I guess she's amusing in a train wreck sort of way. You probably shouldn't stare but you end up staring anyway just to see if more chaos ensues. She captures my attention so quickly, and I feel so stupid, so weak, for giving in like some trained puppy. She is pointless distraction. I don't like it. It scares me – no. I don't get scared. I don't get angry, or upset, or ... anything. That is pointless, too.

She's still at it. She's still trying to understand me. I don't like when people try to justify things, research it more than needed, and make ludicrous hypotheses. Things happen. That's it. You'll never understand the situation more than skin deep. Nothing good comes from prying into territory where you are obviously not wanted. Its anti-researcher, I know. You don't have to tell me. You don't have to go, "You're not doing your job."

If she wants to get hurt, fine. I'm not apologizing for it.

...

Details:
- hat: white
- hair clips: gold/yellow
- scarf: red
- skirt: pink, slightly ruffled
- shirt: black and sleeveless

Chapter Five

Betray not your anger, lest ? will come.
Weep not with sorrow, or ? will draw near.
When joy and enjoyment come natural as the air, that is happiness.
Let such be blessed by the hand of Master ?.

She commented, "Pretty," before turning toward her notebook and writing down – why was he paying attention to her? "What do you think, Lucas?" she asked thoughtfully. She brushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek and smiled. "It's about mesprit."

"I think you're wasting time reading that useless crap," he muttered, casting his eyes down to stare at his notebook. He made motions with his left hand and watched his shadows dance on the lined paper.

Dawn ignored the comment. "It's part of the trio – the lake guardians. It sleeps at Lake Verity. I saw its shadow once."

Lucas didn't reply.

"It's known as the 'being of emotion."

"Uh huh."

Dawn smiled. Pip jumped onto the table and knocked her pencil out of her hand to nuzzle her palm. She petted him, ruffling the feathers on his head.

Lucas shifted his eyes to the side, taking a peek at the girl's notebook. She wrote down terminology, the estimated height and weight of mesprit, and its physical details next to a picture of a gray blob with two dots for eyes and a u-shaped smile. It had a long, skinny tail. Happy sperm? he thought amusedly. He looked toward his notebook. He doodled a hypno, somewhat realistic, somewhat cartoonish. It was hypnotizing itself and was stumbling around.

"If I weren't so adamant about you following in my footsteps, boy, I would say you would have done well as a cartoonist," he remembered Rowan telling him. "Honestly, though, Lucas. You need to get serious; doodles do not belong in a report."

Why was he clenching his pencil, his teeth? Why did his nose scrunch slightly? Why did that make him so upset all of a sudden? "I ... We should call it a day," Lucas murmured, slamming shut the status book in front of him, making Dawn and Pip flinch in surprise. He placed it on top of the huge pile of books he collected and pushed the stack toward the edge of the table. "I think we should wait until tomorrow and ask Lane's parents about the day before he went into his ... dormancy state."

"You mean sleeping?"

"We're not sure if it's sleeping per say."

"But it's just ... sleeping, isn't it?"

Take your notebook and go home, he thought. And he did. He grabbed his notebook with his left hand, stood up, and swung his backpack over his right shoulder. Dawn still had that myths book open, fingers lightly resting on its thin pages with Pip on the opposite side of the book, peering down at it, head cocked to the side. "Meet me at the hospital tomorrow if you want to continue this little 'research project' of yours. I'm going home."

He heard Dawn make noises projected from the back of her throat as she quickly swiped the myths book with one hand and Pip in the other. That didn't stop him from walking toward the staircase. It had been a long day of doodling, and reading information that he could easily look up in his own data collection, and sitting, and writing things that had nothing to do with why he was here, and much, much more (including shipping & handling). Oh, and eating smashed crackers that he had found at the bottom of his backpack. Can't forget that.

He heard his stomach grumble. He should probably get something to eat before heading–

"Hey! You wanna go out to dinner?"

She asked it so coyly, so sweetly, so quietly that it startled Lucas into stopping just to make sure he heard right. It was uncharacteristic of her, being quiet. He turned his head slightly, eyes on the peripherals so he could look at her. He watched as she returned her piplup to his ball and grabbed her bag by the handles. That myths book was still pressed against her chest. Was she blushing or was that a trick of the library lights?

"Dinner?"

She stepped forward–dainty steps like she walked on the balls of her feet–and nodded. "Yeah, you know, the meal that we eat when it is around this time of day?" She gestured toward the window with a nudge of her head. It wasn't too dark but it wasn't light either, a mix of pinks and purples – a nighttime canvas only seen in cliché cowboy movies.

"My treat," she added. "We haven't eaten since breakfast or lunch or whatever we had this morning, and, well, I'd like to catch up. You've gotten so busy since you won the league. I mean, you have all these events you have to attend, and the paperwork, and Rowan has been pushing us to finish our theses ... well, I barely get to see you. I don't know. I ..."

He didn't know why she trailed off like that and turned her head when he gave her his full attention. "I'd just like to be friends again," Dawn continued, staring at the floorboards. "I'm not sure if we were friends to begin with, but I'd like to change that. What do you say?"

He was about to say no, tell her that he had things to do, people to see, paperwork to fill out, any excuse he could muster, and they could go out tomorrow–maybe, if she was lucky–but her eyes suddenly snapped up toward his and quickly swept back and forth, reading his face. And like that, a light hope disappeared into heavy disappointment.

Oh, hell. He was going to regret this. "Sure, Dawn."

"Great!" Dawn grabbed at his wrist and pulled him toward the staircase excitedly. "There's this cute little seaside café nearby that I just love, and I think you'll like it too! We can talk about what you've been up to – oh! I have so much to tell you about what's been going on in Rowan's lab! And ..."

Yep, he thought, as Dawn made him half walk, half run down the stairs in an awkward galloping motion while she chattered away. He was definitely going to regret it.

. . .

Lane heard gasps, sharp and short. Julie had him pinned down by the arms, and the ends of her pigtails, draped into his face. He sputtered, he coughed, he gagged, he huffed, but the hair fell all over his nose and mouth. So he let the strands lay there, trying not to move his face so it wouldn't tickle him further.

One of his arms was released in order for Julie to point ahead. "Who's that?" she asked. "He's a cutie."

Lane figured she was talking about Squish despite not being to see him, so he stated the castform's name. "I like him," was what he heard. The weight was lifted off him, and she crawled over him toward Squish. There was a weird squelching noise, followed by Squish's squeals. Lane remained flat on his back, still catching his breath.

"I'm Julie!"

"I'm Squish!" replied Squish happily.

Julie walked over toward Lane with Squish–who was a shade of coral red though retained his regular castform shape–floating above her left shoulder. "Come on, Lane!" she said. "You need to help us with this game to keep the train going!"

He walked toward Julie. He stood in front of a square machine with glass windows. One, two, three, four ... multiply by five. There were twenty-five of them, he counted, and each window had a picture of a different water pokémon.

"The train is running on water, see?"

He looked down. Below his feet was the ocean, flat as glass, and they were rushing past it – or were they in it? Is that what she meant by "running on water?" Or did the train use water as energy?

Squish hopped from Julie's shoulder to his and bopped a glass window adorned with a picture of a wingull. The window lit up and went through several colors that traveled to the other windows. They all settled on a shade of gold. Lane followed suit, pressing another wingull window, and it squealed like a bidoof, leaked green ooze onto his fingers, and flickered through different hues of purple.

"Yeah, ooze comes out if you press the wrong one. It's the pollution of the train," answered Julie as Lane gagged and wiped the liquid onto his jeans, leaving a green streak across his thigh.

"What are we supposed to do then?"

Julie giggled. "It's simple." She stepped forward and, with her index finger stretched out, connected a picture of a piplup to a magikarp. A trail of white dots followed, encasing each window in the same light, and they remained that way amongst the flickering purple tiles. "Get it?"

He did. Using his index and middle finger, his thumb tucked underneath his other fingers, Lane dragged his hand across the glass windows, lighting up a picture of a luvdisc, quagsire, and psyduck. Alarms rang and a beacon on the top of the machine flashed red.

DING DING DING! Free wailmer bonus!

. . .

Cynthia once told him that he was a cute but socially awkward creature who needed to work on his conversation skills. It was mostly because the poor kid could barely keep a conversation going past five lines with anyone, let alone strangers, but it, somehow, also maintained the "down-to-earth" persona the Sinnoh League wanted their champions to perceive. By constantly re-telling your story, you remain humble ... in theory, anyway.

"I want you to remember your roots, the journey you took, the difficulties you went through," she told him. "This is what will make other trainers relate to you while also keeping your feet firm on the ground. It is difficult to relate to a champion who thinks too highly of himself, who thinks he is better than everyone around him." That always confused him. Surely if he won the pokémon league, that would make him better than everyone around him, wouldn't it? Trainer-wise, at least.

"Kids are going to look up to you whether you like it or not," she continued, "and knowing your history ..." She hesitated when he glared at her. "My point, Lucas, is from here on out, you're not some regular kid. I'm not saying you have to change yourself entirely – that's the last thing I want. Just ... be careful. You're a role model now."

He didn't know. There was something really odd about an eight year-old running up to him to ask for his autograph. His reign as Sinnoh's latest champion was coming up on its six month birthday–or anniversary, or whatever–and by now he figured he would be used to the publicity, but he wasn't. He still had that stantler-caught-in-the-headlights look. Were they talking to him when asking about his life as a trainer? Did they want him to take the picture or be in the picture? It was like winning the lottery and not knowing what to do. It was that moment you realized you were wandering around town naked. Something like that.

"What a sweetie," said Dawn with a smile, dipping a fry into her ketchup before biting the tip with her front teeth. She chewed it thoughtfully. "It must be strange getting asked for autographs, huh?"

Yes.

"No," he lied.

"That's great. I'm glad you're getting used to it." She giggled, the edges of her eyes creasing as her smile widened.

"I guess." He stared at his half-eaten burger.

Luckily–or unluckily, depending on how pessimistic Lucas felt like being–Dawn took control of the conversation and barely waited for his "yes," "no," or "I guess" responses. She somehow managed to weave a story out of those four simple words. Somehow those words triggered a memory, made her ask a question, made her respond. Why couldn't he do that?

"So really," Dawn rested her chin on the ball of her fist and leaned forward, "what is it like to be champion?"

Great. He couldn't respond with his three answers. "It's ..." He paused, thinking. What was it like to be champion? It was kind of like that one feeling you get when people hype up a movie, and you watch it, but it turns out to be not so great. Everything is amazing at first–you get invited to all the parties and sometimes get free stuff–but everyone tries to get all up in your business. It was like barely coming to grips about wandering around town naked before being asked whyyou were wandering around town naked.

She looked at him funny after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"It's okay," he finally muttered.

"Oh." She simply nodded and stirred a fry in her ketchup. "Personally, I'd love the attention."

Of course.

"I'd use it to bring attention to issues I'm concerned about."

Uh huh. He had many conversations like this. The "what if?" scenario that previous champions warned him about. It reminded Lucas of the questionnaire portion of beauty contests. What cause are you behind? What is your biggest regret? What is your greatest desire? What would you do if you were the winner of the pokémon league? They were nothing more than questions with fake answers that sounded good out loud but were unattainable in real life.

It made him think. A fourteen year-old should never be handed that much power. Once you have it, you don't know what to do with it or you end up wanting more of it. And once you get more power, then what? He hadn't really done anything with his supposed power. He was kind of apathetic toward it; the fame wasn't what he wanted. He wasn't eccentric like the others, didn't use his power to fulfill outside goals. He knew it should be something he should take advantage of–good things don't last forever–but there was this voice, a voice telling him that he got this far without this power and he damn sure didn't need it.

"I suppose it's scary to be given all that power." It was like she was reading his mind. "I ..." Dawn trailed off but stared Lucas directly in the face. "I have to ask, Lucas. What was it like to ... to–"

"Out with it," he muttered. He knew where this was going.

The sudden interruption startled her. "He was ... power-hungry, wasn't he?"

"He" was Cyrus. Lucas met him when he was eleven. He didn't know it was Cyrus at the time, just some odd man in a trench coat. Team Galactic's presence had increasingly become more apparent after this. Maybe he started to pay attention to them after the fated meeting – who knows? It was never Lucas looking for trouble; he simply ran into it. Regardless, he became "that child," that child with a vendetta against Team Galactic, according to Cyrus, the media, his mentors ... everyone, really. But he never had one, a vendetta. He didn't even know what the word meant at the time. He was just confused. He had no idea what was going on, but everyone assumed he did and attacked or praised him for it. Where was everyone else? Why didn't anyone help him? He was a kid, a stupid kid. Why did they put the weight of the world on his shoulders?

Dawn watched Lucas struggle with his thoughts, his eyes darting. His shoulders tensed, his forehead crinkled, his fingers fidgeted along the line of his cap. She sort of regretted asking but she had to know.

Straight off the bat, Dawn knew she wanted to focus her research on the relationship between trainer and pokémon. Rowan's focus was on pokémon evolution, so she took it a step further and based her research around the effect human interaction had on pokémon evolution. Would domesticating pokémon make them weaker than their wild counterparts or did this make them stronger? More importantly, how does human interaction trigger maturation to the point of transformation? Maybe it was just an excuse to people watch. It sounded smart though, didn't it? Dawn had to split her focus between pokémon and humans. You learn things from other humans.

Cyrus had a tough childhood, she read. Extremely brilliant as a child but his work was often ignored or criticized. No love, she figured, and no friends. Then he went ... "crazy," but he made it seem so normal. He was cool, so calculating, that people actually believed in his ideals of a new world. She never understood that. It sounded too complex trying to start from scratch rather than improving on what was already given to you, but to each his own.

She made theories. He wanted to create a new world to frame his attitude toward life. He had good intentions, she supposed. No more fighting, no more strife, but no love, no compassion, no joy. It saddened her that a human could be so empty–could feel so alone–that he thought all emotion was futile and that the world would be better without any feeling whatsoever.

When you're a researcher, you start to see red flags. Most flags have to do with pokémon. Foaming at the mouth and a suddenly vicious nature may indicate an onset of rabies. When plant pokémon start to sprout flowers, it usually means that they are preparing for their next stage in evolution. Things like that. But Dawn was also a people researcher given her specialty, and it was hard to miss the connection.

"He was," he finally answered. "He had big goals. Bigger goals than most people could even dream of let alone go through with."

"He was close," she said quietly.

She watched him bite through his burger quite aggressively, ripping at the bun with his teeth. She watched his Adam's Apple move as he swallowed his food. He ran his tongue over teeth. "I wouldn't say power-hungry. He knew he needed a lot of power to go through with his plans. I don't think he cared if he was powerful in this world. Only if he was powerful in–"

"In his world," Dawn finished.

"Yeah."

Dawn could feel her next question burning on her lips. "What was he like?"

Lucas repeated the information Dawn already knew. He hated any type of emotion, positive or negative (ignoring the irony in hating emotion), and he was calculating but calm. A man with good intentions (they both supposed) but overzealous in his execution. Misunderstood as a child. Unappreciated as a child. Antisocial. A genius.

"I can't help but wonder," Dawn began, fiddling with her split ends, "that if he got the attention he wanted as a child, would he have turned out the way he was? If someone, somewhere, gave him the credit, the attention he craved, would he have become what he is? Wherever he is?"

Lucas stared at her, the sound of kricketot chirping in the background.

"I heard he had no friends. I heard he had no one to talk to."

Where was she heading with this?

"He didn't want to befriend his pokémon either. They were just sources of power. He wanted that power."

Why was she babbling on about this?

"And because he didn't know what friendship felt like, because he didn't know what it felt like to have someone truly interested in you, he figured starting over would be better than working on what he already had." Dawn started to feel sick to her stomach and pushed her plate of food away toward Lucas. "Right?"

Why was she getting so riled up from this? He noticed the pitch in her voice was getting higher and higher, and she seemed breathless. "I ... You would know more about that than me, Dawn," Lucas answered, a bit bewildered though he hid it well. His hunger pains disappeared quickly too. "That's not my specialty, like you. Pokémon and human interaction, I mean. I don't need to understand humans. You know my emphasis is on battle–"

"Right?" she stressed the word again.

"... Right," he replied, not so much in agreement than to appease her.

"If someone is so misunderstood, so friendless, so ignored, despite being so brilliant, wouldn't it seem like these sorts of actions would be repeated? Maybe not to Cyrus's extent but wouldn't they seem mentally unbalanced?"

"I don't know. Each situation is different. Every person is–"

"You know as well as I do that when you recognize certain patterns in pokémon, certain outcomes are sure to follow," she interrupted again. "Nature proves this time and time again. What makes this any different with humans, Lucas?" Dawn wasn't sure when her hands flew up from her thighs to grip the edge of the table so roughly that it shook in her palms.

He was at a loss for words. "Where the hell are you going with this, Dawn?" The tension, the concern that rested in the creases of her forehead, jumped into the pit of Lucas's stomach and kicked him repeatedly. He hated that feeling. He did his best to remain calm. There was no point in agitating her further.

Dawn paused, unsure how to say it. She observed him, trying to separate her emotion from her subject – and failing at it. "I'm worried."

Lucas didn't respond, unsure if she was going to finish her statement. "... About?" he finally asked.

She bit her lip before replying: "About ... you."

And like that, it all became so clear. The reason why she brought Cyrus up was because–

"I don't miss red flags, Lucas."

–she thought he was turning into him. He was Cyrus, at least in her eyes.

Lucas had never felt so pissed. "You are so ..." Again, he was at a loss for words. He stood up quickly and grabbed his backpack from the side of the table, swinging it over his shoulder. Dawn remained sitting though she looked up toward him. He felt his face flush with anger. "I have never been so – I don't even know what to say to you." Customers sitting at other tables turned toward their direction.

"Don't leave," she begged. She stood up and reached over, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Lucas, I just–"

He brushed her hand away. "Just what? You think I'm a miniature version of him?"

Their scarves blew in the bitter wind. Dawn shivered but didn't reply. Lucas scoffed.

"That's what I thought." He pushed the strap of his backpack further up his shoulder before lacing his fingers behind his head. He watched her open her mouth in response, but she stopped midway to lick her lips. "Wait. Let me try to figure this out. Your question is if a child–someone around our age, I assume–is raised in a neglectful environment, that may lead to a lonesome, depressing, or emotionless adulthood?"

"I ... guess."

"Your background research involved delving into Cyrus's life story. You found that his personality and background matches mine. Is that right? We're both scarred in some form because of lack of adult presence, him with his school career, and me with the whole Team Galactic scandal. We were left to fend for ourselves because the supposed adults around us were just too stupid to help us. We don't like talking to anyone because of that. We don't trust anyone, not even our companions. Is that what you figured out?"

Dawn turned her attention toward the murmuring patrons around her before ogling him. "Kind of."

"And your hypothesis?"

"Don't patronize me, Lucas."

"Answer me," he demanded.

His tone startled her. "I think you might go down a similar path like he did."

Lucas, unlike Dawn, didn't seem aware of the growing interest in their conversation from bystanders. "And let me guess. Your experiment–and correct me if I'm wrong–is if there is human interference ... that's your researcher's emphasis right? Human interference with pokémon? You want to see if messing with me, getting into my business, will change me. By becoming my 'friend,'" he made sure to put emphasize this word, "you think you'll be able to alter my 'natural' course. Am I hitting the nail on the head?"

No response.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Right. Good luck with that. I'm out."

Dawn hesitated, legs planted to the ground, as Lucas turned around toward the exit, a heavy pound with each step. "Lucas!" she managed to call out after being baffled for a few seconds. "Come on!" She started to follow him.

Lucas quickly spun around. "Don't," he said. The tension in his voice somehow made her stop. He turned back around to walk. He was so angry with himself. He gave her a chance – he actually allowed someone to come into his life, and he almost fell for it. He almost let a tiny piece of him go to that ... to that–

A bump to the shoulder threw him off balance slightly and made him stop in his tracks. He looked up. A man, thick but short, was standing in his way, blocking the only exit – a small gap in the metal railings that surrounded the outdoor café. It was Eldritch.

"Hey, kid." The sailor's voice was gruff. "What's the rush?"

It had now been three days since Lane had entered his "slumber state." Eldritch was tired as ffffffft (let's assume that's a word), and, well, thought? He could still think? He was running on ten hours of sleep. Things were starting to get ... hazy. He didn't feel tired. He knew he was tired, but he felt like he was on a high. You know, that feeling you get at the peak of a sugar rush. That feeling you get when you're running on ten hours of sleep for the last three days. And yes, he was aware that he used his situation as an analogy to explain his situation, and if he had gotten more sleep–let's say, fifteen hours because that's a nice wholesome number right there, fifteen–he probably could have been more creative. But he didn't. So there.

"Nothing," he heard Lucas mutter, his eyes returning back toward the concrete floor.

Eldritch looked down the direction Lucas had come and saw that girl–Dawn, Sunny, something that had to do with the sun–at one of the metal tables that sporadically decorated the café's garden. She looked worried but mystified at the same time. Oh, women. His wife had bothered him to go eat. Go, sleep, Eldritch. Go eat, Eldritch. Remember to breathe, Eldritch. Always nag, nag, nag about remembering to live.

"Girl problems?" he asked.

"You could say that." Lucas shook his head and walked past Eldritch. "I'm sorry. I'm going."

It took him a while to contemplate those two words. He blinked, finally understanding. "Now wait. Going?" Eldritch quickly spun around (mentally, he went "whee!" as he felt his brain jolt about in his skull) and grabbed Lucas by the shoulder, pulling him back and stopping him. "Going home for the night?"

"No, going for good. I'm sorry, sir, but I can't stay. Honestly, I'm not finding anything new other than what you guys already know, but if it'll help ..." Lucas swung his backpack around and dug through it, pulling out a red notebook. He proceeded to open it and looked it over a few times before ripping out a few pages and handing it to Eldritch.

"Well, it's your call, kid." Eldritch took the papers and folded them up. "I can't stop you. At the same time, I can't say I'm not a little deflated."

Lucas zipped up his backpack. "Yeah ... Good night, sir." He brushed past Eldritch.

"Erm ... Good night."

Think of something. Stop? No, too dramatic. Come back? Too desperate. Eldritch wasn't a desperate man. Think faster. Quicker, now, quicker.

"Hey!" he finally shouted, waving the papers in the air. Work, dammit.

It did. Lucas turned around, his scarf flapping in the wind.

Eldritch started to walk toward him. "I need to tell you something." He felt like a feather when he walked now. Did you know that? Probably not.

Lucas didn't reply but listened.

"I know this much, Lucas," Eldritch began, shoving his hands within the depths of his pants' pockets. He looked up, gazing at the winking stars. "I know I shouldn't even be thinking this – I haven't gotten much sleep, you see but even I know my theory is ludicrous. But I really do think something in that inn did something to my kid. He was playing near the area a few hours before he was hit with that sleeping spell, or whatever the heck the doctors are calling it. He was with his friends, but he was the only kid to look in. So says my wife anyway."

He waited to see if Lucas was going to say something, but he didn't, so Eldritch continued. "There's this myth"–he noticed Lucas rolled his eyes–"that Canalave locals like to tell about that inn. It's haunted, they say. Pokémon, demon, who knows. All you can really see is its eyes."

"Eyes," Lucas repeated questionably, disbelievingly.

"Los ojos," Eldritch said, pointing to his. He had no idea where the Spanish came from. "Canalave is a strange town, Lucas. That's the first thing you gotta know about this town. You hear stories about people going missing, people going under deep spells like this, but you never really think that they're true. They're just myths, something to pass the time."

Lucas nodded.

"And again it might be because I'm delirious, but I kind of believe this one. Within Harbor Inn is something evil and hates being bothered. I don't understand it. What kind of creature is so mean-spirited that it would hurt a child who bore no ill-feeling toward it? I digress. I suppose that doesn't matter. What matters is figuring out what's wrong with Lane.

"I trust you, you know. Not because you're some hotshot trainer, or because you're a prodigy, or because you're a brilliant researcher following in Rowan's footsteps"–there was another eye roll from the kid–"but because I know how you are deep down. I could see how dedicated you were three years ago when I first met you. You were determined. A little confused about what you wanted to do, sure, but determined. And I suppose being smart helped, too. You didn't like giving up."

Eldritch grinned, pulling a hand out to run it along his unshaven jawline. "But I know you don't trust anyone anymore. Bad things happened to you and people expected you to recover quickly. They tell you to repress it, don't they, because showing pain isn't an inspiring quality. You started to look at the world differently because of what happened to you. I see you lost hope in most things." He paused thoughtfully, staring Lucas straight in the eye. "But don't lose hope in solving this. For me. For my boy."

. . .

They got off the train, Lane, Julie, and Squish, in front of a cottage. They were only meant to stay for a few minutes, but they got distracted by a video playing the background noises of a sci-fi show. The television was mounted in the wall of the cottage. Lane could reach into it and feel around, grabbing at sound effects. He managed to catch a "whizz!" noise and brought it out, careful not to crush it in his palm. He released it, and the whizz swirled above their heads. It sounded like a high-pitch whistle.

Crap! That was the train leaving!

"Hurry up, Lane!" shouted Julie, chasing it down with Squish perched on her head. "It's gaining speed!"

Lane had taken his socks off earlier because they got wet from playing the train's game, and he was trying to force them on his feet, though the wetness made it all the more difficult. He tripped, falling flat onto his belly, one sock gripped in his hand and the other stuck around his toes. Julie stopped, turned around, and ran back to help him. The train left.

Of course that would happen. Socks are the leading cause of people being late for trains.

Last Revised: April 27, 2011