Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat (18 page)

“W
E HAD NO IDEA.”
Jim Addison's voice was subdued. He looked at his wife.

“No idea at all,” echoed Kathy Addison. “None.”

Emmy shut her eyes and tried to control her breathing. Soft, soft—in through the nose, out through the mouth—

She had run home, slipped quietly in the back door, and tiptoed through the house. The study door was open a crack; inside were her parents, Miss Barmy, and Dr. Leander.

“I didn't want to worry you,” said Miss Barmy. “I thought I could control Emmaline's moods with a careful and healthful diet. And, too, I felt that Dr. Leander was keeping an eye on her at school. So I said nothing about the delusions, and the fits of temper, and the terrible rages—until last night, when I realized that she was a danger to herself—and to others.”

Miss Barmy held up her hands with the fingertips wrapped in bloody gauze. Kathy Addison leaned forward in horror.

“Emmy did
that
?”

Miss Barmy nodded solemnly. “She bit them. All ten. She was like a wild animal.”

Emmy stiffened in outrage, her eye to the crack.

There was a rustle of paper. “She may have thought you were the giant spider trying to suck out her brains,” said the psychologist, consulting his notes. “Or—let's see—the ten-foot-tall noodle? Perhaps she was only defending herself. These delusions can be very real to a person who is mentally ill.”

Emmy winced. What had she said to Dr. Leander? She could hardly remember—but the giant sucking spider
did
sound familiar.

“But what can we do?” Kathy Addison looked upset. “We're flying to Alaska tonight, or we'd be at her side every minute—”

Emmy sagged against the doorjamb. The chinchilla print wasn't wearing off early. It
couldn't
be, or her mother wouldn't talk about going away when she thought her daughter was ill.

“You don't need to worry about a thing.” Miss Barmy spoke with firm authority. “I know just the place where she will be gently restrained and given the very best of care. And it's only temporary, you know. When you get back from your travels, you can visit her, and take her back home if you think it's the best thing to do.”

“And what is this place, exactly?” Kathy Addison tapped her nails on the arm of her chair. “We only want the best for Emmy, you know.”

“Coincidentally, one of the best institutions in the nation is right here in Grayson Lake. It's very exclusive, and very expensive.”

“Well, if it's exclusive, it must be good,” said Emmy's mother.

“Spare no expense!” boomed Jim Addison. “Emmy's got to have the best! I'll write the check right now!”

“Write it to the Home for Troubled Girls,” said Miss Barmy promptly. “I'll get the commitment papers in order, and you can sign them this afternoon. By tonight, Emmaline will be taken care of, and you won't have to worry about her ever again.” She paused. “Oh—and there's one more little thing.”

Emmy trembled. The Home for Troubled Girls! There was a weakness in her knees, and a sick feeling in her stomach. She put a hand over her mouth.

“What if something should happen to you?” Miss Barmy's voice was solemn. “Do you have a will that appoints a guardian for Emmaline, and an executor for the estate?”

“Why, no, I don't believe we do,” said Kathy Addison slowly. “Of course all our money would go to Emmy, but someone responsible would have to take care of it for her.”

“We meant to write a will one of these days,” said Emmy's father, “but we just never got around to it.”

“If you like,” said Miss Barmy casually, looking at her nails, “we can take care of that this afternoon, too. I know a lawyer who would be happy to draw up the papers. Have you thought about who you might like to appoint as guardian?”

“Why, you, I suppose, Miss Barmy,” said Kathy Addison. “We don't really have any other relatives, to speak of.”

“A wise choice,” said Dr. Leander, “given Emmy's precarious mental state. Miss Barmy has been very
concerned about Emmy this past year. I can assure you that she will be an excellent guardian.”

“We might as well do it right,” said Jim Addison heartily, “and make Miss Barmy trustee, too. Bring that lawyer, and we'll take care of business this afternoon. Make it before six o'clock, though.” He looked at his watch. “We've got a flight to catch.”

Emmy backed slowly away from the study door. With shaking hands, she found the wall and climbed the stairs blindly.

What now?

There was a shuffle of feet in the foyer and the sound of voices. Emmy pressed against the wall, trembling with anger. They were going to get rid of her—like they would a dog that chewed the carpet!

As if she had felt Emmy's fierce gaze, Miss Barmy looked up. Emmy whirled up the second flight of stairs, dashed into her room, and wedged a chair under her doorknob.

There. At least Miss Barmy couldn't barge in on her while she was trying to think what to do.

Muffled footsteps sounded on the stairs and progressed firmly toward Emmy's room, with every so
often a thunking sound, out of rhythm. Emmy backed away from the door, not breathing.

There was a sound of metal sliding on metal, and the doorknob gave a soft click. The footsteps started up again, got fainter, went away.

Emmy waited a moment. Then she slid the chair away, grasped the doorknob, and twisted. But it wouldn't turn.

She had been locked in her room.

Emmy paced the floor, her cheeks hot and her eyes dry. Unless she did something fast, Miss Barmy was going to have her locked up and put away where even her friends couldn't find her.

Worse yet, Emmy's parents were going to name Miss Barmy as Emmy's legal guardian and the trustee of the estate. So if Kathy and Jim Addison died—or disappeared—not only would Emmy be under Miss Barmy's control, but the entire Addison fortune would be as well.

What was it Mrs. Brecksniff had said once? That all Miss Barmy cared about was the Addison money?

Emmy shivered. Once those papers were signed, the only thing that would keep Miss Barmy from the
money she wanted would be the fact that Emmy's parents were still alive.

Still … alive …. The words hung in Emmy's mind, as if waiting for her to understand. And then all at once she did.

The Extract of Gerbil had not been meant for her at all. It had been meant for her parents. Kathy and Jim Addison, aged 35 and 37, respectively, would become …

Emmy's mouth went dry as she did the math.

Twenty-four hours after Miss Barmy slipped them the extract, her parents would be 105 and 111. Tomorrow, somewhere in Alaska, two very elderly people would die among strangers.

There was a soft sound of scampering feet. The Endear Mouse ran out from the playroom, up Emmy's leg, and onto her knee.

“What's wrong?” The question was posed simply, mind to mind.

Emmy bent her head down, near the mouse. It moved under the curtain of her hair to touch her cheek. And she was not surprised when, after a while, the Endear Mouse ran under the bed. It was all too much for such a little creature ….

It was too much for Emmy.

She stepped into her bathroom, washed out the soap dish, and dried it. Then she groped in the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a neatly folded tissue.

She was having trouble seeing clearly. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and dried her hand on her jeans before she laid the strands of her parents' hair carefully in the shallow dish. She glanced in the mirror and then quickly away. Should she call the mouse? Would she have to catch it?

There was a tug on her sock. Emmy bent down to see the Endear Mouse dragging what looked like a bit of paper …. It was the instruction tag. Tapedinside was the sharp, hollow needle.

The Endear Mouse looked up at her with eyes that were bright and steady, and pressed its paw to her ankle. “Go ahead, Emmy,” came the thought, small and brave. “My heart is strong.”

The tiny mouse stepped into her lowered hand. Its paws were white, its tail neatly curled, and its fur was so light that Emmy's breath stirred it. She looked down at the small bit of life cupped in her palm and positioned the needle against its beating heart.

And then—

And then she couldn't do it. She was going to have to do something else to rescue her parents, because as it turned out, she wasn't a murderer.

Emmy realized this fact with some relief. She threw the needle into the toilet along with the instruction tag and flushed. The Endear Mouse leaped from her hand and clawed its way up to the top of her head, trembling violently.

“What's this?” Emmy gently lifted the mouse out of her hair, disengaging the little claws that dug into her scalp. “You wanted me to stick a needle into your heart but you're scared of a flushing toilet?”

The Endear Mouse hid its head. Emmy laughed softly.

“You're awfully brave,” she whispered in its ear. “If I were your size, I'd be afraid of a toilet, too.”

 

“So what do we do now?” Emmy lay on the floor of the playroom, her chin propped up on her forearms, and stared into the dollhouse. The Endear Mouse, tired out, was asleep in the attic. The Rat, rumpled but awake, looked thoughtful.

“First thing, we need to get you out of here before they put you away. If you were my size, it'd be easy,” said the Rat, climbing out of the dollhouse. “But as big as you are—”

He stopped. Emmy turned.

There was a tiny sound of metal on metal. There was a click from the doorknob. And then there were footsteps inside Emmy's room.

“Quick, Ratty,” whispered Emmy, hunkering down to the floor. “Shrink me.”

The Rat looked at her, alarmed. “But it's the third bite—we don't know what will happen!”

“But I'm full size again. Just do it!” Emmy said, nearly sick with dread—and the Rat did.

It felt the same as before. Emmy shut up just like a telescope, going down like a very fast elevator. It was with intense relief that she saw she was no smaller than the Rat—and still herself, and fully visible.

“Quick! Over here!” Raston beckoned with his paw, and Emmy scuttled underneath a chest. She kicked up a dust ball in her path and sneezed.

Footsteps shook the floor. Emmy felt the vibration throughout her body. Step, step, clunk. Step, step, clunk. Miss Barmy's cane made a bone-jarring thud.

“Emmaline.” The voice was pitched low. Emmy shrank back farther beneath the chest, hugging her shoulders.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” sang Miss Barmy in a playful tone. “Time for nice little girls to go somewhere special.”

Emmy backed up farther, shuddering. She couldn't get far enough away from this evil woman. Back, back, into the dark—

“
Ouch!
” yelped the Rat as she stepped on his tail.

“Who said that?” cried Miss Barmy. The metal-tipped shoes came closer, closer—and stopped. There was a listening silence.

Emmy's dread was suddenly crowded out by an idea. A big idea that came to her all at once, complete and inspired.

“Ratty,” she whispered in his ear, “say something else. Say it
loud.
”

The Rat's eyes reflected yellow in the dark. “Are you
insane
?”

“Just do it!” hissed Emmy, and the Rat obeyed.

“GET LOST, BARMY BABY!” he screamed.

The words rang, echoing from wall to wall. Miss Barmy's feet came closer. Her knees touched the
floor—her hands—and last of all, the nanny laid her cheek on the rug and peered under the toy chest, her eyes searching the shadows.

“Emmaline.” Miss Barmy's voice was calm, soothing. “You don't really want me to get lost. You want me to
find
you. And I'm close—yes, I'm very
close
to finding you—”

She reached a hand beneath the toy chest. The huge fingers, bloody, gauze wrapped, came nearer, wiggling, probing—

“Now!” whispered Emmy in the Rat's ear. “Bite her, Ratty!”

“No way!” Raston's whisper was agitated. “The first bite won't shrink her, and I'll never get a second bite in before she goes after me with a broom, or her shoe, or something—”

Emmy groaned. “Do it NOW!” She slapped him on the rump.

The Rat, startled, leaped forward with his mouth open, collided with Miss Barmy's index finger—and bit down, hard.

Miss Barmy let out a sound like a train whistle, loud, high, and piercing.

And then she shrank.

“Grab her!” yelled Emmy. “Hold her down!”

“But that was just the first bite!” protested the Rat, scrambling after Miss Barmy. He caught her easily and held her against the floor, struggling and kicking.

Emmy came running with a shoelace. “You hold that end,” she said briefly. “Here—wind it around her legs—”

“I'll get you for this!” screeched Miss Barmy. “You'll never get away with it—you vicious little
worm
—”

“Pull her arms back tight,” directed Emmy. “That's right—now over her mouth.”

The Rat's paws moved nimbly through a series of intricate knots. “I'm glad all those Scout meetings in Herbifore's room were good for something,” he muttered. “Let's see—square knot, half hitch, bowline …”

Miss Barmy's shouts were muffled as the shoelace effectively gagged her. The Rat tied a last firm knot and sat down, scratching his head.

“I don't get it,” he mumbled. “How come she shrank with the first bite?”

“She answered you back, remember?” Emmy leaned forward. “That's when I knew—if she could
understand rat speech, you must have bitten her once already!”

“Never,” said the Rat, making a face. “She tasted awful. I would have remembered.”

“Maybe you were too little to remember.” Emmy began to pace, thinking aloud. “Maybe it happened long ago, when Cheswick Vole first brought the rodents to Grayson Lake. Maybe—”