Thank you very much for the comments- I'll be certain to take into account what you said.
I'm afraid the paragraphing and speech comes as a side effect of potentially awful English teaching- it's a terrible habit I simply must break. You are totally correct about the emotions, and that will be sorted in the next post.
The whole Black and White thing is a bit of a homage to the new games, as well as a tribute to the very classical Good/Light vs Evil/Dark combination present in many good stories. And as for the mysterious man in White? Mother? I'll keep you guessing just for now... ;)
The next part of chapter one will be up by 20:00, London time, for all those interested. To hell with that, I'm bored.
Chatper 1- A Dark Inception
Part 2/3
'It's my sister, you see... We were walking from Nuvema to here, but she collapsed in the snow. Is there anything you can do?' I'm coming round, slowly, but surely. I feel like I'm waking up, but as if I'd been asleep for a long while. I open my eyes and they snap themselves shut again- it's far too bright in here. But I feel a hand on my arm. 'Amelia? Amelia, sis, can you hear me?' In my head, I know it's not my father- it's the strange man in white, but I can't help murmuring; 'Unh... Dad?' I hear him give a sigh of relief. He props me into a sitting position, and my eyes start to adjust to the light. 'Thank god... Thank you, sir, you've been brilliant. Come on, let's get you some fresh air.' I feel myself being half-guided, half-pulled to my feet and through a door out into the cold.
It's been about an hour since I woke up in the surgery. We're sitting on a bench, and it's still snowing softly, and the sky is growing darker. The man, Aron, is fiddling with some sort of electronic widgety-thing. Apparently, he carried me through the woods into Accumula Town. He clicks his tongue and puts it into his coat. He puts an arm around my shoulders. It's an odd feeling- only my father ever used to do that- but it's not unwelcome. We just sit in a slightly awkward silence for a few minutes until I can't take the tension anymore- I had so much to ask! 'So... Everything that's happened... Is it too much to hope that it's all a dream?' Aron sighs. I know the answer, but I just had to ask. I need to know. 'I'm afraid so, Amelia. I'm not a psychiatrist, so I'll tell you in the only way I know how- your father has died and so have most of your friends, along with Mr. Weatherfield and Professor Juniper.. There are now people trying to do the same to you.' At his last words, the sense of depression that's been welling up inside of me turns immediately to fear. 'What do you mean, why would people want to kill me?' Again, he sighs. 'Because, Amelia, your father was a very important man. And you're a very important young woman.' His words have changed- he talks about my late father as if he were a hero, with a reverential tone saved for funerals. Although I suppose, this is all he's going to get for a funeral. A guy I've never met dressed like a private investigator with an obsession for white and a girl who's apparently going to be killed. But it left so many questions unanswered. 'How are you feeling now?' Aron breaks the silence with a simple question, but one that I can't answer. 'I feel... I don't know. Angry, upset, confused... I need to know more.' I look up at his face and see that it's still in its dead set emotionless expression. 'Why don't we take a little walk around, then?' I nod, silently, still feeling numb. He stands and offers his hand to me, but I draw myself up to full height on my own- I'm not a china doll. I don't need to be waited on hand and foot. But even thinking this, next to him I must look a bit fragile. He's almost a head taller than me, and most of his face is covered by his collar and hat. He shrugs and we walk off, side-by-side.
'So then. You have questions.' He says in a slightly bored tone. I feel a surge of anger rising up, and for a moment I think about slapping him, but I decide against it. I don't know how fine a line "Guardian" as my father put it, and total psycho this man was. Although, he wasn't really a man- he must have been maybe two years older than me, only just eighteen? Still. 'Why do I have to beware People in black and my mother?' It wasn't a thought out question- just something that sprang to mind. 'The people in black are trying to kill you. Don't ask me why, because Michael... Er, your father, didn't tell me. And your mum... well, she's not above a bit of bribery.' His voice is so smooth, and silky, but still frosty and blunt. It's a contrast from the person who grabbed me yesterday morning before my father... he... I let out a choking sob. Aron's head snaps around at a high speed. 'Is something the matter?' I shake my head and crush my eyelids closed. 'No, I just... I'm fine.' He pats my back and keeps walking. Another thought springs to mind. 'Are you actually my brother?' For once, Aron's face changes into a tight smile. 'No, but your father was my God-father, so I suppose that makes me your... I don't know, God-brother?'
'Oh. So, you knew my father well, then?' I'm suddenly overcome with the need to know about what could be the closest thing to a sibling on the planet. 'Very well indeed. He gave me my first Pokemon, in fact...' He suddenly palms his forehead. 'Of course! I can't believe I forgot, even for a second. Amelia, you should take this.' He rummages around inside his coat and pulls out a Pokeball. I wonder how he can fit so much in there, but still. I take it, with trembling hands, partly because of the cold, partly because of the anticipation. I've never seen a Pokeball up close, let alone held one. 'Do you know what's inside it?' I ask Aron. He shrugs. 'A Pokemon. Go ahead, let it out.' I give him an evil ook before pressing the button in the centre of the sphere, and a pulsing blue light beams forwards onto the snow. I frown. 'Aren't Pokeball beams usually red?' Arons rolls his eyes and tuts. 'Honestly, your first Pokemon and you're worrying about pretty colours. Look...' He points to where, a few moments ago, there had been nothing, but now there was a small, blue and white, bearlike Pokemon. 'Cachoo!'
My first reaction was to squeal and pick up my new Cubchoo. It shies away from me at first, but settles into my arms and gives a contented sigh as it settles down and starts sniffing all around itself. 'Oh, it's adorable!' I scratch it behind an ear and Aron chuckles quietly. 'And it's got damn good lineage. You know, that Cubchoo's mother belonged to the Champion at one point.' He gives it a single stroke from its forehead down to its back and his hand falls back to his side. 'Well, it's a male, so how about a nickname for the little tyke?' I scowl at him. 'Tyke? Who uses the work tyke anymore?' Aron laughs slightly, and scratches the back of his head. 'How about... Me?' He grins. 'Come on, do you want to give him a name?' I think for a second, and it comes to me instantly. 'Mike.' I look at him and he nods in approval. 'After dad. I'll make him proud with you. Yes I will, oh yes I will!' At that point, I gave in entirely to my urges to speak to him in baby-talk- even in the middle of a fairly crowded motel. I glanced up and saw Aron looking away, attempting to form a semblance of distance from me. In the end, though, he was forced to talk to me. 'I've booked us one room, although if you'd prefer, I could book two.' I sense an opportunity to get to the root of why he seems to dislike me so much. 'Well, if you can stand my company, then I'm fine with one room.' He sighs and takes a key-card from the concierge with a cheerful 'Thank you,' and we walk down a corridor to a room.
'I'm so sorry, Amelia, I did specifically ask for separate beds.' Aron grimaces as I step in to see what he's talking about, and he's right- other than a large, queen-sized bed, a television and a few tables, as well as a door to the en-suite bathroom, the room is mildly under furnished. I suppress the urge to laugh aloud and to make a sarcastic, witty comment. 'You take the bed, I'll be fine in a sleeping bag.' he says, pulling one out of a rucksack that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. He looks at his watch and smiles. 'Right then. It's nearly ten. Get Mike and we can have a little talk.' I declined to put Mike away into his Ball, partially because I didn't want him to be on his own, and partially because the way he walked was positively adorable. We sit on either side of the massive bed, facing each other. Aron opens his mouth, but I have another burning question to ask. 'Why are you here?' he seems confused and stops dead at being asked the question. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, it's obvious you don't like me. You never smile. You've barely talked to me, other than when you had to. What's the point?' He shuts his mouth to consider this, and I press on. 'You dress like a demented Sherlock Holmes. My dad would never even talk to someone like you, let alone trust you. I think you're a liar. I think you had something to do with the people who kileld my father!' Before I can even register it, he's got a hand around my throat and is pushing me against the headboard. 'Don't you even THINK about insinuating I would ever hurt your father. Don't you dare.' His eyes are barely an inch away from mine, and looking into the dark brown irises I can see that every word he says is deadly serious. I'm suddenly terrified for my very life, as his hand tightens. 'Your father saved my life. Had it not been for you, he would have adopted me as his own son. Had it not been for you, he wouldn't be DEAD. The ONLY reason I'm here is because of him. Don't even pretend for a second that I care about you AT ALL. As far as I'm concerned, you ruined my life the day you were born.' He releases me and I bring in a welcome breath of air. How could he possible think that was acceptable? To strangle a sixteen-year old girl in a motel!? 'I ruined YOUR life? My dad gets shot, a psychopath turns up with a letter and a locket and says "Don't worry Amelia, I'll look after you even though we've never met before and as far as you're aware I could be a killer!" And that's not suspicious AT ALL!?' I screech in his face. I raise my hand to slap him, but before I can he grabs my wrist and twists it. 'You don't have a chance against me. So stop trying.' Mike snarls at him and leaps up to bite him, but he lets go of my wrist and storms towards the bathroom and slams the door. I hear the lock turn and for about ten minutes, there's nothing but a stormy silence. I shoot daggers at the door, but as hatred turns to wonder, I can't help but think- have I made the person who's supposed to protect me hate me? And did my father really care about him that much?
Almost an agonising hour later, Aron emerges from the bathroom, clothed in pyjamas and a white- surprise, surprise- dressing gown. He doesn't look at me and walks straight to the television. He turns it on, find a news channel, and lays back against the bed, watching words scroll across the screen and a female reporter tell how the world's going to end within the next five days, or so it seems with all the bad news. After a few more minutes I start to feel a terrible guilt. If someone had suggested I'd tried to kill my own father... That I'd lie to the thing most precious to them in the world... I know I'd never let the get away with it, and had it been me in his position, I would have come away with a lot less than a slightly sore neck and wrist. And if what he'd said about my father adopting him was true... I turn to look at him, and notice for the first time he's been crying. For the first time, his face is clearly visible, and I take in what I can. He's handsome, in a way. His skin's quite fair, and his face is well-structured and ever-so-slightly angular. His mouth, currently, is in a fixed straight line and his face is red and his eyes strained. He's been running his hands through his hair and tearing at it slightly, but I can tell it's usually kept in a neat style. Now it's just a bit ragged and messy. I reach a hand out to place on his arm, and notice again how much larger he is than me. He's also quite muscular, and very well toned. Mike nudges me, sensing the discord between us, and I speak, for the first time in two hours. 'I'm... I'm so sorry.' He looks at me as if I were something he'd found on his shoe. He goes back to watching the news, and my heart drops. I could have just made an enemy of the only friend I had left.
The time is nigh
When shadows fall
This is the day
Your day of Judgement