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Chapter 9

Valley of Decision

"There ya are, laddie," proclaimed Monterey, depositing Chip softly on the couch. "Ya can stay there an' entertain yerself an' not jus' lie aroun' in bed, right?"

Chip nodded and sighed, arranging himself comfortably. We all stared at him as if there was nothing better to do. Chip looked up at us and frowned. It was incredibly irritating to all of us that he couldn't talk.

"Should we...leave, Chipper?" ventured Dale.

Chip shook his head.

"Do you wanna watch T.V.?" Dale asked.

Again, Chip shook his head.

"Do you wanna read my comic books?"

No.

"Are yeh hungry?" Monty asked. "Oh tha's right...yeh can' eat yet..."

Chip rolled his eyes at us, looking annoyed. I laughed.

"What?" asked Dale.

I giggled and shook my head.

"Have you both taken a vow of silence, then?" demanded Monterey.

I opened my mouth to protest, but then decided it would be funnier if I didn't say anything. I hopped on the couch next to Chip and looked up at Dale and Monty expectantly. They stared at me for a moment, then walked out of the room huffily.

"What's gotten into them?" I asked rhetorically, craning my neck to watch them leave. Beside me, Chip shrugged and smiled.

"Are you all right?" I asked, starting to feel as awkward as the others had.

Chip nodded to me and looked around, as if to make sure the others were out of earshot. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "Will you get me my notepad?"

I smiled at the sound of his voice. "Sure, Chip." I left him and went fishing in his and Dales' bedroom for his notepad. When I returned, Dale was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed, glaring at Chip.

"Fighting already?" I asked, stopping behind Chip and looking over at Dale.

"We can't fight. He can't talk." Dale stuck his tongue out.

I handed Chip the notepad, which he flipped open, pulled a pencil out of the depths of his Mary Poppins coat, and started scribbling.

DALE, WHERE'S YOUR CAST? I THOUGHT YOU BROKE YOUR ARM.

He flashed the notepad at Dale, grinning mercilessly.

Dale laughed. "Hey, that's pretty good, Chip! I got my cast off the last day you were in the hospital. Didn't you notice?"

Chip shook his head and started writing again.

WHY ARE YOU IN A BAD MOOD?

"Cuz you can't talk. But now you can...except it's really slow, Chipper."

YEAH. WE WON'T BE ABLE TO ARGUE, HUH?

"Right. Or play jokes on each other, or-"

While Dale spoke, Chip wrote furiously, still grinning mischievously.

LETS PLAY A GAME, DALE.

Dale broke off. "Sure, Chip, if you think you can."

LETS PLAY SIMON SAYS.

"Okay..."

GADGET, YOU BE SIMON.

"All right, Chip. What should I make you guys do?" I leaned on the back of the couch and looked at them. Chip held the notepad up so only I could see it.

HAVE SIMON TELL HIM NOT TO TALK.

"That's not fair, Chip, now you know what we have to do," protested Dale.

"That's okay, Dale," I said. "Chip doesn't know everything I'm going to do."

"Okay..."

"All right. Simon says touch your nose."

Both of them did.

"Simon says clap your paws." I waited while they did it. "Simon says...oh, shoot, what should I do?"

"Make us dance around in circles, Gadget!" begged Dale.

"No, Chip can't do that..."

DON'T LET ME STOP YOU, DALE.

I laughed. "No...Simon says stick you tongue out. Okay...um, close your eyes." I watched, but neither of them did. "Good. Okay now...Simon says...don't talk until dinner time."

"No problemo, Gadget...HEY!" Dale jumped off the couch and pointed at Chip. "You told her to do that, didn't you!"

Chip curled into a ball, laughing silently. When he had recovered, he retrieved his notepad from the back of the couch. Dale was still glaring at him.

GOTCHA LAST!

"Ooh! You..." And Dale leaned over and hugged him fiercely, then ran out of the room.

"Nice to see you can still fight even if you can't talk, Chip."

I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T WANT US TO FIGHT. I THOUGHT YOU WANTED US TO GROW UP.

"Oh, Chip...I don't like it when you fight, usually. But, but it's part of what makes you Chip and Dale. If you stopped fighting, I'd..."

YOU'VE GONE SOFT.

"Wasn't I already?"

YES.

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A week passed like that, Chip writing us silly notes, making us laugh. By the third day, Monterey and Zipper had found it necessary to go get Chip several more notebooks; he'd gone through three, and all the spare paper we could find.

Dale had taken to sitting with Chip on the couch most of the day, swapping notes with him. I cleaned the pile of paper up every night and flew it to the recycling bin in the Ranger Plane. Sometimes I'd read the notes.

CHIP, YOU WANT TO WATCH THE RED BADGER OF COURAGE WITH ME?

NO. WE'VE WATCHED IT ALL MORNING.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

NOTHING. THINK.

WHY?

I'M WORRIED, DALE. I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT OUR LAST CASE.

Yes, I thought to myself after reading that note, I'm with you on that one. I can't stop thinking about it either.

Sophia had brought up an interesting point (one of many) on the plane ride home. She shouldn't have been the one the hit-man had gone after. I didn't even know her. The assassin had mention a brother he was working for, but that was all. Who wanted me dead?

That was the sane part of my mind talking. The not-so-sane part was fast unwinding itself into shreds. Shreds that were blowing away on the winds of fate. I had to tell Chip my suspicions about the assassin; that his brother would try again. And I had to tell him about how scared I was. No, that sounded pathetic.

That was the conclusion I had come to. The opportunity to talk was gone. Gone with Chip's voice. I could only tell him about the assassin. So a week and a half after we had come home, I left Chip a letter under his pillow.

Chip,

Sophia and I were talking on the way home, and she brought up an interesting point. I already told you that the assassin was after me, not Sophia, and that he was a hired hit-man. Because he drowned, you're probably all thinking that's the end of it. What Sophia and I know is that the hit-man was working for his brother. He's going to get suspicious when his brother doesn't come back, and all the newspapers are having a hey-day saying Sophia is fine. He's not done, Chip. If he wanted me, then he knows where we are. We need to find out who the brother is, because I don't think he's done with me.

Gadget.

I was terrified, and writing the letter threatened to break me down. I tried not to sound too worried, just that we needed to tie up a loose end when he was up to it. I didn't tell him how the assassin had tried to kill me in the ship with Sophia, and that I had managed to elude him. I didn't say anything about how every time I heard a noise at night now I went stiff as a board. How I couldn't walk down to the hardware store or fly to the recycling bins without feeling afraid. How I didn't like being alone out in my workshop anymore. How I didn't feel safe. But Chip must have sensed all of this, because the next morning was a crucible.

"Why didn' you bloody tell us?" roared Monterey as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. He left his pot of water boiling and came around to scoop me into a hug. I was still half-asleep and not entirely sure why he was acting so strangely.

"Golly, Monty, tell you what?"

"That he's coming after you!" shouted Dale.

I broke away from Monterey and stared at everyone. They looked back, eyes wide, faces pale and concerned. I focused on Chip. I hadn't counted on him ratting me out.

"You told them. Why did you tell them!" I shouted. Why was I shouting?

He moved forward, reaching for me, his mouth open with un-uttered concerns, but I was having none of it. He shouldn't have gone and told everyone. I was fine, I was safe, wasn't I? I didn't feel that way, but when do we ever feel the way we should?

"Don't shout at Chip, Gadget." It was Monterey's voice, dropping out of the sky like an anvil. I turned on him. He ignored me and kept talking. "What was he supposed to do? Yeh've been skulkin' aroun' here all worried. We all thought you was just worried 'bout Chip. And then ya leave him a letter sayin' tha' the assassin's brother is coming after you? Of course he was gonna tell us!"

"No. You don't understand. He's not coming for me. He'll just be...wondering. Come on guys, he could still think I'm dead. There wasn't an informant there working with the hit-man..." Why had Chip told everyone? He'd betrayed me! The one person I thought I could trust...that I wanted to trust.

"You're back-peddlin'. E'll be lookin' for yeh."

Chip stepped up, grabbing my shoulder. Before any of us could stop him, he rasped out a sentence that slammed me into a brick wall."What if there is an informant?"

Dale's eyes were huge. Zipper nearly fell out of mid-air and onto Dale's head. Monterey made a gurgling noise.

"But...who on earth knew about it except..." I couldn't say it.

"Sophia." Chip finished my sentence for me.

"No, Chip, no." I shook my head firmly. "Sophia wouldn't do something like that; she's too nice." Was Chip an idiot or something?

"Gadget, Chipper's got a poin' there. It would be the perfect set-up," breathed Monty. I could tell none of them wanted to believe it.

"No. Sophia wouldn't." Yet on a level it made sense. She would be unsuspected. When she didn't die, all she had to do was say 'thank you, Rescue Rangers' to a newspaper or tabloid, and the person who wanted me dead would know I was still alive. That he had failed. And Sophia got off scotch-free. I refused to believe it.

"Then why would she tell me about it being odd she was the decoy? Guys, I spent nearly four hours talking to her. I'm convinced she's not an informant. She's my friend."

The others were uncomfortable, I could tell. I had kept an enormous secret from them, one that concerned not only my welfare, but that of all the Rangers. If someone came after me, chances were the others would get hurt too. Again.

Finally, Chip made the call. "All right. We take Sophia off the suspect list. But only because you asked us to, Gadget." Why was he talking? Shouldn't someone shut him up? "And we're getting you out of here."

I snapped. The recluse and introvert still lurking inside of me flared up and aimed itself at Chip, the very person I most wanted to talk to. "Thanks, Mr. Detective. You shouldn't even be talking, anyway. You want to loose your voice? Fine. Just keep blabbing on about things you don't know anything about."

Chip looked like I had struck him. I was in denial and I knew it; I was in danger. But I was angry. He had betrayed my trust. I turned on my heel and stormed out of the kitchen for my workshop. When I reached it I slammed the door shut and locked myself in. I could stay in there for 48 hours with my emergency food supply kit, and I'd stay in there that long if that was what it took for them to see that I wasn't in danger.

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I was going crazy slowly. For hours, in a heated, mis-directed rage, I pulled my inventions apart, sometimes throwing their parts across my workshop at my dart board, sometimes melting them with my welding gun. I didn't know what I was doing. I started taking bits and pieces from machines and assembling them together. It was a long time before I understood what I was making.

Salesmen Traps.

They were Salesmen Traps. Traps to keep out the world, fate, and friends. Trapping myself in my own net, like a spider in a web. That's what Salesmen Traps were in reality. They were physical evidence of my desperation, my loneliness, my depression, my, my...destructive thoughts.

Not the destructiveness this time. Maybe not even the last time, after Dad was gone. I didn't want to kill myself over his death, it was just that I had gone crazy. It's hard to lose someone. Even harder when he's the only person, the only family, the only friend you ever had. And he leaves you, a turbulent young adult, all alone in a decrepit airplane in a deserted airfield. The weeks go by, the months, and pretty soon you can't think properly anymore. You build up the illusion that you like being alone; you don't want to go outside. Then you start thinking the world could come in. You don't want the world to come in, so you make traps. I was good at making death-traps, and I knew it. Sledge hammers, axes, overloaded springs, anvils, yes, I could use them to effectively lock myself into a corner. A corner where I was safe, and I was alone.

But that corner is dark. And part of you never likes it, but the bit of you that does like it has taken over. You're in there and you can't get out by yourself. Someone has to survive your traps and drag you out, kicking and screaming.

I was doing it to myself again, this time in a more mental than physical sense. I could feel the walls in my mind building up. Panel attaching to panel, screwing themselves together, made of thick, solid metal. One panel for each thought, each subject, each person in your life who had disappointed me. I could see the walls going up around me. Staring down at me from them were broken inventions, my Dad, the year of being alone, and now, the last panel was going up. It wasn't bolted in place yet; it could still be broken down and I could escape, but I couldn't do it. The walls, like my inventions, were to me living, breathing, thinking, real objects. I couldn't hurt them.

As I screwed more bolts into place on a second trap, I could see the last wall in my mind. It was Chip's wall. I was putting it up. I wanted to have Chip be part of my life, but now, finally getting around to putting him there, I found myself on the wrong side of the wall. And I couldn't take it down...

"Gadget! Gadget, talk to me."

I blinked blankly, still staring at the assemblage of metal under my paws. The voice was somewhere distant; I couldn't place it. Sweat beaded the back of my neck, cloying. I tightened another bolt. The first screw went into the wall as I heard the voice come again.

"Gadget, let me help you."

I stood up, grabbed a hammer off my table, and crouched down again to my trap. Another bolt in the wall...

"Gadget!" The voice was insistent but I still couldn't really hear it properly. It sounded like Chip, but that would make sense. He was the one the evil, perverse part of my brain wanted to shut out.

Another one...

I turned the clunky trap over, inserting some springs...

Daylight was going in my mind. The walls were tall, cold, defiant. My poisonous web needed only a few more bolts and I'd be a goner... I kept pulling at the springs.

"STOP!" And two paws jerked me up, away from the trap. Something from the outside thrust a heavy dent into the wall of my cell...

I twisted around, ready to claw out the eyes of whoever it was that managed to get into my workshop. I didn't see anyone, just a shadow. Had I forgotten to turn on the lights? Was I here in the dark? The paws were firm and unyielding to my tugs and pulls.

Another mighty thrust, and a hole appeared in the wall. I backed away, falling to the ground...

I stopped moving, staring into the darkness. Quiet, insistent, yet patient, the voice spoke again. "I don't know where you are, but come out of there, Gadget. We need you."

Come out? Need...me?

"Why are you building traps again, Gadget? The last time you did this was after your dad died..."

The trodden, bleeding girl inside of me lifted her face off the floor and watched as the wall fell down. There was someone there. "Chip?"

His paws guided me over to a wall and leaned me against it. "Why are you building traps again?" He was silent, looking at me hard. I looked back, the weariness in my eyes glittering with tears.

He ran into my cell and picked me up off the floor, cradled me in his arms, took me towards the Outside...

"Gadget...the traps...oh, Gadget, no..." He sounded sick.

Tears of relief crept quietly out of my eyes. He understood. He knew what the traps were. He understood... For the first time in weeks, I had peace of mind. And with the blinding sun of Life suddenly all over me, the perverse part of my mind went black and I fainted into his arms.