? No thanks!"
"But Ash," Misty persisted, entering the room, "it's just that—"
"Misty, stop," Ash cut her off with a hand in her face, clenching his teeth to try to curb his rekindling infuriation. "I'm done hearing I can't go because I'm sick! I told you, I told everybody, for the last time: I'm fine! I'm leaving! And if that means tonight, then so be it!"
"Please," she beseeched, "it's not that!"
"Then what is it?!" he demanded, his patience wearing implausibly thin.
"Because we don't know what's going on out there, that's why!"
Ash gaped at her desperate face, baffled, before it hit him what she was referring to. Immediately, his eyes narrowed. "Wait...you mean the Blair Witch things?"
Folding her arms around herself, she nodded faintly, obviously feeling anxious to disclose it as much as it was presumably troubling her.
Ash was ready to shoot her down soundly, criticize the inanity of her basis, but something checked his tongue. The peculiar occurrences did still weigh on his mind, but getting past his parents and overcoming his condition had become a much more pressing matter. Had he not been dealing with the crisis, he too would have been consumed with the mystery, finding out who was behind the unamusing practical jokes.
But it wasn't the curiosity of the who-done-it that preyed on Misty—it was fear. She was just as frightened of the movie as she had been from the very start. And while he had to admit the incidents did unsettle him, were far too eerie to be ignored, Ash wasn't prepared for them to be grounds for abandoning his search.
"That's why you don't want me to leave?"
Misty frowned, evidently not finding it as absurd. "That's why I don't want you to leave at night," she clarified adamantly. "I'm afraid of you leaving with...with all this stuff going on!"
Ash was afraid, too...but of something much scarier: not locating Pikachu. In comparison, the rocks and stick-pile were merely additional disturbances.
That wasn't the case with Misty. She was outright terrified, and concerned enough was she with him leaving that she braved confronting him about it in his explosive state. Any other time, Ash would have found it endearing, made his heart swell with affection. Tonight, however, it just served to heighten his intolerance.
"Well, I'm not afraid!" he seethed. "Not enough to keep me home!"
"But we don't know anything about where it's coming from! Doesn't it make you nervous, at all?!"
"Doesn't Pikachu missing make you nervous?" he retaliated incredulously. "Do you even care that he's still gone?!"
"Of course I care!" swore Misty resentfully.
"Then why aren't you packing?" Ash retorted, practically screaming. "Why are you in here begging me not to leave instead of getting your stuff together and HELPING ME?!"
"I will!" she replied, shouting to keep stride. "But I'm not leaving here tonight!"
"Why not? Because you're scared?"
Her break following his allegation was enough of an answer for Ash.
"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed, appalled. "I can't believe you're so scared of something fake that you won't come with me to find Pikachu!"
That had Misty's face turning red quite rapidly. "First of all, it's not fake! You call those things that showed up on the lawn fake? They're real! And second, I told you, I am coming with you! Although right now I'm actually wondering why!"
Ash grunted at that comment. "Then do me a favor and don't."
The look Misty gave him overtly bared her shock and hurt from what he'd replied so offhandedly. Truth be told, he was sort of astonished with it himself. Perhaps he hadn't intended it to come out so coarsely, but that's what she got for inciting him, for trying to impede him with such stupid rationale. He had respected her phobia long enough, but now she was trying to use it as a means to keep him from finding his friend. And that was when she promptly lost his support.
Then again, he couldn't help but feel it was her support that was truly lost.
A heavy silence fell between them, the air dense with friction and discord. Misty continued to stare at him, as if waiting for a retraction of his statement...or merely trying to make sense of him. Either way, she was doing her best to pierce his conscience with her leaden blue eyes. And though Ash did feel an effect, all it was managing to do was uphold his tenacity. He wasn't about to grovel for her pardon or approval...that would come in due time, after Pikachu was found.
He was maintaining his stand, but apparently, she wasn't about to go without one herself. Suddenly, she straightened, arching her shoulders with salvaged poise, and regarded him rigidly.
"I'm going to go and pack now," she said, softly but thickly. He felt his eyes widen in surprise; that wasn't what he expected. Was she actually...changing her tune?
"If you leave tomorrow morning, I'll be up and ready to come with you and help you. If you leave tonight..." She began her way out of the room, but suspended in the doorway to cast him one last solemn glance. "...then good luck, Ash."
Ash didn't know how long he stood there gazing at the empty threshold, or why there was such an interval for him following her exit. Her position had been made crystal clear from the start, and if anyone had a history of sticking by one's guns more than he did, it was her. Only...she had become quite more open and persuadable since they began dating, or at least he'd sworn. They were both passionate about their respective aspirations, but it was she who worked her interests around his desires, from following him on his journey all the way down to what TV channel they tuned to in the evening. She'd always supported him as a best friend should, but in recent months, she'd been increasingly catering, easily swayed...devoted.
So never in a million years would he expect Misty to ditch him when he needed her most, all for something so...delusional.
It was that comprehension that forced him to consider the incidents in a different light for a minute. Because when it came down to it, Misty never was delusional. Maybe Brock was, when he tried to attract women ten years older than him. Maybe Gary was, when he'd aimed to convince Ash all his wins were because of "luck." Misty had her moments, but she was about as pragmatic as they came. Was this just one of those moments, albeit a major one? Orshould he be more alarmed with the goings-on than he was? Misty was scared for Ash's safety. Did that mean Pikachu was in more danger than any of them thought...?
No! he thought emphatically, snapping out of it. Pikachu was in trouble, no doubt, but not with a witch, not with some paranormal-wannabe!
Having his girlfriend's assistance would be nice, sure. But in the end, he didn't need to fight through all the misgivings she was planting in his head just to gain a coalition that was perfunctory at best.
He then reminded himself how he had, if only fleetingly, considered a connection between the incidents and Pikachu's absence right after they'd found the stick bundle.
But Ash shook his head violently. "Stupid!" he mumbled in disgust to himself. It was all coincidence. It had just been a dumb, impulsive thought, nothing more.
He threw a glimpse at his clock. Though dark out, it was barely six o'clock. Maybe going to bed was a bit premature. But like hell if he was going to go downstairs and stupidly toss himself back into that turbulent arena of conflict.
So his decision was more or less made. He'd shower and go to bed and sleep as much as his body allowed. His family wanted him to leave in the morning? All right. Morning began at midnight, did it not? Ash smirked cynically. Being literal could certainly work to his advantage.
Nonetheless, there was one tiny thing he conceded was still an issue: light. Taking a peek out the window had Ash facing an unrelenting reality. The area was too rural to warrant widespread streetlamps, and it so happened to be a developing overcast evening, obscuring the rising moon just enough to be useless. Was he really that prepared to expend all his energy trying to trace Pikachu in this abyss, when it was the daylight hours that would command his utmost focus?
His midnight excursion probably wasn't going to come to pass, he realized lamentably. But they didn't need to know that. Let them stew, he decided. It was only fair; after the torment they had no problem dishing out to him, he should have no reservations giving it back.
His head panged again, and Ash pressed a hand against his brow in a vain effort to alleviate it. It was bothersome, but at least his nausea was apparently gone.
Rest, light...and faith. Those were what he ultimately required. After that, everything else was a mere roadblock, nothing he couldn't and wouldn't power through.
And that included his fair-weather family.
"Sooooooo..." Her hungry grin preyed on him the second he got back to the house. "What happened?"
Well, thank goodness Meowth had made the smart decision to stick around and find out. In retrospect, of course Jessie was going to want to know the outcome of her latest hoax. He didn't want to imagine how she'd react if he hadn't had a report to present.
"He trew up," the cat answered flatly, then braced himself for her inevitable reaction.
Sure enough, Jessie's face illuminated, and the jubilant squeal she unleashed punctured his sensitive ears. "Are you serious?" she clamored. "What else?"
He arched an incredulous brow. "Dat ain't enough for ya?!"
"Come on, Meowth!"
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Meowth waltzed over to the blanket he'd been using as a bed and plopped down. He exchanged a quick, mutually-weary look with James, who was in the process of putting their supplies together, and sighed.
"Da goil ran in da house screamin', the muddah and faddah started yammerin' and hollerin' at each other about what t'do wit da ting..." His recap was nothing more than a haggard drawl, because that's genuinely how he felt about it. The twerp vomiting was an eye-widening surprise, Meowth had to admit that, but everything else was predictable and, quite frankly, it was old.
His partner didn't exactly share his opinion, though. "Ahahaha, yes!" she exalted and clapped triumphantly. "Oh, if only I'd been there to see it myself! Well done, Meowth!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he dismissed the accolade. He was just glad it was over and done with and they could now focus on the imperative. "So, when are we leavin'?"
"Keep your fur on, we'll be out of here soon. Tell me what else happened." Still beaming, high on victory, she sure was hankering for the unabridged version.
"Whaddah ya mean?" Meowth shrugged. "Dat's it!"
Her radiant expression dimmed slightly, but she accepted it. "Oh. Well, I guess that is enough. I can't complain, can I? They're all still falling for it! And the brat threw up?! I can't believe it! Doesn't get better than that!"
Meowth diverted his gaze away, hoping to shield from her the fact that he didn't quite concur. Truthfully, seeing the boy upchuck after discovering Jessie's craft didn't exactly amuse him—it...distressed him. Much the same way Pikachu's appearance was swiftly grasping at his empathy, clashing with the integrity that still lingered deep within his corrupted heart. Even in separation, the pair maintained an incredibly stanch connection: they were two indisposed spectacles, two afflicted souls made miserable by the same source. A source Meowth was starting to find himself, scandalously so, uncomfortable with.
It didn't mean he was leaning towards returning Pikachu to Ash—no, it would take nothing short of lunacy to result in that. But getting ailing Pikachu to the boss and Meowth away from the awkward torment the twerps were experiencing? That couldn't come fast enough. Out of sight, out of mind.
"All right, Jessie, Meowth's back," James said, the edginess in his tone not exactly subtle. "We have to start thinking about leaving—now."
Jessie nodded. "Right, right, I know," she replied breezily. Still: "Can't a girl have a few moments to bask in her accomplishment?"
"Bask in it on da way t'headquarters," Meowth growled.
He received a look for that, but it seemed like no sour attitude was going to tamper Jessie's mood—her smile stubbornly coexisted with her stink-eye.
"I plan on it."
"We still haven't figured out how we're transporting Pikachu," James reminded.
Jessie's lips pursed, finally containing her gleeful expression. While she didn't view her ongoing recreation a setback like her partners did, the thorny situation of physically getting Pikachu to headquarters was. It wouldn't have posed as much of an issue if Pikachu hadn't gone and gotten pathetically sick, curse the stupid rat. Jessie still couldn't figure out what the reason was for his illness, but that was hardly her concern now. Getting Pikachu to the boss in the most concealed and effortless way, while ensuring he didn't get sicker, was her current dilemma.
"We can't cart that crate around," continued James, gesturing to it. Otherwise motionless, Pikachu's ears pricked weakly at the attention. "It's far too heavy."
"I know it is," agreed Jessie testily. It was a shame they couldn't just chuck the thing into their balloon and take off. There was too much risk of the authorities monitoring anything suspicious in the area to go that route.
Traveling by foot had become their only option. When it came down to it, Jessie felt compelled to simply stuff Pikachu back into the black, electric-proof sack they'd brought him to the house in. But the mouse was much too frail to endure such a rough ride; besides, the sack was never intended to be a long-term vessel. And while Pikachu didn't appear able-bodied enough to escape when they would unavoidably have to break to give him fresh air and water, who knew what would come over the pokémon if given the slimmest opportunity?
Pondering all of this made Jessie agitated. Thinking up elements from the horror movie to harass the twerps with had been so much easier! If only that was her solitary task at the moment. Pikachu was almost starting to feel like a burden, as opposed to their ticket to finally achieving noteworthy status in the organization.
As such, her mind threatened to drift, but she tried her best to pay attention to the far more vital discussion carrying on between Meowth and James.
"You sure we don't have any smaller cages?"
James shook his head forlornly. "We do, but none electric-proof."
"Ya tink he still has da energy t'shock, dough?"
"Would you like to find out?" James challenged.
Damn the twerps for destroying all the shock-retardant smaller cages they used to have. Even when they weren't directly retaliating, the kids still managed to hamper their heists. Jessie suddenly felt extra delighted over the effect her latest scheme had on Ash. Was anything ever more fantastically justified? Her stomach fluttered with residual jollity and eagerness. Oh, did she ever yearn to get in one last prank...
"Ya know what would be nice?" Meowth said longingly after a period of pensive silence. "A car."
The idea was so intoxicating that a lopsided grin broke through James' chafed facade. "A car would be wonderful."
"We'd be ta headquarters in no time!"
"We'd fly right under the radar!"
"No kiddin'! You tink we could swipe one somewhere?"
Jessie perked. She felt keen to do just that. And swing by the twerps' residence to plant a new prop along the way...
James' excitement quickly deflated. "All the cars have those blasted alarms now," he pointed out. "The last thing we should do is draw any attention to ourselves."
Meowth scowled intensely at yet another proposal quashed. "Well, den, whaddah ya suggest we do?!" he demanded impatiently. "Huh? We gotta tink of somethin'! It ain't like dere's some special Pokéball to trap Pikachu in that's gonna magically solve all our problems!"
Impassive to his ire, James sighed. "Even if there was a special Pokéball, I doubt we'd be entrusted with it."
Jessie huffed under her breath. James was probably right. While the materials division had certainly equipped them throughout the years with helpful tools and provisions, their consistent failure to use these productively (in addition to their success in, well, ruining them) resulted in fewer allowances of exclusive gadgets. Yet their expectations remained the same. It was enough to send a hasty bitter chill through Jessie. They were supposed to deliver Pikachu, but with lesser accommodating devices? It just wasn't right. It was downright unfair. Sometimes she really felt upper management owed them.
That was when it hit her. Overtook her, more like it. So bowled over was she with this precipitous idea that her head practically spun. What the heck were they doing?
"Oh, for goodness sakes, listen to you two!" Jessie exclaimed. "You're coming up with these ridiculous, imaginary methods to get Pikachu out of here! Obviously you aren't considering the one painfully straightforward solution to all this!"
James and Meowth, startled by her interruption, gaped at her expectantly.
"Why are we driving ourselves crazy wondering how to get Pikachu to headquarters," she presented, "when it would be so much more sensible to have headquarters come to us?"
"...What do you mean?" James blinked, his tone elevating with prospect.
"It's simple. We contact headquarters. Tell them our situation, our predicament. Request backup. Once they hear we have Pikachu in our custody, and that it's in dire need of medical assistance, they're bound to come and retrieve it right away!"
For a beat, her two partners just stared, processing her out-of-the-blue pitch. Jessie felt her chest puff up proudly, the brilliance of her plan taking hold of her more powerfully by the second. Although, she wondered what it was that was actually stirring her more: the fact that she had just come up with a perfectly workable, expedient way to get Pikachu to the boss...or that she had just bought herself more time to prolong her fun—reasonably.
Instead of mutual enthusiasm or kudos for her aptitude, however, she was suddenly met with a furious pair of feline eyes. "Are you kiddin' me?!" Meowth exploded. "You come up with that now? Just like dat? Where was dis idea two days ago?"
Jessie glared back. "Where was it from you two days ago?" she retorted defensively. "How about giving me some credit here for finally figured out what the hell we should do?!"
"How is that going to work, though, Jessie?" James was much more unruffled than Meowth, most likely due to the fact that he accepted a solution was a solution, but there was still doubt clouding his eyes. "How are we going to contact headquarters? We have no phone!"
"We're going to find a payphone, that's all."
"Dat's all!" echoed Meowth outrageously. "You act like dey're all ovah da place! In case ya didn't notice, we're in da middle of the country! Dere are no payphones!"
"There are near town," Jessie assessed.
James frowned. "But Jessie—you're saying we're going to sneak all the way into town to make a phone call?"
"Not we—me," she corrected. Without another word, she skipped eagerly to her belongings and began to sift through her bag, much to the sustained dazedness of her cohorts.
"B-but..." James stammered, virtually in dread, "what are we going to do?"
"Watch Pikachu, of course." Jessie clumsily extracted some street-clothes from the bag, shaking them vigorously to ease out the severe folds and wrinkles that distorted them from being stuffed away for such an extended time. "I won't be long."
"Are you sure dis is even gonna woik?" Meowth cried distrustfully. "How do you know dey're just gonna send us help? We ain't exactly dere favorite agents, ya know!"
"Yes, but we have in our possession one of their most sought-after subjects," she reasoned, eying him firmly. "And we need assistance. They don't need to know how long we've had Pikachu. We could say the damn thing got sick overnight and we weren't able to travel with it. I'm sure they'll be more than willing to send backup."
She wasn't exactly pulling this theory from nowhere. In fact, Jessie was pretty certain what she spoke was nothing short of the truth. After years of financing their mission to capture the blasted mouse, Jessie was fairly confident the boss would want to bring this period to a close as swiftly as possible.
"No one will notice me, I promise," she assured as she changed into her one pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. So infrequently did she wear them, the clothes felt alien to her —not to mention loose. She'd clearly lost weight since the last time she'd donned them, which wasn't exactly a good thing. "I'll probably be gone no more than two hours. I'll take the back roads and use the first phone I see.
"Trust me on this one," Jessie concluded softly and with aplomb as she took in James and Meowth's still tentative faces. They were tired and despondent—she got that. But the truth of the matter was that she had a viable plan; they did not. They had no choice but to go along with her...and was she ever going to take full advantage of that.
"This is our last resort, and it'll work out. It'll all be over tonight. Or tomorrow morning, at least." She cringed good-naturedly.
"But we won't have to worry about transporting Pikachu, and we don't have to worry about being spotted!" she added positively, wedging her long, bounteous hair beneath a grungy baseball cap.
James and Meowth still had nothing to offer as she gathered a backpack to swing around her shoulders, completing the look she desired of a traveling trainer. She reached over to the breakfront in the corner and grabbed one of their walkie-talkies, then held it up to show them with a reassuring smile.
"I'll be in touch, okay?"
For a while, she added to herself mischievously, biting her tongue harshly to contain the smirk that would be sure to give her side mission away. Her hold tightened on the device, energy crackling in her nerves at the thought of how handy it was about to become. For a short time there, it seemed as though no break was going to present itself for her to execute her final endeavor. How fortunate was she that she was actually going to get the chance, and how tremendous was it that it was all due to her flawless, if fortuitous, arrangement?
They must have at last resigned themselves to her proposition, because Meowth ambled forward, all traces of annoyance seemingly replaced with depleted capitulation.
"You want me to come witcha?"
She shook her head. Ohhhh, no, I don't, she laughed internally. "No, I'll be fine. I have my pokémon. Not to mention an uncanny flair for going incognito, despite my irresistible beauty." She winked impishly but assertively, tipping her hat.
James made an effort to match her cheerfulness, but his features remained too burdened with anxiousness. "Please...just be careful," he beseeched her inaudibly.
His plainspoken concern briefly clutched at her gut, made her feel guilty for hiding a second agenda within her masterful plan. But she quickly reminded herself how logical her approach was, how it was ultimately going to allow everything to work out beautifully, how it was going to make everyone satisfied...how superlative it truly was. And just like that, her strong-mindedness was wholly restored.
"I will," she pledged.
As Jessie made her way out of the room, the worn, aged floorboards creaking under her animated stride, she cast one more glance at the enfeebled electric mouse. Despite his appearance, she couldn't help feel especially uplifted. Plaguing the twerps to the point of sheer terror was a victory in and of itself, but to have Pikachu on top of it? Three long years of this crusade might have posed its munificent share of anguish, but it sure was going to end on the highest and sweetest of notes.
If this affair proved nothing else, it was that nice guys indeed finished last. Jessie grinned wickedly, wondered why anyone would ever want to be one to begin with.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Thank you for reading! Comments and/or constructive criticism are deeply appreciated. :)