I wish I was, thought Arthur. "No, it's the truth," he said out loud. "D.W. and I do a lot of things together now."
D.W. opened her mouth to protest, but noticed that her brother was winking furtively. "Uh, yeah, he's telling the truth, all right," she said with a nod of agreement. "He even went to Pony Land with me. It was like a dream come true."
Pony Land? thought Binky. Oh, gosh, it's Arthur who's gay!
"Well, I can see you're too busy," said the bulldog nervously. "I'll have to find someone else to be my new study buddy. Hmm, what about George? He never says no to me."
"Come on, Arthur," said D.W., eagerly grasping the boy's hand. "Nadine and I are planning a surprise birthday party for Vicita, and we could really use your help."
"Sure, D.W.," said Arthur with a goofy smile. By the time he was on his feet, Binky had already bolted out of the house.
Having been moved from the ER to a suite on the eighth floor of Katzenellenbogan Hospital, Tommy and Timmy dozed peacefully in separate beds. Other than the paleness of their countenances, Trixie Tibble could see nothing wrong with them. For anyone else, this would have been a reassuring sign.
"Look at them!" she scolded the nurse. "They're at death's door!"
"By this time tomorrow they'll be fine," the man in the uniform told her.
"By this time tomorrow they could be dead," ranted Mrs. Tibble. "I'm not leaving this room until I see some experienced medical professionals working on my boys. Get Dr. House if you have to. I'll spare no expense."
"Ma'am," said the nurse impatiently, "Dr. House is a fictional character."
"I mean the real Dr. House," said Trixie with urgency.
"I'll call him," said the nurse, lifting his cell phone to his ear. Turning his back to Mrs. Tibble, he whispered, "Hello, security?"
Drusilla Prufrock waved her slender fingers over the crystal ball and hummed ominously. "The spirits are greatly perturbed," she reported to Mrs. McGrady. "They can see something approaching…something calamitous…something that will change life in this city as we know it."
"And then do I win the lottery?" Mrs. McGrady inquired.
"Please, Sarah," said the fortune-teller, "I think this is a little more important than the lottery. The image is becoming clearer…I see people hiding in their basements…disorder in the streets…death! Death!"
"Are you sure you're not just picking up CNN?" said Mrs. McGrady.
"A storm is coming," Mrs. Prufrock went on. "A storm the likes of which we've never seen."
"Now you're getting the Weather Channel," said the cafeteria lady mockingly.
"Now I'm getting nothing," said the rat woman, dropping her hands in despair. "Your flippant attitude has angered the spirits."
She closed the psychic shop early, anxious to get home. Finding Rubella in the living room practicing her golf swing, she asked, "Any news from Prunella?"
"Yeah," her teenage daughter replied. "A policeman called."
"Oh, dear God," Mrs. Prufrock fretted. "It's beginning already."
At the station in Minnesota, the officer on duty handed the telephone receiver to Prunella. "It's your mom," he stated.
Overjoyed, the rat girl barely refrained from squealing. "Mom! It's me! I'm stuck and I need you to come get me!"
"I know, honey," her mother's voice uttered. "What about Mr. Haney and Sue Ellen? Are they all right?"
Prunella attempted to say, "They've been captured by aliens," but the words refused to leave her mouth.
"Prunie?" said Mrs. Prufrock with concern. "Are you there?"
"Yeah, Mom," said the frustrated girl. Stupid aliens. Why won't they stop messing with my brain?
"Where's Mr. Haney?" her mother asked again.
I shot him, Prunella wanted desperately to say. The aliens made me do it. I'm their slave.
"He's fine," were the words that rolled off her tongue.
"I'm coming to get you, sweetie," said Mrs. Prufrock. "Stay put. Cooperate with the police. I love you."
Prunella laid down the phone and stared glumly at her skirt. They'll make us all their slaves before it's over, she thought.
On the Thrag station, Lieutenant T'l'p'g'r listened to a transmission from Earth. The voice of Gadfly informed him, "One of my agents discovered a stockpile of weapons at an abandoned ranch in Brainynerd. The militiamen aren't fooling around. We're in danger down here, Lieutenant."
"Understood," said T'l'p'g'r. Turning aside, he said to Mr. Armstrong, "What course of action do you recommend?"
After a thoughtful pause the cat man replied, "Proceed immediately with Operation Disease Vector. I'll tell the Yordilian troops to stand at readiness."
In a small, darkened cell, the man known as the Doctor carefully probed the metal grates of the door with his fingers, searching for a point of weakness and a chance of escape.
Sue Ellen lay immobile on a mattress-like platform in the infirmary, looking at her surroundings through bleary eyes. Bits of memories of what had happened to April began to coalesce in her mind. Turning her curly head to the right, she observed that Mr. Haney was stretched out on the next bed over, his glasses still attached to his face, a variety of tubes leading into and out of his body.
I'm dead, she told herself. When I watched myself grow old and die, that was my life. It's over.
To be continued