back | home

Info:

The fourth chapter of "Radio Static," in which Elesa tries to help.

DISCLAIMER: Pokemon and all of its characters belong to Nintendo/Game Freak; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

Words: 2,870

Elesa took a breath, deep enough to hurt in the icy December air, then slowly released it. She could do this, it would be fine.

She rapped her knuckles on the door, feeling the slight sting of the finished wood hitting her hand. Usually she wouldn’t bother to hit it so hard, but sometimes Emmet wouldn’t hear it if it wasn’t loud enough. She stood there in silence for a few seconds. Right as she was beginning to think she’d have to knock again, the door swung open.

Emmet looked… rough. He always did, lately. Tonight, though, it seemed that he was actually more put together than usual. She should be happy to see just that slight improvement, but she wondered if it was really that he was starting to get as better as he could, or if it was just for her sake.

Instead of saying anything or letting her thoughts show, she smiled at him and held up the grocery bag in her other hand.

“Hey, Emmie. I brought the good stuff,” she said, a laugh in her voice that she didn’t really feel.

She had been embarrassed of her late night call to Emmet, before. It had been a drunken lapse of judgment, and she had felt so ashamed, thinking she’d bothered him when everything was already so hard on him.

Instead, he had assured her he hadn’t minded, and agreed to let her hang out at his and Ingo’s- at his place. She had been pleasantly surprised, not expecting him to relent so easily. Maybe even he was starved for proper human interaction at this point.

Until then, the only real contact she’d had with him had been her daily check-ins, which were always stiff (even by his standards) and never lasted long. Lately, she’d been busier and busier, so the times she actually got to see him in the flesh lessened, and it was killing her. She was so worried for him with how awful he looked and sounded, increasingly so every time. And without Ingo to keep him in check… well, she just didn’t know.

(Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t want to think about it.)

Not to mention all of those awful rumors about him… she hoped they hadn’t gotten to him yet. She almost hoped they never would, but she knew better.

He smiled back, small and tired, but genuine. It made her own feel that much more real. He stepped back to let her in.

She glanced about the apartment, hoping she was being subtle. He probably already knew what this doubled as, though.

The place was actually neater than it was the last time she’d been there. Everything was in its place, nothing was broken or strewn across the floor. There was even a distinct lack of hair on the furniture. He must have tidied before she’d gotten there.

It may have been for appearance’s sake, to not worry her, but the fact that he’d had the energy and forethought to do so at all gave her hope. Maybe it was naive, maybe she was grasping at straws, but she just needed any sort of sign she could get that her friend would be alright.

They sat down together on the couch, and she rambled pointlessly about her choice of movies for the night. She wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, not really thinking about it before letting it out. Mostly, she just wanted to fill the room with something, to have his eyes on her, just to know he would react. He seemed interested enough, so she supposed she wasn’t doing too badly.

“My dad loves this movie, but I’ve never actually seen it. He says it’s just horrible, but he’s seen it so many times, and he just kept noticing all these little details that he thinks there’s some sort of secret genius in it. Something about how that’s the problem with trying to make art out of movies - I don’t really know, he’s told me about it so many times, I’ve stopped really paying attention. The others are just a bunch of chick flicks, the only ones my mom actually likes - she hates all those overly sentimental ones. Those were always more Dad’s thing,” she rambled.

Emmet chuckled, but didn’t say anything. She figured that was about as good as she could hope for. She leaned forward and popped the disc in, listening to the old DVD player whir loudly.

They sat quietly together for a while, sometimes laughing at a particularly bad line. She could tell, though, that he was distracted, and she didn’t blame him; so was she. What was odd, though, was that he seemed to be specifically facing away from her most of the time - almost like he didn’t want her to see his face. When the credits started rolling, she stretched and stood to take the disc out. Emmet glanced at the clock. She worried for a moment that she was overstaying her welcome.

“It’s getting a bit late. I can make something, if you’d like to stay for dinner,” he offered, instead.

She couldn’t fight the smile that came upon her face. She wasn’t ready to leave him alone, yet, and she always did love his cooking.

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll help,” she added. She never did like just sitting around while someone else did something for her.

Emmet seemed like he wanted to insist otherwise, but he must have known that would be a losing battle, as he instead led her to the kitchen and asked what she’d like.

“Spaghetti sounds nice,” she said, mostly because it was generally pretty easy. Even if she was helping, she didn’t want to ask too much of him.

As she opened the pantry to get the uncooked pasta, she noticed how sparse the items in it were. Maybe she would start to go with him for grocery trips.

They didn’t really talk, but it was nice, just standing by his side as they worked. She stared at the water, waiting for it to boil. Emmet had been horribly distant as of late, and it had worried her sick. She just wanted to be near him, to see him, to know that he was okay.

It was hard to rid herself of the idea that, if she didn’t watch him very, very carefully, he might just disappear on her, too. For that reason, she’d been pushing more than she usually would, lately. Normally, she’d give him space, despite her worry, and let him come to her if he wanted her help.

Now, though, it was really more about reassuring herself that he was still there than anything. Or, as close to there as she could call… this.

The sound of the water bubbling brought her back to reality. None of that mattered right then. She was here, now, with him - she could see him, he wasn’t going anywhere so long as that was true. For now, that would have to be enough.

She dumped the noodles in, remembering the time she had broken them in half and the boys had chastised her heavily. It brought a smile to her face, before she was sobered again. Everything just felt so different without Ingo, she thought as she poked her spoon into the pot to ensure everything in it was submerged.

She was sure Emmet was feeling his absence then, too. Maybe that was why he had been avoiding her - they didn’t spend much time one-on-one together. It wasn’t that it was awkward, or that he didn’t want to see her, but rather that it was just another reminder of what was missing.

She supposed she’d just have to rectify that by making it into the norm, at least until he returned.

“Hey, Emmet,” she started, and he hummed to show he was listening. “Do you think maybe we could do this again next week? It’s been nice,” she said.

“Sure, that sounds fine,” he said, deadpan as ever, but still sounding disinterested in a way she’d trained herself out of hearing in his voice.

She tried not to feel hurt by his dismissiveness. It was hard on him, on all of them; she knew that. She’d never seen him in a worse state than he had been in lately. She wondered, then, if his cooperativeness that night had really been willingness to finally let her in, or if he just didn’t want to have to push back against her anymore.

In fact, this whole night, it was like he was barely even there. She saw the look in his eyes, then. Her relief from earlier had completely vanished, and she was now very, very scared. Scared for him, of all the things going on in his head that she couldn’t see.

She took a good, long, look at him, the way he’d not quite been letting her the whole night. He had definitely noticed her staring, but he wouldn’t be the one to speak first.

He seemed just… out of it, his eyes completely devoid of anything at all, with huge bags under them that he didn’t even try to hide. His hair was the only part of him that really seemed like it’d been properly washed recently, and not that thoroughly.

She wondered how long it had gone unwashed before she’d told him she was coming over.

She realized, then, the shame and embarrassment that he’d had all night. She hadn’t thought much about the way he’d tried to avoid letting her look at him for too long, lest she notice the minor acne making a resurgence on his skin. She’d seen how barren his fridge and cabinets were, and she could see the way he seemed just that smallest bit slimmer.

It hadn’t been very long since Ingo had gone missing, all things considered, although it had felt like an eternity. She worried, then, how much worse everything would get if things went on this way and no one stepped in.

She wished he would realize that she wouldn’t judge him for any of it. She wouldn’t think any less of him for maybe forgetting some hygiene in the wake of everything they were all going through. However, no matter how carefully she tried to breach the subject, it wouldn’t come across that way. With how hard he’d tried to get her not to notice, it’d likely feel like judgment to him no matter what she actually said.

She just wanted to have a real, serious conversation without hurting him - to express her concern without feeling like she was overstepping. She’d have never thought just a few months ago that she’d have to walk on eggshells around one of her best friends the way she was, now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a yelp and a curse from where Emmet was pouring the noodles out into a strainer. She turned to see him cradling his hand. He seemed alright, but she noticed he was shaking.

“Emmet…? Are you okay…?” she asked.

She walked over to see his face better, and…

He was crying.

She wasn’t sure what to do. He sank to the floor, as though his knees could no longer hold him up, and so she went with him.

“Emmet, please, just talk to me,” she begged. She was scared, so scared. She understood that he was scared, too. She understood that his hurt likely ran much deeper and differently than her own. She just needed to be able to help him, to do anything at all.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he moaned.

She knew that. Dragons, she knew. But couldn’t she try?

“...Emmet, I know... I know I don't get it. I've never had anything like you and Ingo, in any sense of it. But could you just try to explain it to me? Talking it out might help, and... and I want to help, however I can. Even if it's just listening, even if I can't really understand," she replied.

“...It’s going to sound crazy,” he said, but he sounded ready to give in.

“Try me,” she answered, steady as could be. He chuckled a bit, his eyes alight with just a little bit of the warmth she used to see in them every day.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay. Just… give me a minute. Find my words.”

She nodded, and waited. She always would. She understood. She was wondering, though, just what he could possibly be talking about. She’d assumed all of this had to do with Ingo. The thought gave her pause.

…Did he know something…?

She looked back at him, and the atmosphere had changed again. She tried not to think too harshly of him - but just what was he hiding from her?

Across from her, Emmet took a breath, and began speaking.

"I am Emmet. For my whole life, I have known one thing for sure. The world would never be silent. For as long as I can remember, my hearing has not been a guarantee. But I would still hear something. Ingo… he would still be there, in my mind. He would speak to me, still, and he would be my ears. Now he is… Gone. There is nothing there. Radio silence."

To say she was confused would be an understatement.

“Emmet, what are you talking about?” she asked, maybe a tad less patient than she’d wanted to come across.

“Elesa, I am going to say something and it is going to sound like a lie. But I need you to believe me anyway,” he said.

She was conflicted. He had been acting so strange today, but never in all of her time knowing him had she known Emmet to be a liar. Even as unusual as his behavior had been, she couldn’t believe he would lie to her when it came to Ingo.

“Okay,” was all she said.

Please, don’t start lying to me now.

“Ingo and I, we share a… connection, of sorts,” he began. “What I see through my own eyes, he could easily see as though it were through his own. What he thinks, I would hear as clearly as though they were my own thoughts. Always, always, he has been there, even when we were apart. And now, I…” he trailed off.

“...Don’t hear him at all,” she finished, dazed. It was quite a thing to ask her to believe. She had half a mind to think he’d gone insane. She couldn’t blame him, if he had.

But really, stranger things had happened in her life.

She believed him, wholeheartedly. She really wished she didn’t, though.

“So, if you can't… If he’s not…” she tried to say, but she couldn’t find it in herself to voice her fears.

“What else could it mean?” he asked, sadly. “One second, he was there, and the next, he just… wasn’t. No warning, nothing.”

She’d heard he’d acted strange on the day Ingo had disappeared. Apparently, he’d said some odd things just before people started searching for him - had suddenly asked about him, despite being in the middle of working, and already having not seen him in hours by that point.

She’d thought it was just one of those times you get a bad feeling, and it turns out to be right. A coincidence, or a one-time thing. She’d heard of it before.

She knew she was being too quiet, that he was probably waiting for an actual response from her. But what could she say? How could she reassure him?

Still… maybe it was foolish, but one thing about her was that she was determined to hope. Emmet had once said that she and his brother were alike, in that way. She didn’t think she could ever live up to Ingo’s own spirit, but by the Dragons, would she try.

“Do you wonder if, maybe… well, would it be too absurd to think that, just maybe… something… took him?” she asked.

His brow furrowed harshly. “What?” he asked.

“Think about it,” she said. “There’s no body, no blood - nothing at all to really indicate that he was ever there in the first place, except for his belongings. If he’s dead, then where’s his body? Where did it go? Why wouldn’t whoever… why would they leave his belt?” It was too painful to refer to her friend’s supposed murder, even if she was telling herself that wasn’t what happened.

Emmet was still silent, so she continued.

“Wouldn't you have felt some kind of pain from him, even if he died instantly? And how-”

“Stop,” he interrupted. “Please, just… just stop. Don’t. Don’t give me hope.”

“Emmet…” she started.

“No, no. There’s just no way. Who could have possibly taken him so quickly that I didn’t feel anything? What could they have done to manage that?” he asked. Pleaded, really.

“Maybe it’s not who,” she started, carefully. “But what.”

She let the implications linger, let him think about it on his own. She could see the hesitation in his face, but also that he was thinking about it. Deeply.

He looked up at her, that old fire back in his eyes.

“I think… I have a lot to think about,” he said.