Story Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable species, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Plot and original characterizations are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Part VIII: Often Lost in Thought
Can’t Escape, Chapter 8: Often Lost In Thought.
Vincent cast Vera’s name into the skies and received no reply. He shrugged and turned to face his team. “Maybe she knows we don’t have six and is waiting at the motel with take-out again.”
Phil whistled and squirted Vincent in his face.
“Yes, you’re right. She would’ve left a note or something to let us know that she was there before I speculated that. But, perhaps she wanted me to make a fool of myself first, and then—”
A downward gust of wind heralded the green bird’s arrival. She landed behind Vincent and wrapped him tightly with her wings. “And then, I would save you from rambling like a fool by showing up just in time.” Vera proceeded to usher her team inside Tartaroyal Gym.
Kimberly spotted Vincent as he entered and asked if he completed his team. Admitting that he had not, she warned that he had twelve minutes to complete his registration if he intended to participate. With four minutes remaining, Jacqueline arrived, entering tightly behind a spectator, and approached Vincent, speaking with a disappointed tone. “Hey, Vincent. I’m just here to cheer you on. Because my dad works with the company, they won’t let me play tonight. So lame; he didn’t tell me anything about the event. I didn’t even go through his e-mail to see what all the fuss is about.”
Vincent glanced at a wall clock. “That’s what you get for being a good girl, I guess. Well, I won’t be playing either, unless I have a sixth pokemon to register. And, since Vera seems to expect me to have a sixth within the next three minutes—”
Jackie cut his statement off not-unexpectedly and handed Vincent a ball from the team she assembled before discovering her conflict-of-interest disqualification. “Here, take this guy. He needs a little action.” Vincent took the ball and rushed to the registration desk where Kimberly waited for him.
“You are cutting it a little closer than I hoped, Sir,” she whispered as she took the pokeball and placed it in a dock.
Vincent nodded, agreeing with her sentiment, “same here. Look, I don’t even know what’s in this so if you could just register it with whatever moves it used last time it saw play, that will be fine.”
She navigated her terminal’s interface deftly, processing the lent pokemon’s temporary reassignment without asking any questions. “That’s all you have time for. Good luck, tonight.” A small printer spat out a filled and pre-certified card which she added to Vincent’s set-aside paperwork. A manager approached to inquire if a stand-by would be called upon, but accepted Vincent’s application instead.
Guided to a ramp that led downward to the participants’ area near the rings, Vincent took a seat amongst his competition, staged in a row, and waited about five minutes for opening announcements.
Calvin Grovewell, a decorated trainer who chose his true passion—the culinary arts—over accepting an invitation to become a member of Ocimene’s Elite Four, approached the microphone. After a regular welcoming of the audience and competitors, he addressed the night’s irregularity. “Due to the special nature of tonight’s event, we require that all registered pokemon be recalled at this time and turned over to a constable. Select from them three that you wish to command during your first round of play. The other three you will command during your second round if you are not eliminated from play. Each trainer will be scored according to the results of three face-offs during his or her round, and the highest-ranked trainer at the end of those two rounds will battle to earn a badge from tonight’s gym leader.” Soon a parade of attendants carrying racks of pokeballs retired to the gym’s rear chambers. Therein, each pokemon was released, given a short explanation that they would wear an experimental piece of electronic equipment, fitted with such a device, and recalled again.
During this time, Mr. Grovewell delivered a more-comprehensive explanation to the waiting trainers. “Tonight’s battles will be fought with your pokemon under the influence of a new training device that recently passed Devon R&D testing. It alters the perception of your pokemon such that they cannot determine the species of pokemon that they are fighting. Be it a gyarados or a buneary, your pokemon will not know the identity of their enemy without deducing it from successful and unsuccessful attacks, delivered or received. The system also allows us to present a video feed of the battle as the pokemon see it, so competitors will be equally challenged while communicating via microphone with their fighters. Tonight’s contest is to determine which trainer best trains pokemon to adapt to an unknown threat. Battles will commence as soon as all combatants are properly equipped.”
Shortly thereafter, the arena lighting came on, revealing not the normal battlefield, but a grand array of large screens, angled to give a view to everyone inside the auditorium. Mr. Grovewell summoned the first competitor to a pedestal and microphone stationed near the ring’s edge. Asked to choose his lead pokemon, he selected his jolteon. Upon the screens before him, he watched as two men, dressed in black from head to toe, standing opposite each other in an empty, poorly-lit circle select pokeballs wearing black half-shells to mask their variety. One released the trainer’s jolteon, named A.C., into the ring. The video feed switched to the pokemon’s point of view, and added graphics indicating A.C.’s vital statistics and related information. A.C. intently watched the other kuroko press the other ball’s button, releasing something no one in the audience had ever before seen. It seemed to be a living shadow, vaguely humanoid in stance, not unlike a hitmonlee, but bulkier and with a single, glowing, eye-like form where its neck and head belonged.
As both A.C. and the shadow circled each other reluctantly as though the creature masked by that apparition saw the same in A.C.’s stead. Although both seemed unwilling to discover its opponent’s strengths first-hand, A.C. became impatient and attacked with a charge-beam. The shadow was unaffected, and concluded that it faced a dedicated electric type. It leapt into the air and slammed into the ground beside its foe using the earthquake technique. A.C. lost his footing and his charge. A weak but sufficient low-kick from the shadow punted him out of the ring. The trainer’s entry on the scoreboard lost one point.
The next five pokemon to compete met similar fates, most facing foes that resisted the attacks they received and knew highly-effective attacks with which to respond. Only one of those five managed to defeat its opponent and in a breathtakingly-close match. Mystery and surprise kept the audience’s attention, despite the one-sided nature of the sound drubbings both competitors seen so far had received. Some speculated that the gym leader provided their opposition.
Revealed to be the night’s third competitor, Vincent approached the pedestal, selected his three, and chose Theodore to fight the first battle.
The video feed tilted at an angle and bobbed around a little as Theodore tried to figure out what he was looking at. He cast sunny-day as insurance, while the shadow generated a light-screen. That suggesting he go physical, he dropped low and prepared to charge in and close their distance but a piercing psychic attack gripped his muscles and as much as he would have liked to use poison-fang legitimately for the first time, he tripped over his own body after stumbling across half of the gap. Confusion having set in with a second psychic assault, combined with a faint scent too faint to identify but not too faint to reflexively respond to, he convinced himself to tap out.
Vincent acknowledged Theodore’s surrender and selected Hal to fight next.
The shadowy figure did not intimidate Hal in the slightest. He was too distracted by a cramped gut to pay it much mind. His motions were slowed a little by the discomfort. Not much, but enough to let his speedy foe evade easily. His antennae straightened out, detecting something in the air. Something familiar, dreadful, and disheartening: the shadow just readied an ice attack. Knowing his next attack would either win it or be followed by almost-sure incapacitation, he feigned a direct charge to cause the shadow to evade, and spun around, redirecting his momentum into a brick-breaking karate chop targeted at where he knew the shadow must flee to.
The shadow was faster than Hal, still, but the illusion became somewhat broken. While his clawed hand smashed a dent into the synthetic mat they fought upon and did so completely behind the shadow, the creature obscured seemed to be sitting beside his arm, unable to rise as though caught by its tail. Hal did not consider their situation at length, however, as the shadow leaned a little and swung its Ice-encrusted fist against his snout.
His opponent was credited with a one-hit knockout, and Vincent’s score-sheet showed minus-two and minus-four.
Vincent figured something Grass-type would come next. His opponent seemed to know about Hal’s acute Ice-type weakness, and even Theodore’s atypical Psychic-type vulnerability; so Phil would probably be pitted against a lawnmower forme rotom, negating his hidden-power specialization.
Phil, be he ignorant of his team’s status or unconcerned, swaggered up to his starting mark conveying his usual attitude. Often his confident-yet-cute approach brought a bit of intimidation with it, but this shadow did not respond at all to the vaporeon’s bravado. Once battle commenced, the shadow mostly stood still. It used double-team to evade early attacks and cast bulk-up whenever Phil missed. Annoyed by his ineffective actions, Phil moved in closer. Too close. Whistling a trill while summoning a volume of water around his body, intending to surf the shadow off of its feet and out of the ring if that was what it would take, Phil pounced within a meter of the shadow’s position. It deftly knelt, seized the cyan creature by his throat with his right hand, and gripped Phil’s head with his left.
Tartaroyal Gym’s under-hall ring’s microphones failed to pick up the scrambled crackling of Phil’s vertebrae being twisted apart, and audience members watching the monitors above made no sound to compete with the feed’s channel, whence came a dull, soggy flop against the mat, followed immediately by a faint echo or two. Everyone watching the screens sat motionless except for Jacqueline, who immediately bolted for the restrooms, realizing that she was going to vomit.
The rotated first-person camera view never blinked as a man dressed like a ninja timidly approached, reached toward the body that the camera was attached to, shook it gently, and faintly spoke to someone else near the circle. “He’s deader than shit. What got into that g—”
The video feed cut to a blank blue screen reading “no signal” and Mr. Grovewell returned to the pedestal. “If I may have your attention everyone, tonight’s event is now canceled. Participating trainers, all your pokemon will be returned to you shortly.”
As Calvin stepped down he heard Vincent ask him, “all?”
The most he could offer was a compassionate glance before turning away.
Kimberly the Friendly Attendant teared up as she delivered six pokeballs to Vincent, one now deactivated with a black ribbon tied around it and a filler cap where its button once protruded. Unable to recite any of her scripted courtesy comments, she merely gasped a faint, “I’m so sorry,” and turned away. As Vincent exited the facility, each of the trainers he passed expressed similar sentiments.
He almost dropped the tray when a skinhead biker with an eye-patch, clearly touched by the incident and ready to pound anyone who might dare to comment upon that fact, grabbed Vincent in a one-armed hug around his neck and poked him in his chest repeatedly to emphasize his words. “He was a good dog, Dog. You stay strong and do him proud.” The biker bid him adieu with a relatively gentle headbutt before mounting his chopper and riding away.
In something of a daze, Vincent wandered near some benches in a small garden accenting the gym’s front entrance and released his team one ball at a time. First, Theodore, then Hal, Vera, and finally Fiona, who felt like the center of attention as the three previous stared at her. After that they looked around themselves, then at Vincent, then around again, none seeing the blue spigot that should stand amongst them.
Jacqueline found herself trapped within the gym, twisting a length of her long dark hair around her finger nervously while reading her father’s e-mail, as traffic flow kept the automatic doors in a chaotic state of flux.
No longer under the influence of experimental equipment, Vera’s powers returned to her and within seconds, she began muttering a prayer in an ancient tongue while withdrawing a bizarre pipe from her purse and lighting its bowl with a tiny summoned flame.
Vincent addressed his team with an unsteady voice. “You’re all looking for Phil. Phil is dead. Whatever monster they put him up against tonight, it killed him; practically twisted his head off.”
Theodore stood nonplussed, looking at his trainer who was looking at him with a look on his face that Tio had seen once before. Back then, that visage was blurred through the matted eyes of a diseased cyndaquil.
Hal dealt with meeting the first thing that he truly could not swallow. “No. No; they don’t put homicidal maniacs in the ring in gym battles! That weird ghost thing had a huge advantage but he wasn’t out to kill me.”
Jacqueline finally got the doors to herself and darted through.
Theodore concurred with Hal. “Same here. If anyone in that ring was going to become lethal, it would’ve been me.”
Jackie approached with a mixed demeanor, half sorrow and half rage, and wholly un-directed.
Fiona chose to contribute. Death visited many in her pack during hunts; the survivors’ method of grieving lay in explaining why they survived. “Mine wasn’t too bad. He was kinda slow. I ran around a lot and when he grabbed my tail I socked him like we did to garchomps back on the mountain. No problem.” She crossed her arms with her claws extended a little to enhance her pose while smiling proudly.
Vincent began assembling the pieces. “Wait, Fiona. I didn’t use you in the first round. So, you wouldn’t have fought unless the ones we didn’t pick were mixed up and used against the other trainers, and even then, the only time it looked like a tail got caught was when Hal fought. That means—”
Jacqueline interjected. “You were fighting one half of your team against the other half, and the experimental device was designed to prevent anyone, even the psychics, from knowing who and what they were up against.”
Theodore stared at the tray, now set upon a covered rubbish bin, and the two plain pokeballs it held, one with and one without a black ribbon. “Vera knows how to light-screen and I’ve been hit like that by her psychic attacks before, so if I had Vera and Hal had Fiona, then Phil had—?”
Jacqueline squinted her eyes and balled her fists as she spat out her admission of guilt. “Fucking Jean. I swear, Vinny, I had no idea they would be having us fight each other like this! I knew he would fight after the bell sometimes but I never thought he would ever kill anyone. I mean, he only used to get carried away when Caz did, too. Except then, normally, I mean, any time he’s been around me he wouldn’t hurt a fly, I mean, I just can’t… no.” She threw herself downward onto the nearest bench and cradled her head in her palms, propped up with her elbows on her knees.
Vera completed her prayer, snuffed her pipe, and walked from the group, saving Vincent the trouble of asking her for a moment aside.
“Vera, I’m not blaming you and I know you have your opinions on what can and can’t be discussed when it comes to seeing and affecting the future, but dammit, how did you miss this?”
Vera wrapped her right wing around Vincent’s head and lent him a vision. “I knew that we would fight each other tonight, I knew that this team would be eliminated, and I knew that Phil and Jean would share the ring. What I see in the future is opportunities for decision and the consequences thereof. I did not see Phil’s death because Jean would never choose to kill Phil, but that assumes Jean knew that he was battling against Phil.” She stood before Vincent with her right eye closed and both wings touching his cheeks, a preparation to show him what she was about to tell him. “The devices they made us wear made us see only a monster in the arena, a being that could not be rationalized as any particular thing except an indistinct abomination. I was mortally terrified by what the device made me see and not-feel, but I resisted my instincts and restrained myself because my visions held that if I chose to fight tonight, Theodore would be my challenger, strange as that pairing seemed at the time. Jean was, apparently, unprepared.”
Vincent asked if Jean posed any further danger.
Vera paused in reflection for a moment before replying. “No. As Jacqueline said, Jean wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She started walking toward the group again, and Vincent followed closely. “That is, in absence of an outside force compelling him otherwise, such as Carl’s emotional state has in the past.”
Vincent walked on when she stopped, to the bench where Theodore and Fiona tried to console Jacqueline. Hal had taken over the duty of staring at the tray and the two balls that it cradled.
Vincent, clearing his throat, captured his friends’ attention. “As most of us here remember, dining out after gym matches was Phil’s idea, to ensure that we all came together, even if some of us did not compete that night, or let something trivial come between some of us. Since this is my last league summer, and his, I think it is only fitting that we conclude this tradition tonight in his honor. Jackie said she knows a good place for sushi, so let’s follow her lead.”
The restaurant advertised a pokemon-free dining experience, and that surely applied to the main rooms, but upon seeing Jacqueline’s I.D. and a particular badge of Vincent’s together, an unadvertised room, always “reserved,” opened to them and their friends. Vincent placed a ball with a black ribbon at one end of the table before releasing the other diners. Jackie almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Vincent’s thumb nearing the trigger on Jean’s ball and pulled his digit away from it.
“No! Leave him in there to rot forever. No, have them run that ball through the trash compactor out back. That’s what he deserves.”
Vincent pulled out a chair for her after socketing Jean’s ball on his own belt. “I’ll leave him inside for now, but I know you don’t really feel that way.”
Jackie defiantly seated herself opposite the chair he selected. “Do you, now? I don’t think you have the slightest clue how I really feel.”
Vincent sat in the chair that he drew. His pokemon then took seats for themselves: Theodore sat at the end opposite of Phil’s ball, placing himself between Vincent and Jacqueline. Vera and Hal settled in between Vincent and Phil’s positions, and Fiona sat opposite Hal, leaving one empty seat for Jean at Jackie’s right.
Shortly thereafter, a waiter arrived and took orders. Their food did not disappoint, with even the appetizers no less exquisitely prepared than advertised. However, the right mood to enjoy such flavors fully escaped them all.
The almost unnatural silence broke when Theodore found some words worth uttering. “It would be inappropriate to get into what we were talking about earlier today, but I think it’s safe to say that Phil felt that sort of way about you, too, Boss. I’m sure Hal has told you what it was like at the game house, and it didn’t matter that anyone could have won him; you were the one that did, and you gave Phil a home, and you treated him right. You even respected his wish to stay a mute. It’s kinda funny, since that prevented him from telling you how much that meant to him, himself.”
Mister Grovewell’s entrance caused the maitre d’ to break a sweat. “Good evening, Sir. I’m very sorry, but I cannot offer you your private table tonight; I already lent it to another party.”
Calvin laughed. “That’s okay. Anything near the kitchen is fine; I might want to pop in and make sure there are one-too-many cooks in there. If you don’t mind, will you tell me who took the good table?”
The maitre d’ honored that request immediately. “Yes, Sir: League third-tier Jacqueline Valley, I.D. № EX–21160, and League fifth-tier Vincent—”
Having heard enough, Calvin hushed the greeter with a raised palm. “The room is rightfully theirs. Let the chef-de-cuisine know I’d like a word when he has a minute to spare.”
Vincent buttered his bread and took a bite. “I think we need a funny story before the main course shows up. Hal won’t mind if I tell his story to the girls, right?”
Hal nodded affirmatively without realizing that he did so. His mind was somewhere else and the unintentionally condescending tone of Vincent’s voice only pushed him farther away.
“Okay, Fiona; you were waiting for this. I was spending all my afternoons in Indan Fall’s game room trying to get enough points to trade for the dratini in the window with the wag-gl-ly tail. I knew I had to have him from the moment I saw him. Carl was already a thorn in my side and he was much better at the games so he was hovering around every day keeping track, waiting for me to win enough tickets so he could step into line ahead of me and buy up every dratini they had so I couldn’t get one. Sure enough, I finally made it, and when I headed up to the counter, he came out of nowhere, got there in front of me, and took two of them. They came out of the back, so I figured it was okay; the one I wanted was still in the display case up front. Carl left with a smirk, I stepped up, and they told me I couldn’t have that,” Vincent pointed at Hal, “dratini, because it’s their display dratini. ‘People are allowed to touch him; got germs and stuff,’ they tell me, and that they don’t have any more in the back. I argued; they went on about policy. I was about ready to throw my handful of tickets at them, jump the counter, grab my dratini, and run for it, when this old guy showed up. He asked what was wrong and I told him how they wouldn’t give me my dratini. Suddenly, the guys at the counter were all too happy to hand him over. Later, I found out that the old guy was a city commissioner overseeing all the bars and entertainment joints in Indan Falls; corrupt as hell, but if you complain to him, he says jump and they ask how high.”
Vincent took a drink from his glass and surveyed his audience. Jacqueline and Hal both seemed to be inert but Fiona’s fullest attention was his. “So, I bring Hal home and I want to make a big welcome for him. Dratini usually live in water, at least until fully evolved, so I ran a warm bath. I released him over the tub and expected to see my chubby dragon happy to have a home. The glow faded, he fell into the water, and went freaking ape-shit. In four seconds, I’m soaked. Eight seconds, he’s hopped out of the tub and into the toilet bowl. Twelve seconds, he’s sprung from the bowl, across the counter, and breaks the mirror trying to get through it to the other side. That stunned him so I tried to get ahold of him and off goes the top layer of skin. Now he’s leaving a trail of slime, heading down the hall, and I hear bleating. Hal squirmed into Zap—he was a flaaffy at the time—and Zap discharged static on reflex. I get down the hallway and see that Hal’s angry at Zap. Zap thinks Hal’s a Water-type and keeps trying to shock him and it isn’t doing much. Hal notices me and darts beneath my bed. For the next three days, I’m trying to coax him out of there any way I can think of without resorting to squeezing under there myself or poking him with a broomstick because then he might get really scared and attack us. I figured out quick that food got his attention, but every time I tried to actually catch him, he’d just shed and slip away.”
“I didn’t get him until finally we teamed up. I grabbed his first layer, Zap and Tio pounced on him to take the second, and then I reached over them and grabbed Hal again and that ran him out of layers. I held him like I did when they let me hold him at the game house and said, ‘calm down, I promise I will give you a good home,’ and I think that’s the first time that he realized who I was because after that, he was coiled around some part of me almost all of the time until he evolved. The carpet beneath my bed at home is still blue and crusty from all that dragon slime, since my parents made me pay into replacing the carpet and I couldn’t afford much more than the hallway.”
The diner’s main course arrived during the trailing end of Vincent’s story and was enjoyed more than the appetizers were. Hal finished his food first with Fiona closely behind.
Vincent recalled an omission underlined earlier that evening and looked toward Hal. “Huh. A little bit ago, Tio said that he thought you had told me about your stay at the game house before I got you out of there, but you never have. Would you mind sharing that with us, since in a way it’s Phil’s story too?”
Hal responded to Vincent’s request without looking from his bare plate. “I will tell you what happened before your story began. The reason I was scared of the water is because I’d never been in it or even seen water other than a little dispenser bottle in my cage. When they opened up the arcade, they jammed me into the display case until closing time, and then they stuck me back in my cage. I was lucky because I was a large male, so I looked good on display even if I didn’t really fit inside the box. The other dratini were just left in their cages all the time. Usually, they would get sick after a while and… go away. I was fed well enough to maintain my weight because I needed to look good. The others weren’t. Ours is a growing-or-dying species, and they certainly weren’t given enough food to grow, since I was just holding a steady weight.” Mentally, Hal quit talking to Vincent and instead spoke to Fiona and Jacqueline, although he did not provide any gesture to indicate this shift. “One day they were letting people handle the display pokemon to drive up business, and that’s when I met Vincent, and when he promised to give me a good home. I was handled by so many kids and teens it was like a blur, but I remembered his voice exactly. After that, when all the other people passing by would look in the window and walk away, he would always stop and I’d see something different in his eyes. I knew I could trust him, and I knew he could never have me because I was a living advertisement.”
Hal leaned forward, looked away from his plate, and addressed his master directly. “I felt so bad and so happy when I saw you running up to the counter. I knew one of those dying dratini would have a chance since I knew you wouldn’t let down the one you got, but I also knew it couldn’t be me. But, a little later, the lid lifted up and I was in a ball. You had to have gotten enough tickets to get all three of us, and until I found myself falling into a tub of warm water, I was really excited.” He breathed deeply and paused an interval to reference what Vincent already told. “When you finally calmed me down and I realized that you only got me, I still knew that the other two found homes that day, and I just hoped that they were as good as the one you promised me, especially after I learned enough to realize I trashed your bathroom and half of your bedroom and you never punished me for it.”
Fiona glanced at Hal with a renewed attention, and jumped in her seat a split-second later. Jacqueline cursed at her plate and threw her silverware against it. “God, I hate that asshole.”
Everyone looked at her, including a waiter who returned to see if there would be any second servings or dessert orders.
“I’m sorry, Hal,” she continued, “but they didn’t. I remember when he came home that day because the next day, Vinny wouldn’t stop telling me about how he got the best dratini in the world and just needed to get it to come out from under his bed. Caz came in with two pokeballs; I asked him what he got, and he said, ‘some extra junk balls,’ and threw them into a shoebox in his closet to be forgotten. I always thought they were duds or unused balls, but now I know: those dratini have been trapped in stasis for years.”
Hal pushed his plate away. “I think I hate that asshole, too.”
Their waiter capitalized on the pause. “Chotto sumimasen; our manager has heard news of the terrible incident tonight and we wish to extend our sincerest condolences. Your dinner is our treat, in honor of the guest that could not share it with you.”
Vincent thanked the waiter, who exited briskly. Then, he planted his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. “I would have rather kept the vaporeon and paid the tab,” he mused before flicking his glass. Its chime resonated clearly for many seconds.
Standing before the restaurant, Jacqueline and Vincent knew their respective accommodations lay in different directions. She feigned a departing wave and walked three steps away before turning back. She addressed him. “Vinny, do you really want to keep him after what he did?”
Vincent glanced near her briefly as he turned to face the stars above them. “If I give him back to you, you’ll leave him in there forever, like those dratini Carl bought. I don’t want to see you becoming like him. I’m going to get better assurances from Vera before I let him out, but Jean must face what he did someday. I’ll see you at the train station.”
She paused again after three steps more, but had no further excuses to halt him.
Upon returning to his motel room, Vincent released Hal and Hal only. The dragonite looked around quickly. He was alone with his trainer; even Tio remained balled. He rocked back on the balls of his feet when Vincent approached.
“Hal, you do know that I meant it, when I told Jackie that I had the best dratini in the world.”
Hal sat heavily on the bed. “But, a dragonite is not a dratini.”
Vincent’s face twitched with acknowledgment as he sat alongside his bulky reptile. “Nope, and that had me worried. I was afraid when you evolved you would still be timid and clingy. But, you outgrew that and learned to stand on your own feet once you sprouted a pair of ’em. Tio mentioned at dinner than him and I had a talk today; it was about my role in your lives. I know Tio will never leave me even if I promised to soak him to the bone with a garden hose every day for the rest of his life. Zap made his decision. Vera’s Vera. Phil—Phil’s story is over. I understand what Tio was saying, but I have to ask, because I know you don’t need me anymore and I have probably stepped foot in a gym for the last time: do you still want me to be your owner? I’m sure I can find a better trainer for you.”
Hal looked Vincent in his eyes, speaking a word that made no sound. Vincent reached up and scratched his dragon on the side of his head near a spot that was, years ago, in the shadow of a gossamer fin.
Hal’s expression became serious as he removed Vincent’s hand and clasped it between both of his own. “You promised me that you would give me a good home, not some stranger. I’m holding you to that.” His grip served to emphasize his use of the word, “holding.”
“I’m not sure I can, Hal. I’ve—”
Hal’s muscles tensed. “You did before: before you changed what we were doing together, before you decided we needed a vaporeon. You used to worry about each of us, but something changed and you started worrying about your team. You got me because you wanted to save my life from that cramped cage. You got Phil because you wanted a fighter with a lot of stamina and who could wash away rock types. He was a combat statistic to you.”
Vincent tensed, too. “Yes, Hal. I wanted someone who could protect Tio and Vera. What, is there something wrong with that? Everyone was exploiting our Rock vulnerability and I didn’t like seeing you three getting hurt.”
“I was still being hurt, Master,” Hal spat. “When you quit talking about me as the best dratini in the world and started talking about me as a Rock-and-Ice weakness, I got hurt. And, what about Zap? You said you didn’t like seeing him get hurt, but you knew he wanted to fight. I think you didn’t like seeing him as a free knock-out for the other guy, and you didn’t care enough to think up a strategy that he could make work. As soon as you found out that Phil had some electricity in him, you bought the T.M. to help him harness it and Zap was demoted to night-light and disc jockey.”
The humbled trainer attempted to pull away subconsciously, but Hal’s grip refused to yield. Unsatisfied with that measure of retreat, the dragon’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve given each of us a good home, for a while at least. I want mine back, Vincent. I honestly do. But, if you really, truly can’t bring back what we had, then I think you should give me my ball, instead.” Hal closed his eyes and let his head hang. His antennae exaggerated that slump.
Vincent glanced across the bed, whereupon rested Hal’s tail. It terminated with a tiny spot of damage and a few blue scales—legacy of a wound that time would never fully heal. “Do you think I made the wrong choice, getting Phil?”
Hal seemed to nod off for a moment, his grip on Vincent’s hand not loosening in the slightest. “I don’t think so. It was cut short but he had a life outside of the cages and he enjoyed every single minute he got. He was a good asset and a great friend to us all. I think you made the right choice for the wrong reason. I want to wish he’d known you the way I did.”
Vincent lost his composure. “I wish Phil and Zap were coming home with us.”
Hal pulled his master close as he leaned over him to compensate for the difference in their statures while releasing his grip on Vincent’s hand to instead hold his body. “I do, too.”
After a minute passed, Hal rose from the bed and settled in on the floor. Vincent released his other pokemon. Theodore gave him a warm hug and slunk into bed. Fiona successfully petitioned approval to sleep with the boys, while Vera let herself out, seeking a place without smoke alarms that would allow her to reflect on the evening’s events in peace.
Despite being wedged between his oldest and newest friends, Vincent rose in the middle of the night. They did not mind shifting to let him loose; they felt a restlessness almost as motivating. He stared at the shower drain and turned the water on for a minute before incompletely closing its valve. The sound of dripping seemed much louder than he remembered, as it struck hard tile instead of smooth fin. Still, the suffocating silence that screamed Phil’s absence could not be abided. For one night, a wadded towel would serve as a hollow substitute.
Vincent awoke before the others, slipped on day-old clothes, and sneaked away, sorta: Hal’s antennae twitched. He wanted to take care of something before boarding the train that would return him to the road leading home. He entrusted an engraving shop with a deactivated pokeball and a message to inscribe into it.
“Phil. He was always proud of himself, and he always had reason to be.”