Author Notes: Has anyone spotted the Technicolor Dreamcoat reference yet? Keep your reviews coming in. I love to hear what you think, be it fantastic praise or constructive criticism. Thank you! :)

Chapter 9: Mr. Sullivan's Office

The first thing I notice about Mr. Sullivan's office is the giant window behind his desk. It's got a great view of the Laugh Floor below it, which is currently still empty. If I squint, I can just about see the outlines of a world map, so I'm guessing the window is hidden by a hologram or something. Inside the office itself, there is a mahogany desk with giant piles of paper stacked on top and a stand reading JAMES P. SULLIVAN. A pot plant droops pathetically in the corner next to an olive-green watering can. To the left are a messily-arranged bookshelf and a pin-board of photographs; to the right are five tall filing cabinets with a large plush toy of Mr. Sullivan lying on top. I read the tag around the toy's hand: "To Sulley, Celia found this in a gift shop. Can you believe what they sell in Tokyo? Hope you enjoyed your vacation. Mike."

Mr. Sullivan sits behind his desk in a leather, burgundy-coloured chair. He waves a hand towards a black, plastic chair, and Mike sits down immediately.

"Mike," says Mr. Sullivan, "what is the most important rule of the card key vault?"

Mike shuffles around in his chair. "Leave it how you found it?"

"No, that's the second most important rule." Mr. Sullivan looks at me and my friends. "Do any of you kids know the rule? Anyone?"

We all stare at him and say nothing.

"Um. . ." says Psyche. "I have a feeling it has something to do with permission. . ."

"Correct!" says Mr. Sullivan. "No-one is allowed to enter the card key vault without my permission."

"You gave me permission last night," says Mike.

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did. We were talking for a little while and you were drinking, and then you said, 'Mike, take these kids to the card key store tomorrow.' So I did."

While Mike is talking, he never actually looks at Mr. Sullivan. Instead, he's looking at the name stand, and it's only when he finishes his "explanation" that he dares to raise his eye to his boss.

Mr. Sullivan is frowning. "I didn't touch anything alcoholic. I had a Halloween speech to make."

"Actually, you had quite a lot of wine to calm down." Mike grips his seat tightly. "I guess you just don't remember it because you drank so much."

"You drank too. How can you remember what I did?"

"Well, I didn't drink as much as you."

"A-ha!" Mr. Sullivan points to Mike triumphantly. "I said I remembered something and you didn't question it!"

"You didn't – I – surely. . ." Mike plays dumb. "Huh?"

Linden mutters, "Mike, you are terrible at lying."

"Hmm?" Mr. Sullivan is frowning at Linden now.

"Linden was just saying," says Caprice, "that Mike is great at telling the truth!" She grins, but her forehead is still creased with worry lines.

I sigh. "I can explain, Mr. Sullivan. We'd lost a particularly important closet door, so Mike was helping us find it."

My friends are looking at me strangely, but I carry on, "You can't be mad at him. Surely there's no harm in bending the rules to help an old friend?"

I take my hood off and wait.

Everyone gasps. Mr. Sullivan stands up and moves around his desk to stand in front of me. His eyes are poring over my face – the brown eyes, the black bob. "Boo?"

"Kitty, it's me!"

Mr. Sullivan – no, Kitty – smiles. "Well, that explains a lot! But wait, who are these guys?"

"These are my friends," I explain. "Sophie, Caprice, Linden and Psyche. Since you almost crashed my slumber party, and Randall got back in, I had to tell them about Monstropolis."

"Don't worry, Mr. Sullivan," says Sophie, "your secret is safe with us. Oh, can I just say that you have a great company here?"

"Thanks," says Kitty. His face falls. "It might not be safe anymore, though."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Did you see what Randall did at the party last night?"

Mike shakes his head. "We left early."

"Well, right when I was about to make the speech, he jumped out of nowhere and grabbed the microphone. He started telling everyone that laughter is not the future because monsters were born to scare. 'A scream is a dream,' he said. And then he disappeared."

"He's up to something, that's for sure," I say. "He tried to kill me in the door vault!"

"He did?" Kitty seems choked up. He suddenly hugs me. I hug him back, clutching him tightly, sniffing his comforting, homely smell. This is what we used to do a lot when Kitty visited my room. We haven't truly hugged like this since the disastrous wedding day, when I told him wanted to keep things distanced.

We let go eventually. Kitty says, "Maybe you should leave here. This place obviously isn't safe with Randall about."

"He knows where my door is," I say. "If I go back, he'll just follow me through and do something terrible."

"Boo's right," Sophie chips in. "We have to stay until this whole mess is sorted out. There's nothing else we can do."

Mike folds his arms. "Well, they're not staying at my place again."

"Why not?" asks Kitty. "You're good with kids-"

"Yeah, kids, Sulley, kids. These are teenagers. It's a completely different ballgame."

"They'd be safer in your apartment." Kitty's trying a different tactic. "After all, it's me that Randall really hates, not you."

Mike chews his bottom lip. Kitty raises an eyebrow expectantly. We all wait to see if Mike will defy his boss or go along with the plan.

Mike stands up. "Okay, I'll take the kids." He starts walking backwards. "But the sooner we work out what Randall's up to, the sooner we can stop it and the sooner the girls can-"

He trips over the watering can, yelps, and falls in the plant pot.

Psyche giggles, and then laughs out loud. The light in the office brightens. Caprice clamps a hand over Psyche's mouth. The light returns to its normal brightness.

Kitty pulls Mike up and brushes some soil off his butt. "That was close. You look where you're going, and you should be fine."

"Thanks," grumbles Mike. "Come on, girls, I'll take you back to the apartment."

The bell rings, signalling the end of lunch.