Pewter and Porcelain
Part 3


Final part, as always, thanks to my readers, my supporters, those  who 
didn't think I could and those who thought the first two parts were shit.

And go to Who Gives A Ship, guys, there's no excuse not to. It's the only 
site that doesn't give an arse about Pokemon, but focuses on the social 
cliques, the gossip and the news about you, the shippers. The address is at 
my profile, or alternatively go to 
www.geocities.com/who_gives_a_rocketship/entry.html

Enjoy.

********************

If it was possible, he looked the furthest thing from relaxed when he was 
asleep. His breathing had become forced, and his respirator had been stepped 
up slightly.

When Auschwitz was closed down in '45, there were prisoners still left who'd 
escape the gas chambers, and hadn't been shot by the remaining guards. They 
were shipped away in large trucks to hospitals in Berlin, and some of the 
adults were taken to London, to reunite with their children. The ones who 
were most frightened were the guards. Especially my old SS commandant.

Two days after the camp had been seized; the Allied Soldiers were looping 
nooses for the executions of the Nazis in the camp. I was to be one of them. 
They'd kept us altogether in one cell, two hundred and twelve of us. Some 
had already escaped, some had killed themselves. The others were kept alive, 
sickeningly anxious. The Americans had told us what they'd do to us. They 
kept us in darkness, almost underground, moving us up half a dozen at a 
time.

I was among the final five to be moved up, along with the SS officer who'd 
ordered me to soak skeletons in spirits to heat his office. They lead us up, 
blindfolded, and naked. They lead us out to the main yard, where the gallows 
had been set up. One by one, they lead the other officer's up to the noose, 
and hung them.

The Commandant was the one before me. He was screaming and blubbering, 
screaming out to Adolf to save him. The Allies took no mercy, pulling the 
platform out from under him.

But his neck didn't break. He hung choking, his face turning blue, his face 
streaming in blood and tears. A young officer, who'd had enough of the 
bloodshed, fired a shot at him, hoping to kill him straight. However, it 
missed, hitting the rope. He fell to the ground, half dead, and coughing 
blood profusely. My eyes still covered, I was unsure about what they would 
do to him next.

They spread him out on the ground, screaming and jeering, and I couldn't see 
what they were doing to him. Whatever it was, it made the commandant gurgle, 
uttering gutteral moans and call out weakly to the Keiser.

As he lay gurgling, the blood draining out of his body, the Allies' noise 
died down. They watched, in a nauseated, disgraced silence. I was unblinded, 
and blinked, my eyes not accustomed to the light. The Commandant had been 
split open, from shoulder to belly, his head kicked with steel-capped boots. 
I was standing naked, all alone, possibly the youngest man in the yard, the 
only Nazi, as Allied soldiers with guns watched me.

Then they did the worst possible thing.

They let me go.

And had I been a stronger person, or had my sense of decency been any 
greater, I would have killed myself then and there. But I was so disgusting, 
and so weak, and so... afraid, of being judged, or being branded as a 
coward.

The boy stirred again. I wished that any breath and beat I had in me could 
be transferred to him. I hoped and prayed that anything I had would be given 
to him, to recompense him for his anguish and betrayal, and that my 
redemption would occur through him.

He was so quiet, so innocent, so well meaning. If the Reich were still in 
power, I would give my life to save him. But I can't.

But I can give my life to ensure that... his evil is wiped out forever, and 
that no other child like him will suffer his pain.

Reaching down silently, I fumbled for the electrical cord to my respirator, 
and pulled the cord out. Suddenly, an overwhelming calm fell over me. My 
breathing slowed, and it was so beautiful, the colours that formed under my 
eyelids.

****

Damn Ash. Fucking damn him. He's so stubborn, so stupid, so ignorant...

So selfish.

I pressed the door to the ward, but found it stuck. It pushed back on me, 
and I jumped aside, a stretcher moved out by Joy.

A body was on that stretcher, covered by a sheet. A lump formed at my 
throat, and I ran into the ward.

He was still there, sleeping. Relieved, but only slightly, I took a seat 
besides him.

"They took Scheint."

So he wasn't asleep.

"When is Ash going to come in and visit me?"

"I don't know, Brock. I want him to, trust me."

"Why's he so scared?"

I couldn't answer him. I touched a lock of his hair, a few strands sticking 
to the cuff of my jumper.

"Talk to him, Mist. I think he just needs someone to talk to. I don't want 
to upset him."

"Neither do I, but somehow I think I did. I called him a coward."

"He's not a coward. I don't blame him. He can be scared if he wants, it's 
not the easiest position for anyone to be in."

For someone who had such horrible prospects, he had a fairly good 
understanding of it.

"How much longer do you think I have?"

This was another one I didn't want to answer. I avoided his eyesight, but I 
could feel his intense gaze on me. I looked back to his face.

"They think another few hours. Or less. I can't lie about this anymore. I'm 
so sorry Brock."

"Don't be sorry."

I looked back down at him. His eyes were closed, and his breathing became 
deeper.

"Brock?"

"Hmm?"

"When you were... flirting with those girls when you came back..."

"I didn't want to die knowing I'd never been loved. I had to take every 
chance. If I weren't faced with my circumstances, I'd never have done it."

"Don't... you would have never been alone. You had us."

"It's never the same, Misty. Friendship is one thing. Love another. If I 
hadn't found it, I don't think I would have lasted this long without 
Wilhelmina."

"You're lucky."

Slowly, I saw his fingers inch towards me. I met him halfway, touching his 
hand lightly.

"No, you're lucky. You have the time, and you have the chance. Find 
someone."

I looked up at him. "What if I think I've found that person?"

"Act on instinct. Take the plunge, and let him know. The worst anyone can 
say to you is 'no'. Or so I thought it was."

His eyes fluttered closed again. "I need to take another nap. I'm tired."

*****

ONE YEAR EARLIER

That little shit.

That fucking little turd, he will fucking ruin it all.

Racing down the hall, and past where the keys usually hung, I pulled the 
beaker out of my coat pocket. No turning back now. He'd gone too far.

The door to my lab was open, and my heart leapt into the back of my throat, 
as I could only imagine what was happening.

*It's all-ok, Felina. He mightn't have seen anything*

I shrugged those thoughts off. Dirty little Asian. Someone is going to have 
to teach him not go to where he's not welcome.

For his kind, they aren't welcome anywhere.

I entered the lab, panting, a light bulb swinging slowly in the air, casting 
shadows across the room at random intervals. But the shadows didn't hide the 
damage done. My precious papers, burnt through with acid. The beakers and 
cages upturned, the Pokemon free.

And there he was, sitting on the examination bench. His hand was curled up 
in a fist, and his eyes were wisely averted from mine. He looked up at me 
suddenly after a minute or two; he released his fist, and small objects 
clattered to the ground.

Teeth. He'd found the teeth. And the teeth were with the bones... and with 
the bones, the photographs...

Taking another tentative step into the room, I turned my head ever so 
slightly to the right, and saw the cupboard. One door had been ripped from 
the frame, the other hanging loosely by the hinges. The metal was 
smouldering, the ashes of the photos and bones littering the bottom of the 
cabinet.

"You filthy dirty little chink..." I said, balling my fists so tightly that 
my knuckles had turned white.

And he lunged at me, without provocation, hitting me square in the temple, 
and knocking me flat to the ground. I pushed him away, staggering to my 
feet.

"You had better clean out the mess you made, you fucking piece of trash!"

And I hit him back, pinning his legs with my own, and wrapping a length of 
surgical tape around his wrists. Pulling us in closer to the bench, I tied 
his wrists to the bench, and sat straddling him. He spat, bucking wildly 
with his torso.

"Jenny's on her way. She knows about it, Fel. She knows what you did."

Often, when I fly into a rage, I get violent, screaming, kicking, biting and 
generally maiming anything in my road. And other times, I grew cold, 
calculated and silent. I did more damage when I was like that, because my 
passion wasn't interfering with my actions.

That day, my rage was like that.

"You're tired, Brock. You need a sleep."

"No, YOU need to fuck off and die you skank! Fucking let me fucking free, 
right now!"

He was beaten. Slowly, I raised my arm to the bench, blindly searching for 
the syringe and bottle. Finding them, I pulled them down. Taking half the 
bottle of Rohypnol in through the needle, I then pulled the vial out of my 
pocket. And he saw. And he screamed, and screamed, the tears flowing down 
his ugly little face, making his dirty skin red, raw and disgusting. Filling 
the rest of the needle with the soft, grey fluid, I jabbed it roughly into 
his wrist. Wriggling and writhing, I slapped him, jerking on his hair.

"If you stay still, you'll live longer."

Pressing down, I emptied the contents into his arm. And pulled it out 
quickly.

His breathing had slowed, his eyes squeezing themselves more closed than 
normally. He was sobbing softly. I took hold of his hair, and slowly lifted 
his head up to meet my face.

"You're going to have a nice sleep now, so when Jenny comes round, she won't 
see what bad things you and your people have done. But while you sleep, 
you're going to be dying. Who knows how long it will take to kill you? It'll 
hurt real bad. It'll make your hair fall out, and your skin bleed, and your 
organs to rot out, like they should have when the Reich was in place."

"I... I... go and die, Miss Ivy."

Pulling out a Stanley knife, I sliced the bonds on his wrists, letting his 
head drop heavily back to the ground. I left him there, sobbing, bleeding, 
and slowly falling into a coma.

*****

"Daddy..."

It was night again. I knew it was night, because no light seared through my 
lids. I was too tired, to tired to open my eyes, or even talk. I just wanted 
to die, right here, and right now.

"Daddy, don't... Daddy, please don't..."

It wasn't my dreams this time. It was Jake's voice, soft, and pleading.

Poor guy. Must've been having another nightmare.

"Did you ever think of what it would do to your mother you little fuckup?"

That wasn't Jake's voice. It was a raspy whisper, taunting, tormenting. I 
tried in vain to open my eyes, but to no avail.

Then a muffled scream. And a voice that kept repeating, "Scream into the 
pillow. Scream into the pillow. If you don't, that bitch'll hear you. And 
I'll go to jail. You don't want me to go to jail, do you Jakie?"

Then silence. I heard the pillow being thrown into his IC equipment. The 
usual heartbeat monitor, that beeped incessantly, was silent.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to scream until my voice was hoarse, and the 
whole world knew what Jake's father had done to him. I wanted to scream my 
hatred of his father, of my own. Of Ivy, for hurting me like she did, and of 
Le Chien, for not having the presence of mind to control his hatefulness.  I 
wanted to tell the world loudly that I hated Scheint, for being so weak that 
he couldn't have stayed alive, to save Jake. I hated Ash for pretending I 
didn't exist, and I hated Misty for being too honest. I hated Wilhelmina, 
for not being strong enough to stand by me.

But more than anything, I hated myself. For being stupid enough to fall prey 
to a pretty face and nice rack. For being so trusting. For not getting help 
sooner. For treating every female I met like a toy. For not telling my 
friends.

The nurses had by now rushed in, Jake's father long gone. I tried opening my 
mouth, making noises with my throat. I couldn't. I couldn't cry. I couldn't 
do anything.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt like an infant. And I was 
thoroughly scared.

****

"You mean..."

I dropped into the chair. Misty looked over at me, her face as white as 
mine.

"Police Officer's found the two of them thirty minutes ago. Both well and 
truly gone - the Professor was found to have died from acute mercury 
poisoning. The young lady died instantly. Self inflicted gunshot to the 
head."

"I... I need..."

I rushed out of the consulting room, slamming the door behind me. And I ran, 
as fast as I could through the corridors, pushing doors aside, and orderlies 
out of my way. I needed space, I needed an answer, and I needed a cure, 
fast.

Nothing. I'd come to a dead end, metaphorically and literally. Turning both 
ways, I looked for an exit sign, an elevator... anything to get me out of 
here. I don't want death; I'm thirteen, for shit's sake!

*Here I stand, sad and free...*

I needed a rest. Anything would do, even a bed in a ward. I wanted somewhere 
to be alone, and to hide from what was happening.

*I can't cry and I can't see...*

Pushing a far end door open, I walked into a room lit by nothing. I could 
hear the faint flickering of a heartbeat monitor, and turning a corner could 
see tiny red lights blinking.

The red lights illuminated the white sheets of the bed. The sheets, 
crinkled, were pulled over a dark form. A dark form with dark hair, and 
tanned skin. His eyes were drawn shut.

*What I've done - Oh God...what have I done?*

"B...Brock?"

No response from the body lying on the bed. His breathing, regulated by the 
iron lung, sounded shallow, yet deep at the same time. He looked asleep, but 
he gave off a sense of death.

"How are ya, buddy?"

Nothing. I kissed his cheek. Stroking his hand, I pulled the sheet up to his 
chin, covering his arms.

"Sorry I couldn't come before, buddy. Sorry I was scared as chickenshit."

He took in a long hiss of air. I held my breath as he did, and after a few 
seconds, released it all in a pent up sigh, his heart rate dropping with it. 
Soon the air had left his lungs. And so had the life.

At 11am, on October 16, Brock died of mercury poisoning. At 10.30am on that 
same date, his girlfriend and her mother had killed each other. Brock had 
beaten speculation, and had lived longer than his ward mates.

A nurse came into the room, silently drawing the sheet over his head, not 
making a motion to me. She calmly flipped the switch on the life support 
machine, and left.

Staggering out, I shut the door behind me, leaning on it when it had closed.

Misty stood there, watching. She was looking at me with an expression that I 
wasn't expecting. She didn't look angry, or as though she'd proved her 
point. She looked tired, sad, lonely and sickened. She walked slowly up to 
me.

And did something I'd never imagined in a hundred million years.

She took my hand, and held it in hers.

And stayed that way, not moving or talking, for at least five minutes. I 
looked into her face, watching as she swallowed back the bile, disguising 
the racking sobs with her face muscles. Then, I did what I never thought 
would happen.

I held her hand back.

And I collapsed crying into her shoulder, her hand wrapped around my neck.

*I poured my heart out
I poured my heart out
It's evaporated... see?*

*******************************

Something soft and feathery tickled my nose, waking me up. Opening my eyes 
effortlessly, I looked up from my resting place. It was just her, naked. Her 
arm cradling my shoulders, and...

Her...

I snapped up, jumping back. She sat up slowly, stretching like a cat.

"But I'm... I'm..."

"You are, Brock."

"So... you're?"

"You never found out?" She pulled herself into my lap, pressing my head into 
her chest.

"I died a short while before you did, Brock. Ivy's dead, Brock."

"What happened?"

"She'll never hurt anyone again, I promise."

"What happened?" I said, my voice growing softer.

"It had to happen. I did it for you, and for myself."

"WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED!?!" I screamed, pushing her off me. She curled into a 
ball, inching away from me with her hips.

"You're not the only one she's killed, Brock. She killed my father when I 
was a little girl. She wanted me dead, too. My hair wasn't blonde enough, my 
skin not white enough, my eyes not open enough. Strange - she wasn't exactly 
the eugenic epitome of Adolf herself..."

She started shaking, and I pulled her back up into my lap. Rocking her like 
a baby, I pressed a kiss into her neck.

"Wil, what's going to happen to us now?"

She stopped crying, and looked back into my eyes.

"I don't know... what can we do?"

I ignored her, staring out into space. I was dead, at the age of seventeen. 
Wilhelmina was dead too, at the age of sixteen. The future would never end, 
the past would not disappear. I would still be disgusting the way I was. Ivy 
was right - I was just a dirty, cheating, sickening chink. And I wouldn't be 
able to escape that.

I looked back at Wilhelmina. Her chin rested on the crown of my head, her 
arms wrapped around my neck. She was sitting naked in my lap.

I was alone, with the girl I'd loved till the day of my death, with no 
chance of it ending or being interrupted. I wasn't living as though it would 
be my last soon. I could live it as though it were my first.

"Well... what can we do?" she whispered again, nibbling on a strand of my 
hair.

"Nothing... nothing at all."



********

*Blind man on a canyon's edge
Of a Panoramic scene
Or maybe I'm a kite
That's flying high and random
Dangling a string
Or slumped over in a vacant room
Head on a stranger's knee
I'm sure back home
They think I've lost my mind.*

*********
*********

The end. The lyrics to the song were 'Evaporated', by Ben Folds Five. 
Worship his excellent virtuoso piano playing and composition.