Immediately upon leaving Dudley's house, Muffy hurried to Francine's apartment building to check up on Augusta. Her knock on the door was answered after about two minutes by a rabbit woman with disheveled blond hair, dressed in a turquoise blouse and slacks, reeking of alcohol. "Hi, Muffy," she said weakly. "It's been a while."
"What do you mean?" asked the monkey girl as she slid past Augusta into the dingy apartment. "I saw you last week."
"You know what I mean," said her friend, shaking her head as if fighting off a headache.
"No, I don't," said Muffy impatiently. "Unless you're really Augusta's double."
"Bingo," said the rabbit woman as she collapsed clumsily onto the couch. "The other me had to leave the planet on short notice, so I took over."
Muffy's tone became firm but sympathetic. "You look awful. Would you like to tell me what's wrong, or are you too drunk?"
Augusta sighed miserably. "I can't live like this anymore," she half-mumbled. "I'm stuck as a woman, I've lost my powers, and I've lost Rick. I have nothing. Nothing except for a dead-end real estate job."
"Lost your powers?" Muffy marveled. "Lost Rick? How?"
"The Kron took away my powers," Augusta explained. "They removed part of my brain. I let them. I thought it was for the best. I thought I could live without them. But after the operation was over, I didn't feel the same way about Rick as I did before."
"Oh, that's terrible," said Muffy, grasping her friend's hand.
"Now when I look at him, all I see is a guy with a tentacle for a nose," Augusta admitted. "Whatever it was that made me fall for him, I've lost it."
"There are plenty of good men out there," Muffy assured her. "Men who don't have tentacles for noses."
"I'm sure that's true," said Augusta, giving the girl a condescending pat on the head. "Only problem is, I'm not a good woman. I'm a lousy woman. I don't know how to function as a woman. My heart's not into it."
Muffy opened her mouth again, but Augusta cut her off. "I'm sure you have lots of ideas for making my life better, but let's face it—you're just a little girl."
Nothing wounded Muffy's pride more than being called "just a little girl".
"I'll show you, Duplicate Augusta Winslow," she said haughtily. "I'm going to march out of here, and I'm going to find a man for you."
"You go, girl," said Augusta with a silly grin.
As Muffy departed from the apartment building, her heart brimming with determination, she imagined the profits she might reap from establishing a matchmaking service for magically gender-switched individuals. There must be more than two of them in the world, she thought.
Flipping open her cell phone, she noticed that Beat had left a message. She logged into her voice mail—and received a terrible shock.
----
Blindfolded, bound hand and foot, her mouth sealed with duct tape, Fern lay helplessly in the back of a truck. From the sound of a man occasionally clearing his throat, she could tell that one of her captors was nearby. She tried to cry for help, to ask the man where she was being taken, but she could make no sound.
She remained in fearful darkness for about fifteen minutes, and then she felt a set of fingers idly unfastening the strap of her helmet. Off it came, and curious knuckles stroked her fluffy hair. "You sure you're a boy?" came a surprisingly soft male voice.
"Mmf mmf mmf," Fern mumbled—translation, "I'm a girl." She spent the rest of the journey fearing that the man might try to obtain more positive verification of her gender.
The truck came to a stop, and two pairs of strong hands ported her into a house, or building, or some other sort of structure. They descended a flight of stairs or two, and then she was laid on a soft surface. A hand yanked the blindfold from her head, revealing that she was on a couch in a dimly lit, plain-looking, windowless room. Standing over her were two men wearing ski masks and black clothing.
"You can scream now if you want," said the soft-voiced man. "But nobody will hear you."
"Except for us," said the other man in a rather squeaky voice. Their masks had no holes in the top, making it impossible to guess at their species by looking at their ears.
Soft Voice grasped one end of the duct tape with his muscular fingers and quickly ripped it off, taking fur and skin cells with it. Fern winced from the pain, but didn't cry out.
"Nothing to say?" said Squeaky Voice as his partner tossed the strip of tape into a nearby garbage can.
"I know you work for Mansch," said the poodle girl defiantly.
"We ask the questions here," said Soft Voice.
"That wasn't a question."
"But this is," said Squeaky Voice. "Why are you dressed up like a boy?"
"Is that a crime?" Fern snapped at the men.
"We ask the questions here," Soft Voice reiterated.
Squeaky Voice loosened the rope binding Fern's hands, and the girl rubbed the tender skin on her wrists. "You won't get away with this," she muttered.
"Believe it or not," said Squeaky Voice, "that's the first time I've heard that line."
"Buster alerted the whole neighborhood," said Fern confidently. "The police will be here any minute now."
"I can tell you've never been kidnapped before," said Soft Voice.
"What does Mansch want with me?" Fern demanded.
"We ask the questions here," replied Soft Voice. "And I don't know any Mansch."
Squeaky Voice shook his head. "Neither do I."
The masked men stood up, covering Fern in their shadows. "You can untie your feet on your own," said Soft Voice.
"We'll be back when we think you're hungry," added Squeaky Voice.
With that, the men walked through the heavy metal door leading out of the dimly lit room, and closed it after them. Fern's sensitive ears picked up the sound of a lock turning.
She set about freeing her legs, then tossed the rope aside and started to explore the room. The couch, a small table, and a wooden chair were the only furnishings. A door to one side led into what was apparently the bathroom. Other than the locked door, there were no exits.
No TV. No books. No toys. No parents. No escape.
Fern started to whimper. She found herself wishing Buster had been abducted as well, so she would at least have company.
----
Not one of Fern's friends slept easily that evening.
Mrs. Krantz tucked in Sue Ellen again, and gave her another peck on the forehead. "I won't let those nasty kidnappers get their hands on you," the moose woman vowed.
Once her teacher had left the room, Sue Ellen started to jot down another journal entry. "Dear Diary: Fern was kidnapped today. Buster escaped to tell us all about it. The police are still looking for her. I hope they find her. It would be terrible if Fern died, but not as terrible as it was when my parents died. Mrs. Krantz is being really protective. She's afraid the kidnappers will get me. Why should she care? She's my teacher, not my mom."
At the same time, Alan lay awake in his bed, thinking about Fern. "I've been so busy reading my science books, and finding new constellations, and growing quartz crystals, that I never thought much about having a girlfriend. But why Fern? Let me quantify the reasons. First, she's smart. Second, she likes me. Third, the other girls don't like me. And now that she's gone, and possibly dead, I'm starting to realize...maybe I like her, too. Oh, this is so corny. Why can't I sleep?"
Beat, in the meantime, wrestled with a dilemma of her own. "How will I ever be able to face Alberto again? Don't think about him, think about Fern! I should have guessed he was interested in me. But what about Fern? He must have thought I was thirteen, or even fourteen. Think about bloody Fern! I hope my mum never finds out about him..."
Arthur was still wide awake when a visitor entered his room in the middle of the night. "Can I sleep in your bed?" asked the bleary-eyed, anxious-sounding D.W.
"I can't even sleep in my bed," mumbled the aardvark boy, rolling over to make room. His little sister crept beneath the covers and lay still, but fifteen minutes later neither of them was asleep.
Two small children approached the foot of the bed where Dave and Jane Read were resting, or attempting to rest. "Mom, Dad, I can't sleep," Arthur whispered. "I'm worried about Fern."
"I'm worried about me," added D.W.
Mrs. Read didn't move, but only moaned pathetically.
"Worrying won't bring Fern back," said Mr. Read groggily.
"Mom, are you sick?" Arthur asked with concern.
"Go back to bed now," his father ordered.
The two kids returned to Arthur's bed, but found that they were even more worried than before. "I hope Mom and Dad don't get sick again," said D.W.
"Yeah," said Arthur. "They may get sick for a whole year, and then I'll have to take over Dad's catering, and you'll have to do Mom's accounting."
"I'm more prepared this time," D.W. boasted. "I can count to one hundred."
"Really?" Arthur marveled. "I don't believe you."
"I'll prove it," said D.W. "One, two, three..."
"...twenty-six, twenty-seven...twenty...eight..."
To Arthur's relief, the girl dozed off before she reached thirty.
"If it worked for her, it should work for me," he thought. "One, two, three..."
"...fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four..."
"...seven hundred and ninety-seven, seven hundred and ninety-eight..."
When he woke up to the sun's first beams, he couldn't remember if he had made it to one thousand or not. He managed to catch a few more winks before his father stuck his head in the door. "Arthur, D.W., time to get up."
As the kids dragged themselves to the first floor of the house, they noticed something out of place. Grandpa Dave was shuffling around on his walker as he normally did, Pal was sleeping in a corner, Kate was striving relentlessly to reach the cookie jar, and Mr. Read was preparing oatmeal. However, in place of their mother's usual greeting, they received one from a familiar old woman.
"Hi, Grandma Thora," said D.W., smiling.
"Good morning, D.W.," said the gray-haired lady warmly.
"Where's Mom?" asked Arthur.
"Your mother's not feeling well today," Grandma Thora explained. "It's just a temporary thing. She'll be better soon."
Once she had led the kids to the breakfast table, they started to propose wild theories between bites of oatmeal. "I think she worried so much about Fern that she made herself sick," said Arthur.
"Then Fern's mom must be a lot sicker," said D.W.
Grandma Thora gave Mr. Read a knowing look. "Have you told them yet, Dave?"
"You tell them, Thora."
The old lady smiled long and hard at her two grandchildren. Behind them Kate waddled about in a diaper, chanting, "Gramma Fora...Gramma Fora..."
"I guess with all the confusion of Grandpa Dave moving in, no one bothered to share the good news with you," said Thora. "Your mother is going to have another baby."
----
to be continued