Every day is a struggle. It's not your classic struggle to survive; it's a struggle of self-identification. I have to constantly remind myself of who I am and what my purpose is. In an attempt to make something of yourself, you tend to lose who you are – or the person whose intentions were once good. It's pathetic, I know.
People are easily corruptible. Sex, money, power – people often use one to get another, and it becomes an endless cycle. You want more for some reason, and you'll do anything for it. But in the end, it means nothing.
I don't understand people. I really don't.
...
Age: Fourteen, possibly fifteen.
Chapter Two
It was time to panic. Lane quickly turned around, dropping the curtain and letting it flap with nature, eyes wide. There, standing next to his friends who were also looking at the source of the screeching voice, was a snarling creature. Its eyes were narrowed into slits of fury, and long claws–okay, nails–were clenched into fists that rested next to powerful thighs disguised underneath the friendly facade of floral print.
The creature shouted, "You come here right now!"
"But Mom!" whined Lane, stamping his foot. "I saw–"
"Now, young man!"
A weird noise, a mixture between a growl and whimper, escaped Lane's mouth as he moved forward toward the fence, kicking down gnarled weeds with his head bowed down.
"Busted," snickered Francis as Lane exited the old inn's yard.
Lane Eldritch's mom, a usually pleasant woman, was furious, her hands on the waist of her skirt. In between her fingers was a plastic shopping bag filled with groceries. "Well?" she demanded.
"Well ..." her son murmured back, trailing off, eyes still cast toward the floor. Dry, chewed up pieces of gum littered the ground almost decoratively.
"Look at me, Lane."
Meek blue met mad blue.
"... Francis said if I went inside, I'd get all his dragon pokémon cards!" Lane blurted out after his mom stared him down for a few seconds. There was something about his mom's stare that could make him say anything. The smaller boy averted his gaze from the bigger boy. He felt cold daggers coming his way.
"If Francis told you to jump off a bridge, would you?" his mother retorted.
Would he got pokémon cards if he did? Was there water under the bridge? Were they at a water park? Lane loved water parks.
Lane's mother took notice of Lane's dazed state. "Lane Adam Eldritch!" Uh oh. The middle name. "Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Mom," he grumbled.
She didn't believe him. "You're coming home. Say goodbye to your friends." She grabbed Lane by the upper arm and pulling him with her, high heels clicking on pavement. "And don't think your dad isn't going to hear about this."
Lane looked back toward his friends in horror and abject confusion, reluctantly following his mom across town. His friends' faces responded: shock and smirking satisfaction.
Did he mention how much he hated Francis's dare?
. . .
His name is Lance.
No, forget Lane! Lane is gone! Lane and his big ears and short legs are not on this world! Lane, who is grounded and had all his video games taken away for a week for apparently intruding on "sacred ground" (whatever that means), is no more! He is Lance now, the greatest dragon pokémon tamer in all of Kanto–no, the entire world!
Lane tied a blanket around his neck and bounced on his bed, making springs groan and creak with each bounce. He jumped off, landing gracefully on the shaggy, white carpet, and pointed up, yelling, "Use Dragon Rage, Dragonite!" before dropping to the floor and rolling around.
There was a time once where Lane's mom asked about her son's infatuation with dragons and Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world!–and why he didn't look up to ... closer pokémon idols like, let's say, Cynthia, who was in the region and could be easily seen at a local event (and to be fair, Lane's mom was somewhat bitter about Lane's birthday present and the expensive train ticket which connected Sinnoh to Kanto where Lane's almighty god in his sweet, sweet mortal flesh was, and Lane just had to see him because MOM, HE'S BRINGING ALL THREE, YES THREE, DRAGONITE), and his response, filled with gasps and looks of horror was this: Cynthia's a GIRL, Mom! Besides, there are a multitude of reasons why Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world!–is better than Cynthia. Lance, on his time off, fought bad guys. Literally, he kicked them out of the way. Awesome. Cynthia, on the other hand, researched myths. Pfft! Oh, and she didn't wear a cape. Lame.
"Are you not going to talk to him?" whispered Lane's mom as she watched her boy.
"About why he was rolling on the floor or–"
The sly remark was returned with a light punch on a shoulder and a small smile as Mrs. Eldritch stepped back a bit to look her husband in the eye. A jolly man but tough, muscles barely contained by the sleeves of his shirt, though he was starting to get a little chubby around the belly. He returned his wife's affection with a laugh.
"Come off it, Alyson," he said quietly, regaining composure, his face basked in the slim, golden light coming out of Lane's bedroom. "It wasn't that big of a deal. Kids go in there all the time."
"Eldritch, he tried to climb through the window! This wasn't just a run to the door, knock, then run back sort of thing! He really was trying to go in! He could have gotten hurt! What if he got inside but couldn't get out? No one would know where he was!"
"He was with friends," Eldritch argued. He gently pulled his wife away into the shadows of the narrow hallway. "He would have been fine. He's a growing boy, Aly. He's going to get into trouble."
A cluck made its way out of Alyson's mouth. "I'm all for boys being boys but not when it could seriously hurt him. I was lucky that I was in that area to stop him."
"Relax, Aly. You've got to let him go sometimes. In two years' time–"
"Don't," she interrupted, wincing. She looked toward Lane's partially open door. "Just don't."
"You know how bad he wants to be one."
"I know he does. And we both know I'm going to let him become a trainer once he does get his trainer's license. But I'd rather not think about it ... not until I absolutely have to."
The muscular man put his hands behind his neck and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I suppose." He paused, head still pointed up but eyes pointed down toward his wife. "You want me to talk to him?"
She nodded.
"About?"
"Just ... talk to him, really. Get him ready for bed, too. It's late."
Eldritch put his hand on Alyson's shoulder and lightly squeezed it before brushing past her toward his kid's room where a bouncing Lane – or Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world!–pulled the pillow off his bed and threw it toward the wall, cackling like a witch.
Lane turned toward the door as soon as Eldritch entered. "Who dare enters the great lair of Lance, the greatest dragon tamer of the world!" boomed Lane, a frightening creature clad in blue, cotton pajamas as he outstretched an arm that held a marble pokéball.
"I do! Prepare yourself!" proclaimed his father as he ran into the room, scooped up the pillow, and dashed toward a giggling Lane. Eldritch tackled into Lane with the pillow before picking him up and playfully (but carefully he would say to Alyson) threw him onto the bed. Lane growled and hopped onto his feet, but his father had other plans. He sat on the edge of the bed, making it groan from all the weight, and patted the space next to him. A shy Lane emerged from caped shoulders and marble-clutched hands and sat next to his father, legs swinging across the side. He knew why his father was here.
"It wasn't my fault," the boy remarked after a few seconds of silence. He bowed his head, avoiding his father's gaze by staring at his bed covers. "Francis said if I went inside, he'd give me all his dragon pokémon cards."
His father nodded.
"And I had to go in, Dad!"
"Had to?"
"Well ..." Lane fumbled with his words, fidgeting with the marble between his fingers. "Yeah! It was the only way Francis would give me his card!"
"And what is so special about this card?" asked Eldritch, ruffling Lane's hair with an affectionate palm.
Lane's nose scrunched up from the action. "Dragon pokémon are the best!" he proclaimed, swatting his father's hand away. "Real trainers are dragon pokémon tamers!"
A sly smile formed on Eldritch's face. "Real men are sailors."
"Daaad ..." the boy whined. Lane, for as long as he could remember, was often told that by his father. He had no idea why. Sailors didn't wear capes after all. "Dragon pokémon are awesome! They're so strong, and they look so cool!"
"Don't go judging a book by its cover, Lane." At this, Eldritch dug around his pocket and pulled out a pokémon card bent at the corners. "Strength can come in all shapes and sizes."
Lane eagerly took the card in his hands, but his smile soon dropped when he realized it was the castform card from earlier.
"I found those in your jeans when you threw them in the hamper."
"Oh," quietly replied Lane, fixing the bent corner of the card before stretching over and placing it on his nightstand. The friendly, big eyes of the castform stared up toward the ceiling. "Can you keep a secret, Dad?"
"Hmm?" Eldritch quickly snapped his head toward his son. Lane was beaming, his eyes shining in the light of his lamp. He wrapped an arm around Lane's shoulders and pulled him in comfortingly.
Lane looked at the door, then at his dad, then at the door again, eyes wide with excitement. "Well," he began in a low voice, "I saw something in Harbor Inn today."
Bugs? A bidoof? Another small smile made its way to his face as Eldritch asked, "What?"
"Eyes!"
Eldritch looked at Lane, a bit bewildered. "Eyes?" he repeated. "What do you mean by that?"
Lane nodded eagerly. "In the Inn, Dad! They were blue! I was going to check it out"–he grumbled–"until Mom stopped me."
If Lane noticed the flash of worry that crossed his dad's face, it quickly disappeared. Eldritch gave his son's hair another ruffle. "Must have been an exciting day."
"It was, Dad!" The boy bounced up and down on his bed, ruffling his sheets. "I wish stupid Francis gave me the card, though."
A small chuckle made its way through Eldritch's lips as he reached over and untied the blanket around Lane's shoulders, draping it across the bed. "Well, you can't have it your way all the time." He looked at the pokéball-shaped alarm clock on Lane's nightstand. Glaring red lights told him it was forty-six minutes past eight. "All right, kid. Time for bed."
An annoying whine but Eldritch expected it. "It's too early!"
"Bed," his old man repeated in a firmer tone. "You still have school tomorrow and that big spelling test." Eldritch stood up and walked around Lane, peeling back his comforter and looking down. Water pokémon on his son's bedsheets looked back at him. "Get in."
Begrudgingly, Lane obeyed, crawling, back arched, toward his pillows. He flopped onto his belly, muffling his whines before rolling onto his back, kicking the comforter back with socked feet. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked as he slipped into his sheets, resting his head against the pillows.
His father pulled the comforter back. "About the eyes?"
Lane nodded.
"Of course, Lane. Now night."
"G'night, Dad!" The boy snuggled into his sheets and turned toward the wall.
Taking a final glance at his son's back, Eldritch strolled across the room toward the door and flicked off the switch. The light of the street posts leaked through the blinds covering Lane's bedroom window, leaving a striped pattern of gold and shadow on his small frame. He heard Lane squirm, the bed creaking, but this wasn't uncommon; when awake, the kid was a ball of energy. The door creaked as he opened it (Eldritch made a mental note to take a look at that tomorrow) and exited, leaving the door open a bit as another source of light for Lane. As much as Lane protested that he wasn't afraid of the dark, the boy couldn't sleep without his door being slightly ajar.
Sailors liked to talk. A lot. Mostly about nothing. How was the trip? I heard it was stormy in Hoenn a few days ago; you make it back all right? How are the kids? Johnny got in trouble again, huh? When do you ship out again? Did you get some? Some what – oh! Heh. Maybe. But no one likes to hear about that. When sailors talk, the only thing people remember are the epic tales. That and hearty language. Stereotypes. Oh well.
Eyes. Eldritch took a few steps away from his son's room before pressing his back against the hallway's wall, filing through stories he retained in his head throughout the years. Eyes and the Inn. It sounded familiar. Some say the Inn is haunted. Any attempts to renovate were stopped due to some mishap. Or maybe no one cared. Something like that. They were tales, the sailor reminded himself. Talk. That was all it was. Exaggerated talk. But eyes? Just eyes? What the hell did that mean?
"Eldritch? You okay?" With her arms wrapped around a basket of laundry, Alyson stopped in front of her husband and stared at him worriedly.
You should tell her. No. Aly wouldn't believe such crap. "Nothing," sheepishly replied Eldritch. "Just lost in my thoughts."
Alyson nodded, shifting her head to look at Lane's bedroom door. "Did you put him to bed?"
"I did."
"Good." She thrust the basket of laundry into the surprised arms of her husband. "Now come. I need help with the laundry." She heard him mutter something incoherent.
They walked past Lane's room, and Alyson couldn't help but peer inside. She watched him wiggle like a worm on a wet sidewalk, tossing about before he turned toward the door, the hallway light enveloping his face in a warm glow. It startled her how startled he looked.
She knew he was still mad at her, and the last thing he wanted was her getting cuddly and kissy all over his precious face. Still, she couldn't help but let it out: "I love you, Lane. Sweet dreams."
The boy smiled. "Night, Mom." Lane was getting older and therefore was embarrassed in saying the "L" word back to dear momma. One day he would say it again. She kept those thoughts nestled in the back of her mind.
It was now fifty seven minutes past eight, and Lane still couldn't sleep. He settled on his left side, staring out the window. Through the blinds he made out the night sky. Stars winked back at him. No moon. Maybe there was a moon somewhere. He couldn't see it.
With one fidgety leg, Lane decided to kick a socked foot toward the wall, making loud thumping noises that traveled down the quiet hallway toward the living room where the married couple sat. That'll teach them. What, exactly, he didn't know.
Thump, thump, thump!
"Do you have work tomorrow?" asked Alyson. She reached over and pulled a t-shirt from the basket.
"The docks," Eldritch answered. "I should be home for dinner tomorrow."
Thump, thump! Eight fifty-eight.
"That's good."
Unlike his wife, Eldritch carelessly folded a pair of his son's jeans and haphazardly threw them toward the floor. He shrugged at the glare his wife gave him and reached for the remote control resting on the coffee table. His wife stopped him.
"Wait," she said over more thumps. "Not until he falls asleep."
Thump!
"Oh, who knows how long that will be. He seems restless tonight," Eldritch argued. Nevertheless, he sat back, leaving the remote where it was.
Thump ... thump ...
Alyson clicked her tongue. "That boy has too much energy. I wish he'd be a little quieter."
Thump ... Eight fifty-nine.
"Yeah, well ..." Eldritch shrugged again.
There was silence for quite some time as folding continued. The coo-coo clock rang nine times, the tiny spearow figurine popping in and out of its wooden confinement. The thumps ceased. Lane had fallen asleep and the television was turned on.
Last revised: April 26, 2011