"Well, if it isn't Basil's sister-in-law!"

Turning toward the voice, I see a mouse in a striped shirt and stocking cap. I must question his wisdom in lighting his cigar. He smells so much like brandy that it's a wonder he doesn't go up in flames.

"I'm not Cliff's wife!" I retort. "How then could I be Basil's sister-in-law?! Now, if you'll excuse me…"

As I turn to go about my business, two more ruffians step in front of me.

"Everyone knows that fat doctor's almost like a brother to him!" one states. "And you're Dawson's sister! That means you know Basil rather well!"

I roll my eyes, wishing I were more surprised by their blatant ignorance. "Everyone knows Basil, dimwit! Half of Mousedom owes him their lives, and the other half risks arrest by evidence he produces!"

"There's only one thing Basil likes more than his violin!" the second criminal continues.

"His ego? His depression? His chemistry set? His housekeeper?" I shrug. "This conversation is nowhere near earning a place on the list of the most intelligent discussions I've ever had, so if you'd be so kind as to stop wasting my time, I have a real life."

As I turn to leave, two of the thugs seize me by the arms. Very well. If they wish to fight, so be it. I have three brothers. I know how to use my elbows and knees in a fight. I have no problem revealing my ankles when I kick.

In no time at all, the thugs release me. I refuse to let them see me run, but I quicken my gait as I walk away. They won't be defeated for long. I must be on my way before they…

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder. It stings worse than the most dreadful of insects, and the burn is a deeper pain than touching flame. Placing a hand on my injured shoulder, I immediately feel an impaled object, which I remove. I see now that I have been hit with a dart, no doubt dipped in some toxin or the other.

"After all these years, I can still hit a moving target!" one of the criminals jubilates.

"If she takes time to go to the police, she'll die," another comments. "She has no choice but to get medical help within fifteen minutes if she wants to survive."

"I don't understand," the third ruffian complains. "All she has to do is see a doctor who isn't her brother. Dawson's not the only doctor in Mousedom, you know."

"He's the closest, you fool! He's also the only one who knows the antidote for what we dip our darts in! She has no choice but to get help from little brother David!"

The other mouse chuckles. "And when she does, we'll kidnap him and use him as bait to capture Basil!"

Those fools! Did no one ever tell them the first rule about perfecting a crime is not to announce your plans where other rodents can hear them?!

What they say is true. David's the only physician in Mousedom who would be able to help me survive this manner of toxin, but I'll be hanged if I let a gang of lowlifes force me to endanger my brother!

My arm is already starting to swell. In addition to the anguish I already feel, now the wound is beginning to throb. I must act quickly. What shall I do?

I suppose I could simply go to Baker Street. The ruffians wouldn't dare attack David in his own home, not with Basil living there. Yes, of course! It's brilliant! Their plan is to separate David from Basil, but…

But Basil's spending the day visiting his aging mother. If the criminals follow me to Baker Street, they'll find out Basil isn't home. I can't let them find David by himself.

There's nothing to do but resign myself to my fate. I silently give thanks that my husband is at work and my children are at school. I won't have to see the worried looks on their faces. Slipping through my front door, I painstakingly write what happened, explaining that this was most certainly not an act of taking my own life. I remember to write a description of the criminals, where they attacked me, and that the dart they used is now in my bureau. I explain that Basil must arrest these men at once before they have the chance to harm David. I write why I did not seek help, for I could not see my brother fall into the hands of these wastes of oxygen.

Darkness is beginning to close in, a terrifying black shadow. I don't mention it in my letter to my family. I make up some lie about how it didn't hurt at all; I simply fell asleep. Honesty is the best policy, unless you're trying to comfort someone a final time from your deathbed. However, when I write how much I love them, that is no lie.

Having written my explanation and expressed my love a final time to my husband and children, I struggle to write a few sentences each to my brothers and sisters. Writing is difficult; my entire arm is stiff, but I have to work through it. I'm running out of time. I must finish quickly.

I write the last word and place the letter on my nightstand. There's barely enough time to change into my favorite dress. Sinking to my knees but still fighting for my life, I manage to put a few cosmetics on my face. My fingers fumble with the clasp of Mother's necklace, but I finally slip it around my neck. I am determined to look beautiful when I die. Why should my family see the colors of death on my face? Why should they see any sign that I struggled so hard for my final moments of life? Let them think my transition into the spirit realm was easy and that I slipped off gracefully. It will bring them a great deal of peace of mind.

Lying on my bed, I try to think of happier things, but all I see is my life flashing before my eyes. It won't be long now. I wonder about Daniel. Will he be surprised to see me? It doesn't matter. I can ignore my anguish. It will all be over soon.