Hey, so here is my new "Trainer" Fic, although it's not quite your average trainer fic. It's a bit dark, I'll try not to be too angsty, and promise to try to be interesting. So have a read and REPLY >_<

EDIT: Made the little start bit into a Prologue, and the rest into "Chapter 1". Also removed the stupid dream.

Some notes:
Cluedo is the original British name for "Clue"
"Joggers" are what we British call what you refer to as "Sweat Pants", TMK
Set in 1998 for no reason except 2000 onwards seems to real and modern, and 1999 is used a lot.
I know it seems to ramble on unclearly- sorry, this is my first attempt at a first person perspective trainer fic, I'll try to learn as I go.
Most of it is effectively afterthought. The italic thoughts are ones that happened at that time and were formulated as such.
Apologises about tensing issues.

Falling

Prologue:


Around me the walls loomed like a pessimistic night sky, the disk of light overhead a moon that could be my only ray of hope. I tried to lift my arm up to reach for it, but... my muscles merely twitched and spasmed uselessly, sending more waves of pain through my body, which were nullified by endorphins. It was comforting to know that even if I was going to die, my bones shattered, my muscles beaten, and my blood pouring out of every orifice, my brain would at least make it comfortable.

The walls of what seemed destined to be my tomb were covered in a thick black sludge, the formula; one part water to one hundred parts filth. It oozed down the walls, gleaming as the rays of golden light from above reflected off it, and coalesced on the uneven floor, forming little pools of goop, into which my limbs were now sinking, trying their best to dye the liquid red.

I tried to reach for the sky again, this time with my other arm. My shoulder moved upwards, kindling hope in me for a fleeting moment, but I felt something tear in my arm, and moments later I new that the flesh was being sheared apart, no-longer strong enough to hold its own wait. I tried to look at my dis-membered arm, but my neck wasn't responding. I squinted at it- swiveling my eyes in its direction.

My eyes were one of the only thing that still functioned. Sadly they couldn't quite glimpse my arm from that position. Perhaps it was for the best. I returned my gaze to the sky, hoping maybe to see some ropes pouring over the rim of the aperture, heralding the approach of a rescue team- or some sort of colossal bird fluttering down to save me, but it was not to be. Oddly the pearly light had become crimson. Then I realised that it was just more of my own bodily fluids marring my vision. So much for functioning eyes.

“K'sa...” I cursed in my native tongue. I could still speak, but it wasn't very helpful. I definitely couldn't raise my voice.

'I can't die here... not yet...' I thought to myself. Stereotypical last thoughts, I know, but I really couldn't. I was only seventeen. I had at least another ten years left before I had to die to leave a good looking corpse. Plus no-one would find me if I died at the bottom of a well, in the middle of no-where. So you can understand why dying there was simply not an option.

“Alright...” I said, “Alright I concede. I'll do what you want...”

Something around my ears bubbled happily. It was a dark liquid, but not the one that was dripping down the walls. I felt this new substance bathe my body, and saw as the solid obsidian mixture flowed over my eyes, blacking out my vision. It seeped into my ears, and cuts. As it covered over my face I could feel it filling out my throat and lungs. It was warm. I couldn't breath, but with this in me, I didn't seem to need to. For a moment everything felt alright.

Chapter 1:

Even with my eyelids tightly shut I could still see the shining light through them, although it wasn't quite white, but a more pink-red shade, as you can imagine. I opened my eyes slowly, unsure where or when I was. I travel around a lot, sleeping in inns, camps, cars, or wherever I can. Every morning I usually experience the same thing; I wake up and for a few seconds I can't remember what happened yesterday, and have a bit of a guessing game of where I was. Today, though, it was going to take more than a few seconds.

As I yawned and blinked a few times, stretching out my arms, my eyes were met with the sight of a forest. Oddly, it wasn't a forest behind the green ceiling of a tent, nor in fact, was it the treetops I'd have seen were I lying on my back. I was sitting, with no shelter, looking out at the forest, a brown floor of sludge and natural compost stretching out bellow, an occasional patch of green grass or plants, and a towering brown tree trunk every two or three feet.

Immediately (although not in a very quick fashion, as my joints were still encumbered by sleep) I turned to see what I was lying against. It was the stone wall of a well. I stood up, struggling for a moment to balance, and looked myself over.

I was wearing the same clothes as yesterday- well, as the last time I remembered which I presumed was yesterday, a pair of sleek black trousers, with deep pockets, made of a durable material that had tholed the trials I put them through on my journeys, a white shirt (perhaps not very practical, I confess) and a sky blue blazer of sorts on top of that. As I had just had a little internal debate about the day/time, I next decided to look skyward for some more information.

I usually used pokégear, which was more than reliable, to keep trap of the time and suchlike, but a little while ago it was smashed when some mountain training got rough. But I could pretty much tell the time by the sun exact the fifteen minutes, if I got a clear view. Unfortunately the forest canopy blocked my sight this time, and I could only see the rough area where the sun shone through. Mid-afternoon, three-ish, I asserted.

Things were getting seriously weird. I never slept in. I rarely slept without a tent, and even more rarely without a sleeping bag. My back pack- which very obviously still had my sleeping bag attached to it, was sitting against the well, beside where I had awoken. Casting my mind back my last clear memory was when I got a lead on a rare pokémon on some backwater southern island, and set out to catch it.

'Yeah, that's right...' I thought to myself. 'I must be on the island...' overhead maps I had referenced flashed through my mind. Roughly diamond shaped, a village on the north-west tip, south-eastern half covered by a forest. A forest I was in.

My hand flew to my belt, where it should have found six pokéballs awaiting my disposal. It did not. My pokéballs were gone, and my pokémon with them. 'But... how!?'

Suddenly my head throbbed angrily, as if my brain was trying to burst free of its prison in my skull. I clutched my head, and scrunched up my eyes, groaning in pain as what could only be migraine gripped me. A few seconds later the pain subsided to a dull ache throughout my mind. I noticed, but didn't take much note of it, that my hair was considerably longer, darker, and cooler than it was normally. I mean temperature-wise, not style-wise, obviously. Although it probably did look “cooler” too.

'Stolen.' I concluded. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense. 'Lured to this island, beaten, drugged, my pokémon stolen, then dumped here.'

Without another moment's thought I snatched up my pack and threw my arms through the straps, sprinting off, away from the well, which I had essentially forgotten about. I had to get back to town, and report the theft.

A few years ago, I'd have done much the same thing, and ran off in completely the wrong direction and end up getting lost for days. I was pretty foolish in my early days as a trainer. I always entrusted my fate to the gods, thinking that they would provide for me if I just picked something at random. After a few harsh lessons, I learned that they wouldn't, and by and large they'd just point at laugh when I fell flat on my face.

But now I was a little better. I remembered the island's shape, and new that if I headed north I'd eventually either come out of the forest, or more likely hit the coast, at which point I could follow it up to the village. I had a small compass on my person that I instinctively glanced at whenever making such judgments, so I could tell which way was north. There were other ways to guess, based on the sun, and lichen and suchlike, but as long as I had my compass it was my first 'port of call'.

As I jogged through the forest I noticed things were eerily silent. My footfalls in the muddy ground almost echoed throughout the forest apparently devoid of wild-life. It was really for the best for me. Wild pokémon were extremely violent, eager to increase their strength through battle, and as such they jump anyone they see, since they've come to associate humans with pokémon trainers. Without my pokémon I'd be mince-meat if something decided to attack me.

I guess I was still in shock at this point, because I wasn't really feeling much about how my six star pokémon had been stolen. Slowly though, under the roasting heat of the afternoon sun, I felt my heart begin to burn slowly, with rage and seething hatred for whoever did this. Between panting breaths my teeth clenched together, while my eyes settled into an aimless glare and my brow descended into a frown. My fists clenched tight together as I went, and I imagined my limbs slamming into my opponent as they flew back and forth. With his burning passion filling my I found my pace quickening, and the trees began to zip by on either side.

Almost all at once the trees stopped and the grass gave way to rough sand. I skidded to a halt as I exited the thick forest canopy and the sun beamed down on me unhindered. A thin strip of beach, no more than ten feet in breadth, at the widest, stretched out like a white ribbon to my right and left, brown dirt on one side of the sandy border, the white froth of the blue southern see on the other. By the sea where the tide was ebbing away the sand was dark and flat due to the moisture left in it, so I treaded over to this strip and resumed my jog north, preferring the flat and slightly more stable ground, even if it was going to make a mess of my trainers.

In the distance seagulls cawed, accompanied by the calls of adventurous pidgeotto who chirped for one reason or another (I have never been an ornithologist, so I can't say whether they were marking their territory, making mating calls or what) as they flew over what I would call unfamiliar territory, for them. Despite the presence of seagulls, their pokémon double, wingulls, were nowhere to be seen. Such is the way in Kanto, and Johto, unlike Hoenn where they mar every sea, like rats of the air. Not that seagulls are much better. The seagulls kept their distance from the coast, fluttering tiny on the horizon, they drifted through the air, appearing as little more than white crosses, like paper crucifixes scattered to the wind by a religious zealot.

Despite the fact that autumn was barely slipping over the horizon, and the sun still towered above me, I began to feel chilly as I went along. Perhaps it was the spit off the sea. I ignored it, and focused on my anger, and my destination.

The island was a minuscule spit of land, and the village was the smallest I'd ever come across. There's a port for the ferry, a post office, no pokémon centre (much to my chagrin), something that passes for a grocery store, a small hut with the police's emblem proudly emblazoned on its walls, and a spattering of residential dwellings. I could see why people might want to settle here- nice forest, nice beach, not big enough to fit many people on, but not a problem considering the population. Still, it must have been brave and stupid few who elected to move out here and cut themselves off from society.

Upon approaching the village the sharp barking of a growlithe alerted just about all the populace to my arrival. It's constant sharp shouts felt like needles in my brain, each one bringing my headache back for a split second, and leaving a numb aftertaste of pain. I gave the canine pokémon a sharp glare as I approached, hoping to silence its protests. I didn't.

Ignoring the incessant barking as best I could (I was eternally grateful when the dog's owner appeared and attempted to quiet it, even though she wasn't completely successful.), I proceeded to the police-hut. It was a simply building, cylindrical, perhaps trying to mirror the appearance of a large tree stump, unpainted brown wood, a flat roof (that looked sodden from too much rain), short windows in a ring around the top, too high to allow anyone to see in or out, but just enough to let light in. The whole thing was less than three metres in diameter, so it was probably just one room inside.

As I turned the door handle and entered I heard a squeal inside and a sort of mechanical clunking sound. I opened the door quickly and looked in to see what the problem was. The officer (a Jenny, as you may have expected) was staring at me in a dazed fashion, sitting on a small black leather office chair behind a desk covered in nick-nacks and fiction books (but not a hint of paper-work.) She wore the standard blue “I Stand Out in Every Crowd” uniform, sans the hat, not buttoned all the way up her neck, and her turquoise hair lay in a rugged shambles over her back. In her right hand she held an archaic 'Game Boy' which bleeped for her attention. It took me a few moments to piece together what had happened, but it seemed pretty obvious when I realised it; she so rarely got anyone coming in that I surprised her. She made some sort of random squeal of shock and jumped in her seat, resulting in the metal sound that I had heard from the door.

She promptly regained herself and gave me a cheery smile (my cynical nature assured me it was false) and beckoned to the dusty seat in front of her desk. She cleared her throat and asked;
“How may I help you today?”
I smiled back (falsely, also. I was still quite saturated with rage) and carefully sat in the chair, unsure if the archaic piece of office furniture would take my weight. It creaked, but held.
“I'd like to report a pokémon theft.” I explained.
The Jenny had been peering over her gameboy, delicately tapping the buttons. As soon as the words “pokémon theft” left my lips her head snapped round and looked at me, her eyes positively glowing.
“Pokémon Theft?” she said. I could hear the hunger in her voice. She was a starved detective, and to her my little ordeal could be a metaphorical banquet. “We don't get many cases of that around these parts... You're the trainer who passed through two town the other day, aren't you?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Anthony Gonee.” I introduced myself, stretching out an arm to shake hands.
She gave me another over-optimistic grin and stood over her desk to shake my hand. “Jenny.” she answered simply. 'Well, Duh'. I noted that despite being stuck with little-no work all day she still had the same trim figure as the other Jennys. Presumably she spent a lot of her spare time working out. “So, tell me the details of the event...” she said, not looking at me, but instead turning to some cabinets behind her to gather up some stationary.
“Well, I came to the island yesterday- at least... I think it was yesterday...” I started, badly. She gave me a confused glance as she sat down again with pen and paper, ready to take down my report. I shook my head, “It doesn't matter. Anyway, I came here because a friend had passed on a rumour about a rare and mysterious pokémon being here. Despite this, when I arrived none of the locals seemed to know anything about this.” the Jenny nodded, “I was a little confused, but ignored that. I'd come all this way, the least I could do was go and check it out, although I already had a nagging feeling I wouldn't be able to find anything. I'm a bit of a pessimist that way. So, anyway, I went out, and... the last thing I remember is wandering into the forest. I woke up about an hour or so ago with no memory since that. All my pokéballs were gone.”
The officer continued scribbling away a few moments after I had finished talking. She paused, as if expecting me to continue, then after a moment, slowly put her pen down and sat up to face me again. “Hmmmm.” she said loudly, and deliberately.
“What?” I said. I admit I said it in something of a snappy tone. I don't have much stomach for people who are screwing me around, and I was on a short fuse that day.
“And you're sure it's theft?” she asked.
“What else could it be? I must have been drugged, robbed, then dumped.” I said, gruffly.
“Hmm...” the officer said, once more. I frowned. “What pokémon were you carrying?”
“Level 50 Electabuz, level 45 Sandslash, level 45 Gyarados, level 43 Parasect, level 42 Machoke and level 40 Weepinbell.” I said, quickly. My team was my life. I couldn't really forget them quickly. '****', I thought, 'That's all the pokémon I have.'

I was never much for the “Gotta Catch 'Em All!” school of training. What was the point in catching pokémon you weren't going to use? You couldn't train them all, or give them all attention, could you? Noooo, I only wanted six pokémon. Six pokémon to wuv and to twain at a time. I was royally screwed now, not a single pokémon to train or to catch more with.

“Could you repeat that?” the Jenny said, blushing.
I realised I had spat out the list a bit quickly. I repeated it, more slowly.
“Mmhmm. That's a pretty powerful team.” she nodded, as she wrote it down. “Do you have any other pokémon?” she asked, perhaps out of curiosity.
“... No.” I said dismally.
“Hmm.” she tapped her pen against her lips. “If someone robbed you there might have been a battle... and if they KOed all your pokémon it might have been pretty big... that would have left some signs...” she said, thinking out loud.
“I suppose... I don't remember a battle, though. It's possible that I was just knocked out.” I shrugged.
“Possible.” she said. “I want to check for signs of a battle.” she explained, standing up. “Was there anything distinctive about where you woke up?”
“Yeah, I was right beside this old well.” I explained.
“Well?” she gave me an odd look. “There aren't any wells on the island...” she paced to a laminated map she had tacked up on the wall. “Everything's so close to the sea, there's really no reason. We just filter whatever water we want.”
“Well it sure as hell looked like a well.” I said, in my defense.
“Maybe whatever they used to stun you confused you.” she suggested.
Possible, but I was hardly going to admit it. Besides, to put it in stereotypical terms it felt real.
“I didn't feel confused.” I replied.
“Well, it doesn't matter, I'll search through the forest.” she said, heading round the desk.
“Wait.” I said, standing up, “What if the thieves were leaving he island? Like in a ship or something? Wouldn't it make sense to check the coast to make sure they're not escaping, first?”
“...” the Jenny paused. “Good call.” she said, finally, blushing, “My police instinct is a little rusty.”
I laughed a little, but not honestly. I made for the door, as she was doing, until she held one arm out, stopping me.
“I'll go it alone, you just stay here.” she said, authoritatively. I disagreed, following her out of the hut, but when she shortly produced a dirty, though obviously durable mountain bike from somewhere around the hut's side, I knew that I would only slow her down. I watched bitterly as she tore off towards the coast.

Returning to her “office” (i.e. The inside of the hut) my first instinct was to return to the seat she had offered me earlier. However, once there some rather queer thoughts occurred to me. 'I should see if there's anything useful here, worth taking.' It's hard to describe a thought, really. There are emotions, moods, and sub-contexts involved. As that thought echoed in my head, for a moment I felt like I was in some sort of rough situation where I had to do anything I could to survive- looting and pillaging were perfectly admissible.

While I should really have suppressed this school of thought, I let it follow through for a moment. Standing, I perused the desk. A variety of ceramic, plastic, and clay figurines, mostly animals, and pokémon, a few in the image of humans. Useless to everyone. Her gameboy, a paused “Tetris” screen visible. The batteries might come in handy, but the gameboy and the Tetris cartridge would be no good, unless I knew how to wire things and use circuit boards, which I didn't.

I spied the pieces of paper the Jenny had taken notes on. Her writing was nearly illegible, but after peering for a few minutes I could just about make it out.

“Pokémon Theft.

Anthony Gonee. Victim {the last word seemed to have been added as something of an afterthought.}

Came to island 15/7/1998, informed that a rare/legendary pokémon was here (BS?!) {lovely to see how much she believed me. Or my story} Headed into forest. No memory of what followed. Woke up today (16/7) with no pokémon.

Missing Pokémon: L. 50 Electabuz
L. 45 Sandslash
45 Gyarados {she only bothered to write “L” for the first two}
43 Parasect
42 Machoke
40 Weepinbell”

About as much as could be expected, considering how long she had to write it. Date confirmed that I have only lost about a day. I had started to imagine that I was in some sort of clichéd sci-fi novel where I awoke years later. Or earlier, for that matter.

I left the report where it was and moved on. Not much else on her desk except more blank paper, and a few writing implements. I found it curious that she had no photographs on her desk, despite the other assorted trash. I am not a connoisseur of desks, but I thought it almost customary to have a framed photograph of a loved one. Maybe she had no loved ones. She could have a picture of one of her identical relatives, but she may as well keep a mirror on hand.

I took a glance at the desk's drawers. No lock. I sat lightly in her chair and pulled the top drawer. Empty. I pulled the second open (there were three) and found some stationary- postits, packets of pens, pencils, erasers. Still in their packets. The bottom drawer was considerably deeper. When I pulled it open I could tell it was filled, it responded slowly and only to a much larger force as I opened it. Inside were a variety of paperback books, neatly arranged with their spines pointing upwards, so that their titles were legible. “The Red Knife”, “Circumstantial Evidence”... a series of (trashy) detective novels. And a few romance novels, and what appeared to be one diet book. These definitely wouldn't be any use to me.

Closing the drawer I stood up and turned to the cabinet. There were a variety of things inside, mostly more paper. But one thing did catch my eye... a lever arch file folder filler with some sort of paper files. I removed it and took a look through.

It turned out this Jenny found another way to use her time. From the looks of the files I now perused, she kept a detailed study of everyone in the little village. Name, age, height, weight, date of birth (she even tracked life expectancy), medical conditions, a small biography, living relatives... The works. One or two even had information on what pokémon they owned (actually, it was two to be precise), this really caught my eye.

Morag O'Brien, forty five, owned that yapping Growlithe.
Nicholas Lomon, eighty three, married (to a woman in her mid-seventies) owned a Sneasel. His life expectancy was listed as “none”, but the file noted that the Sneasel was young by comparison. An odd thing to note, but I guess she might as well put it down since she knew it.

It was strangely satisfying to learn this information, and I almost found myself licking my lips. Not quite though. I rebuked myself for this behaviour, promptly returning the folder to its position in the cabinet (sure to put it back exact to the degree that she would not notice any change) and closing the cabinet, although I had already memorised everything I needed- no, wanted- to know.

As penance for my actions I relegated myself to the creaking chair she had originally offered me for the foreseeable future.

~*~*~

Although it took her less time than I expected to return (twenty minutes) I was still thoroughly bored, and more than slightly bitter when she returned.

“Ah...” she said. There seemed to be a note of embarrassment in her voice. “Sorry you had to wait so long, you could have left and taken a look around the village...”
“No, I was fine.” I lied. I didn't make a huge effort to cover it up, perhaps coming off as a little sarcastic. What did it really matter? I'd be just as bored poking about this village, considering how little there is to do here.
“Well, I couldn't see any ships or the like from the coast, and I cycled all around the island. Plus I did a quick check of the forest, and I couldn't find a well, or any signs of a battle.” she explained, with a little guilt in her voice.
“Damn.” I cursed immediately.
“Don't worry, I'm not done yet.” she said, winking optimistically. I did not share her enthusiasm. “Now, tomorrow I want to go back with you and have a look for this well and any other evidence-”
“Tomorrow?” I asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you've missed today's ferry, so like it or not you're stuck here.” she started. “And as for returning today, it'll be dark soon, and there are storm clouds blowing in. We won't be very much good at searching in these conditions.”
“But...” I croaked, grasping for some possible argument.
“Whoever stole your pokémon is most likely hiding on the island, or left already.” she declared, “Either way, I doubt a night's sleep will make it any harder to catch them. I need to call in with the mainland, ask them to check the ferry, and a few records, but first, I take it you don't have any accommodation?”
“I have my camping gear.” I stated. It had always been enough for me before.
“Perhaps not wise to camp out if a storm rolls in.” she decided, “Perhaps you should stay at my place. I daresay my couch is softer than the ground.”
I begrudgingly accepted. Something about sleeping in her house didn't bode well with me. I couldn't saw what for sure, though. I resolved to sleep with one eye open.

~*~*~

A few hours later (since she technically had to stick around the hut while she was “on duty”) I stood behind the Jenny, who was now opening the door to her home. It was a very dull building, the colour faded from its every tile and outer wall. The roof almost looked sunken from my perspective, as if the aged structure was sagging. It was only one story, but looked fairly long. The windows had a thick layer of some sort of black grime on them.

By this time I was completely bored through my skull. I had left her office for a short excursion into the town, mainly because she wanted rid of me (I assume she wanted to phone and get a background check on me, or at least, that's what I'd do.) I actually met a few of the villages inhabitants, including Morag, who apologised profusely for her dog (which at that point still wouldn't shut up), and the Lomans, who were very friendly. Their Sneasel slunk around the dwelling like a gremlin or some other sort of mischievous spirit. Whenever it hopped out the old woman (I discovered her name was Agnes, something I remembered briefly seeing in the files) jumped and almost seemed to have a heart attack. Nicholas just chuckled.

I scoped out the rest of the town to get the lay of the land. When I had finished ambling around the lanes an odd thought was my conclusion. 'No hiding places. No need for escape routes. If things turn sour, head for the forest.' As much as I was for planning ahead, I didn't really expect to have to flee. 'Still, though, never know what'll happen. Remember that Tentacool attack on the coast? Anything could come from the sea.' I reassured myself.

I'm sure you heard about it too, the event I referenced, when a small army of tentacool and a mutated giant tentacruel launched a terrible attack on a coastal city? Nasty. Every building wrecked, hundreds killed. Turned me sour on water pokémon, really. I already had a gyrados, 'course, I was hardly going to through it out. It was a ferocious beast, but it was tamed.

Pessimistic predictions aside, I had a boring and uneventful time. And now we were going into her place. Another thought had crept into my head, and although I was sure it was just my seventeen-year old hormones at work, I couldn't dismiss it- it echoed and reverberated in my skull, resurfacing just as I had hoped to put it to rest. 'Is she Interested in me?'

It's crazy notion- I try to tell myself- but I suppose I can't help it. Still, she's probably lonely on this damned little island- I didn't see a single person in that folder who was under forty. And she did invite me to her house, when she could have just let me camp out, or use that ramshackle office. I wouldn't exactly be offended if she were...

'Stick to the task at hand' I thought stalwartly.

I was being led in, now. The front door opened straight into the living room. She strolled ahead and slipped her shoes off in some sort of routine. I lingered at the door for a moment, before removing my own shoes (which were caked with mud, leaves, and sand) and delicately placed them on the nearest hard surface that would resist their muck.

As I looked up from my shoes, I saw her pacing about the opposite end of the room. Her jacket was discarded (strewn over the back of a cheap brown sofa), and she had her hands on the buttons of her shirt. From the looks of things she usually relaxed a lot when she came home. Her face was turning scarlet now, though, and she immediately swiped her hands away from her shirt.

“I'm afraid it's hardly the 'Ritz'” she apologised, gesturing to the room. She was right about one thing. The walls were adorned with the tackiest of gaudy ornaments, the wall paper was a dull green colour that was nearly indistinguishable from mold, the carpet was worn in several places, a few pieces of furniture were placed around the middle of the room, a sofa and two comfy chairs, all covered in patches, a very basic coffee table made from wood clearly covered in splinters. Opposite the sofa, and beyond the coffee table, was a small wooden cabinet with a minuscule TV sitting atop it. 'What sort of reception does she even get, here?' I thought. “But it's good for sleeping.”

“Oh, I'm sure it'll be like paradise compared to camping.” I shrugged. 'Is it too late to pitch my tent?'
“Mm.” she nodded. “The bathroom's here.” she indicated a door behind her on her left, “My room's here”, she indicated a door directly behind her, “And obviously that's the kitchen.” she pointed to a walk-in kitchen which was clearly the most well-loved room in the house. “I need to change, but I'll be right back...” she said, and promptly disappeared into her room.

My head was starting to throb again, so I sat down immediately on the nearest chair (its wooden skeleton creaked audibly, but settled after a moment) and held a hand to my temple. 'I need a drink' I surmised. Not alcoholic, of course, but just something to rehydrate me. Considering how long I must have gone without something to drink it wasn't that surprising I was getting a headache.

I pulled my pack off and dumped it between my legs, and began going through its contents. I found a half-full bottle of mineral water I had bought on the ferry yesterday. I pulled it out put my hand on the cap to unscrew it. Before I did though I took a sly glance towards the cluttered kitchen. There was a tap and a fridge, so I could probably get a free drink rather than squander my water. 'Why waste what's portable when you can “stock up” here?' my survival instinct said. Spending so much time camping and suchlike you developed this sort of mentality. However, I still wanted to be polite, and it wouldn't do to drink anything that didn't belong to me. Plus the tap water here might be horrible. I opened my bottle and gulped down a mouthful.

Still holding the water in one hand I took another look at the innards of my bag. Probing through it made me feel like some sort of barbaric surgeon, pulling around intestines and organs. I found what I was after- five compacted Ultra Balls. I removed two and put one in each of my pockets. I had to be on the look-out for pokémon now, if I wanted to get something to tide me over.

Sinking back into the chair I sighed, and took a sip of my water. It was this point I realised how little I really missed my pokémon. I was angry that I had been robbed- violated, that my hard work would serve someone else, that now I had almost no chance of entering the pokémon league, but I wasn't sad or angry about the things you might expect. No, I never thought “I'll never see my friends again”, or “If they're being mistreated I'll kill you!”

I guess I'm just not the sentimental type.

The left hand door creaked open (the entire structure seemed to be in a minor state of disrepair) and my host appeared, now dressed in grey joggers and a white tee-shirt that was several sizes too large for her and was emblazoned with the statement: “I fought the law, but the law won” She was holding a cardboard box about the size of a garbage can lid.

“Hey.” she said, smiling warmly. I merely nodded in response. “There isn't a lot to do here to pass the time, but I thought, maybe...” she held up the box. In bold red letters was the word “Cluedo”over the image of an art deco mansion, with the faces of several suspicious characters. I groaned inside. I have nothing against Cluedo, but it is not a two player game.
“Sure.” I said, simply.
~*~*~

Several hours (and at least three games of Cluedo) later I sat amidst the ruins of the evening- the Cluedo board only partially visible underneath two plates and cups. Over the course of the evening we had talked about ourselves and our lives, and I got just about the full sob story from her.

A mundane Jenny life up to around eighteen, when she failed her pokémon (specifically growlithe) handling class, and then scored poorly on a police exam. As a result she had been posted to this insignificant island, where she had worked for the past seven years (making her twenty five). She did mention that she'd been one of the best in her class at sprinting and suchlike, but obviously didn't get much use out of such skills.

In exchange I told her about myself, but there wasn't really much to tell. Three years ago I got my first pokémon, an Elekid, and set off on my journey from my home on Cinnibar (ironically this little excursion had brought me pretty close to home). I trained hard, earner eight badges, and was training to participate in this year's pokémon league. And then, a friend who worked as a secretary in a pokémon newspaper had called me with a 'hot tip' that some sort of legendary pokémon was on this island.

As I got to this point in the tale my teeth clenched together, and my hands balled into fists. I spat out each word like little licks of flame. She leaned over the table and put one of her hand on mine and said in her most re-assuring voice: “Don't worry, I'll get them back.”

Yeah right. She was a rubbish detective. She lost every game of Cluedo that we had played.

She had generously provided dinner- a greasy concoction of rice and beef. I didn't complain though, free food was free food.

Jenny yawned.
“Well, I usually get up at about six- so I'm going to turn in.” she stated, standing up. “You have a sleeping bag, yeah?” I nodded, “Then you can just sleep on the couch, I hope it's comfy enough for you.”

I found it curious that a police officer was letting a complete stranger sleep in the same house as her, and that, furthermore, she was already turning in without any assurance that I would be sleeping in the next few hours. I sighed as she disappeared into her room. My pokémon might as well be dead.

A few minutes later I lay awake in the darkness, waiting for sleep to come. I was not hopeful- considering I woke up mid-afternoon, I'd probably be up for a while. I sighed and went over the days events in my head, over and over again... gradually slipping away...