Common sense tells me that I should be mad at myself. Or guilty. Or both.
I'm not.
Possible ability: Run away – enables sure get away.
Chapter Ten
Nighttime is a time of solace. It is where you put all the stress from the day into a tight, neat thought and look over it, put away on a shelf, and try to forget about it, only to take it down, look over it again, get annoyed, put it to the side, turn your back to it, but continue to think about it even if you don't want to.
It was a confusing state, Lucas noted, his mind in a constant shuffle between articles on pokémon comatose and the stupid brat that ran off on him. No matter what he wanted to do, which was to go home and get lost in pokédex data under the flannel covers of his bed, some sort of invisible glue kept his butt cheeks planted firm in his seat. It felt like there was a magnet in his hand that was stuck to an opposing magnet in the book's page. It was like a tiny alarm clock beeping "WHAT DID YOU DO, WHAT DID YOU DO, CUCKOO!" in his head. He wanted to flip the book over and repel it away. He wanted to smash his head in with the flat of his palm.
Okay, not really.
Was it guilt he was feeling, that twisted, knotted feeling in his stomach? Was it this that made his breath shallow, his mind race, his brow lightly sweat? Was this why he couldn't go home? He felt, dare he say, bad for what he said earlier?
He scooted back, lifting his legs on the table and crumpling pages of his notebook beneath his calves. He looked toward the window. Black. The glass was starting to frost over near the edges. It is late, he mused, and cold. He took off his hat and threw it onto the table only for it to slip over the edge and fall to the floor. Where did she go? Why did he care? And goddamn, what the hell is wrong with this kid?
He leaned his head back, letting out a yawn while staring at the fluorescent lights above. He snapped his head forward back toward the desk, the wooden panels under him groaning tiredly. He contemplated. He was lost. He had no idea where to go, what to turn to. There was nothing he could use to connect to Lane's state? No other cases? Nothing?
Near his feet was Dawn's book. That myths book. Pardon, that stupid myths book. It was open to the same page she left it on. If he squinted, he could make out the small text from here. Darkrai, darkrai, blah, blah, blah. There was a small sketch of the dark-type on the upper left page. He pulled his legs off the table and sat up properly. And then, again because of the stupid magnets in his hands, he reached forward for the book only for logic to step in heroically and block him from doing the evil deed, making him pull his hand back to the nape of his neck.
"Psh," was all he could muster, wiggling his cold fingers against the warmth of his neck.
It'll do you no good, said Logic.
But what harm will it do? questioned Guilt.
Don't. There's no point in it.
But what if you learn something?
You won't. You know that. We both know that.
He imagined Logic glaring at a sheepish Guilt.
With his hands tucked in the warm crevice of his stinky armpits, Lucas leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, letting out another yawn. His head soon followed, collapsing into his folded arms. He could feel the coldness from the air conditioner enter the opening of his t-shirt, creating goosebumps on his chest.
When you're finally able to lock away that tight package of thought, you're awarded with sleep. Or, at the very least, a half-dazed state where real life merges into something dream-like. You start to envision what you want to happen, or what you expect is going to happen sooner or later. He kept envisioning Dawn walking back in, sitting next to him. She would, while his head was still down, pull that stupid myths book in front of her, flip through the pages, and when he finally looked up, she'd give him one of those smiles that made him feel uncomfortable. He kept hearing noises – feet pounding, chair legs scraping, pencils tapping, pages flipping, but he knew it was all in the imagination.
Now to figure out what category to shuffle that particular thought in ...
He pulled his head up a bit to look at the bulky blue pokétch strapped to his left wrist. Almost eight o'clock. Holy hell. Had he been here that long? What was he doing?
You should look for Dawn, said Guilt.
She's fine, argued Logic. She's fourteen years old. If she can't take care of herself by now, then all hope is lost.
But imagine if something did happen to her, replied Guilt. Could you live with it?
Depends, replied Logic.
For example, what happens if she runs into that same bibarel? Wouldn't that be ironic? said Humor with a chuckle.
That's not funny, muttered Guilt, nor ironic. And who invited you into this conversation?
Yeah, butt out, chimed in Logic.
No, you butt out! yelled Humor.
Stop the maaaaadness! sung the rarely heard Drama.
Lucas sat up and rubbed at his temples. "Why does Drama have an opera voice?" he murmured, bending over to scoop his hat off the floor. He brushed the top of it for dust before throwing it back on his head, letting it sit crookedly. That stupid myths book caught the corner of his eye again. It taunted him. Read me. What are you, chicken? C'mon. You want me. You know I'm in your head.
He looked back and forth between his notebook and that stupid myths book. His notebook was glaring at him. If you touch it, warned his notebook, I'm not going to be your friend.
"Why do I keep filling in voices for things?"
Why not? his notebook replied.
He shook his head and closed his notebook (he imagined muffled groans) and, with hesitant fingers, reached forward for the book – er, that stupid myths book. The pages felt old and dusty beneath his fingertips, though it couldn't be older than a few years. The print was small, the spacing narrow. How Dawn didn't strain her eyes reading this, he didn't know.
"Darkrai," he read out loud, "the pitch-black pokémon. Folklore has that on moonless nights, this pokémon ..."
. . .
He turned twelve today. Veilstone City wasn't much of a city for a kid to celebrate his birthday in. He was too young to gamble at the Game Corner and shopping at a department store could only amuse someone for so long. At least he was here instead of some forgotten dirt trail.
But still, he thought, hands shoved deeply inside the pockets of his jeans, it sucks being alone on your birthday. He raised his head slightly, the brim of his cap protecting his eyes from the bright rays of sunshine. It sucks being alone period. He needed the break, though – no, his pokémon needed the break; they had worked so hard for so long. It would be nice to relax and maybe buy a small cake to celebrate his birthday with. Tomorrow he would run back to the chaotic world of pokémon battling. He was really getting into the whole pokémon battling thing. It wasn't about the flashy moves, or the glory that comes with winning. So many styles. So many moves. So many techniques. So many ... pokémon. (Yes, really.) All the different outcomes piqued his interest. What if this trainer used this move first? What is that pokémon was of an adamant nature instead of a timid one? Would a different ability help?
Ick. It wasn't the time to think of that. It's cake time! But where to buy cake ...?
He wandered about the city aimlessly though his eyes were observant. The cheery activity of Main Street was replaced with the eerie shrieking of whistling wind between tall, shiny buildings. He could hear the traffic of downtown and their meaningless honks and screeching, but none of that was here ... wherever he was. The business district, he assumed, slowing down to take a look at his surroundings. Most of the buildings were, well, tall and rectangle. However, one building across the street had its entrance covered in bushy but spiky planters. That's no way to grab attention.
Or maybe it was. Lucas looked back and forth for cars before darting across the street toward the building. He tucked his fingers into the palms of his hands, the leather of his gloves stretching over his knuckles, and tried to push the thick branches away to get a better view. The building looked kind of old from what he could make out. It had no windows. Maybe it was a warehouse? Oh, who cares? He wanted cake. Chocolate cake. He kicked it up a notch.
He stepped back, repositioning his hands inside the warmth of his pockets, and started to walk toward the corner. He heard something: the hurried footsteps of someone's shoes slapping against the concrete. The sound got louder the closer he got to the corner, and before he knew it, a girl, her eyes wide, would have rammed him down had he not quickly stepped to the side. The girl turned around and murmured a quick, "Sorry!" before running in the opposite direction, her hair streaming behind her. There was hesitation in her steps. She slowed down and stopped. She turned back around. Then she asked,
"Lucas?"
How do you respond to that? "Um, yes?" he replied tentatively, the corner of his mouth pulling upward so one eye was squinted.
Her eyes lit up. "You! I remember you! Remember me?" The crazy girl stepped forward with a grin that made his stomach grumble ... or maybe that was because he was hungry.
She did look familiar. He remembered the hat, some sort of beanie cap except white and girly, that was pulled over the top of her hair. "You're ..." He snapped his fingers. "You're also one of Professor Rowan's assistants. Right?"
She nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Dawn. It's nice to see you again."
"Yeah, you too," he replied immediately. During his journey, Lucas learned how to spit out after certain phrases out of politeness. He never really meant it, but maybe he did this time. Dawn was under the same apprenticeship that he was. That had to count for something, right?
Lucas looked up, admiring one of the tall buildings, the corner of it glinting in the sunlight. "What are you doing here anyway?"
The girl's smile started to fade. She stepped closer. "You promise not to tell the professor?" she whispered. He didn't know why she bothered whispering. No one was around.
He nodded.
"I think my pokédex got stolen." Her face cringed, her nose wrinkling. "Of course my data is backed up on a computer back at the laboratory, but those devices aren't cheap, you know?"
He shifted the contents of his right pocket to feel for the square device that was currently pressed between his thigh and an empty pokéball. "Stolen? How?"
"I'm not sure. I was eating lunch at the department store, and I had my pokédex clipped to my bag's strap." She lifted the yellow strap where some sort of black hooking device was clipped to it. "You know, for easy access?" She rolled her eyes at this. "Anyway, I hung my bag over the back of the chair. I did notice some ... some guy with a blue bowl cut walk back and forth behind me a few times. I think he did it. I guess I should have been suspicious but ... eh."
"Why are you here if it happened at the department store?" he asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets along with a few coins that clattered to the ground. He bent over to pick them up before they could roll into the bushes. "Wouldn't you be better off ... well, not here?"
"Yeah, but I think that guy was ..." she trailed off, twirling a finger around a few strands of hair. "I think they're called Team Galactic. They've been all over the news lately for something. Dunno if you've been watching the news since you've been all over the place."
"Team Galactic," he repeated. It sounded familiar.
"They're known for that blue hair that I talked about earlier, and they all kind of dress alike. Uniforms, I guess," Dawn continued. "Anyway, their headquarters are around here. I figure if that kid with the bowl cut took my 'dex, he has to be there somewhere." She stared at him, eyes curious. "You busy?"
Hungry, he thought. Must get cake.
"Think you could help me out?" she continued.
"I ..." He was about to say no, tell her that he had things to do, people to see, pokémon to heal, any excuse he could muster so he could eat delicious slices of cake, and that he could help her later if she still needed help–maybe, if she was lucky–but her eyes suddenly snapped up towards his and quickly swept back and forth, reading his face. And like that, a light hope disappeared into heavy disappointment. "Yeah, okay," he finally answered. The look on her face made his stomach twist in a funny way. "Why not?"
She squealed happily. "Goody!" She grabbed at his wrist and pulled him down the sidewalk. "C'mon! The headquarter is this way!"
. . .
"According to one theory, Mt. Coronet is where the Sinnoh region began," said the man.
Lucas wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy staring at the strange man who appeared out of nowhere in his long, black trench coat and fedora. Plus he had other issues to worry about, like peeing. God, he had to pee. He managed to finally find an exit to this stupid mountain after a hour or so, and of course some strange man had to come along and tell him some boring ass story about Sinnoh. All the small ponds and streams of water weren't helping alleviate his bathroom situation. Damn you, pleasant tinkling noise.
He struggled, slightly bouncing back and forth with his thighs pressing together tightly.
"In a newly created world ... A world where only time flowed and space expanded," the man began, "there should have been no strife."
Lucas nodded, legs still squirming, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. He had no idea what this guy was talking about. Mom said when dealing with the crazy, you let them do their thing and leave as soon as you have the chance.
"But what became of that world?"
Did he expect him to answer that?
"Um, lack of bathrooms?" he said half-jokingly, half-seriously.
"Humans," the man growled, eyes narrowing, focusing on something behind Lucas's head. "Because the human spirit is weak and incomplete, strife has appeared. This world is ruined by it."
He didn't get it. Without human spirit or humans period, he wouldn't even be here, right? And holy crap, did he just pee a little? He brought his closed fists to his face, digging his knuckles into his cheek, and bit his tongue lightly.
"I find the state of things to be deplorable ..." he trailed off in the same venomous tone from before. He held the brim of his fedora tightly and lowered it over his eyes. "Pardon me. Stand aside."
Lucas didn't bother going after the odd man and his odder ramblings as he brushed past him. Although he wondered why the man bothered to stop him on his way out to speak about his feelings on the "horrible human spirit" (or whatever he said), he tried to push it out of his mind. He had encountered some weird people on his adventure–trainers that crawl alongside their pokémon, trainers that eat pokémon food, trainers in general, really–but that man ... that man had to be the weirdest.
Right. Bathroom. Right.
He darted out of the cave, running pigeon-toed.
. . .
"This cave painting. It's always been described this way," said the woman, pressing a hand against the stone panels and dragging her hand down lightly, feeling the bumps and the grooves.
"Uh huh," replied the fourteen year old behind her. She didn't bother looking back. She knew the boy was slouching. She knew he was rolling his eyes. She knew he was trying to focus on anything other than what she was talking about. It was just the child's way. She had no idea why he acted like this around her. When they first met, he was such a sweet boy, but after the entire Cyrus fiasco, the poor thing had changed. He was so ... cold. Maybe it was a stage. The transition from simple trainer to champion of a region was a big jump. Maybe it overwhelmed him. Different people react differently to different things.
"The light in the center represents either dialga or palkia appearing at the Spear Pillar," she continued thoughtfully. "The three lights around it were thought to be uxie, mesprit and azelf."
"Fantastic," the boy replied dully. She heard him scuff the flooring of the sacred cave with his foot.
"May I continue?" she replied back coolly, turning her head and brushing her long strands of blonde hair out of her face. She raised an eyebrow, her gray eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the ruins. Her hand remained on the stone panel.
"Whatever," was the boy's blunt reply as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his right leg.
She turned back around, the folds of her long, black coat sweeping around her legs. "But, then, I realized that there may be another way of interpreting this. Could this triangle of lights actually represent a different trio? Could they be dialga, palkia, and giratina instead? And the large light at their center. Does it represent something else? Could it be what created this world of ours?"
"Cynthia, why are you telling me this? It's over," he remarked bitterly. "I don't care."
"May I continue for a little bit longer?" she asked. She didn't bother turning her head this time, focusing on the picture.
Lucas sighed. "Fine."
"Thank you for listening to my theory." She did mean that, somewhat. He should know, after all, even if he didn't want to hear it. "Do you know of the ancient plates they find all over Sinnoh? One of them had this engraved on it. 'Two beings of time and space set free from the Original One.' I think this quote, too, points to the presence of another pokémon. A pokémon even more powerful than dialga or palkia. Does this sound plausible to you?"
There was a pause before he answered, "I guess."
"I'm not quite sure how giratina fits into this scheme of things, but ..." She paused.
Another sigh. "But ...?"
"It's said that in the Distortion World, neither time nor space were stable."
"Cyrus told me that. Why are you tell me things I already know ... and fixed? Kinda."
"I think that tells us something about giratina, the only pokémon there." She ignored Lucas's snide comments and focused on her theory. "It must be have been as powerful as dialga and palkia, the rulers of time and space. In some way, though, giratina has to have a power opposites of theirs."
"Cyrus told me this, too. They're parallels. DNA strands. Without one, the other cannot exist."
It was Cynthia that sighed this time. "I'm sorry this is so long." She walked along the wall, her fingers brushing the dirt off the panels. "May I say one last bit?"
"Fine."
She smiled wistfully to herself, her eyes creasing at the edges. "A long time ago," she began, "I wondered what sort of person painted this. Dialga's Roar of Time ... Palkia's Spacial Rend ... To the people back then, those pokémon really must have appeared to rule over time and space. Seeing them must have shaken the people to their very core." She felt the heels of her shoes sink into a particularly wet patch of mud, but she didn't care. "This painting represents those feelings of awe, wonder, and everything else. It passed that memory to countless people, eventually becoming a myth ..." At this, she turned around to face the boy who had a completely bewildered look on his face. It amused her; she finally snapped him out of his bitter state, even if it was for only a little bit. "That's what I believe as a researcher of myths."
It was silent for a while. She watched his face carefully while fiddling with the fuzzy sleeves of her jacket. It went from bewilderment, to contemplation, to more bewilderment, before finally setting on anger. Distraught. Pure, unadulterated unhappiness.
"It must be nice to be you," he murmured. He was physically shaking. "You get to observe phenomena that must have been eye-boggling but emotionally and physically draining from a safe distance, and in retrospect, all for the sake of 'preserving history.' All you get to do is look at it from someone else's perspective, and somehow people think you're an expert on it? Awe? Wonder? Those people were scared, Cynthia. They had no idea what was going on, or what to do, or if anything was going to be okay in the end, and you think you have the right to say how they felt without being there? Without having a first person account?"
She simply gazed back into his hurt-filled eyes as he raised his head. Her right hand raised itself to brush the blonde bangs away from her eyes. "You can try to imagine, you had the chance to figure out what these people felt – no, what I felt a few months ago, but you never came after me. So, no, Cynthia. I don't appreciate you dragging me here while I'm trying to goddamn figure out this whole 'pokémon champion' thing that you, for some reason, don't really want to help me with either." He let out a laugh, short and resentful.
She raised an eyebrow, amused a little. The slight change in her facial expression seemed to anger the boy more. "I'm trying, Lucas," she said calmly. "I'm trying to help you understand why I didn't–"
"Stop it!" he yelled, cheeks flushed. His voice echoed in the tiny but well-kept chamber. "You keep telling me that you understand, that you get me, that you know what it's like, but you don't! You keep relying on stories, on pictures, on myth, but how accurate are they? How can you really know what's going on from just that? You just ... can't. I don't get how you can do that. People's memories alter throughout time. How can you rely on something that is so fickle?"
"Mmm." She pursed her lips in response. She wanted to really respond–badly, too–but it was better off if she didn't. "I think I let myself get carried away and talked for far too long. I'm sorry ... and thank you."
He let out a weird growl and opened and closed his mouth, like he wanted to say something else but couldn't. "You can do your own thing," he finally said, "and I'll do what everyone expects me to do. Like always."
She gave him a small, awkward smile. "Let's meet again, Lucas."
. . .
As he sat in the lobby of the pokémon center waiting for his pokémon to heal, he couldn't help but reflect on what Cyrus told him. It was disturbing.
"I see. You must be the trainer I've been hearing about. The foolhardy one that's been trying to stand up to Team Galactic."
All he wanted to do was the right thing ... whatever that meant.
He fiddled with the straw of his soda, making the bubbles from the carbonation pop. He didn't really understand Cyrus and his ideas. Heck, he barely understood what he was suppose to do. He knew that whatever he was against was something bad.
It all started in Jubilife, if he remembered correctly. He was heading back from Oreburgh, and he saw some freak in a space suit harassing his mentor. He wasn't sure why Professor Rowan wasn't able to take care of the freak himself; he was, after all, an excellent trainer. And then, a few weeks after that, some little girl came running into Floaroma, screaming about the Valley Windworks being taken over by the same freaks.
He supposed it was his fault that he got wrapped up into the entire mess. He didn't have to help the little girl, but no one else seemed to have the guts to investigate. It was this event, he believed, that caught the attention of Team Galactic. It made him something of a threat even though he only had a couple of badges at the time. And all the while he still didn't know who they were, what they wanted, or why they were here.
So when Cyrus told him that he was "the foolhardy one that's trying to stand up to Team Galactic," it kind of ... offended him. That wasn't his mission. He didn't want to be a hero. He didn't want to vanquish the evil off the face of Sinnoh. It was just that no one else was doing anything. They kept telling him, "This is bad, Lucas! Someone has to do something!" ... but they themselves wouldn't do anything. It felt like he had to step in. He got so deep into it that people started to expect him to stop it without being told to do it, and he already knew that they wouldn't do anything about it anyway.
It shouldn't be this way. Thirteen year olds shouldn't be here, hoping for the best for the pokémon that almost died in battle against some man with a god complex. The most he should be worried about was whether or not he'd make it into the pokémon league.
He placed his drink on the floor and doubled over, resting his head in his hands, his fingers digging into the top of his hat. The ordeal and its aftermath left him sick it; his gag reflex was agitated and sore. Salty saliva was building up on the insides of his cheek and dripping down to the corners of his mouth, some of it escaping. He slurped it back up, provoking the back of throat even more.
He didn't know. Maybe he wouldn't mind being forced into these situations if he didn't feel so alone and used. People expected too much of him and do nothing for him in return. Why did he bother to keep pleasing them?
"Lucas, you may now see your pokémon," he heard on the speaker system.
He got up, leaving his drink on the floor but picking up the backpack he placed next to him. As he swung his bag around his shoulder, another thought formed in his head.
"Such emotions are but mere illusions. And, like all illusions, they fade over time until death banishes them forever. That is why I have abandoned all emotions as useless sentimentality. But that doesn't matter. I doubt you will ever understand my position."
Cyrus was a creepy man.
He walked down one of the barren hallways of the center, feet slapping against the plastic tile, and stopped in front of a wide window. He stared at his tired, slouched reflection before peering inside. Inside were rows of beds with pokémon sleeping. His riolu was one of them, the third bed to the right, hooked up to some weird, square, mechanical machine with lots of buttons that occasionally flashed. Even from here, the pain in his pokémon's face. From under the sheets, its tiny body was squirming. It was just a runt – it shouldn't have been in such a hardcore battle. But he needed all the help he could get.
He reflected on his position. He enjoyed being helpful. He enjoyed making others happy. He tried to be the most caring, compassionate, understanding kid because that's how Mom raised him. Rewards come to good boys, she told him.
What had he been rewarded with?
Quite grimly, he realized he would be better off if he did understand Cyrus's position a little better.
. . .
"...Thanks," she said meekly, holding her pink pokédex in the flat of her palm. She used her other glove-covered hand to rub the grimy fingertips off the glossy casing. Her piplup hopped at her heels and cheered, chirping his name repeatedly.
Lucas scratched his forehead, watching as the kid with the blue bowl cut retreated down the street. "No problem. Glad I could help." He returned Grotle back into his pokéball and gave it a smile before re-clipping it to his belt.
Saying goodbye to someone you don't really know was something Lucas always found awkward, especially when he wanted to leave in a hurry to get cake. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, um ... It was nice seeing you?" Why did he say that as a question? Dumb. "I'll see you later?" Another question. Great.
The girl clipped the pokédex back onto her bag's strap with a satisfying click. "Thanks again." Dawn smiled as she scooped up her piplup, petting his head with her free hand. She flicked out a pokéball and returned the penguin in a beam of red light.
He gave her a nod and turned on the balls of his feet, heading back in the direction he came from. He took a few steps, careful not to step on any of the jagged cracks (for the sake of his mother's back) or the dry, black bubblegum (because stepping on gum is gross period). Time for cake!
She let out a call after a few steps: "Is today maybe ... your birthday, Lucas?"
He turned his head, looking over his shoulder. How would she know that? "It is ...?" he answered slowly, confusingly, questionably, to the weirdly-phrased query.
She giggled. "Congratulations, Lucas! And many more happy returns!"
"Er, thanks."
She ran after him, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around her own. "I am sorry I made you stick around to help pathetic me." Her eyes caught his, and it left him breathless for a second. "Come on. I'll make it up to you. I'll get all of us cake to celebrate, and I'll throw you an awesome birthday party!" She began to walk forward, causing Lucas to walk forward also. "What do you say?"
He stared at her, listening to their steps as they hit the sidewalk at the same time. They walked around the corner, facing the sunlight. His eyes squinted. He felt a tug at his arm.
"Well?" she questioned again. "My treat! It'll be fun!"
Here he was, alone on his birthday with no calls, no letters, nothing, and some girl that barely knew him wanted to spend time with him? And pay for the cake?
"Chocolate cake?" he asked hopefully.
"Whatever you want, Birthday Boy!" Dawn replied, patting his hand gently.
"I'd like that, Dawn," he answered. "Um ... Thanks."
She smiled wider. "Anytime."
. . .
Lucas drifted out of his thoughts and put that stupid myths book back down on the table. He had to admit (he guessed) that maybe this myth is onto something. Maybe you couldn't take what it said at face value but ...
"But why?" he asked to no one in particular.
The stupid myths book didn't really explain why Darkrai did what it did ... er, if it did it anyway. It is a dark type, so it doesn't really need a motive; it does whatever it can just because it can. According to myth, it has the ability to make people see horrific nightmares once it lulls them to sleep. Data from other sources told him that Darkrai has a move set that consists of sleep-inducing attacks. It did make sense ...
"But why?" he repeated, this time in a firmer tone.
It's the most powerful during new moon phases – or when it's "moonless." The timing matched up, just like Dawn said. He tapped the eraser side of his pencil against the table, making it bounce. "But ... why?" Why pick on Lane? Why lull him into a sleep that lasted days? Did Harbor Inn have something to do with it? Did he gain energy somehow from it?
Is it something like Mega Drain? he thought. Maybe Darkrai is using Lane as a source of energy. Since Lane is just a kid, he would be an easier target.
Lucas leaned back in his chair, making it creak. "Can Darkrai do something like that, but with his opponent sleeping? Or is it the nightmares that he's interested in?" He thought back to Lane. His parents told him that he was stable, albeit the whole sleeping thing. Maybe it wasn't draining energy from Lane. "But why do it?"
He turned the page and focused on the illustration before him, exampling the sort of nightmares that Darkrai would (allegedly) broadcast in the minds of his prey. Bones, skulls, streams of blood ... cliché nightmare things. Not everyone dreams or fears this stuff. What would an eight year old dream of?
Of course – becoming a pokémon trainer. That's what he dreamed of at that age. It made him grin, but he frowned soon after. If they really are nightmares, then it must be the complete opposite, like not getting your license or ... something.
He flipped the page again, but there was nothing more on Darkrai. That couldn't be it ... could it? Even the storytellers couldn't think of a solution to their made-up problem?
You need a break, he thought, yawning again, running his tongue over his teeth.
No, you need to find Dawn, said Guilt.
"Yeah, yeah ..." He rolled his eyes. Quickly shoving both his notebook and that stupid myths book into his bag, the boy got up, almost falling over since both feet seemed to have fallen asleep during his reading. He stumbled over to the staircase, grabbing onto the greasy metal handrail to stabilize himself.
"You're here awfully late," said the librarian at the front desk as Lucas stumbled to the ground floor. She looked up from the book she was reading and pulled her reading glasses down to the tip of her nose to get a better look at the champion. "I thought you would have left by now."
"Have you seen Dawn?" he asked, ignoring the librarian's earlier statement and heading over to her. He placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit.
"Dawn?" the librarian repeated. "Oh, that one girl you came with earlier? I haven't seen her since she left hours ago, dear. I remember her looking upset, though. How come?"
"No reason," he murmured, shifting his eyes to the side. "Thanks."
Lucas darted toward the exit, the automatic doors sliding open, and was greeted by the cool night air. He adjusted the straps of his backpack around his shoulders and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He looked left, then right, then left again, glancing at the marble water fountain. He stared at the statue on top, an ampharos whose tail was lit up and changed different colors every few seconds.
"Where could she have gone?" he asked the wind. "Home?"
"You looking for me?"
Lucas turned his head quickly, his neck whiplashing painfully, and saw the girl sitting on a bench nearby, her legs tightly crossed. Next to her thigh was a cup that was slightly wobbling in the wind. Cringing with one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, Lucas made his way over and stood in front of the girl. He didn't look at her but the street post above her head, the light catching his eye and making them glint. "Yeah, I was," he finally muttered after a few seconds of silence, dropping his hand and letting it swing by his side. A particularly strong bout of wind blew, followed by the loud crashing of a wave hitting the cliff, sending up ocean spray that made both researchers shiver.
Dawn used the ends of her scarf as makeshift sleeves, wrapping them around her lower arms and holding the frays between her fingers. "What a stupid idea to come here without a jacket," she murmured, her legs trembling. She used the top of her left boot to rub against the back of her right leg, trying to generate warmth to her lower half.
Lucas pulled his hat down firmer over his head. "Why are you still here, then, if it's so cold?"
"I don't know. I didn't know Canalave was this ridiculously cold."
"Try going to Snowpoint then. Going over there told me a few things about being prepared for any type of weather." He was about to sit next to her, but she glared at him, making him snap back up. "Well?"
"Well what?" she murmured, eyes looking past him.
"Why are you here?"
"I told you. I don't know. I just am, I guess. It was nice sitting here and staring at the moon until the weather started acting up."
He paused. "Were you waiting for me?" he asked delicately.
"No," was her quick, agitated reply, frowning. She sighed. "Okay, maybe. I wanted to see if you would come after me. You kind of took a while, so I got hot chocolate and stuff." She motioned toward the cup that was now laying on it side, rolling back and forth on the wooden, flaky bench. "But, well, here you are."
"Yeah."
"Yep." Dawn turned her head to the side, staring at the lit up homes down the street. She bit her lip, trying to fight back the cold, her left boot rubbing harder into the back of her right leg.
Lucas finally built up the courage to drop his eyes from the street post and down toward the shivering girl below. "I ... I read that stu– that myths book you were carrying around lately," he said, pulling his backpack to the side and unzipping the back pocket. "I brought it with me."
This raised her eyebrow, though she kept her head pointed toward the houses, watching smoke spiral from the chimneys and dissipate with the sharp breeze.
"I think it might have something useful. I'm not going to take it word-for-word, but ... maybe it's onto something. Some of the things it says makes sense," he continued, digging around his backpack. He sat down next to her, still digging around, but Dawn refused to face him, her back turned toward him.
"I told you," she murmured.
"I know. I should have trusted you."
"I've given you no reason not to."
"Yeah," he said.
She picked up the cup rolling near her thigh and set it up straight, running a finger around the plastic rim. "I guess I did overreact," she said after a while, staring at the empty cup. "Just, you know, with earlier today–"
"Yeah."
"–plus the last few days have been pretty stressful–"
"Yeah."
"–I just ... I don't know." She tugged at her scarf and sighed. "I wanted to help you so badly, and for you to push what help I did have back in my face made me upset at both me and you. Rowan is so proud of you, Lucas. I don't know if you know that. I know he's happy for me, too, but ... I only wish you could hear the things he says about you when you're not around. I hope he says the same stuff about me when I'm not around."
Lucas gave whatever he was pulling on a final tug and successful got it out with a grunt.
"I don't know where I was going with that," she continued. "I guess I wanted you to know. I know life's been hard on you lately. I'm trying to understand what it's like to be you, but I don't think I ever will. We're not all bad, Lucas."
Dawn felt something soft and warm drape around her arms and upper torso, making her turn around to face the boy. "I know, Dawn," he replied, looking her straight in the eye, one hand still holding onto the jacket he covered her with. "And I'm sorry."
"Um ..." She looked back and forth between the jacket and Lucas who was still intensely gazing at her. "No worries, Lucas," she replied, gently touching and wrapping her own hand around Lucas's. "And thanks ... for your jacket, I mean."
"Yeah," was his reply. "Come on. I'll walk you home."
Dawn stood up and pulled the jacket over her shoulders, its length longer than her entire outfit. It was still a bit cold; the wind managed to slip into the jacket since it was so big on her. Lucas, being the mind-reading fiend that he is, comfortingly wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, sharing his warmth.
"So you really read that book, huh?" she said, grinning, looking up at him.
"No, I read the page you left it open on," he corrected, his eyes focused on the path ahead.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to help yourself."
"If you say so."
"I'm always right, Lucas. You should just learn to deal with it."
Her smile widened at the boy's snort. As they walked, admiring the nighttime life, Dawn heard something crinkle next to her hip. She looked down to where her bag swung gently back and forth and noticed the pastry she bought earlier, still wrapped in its plastic wrapping. "You didn't eat dinner, huh?"
"Just lunch from earlier, yeah."
"Yeah, me neither. Maybe you can stay awhile and I can make us soup or something, yeah?" She used her free hand to pick up the pastry. "Anyway, I bought this earlier, but I forgot about it 'til now. Want it?"
"What is it?"
"Chocolate cake."