Chapter 21

It had been four days since the incident in Veilstone City. Sam had not heard from Barry at any point in those four days, and no one would answer his questions about where his partner was. Inside the Solaceon Prison, the nearest prison to Veilstone that wasn’t a crumbling mess with a downed wall, Sam had little contact with the outside world.

Sam was in prison, but he was not an inmate. He was repeatedly told that, but he was finding it hard to believe, seeing as how he spent most of his time so far in a locked room and was seldom allowed to leave it for any reason. He was apparently deemed “a person of insight and interest”, whatever that meant, though it most certainly did mean that he was kept detained. There actually were perks to being a person of insight and interest rather than being an inmate; he was locked up in an unused office in the prison rather than on any particular cell block. The office was large, though it was bereft of many supplies; Sam could not find so much as a sticky pad in any of the desk drawers to while away his time. They did leave him both a cot and a soft office chair, so at least there was that. He was even allowed to keep Bree, Vlam, and Chispa’s balls on him, though their release chip had been removed and was held in custody elsewhere in the prison. Even having deactivated pokeballs in an inmate’s possession is met with harsh penalties, Sam had always heard, but at least he was permitted to know where his friends were. The single best part about being not an inmate was that Sam had been allowed to shave after he passed a psychiatric evaluation on his second day in Solaceon. The beard that had pestered him for several days while he and Barry were on the hunt for the legends was finally gone, replaced by freshly razor-burned flesh.

Both shaving and responding to the psych eval were made greatly frustrating by Sam’s recently broken nose. While being registered at the prison, Sam had a police captain tell him, in a very official manner, that they were sorry about their overzealous behavior in the detainment of a life-threatening, fleeing terrorist. So, all in all, it was an apology that was not actually an apology, Sam thought bitterly. Not that it had mattered to Sam either way. They could have gotten on their knees and groveled for his forgiveness; his nose would still be shattered. It was four days since the overzealous behavior, and he was just regaining the ability to make basic consonant sounds besides b’s, d’s, and g’s. If the shrink that had been doing his evaluation had asked Sam to repeat himself one more time, Sam knew he would have lunged over the table at the poor guy, and that would likely have resulted in his failing the exam. The swelling around his eyes was finally settling away, too, though Sam had no idea how long he’d be carrying around the two black eyes or whistling every time he inhaled or exhaled.

In addition to the nose, the overzealous officers had separated the shoulder of his non-dominant arm, but that was easily—and completely unpleasantly—popped back into place by the prison medical staff. He imagined the scream he had uttered at that moment still echoed across Mount Coronet, and should be making its way back home to Johto in about three weeks’ time. He still toted the arm around in a precarious sling, but most of the pain had subsided and he’d regained most of his full-range of motion. It must have been getting better, or the pills they were giving him daily were just doing a damn fine job. 

Sam was convinced that he was also given a concussion when his legs were kicked out and he collided with the ground, but the medical staff dodged that diagnosis and insisted he merely had a headache. They were either inept or lying to cover the officers’ mistakes, but either way, Sam mentally promised never to complain about free medical care for prisoners ever again. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t remember the internal pledge anyway, what with being concussed and all. The dull hum within his skull had quieted, but he was still having a hard time focusing or concentrating. He distinctly recalled waking up one morning and spending a few minutes wondering when he had installed an empty office in his home before he could remember the truth of his situation. 

Sam was told he was permitted in the courtyard and the dining area with the rest of the inmates, but it was at his own discretion. It turned out Sam’s discretion very much liked it right where it was, in the office. He spent almost all of his available free time there because he was, admittedly, uneasy with the idea of being in the general population. He would chalk that up to the fact that he nursed a damaged wing and his senses were dulled from the swollen eyes and the likely concussion, but secretly he knew that even at a hundred percent, he was not going to have any idea how to acquit himself against hardened criminals. Sam had no interest in having to join a gang for survival, or whatever it was that convicts had to do. Sam was content to look out the bulletproof glass window in his quasi-cell to scan the courtyard for Barry, though he never saw any sight of him.

There was a pounding at the door, and Sam turned to the clock on the wall. Six-thirty in the evening; dinner had arrived. A large, dark-toned man entered the room after the knocking, and Sam instantly recognized him as Officer Clarke. Sam breathed a sigh of relief; of all the guards and staff he’d come across yet, Clarke was easily the nicest and most willing to treat Sam like a human being and not as though he were guilty-on-arrival.

“Slop’s up, Stark!” Clarke announced in his cave-deep voice that reverberated off the office walls. 

“Green or brown slop today, Officer Clarke?” Sam grimaced at the sound of his own voice, which must have come across as though he were only using the back of his tongue to speak.

The guard smiled and looked down. “Pasta and fish sticks. So a little red and a little brown, I guess.”

“Pasta and fish sticks? You guys really have to quit hiring ten-year-olds as your menu staff.”

Clarke’s laugh started off with a wheeze that sounded like his soul was being sucked from him, but it quickly turned into an engaged belly laugh. “You know, tomorrow I’m going to give you the chicken nuggets that are shaped like Pikachus.” 

Sam threw his arms up at the elbows in mock surrender, causing only a slight twinge in his shoulder. “What I meant to say was: pasta and fish sticks? That is both genius and delicious!”

Officer Clarke let out another full-hearted laugh and slapped Sam’s good arm with the hand that wasn’t carrying his tray. Clarke was a solid head taller than Sam, and either of his arms was more solid than Sam’s thighs. The day Sam had arrived at the prison, he slapped Sam right in his separated shoulder, sending him face-first to the ground, shrieking in agony. It was not Sam’s most dignified moment, but Clarke felt awful about it afterwards. He’d been careful during each interaction since then to only go after Sam’s right arm. Still, a few more playful slaps from Clarke, and Sam knew he might be nursing two separated shoulders. 

“So do I get to see an attorney of any sort today?”

Clarke shook his head. “You know you don’t have to see no attorney, Stark. You’re not an inmate or a prisoner. You’re—“

“A person of insight and interest?”

Clarke stood tall and straightened out his chest like a cartoon character. “I was going to say you’re a guest.”

“Well then pack up my bags and call me a taxi, bellhop. I think I’ll be checking out.”

“I guess you’re not a very valued guest.”

“So I’m not a prisoner—I’m not even ‘under arrest’, as it were–I just can’t leave prison?”

“Not my decision, Stark.”

Sam huffed, eliciting a whistling from his nostrils . He was frustrated with the situation, and it was possible that Clarke was getting upset at Sam’s constant questioning of it. Arguing the semantics of his exact status was not going to work—it wasn’t like Clarke had the power to just release him because he pestered the guard a lot about it—so Sam decided to change the subject.

“Any news on Barry?”

“No, and I tell you, if there was, I’d know. Everybody’d know.”

Sam nodded. Officer Clarke had explained a previous time to Sam that Barry’s arrest was a major news break. Everyone wanted the story, but the authorities were keeping a very tight lid on the situation. All Clarke knew was wherever the Veilstone police took Barry, it wasn’t there to Solaceon Prison. According to Clarke, that made little sense; the Veilstone Penitentiary was the largest in the county, and most prisoners in the area were transported and held there. With its current state of disrepair, Solaceon was the only quality substitute in the surrounding area. If Barry had not been brought there, he had no clue as to where he’d be held.

“Are you there, Clarke? Are you with Stark? (Hey, that rhymed).”

Clarke shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose at the awful joke that came from his shoulder comm. He moved a finger to his lips to advise Sam to be quiet as he reached across his body with his other arm to press the button on the comm. “Yeah, I just got here with his meal. What’s up?”

“Tell him he has a visitor.”

Sam was hit so hard by the words that he almost had to take a step back to steady himself. He had not had a visitor yet in his four days in Solaceon. He raised an eyebrow at Clarke, who could only shrug back. 

“All right, I’ll let him know.”

For as much as Sam was initially surprised at the words, he quickly realized there were only two options: either Professor Rowan had come to possibly scold Sam for letting Barry get arrested and accused of terrorism, or Mr. Alonzo was there as yet another goodwill gesture to Sam. Either way, Sam was hesitant to even acknowledge one of his two least favorite people. But still… there was a chance it could be Barry. It was eminently possible that Rowan had gotten Barry released, and now Barry was coming to do the same for him. With that possibility in mind, he motioned toward the door for Clarke to unlock it. 

As Clarke escorted him to the visitation ward, Sam passed several groups of inmates milling about in the middle of the day. Sam heard quite a few derogatory comments hurled his way, as well as at least one prisoner musing quite loudly and openly, “Guy blows up a prison and he gets to walk about like he owns this place. If that happened to me, no one’d ever hear from me again, I can tell you that”. Sam shook his head and did his best to ignore them, and Clarke positioned himself next to Sam between him and the inmates. Sam appreciated the attempt to keep him secure, but it was not going to win him any credit from the convicts as long as he was a guest of the institution. What would he have to do if Clarke was not around? His head hurt, and for the first time, he knew it was not related to the concussion. 

Clarke passed his badge through a device that looked to Sam like a credit card reader on the frame of a large, steel door. The guard did not enter with Sam, but slapped him on the back and said “Number four”. Sam looked left and then right to ascertain the direction in which the booths were numbered before turning right to find number four. He passed other inmates talking to their visitors through more bullet-proof glass; apparently Sam’s stature as a person of whatever was not so special that he would get to see his visitors in a different manner than the convicts. 

Sam positioned himself in booth four, but could only sigh and shake his head when he saw the face through the glass looking back at him. As far as surprises went, it was not a great one.

“I was really hoping this wasn’t true,” Mr. Alonzo said, his lower lip lifted.

“What wasn’t true?” Sam mustered all his nerve to not sound as broken when he spoke this time. 

“That Rowan and Mr. West had just left you here to rot as their own personal fall guy. You deserve better, Mr. Stark.”

Sam pushed himself up from his seat. “Great, yeah. Good talk. I’m leaving now.”

“Barry’s free, you know.”

Sam froze and narrowed his eyes at Henrique. “Free of what?”

“It just happened today. Rowan had Barry pardoned by the Prime Minister. It’s going to be a very big deal tonight at Rowan’s press conference; I’m told the Minister demanded the professor step down from his position in exchange for the pardon. This whole ordeal has been frightfully embarrassing to his position.”

“And you know all this… how?”

“I, of course, have an Order of Protection against Mr. West, so I had to be informed right away that he was going to be released out of custody. For my own safety, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Sam felt his upper lip curl as he said the word.

“And I do have friends in the government who keep me apprised of such situations.”

“So I’m just supposed to take your word for it that this all happened and no one thought to tell me?”

Mr. Alonzo nodded slowly and tilted his eyes down. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Stark. I’m not asking that you take my word for it; you merely have to wait until the news conference tonight. I’m sure someone here will let you watch it, or at least tell you about it. You will see. Barry has been released into professor…,” Alonzo snorted a small burst of air through his nostrils and placed a hand over his mouth, “I’m sorry, Mr. Rowan’s custody, and Rowan has stepped down in exchange.” 

“You’re—“

Mr. Alonzo interrupted him, “Of course, I’m fairly certain you can’t just let a suspected terrorist go free, so how would they get around that? By saying that Mr. West was not actually the threat; by saying he was under the influence of someone more dangerous. An older friend, perhaps? A foreigner with no love or respect for the land of Sinnoh? Maybe someone who was at the scene of an attack on a national artifact such as the Celestic Ruins?”

Sam sat back deep in his seat. “What are you threatening me with, exactly?”

“No, no. No threat, Mr. Stark,” Henrique shook his head. “Quite the opposite. I am in the position of being able to secure your release. I’m the one who made the initial accusations against Mr. West and how you were taken hostage. I can vouch for you and your honor in the face of Mr. Rowan’s incriminations.”

It was all too implausible; Barry would never stand for it, if nothing else. Even if Rowan had pulled such a maneuver and had the blame shifted to Sam, Barry would deny it at every turn. Regardless of what kind of man Rowan was, Barry respected Sam and had a greater sense of honor. It just didn’t shake out.

Mr. Alonzo leaned close to the glass that separated them. “You and I are so alike, Sam. Let me get you out of here, and I’ll introduce you to someone special to me. It’s my brother, Mr. Stark. I would… I have done everything for him, just like you would for yours. I want you to see the kind of person I am; family means as much to me as it does to you. Just like you, that’s why I’m here. I—“ 

“No dice. We’re done here.”

“But—“

“No, Mr. Alonzo. Am I going to be here for the rest of my life?” Sam shrugged. “Maybe. I can totally see Rowan doing that to get his own way. But you know what? That’s a chance I’m going to have to take. Good luck with your whole,” Sam paused and motioned wildly in the air with his hands as much as his sling allowed him, “thing”. 

Sam got up from his chair, stole one last glance at Henrique’s face—eyes narrowed, mouth open, brow wrinkled—and walked back to the door Officer Clarke was guarding. 

Mr. Alonzo must have thought suddenly playing the sibling card would evoke a sense of fraternity in Sam, but in truth, it was the worst move he could have made. Sam immediately thought of Tommy at his words, and it was like he could hear his brother’s voice guiding him. Sam knew that his brother would want him to stand by his friend, just as he was sure Tommy would find Henrique Alonzo to be an obnoxious windbag. And as Sam had always relied on Tommy to do right by him, he knew would rely on Barry for the same. That was what Tommy would want for him, and it was what Sam would do. Mr. Alonzo was too late in the game to make that play. 

Sam could not help but focus on Alonzo’s words, though. Had Rowan really stepped down to have Barry spared and save his office the shame of it all? Had he really shifted the blame to Sam? Mr. Alonzo was a snake, but this was not a compelling long-term lie. If there was no newscast that evening, Sam would know it was a deception. There must have been some truth to it, Sam knew. But if that was the case, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was still locked up and had not heard anything from Barry or Rowan. 

“Look,” Clarke’s volcano voice startled Sam out of his concentration, “I don’t mean to tell you your business or whatever, but that dude? He’s a shady creep.”

Sam pushed a hand against his own chest. “That’s my uncle you’re talking about!”

“For real?”

“No, he’s a shady creep. How do you know him?”

“I checked the records while you were in there and saw who it was. Saw him on the news for a couple’a days in a row a few weeks back. Just gives off a creepy vibe, like the guy sweats grease or something, you know? He was on there talking about you, actually, now that I think about it. The whole kidnapping thing. He’s also the guy who warned everyone there’d be an attack on Veilstone, but he thought that West kid would go after the Strip, not the prison. So bang up job on that one, shady.”

“What?”

“Yeah, a few days before the whole prison thing, Mr. Alonzo was back on all the news reports saying you—well, that Barry kid, I guess, not you—called into his office and was threatening to attack people on the Veilstone Strip. But, like I said, it was the prison that got attacked, and that ain’t nowhere near the Strip.” 

Sam was still recoiling and trying to reason together the news that Clarke had just dropped into his lap when the guard’s comm buzzed again. “Hey, I don’t know if this Stark kid thinks he’s a celebrity today or what, but he’s got another visitor.”

“Oh now what?” Sam growled aloud. He had enough to think about without the distraction. Just as Sam had previously, correctly, suspected his visitor of being Henrique, he had an idea that this visitor was the other Alonzo brother. Henrique was going to shove the brother in Sam’s face whether Sam wanted to deal with it or not. Maybe it was for the best, though; maybe he could get some answers from him.

Clarke laughed aloud as the pair of them turned in place and headed back to the visitation ward. The guard took to his whistling to himself while Sam rearranged the puzzle pieces in his mind and tried to make sense of everything. It was hardly an easy chore, even the most basic thoughts felt like they had to fight through a fog in Sam’s mind those last few days. Before he knew it, however, they were back at the steel door.

“I hope this one’s a little better for you.”

Sam grunted noncommittally and slowed his pace as he approached booth four. He certainly did not want to give Mr. Alonzo or his brother the sense that he was eager to see either of them, even if he did have more questions for them than his mind could hold.

Sam sat down in booth four and looked at the face through the glass. The warmth fled his body in an instant.

“Man, I take a little bit of a nap in the hospital, and you go and get yourself arrested halfway across the world. What am I going to do with you, Sammy?”