Linguini watched the fat brown rat run down the pulley (almost operating it with success this time), on the counter, and out a tiny hole in the wall. He looked like he was actually going somewhere, which meant he had a purpose, which had to be good, right?
"Please, Little Chef, be OK," Linguini whispered to himself.
As soon as Emile turned the corner a block or two away from the shopping center, he had a feeling he was on the right track. There was just one problem:
Two humans were smack dab in the middle of his path.
Panicking, he dove behind a nearby trash can and listened to their conversation.
"Poor Marie, she must have been so scared this morning!" A brunette woman whispered to her counterpart, a tall man with dark hair and dark clothes who looked altogether rather creepy.
"I think she should have disposed of the despicable creature right away," he said.
"Well it's not like she had anything to do it with, darling," the woman said. "I mean, Reggie's gone until six, and she's out of mousetraps for now."
Emile's ears perked up at the word 'mousetrap'. So that meant the 'despicable creature' they were talking about had to be a rodent of some kind.
The two humans started walking more towards the outside shopping center, and Emile, not wanting to miss out on the conversation, closely followed.
"What use is Reggie anyway if he's not there when Marie actually needs him?" the man asked gruffly.
"Well it's not like he can help it, he had a check-up," the woman answered. "Now I propose we go pay Marie a visit to cheer her up. She told me that today was the day her new cinnamon buns debuted."
Emile ended up following them all the way to the outside shopping center, listening to some stupid conversation about the pros and cons of a pair of gloves the woman liked best at some clothing apparel store. Which was weird, because it was spring.
Finally, they reached a bakery, who Emile assumed was 'Marie's'. He found the scent of cinnamon wafting through its doors overpowering and had to restrain very hard from simply running in.
All right, Emile, what now? He asked himself inside his head. I'm not sure if Remy's really in there, but I know a rodent of some kind IS in there, and I know that Remy's missing, and this happens to be one of his favorite areas, so two and two go together, right? But what if I go in to see if it really is Remy and it's not, or I can't get back out? Oh, shoot, they're opening the door—what if they see me?—Dad's gonna kill me—
All these thoughts were running through his head as he carefully, but quickly, ran through the door with the humans.
Remy hadn't been able to think of any escape ideas yet, which was not helping his current condition. He must've hit his head fifty times on the glass of the jar, hoping that jarring his brain might stimulate an idea of some kind. So far, it hadn't done anything but hurt.
He leaned back against the side of the jar in defeat. "What am I going to do?" he muttered to himself.
Maybe, if he pushed against the jar hard enough, it would fall off the shelf. Then it would shatter and he could run away.
No, there were three problems with that theory. One, the falling jar would probably break into a million pieces of sharp pointy glass that could possibly damage his internal organs or something. Two, the blonde woman in the front was sure to hear a jar shatter and would probably be in the back room in a heartbeat with the broom she'd used to corner him in the first place. And three, the door was closed and he couldn't see any other means of escape. He'd have to think of something—
"REMY!"
Remy started. He couldn't possibly hear who he thought he was hearing. Could he…?
"REMY!"
Remy looked down, and, sure enough, there was Emile.
"Emile, how'd you get in here?" Remy's voice was muffled by the glass.
"The back storage room door was open a crack—or at least enough for me to get through. But that's beside the point. Where have you been all day? I was worried, Dad was worried, not to mention Linguini—he's beside himself right now—what happened?"
"It's a long story. Look, I need you to—"
The sound of laughter came through the door.
"No, really, Marie, I'll go check on it, rats don't faze me at all," a man's voice said.
"It's true," said another woman.
"All right…I'd really appreciate it, actually, I'm not so good at dealing with rodents….hate the nasty little things, really…", that was the blonde woman's voice.
"Then I'll just go back and check things out for you," the man said.
"Thank you, but first, you've got to try my new cinnamon buns—"
Remy looked back at Emile with an expression of panic on his face. "Emile, we don't have much time. You've got to get out of here."
"Well not without you."
"YES, without me!"
"NO."
"And how do you propose to get me out of this jar in the maybe sixty seconds we have until that guy comes back here?"
Emile opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, realizing he didn't have a plan.
"Yeah. Now GO."
"Wait, Remy, I can't just leave, I mean, some guy named Reggie's coming later and apparently his specialty is getting rid of rodents—the only reason you're not 'disposed of' already is because he had a check-up, and—"
"Emile, you have maybe thirty seconds to get out of here or you're going to be in the same boat as me."
"But I've got to—"
"You're not going to be able to help me if you're in a jar, too!"
Emile realized the wisdom of this statement and got ready to run.
"Don't worry, Remy, I'll be back as soon as I can, I'm not gonna let that Reggie guy or whoever do anything to hurt my little brother!" he shouted as he started scurrying his way back to the door.
Just as he was about to reach it, it swung open.
