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Chapter Two
Change is not merely necessary to life. It is life.- Alvin Tuffler
Sunday, December 15 2002
11:00 AM
A lazy wisp of sunlight filtered about through the tall softwoods of Viridian, dancing along spots of dew dripping from coniferous needles and finally coming to rest on the nest of leaves and moss where Katherine slept. She got up hesitantly from the bed, a few damp leaves clinging to her face and hair. She had spent a rough first night in the forest, wandering aimlessly about the twilight woods, before deciding it had been safe to get some sleep. Although the air had been cold and the weather stormy, it was the best night Katherine could remember.
The blue sky and sunshine were welcome after the sleet of the last night; winter would soon descend upon the forest to wrap its icy grip of snow upon the branches of the evergreens and hardwoods. Katherine brushed the leaves off her, and watched absentmindedly as they fluttered to the damp ground. She stretched; first her arms, reaching up and spreading her fingers apart, her retractable claws reaching their full length, then her legs, bending her feet slightly parallel to the ground, the four toes on each curled slightly. It felt so wonderful to extend her limbs, without a single cage wall to restrict and close her in!
A stream flowed nearby, its bubbling, flowing song music to Katherine’s sensitive ears. She was terribly hungry and thirsty; in the lab, food and water were rare and had only been provided twice a week, if that. She had never heard a stream’s song, but instinct deep within her told her it meant water. She followed the sound, her long, tapered ears pricked forward. First, a long drink from this strange, musical water source; than food would have to be found. So hungry!
It took a few minutes for the stream to come into view, a glistening, sinewy animal that wormed about its grassy banks, splashing and lapping against stones in its bed, sparkling like a thousand jewels in the sun. Katherine was fascinated by it – water that moved and roared like a living creature; to the girl’s ears the gentle burble a normal human would have heard was instead a loud blast of sound, amazing and vast in its scope.
Katherine cautiously approached the stream, her ears back against her head, the fur on her nape and along her spine down to her tail raised slightly. Could she trust this strange moving water? She took a few more steps towards it, the sharp, pure scent of the liquid filling her nostrils. Finally, thirst got the better of her, and she ran, on all fours, the final few feet to the bank.
And caught a view of her reflection.
She had seen her face before, peering curiously back at her from the depths of her murky water bowl back in the lab, and could never get over just how ugly she really was. Her colorblind eyes took in pale gray skin, marred in places from bruises and scars both old and new; light gray eyes flecked with a richer shade of gray, which she had heard people say were ‘strange’, an allusion she never understood – many of the scientists had had pale gray eyes. Tousled, messy light gray hair that only added to her ugly rag-tag appearance gently framed her thin, slightly pointed face, and of course, there were her gray-and-black furred ears, sticking out like bug antennae from the sides of her head. Angrily, she smacked at her reflection with a paw, shattering it into a million ripples in the surface of the strange, rushing stream. Need drink, not feel sad, she thought, before dipping her head over the water and lapping greedily.
It was a sad time for her, a period plagued by the resurfacing of agonizing memories which never went away and tore her heart to pieces. It was a time for sorrow, a time for questioning. Every time this date came, she would wonder: What was it that had happened to my Sampson?
Each year, she would do the same thing – put on a pair of worn hiking boots, a pair of tattered, faded jeans, and a long-sleeved cashmere shirt – and then go out into the middle of nowhere, searching for any sign that her husband could be out there. If he had been murdered, his body would have to be out there, somewhere. And maybe, just maybe, she hoped, she could find something that would prove he was still alive…
She drove her car north from her home in Pallet Town towards the Viridian Forest, as she had every anniversary since 1991. She didn’t bother to switch on the radio, and gave no more than a cursory glance to the scenery, even though she knew it to be beautiful. Many of the Viridian suburbs were coastal towns; built right on the edge of the mighty Pacific. The sea was dark near the horizon, hard and cold like cobalt, but close to shore it was dappled with early light the color of newly minted pennies.
From Kanto’s Route 1, Delia turned unto a much smaller highway; a filthy, ill-kept dirt road, grains of sand gently twirling with the wind and sparkling like a million engagement rings in the sun. She had come to the place she was looking for; she parked her vehicle under the spreading boughs of a pine, attached the fanny-pack to her waist and set off across a little dirt trail, glancing at worn old park service signs set upon a dead tree. NO SNOWMOBILES, NO FOUR-WHEELERS.
She had been up here often for pleasure visits, enjoying the sights and sounds and beauty of the forest. The untamed areas of Viridian Forest, where, if you were rather lucky, you might encounter a stantler before it vanished in the fir trees, held a special allure; a depth of wonder that was, perhaps, born of childhood memories of having wanted to be a Trainer. She even owned a cabin in these woods, albeit one much closer to her home. Sampson and she, Delia remembered wistfully, had once stayed there for several days, drinking wine, making love, and enjoying life. Those days…they were gone now…
She settled down on a stump and sighed. Opening up the fanny pack and taking out the race cakes, she tore the package open and dug in, not caring about their blandness. It was quiet here under the canopy of great oaks and sycamores, and soothing - a good place to come to remember Sampson, and to search for any sign of him. But how realistic is such a goal?
Attaching the fanny around her waist once more, she headed down the trail again, where the air was freshened by spring growth of the evergreens. It was a heavy, fresh smell, carrying a sharp tang of the woods, and she loved it. It may not be realistic…but why should I let myself give up?
A few minutes later, passing between two beautiful maples that bent together to form a graceful, leaf-studded archway, she came to a break in the forest where sunlight illuminated everything with a brilliant gold glow. At the far end of the clearing, near a little brook that burbled and eddied among a small stand of pines, the trail led into another section of woods where the trees grew ever closer together. Standing on the top of a small knoll, at the edge of the sunlit area, the trail only went a short way before it vanished into the seamless darkness of the forest.
She wouldn’t give them a fighting chance!
In a matter of seconds, the stream was abandoned; the only sign of anything having been there a few odd paw-prints in the sandy soil. Katherine had vanished into the shrubs and bushes surrounding a small clearing, listening intently. It took a few minutes for the hiker to come into view – though it was blurry, fuzzy view, as Katherine was terribly nearsighted. She took a deep breath, the hiker was downwind of her and she could easily pick up its scent. It was a woman, mothered once; no anger or evil permeated the odor, but rather, a clinging sadness prevailed over all other emotions.
From place outside cage and much pain, Katherine concluded, her fear dissipating.
Still keeping to the bushes to avoid being seen, the girl crept quickly around the opening and into the darker forest beyond. She was at the top of a hill, the meadow at its base spreading out before her in a beautiful panorama beyond her line of vision. Perched upon the hill, she listened to the noise of the forest, the creaking tree branches and singing birds; all that was at the heart of nature. And for one brief moment, Katherine at last felt peace.
The hard, cruel eyes of Frank Lawson peered down at the pathetic carcass of the bird, watching a crimson trail of blood spread down its dingy white feathers and pool in the dirt at his feet. It had been a perfect shot, blasting the bird to hell moments away from its nest and squawking babies. Now, all he had to do was climb up and collect the little fledglings, and his plan would be almost complete.
He gripped a branch, the bark digging into his fingernails and printing upon them its pattern. Reaching up, he snatched a handful of baby bird, and slipped it into his pocket. Frank dropped down from the tree, withdrew the fledgling, and placed it on the ground, right in front of its dead mother. The little bird cooed, opening its beak. It didn’t make the connection between the dead pidgey, the human, and its predicament. Food was all that mattered, and it wanted some.
The subjects would probably be starving by now; the dead mother and its little infant pidgey upon the ground, a helpless ball of feathers and wide gaping beak, would make the perfect meal. The blood smell and the fledgling’s peeping would attract one or both of them, Frank hoped. He also hoped neither had met their deaths yet, at least not in some hidden, inaccessible area. Dead bodies are fine, as long as we can pick them up and get rid of them quickly…
But we must find the pikachu.
They had to find the boy, too – for even though his appearance was, for the most part, ordinary and mundane, Frank knew he had a mouth and that he knew how to use it. They couldn’t afford having the boy, Kyle, letting anything slip about his lab home…
Frank and his men tramped through the forest, searching for hiding spots to watch and wait for something to approach the birds. How far could those worthless experiments have gotten? It couldn’t be much farther than this, Frank hoped.
Three growlithe sniffed at the air, their warm breath turning to a fine mist as they exhaled. They weren’t very special growlithe, but they were doing their best, searching for a scent to reach their sensitive noses, with no luck. Turning away from the dogs for a minute, Frank instead turned his gaze to the raichu at his side. The animal had belonged to Sampson at one time, and was at least fourteen years old - which showed. Its muzzle was rather grey, and it didn’t run as swiftly as it was once able. However, it could still sniff out a trail, and besides…
It was clever, Frank knew. Much more so than any pokémon had a right to be.
He would, admittedly, rather have taken Facet, a pokémon who possessed a ruthless efficiency virtually unheard of, both among members of his species and the kingdom at large, if only the beast would follow orders given by people that were not his Trainer. His unparalleled viciousness would have been perfect for this hunt, and yet…
As much as Frank did not like to admit to such, Facet frightened him.
The old raichu yawned, revealing yellow-stained teeth. Resting on its haunches, it proceeded to scratch behind one of its large ears with a hind paw. Finally, though, it stopped its primping and raised its head, sniffing about curiously. Because of its intelligence, Frank knew, it would be a skilled tracker, even if not quite as good as he imagined the fearsome Facet to be. The growlithe pack was simply there for backup - in case, in sympathy for its former trainer, the raichu refused to track.
Frank hoped that the pikachu would be the one to find the birds first. It needed to be killed quickly, if it wasn’t dead already, and disposed of where no hikers, or anyone else, could possibly find it. What a disaster that would be, and not just for that worthless beast!
It would be a disaster for anyone who encountered it - or himself and his men - as well. For he intended to shoot any person that came in sight.
Frank glanced up at the hills in the distance, the wind brushing some hair into his eyes. Angrily, he swept it aside and resumed his watchful vigil. He readied his Uzi for action, resting one finger lightly on the trigger. If the pikachu came this way, he would be ready to kill it. The boy, as well, he would also kill, unless he could think of a way to use him...
Smelling a familiar scent, the old raichu sat up stiffly. His Trainer’s wife was nearby…and if she came any further, she’d be shot!
Involved in his own contemplation, Frank never noticed the old raichu slipping away.
Wild raichu don’t run up to people like this, you know. It’s probably rabid. Sneak away. A sudden movement could cause it to bite. Be careful, Delia. Easy, now…
As she backed away, slowly, she studied the creature. It didn’t look rabid to her, but then again, she thought, they rarely do. Its coat was dirty and tangled, with bits of twigs and leaves caught in it. If it was ever caught, she couldn’t help thinking, it certainly wouldn’t be by a neat freak.
It was when she looked closer at the raichu that she really started to feel worked up, and certainly not about rabies. The little animal had been resting on its haunches in front of her, staring curiously, when it suddenly raised a paw to groom its face. On the pad of its forepaw was a tattoo, a marking that read SK-88.
Sampson Ketchum, 1988. The same tattoo that had been on the right fore-pad of her Sampson’s pikachu, so many years ago!
“It can’t be,” she muttered.
She remembered Sampson’s pikachu, Joe. Her husband had adored the creature, lavishing it with love and affection - thinking of them together reminded Delia slightly of her own son, Asheron, and his own relationship with his pet. However, she recalled, a puzzling thing had happened to the animal. Some time, a few years ago – 1988, she thought - Sampson had gone off somewhere with Joe, and the pikachu wasn’t with him when he returned. An entire month passed before Sampson finally brought it home; only now, she remembered, there was something different about the pokemon. For one, there was a tattoo on its paw, reading SK-88. And also, something about Joe’s temperament and bearing had seemed very different. Its eyes had glimmered in a strange new way, and it seemed unusually focused and engaged, seeming, almost, to think…
Sampson had never told me what, exactly, he had done to Joe...
The raichu had, by now ceased his grooming, and was currently rubbing his head against Delia’s leg. Against her better judgment, she knelt down to stroke his back and rub his ears. The little raichu licked her hand in return.
Finally, the woman stood up. “I’m going on now, boy,” she said softly. “But fancy meeting you here, Joe. I mean, I’ve searched so hard to find a sign of what happened to my husband…and here I find you. You couldn’t really know though, could you, boy? And even if you did, you couldn’t tell me…” And with that, she stepped around him and headed down the trail, towards the darkness.
Joe darted out in front of her and blocked her way.
“Joe, I’m glad to see you, but I have a hike to finish. I need to take this hike so I can look about – for your former trainer.”
The raichu bared his teeth and growled.
What a miserable creature. “Move.”
It growled again, flicking its long tail.
Delia stepped back quickly. “Joe, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m your former trainer’s wife. You should have enough common decency to let me pass.”
At that moment, the woods exploded in the sounds of howling and gunfire.
“GET BACK HERE!” Frank yelled furiously, knowing his plan had been foiled. “DAMN DOGS!” The man could easily guess what had happened; the scent of either the boy or the pikachu had attracted their attention and they had mindlessly run off towards it, effectively blowing the scientists’ cover. He cursed furiously to himself, and to the men who had been in control of the canines. Now they were back at square one!
Seething with rage and indignation, Frank never noticed the continued absence of the raichu. As he turned to his men, the fledgling pidgey pecked gently at its mother’s blood.
As she stood, frozen like a stantler in the glare of headlights, the raichu frantically tugged at her boot, trying as hard as it possibly could to drive her away from the grove. Feeling its efforts, Delia found her bearings. She had to get away – and fast.
With Sampson’s Joe guiding her, she ran off the trail and into the trees, leaping over rocks and ducking under low-hanging branches, the soles of her boots providing traction on the wet pine needles. She could not keep up such a breakneck pace forever, though, and soon her legs started to ache, her lungs to burn. Where was this pokémon leading me? she thought wildly, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. She heard men shouting again; the noise seeming as if it was coming from the clearing she had been in only a short time before. Why had Joe intercepted me? Pokémon don’t have a moral perspective, a sense of duty to anyone other than their trainers. The wife of his former trainer I may be, but no member of the pikachu family has a good enough memory to remember someone from fourteen years ago. Does he even remember Sampson anymore?
Why is this pokémon helping me?
Just when she thought her heart was going to give out, Delia saw, ahead of her, a hint of blue metal gleaming in the sun. It was her car! I’m almost home free! Feeling releaved, she stopped paying attention to where she was going – and ended up tripping over a fallen log, landing flat on her back.
Laying there stunned, trying to get her breath back, she expected to be leaped upon by the growlithe, or perhaps shot or captured by the screaming men. And yet nothing happened.
Why on earth had I run so fast in the first place? Were those men even aware of my existence? Would they have even cared?
But Joe had driven me away so fiercely…and just hearing them scared me so…
Why?
Puzzled, but anxious to return to the safety of her home, Delia decided to consider the whys later and to get herself to her car.
Once inside her vehicle, though, she noticed that the raichu was nowhere to be seen. Had been be hurt? Or had he decided I was safe and left me to fend for myself? Despite the raichu’s altruistic behavior earlier, she decided that option two was probably the answer to her question, and turned unto the dirt road, heading for home.
But she couldn’t help thinking – what were those men doing? And why had Joe driven me from them? And if Joe was there – was Sampson nearby?
Rough paws suddenly shoved at her back, sending the girl sprawling on the forest floor. One of the growlithe, the alpha of the pack, stood upon her back, slathering in anticipation. Its four companions surrounded her and it, their tongues hanging out, rough and pink. The alpha dog sniffed at Katherine’s throat, its nostrils expanding widely. It leaned down, its teeth inches from her flesh…
And did nothing.