The funeral is short. After all, we knew her for such a short period of time, but still, the team is grateful although silent. If not for Hershey, they might all be dead. No one has much to say, but Bronze finds an old flower from around where we found her and places it neatly on the grave.
What really bothered me is that she had known. Maybe even since she joined the team. Yet she still told me not to use that Potion, in effect, letting herself die. Why had I listened to her?
Regardless, the journey is cheery back to Goldenrod. We have gotten half of the badges of Johto, the others surely not too far behind. On top of that, I see an advertisement that may be an even better way to get a new party member than asking Ethan's grandmother.
I dial a number into my Pokegear. "Hello, Bill?"
Pecker hums a song to himself while smacking a stick around. "What are you doing?" asks Sky, mildly interested. "What's the stick?"
"It's not a STICK, it's a SONIC SCREWDRIVER. It's very very important."
Sky nods slowly and backs up, trying not to seem rude. Pecker lifts an eyebrow at her and continues humming. It's eight and the sun is setting fast when we reach Bill's house.
I ring the bell, my Pokemon behind me. All wondering why I would come here.
He looks out. "You must be Ashley. Come in, come in."
"Hi."
"Hello to you too. I'm Bill. I made the Pokemon Storage System, better known as the PC."
"That's amazing!" I didn't want to tell him I never used the PC. I had a hard time keeping six Pokemon alive. How would I have extras?
"So you must be here for the Eevee." He asks. "So nice of you to take it off my hands. I just can't care for the little rascal."
I nod and smile.
He turns to a small brown furball at the corner of the room. It's happily gnawing on a pickle. It turns to me, licking the pickle off it's lips. It reminds me of Bronze, when he was young. For a second, I half expect the little Eevee to call me Ashley-sama, but it just stares at me, puffing up his fur dignantly as pickle splatters down his chest.
"Here's the Pokeball. What are you going to call him?"
"Dill. Like dill pickles." I decide.
Dill gives me a bored glance, but not wanting to talk, continues to slurp the liquid out of the pickle jar, spilling it over. He looks up at Bill and I with big, innocent eyes. Bill laughs good-naturedly.
I get up, holding the fluffy ball of brown fur in my hands, and Bill puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Would you like to stay the night?"
I think the biggest thing that I hate about myself is that I am very, very bad about saying 'no' to people. Especially when they offer an alternative to sitting out alone in the cold with six killing machines who make up my family. It's much safer to stay inside with a flaming, four-foot long Quilava snoring on my chest.
I hear the pitter patter of claws as something jumps off me and leaves the room. I look around, but I can barely breathe and I'm tired. Just my imagination, I tell myself, Just my imagination.
The door creaks open again as the shape takes out a claw and grabs a banana from a fruit bowl sitting in the center of the room (which is a stark contrast to all of the junk lying around on the ground). Then I hear the clicking as it walks away again.
This time, even if it's just an illusion, I want to see it. I struggle to my feet but am held down by a large pile of Pokemon. I groan again and fall back asleep, my face planted on the pillow.
