Dreaming

	When Misty finally awoke, it was suddenly. She sat straight up in the firm bed,
sweat pouring down the loose hospital gown that someone had put on her. For the
first time in nearly a week, her heart rate sped above average. Her clear aqua eyes,
eyes that could so easily change from green to blue, were wide with terror as they
swung around the tiny room she was now confined to. Questions rushed to her lips,
but before they could be voiced, she would have to take a breath. Her head ached; the
room spun. In one ragged, painful movement, she stumbled out of the bed, onto the
cold floor. 
	She tried once more to get to her feet, but her legs would not cooperate. She
was so dizzy, and panic made the world indistinct and blurred. A sharp pain pierced
her side, feeling like a knife stuck between her ribs. At last, she found she could
breathe. It took her a moment to realize that the noise that filled the air was her own
scream. The world went black. 
	When Misty floated out of the dark sea of unconsciousness again, her
awakening was more gentle. She could feel a soft pressure on her hand, as delicate as
a moth's wing; and hear a familiar voice. The voice crooned unintelligible phrases and
sounds, as if comforting a small animal. 
	It was this voice that brought her all the way back, for it was so familiar, and
yet strange. It teased her mind, making her dig into her memories in search of some
long lost friend or relative who could possess that voice. No. It was someone she
knew from recent times, from now, she decided at length. She went through her
mental list of suspects, still not conscious enough to realize that all she had to do was
open her eyes. It was certainly not any one of her sisters' voices, that was for sure,
though the voice was decidedly feminine. It was too light-sounding to be Professor
Ivy...then who could it be? Why, the only other female she knew was... 
	The realization jolted her fully awake, and her eyes snapped open. Jessie. 
	She was sitting in a chair next to Misty's bedside, and she looked almost as
surprised as her. Misty scrambled out of the hospital bed, gritting her teeth against the
pain. Jessie reached after her. "Misty, what's wrong?" she pleaded. 
	Her tone threw Misty for a loop. The woman was Jessie, the voice was
Jessie's, but the tone was much too mild. She had not been aware that the harsh
young delinquent could even speak like that. She put aside the observation; it was
obviously some trick. "Where are the others?" she demanded hoarsely. 
	"Others? Misty, what are talking about?" 
	She gaped. Jessie seemed...*sincere*. She was not wearing her Team Rocket
uniform, but a gray pants suit. "Don't lie to me! I don't know what you're trying to
pull, but it won't work!" She groaned in pain and grabbed her side. 
	Jessie approached her. "You're hurting yourself, dear. Whatever's wrong, we'll
talk about it. Just please calm down," she pleaded, starting to cry. 
	"Don't touch me! Help!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. 
	Three medical assistants rushed into the room. They dragged the struggling
girl back onto the bed, and had to hold her down once they got her there. One of
them prepared a syringe. "What are you going to do?" Jessie demanded. 
	"It's just a sedative, ma'am; it'll relax her," the man answered. 
	Misty felt the prick of the needle, and struggled even harder, but the drugs
took effect quickly. Within seconds, she could barely lift a hand. 
	James appeared in the doorway. "Misty, you're awake!" he exclaimed joyfully
when he saw her. But then he saw the tears in Jessie's eyes. 
	"Why...are you...doing...this?" Misty called out weakly. 
	He moved towards her. "My child, what's wrong?" 
	She gave him a glance as cold as a gun's barrel. "Go to hell." 
	He nearly collapsed. "Misty..." 
	One of the meds escorted him away. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roque, Mrs. Roque.
Something's gone wrong. It seems there has been mental damage as well." 
	Jessie paled. "Mental...damage?" 
	"Now, I'm sure it's not permanent," he soothed quickly. "But in cases of
traumatic accidents like this...well, I think it would be best if you two left for awhile;
just until we figure out why your daughter is acting this way." 
	Misty had been living in the asylum for a week now. Of course, they didn't call
it an asylum; they had lots of fancy names for it. But that's pretty much what it was. It
was a lot like the hospital: clean, orderly, and utterly miserable. Only, people who
were sick in mind stayed there, not people who were sick in body. 
	There was a man who would meet with her everyday and ask her questions,
mostly about what she remembered of her life. She had asked him in their first
meeting whether or not he worked for Team Rocket. He had said he didn't know who
Team Rocket was. She didn't know if she should believe him or not. She didn't know
much of anything lately. 
	He told her that she had been in an accident. She had been hit by a car.
Somehow, because of her accident, she had invented her own world, he said. A place
where she could escape the fear and pain of her traumatic experience. He asked her
lots of questions about this place; who her friends were, who her enemies were,
where she lived. 
	Little by little, the life she thought she knew seemed to fade away. She tried to
grasp onto it, but it kept on slipping away, just the same. But as her fantastic world of
Pokemon faded away like a dream, memories of the real life that the doctors told her
she had lived did not return. 
	"Doctor, please. Tell us what's wrong with Misty." 
	The elderly man handed the young woman a box of tissues. This was the part
of his job that he hated. "Mrs. Roque, your daughter, Misty, has created a fantasy
world in her mind, a place where she can feel safe and empowered - the securities
taken away with her injury. It's actually fairly common. I need to ask you a few
questions." 
	"Wait a minute. What do you mean by 'fantasy world'? What exactly has she
said to you?" James demanded. 
	The doctor held up a hand to silence him. "I will tell you everything she has
told me. But in cases like this, the fantasy world - the alternate dimension, if you will -
that the victim invents is often composed of elements from reality. If I could find what
elements make up hers, it would help immeasurably." 
	James put his arms around his wife, and nodded. "Ask away." 
	"Misty says she is a resident of a place called 'Pokemon Island.' Does this
phrase ring a bell?" 
	Jessie furrowed her brow. "No. Not at all." 
	The doctor continued. "In this place are creatures called 'Pocket Monsters,'
often shortened to just 'Pokemon,' animal-like beings who can be-" 
	"Wait! Pocket Monsters. Jess, remember?" 
	"Yes, I do. When she was little, we used to play games with little toys. We
would cut faces into candles, sew little stuffed animals. She had a large collection of
them. We called them the pocket monsters." 
	The psychologist wrote the information down in a small notebook. "This
could be very important. Apparently, her whole world revolves around these
creatures, these 'pocket monsters.' She says that people in her world capture these
things, and can train them to fight or work for them. Many people raise them for
sport, to battle other Pokemon. She says that she is a Pokemon trainer too." 
	"Sometimes, we would have pretend fights with her pocket monsters," Jessie
said weakly. 
	"She identified herself to me as the youngest of four sisters, all of whom are
rather well-known trainers, and live in a city called Cerulean. Does this mean anything
to you?" 
	James shook his head. "Misty has no siblings. But, we live on Cerulean
Street." 
	The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "She said her sisters' names were Daisy, Lily,
and Violet." 
	"Well, those are the names of her aunts. But she hasn't seen them in quite a
while, and we aren't exactly in good standing with them." 
	"Hmm. Misty's world won't necessarily parallel reality, just contain certain
elements of truth. Please don't be alarmed if what we learn about 'Pokemon Island' is
contrary to what is real." Jessie nodded slightly. "Another thing I should mention now
is that she often asks for a young man named Ash Ketchum. She says he is her
traveling companion, and an aspiring Pokemon 'master.'" 
	"Ash is Misty's best friend. They've known each other since they were both
infants." 
	"Ah, I see." He recorded it in the notebook. "She also says this Ash fellow has
a particularly special Pokemon, named Pikachu." 
	"Pikachu is Ash's little dog," James added. 
	"Misty said that they were often accompanied by an older boy named Brock,
and then by a young man named Tracey. Any of these familiar?" 
	Jessie sighed and thought hard. "Well, there was her swimming coach -
Misty's hobby is synchronized swimming. His name was Bryant Brock." 
	"Our gardener is named Tracey," James added helpfully. 
	"You folks are being a great help. Now, she also talked of some women. Ah,
this part is rather confusing, but I'll try to explain. She said that in this Pokemon
world, the law enforcers are all identical, related women who go by the name of
'Officer Jenny.' There are also a group of identical, related women who heal injured
Pokemon. They go by the name 'Nurse Joy.' Any hints?" 
	"Her dolls," Jessie said immediately. "Her two favorite dolls are named Jenny
and Joy. They're beautiful porcelain dolls." 
	"Doctor, there's something you're not mentioning," James broke in solemnly.
"Who does she think we are? Why did she react so violently to our presence?" 
	The psychologist sighed and looked down. "Please keep in mind that her
'Pokemon Island' is in no way reflective of reality." 
	"You've said that already. Just tell us what she said. Please." 
	"In her world," he began slowly, "there are a group of people who steal and
exploit Pokemon for profits. In particular, two members of this organization follow
Misty and her companions around, trying to steal their Pokemon and harm them. The
organization is called 'Team Rocket.' The people who antagonize her are called Jessie
and James."