No matter how sweet or scary a dream may be, eventually, you have to wake up.

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Dreaming

By Mirei

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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 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 porcelein 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."

Jessie leaned against her husband, tears rolling down her face. "Oh, James, what are we going to do?"

"Don't worry, Jess. We'll get our little girl back. Thank you for all your help, Dr. Giovanni."

* * *

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon for Misty, when a knock was heard on her door. This was unusual, because her doctor met with her in the evenings, and it was not mealtime yet. But it was the doctor who entered her room.

"Good afternoon, Misty. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she lied. "What is it?"

"You have a visitor," he said warmly. "Would that be okay?"

She didn't know what to say. A week ago, she would have jumped at the prospect of a visitor. But her world was crumbled. Who could visit her that she would want to see? But maybe she could get some answers from the person. "I would like that," she answered smoothly.

The doctor smiled and left the room. Actually, there were quite a few people waiting outside, bearing gifts and get-well cards. "She's agreed," he announced to the gathering. "But I think it would be best if we started out with just one person. I think she would be most comfortable with you, Mr. Ketchum."

The young man nodded, and looked to his twin brother, Richie. "Good luck, bro," Richie whispered, patting him on the back.

"Misty?"

Her head shot up at the familiar voice. "Ash..." she breathed. Memories flooded her mind, but were they real memories?

He cautiously entered the room, encouraged by the fact that she seemed to recognize him. Dr. Giovanni had said that, in Misty's make-believe world, they were friends, and that she would probably welcome his presence. It was a great relief to find that out first hand.

"Hey, Misty, how's it going?" he asked with forced casualness.

"Terrible," she answered, her eyes great with tears. "Where were you? What's happening?"

"What do you remember?" he countered, sitting next to her.

"I woke up in the hospital! And then Team Rocket was there! And-"

"Wait, wait, wait," he soothed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "I mean, before that. What's the last thing you remember before your accident?"

"I...we were..." She trailed off. She could not remember. "I don't know," she conceded. "I can't remember much of anything now."

Ash pulled her towards himself in a firm embrace.

"That's okay. You will."

Misty was puzzled. The Ash she knew wouldn't have done that. "Is it true, what they're telling me?" she questioned. "Am I crazy?"

"No," he said loudly. "You've been through a lot, and your mind has tried to protect itself. That's all."

"Then...tell me about...the real world."

Ash faltered. Would the doctor approve? But he couldn't refuse, or blatantly lie. "Well, we've been friends since you were born. I remember, there's a picture of me, three years old, holding you just a week after you were born. We've known each other just that long."

"Wait a minute. That's impossible! I'm a year older than you."

He laughed, but not unkindly. "You wish. You're fourteen, I'm seventeen. When I got my learner's permit, you were so jealous, remember?"

"I...think I do..." Yes. There it was; a subtle mental image.

"And remember the time you tried to teach me some of your swimming moves? You were teaching me the mermaid kick, when Bryant walked in, and I was so embarrassed!" He laughed.

"Ash, why was Team Rocket in the hospital with me?" she broke in solemnly.

"Huh? Team Rocket? What's that?"

Misty gasped. "Team Rocket! Don't you remember? Jessie and James! They're always trying to steal your Pikachu!"

Ash's face fell. Dr. Giovanni had said something about not bringing up the subject of her parents.

"I don't know why they were there," he lied.

"Where is Pikachu?" she asked at length.

"He's outside, with Richie," he comforted.

"Oh! Richie's here too?"

"You remember him?" he asked doubtfully.

"Sure. He's your rival, your strongest competition at the League Games. Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Misty, Richie is my brother. My twin brother. Remember?"

"Your...but you don't look *that* much alike," she argued. "He couldn't be your twin brother."

"He dyes his hair lighter, to be different."

Misty just stared into space, speechless. His *brother*...

"I should probably go now," he said nervously, seeing that he had upset her.

"O-okay," she stuttered softly.

* * *

That night, Misty tossed and turned in her sleep. The meeting with Ash had upset her, brought on memories she couldn't explain. She had asked almost incessantly for him when she was first brought to the home, but the Ash she had met that day wasn't the Ash she knew. On her desk, cards and toys from many other people she had thought she knew were placed; from people named Professor Oak, Marina, Brock, Professor Ivy, and many others. But were they who she thought they were? The tumultuous thoughts boiled over into tumultuous dreams.

* * *

A half-asleep nightwatchman saw the warning light go off for room 234. He switched to visual mode, and saw with relief that the disturbed resident of the room had only awoke from a bad dream, screaming. He drowsily called for assistants to take care of the child.

Three white-clothed men burst into Misty's room, armed with straight-jackets and tranquilizers. She held her hands up in a gesture of surrender and forced herself to calm down. "I wasn't t-trying to cause any trouble," she said shakily. "Please...I just want my parents."

The men exchanged glances. "I'll get Dr. Giovanni."

* * *

"Now, Misty, are you sure you want to see them?" the psychologist asked worriedly. "The last time you saw Jessie and James, you seemed very frightened, remember?"

"I know," she replied evenly. But she didn't know. She didn't know why on Earth she was asking to see her two least favorite people, the people who did nothing but make life hard for her. She only hoped she would find out soon.

"Okay. I'll send them right in, if that's what you want."

Misty nodded. She held her breath as he walked out of her room. What would Team Rocket do? What explanation could she even give for calling them here so late?

The door opened again, and this time, a tall couple walked in. They did not attempt to come close to her; they stayed by the wall, their eyes shinning bright with tears.

"We're here, Misty," Jessie offered gently. "Dr. Giovanni told us you wanted to see us."

"Tell me the truth," she intoned hoarsely. "Are you really my...parents?" The word was hard to force out.

They exchanged a glance. "We're not your birth parents, Misty, no."

"We adopted you when you were five years old," James added quickly. He moved cautiously towards her, as though she were a snake that might bite him. "We were friends of your real parents. They died in a boating accident. Do you remember?" He kneeled at her bedside, looking up at her. Misty shook her head vigorously.

"What do you remember, Misty?" Jessie questioned.

"Nothing." She turned away. "Nothing!" she shouted suddenly, frustratedly. "I don't remember any of the things these people have been trying to stuff down my throat! I can't even remember that other world now...I don't have anything!" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed raggedly.

They both rushed to her then, wrapped their arms around her, around each other. "You have us, my dear," James promised.

"I'm not your dear! You're Team Rocket! I hate you! I..." But the words died in her throat. How could she hate them, when she wanted them with her now more than anyone else?

"Then let's start over," Jessie pleaded through her tears. "Get to know us again. Give us a chance."

Misty felt a pain so intense, it was like an explosion in her head. A pain a hundred times worse than anything physical. A scene came to her mind. A small girl with short orange hair was being craddled between a young man and woman. 'We know we'll never replace your parents, honey,' they had said. 'But we'll love you and take good care of you, just like you were our own daughter. Things will be alright, just you wait and see.'

"Jessie, James, I want to go home." It took Misty a moment to realize she had spoken the words aloud.

They gasped. "Misty, do you...can you..."

"I believe you," she intoned softly, fragiley.

"Please, take me away from here. I just want to go home."

Epilogue

Three months had passed since Misty's accident, but it might as well have been three years. Little by little, the life she had lived returned, and the Pokemon world, no longer needed, vanished like a nightmare in the light of the morning sun. Gary, her vindicative ex-boyfriend who had run her over in a drunken rage, was serving jail time. Professor Oak, Ash's endearing grandfather, had suffered a stroke, and it was now Misty's turn to comfort and console her best friend. Jessica and James Roque had taken a year off from their successful clothes designing business to be with their adopted daughter, at their ranch in northern California.

One clear, beautiful morning, Misty left her house, a large box in her arms. She headed into the pine woods beyond her backyard, following a trail only she knew. After about half a mile, she stopped at the foot of a great redwood tree, placed the box on the ground, and stopped to catch her breath.

'There is no "completion" in life,' someone had once said, 'not until you die.' But there was one last thing Misty needed to do, in order to close this chapter of her life.

She dug away a hole in the soft earth with her hands. Then, one by one, she took out the contents of the box. One was a round blue candle with a spiral pattern and two beady eyes cut into it. The next, a pink little bean bag with two blue dots for eyes. She held each one in her hand for a moment, before placing them into the hole. When she was done, some one-hundred and fifty little pocket monsters lay in the ground before her. She stood over the grave for a moment, gazing at her childhood toys for the last time.

With a transparent sigh, she poured dirt over the hole, covering them completely. She carefully spread some pine needles and twigs on the surface, to hide the burial site. She did a good job; no one would ever be able to tell that something lay underneath.

Misty let her gaze sweep over the area one last time. Then she turned and walked back towards the house, where her parents would be waiting.