I'm trying to deal with it. Arceus knows I'm trying.
I said earlier that I like to be alone. That's true. But I also know I'm better off that way. Everyone else is better off that way. Over dramatic? A little.
It's just ...
I know what I went through. It's taken me quite some time to understand what happened two years ago. In some ways, I still can't wrap my mind around it. I still have a lot of issues to work out. I understand how detrimental other people can be. I don't want to do that to others. I refuse to burden them with my problems. I don't want to recreate the ill-effects the people I trusted did to me.
In a strange way, it's me caring for others by not caring for others.
...
Possible ability: Inner focus – the user is protected from flinching.
Chapter Nine
They lived in a house in a tropical location. It was either Hoenn or the Sevii Islands. All Lane knew was that he had to jump on the tops of large, flat stones that rested in the river to get to his house made out of shiny planks of dark wood. The water was freezing, making his toes turn into raisins.
... Not literally, of course.
He distinctly remembered the waterfall in the background complete with rainbow above as he went inside. The air was humid and hard to breathe. They were having some sort of family party. Aunt Beatrice was there (blech!) with her hairy mole on the right side of nose, and she went over, wrapped her arms around him, and smooched him on the cheek. He broke free and skipped toward the backyard's porch where his dad was preparing the grill for a barbecue.
"Your cousin is in the house. See if she has the meat ready," he told him.
He ran back in and somehow ended up at a laundry room. He pushed the door open a little, hearing it squeak, and saw his older cousin crying and fussing over something.
"Is the food ready?" he asked.
"I can't do it," she cried. "Tell Uncle that I can't do it!" She ran off, brushing past him.
Lane looked down the hallway toward the glass doors where his dad was flipping a few hamburger patties onto the grill. He walked into the laundry room, standing on tippy-toe to peer into the open washing machine. A ponyta was in it, folded and curled around the center. Two of its hooves stuck out above the top. He saw the horse's eyes, two brown, round things. They blinked back at him.
. . .
"You go in first," she urged.
He looked back at her. "Are you nuts?" he muttered, facing forward again.
"Chicken," was her quick reply.
Lucas and Dawn stood in front of the rotting fence that bordered Harbor Inn.
"Well, you go in if you're so brave," he retorted.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because in the movie of life, I am the wise character."
"Excuse me?"
"You know, that one girl who changes the life of the protagonist by pushing him to do idiotic things."
"I'm the protagonist?"
"Yes."
"You must have some sort of self-confidence issue if you diminish your role to supporting character in the movie that is your life."
"Prolly." She smiled.
"So you go in first."
"I am 'l-o-l-ing' from your command. Really."
"Please don't Internet acronym around me ever again."
"Fine, as long as you don't turn nouns into words again."
"Words?"
"Verbs. I meant verbs."
"Then what about words like 'cook?' Or ' judge?'"
"You know what I mean. Stop being a meanie."
He rolled his eyes, resting his hands on the fence's gate. He gave it a slight push, and the gate opened slowly with a squeak, the bottom getting tangled in the weeds as it scraped backward into the lawn. "What's the big deal anyway?" he asked more to himself than the girl next to him. "It's just some old building."
"Supposedly haunted," she added, crossing her arms. "With ghosts."
"Compared to other spiritual beings?"
"I think ghouls haunt buildings."
"Which are ghosts."
"No, silly. A ghost is, like, the soul of someone departed that lingers around for the 'lulz'."
"I thought you were going to stop that."
"I lied. Anyway, a ghoul steals bodies or something."
"So why would a ghoul be in a building that is empty?"
"To wait for stupid people to go in. But like I said, ghosts. Not ghouls. No worries." She gave him a thumb's up and clicked her tongue.
He sighed. "Come on."
Lucas took a step forward, sneakers squashing ants. Dawn was on his heels, her head turning left and right in paranoia. Dandelions grew up between the cracks of the concrete pathway. He kicked one down, and the white seeds released themselves from the stem and twirled around his ankles. Dawn let out a small giggle.
"They tickle," she said, bending over a bit to brush her bare legs.
The porch's wooden steps creaked as the two climbed up. Lucas examined the door, the jagged lines that zigzagged across the ancient wood. He focused in on the rusted knob. "Locked," he assumed. He stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around it. A jiggle. A nudge. "Yep." He gave the door a light kick, making it thud.
Dawn jumped off the porch to the side, standing ankle deep in weeds. She kicked them down with her heavy boots and approached the broken window. "Here. Maybe you can enter through here." She brushed a broken shard off the windowsill and it fell near her feet, shimmering in Sinnoh's hot afternoon sun. She looked up, her eyes squinting, and gazed at the sky. It was a deep blue touched by a puff of white. The hot air was suffocating in a way, making her sleepy.
Lucas ignored her par usual as he fumbled with something in his pocket. She sighed. Another brilliant idea wasted. She looked back toward the window. The wind was light today, barely making the thick, red curtains in front of the window shift, so she moved them for nature, the cloth feeling oddly sticky and wet under her fingertips.
No ghosts. No motion. Nothing.
Inside was dark. From what she could make out from the sunlight that streamed in was old furniture – the form of a sunken couch, a kitchen table standing proudly on four legs, a wooden staircase with broken posts. Lots of broken glass. Lots of splintered wood. It smelled like a public bathroom.
And then there was Lucas. He blinked a couple of times, staring at her in bewildered expression.
"What the heck?" she asked more to herself than the boy standing inside the inn. "How did you get in?"
He nudged his head toward the entrance, the door wide and open, letting the cool ocean breeze blow in and out. It was like the inn's first exhale after a long time of holding its breath.
"You said it was locked!"
He held up a pocket knife and folded it back into its base, slipping it back into his pocket.
"You think something so simple would have been done by other people trying to enter and fix this place," she murmured, an eyebrow raised up.
"Or maybe no one cares," he replied.
"Something like that." Dawn left the window alone and took one huge step to get back onto the porch. She tentatively approached the door, the hair on her arms pricking up, and entered slowly, one hand grasping the solid, wooden door frame. Her hair swung around her right shoulder as she leaned in, inhaling and exhaling in quick, short breaths. "See anything?" she asked.
He turned his head. "Dust," he said.
"And?"
"Furniture."
"And?"
"Rope."
"The fiend."
Lucas took a step back from the window and gave it a good look up and down. I saw him just when he was about to climb in. He couldn't have looked in for more than five seconds. His brow furrowed. He turned around, narrowed his focus. In direct line of sight, the view from the window to the back of the room was unobstructed. Nothing seemed ... odd, out of place. There was the long kitchen table that fed many a sailor; the lumpy couch used as a place for achy feet to relieve themselves; and the clock on the wall, long dead, its bronze roman numerals catching the light depending on what angle Lucas looked at it. They were your typical items seen in any bed-and-breakfast setting.
The floorboards under his feet groaned as he walked past the kitchen table. Soon enough he reached the other end of the Inn. He looked down. A collection of mold was growing from the bottom of the wall. There were droppings, dry, round, and hard, scattered here – everywhere really. Pokémon had taken habitat in the old inn but not for a while; they were most likely rodent types given the shape and size of the fecal matter. As far as he knew, rodents had limited attacks that used their eyes besides the common Leer to scare away predators and Foresight to help them see in the dark. Hypnosis wasn't one of them.
"Anything?" Dawn asked from the door. "Anything, you know, unusual?"
Lucas didn't like to be believe in the unusual. To be more specific, the truly unexplainable–rather, the answers to the unexplainable that are created out of thin air–are things that bug him the most. They tell him that the unexplainable answer–the myth–has a basis of logic, but do these answers truly appear for these people? Or do these people look toward anything for an answer?
Eldritch was so adamant about "eyes in the inn." This was a man who, too, knew stories but did not necessarily believe in them, and yet he was sure that his boy and his mention of eyes had something to do with something.
He shook his head, his right hand tightly holding the brim of his hat. He turned his head, his chin resting on shoulder, and looked at the window again, its curtain slightly flapping, letting in the sun. Yawn, however accurate it may be, would be hard to see from such a distance and from the limited light. No, it couldn't be Yawn. And what about birds, pokémon that commonly use sound-based attacks to lull their foes? Well, it's not very likely they would take solace in such a cramped and damp area, especially if rodents were living here, too.
What the heck was he doing here? It's obvious that this location has nothing to do with Lane's state. He had to have done something else that day ... Heck, he had better things to do today.
"The Harbor Inn," Dawn said as she slowly crept in, releasing the door frame from her grasp. The floorboard creaked and ached underneath her feet as she walked toward him. "You've heard about this place, right?"
He nodded.
"Were you around when it was open?"
He gave her a look, his lips in a small frown and his eyes rolling to the side.
"Oh, don't give me that," she muttered. "Maybe you're actually fifty instead of fourteen. The bags under your eyes certainly tell me you're old." She grinned and stood on tippy toe, patting his hat down, making him wrinkle his nose. "You know, sailors back in the day used this place as a makeshift home. You know, between trips."
"Obviously."
"And one day it just closed down."
"Just closed down?"
"Like the owner died or something like that. He had no kids or a wife or any sort of family nearby, so I guess they just closed it."
"Awesome." Lucas shoved his hands into his pocket par usual his fidgety self and shifted his weight from the heels to the balls of his feet. The floorboards groaned with each rock back. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well ... Maybe it's because the building is so old and run down, but people believe this place is haunted."
"You told me that earlier. We got into a debate about ghosts versus ghouls, remember?"
"I know, I know." She waved this off. "But I was reading that myths book – stop giving me that look, Lucas. I was reading that book, and it went into the story about this place. I didn't finish it, but I read how when there is a new moon, people sense that there is some sort of spiritual thing inside."
He sighed. "So?"
"Soooooo it went on to say that when people cross paths with this place around new moon time–like really close ... like look into the window close–they say funny things happen to them."
"Such as?"
"I dunno. It never really detailed it. Just things. Kind of sounds like what Eldritch told you, doesn't it?"
"I'm sure he picked up that story from someone else, who picked up that story from someone else, and so on. It doesn't make it true that it's known throughout the locals."
"Just sayin'. That's not my point. Both stories relate to the moon. Can you think of any pokémon that respond to different moon patterns? Maybe the pokémon that attacked Lane is active during the new moon phase which explains why we may not be able to find it now."
He racked his brain. "Clefairy, but they are associated with the full moon. Same applies to the lunatone species in Hoenn. I'll have to look into it. Interesting development, though. It could help explain things." Lucas looked at the girl and, with a loud exhale, said, "Nice find, Dawn."
She beamed. "Thanks."
"Yeah. Well." He turned around (out of embarrassment or because he was still looking for traces of pokémon, who knows) and examined the wall. There were scratch marks cut into the moldy, now brown, plaster. There was a pile of dead leaves and sticks in the corner that managed to remain relatively untouched by the sweeping winds – he thought too soon. The ocean breeze brushed through and stirred up the dirt and droppings in small circles around the floor. "At least we have a lead up on something. Let's go look out–" A loud creak caught his attention, so he snapped his head to the right, noticing that the girl was scurrying up the stairs. A sigh. "Get down here."
Dawn looked back, one hand gripping the stair rail, and said, "No," quite cheerfully before starting her ascent. Lucas lost sight of her when she got further up, her mud-caked boots the last he saw of her. He could hear her loud thumps from downstairs, the way she hurriedly walked to and fro from room to room without caring that she was disturbing something so ancient and sleepy. That and she could easily break something with her questionable ("I am not fat!" he imagined her screeching) weight.
You drive me nuts, he thought bitterly as he followed after her, noting how some steps seemed caved in and how the rails of the stairs were splintered or completely broken. Every step he took made the stairs below him groan, so he was careful, delicately tapping the step with the balls of his feet. He didn't bother holding the rail; it shook harder the further he got up, the wood-on-wood making a hollow sound, like plastic wind chimes.
He pitied her a little. She was smart–kind of, in her own way–but still so incredibly naïve about everything. She trusted so much, she believed in so much; she thought the best of people. It truly was pathetic.
He made it upstairs and crept into the first room on his right, standing on the doorway. It was a bedroom filled with a pair of bunk beds. Between the two beds was a window with faded lace curtains, thick with dust. Dawn was there, one knee perched on the small mahogany dresser drawer between the beds. Her other foot was planted firmly on the wooden floor. Her hands were holding the curtains open as she gazed upon the outside world.
Her amusement in things was so simple – folk stories, the view from a window ... people. Why was she so interested in people? Why did she care about the bonds between people and pokémon, between people and people? What was the point of trying to get to know someone? They're bound to hurt you. You're bound to hurt them. Why do it? Why risk it?
She turned her head slightly and smiled. "I knew you'd follow, chicken," she teased. She turned back around. He watched as she arched her back, her hair draping behind her, the sunlight casting her body in its radiance.
Most people are malevolent. That neighbor down the block who used to give the best Halloween candy is now on trial for attempted murder over something so unbelievably superficial. The doctor of a pokémon center stole pokémon from the trainers who trusted him to "heal, not harm." Your best friend, who tried so hard to be the best he could be, had his spirits crushed down by a person he hadn't even met because "he was an annoying pest in the way." And that woman–your supposed mentor, that one person you should be able to trust out of anyone–just ... just threw the world onto your shoulders so she could be concerned with other things. That pathetic girl, the one so stupidly staring outside the window, would tell him that woman meant well, that the woman had faith in him, that the woman knew he was responsible and powerful and smart. Dawn would tell him that the woman trusted him one-hundred-and-one percent.
Why couldn't she see that life isn't all smiles? Why couldn't she see that people are out for themselves? Why couldn't she see that the hidden motive behind action is selfishness, not the good of the other human?
It bemused him. He hated it.
"Come here, you. This place has an awesome view of the sea. You can almost see those islands."
As he approached and stood behind her, breathing in a mixture of her sweet, flowery shampoo and dust, he couldn't help but wonder why she bothered sticking around. Try as he might to not get close to her–to be as repelling as possible, to be her antithesis, someone who she couldn't stand to be around–she was still here. And she still cared for him.
(Granted, he had only been back in the area for three weeks or so. That surely couldn't be enough time to fully repulse a person, right?)
He wouldn't do the same for her. He couldn't care for her. Things are better off that way. She needed to grow up.
The sea met the sky in glorious shades of blue, two vastly different things that looked like one individual piece sewed together. One was stable, the other dependent on wind and gravity. There were the islands, green and brown beacons that stood sturdy in the ocean's flailing waves. He figured there was symbolism (everything is symbolic if you try), but his thoughts were on other things. On her. Goddammit.
"One is Fullmoon. The other is Newmoon," she said, her body rocking back and forth slightly, her hair brushing against his crossed arms. "I forget that other one near it." She pointed, smudging the already dirty glass. "Named after a metal, I think."
"Iron," he replied.
"That's it." He saw her smile in the reflection. "Why do people go there?"
"Training," he answered. "I went there for training."
"I think I read something about them in my myths book." She patted her bag hanging from her shoulder. "I'll look when we're back at the library. Wanna leave now?"
"Yeah."
She dropped her knee and stood back on her two feet, twisting around to face the boy and looked him up and down. Bags were under his eyes. His posture was slouched. His clothes were wrinkled. He looked so ... tired. "I'm ... sorry, Lucas." She had no idea why she was apologizing. It just felt like the right moment to say it.
Of course he would ask, his head slightly tilted: "For what?"
"For ... I dunno. I just noticed how tired you look. I mean, just when you were about to leave for that battling thing after doing all of Rowan's work ... well, you know. I know you just want to have relax." Her nose wrinkled. "I know you don't really like me."
He stared at a few seconds. "I never said that," he said slowly, carefully.
"No, but I know I'm not your most favorite person in the world either." She gave him a weepy grin, forced and sympathetic. "So I'm sorry. And thank you. For staying, I mean."
Another awkward, "Yeah," came out of Lucas's mouth after a few seconds of contemplative silence.
Never underestimate silence. It says so much without saying anything at all. For Lucas, it told the person he was talking to how awkward he felt ... which he was most of the time. In other instances, it was a forewarning of things to come. The tension in the air, the shallow breaths … Your sight somehow becomes clearer. All sounds are magnified.
And as her face came closer to his, her once sticky, lip-glossed lips now dry (though there were still remnants of glitter), he couldn't help but notice how freaking loud his heartbeat was. Could she hear that? He noticed how her head tilted slightly to the right, her eyes starting to close. Why was his head doing the same? Why was she leaning in?
Did time suddenly slow down?
What was going on?
"What." Lucas quickly took a step back, making Dawn open her eyes, snap back, and regain her composure. What a stupid thing to say. What did that even mean, what?
The two stood there in silence for a few seconds, quietly reflecting on what the heck almost happened. For once it was Lucas who broke the awkward silence.
"Library?" he asked.
The look of disappointed she had last night flashed across her face again, and she blinked, and it was gone. "Yeah," she said, once again uncharacteristically quiet. She gave him a weird face, something he couldn't really place a finger on–kind of worried, curious, and disgusted at the same time–and brushed past him, her shoulder hitting his, making him move back a bit. "Let's go."
. . .
She should have known darn better than that. You spend so much time studying a guy, and you know he doesn't like you (at least in the way you like him), but you, being the stupid girl that you are, think otherwise. You think, for some split second in a moment of weakness, that he's going to kiss you back. Dawn, what the heck? You just ... you just tried to kiss him, didn't you? Are you insane? What good would that do you? Oh, my god. You're ... oh, my god. But he was going to kiss back! You saw it, the way he leaned in, too, before quickly pulling away, alarmed. Isn't that more important?
She refused to look up from her book, the setting sun her reading lamp. The concrete was the only way she could tell if she was going to walk into anything. She guessed Lucas would say something but–
Oh, my god, you just tried to kiss him. Idiot!
The concrete underfoot changed from plain gray speckled with dry gum to cobblestone that felt pleasant underneath the soles of her boots. They were approaching the library (she could hear the water fountains that decorated the outside of the building). She heard the glass doors opening and someone walking past them. She felt the cold of the air conditioner mix in with the warmer autumn heat around her. She smelled the distinct scent of aged books with thick, yellowing paper in them. Ah, the library. A place of solace, quiet. A place to get away from your thoughts–
Dawn, why the heck did you do that? She mentally smacked herself in the forehead. Repeatedly.
At least the book was interesting. As they entered the library (she noted the rough welcoming mat followed by the library's polished wooden floors from underneath the book), she started to re-read that one myth she told Lucas earlier.
He almost kissed back, right?
She had to look up from her book, but only slightly, to make sure she didn't trip over her feet while climbing up the stairs. Lucas (oh, god, she made things more awkward between them now. Good job, Dawn) held back and let the girl climb up first, one hand lightly sliding up the handrail and her other hand held out flat so she could balance the open book on it. They skipped past the second floor and then the third before finally stopping on the fourth. The books Lucas (god, you're such an idiot for doing that, Dawn!) had pulled out were still on the table sitting in its nice, neat stack. She felt him move from behind her before walking past to take his regular seat, the wooden chair on the right. She let her eyes wander up, watching as he took off his backpack and hung it around the chair's back before plopping himself in the seat. And then ...
Siiiiigh.
Okay, so she over exaggerated. Big deal. Still, the boy's sigh made her roll her eyes. "Look," she said, "I'm sorry for that, too. Maybe I just wanted to create a situation in which saying 'sorry' was applicable."
He said nothing to her obviously sarcastic comment as he twisted his body to open his backpack, pulling out the old red notebook he dragged around with him everywhere. The familiar sound of pages flipping filled the air. She watched as he pulled a pencil from his pocket, tapping it in the familiar beat he did yesterday. Two quick taps, then a pause, then another tap. Repeat.
Dawn tentatively walked to her seat to the left of Lucas, placing the myths book delicately on the table. "Do you not want to talk about it?"
"Not talk about what?" He looked up and raised an eyebrow.
It caught her off guard. "What just happened ...?" she said.
"Not really." He shrugged. "It's not important."
Not important. Right. That's what she was to him. She frowned. "Well, I'm glad you're not ..." How could she phrase it? "... Bothered."
"Yep." His head went back down, continuing to flip through the pages of his notebook until he found the next blank sheet. He dug into the back pocket of his jeans this time and pulled out a red, square device. A pokédex, she noted, as he pressed the center button to open the device and reveal the shiny screen. He touched the screen and flicked his finger up. A series of quiet beeps followed.
It was so sudden, and she didn't expect it. All she worked for came crashing back down the square one. Three weeks of trying to reestablish a friendship was just ... gone.
"Anything I can do?" she asked helpfully.
"You can be quiet," was his familiar answer followed by the familiar smirk. He didn't look up, though.
Wish granted. She didn't reply and instead stared at the book, skipping over the myth her book was open to and toward the analysis at the bottom of the page. Get that stupid kiss–or almost kiss or whatever it was–out of your head. Concentrate.
Fullmoon Island and Newmoon Island are considered to be parallels to each other not only geographically but within legend, too. It is rumored that two legendary pokémon reside on each island. Cresselia, a pokémon that appears to be more active during the crescent moon phases (or is at least symbolized as such) supposedly makes home in Fullmoon Island, though there is no evidence to support this. The "pitch-black beast," as the myth describes, most likely belongs to cresselia's counterpart, a dark-type named Darkrai. It is told that he is the most powerful during the new moon phase, thus ...
Wait. Darkrai?
Dar is watching me, she remembered. And then it clicked in her head.
"Darkrai is watching me," she said out loud to no one, though Lucas heard her. She felt his gaze on her, so she snapped her head up and looked back. "Darkrai is watching me," she repeated, eyes wide. "It's gotta be darkrai, Lucas. I know it."
He gave her that same look from earlier. How slight his eyes rolled in their sockets and the nose flare that held back his sigh. "And what makes you think that?" he murmured.
"Well, the myths book–"
"Exactly."
"Lucas, what else–"
"It's not darkrai," he said firmly. She noticed that his fingers wrapped tighter around his pencil, his fingernails digging into the wood. "No one has seen darkrai in decades. There is very little research on it."
"Of course there isn't because the myth says that it's active when the new–"
"Dawn." He didn't raise his voice nor did he sound annoyed, but the simple single-syllable pronunciation of her name made her stop talking.
Dawn frowned, fingers lightly resting on the pages of her book. "Why don't you believe me? You believed me earlier about that new moon thing I read. Even if the myth isn't true, surely it's based on something that is true."
"It's just not." Lucas stared down at his pokédex.
"Can't you just–"
"Stop." He curled his toes in his sneakers to fight back the agitation building up inside himself.
"But look, Lucas." Goddamn she was determined. "It says here that darkrai is powered by the new moon, and he's a dark type, and Lane. Remember what Lane was saying in his sleep? 'Dar is watching me.' That could be him trying to say 'darkrai,' Lucas. And look at this part!" She used her pointer finger to keep track of where she was reading. "'Darkrai is rumored to be fueled by nightmares.' It makes perfect sense."
"No, it doesn't." He slammed his pencil down and glared at Dawn. "Listen to yourself. 'Rumors.' 'Myth.' Do you not get how stupid you sound right now and how pathetic it is to resort to what most likely are tales told to children because, for some goddamn reason or another, we can't find the solution to what's wrong with Eldritch's kid? It's not helping that you keep stopping me to tell your little riddle that you found to be 'soooo' interesting–" She looked about ready to kill him when he mocked her, her face in a scowl. "–and it certainly isn't helping Lane. Myths explain nothing except how unexplainable something is. People form myths, believe in them, research them, because they are too lazy to find the source of truth. The fathom any freaking reason so they can direct their fear toward something. So stop it, for Arceus' sake. You're not helping. I don't need you."
What was weird was that it was this little rant that finally got her. Forget him trying to ignore her for the past three weeks, then trying to brush her aside and treat her like useless crap the day before, then being a complete smart-ass to her last night, and then pulling away from her trying to kiss him less than thirty minutes ago. It was this, his little "myth on myths" (if that's not ironic in itself), that got her to stare at him bewilderedly, widen her eyes, and then, subsequently, cry.
Hell, that little "snap" of his wasn't even entirely directed toward her. She caused it, sure, but it wasn't toward her.
He didn't say anything as she scooted the chair back angrily, tears angrily building up in her eyes, as she swiped her bag off the table. He didn't even look up from his notebook when she stomped off toward the staircase and half-walked, half-ran, down them. There was no time for that. He had plenty of other things to occupy his mind. Dawn couldn't be one of them.