image [https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/0fd97e43-196a-4657-8d16-c18592169506/dgik4bk-0b25169f-6665-49b7-af71-974313f3840d.png/v1/fill/w_894,h_894,q_70,strp/pokemon_slate_gray_s2e01_art1__season_2_by_tezofalltrades_dgik4bk-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTA4MCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzBmZDk3ZTQzLTE5NmEtNDY1Ny04ZDE2LWMxODU5MjE2OTUwNlwvZGdpazRiay0wYjI1MTY5Zi02NjY1LTQ5YjctYWY3MS05NzQzMTNmMzg0MGQucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.uQD7lLFxKw1HuF3iYEb4gIDjm1pANW2bHNZtJTByGfQ]
The first few days after returning home from Pistachion Hospital were rough on Slate. It wasn’t just having to deal with his mother’s memory all but disappearing every fifteen minutes or so. It was watching the strong, confident woman he knew becoming a shell of herself. The determined mother that had raised two boys alone after their father’s untimely death, while supporting them all as a journalist of some renown, was fading away before his eyes.
Even in her lucid state, Heather would dwell on her condition, worrying about the things she had done or said moments before. Then, it would start all over again. She would forget where she was, who Slate was, sometimes even who she was, and begin to panic. On three separate occasions, she had fled the house while Slate was asleep or in the bathroom. Oddly, the only memories that seemed to remain steadfast in Heather’s mind were those of her other son, Jet.
Slate tried not to let this bother him. He told himself that it was surely a good thing that she remembered something—anything—during her regular memory lapses. In truth, though, the fact that his mother couldn’t identify the son standing right in front of her, caring for her in her time of need, but could remember his older brother… Well, it stung.
It was typical, of course. Who could forget Jet Davy with his perfect grades, his shiny sports trophies, and his hordes of friends and admirers? He even had fans now, if the article he had emailed before Slate and his mother had left Kanto was anything to go by. Jet Davy, “the number one rookie to watch,” according to the Kanto Times, was supposedly causing quite a stir in the competitive Pokémon scene.
Slate wasn’t bitter, though. Okay, maybe he was a little envious of his brother’s natural talent and popularity, and the air of “coolness” that he couldn’t hope to emulate, but the current situation had stirred up old resentments. Truthfully, he didn’t even dislike Jet…exactly.
Jet was actually a very likable guy. That was part of the problem—if you could call it that. Everything always seemed to come so easily for him. His light shined so bright that it cast a shadow over the introverted Slate, who most people in their lives knew as “Jet’s little brother”.
Slate knew deep down that his sibling rivalry issues were more of a one-sided problem, but there was a part of him that had seen the move to Nutera—the part that hadn’t fought it as hard as he could have—as a chance to finally step out of Jet’s shadow. It was supposed to have been an opportunity to prove himself. Ironically, it may have done just that, only not in the way Slate had hoped.
After everything that had occurred since their arrival and Slate’s perceived failings, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jet’s presence was necessary. If not because his brother was the only person their mother could remember clearly, then because he would be better suited to carrying out the mission she had entrusted to Slate.
Slate had made a promise to his mother, and later one to himself, but he couldn’t see how he could leave her alone in her current state. Jet was an experienced Trainer now, not to mention an adult. If one of them was to attempt to expose the misdeeds of a dangerous criminal organization, Jet was surely the better candidate for such a task.
Frustrating though it had been for him, Slate decided to email his brother and ask for his help. However, like the television that had refused to work the night they moved in, neither his laptop nor his mother’s PC would turn on. After trying everything he could think of and confirming that none of the other appliances they had brought to the new house would work, Slate phoned Professor Larch.
“Oh, Slate, hello! I was just about to call and check on you,” said the professor. “How are you doing? How is your mom?”
“I’m fine,” he replied automatically. “Mom’s…as good as can be expected. We’ve been unpacking. I thought seeing our stuff would help, but…”
“Settling into a new home can be a challenge at the best of times.”
“She is doing better than yesterday. I’ve had Eevee and Cryote keep watch, and I made flashcards with some key info on them, like who she is, who I am, why she can’t remember… Things like that. We stuck them to the wall of her bedroom with some old photos, so she can see them whenever her memory goes.”
“That was smart!”
Slate grunted in reply, unwilling to accept praise for what he thought was a simple idea. Flashcards were hardly the solution to their problem, after all. “Well, it’s stopped her from freaking out, but it means she’s cooped up in there all day, and she already seems depressed.”
“Dealing with something like this… It would be difficult for anyone, Slate, but I’ve known your mom for a long time. She likes to weigh her options, but once she makes a decision, she sticks with it. Give her time to think about the best way forward, and I’m sure she’ll bounce back.”
Knowing this to be true about his mother, Slate mumbled in agreement and changed the topic. “Anyway, I was calling because I’m having trouble with our electricity,” he said.
Professor Larch revealed that Nuteran electrical outlets required a special adapter plug. These, it transpired, were manufactured by none other than Silph Co.
“It’s another example of Silph’s stranglehold on the region and why I believe they’re connected to the phenomena affecting standard Poké Balls,” the professor explained.
Slate clenched his fist in anger. Silph Co., Team Shade… If the two entities were connected, as the professor theorized, they were just as responsible for his mother’s condition. But were their actions simply motivated by profit? Or was there something even more sinister behind them?
“I just wish I knew how they were doing it!” the professor exasperated. “I’ve analyzed their adapters but can’t find anything to explain why they work and regular ones don’t. And there’s more bad news I’m afraid.”
What now? Slate thought, groaning internally.
Professor Larch went on to explain that Nutera was now without internet or telecommunications and that it was all over the news at that very moment.
Slate chortled in disbelief, pulling the red device in his hand away from his ear and frowning at it, failing to comprehend the professor’s words. “How can that be true? If the phones are down, how are we talking right now?”
Apparently, Slate and April’s Pokédex phones worked without chargers because they were Rotom-powered. In addition, they could make calls thanks to the professor’s ingenuity. She had connected them to a private network signal emanating from her kitchen-come-laboratory.
Slate had had enough. “This is nuts!” he exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently, and thumping the kitchen counter with his fist. “How can Silph or Team Shade or whoever’s responsible have the power to do this? What’s next, are they going to turn off all the electricity and plunge the whole region into the dark ages?”
“I share your frustration, Slate,” said the professor calmly. “Given the timing, it seems that Team Shade is trying to limit our ability to alert others to the situation developing in Nutera. It’s why me and your mother need you and April to venture out on our behalf. We need eyes and ears on the ground, so to speak, now more than ever.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Slate paused thoughtfully before replying, “I’m sorry, Professor, but I can’t do that. If I can’t contact my brother now, I can’t leave my mom here alone.” A prolonged silence followed this statement. “Err, Professor?”
Professor Larch answered abruptly, “Slate, I have to go, but I’m going to send April up to you tomorrow with a few of Silph’s adapters and some other provisions, okay?”
“Err, sure,” said Slate, wondering if he had disappointed the professor. Then again, with the way things were, how could she possibly think that he would be able to leave his mother?
----------------------------------------
Either because of the new flashcards or Eevee and Cryote keeping guard outside his mother’s bedroom door, Slate was able to get some much-needed sleep that night. However, at precisely nine o’clock the next morning, his vivid dream about soaring through the sky on the back of a Charizard was interrupted by the unfamiliar ringing of his new Rotom Phone.
“Ello? Who’s this?” he slurred, still half asleep.
“Who do you think?” answered the unmistakably condescending voice of April Larch. “Who else has your number and can use my mom’s network? Anyway, I’m outside.”
“Wha-huh? Outside?” Slate repeated, leaping out of bed, and peering out of his window while shielding his eyes from the morning sun. A figure could indeed be seen standing below.
April’s subsequent sigh was audible, even over the phone. “Yes, outside your house! I didn’t want to ring the bell in case it upset your mom, so come and let me in, would you?”
Slate threw on his jeans and t-shirt from the day before and hurried to let April in. However, he paused halfway down the stairs, surprised to find his mother cooking, humming while doing so. He noted that some of her more important flashcards had been moved to the overhead kitchen cabinets, along with a photo of him.
Eevee and Cryote were wagging their tails as they watched her work, each perched on one of the breakfast bar stools.
“Good morning!” she said cheerily. The Pokémon also gave noises of greeting, though, neither left their seats, clearly too enthralled by the delicious smell that filled the air.
“Morning,” he replied brightly, observing the obvious change in his mother’s mood. “You seem…well.”
“I was in the mood for pancakes! It’s just the instant kind that we didn’t get around to eating before the move, but…”
Heather Davy suddenly stepped back from the stovetop.
Slate froze in his tracks. He watched as his mother reached out a hand to the kitchen cabinets, moving it across flashcards that read things like 'You’re safe,' 'You’re having trouble with your memory,' 'Your memory will return in a few minutes,' 'Your name is Heather Davy,' 'You live with your son, Slate Davy,' 'Eevee and Cryote are friendly Pokémon.'
“Mom?” Slate enquired hesitantly.
Heather spun around, looking a little startled before turning back to the cabinet. “Slate?” she asked, pointing to his photograph.
Slate smiled and nodded, and the Pokémon made confirmatory noises.
“And Eevee and Cryote?”
“That’s right,” said Slate with relief.
“Wha-what happened to me?” Heather asked next, as she usually did, then raised her spatula-filled hands guardedly over her chest.
“It’s okay. You’ll remember in a moment,” Slate said softly. “You wanted pancakes. Be careful not to let them burn.”
“I… I was cooking?”
The phone in Slate’s hand began to ring again. Slate shut it off quickly, and explained, “We have a visitor, I’m going to let them in, okay?”
“Visitor? Do I know them? Do they know me? Do they know what happened to me?” said Heather, now fiddling with the opal-like jewel of the necklace she always wore.
Slate had noticed her do this on occasion. He wondered if it were evidence of muscle memory kicking in, and whether it was a good sign. “It’s just my, err…friend, April,” he said, moving to the front door and opening it. The word “friend” had caught in his throat as he said it. Even though they hadn’t known each other for long, he supposed he did think of the temperamental girl as a friend.
“Finally!” snapped April with a hand on her hips. “What did you do, stop for breakfast on the way to the door? You obviously weren’t brushing your hair! You look like a Reedoo, ha!”
On second thought, Slate considered as he attempted to smooth his bedhead, perhaps “friend” was too strong a word. “Come on in,” he said with thinly veiled irritation, not particularly concerned with what a Reedoo might be. “Mom’s making pancakes, aren’t you, Mom?”
At the mention of pancakes, April’s Rodenki appeared eagerly from the hood of her jacket.
“Pancakes? Jet likes pancakes,” said Heather. Her eyes were fearful, and her hands were shaking slightly now. “Was I making them for Jet? Where is he?”
“Jet? Your brother? Oh…” said April as she grasped what was happening. “Is this a bad time? I can come back.”
Rodenki whined, presumably at the prospect of leaving and missing out on a snack.
Just then, Heather closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. After a few moments, she opened them and beamed. “Yes, I’m making pancakes, and there’s enough to go around. Will you join us for breakfast, April?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Davy, but I can’t stay. I’m just dropping off some things,” April explained, signaling to the carrier bags in her hands.
Rodenki whined again.
“You already ate!” April chastised over her shoulder, then reached into one of the bags for something. “This letter is for you, Mrs. Davy, from my mom.”
“From Jan?” said Heather as she accepted the envelope. She began reading its contents while dishing up breakfast for her, Slate, and the Pokémon.
“You can’t stay?” Slate asked, surprised—and disgusted—by the note of desperation he heard in his own voice.
“Sorry, I’ve got work to do,” April stated with an air of self-importance.
Slate frowned slightly, wondering what “work” April could have to do, but choosing not to challenge it. If she didn’t want to stay, he certainly wasn’t going to beg her, even if he could use the company right now.
“Anything else in the news that I need to worry about?” asked Slate cynically.
“The Nuteran news is still covering the internet and network outages, but the bigger stations haven’t even mentioned it! It’s strange. Somebody outside the region should have realized we’ve been cut off by now.”
Slate noticed that his mother had stopped reading. Her expression was pensive.
“Do you want me to pass on a message to my mom, Mrs. Davy? I’ve got another piece of paper and an envelope here if you want your reply to be private.”
Heather was silent for a moment, then answered, “No need. The two of you should know. It seems me and Jan have had the same idea. I was hesitant about suggesting it because I didn’t want to be an imposition, but it makes sense for all of us.”
“What makes sense?” asked Slate.
“Me moving in with Jan.”
April’s eyebrows shot up, while Slate guffawed, “Move in with the professor? What are you talking about?”
“Jan can’t leave the house and I’m in no fit state to. We might as well be together under one roof, and that way we can coordinate our efforts to expose Team Shade.”
“But…there won’t be room for the three of you in that apartment,” Slate protested.
April sighed dramatically. “You’re not getting it, are you? I won’t be there. Your mom will take my room. They want the two of us to head back out.”
“But, Mom…” Slate started, then, blushing at the thought of what he was about to say in front of the judgmental girl beside him, he lowered his voice. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I won’t be alone, honey. Jan will be with me. It will be like we’re back in college!” said Heather. “Besides, I’m already asking so much of you, Slate. I can't have you being my caregiver, too.”
“But I’m fine, I can handle it,” Slate insisted.
“Maybe so, but I can’t. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I know I can work around this condition if I must. The thing that I’ve been struggling with most these past few days is knowing what I’m doing to you,” his mother elucidated, teary-eyed. “Remembering what I’ve said to you and how I’ve treated you after each of my incidents… Well, it’s breaking my heart.”
This revelation hit Slate hard. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. Being around his mother right now wasn’t just difficult for him, it was also burdening her with needless guilt. Despite their best intentions, they were hurting each other.
Slate knew that his mother’s mind wouldn’t be changed now, not when her decision was partly about protecting him. And he could hardly object now that he understood.
Heather smiled warmly, sniffed, and added jovially, “Now, hurry up and agree before I forget all this!”
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