Fisher snapped his fingers and the dishevelled Dums stood at either side of the boy.
Milo gestured at Lucy. “What about her?”
“She will be with you shortly,” said Mr Fisher. “But first, we need to have a little chat.”
With that, the clowns escorted Milo out the door.
“Everything will be OK, I promise,” Milo said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the tunnel.
He had been wrong about so many things up to this point. Lucy hoped this wasn’t one of them.
“I will leave you to your patients, doctor,” said Mr Fisher.
“Of course,” nodded Doctor Vink. “Will you be needing any assistance with the girl?” He peered at Lucy in a way that made her skin prickle.
“That won’t be necessary.” Fisher placed a heavy hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Shall we?” It was not a question.
He gave Lucy a push towards the door. She stiffly complied, glancing back at Mrs Stricks.
The remaining clowns were busy strapping the twitching Millepoids to the bed.
Mrs Stricks frowned as she seemed to decide something. She yanked on one of the wires, disconnecting an electrode from her temple. Doctor Vink looked up from his clipboard as the machine at her side beeped in alarm.
What is she doing?
A clown rumbled the door panel shut in Lucy’s face.
Mr Fisher escorted Lucy into the office at the head of the tunnel and shut the heavy door behind them. Lucy plopped down in a swivel chair in front of the equation-strewn whiteboard and kicked her feet while she considered her options. She had none.
Fisher sat opposite her with his back to the ransacked desk. The empty can Lucy had knocked to the floor lay at his feet. He picked it up, crushed it down to a fraction of its size and tossed it into a small wire bin.
“Are you pleased with what you’ve done to my factory?” he said.
“I want a lawyer.” Lucy crossed her arms.
“You’re not under arrest.”
“Then can I go?”
“I’m not a policeman,” he said. “I’m the owner of this facility and you’re trespassing on my property.”
Lucy bit her lip to stop herself from saying something she might regret. “I would like to speak to my parents, please.”
“Again.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m not a policeman.”
Lucy’s toes went cold.
“You know,” he leaned forward, “it’s unusual for Milo to take such a liking to new friends so quickly.” He frowned. “It seems you’ve had quite an outsize influence on him. My son has never disobeyed me before today. When I saw him up there, looking like he’d been through a war, about to be attacked by that thing, I … well, I’ve never been more frightened in my life.”
Lucy fidgeted, glowering at the floor. She almost felt bad for Mr Fisher. Almost. She would have felt worse, if he wasn’t the one responsible for all this craziness in the first place…
“We just wanted to know what you were hiding out here,” she said. “We wanted to know the truth.”
“You know,” said Fisher, “you and I are much more alike than you realise.”
“I doubt that. I’m not turning people into monsters.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
Ugh. What’s the deal with this dingus? “I know what your Nucralose does to people. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“Pity you don’t have a photograph to document what you saw.”
Lucy had never before felt such a strong urge to punch someone in the face. Filthy. Flippin’. Photoshopper.
“Those people you’ve been keeping here,” she said, “and sticking with needles and electrodes, they know what you did.”
“And what are the chances, would you say, that those … people,” he emphasised the word, “will discuss this with anyone else?”
Lucy opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Mrs Stricks had insisted that they couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. What was that about? Why is adult logic so infuriating? Lucy was confused, one of her least favourite feelings.
Mr Fisher leaned forward. “How much do you think you know about your little town, Lucy?”
She scowled. “More than you do.”
“Are you sure? I find it’s possible to get a much clearer view of things from an outsider’s perspective.” He wandered over to the whiteboard, pondering the equations and glyphs scrawled upon it. “Fascinating, isn’t it? How little we know about the world around us. About biology, chemistry, the universe itself.”
“It’s a real conundrum,” mumbled Lucy.
“Milo has told me about your interest in the supernatural.”
“Has he?” Lucy wondered how often Milo had spoken about her to his father.
“I admire your curiosity,” Fisher continued. “And your tenacity. You never give up.” He smiled tightly. “Whenever something strange happens, Lucy Sladan is there, causing trouble.”
“The only trouble in Sticky Pines is you and your evil company.”
“Despite what you may think, I had nothing but good intentions when I came out here. I’m a businessman, nothing more.”
“Baloney.”
“Nucralose,” he rapped one of the chemical equations on the whiteboard with a knuckle, “was supposed to be the safest, most lucrative alternative sweetener on the market.”
“Buh-loney.”
“Instead, I found something much more intriguing.” Mr Fisher crossed the room and perched on the edge of the desk. “Sticky Pines, it turns out, is just full of mysteries.”
A burst of movement on the surveillance screen at his side showed some sort of struggle in the medical room. Lucy watched out of the corner of her eye, hoping Fisher wouldn’t notice.
“The sap of the sticky pine tree is an extraordinary substance,” he continued. “It could have so many applications, from nutrition to construction, to medicine, to warfare. If harnessed by someone with creativity and vision, it could advance the human species as we know it.”
Lucy did not like the tone of his voice.
“Before we arrived,” Fisher continued, “Sticky Pines was a tiny, forgotten corner of the world. Now it’s been noticed. You’ve been noticed.”
On the monitor, things were getting real in the medical room. Doctor Vink was lying on the floor, along with the clowns who had been assisting him. The previously unconscious beastly patients stumbled about groggily. Lucy clenched her fists. Come on, guys, get out of there!
“Something still puzzles me,” said Mr Fisher. “You may have noticed that despite my exposure to Nucralose, I have not suffered any ill effects.”
“That’s not special,” said Lucy. “Milo didn’t either. Neither did most of the people at the fair.”
“No one in my security team was affected either.”
“Good for them.” Lucy brushed a lock of sweaty hair away from her forehead. “Turning into a monster looks pretty gross.”
“And hazardous to your health,” said Fisher. “To survive such a transformation, a person would have to be unnaturally resilient to bodily harm.”
Lucy’s skin prickled with anger. “If it’s so hazardous, why did you feed this crazy monster juice to the whole town?”
“Throwing the carnival was a risk I had to take in order to confirm my suspicions,” he explained. “And because I have taken this risk,” he took a step towards her, “I have uncovered an uncomfortable truth about Sticky Pines.”
“What truth is that?” asked Lucy.
“There’s something different about the people who turned,” said Fisher. “Something not right.”
“Not right?”
“What if I told you,” Fisher pointed over her head, “that the people in that room were monsters long before I came to town?”
“I … huh?” This guy is loony balloony.
“My carnival flushed them out of hiding,” Fisher continued, energised, “but I think there are more.”
“More what?
”
“More of them.” He crouched down to her level, too close.
The room suddenly felt stuffy. Lucy pulled at the collar of her shirt.
“The teacher. The weatherman. The factory worker. The candyman. I don’t know what they are,” said Fisher, “but your friends in there are not human.”
“Not human?” Lucy laughed, perplexed. “Then what are they?”
“That’s a very good question. Oh, they look like us, that’s for sure, inside and out.”
Lucy thought queasily of all the medical tests he must have performed on Mrs Stricks and Alastair Chelon.
“But they are not us.” A sneer crept on to Fisher’s lip. “They’re just pretending to be.”
Lucy glanced up at the mysterious glyphs on the whiteboard: “Beware the Pretenders.” Is this what those symbols meant? But no, that’s not possible…
“Don’t you see, Lucy?” Fisher continued, stepping ever nearer. “Everything you’ve seen today proves one thing: there’s nothing wrong with my Nucralose, there’s something wrong with Sticky Pines.”
Lucy felt like her throat was being strangled from within.
“It’s an incredible discovery, don’t you think?” said Fisher.
She laughed nervously. “Snakes alive, dude, you’re crazier than I am.”
“How strange.” Fisher cocked his head. “I thought you of all people would be excited to learn about my theory.”
“Those Bigwoof people are just people,” said Lucy. “I’ve known them my whole life. They have neighbours and students and bosses and customers. They have friends.” Then she remembered what Mrs Stricks had said: “There are things about Sticky Pines that you don’t understand.” But no, she couldn’t have meant… “I mean, if they’re not human, what are they?”
“That’s what I plan to find out.” Fisher placed his hand on the arm of her chair.
Lucy jumped up and backed against the knobbly stone wall.
Fisher moved to block the exit. “From everything I’ve witnessed, you, my dear, seem to be at the centre of this unfortunate hurricane. Whenever something strange happens, Lucy Sladan is there, getting in the way.”
“I just wanted to learn the truth,” she said hoarsely.
“I told you we were more alike than you realised.” Fisher’s smile did not reassure her. “What I haven’t been able to figure out,” he kept pace with Lucy as she inched over to the desk, “is how you managed to resist the effects of Nucralose.”
“I…” She swallowed. “I didn’t eat any.”
“Let’s remedy that, shall we?” Fisher reached into the inside pocket of his black blazer and pulled out a vial filled with golden syrup.
Lucy felt ill.
“This version of Nucralose is brand new. It’s still untested, but I think it should do the trick.” He wiggled the flask of glittering goo. “Would you like to be the first to try it?”
Lucy clutched the desk, her arms behind her back. “I’m not hungry,” she croaked.
Mr Fisher pulled the stopper out of the vial. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
The sweet scent filled Lucy’s nostrils, so strong she nearly gagged. She made a break for the door.
Mr Fisher caught her by the wrist.
“Hold still.” He tilted the vial towards her lips.
Lucy screamed and twisted her arm until she broke his grip. Frantically, she scurried under the desk and huddled in the corner.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked, his voice growing louder. “Being exposed for what you really are?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy pleaded.
“I think you do.” Fisher was too big to fit under the desk. He reached for her, but Lucy kicked his hands. He pulled the hem of Milo’s baseball shirt so roughly she heard the fabric tear. At last, he yanked her out into the middle of the room. “What are they?” he demanded.
“Help!” Lucy yelled.
“What are you?” His grey hair was mussed, his cheeks flushed. “Let’s find out.” He shoved the glimmering substance towards Lucy’s mouth. She turned her head and felt goo dripping down the side of her face.
She kicked Fisher in the shin as hard as she could. He flinched and dropped the vial. It hit the stone floor and shattered, the sickly-sweet contents seeping into the dark spaces between the stones. He cursed and retrieved another one from his jacket.
Lucy tried to scramble away but Fisher grabbed her by the foot and dragged her. She clutched the leg of the desk, pulling it along with her and tipping the surveillance monitor on to the floor. The screen landed upside down and the image of the empty medical room flickered to darkness.
Fisher pinned Lucy to the hard, stony floor and tried to prise her mouth open. She bit his fingers as hard as she could.
“Aagh!” Fisher howled.
With a rumble, the heavy office door slid open.
“Dad?” Milo was standing in the doorway, staring in shock at the pair grappling on the cold office floor.
“Milo!” Lucy cried, reaching for him.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“Get out of here!” Mr Fisher took his hand off Lucy’s face and waved his son away.
“Let her go.” Milo ran into the room. “You’re hurting her!”
Mr Fisher looked down at Lucy. Her face was red, tears streaming down her temples. He abruptly released her, then lumbered to his feet. He put the stopper in the vial and slipped it back into his pocket.
“You don’t know what’s at stake,” he said to his son. “You have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”
Milo knelt by Lucy. “Are you OK?”
She nodded, her head throbbing.
Mr Fisher smoothed his hair and tightened his tie. “She’s not what she seems,” he explained. “She’s dangerous.”
“You’re a liar.” Lucy lunged towards Mr Fisher but Milo held her back by the arm. “You’re the one who’s dangerous.”
The boy shook his head dazedly. “What’s going on?”
“He tried to force-feed me Nucralose. He wanted to turn me into a monster.” Lucy wiped the drying tears from her cheeks.
“I did no such thing,” said Fisher.
His denial was spoken in a clear voice, his expression sincere enough that even Lucy was almost convinced. Flip this fracking dillweed.
“You didn’t?” asked Milo. “You promise?”
“Of course,” said Fisher. He opened his arms.
Milo took a step towards his father, but stopped when something crunched under his shoe. He examined the cobblestone floor, which glistened with experimental syrup and broken glass. “I don’t believe you.”
“Excuse me?” said Mr Fisher.
Lucy could feel his surprise and fury from across the room.
Milo’s eyes were locked on the ground. “You knew what the Nucralose did from the beginning, didn’t you?”
“This is all very complicated, son. We’ll discuss it later. But first, get away from that girl. Now.” Mr Fisher pointed to the floor beside him.
Milo glared at his father. “Do you expect me to follow orders without asking questions?”
“I expect you to do as you are told.”
“I’m not one of your clowns.” Milo’s voice was shaky.
Mr Fisher’s face reddened so much it was almost purple. “Do not take that tone with me.”
“You can’t control everything,” said Milo. “You couldn’t control it when Mom got sick, and you can’t control everything now.”
Mr Fisher looked as though he’d been punched in the gut.
“You’ve been lying to me from the moment we got here, haven’t you?” said Milo. “What else have you lied about?”
“Someday,” Fisher spoke softly, “you will understand. Everything I do, I do for you.”
“Well, do me a favour and don’t,” Milo scoffed.
Fisher buttoned his suit jacket. “Let’s deal with this at home.” He reached for his son, but Milo pulled away.
Lucy watched them intently, wiping her raw nose with her sleeve. She had never seen Milo look so disgusted. She guessed the same was true for his father.
“Charming the youngsters the way you charmed the rest of us, eh, Fisher?” Mrs Stricks came into the room through the open door. Her face was now hair-free, her teeth once again back to their usual size. She scrutinised the tousled trio. “And I thought I looked like a dog’s dinner. Everyone all right in here?”
“I think so.” Lucy was suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. She caught a glimpse of the other recovering victims milling around in the tunnel. Miraculously, everyone appeared to be fully recovered. I’ll be slammed. What was in the chocolate?
Mr Dum and Mr Dummer paced up and down the hall, yelling at one another in agitation.
Millepoids limped into the office, too tall for his hospital gown. His many limbs had been reduced back down to the usual four, but Lucy thought she spotted a few lumps beneath his flimsy attire. His bushy grey hair hung wetly around his shoulders.
Millepoids and Mrs Stricks looked and smelled like they needed a shower, but they appeared human.
Are they?
“Where is Doctor Vink?” Fisher demanded.
Mrs Stricks smiled sweetly. “He’s taking a little nap.” She cracked her knuckles. “And now, I believe it is time for us to go home.”
“Not until we finalise the results of the study,” said Fisher. “Everyone must return to the lab immediately.”
Millepoids faced him squarely, nose to nose. “It’s over, Fisher,” he said. “You had your chance to fix this. We beat you to it. Your time is up.”
“You’ve destroyed my entire facility.” Fisher met his gaze with malice. “Nothing is over until I say it’s over.”
Millepoids bared his teeth, more grimace than grin. Lucy thought she heard a faint growl from deep within his throat.
“Why won’t you let them leave?” asked Milo.
Mr Fisher didn’t answer. He stood rigid, contemplating.
“Lucy!” Silas called to his daughter from the tunnel. “Get out of the way, my kid’s in there,” he yelled at Mr Dum.
The blue-haired buffoon hesitated but let him through. Silas burst into the office and threw his arms around his daughter.
The Bigwoof Conspiracy Page 13