Chapter Eleven
Luke: (sarcastically) Gee, thanks.
Meg: For what?
Luke: All that hiding in that closet. I got home late and my parents practically killed me. I'm now grounded!
Meg: Yeah, well it's better than Ratigan actually killing you.
Luke: How come my life has been in danger ever since I joined this stupid author's notes thing?
Meg: (sigh)
Rose did not know where Mouseland Yard was, so she had no choice but to ask someone on the street. Mistake number one, she thought to herself after she asked a portly gentleman, who gave her the directions in a big, booming voice at least half the street could hear.
Despite the man's directions, she quickly got lost in the labyrinth of streets. This resulted in a few more conversations with pedestrians, who demanded to know why she wanted to know. She skillfully avoided their questions, but left them with a feeling that they were not satisfied.
She tried to avoid shady-looking characters in the streets, convinced that they were all working for Ratigan. She was jumpy and her hands shook as she took long strides to ease wave after wave of nausea. Why had she worn a cloak? It stood out in this rather warm afternoon, possibly attracting unwanted attention.
It was by chance that she made it as far as the entrance to the Yard. At the door to the imposing building, however, she could not force herself to make those final steps inside.
No turning back once I'm inside.
Turn back!
No! It wouldn't be right!
It wouldn't be right not to keep your word to him.
Who? That horrible man? The one who put me in this position?
The one who gave you that locket.
A birthday present! To make up for inconveniencing me.
Then why does it have an 'R' on it? That certainly can't stand for Ratigan…
Rose was sweating, clenching her white hands as another wave of nausea nearly made her fall to her knees. She backed away from the Yard. Not now… not yet…
She broke into a run, trying to let the exercise take over her mind and make her forget about everything. After a while she slowed down, trying to clear all thoughts from her head.
Several minutes later she found herself on anot unfamiliar street. She backtracked to the corner and look up at the street sign, which read: Baker Street. Home of that miserable detective, the one who had led her family to believe that she was dead! She wanted to hurt him, to cause him as much pain as he had caused her…
She paused. Professor Ratigan had often complained of him in her presence. They were enemies. Basil was brilliant, just like Ratigan. Surely he could protect her or tell her what to do?
She slowly walked by the detective's flat. There were no signs of life, but perhaps the someone was home anyway. Should she…?
She turned away, walking past the flat with a quick, determined step. No. He was not brilliant. He had made a mistake on one case. Her case. Why should she satisfy his ego by coming to him? What had he ever done for her?
Rose sighed as left Baker Street, feeling physically and mentally strained.
She decided that there were too many mice on the streets for her to think clearly. She went into a church, and then slipped through a side door to the gated cemetery in the back. It was a warm summer day, and the dead did not bother anyone. She took off her cloak and strolled along the tombstones, taking deep breaths of air and trying to relax and come up with some sort of plan.
She headed to a shaded corner of the cemetery and sat down next to a simple stone cross with the inscription: Gregory Rogers, Aug. 1873- Apr. 1896.
"Hi Greg. How're things?"
Silence.
Rose sighed and leaned against the headstone. "Listen Greg, I know you tried to help me. I saw you once, but it was good. It was home. And then…" she sighed again. "It should have never happened.
"Greg, I'm stuck. Professor Ratigan has been good to me. Really good to me. But he's such a bad man. He kills people, takes their money, gets himself rich. See this necklace?" She held up the case. "I don't know how he got it. I don't want to know. He gave it to me. What does it mean? What does any of this mean?
"I once thought people were good. In Exeter they were. Oh, if only we could go back to when we were children! There were no Giovannis, no Millies, no Fidgets or Kilburns or Professors or anyone of the sort! Just Fran and Gwen and Jessica and you and Fred and Alonzo and Peter and Victoria and I… all of us, playing games, believing in everything, not knowing anything at all…"
She closed her eyes, imagining it all. "All those dreams about the future that we had…" she started to get choked up thinking about it. Francis's dreams to be a prima ballerina, Gwen's to write a novel, Jessi's to be an artist, hers to be a missionary, Greg's to be a lawyer… "Your dream never was. And mine will never be. Dreams are dead, leaving us only with reality, and the cold, hard fact that none of us can ever be happy."
She could feel the tears running down her cheeks, the sob rising from her throat. She heard footsteps approaching, managed to swallow the sob before it came out, rose to her feet, and pretended to be nonchalantly strolling among the graves.
TapTHUD. TapTHUD. TapTHUD.
She felt shivers go down her spine. She pretended to read one of the inscriptions on one of the tombstones nearby trying to get a sideways look at the person on the path.
She saw first the peg leg, and then the dirty sweater and the crippled wing. So Ratigan had sent Fidget to spy on her and make sure that she did not rat them out to the police! Rose felt as if her heart was in her throat. She decided to show Ratigan that she was no fool.
She turned to the bat. "Good afternoon, Fidget."
The bat jumped, and then shot her a panicked look that he tried his hardest to hide. "Go-good da-da-day, Miz Rose."
"What are you doing here?" she asked sweetly.
"Well, I… I wuz just… erm, just taking a stroll. Yeah!"
"In a graveyard?"
"What're you doin' here?" he shot back, looking angry.
"I was visiting my friend's grave," Rose said, going back to Greg's tombstone. "Gregory Rogers died in a carriage accident a few months ago. We grew up together."
Fidget hobbled over to the grave and peered at it. "Oh."
Rose put her hands behind her back, waiting for him to go away. But he did not seem eager to go away. "So how did last night's plan go?" Rose asked.
"Don't talk of last night!" Fidget barked, stomping away, leaving a baffled girl behind him.
She put her cloak back on and headed out of the graveyard in a different direction, not sure what to make of Ratigan's motives for sending such an uptight creature after her.
When Rose got back to the pub, Scarlet practically threw herself on the girl.
"Rose! Yer alright!" she exclaimed, circling the girl's body with her arms in a tight embrace.
"Oh course! Why wouldn't I be all right?" Rose asked, too stunned to feel emotion.
"Ye weren't in yer room last night."
Rose blushed. Scarlet sometimes came to check on her in her room.
"Where were ye?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "The Boss made me stay in a prison cell."
Scarlet's jaw dropped. "Why? What'd ye do?"
Rose looked around her. No one appeared to be listening. She whispered all that had happened to Scarlet since yesterday. The woman slowly turned pale.
"Go to the police."
"I can't! He sent Fidget to follow me this afternoon, just to make sure I didn't do any such thing!"
Scarlet sighed. "Yer stuck now. I told ye to go back 'ome, but would ye lissen to me? No-o, you knew what was best, didn't ye?"
Rose felt angry and hurt. "Yes, I know all of that. Haven't I admitted it so many times before?"
Scarlet squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, love. I just hate to see this 'appen to a nice girl like yerself. Please, take care of yerself."
"I will, Miss Scarlet. I will."
But as Rose lay in bed later that night, trying to get some sleep, she felt as if a part of her was missing, as if that part of her that had had morals and goodness had just been consumed by some dark, evil menace. She once more thought of the cold, dark waters by The Rat Trap, and how welcoming they would be to her, a despicable criminal and enemy of the Empire…
RAEB: Meg! Your main character is-
Luke: Depressed. And suicidal. Why?
Meg: Yeah, I know. Erm, I tried thinking of how I would react in such a situation… I think going against my morals would make me hate myself enough to… consider it?
Luke: This story is rated-
Meg: PG-13! Now get OVER IT!
Luke: Sheesh, you're meaner than Ratigan!