^ "Showdown" (5-14-2020)

—

NERO

Saturday, March 24, 2018

All at once, the call was over — Mr. Briney shoved the phone into his back pocket and turned to us. His easy-going smile was gone, and some of the color had leached out of his face; he was wearing a puzzling expression, one caught between dread and stubborn disbelief.

"I have to go," he said gravely, and started from beneath the tree.

Go? What the hell? I kicked, risking creeping a yard from beneath the weeping willow's protective shadow. "Go where?" I demanded. "Hey!" The sudden note of high Pitch made him flinch and stop. "What about the map? What about the meeting?"

"Yes, I—" His eyes kept flicking towards the house on the hill.

"What is it?" Cora asked fearfully. "Humans?"

"No," Mr. Briney said, shaking his head firmly. "At least, I hope not. I hope this is a joke..."

"What's a joke?" I said, my temper suddenly running high like a fever. What was going on? For some reason, it felt like things were falling apart, again. The possibility was enraging.

Mr. Briney gave me a strained look. "Just...stay here," he said. "Hopefully, I'll be back in a moment."

With that, he left, leaving me staring behind him open-mouthed. I shot Cora an incredulous look, and she shrugged helplessly. "I suppose we wait," she said.

***

DARWIN

"What's happening?" Thomas asked. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring pointedly up at the edge of the ceiling; the Wingulls had returned, and some were peeking under the edge, squawking at us.

"I...don't know. He hung up." I stared down at the phone, perturbed.

"Maybe we caught him at a bad time," Thomas suggested.

"I guess." Except, again, that Mom had warned him we were coming. And the edge in Grandpa Jon's voice near the end of the call gave me the nagging feeling that my suspicions from earlier were spot on: we were coming in, Grandpa's disagreement be damned. And Mom wanted to start things off by sending me to "soften him up"? Out of everyone here, I was the person least qualified for that job: by nature, I hated imposing on people.

"So what now?" Thomas asked. "Should we start helpin' your mom haul that stuff up the hill?"

Actually, I felt like we should start packing what had been unloaded back into the SUV, and then high-tail it out of here, but then that would leave us with nowhere to go, except for back to our empty rental house, which we'd have to leave tomorrow anyway. I peered back inside the house. So roomy, spread out — a man could stretch his legs, living here. There's enough space for the two of us. He'd let us stay at least a night, right?

Movement — a fast-moving shadow inside, making for the door. The air left my lungs and I stumbled back, just as the door swung open.

Beyond stood the man I knew to be Jonathan Briney, Grandpa Jon. Of course it was him, though — who else would it be? Still, if I'd been new to the neighborhood, new to the area, new to Hoenn, and I'd stumbled across this house and come up to the door, asking for directions, not knowing previously who lived here, instantly I would've recognized this man as my grandfather. Looking at him was like looking at Mom — as a whole, they were nothing alike, but as his gaze swept across me and mine across him, my eyes noticed things. Something about the placement of the eyes and the lines beneath, the deep bridge of the nose, the weight of the brow... It was like a template that had been used to create Mom, albeit with some slight variations in height and sex.

He seemed to know me immediately too: there was certainty in his eyes as he reached up for my shoulder, grasped me tightly. His face, a second ago drawn tight like a coin purse, loosened, and his beard parted around a delighted smile.

"Son," he said, voice low and almost reverent. "It's good to see you."

At that moment I couldn't tell you if I was nervous or excited or overwhelmed. The moment just felt...poignant, hyper-focused, like I stood at the tip of a needle. Even Thomas seemed to feel it — he stood silently, watching with a neutral expression on his face. I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just nodded.

"I'm sorry about earlier — it was rude of me to hang up like that. It was all so sudden. I talked to Heather and... Well, let's just say that I was expecting you, but not expecting you, if you follow."

I nodded, and he continued to stare me up and down, eyes wide and disbelieving. He let out an incredulous, coughing kind of huff. "Look at how tall you are!" he exclaimed. "If you follow your father, you're going to be a giant sometime soon. And a lady-killer too, if that face serves you well. Tell me, how many girls have you made cry yet? Quite a few, I wager!"

Thomas snorted, and I felt color race up my neck. "Uh—"

"Oh, ignore me," Grandpa Jon chuckled. "I barely saw you as a child, and now you come to me a man — I need a minute to gush."

I nodded awkwardly, finally finding my voice, which came out gummy, like it was getting stuck in my throat somewhere: "S-sure."

He stood aside in the threshold. "Come inside a moment — I want a better look at you. And a picture too, of course!" He eyes ranged behind me. "Where's your mother?" I opened my mouth to explain, but he spotted Thomas and lifted a brow. "Who's this? A friend?"

I nodded. "From school."

"Thomas Ryans-Wade," Thomas said. "Nice to meetcha." He actually extended a hand, which Grandpa Jon grasped firmly; quietly, I was impressed. Most of Thomas's greetings consisted of either a cheeky grin or a peace-sign — the former for Mom. He actually knows how to respect his elders! Good for him.

"He came to help us move our things," I explained. I jabbed a thumb behind us. "They're with Mom, back at the car."

"Ah, I see..." Some of the wonder drained away from Grandpa's face, and his eyes became serious. I, in turn, became anxious.

"Is this a bad time?" I asked.

He shook his head fervently. "No, not at all, son! Just..."

He trailed off, looking uneasy; I waited, but for the longest, he said nothing, and, growing uncomfortable, I cast Thomas a confused look, only to find that he was just as puzzled.

Finally, Grandpa Jon let out a breath. "Go get your things," he said. "You can set them in the parlor, and we can work on fixing up your space."

"Sure," I said. Thomas shrugged, and after an awkward pause, we headed back down the hill to the car. Thomas leaned over as we picked our way down the path.

"Not a bad time my ass," he said lowly. "You see how sweaty he was when he came to the door? Like he was runnin' or somethin'."

I shot him a warning look. "What are you trying to say?"

"That he don't exactly seem thrilled at this turn of events."

"He knew we were coming."

"What was up with that then? Looked to me like he was fumblin' for an excuse for you guys to come back another day."

I set my teeth. "I don't think having to suddenly share your space with two people would be pleasant for anyone, no matter when we came."

"But you admit he looked like he got caught."

I snorted. "Caught what?"

"Dunno." Thomas considered. "Caught in the middle of riflin' through his porn stash?"

I didn't grace that sh*tty line of thinking with an answer — Grandpa didn't look the type to indulge in porn. He also didn't look the type to push Mom past the edge of tolerance, and leave a yawning gulf between them, or to somehow, inadvertently or otherwise, send Dad with his stomach cancer to an early grave. He looked like, felt like...well, a grandpa, fishing hat, beard and all. The guy that gave you your first beer, let you drive his old, rusty jalopy in secret on the weekends, and let you have a breath on his cigar every now and then when you were older. I'd felt no resentment, secondhand or otherwise, when I'd first laid eyes on him, no anger on Mom's behalf... Just curiosity and a — growing — desire to know him better, this man that was of my blood that I hadn't seen in my sixteen years in this world.

Mom was smoking when we reached the car, half a dozen boxes stacked by her feet. Quincy lay on top of the car, sunning himself. She dropped the cancer stick and stamped it out when we arrived. "Well?" she demanded.

"He says we can start bringing the stuff in," I said. Pause. "He asked after you."

"And he can keep asking. You guys start hauling this stuff up the hill. I'll keep unloading."

Thomas got to work, stacking two boxes atop one another before lifting them and heading up the slope. I lingered, watching as Mom pulled another couple of boxes out of the car. "Mom," I said.

I hadn't said it as a question, but we both knew it was one, more than one: how was this going to go? What should I expect? Was there something else I needed to know? Seeing the heavy look on her face, I wondered if I wanted answers.

"Less talking," she said. "More moving. I don't plan to be out here all day."

Neither did I — it was hot enough. Without another word, I picked up a box and headed up the hill.

It was gloriously cold inside Grandpa Jon's house. And big, bigger even than it had looked from the outside, if that was possible. I felt like both the living room and kitchen of the old house could have fit into the front room; it was filled with furniture, chairs, those couches, cabinets and tables, and yet the floor still stretched between them in an absurd amount of empty space. I placed my box beside Thomas's — he was by the wall with the firearms, staring up at the shotgun.

"You know how to use these?" he asked.

He had to be talking to Grandpa, but I couldn't see him — a moment later, his voice came from around the bend. "Call me Grandpa, son," he said. "I think it suites me. And yes, I know how to use them, and many others — the Navy made sure of that. And living in the woods has its downsides — stray Pokémon trying to get into the cans, homeless trying to break in and snatch something from the pantry."

I came to join Thomas, and saw that beyond the half-wall that stretched into the living room was a spacious kitchen, long and with a low ceiling. Sunlight spilled across the wooden floor from a sliding door leading out to a back patio. There was a long table with six chairs, and then a U-shaped set of counters occupying the space between it and the far wall, where lay a black stove, a giant electronic fridge, and more wooden cupboards. There was also a hallway, which I assumed led to the bedrooms. Grandpa's voice came from that direction.

Thomas grinned and waggled his brows. "Think he'd give me some shooting lessons?" he asked.

"I think you should walk before you run — take Driver's Ed, first, and learn how to handle a car."

He scowled. "I got us here in one piece, didn't I?"

"Might've been a fluke."

He went back to the door, looking annoyed. "See if I ever give you a free ride again," he grunted.

I headed down the hall, searching for Grandpa Jon. Arceus, even the halls in this house were huge — I could actually stand in the middle and extend my arms in both directions without touching plaster, or wood, in this place, whereas trying to pass another person in the old house turned into a freaking game of Twister. There were four doors — the first, a bedroom, was empty. So was the second, which was a shadowy bathroom. In the third, I heard commotion. I tapped the doorway.

"Grandpa?"

"Y-yes?" He quickly straightened from where he stood across the room, looking guilty. I almost didn't notice — my mouth dropped as I drank in the bedroom. Or study. I didn't exactly know what to call it — it was so big that it could've been both. Like the rest of the house, the walls were wood, but the ceiling here soared into rafter, and you could see the small fireplace along one wall actually push out through the roof. A giant four-poster bed lay not far from it, and on the opposite wall sat a desk of dark mahogany, facing a large bookcase crammed from top to bottom with reading material. In the space in between lay a blood-red rug inlaid with green and blue patterns, an easy chair, and a small entertainment center, with a television, DVD player, and small cabinet filled with movies.

I thought of my tiny bedroom in the rental house, barely big enough to fit a small bed and desk, and wanted to laugh.

"What's wrong, son?" Grandpa Jon asked. The startled look had disappeared from his face, and for some reason that brought to mind Thomas's flippant comment about him hiding porn. I shook my head, annoyed.

"Sorry, I was looking for you," I said.

Grandpa Jon tucked something into the pocket of his faded blue polo — paper, it looked like, one that had been folded many hundreds of times and was worn at the edges. "Did you finish bringing in all your things?"

"No, but I didn't know if you wanted us to leave the boxes in the parlor," I said.

"Ah. No, let's have you move them into where you'll be staying." He gave my roaming eyes an amused smile. "Which isn't here. This is my and your grandma's room."

"Sorry," I said hurriedly, quickly stepping back through the door. He followed, shutting it behind us.

"No foul," he said cheerfully...but was that strain I heard in his voice? "Just putting some things away."

Porn, Thomas's voice said, and I set my teeth, irritated. What the hell, was I going to be able to un-hear that?

He led me to the end of the hall and then paused, considering the two doors that lay across from one another here. "Hmm," he said. "What would you prefer, son? A room with a view, and a patio? Or one that's a little cooler during the day?"

Cool-er? It was already ice-cold in here, which was proof positive that Grandpa had icy Sinnoh blood in his veins, just like me. "The view, I guess," I said. Mom tended to be more of a recluse than I was, so she could have the other room.

"View it is." He twisted open the door to the left and stood aside, gesturing. "Have a look."

I swallowed as I stepped into the space. If it was possible to resize my old room by a factor of three, it would be the size of these chambers. Arceus, stepping into the center, I was certain that it was bigger than our old living room, and that was with the giant bed already sitting in the corner. There was also a small wardrobe, and beside it a door — Grandpa opened it, and I saw that it was a spacious closet, with bars running along the walls that could hold about a hundred hangers that I didn't have or need, considering the conservative size of my current clothing supply.

There was also another door on the opposite wall, one that was sunlit — just like the one in the kitchen, it led to the outside, and stepping up to it, I could see the view that Grandpa had spoken of, one of the woods and sky and the stream, and the thin strip of beach running along the edge of the dark water. Directly outside, there was a small patio with a plastic chair, and then a rugged slope of scrub and wildflowers that rippled in the light breeze.

"Well, son?" Grandpa asked from the doorway. "Do you think this will do?"

"Yes. Thank you Grandpa." The words were simple, yet inefficient, and weak. This was another needle-sharp point in time, and yet my senses and sense of self were being dulled by an intense, flabbergasted disbelief. This room. It's my room now. I'm staying here. I'm going to live here. I almost didn't want to believe it — it seemed too good to be true, and I kept expecting to either wake up from this fantastic dream or for Grandpa Jon to tell me that he'd changed his mind about letting us live here.

But neither happened, and I wondered: had it been just a day ago that I'd bawled in the boys' bathroom about having to leave my home and my school behind?

I turned back to Grandpa Jon, and his smile disappeared. "What is it, Darwin?" he asked. "You don't look happy. Is it something about the room?"

"No." On the one hand, it didn't seem necessary, yet it felt nearly unkind not to ask. I cleared my throat, feeling awkward again. "Grandpa..."

I trailed off, just as he had earlier. And just as I had earlier, he waited.

"Is this all right?" I said lamely, gesturing vaguely.

He didn't misunderstand. "You and your mother moving in?" I nodded, and he said, "Of course. I'm happy to have you. Why wouldn't it be all right?"

I shifted from sneaker to sneaker. "Earlier, you seemed kind of...surprised. Like we..." I shrugged. "Like we sprang this on you or something."

My stomach twisted when he didn't reply, and didn't dispute it. He gazed towards the door outside, taking in the green. As I waited for him to speak, it struck me how quiet it was, in this house far from the Petalburg City proper, insulated by nature. In the living room, I heard Thomas heft another couple of boxes to the ground, but besides that, the occasional call of a flying-type Pokémon, and the quiet hum of the AC, there was nothing. No droning planes, no roar of highway traffic, no whistling of trains, no screaming or shouting of neighborhood kids. Silence, the kind that pushed into the ears and eased the knotting of the muscles at the base of the skull and back of the neck. It was nice...unusual, but nice.

"I won't lie, Darwin," Grandpa said quietly, drawing me out of my musings. "When I got that call from your mother the other day, I had my misgivings. I've lived alone a long time, and some days I feel like I've lost the flexibility to accommodate others into my life, in a capacity outside of work or easy acquaintance. And, shamefully, I admit I did try to think of some ways around this: writing Heather a check, for example, or setting you up in an apartment of her choice.

"But it's strange — when I opened that door and saw you standing on my step, it's like I forgot all that. For butter and boil me, it's my grandson, the one I haven't seen since he was a child, and how can I not put him up in my home, he and his mother both, in their time of need?" He stopped, let out a bark of laughter. "Ho, ho! Listen to me — I sound vile and selfish, don't I? Like I wouldn't have helped your mother, even if you hadn't been there. I would have, Darwin, I hope you know that." He cleared his throat. "What I think I'm trying to get at is... I'm a social person, Darwin, but your Granny Molly Mae has been gone near ten years now, and the problems between me and your mother have spanned longer, and though I have friends and colleagues... I've interacted very sparingly with my own blood. I'm out of practice. So if I sounded impolite and unkind earlier... It isn't for lack of love for you or your mother. I'm just..." He smiled apologetically. "Out of practice."

I chanced a smile of my own. "It's okay. I understand."

"You do?"

"I think I'm out of practice too." We all were, isolated as we were from the others in Sinnoh. Things were sure to be awkward for a while, thanks to the breach between Mom and Grandpa... But I liked Grandpa Jon. If not for his personality, then for so willingly opening his home to us on such short notice, when he could've done as he'd planned, and sent us a check or put us up in an apartment. Clearly if he was willing to brave Mom's thorns, he didn't want to just help us, but know us. And I wanted to get to know him too.

He seemed to be thinking along the same lines: "I think we're going to get along just fine, Darwin."

"I think so too, Grandpa."

He returned my smile a moment, before it, once again, disappeared. But this time, it wasn't because of anything I said or did — it was because of something that...lay behind me?

"Darwin," he hissed, suddenly struck with horror. "Darwin—"

Too late. I turned.

***

NERO

"In Arceus's name," Cora said. "What are ye doin'?"

Pacing, only up and down instead of side-to-side; rapidly, I sank and submerged, bubbles streaming from my flared nostrils and frothing at the surface.

And that wasn't the only thing frothing — slowly, I was losing control of my temper, my patience, and maybe even my sanity, all at once. Mr. Briney had been gone for nearly twenty minutes—one thousand, one hundred and eighty-five seconds, to be exact. Yes, I'd been counting. There was nothing to do but count. And wait.

And I was just about done with waiting at this point. I didn't know what the hell was taking Mr. Briney this long, but if he wasn't going to set up that meeting, I needed that damn map. I sank into the water again, letting out a low, rumbling growl in my chest that sent a flood of bubbles racing for the surface. Then I surged, grabbing a fistful of bank and squeezing so hard that damp soil and grass eked through my fingers. Cora watched me, looking a little unsettled.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon," she said awkwardly.

So I'd also thought, fifteen minutes ago. I peered up at the sky, at the sun, where it was straining down towards the green-black treeline. I wanted Magdalene today, and this Seawatcher bastard who'd held so much promise was suddenly wasting my precious time. Need that map. Need that damn map.

I wondered about simply leaving the water, going up there and getting it. How? I had no idea, but it was in the house somewhere — Mr. Briney had mentioned needing time to find it, so likely it wasn't in plain sight. I growled. Then I'd find Briney, and make him find it.

In this kind of mood, I could probably do it too — I imagined breaking into the house, finding him, giving him a good shake by the collar, and shooting my voice between his ears. Bring me my map, damn you, I'd say, and he would go empty-eyed and stumble through the house and find it, and then I'd be back on the trail for Rustboro City.

What about the meeting? That, too, had seemed promising, but after another agonizing minute of staring at the house, expecting to see Mr. Briney coming through one of the doors, I dismissed it. It was clear that anyone who wanted to help me was determined to waste my time instead. If I was going to find Magdalene anytime this week, I was going to have to find her myself.

What else is new?

"Can ye not still yerself a moment?" Cora asked, now looking annoyed. "Why don't ye rest? Could be a long way to Rustboro from here, and ye will need yer—" She frowned. "Nero?"

I'd sunken into the water again, and this time, I didn't come up for a few minutes, ones more painful than staring hopelessly at the house on the hill. When I finally did, and crawled onto the bank I was wheezing wetly, choking on water and hacking streams of it up onto the muddy ground. Behind me, my newly-formed legs kicked in distress, until oxygen finally found my lungs again, and my body began to settle. Cora stared at me from the water, hands over her mouth in outright horror.

"Nero!" she cried. "What is happening?"

There was no point in playing coy now. "I'm okay," I rasped. "I've just gone into Drought out of cycle."

"Out of cycle," she exclaimed. "I thought only older mer be capable of such. Wait, wait!" she cried when I stood up with shaky legs. "What are you doing? Where are ye going?"

"I'm going after the map," I said, scowling up at the house. "At this rate, I won't get it until tomorrow, if ever."

"Do ye think that's a good idea?" she asked fretfully, swimming after me as I started off. Her eyes were wide, her skin more pallid than usual. "Mr. Briney sounded nervous when he left—something may be happenin'."

"Then I guess I'll find out what. Go home, Cora," I said when she opened her mouth to protest. "I'm sorry I dragged you all the way out here. I should be fine on my own, now."

She spluttered a little, mouth agape, and I used the chance to hurry down the path, struggling not to stumble — I didn't need Cora making me second-guess my actions, even as I was making them. Just get to the house. Find Mr. Briney. You need that map. Even if something was happening, whatever it was... If I reminded myself, over and over, that this was all for Magdalene, I found that I didn't care as much.

I reached the hill and began to climb. It was steeper than I anticipated, and I nearly stumbled twice — blood was just now beginning to circulate fully through my legs, sending a buzzing, needle-sharp sensation racing up my calves and along the bottoms of my feet. Running along the top of the slope was a cluster of dark green bushes, and I stopped and ducked behind them as I saw movement beyond the house, which was even more giant up close: a human, and definitely not Mr. Briney. He was young, with skin darker than a riverbed — just like Titus's. He was carrying several square-shaped packages, and I saw him duck as he stepped through the front of the house. Cora had been right — there were humans here.

For a second, I experienced a flash of doubt, and glanced back at the stream — two minutes, and you can be back in, safe and hidden from sight. I crushed the cowardly thought. Magdalene. The map. And what was there to be afraid of? For all that human knew, I, too, was a human — I had legs, didn't I?

But I was dripping wet, and I had neon green curtains cinched around my waist instead of pants — that was probably highly suspect, and who knew how he'd react at the sight of me? No, best bet was to find Mr. Briney directly, make him give me the map, and leave before anyone else knew I'd been there.

I scanned the house, searching for another way in. It would help if I knew where Mr. Briney was. I noticed that this side of the house had several windows. Peeking to make sure that the black human was gone, I left my bush and hurried to the wall, a rugged one of flayed wood. I crab-walked to the nearest window and peeked inside. A bedroom, a huge one, an empty one. Ducking, I crawled forward, peeked into the next one. A bathroom, complete with a giant tub with clawed feet, a separate shower, and a huge space for several cabinets and the toilet. I ducked, moved on.

I reached a corner and turned. This side of the house faced the sun, and the stream — the land stretched for several yards before crumbling into a narrow precipice carpeted in thick grass and white and yellow flowers. Far below, the stream ran by, gurgling pleasantly beneath a strong breeze that rustled the trees. Quite a view, and Mr. Briney seemed to agree: there was a patio hugging this part of the home, with a grimy white chair sitting on the edge, for silent contemplation or watching flying-types, I guessed.

Another window, and something else — Voices? I tensed and stilled, straining my ears. One of them... Yes, I was certain that one of them was Mr. Briney. But there was another one too. Do I risk it? Yes — I was done waiting. If Mr. Briney was in there, I would be in there too in a moment.

I rose, took a quick peek, and ducked. Yes, that had certainly been Mr. Briney's blue-grayish polo, and brown pants. My heart pounded. So the question was, did I go in now, and brutally interrupt? Or did I wait for the other person to leave? Give him a sign. He'd been gone so long at this point that I wondered if he'd forgotten about me and Cora waiting for him down there in the stream. But maybe he'd just been caught up, and hadn't been able to get away from... This. Whatever it was.

Whatever the case, better to give him a sign.

I made to rise again, but then noticed that the patio sported a door, one that I suspected was directly within Mr. Briney's line of sight, based on where I'd seen him standing during my peek. Perfect. I could lean over, give him a good glare, and then decide what to do next: whether to wait, or force myself in.

I moved over to the door, leaned over. Mr. Briney was still there, with a smile on his face that irritated me, a I'm-having-such-a-good-time-that-I've-forgotten-about-Nero-and-Cora kind of grin. Someone was standing in this bedroom with him, a boy, not the same one as before—a little shorter, and with curlier hair—

Very suddenly, Mr. Briney noticed me standing there, and his smile crumbled like an avalanche. "Darwin," I heard him say. "Darwin!"

The boy turned, and I couldn't tell you what I felt next. It was a strange transition: I was clear-headed one moment, and in the next my skull was filled with fire, or a noise so loud that it felt like fire. But I wasn't angry. I wasn't scared and I wasn't happy. I seemed to shift between all three, all at once, suddenly inside a storm of emotion that sent my heart into my throat and my stomach into the soles of my feet.

Part of me wondered if there was such a thing as destiny, and another part of me wondered if I was having a particularly vivid waking dream.

Another part of me noticed that I was laughing, the sound tearing from my stomach like a long-call. I was also moving: my hand reached out, threw the door open with a crash.

Then, I was inside.

***

DARWIN

It had been more than a week. We were far inland, and the Internet had said no, no, no when I'd asked the question. Part of me hadn't been sure, because of Sharpedo, but most of the rest of me, faced with the uncompromising reality of school and the strain of living below the poverty line, had decided that NO, the mermaid was not real, had never been real, had been a phantom born of the duress from my encounter with Sharpedo in the Water Safari.

And even if he somehow had existed, there was no way he could possibly show up somewhere like this, on dry land, far from the coast, in the middle of the f*cking woods.

So considering all of that, who exactly were my eyes seeing right now?

The mermaid, that stubborn part of me thought — it couldn't possibly be anyone else. I had thought that my memory of him had turned fuzzy, but suddenly, at this very moment, I could remember every single detail, from the shaggy white hair to the ice-cold hatred in his blue eyes, to the black and white dive suit and scarred forearm. I remembered it because I was seeing it now: it — he — stood in the doorway, as suddenly, randomly, and improbably as a lightning strike on a clear day, and taking him in, I felt a ripple go through me like a cascade, starting from my head and hitting the back of my knees, making them shake. What it was, I couldn't tell you — at first. Then it slowly transcended into an odd pain — shock?

No pain, real pain — it pulsed behind my eyes, in between my ears. What was happening? Was it because of that sound? It sounded like muted thunder, and it was coming from...his mouth. His face, it was so strange — twisted and ugly, his mouth gawping wide. Laughing, I thought. Is he laughing? It was impossible to tell — my eyes believed me. My ears did not.

Eventually, he stopped, gasping for breath, and I could suddenly hear my grandfather again. I hadn't realized that he'd been talking, and he still was — he'd migrated across the room, reaching for the mermaid. "Nero," he said, sounding pained, "What on earth are you doing? I told you to stay in the—"

"Hahaha!" The mermaid started up again, and the sound, God the sound, what was that f*cking sound? Flying hell, it hurt, it...Arceus, it hurt! Pain struck up behind my jaw and boiled across my face, making my eyes water, and something slammed me against the wall — the mermaid, what the f*ck, where had he come from? Suddenly he was right in my face, a glove hand bracketed around my throat, holding me against the wood. I gagged, clawing at his hand, about as effectively as the first time we'd grappled.

"It's you," he said — his voice, it was like metal splinters moving down a blackboard, only the blackboard was my brain. "It's you, you bastard, isn't it? Isn't it?" He stared into my eyes, his darker than the bottom of a sea trench. "Gray hair, gray eyes... Ha. Haha. Hahahaha!"

"Nero!" Grandpa Jon's bony hands grabbed the mermaid's shoulders. "Stop! That's my grandson!"

The mermaid shrugged him off. "He's the one who captured Magdalene!"

Grandpa Jon faltered, his eyes flashing to me in astonishment. "What?"

"Yes," the mermaid hissed, "and now he's going to tell me where she is, if he doesn't want his body fluids leaking out his eyes."

I had a feeling they already were — pain still smoldered behind my eyes like a wildfire, and I felt liquid racing down my cheeks more rapidly than they had when I'd sobbed my eyes out in the bathroom yesterday. Are those tears? Because a tangy, coppery scent was making my nostrils flare, and my vision began to swim with red.

"Nero, please stop!" Grandpa Jon begged. "There's a better way to do this. You're hurting him!"

"Shut up!" Nero's fingers tightened around my neck. "And you — Darwin. Speak up. Tell me where Magdalene is."

I gripped his fingers, trying to keep them from tightening further, and rasped, "I don't know what you—"

"You do know. Use that brain of yours, what's left of it, before I put you in a coma!"

And of course I knew — things had just happened too fast, leaving my train of thought far behind. But now that it had caught up, an image of Sharpedo sprang to mind unbidden. I remembered the dream I'd had in Slateport City, of turning into a Sharpedo, and Nero trying to break me out of my tank.

"Speak!" Nero snapped. "This is your last chance: tell me where she is!"

His voice stabbed deep into my skull, and it was like I experienced an involuntary muscle spasm: "She's at school." The words were already out of my mouth before I realized I'd said them.

Nero's face tightened in rage. "Be more specific! Where at school?"

"I don't know. The Pokémon Depository." Again, the words sprang from my mouth without a conscious decision to say them.

"What is the Pokémon Depository?"

"The Storage System. All the students' Pokémon are kept there, in their Pokéballs."

Nero yanked me forward and then slammed me back against the wall again. "Damn you! Why don't you have her with you?"

"We aren't allowed to take them off the campus!"

"Nero," Grandpa Jon said. "That's enough! You know now. Please let him go."

"What the hell does it matter if I know, old man?" the mermaid snapped. "I came here for Magdalene, not to be run in circles about where she may or may not be." He turned back to me, and his voice became razor-edged once again: "Take me to your school, to this Depository, and—"

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Nero bristled, and the sudden absence of that horrible, inner pulsing pain was so glorious that I could have cried. The mermaid swung around, and behind him I saw Thomas standing in the doorway of the bedroom, a box in his hands, mouth agape. He was staring at me, and it wasn't until that moment that I was certain that my eyes were bleeding — this was the first time I'd ever seen Thomas look ghoulishly terrified.

Nor had I ever seen him look angry — not truly angry as he did in the next moment, his face squaring and his eyes darkening.

"Don't know what's going on," he said, "but back the f*ck up, buddy, before you get hurt."

"Thomas, get out of here!" Grandpa Jon roared.

Too late: Nero snapped "Sit!", and Thomas crashed to the ground as though an invisible anvil had fallen into his back.

The box hit the floor and busted open, throwing kitchenware everywhere: frying pans, plates, saucers, cups, forks and butter knives. The sound was thunderous, and it hit my ears about as jarringly as Nero's voice — suddenly I was awake, hot on a wave of crazed, terrified energy. How the hell did he do that? The same way he'd ripped information about Magdalene the Sharpedo and her location out of me? The same way he'd put that pain inside my skull and made my eyes bleed? His voice, his f*cking voice. If he could knock Thomas to the floor without even touching him, then what the hell else was he capable of?

A lot — the terrified gleam in Grandpa Jon's eyes told me so, and I knew that I had to do something, before it was more than just my eyes that bled.

Thomas was on the floor, looking pained and utterly surprised, and before Nero could turn back to me, I set my teeth and shoved from the wall as hard as I could, which, with my weak knees, was not very hard. But my skull knocked into Nero's brow, and he lost his balance and fell unceremoniously to the floor on his back — his mouth opened, but before another knife-sharp cry could rip from his throat, I fell on top of him, driving the air out of his lungs with an elbow and then slapping my hand over his mouth. I felt his teeth dig into my skin, and I screamed but held on, trying to get my arms around his neck in a maneuver we'd learned in Combat. His voice. Not another word. Don't let him say another word!

Nero's elbow hammered into my face, just below my cheekbone, and pain crashed through my skull once again, this time with the calamity of a meteor strike. I howled and fell back, but before Nero could even sit up, Thomas jumped him from behind, locking his arms around Nero's neck in a choke-hold. I coughed, blood dripping from my mouth.

"His mouth," I managed. "Cover his mouth!"

Thomas obeyed, fitting his forearm over Nero's lips, and the mermaid thrashed maniacally, sending them both back down to the floor to grapple viciously. I grabbed the bedpost, climbing shakily to my feet just as Nero — somehow — wrangled himself partway out of Thomas's grip. Thomas struggled a moment, trying to pull him back to the floor, but the mermaid rammed the back of his head against Thomas's chin, and then knocked him the rest of the way back with another devastating elbow to the base of the throat. Thomas was flung back, crashing into the cabinet and sending the lamp and three framed pictures tumbling to the floor.

Nero swung back to face me, just as I ducked and launched into his stomach once again, trying to bring him back down to the floor.

It didn't work — a second before, he spread his legs and bent his middle, bracing for impact, and instead of sending him to the ground we went skittering across the room to crash into the opposite wall. Nero's elbow came down on my back like a hammer, and I crumbled to the floor with a shocked grunt, still fisting his suit. He twisted his fingers into my hair and yanked my head back, prepared to do Arceus-knew-what, but Thomas sprang up behind him, punching him in the back of the neck.

He stumbled. Yes! I yanked on the front of his dive suit as he folded, and finally he came back to the floor. As soon as he hit the wood, me and Thomas piled on top of him, pinning him to the ground under our combined weight as he thrashed and roared furiously, wordlessly, into the floor. The sounds, even muted by the ground, sent an ugly throb pulsing between my ears, and I was nearly knocked off when Nero's elbow came crashing into my side. Sh*t! What now?

"Move back, boys."

Grandpa Jon was armed with a frying pain. I stared at him, incredulous, knowing but not knowing what exactly he planned to do with that.

Me and Thomas let go of Nero's head, and when the mermaid jerked up, my grandfather slammed the kitchenware against the back of his skull.

Nero flopped to the ground and didn't move; after a cautious moment, Thomas lifted his head, and we saw that he'd fallen unconscious. Just like that. He let the mermaid drop back to the ground, and then he looked silently from Grandpa Jon, who was shaking, to me. Blood dripped from his nose, and when he finally spoke, his voice grated like sandpaper:

"What the f*ck just happened?"

—