Author's note: I do not own Pokemon or related trademarks.
I realize this story is going to seem a lot slower paced than "Watcher" was. Then again, I don't have a lot of breakneck pace action to put into this story, either.
By the way, I decided to bring a certain character into the story starting next chapter. I'm gonna have fun with some of this, you can count on that….
Language and near violence warning:
A loud and repeated thudding sound awoke Frank before his alarm clock could go off.
That's a familiar sound, he thought, rolling his eyes.
He got out of bed, put on his pajama pants and a t-shirt since he had only slept in his boxers, and walked to the kitchen.
What he saw, he had expected: his mother was pouring shots of vodka and downing them with alarming frequency. From the looks of things, she had downed enough to put her in what seemed like a pleasantly catatonic stupor. Much to Frank's annoyance, the bottle, which had been nearly full the last time he saw it, had been drastically depleted in contents.
He could take it no more. Marching right to the table, he moved the bottle out of his mother's reach. "For God's sake, Mom, that's enough already!" he snapped.
She looked up at him, still dazed. "Oh, relax, honey, I've only had a couple of shots so far."
"A couple of shots?! You damn near drank half the bottle already!"
She slowly turned her head to look. "Aw, it's not that bad."
"Not that bad?! Do you even realize how expensive this is?"
"Calm down, they had it at the store for a couple of bucks last time I remember."
"And the way you drink, that 'couple of bucks' adds up."
She said nothing, but instead she got up and uneasily staggered to the bathroom.
Frank was relieved to be at work, therefore, even if it only meant shuffling paperwork around his desk.
Nearby, Stuart McManus was staring blankly at his computer screen, his black bangs almost over his eyes now. Frank walked over and saw that he was looking at a blank document.
"Writer's block?" Frank asked.
"More like mental block overall," was the reply. "I'm kinda just tired right now."
"Well, did you get any sleep last night?"
"No choice. Couldn't find anybody in Celadon. It's hell being a cop. It's also hell being a gay cop." He rubbed his forehead wearily.
Frank caught a smell in his nose. "When did you start smoking again?"
Stuart wasn't paying much attention. "Huh?"
"I asked you when you started smoking again."
"How could you tell?"
"You smell like you're a few rows short of an acre of tobacco right now."
Stuart sighed. "I should get me some patches. Or gum. Whichever works best."
"You've had no luck at all, have you?"
"I'd rather not talk about it."
After mindless amounts of what added up to nothing accomplished, Frank had no desire to go home yet to a drunken parent. Instead, he went straight to Rochelle's Place. He parked just short of the snowbank in the middle of the parking lot and walked in.
"Hey, Frank!" yelled Larry as he entered. "Lucky day, you're the only one here for me to talk to!"
"Yay," Frank replied flatly.
"Something wrong?"
"Yeah. My mom moved in with me last night."
"Oh, I'll bet that's a load of fun."
"She started right on the vodka this morning, too. Speaking of which, one dry martini, shaken."
"Comin' right up."
He mixed the drink and set it in front of the detective, who uncharacteristically drained half of it in one gulp.
"That bad, eh?" asked Larry.
"That obvious?"
Just then the blonde woman from the previous evening walked in and sat down. "One shot for my son, please."
Frank quickly downed the rest of his drink and set the money on the bar, just after she had done the same. As she walked past, he got up and followed her out.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, trying to catch up to her as the snow began to gently fall again, "I wanted to ask if maybe you'd-"
Before he could finish, she reached into her coat pocket and swung around to face him, a tazer in her hand. "Get away from me!" she yelled.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" reacted a startled Frank. "You don't understand-"
"I know what you're trying to do!" she screamed. "You're one of those sick, perverted freaks who just wants to get me drunk so you can drug me before dragging me off, raping me, cutting my throat, and dumping my naked body in the woods somewhere to rot! I know your type! Now get away from me before I shock you in the balls so hard you'll never be able to pass for a man again!"
"Ma'am, I'm only out here because I overheard what you said in the bar about your son! That's ALL I came out here about!"
"BULLSHIT!" she screamed as she aimed for his crotch.
"Look, ma'am, I'm a detective with the Saffron City Police Department. You need to put that thing away."
"BULLSHIT!"
"Look, I'll toss you my badge, but you need to put that goddamned tazer away!" He swiftly reached into his pocket and before she could pull the trigger, he tossed it on the ground in front of her. She bent over to pick it up, still aiming. She straightened up and looked at it before tossing it back to him and putting the tazer in her pocket again.
"What's it to you? My son is none of your business, so why do you care?"
"Look, if he's in trouble or something-"
"He's been missing since he was a few months old, and nobody from the department wants to look for him, so why should-"
"I can help you find him, but you need to trust me."
"Forget it. No one has looked since 1985, and the last one who did was shot and they decided to shuffle it into the cold file."
"What was the detective's name? I can go through his notes and see what I can do to re-open the case."
She sighed. "His name was Caldwell. Andrew Caldwell."
Frank nearly dropped his badge in shock. "What?"
"You heard me! His name was-"
"Oh my God," he half-mumbled, stunned. "That was my father. He died when I was just a baby-"
"That explains why he was so obsessed with trying to find my son. He was probably about your age when he disappeared. I seem to be the only one who thinks he's alive." She snorted. "What's your name, anyway? I'm assuming the last name is Caldwell, too."
"Yeah, it is. The name's Frank Caldwell."
"You'd actually help me find my son?"
"If it means I find out who killed my father as well, then yes. Hell, I'll do it anyway so you don't taze me."
"Thank you, Detective Caldwell. God, I haven't said that in years. And I'm sorry I freaked out earlier. I've been watching too many 'true crime' shows lately."
Frank was relieved. "I'll do what I can."
"I'm Angela Wikstrom, by the way. My son's name is Jeremy."
"Well, Mrs. Wikstrom, I'm going to make sure this case gets closed, all right?"
"Thank you, detective. I really should be getting home now."
She walked to her car, and Frank waited until she left before getting in his own and driving away.