by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 27
I had asked Charles and, after some hesitation, he had asked Penny. She seemed to understand Charles well enough and had agreed to the experiment. I would administer Dermafix to her body, keep her isolated in the lab, monitor her DNA from skin samples taken periodically. Although the Dermafix research was to be discontinued, by order of the Board at Oerschott Medicals, I still had a key and free access to the building and the lab, and all the equipment had been left there.
Charles had insisted that he be allowed to stay permanently in the lab so we set up a corner with two beds and primitive kitchen facilities: a small refrigerator, hot plate, some pots, dishes and utensils, etc.
I had given Penny a complete physical; she was as healthy as an ox and actually seemed to enjoy the attention. I guess I had a tendency to ignore her, in the past. Perhaps I should have spent more time trying to communicate. Perhaps many of the answers were there, right under my nose, and I didn't take the time to inquire. I intended to change that right now.
It had taken more than a day to generate a new batch of Dermafix from the few weeds left in my lab. Charles was afraid that contact with the salve would turn me into a gorilla and volunteered to rub the ointment on Penny. She was clinging to him. I could hardly refuse, although I felt that Penny's clinging maneuvre was less of fear and more of theatre.
That was a week ago. I had visited the lab every day and was in almost constant contact with Charles, by phone.
The day the fuzz started to develop I was late in arriving and Charles was frantic. He met me at the door, Penny by his side.
"Miss Fleetsmith, Penny is beginning to show signs of—"
"Yes, I see. But it's not a skin, it's just the mycelium. Curious, yes, but I've observed that before, in lab animals."
"And they died?" Charles asked, concerned.
"Sometimes," I admitted. "But that isn't the effect we're after. We need to form a skin. It's the initial creamy skin that creates the cocoon, not this fluff, and it's within the cocoon that reincarnation takes place." I turned to the native girl, who seemed unperturbed by the formation of a white fuzz on her neck and shoulders. I took a small knife from the shelf. "Penny?" I asked, hoping she would respond to my questions, "I'd like to make a very small cut—"
"No!" Charles shouted.
"Charlie," I said, "I'm certain that the fungus needs to enter the bloodstream. If there's no break in the epidermis—"
"Miss Fleetsmith, I cannot let you wound the girl!"
"Let me tell you about my lab experiments, on mice," I said, trying to be as reassuring as possible. "When I rubbed Dermafix on the skin, that fuzzy stuff developed—that's all, usually. If I made a small cut, just a scratch, a skin formed, a creamy covering—and the wound healed beneath that membrane. Usually, if the skin sluffed off, there was this fuzz beneath. Sometimes, as we've seen, the skin grows to envelop the entire body—the cocoon. Perhaps the cocoon forms from the inside out. I believe that a cut—very small—is necessary because it provides access to the bloodstream."
Charles was quiet, staring at Penny who sat, seemingly amused by it all.
"Sometimes ..." Charles said slowly, " ... usually ... perhaps. Those words herald a certain lack of conviction."
"True, and I was hoping that the wound—a small cut—wouldn't be necessary, but—"
I stopped talking. Penny had taken the knife from my hand. She drew it carefully across her bared shoulder ... and smiled as the blood began to flow. Charles was flabbergasted. Penny scraped the fuzz from her neck and rubbed it into the wound.
"She's understood everything we've said," I whispered, overwhelmed by her understanding.
"Apparently," Charles muttered. Then, confidently, "As I have said on numerous occasions, Miss Penny's understanding of the language is quite extensive." He began to smooth her hair, a now-familiar gesture.
I decided to stay the night with Charles and Penny, sleeping curled in the overstuffed chair in which I had spent so many evenings. Penny fell asleep instantly. Charles tossed and turned for some time. I hummed and stared at the ceiling. I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to find Charles standing over me.
"Time to arise?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Penny is gone," he said, no hint of concern in his voice.
I hopped out of the chair, looked at the far window. It was still dark outside.
"How long? Were you asleep? How did she get out? The door is locked. You need a key to get either in or out of this lab."
"I awoke a few minutes ago and found her bed empty," he said quietly.
Charles seemed too unperturbed by her disappearance. He must have let her out. He had objected to the wound and was worried that I would aggravate her condition, so he took my key, let her out—perhaps hiding her, in a nearby hotel. I was sure that is what happened. He had also been unconcerned when she was, apparently, missing, but was, in fact, hidden in the cellar.
"Which hotel?" I asked.
"Hotel?"
"Where is she? Charles, this is important! She needs to be watched. We must remove the—"
"Miss Penny disappeared while I slept. I did not let her out of the lab."
"The keys—check my jacket."
Charles seemed stunned, unmoving. I slid the jacket from the back of my chair and shook it violently. No keys.
"Gone. The keys are gone!" I turned to the door. "Charlie, check the door. Is it locked?"
"Yes. I tried to open it earlier. It is locked."
"Shit! Then we're stuck in here! We need the key to get out." I began to hum. The phone. I rushed to the end of the lab and saw that the phone had been ripped from the wall. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"I suspect," Charles said quietly, "that Miss Penny's comprehension extends beyond the language. She not only let herself out with your keys, locking the door behind her, she also disabled the phone."
"Charlie, are you all right? You seem indifferent to the departure of your favorite female. Are you feeling okay?"
"I am fine, thank you."
Then he leaned back against the bench then collapsed into a chair, his face whiter than usual. He didn't say 'Miss Fleetsmith'. He almost always said 'Miss Fleetsmith'. It was a preamble to almost every sentence. He was obviously in shock. I felt ashamed that I had accused him of hiding Penny. I had to take his mind off her.
"Okay, Charles, how do we get out of here?"
It was so easy. The lab had enormous air ducts to carry away fumes and introduce fresh air—well, as fresh as you can get in the big TO. Charles had already removed the cover so we simply clambered through, exiting through a vent to the parking lot. It made me think that the elaborate procedures in place to ensure the privacy of Oerschott Medicals was a farce. Anybody could easily enter and leave my lab with neither keys nor exceptional mental facility.
Charles was obviously feeling better. He said, "Miss Fleetsmith, I believe I know where Miss Penny has gone." And he slid into the driver's seat of the old Porsche.
"Sorry, Charlie. I drive." I pushed him aside and slid in beside him. The car roared to life, the wheels screamed and I headed for the exit—then skidded to a stop. "Where?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Where to, Charlie?"
"I believe she has returned home."
"But that's miles away, and she's hardly dressed for a walk across town and into the suburbs. She'd be jumped, raped—"
"Miss Fleetsmith, I believe that Miss Penny is quite able to defend herself."
"Bullshit. I think we should call Boone, have the police on the lookout."
I pulled the cellular from under the dash and punched 911—that's all I could think of. The girl who answered complained bitterly that she did not provide phone numbers and unless this was an emergency I should look for Boone's number in a phone book.
"Rape!" I yelled into the phone. "He's after me again! Help! He's breaking into the—oh God—he's naked—"
"Tell me your a
ddress," she said, more calmly than I would have imagined.
"Oerschott Medicals, Cantor Street West ... in the parking lot ... hurry, he's climbing through my window ... red Porsche—oh—" and I hung up.
Charles was grinning. "Very dramatic, Miss Fleetsmith, but what makes you think that Mr. Boone will come galloping to your rescue?"
"Squad cars have phones," I said. Charles looked confused, but I just leaned back and closed my eyes. It was very early morning and I was still sleepy.
Less than five minutes later a black and white screeched to a halt and two officers jumped out, guns in hand. One leaped to Charles' side of the Porsche, held his revolver at arms length, assumed that silly stiff-legged stance and demanded, "Hands where I can see them! Don't move!" It seemed an incompatible pair of requests. The other officer carefully opened the door. "Out! Slowly!" he shouted at Charles.
Charles raised his hands, slid out and stood staring at me, helplessly. I jumped out and rushed to his side.
"It's okay," I said, wrapping my arms about Charlie's neck. "Oh Charlie, you were wonderful. I loved it. I really did. Officers, it wasd ecstasy. We've decided to get married."
"Ma'am?"
"Officer, would you mind very much if I used your carphone?" I said in my most affectionate voice. "To call the best man, you know. He's with the Toronto police." I turned to Charles. "Wait, darling. Soon." I sauntered over to the squad car, leaving all three standing, gaping, silent. The door was open so I slipped onto the seat, picked up the mike and said in a husky voice, "Get me Assistant Chief William Boone."
"Hey! You can't do that!" Both officers rushed forward, simultaneously. The speedier of the two reached in and plucked the microphone from my hand.
"Hullo, Willum Boone here," the voice said.
"Uh, excuse me sir," the officer said, fiddling with the spiral cord attached to the mike, "but it's a mistake. This young lady just took the mike and—"
"Which young lady is thet, officer?"
"Fran Fleetsmith!" I shouted.
"Put her on," Boone said, and the officer, confused, handed me the mike, his face a blank.
"Hi, cowboy," I said. "Could you come by? Oerschott Medicals. Charles and I are in the parking lot. Red Porsche, remember? We've got something important to say—new developments. Better still, drop by my house. Charles and I are headed there now."
"Sure 'nough, ma'am," Boone said. "On my way."
I handed the mike to the officer.
"Thanks, gentlemen. You can go now." And I slithered out of the squad car, swaggered toward my car, hooked my arm about Charles who was waiting midway between the two cars and headed for the Porsche. The two officers stood, motionless, by their squad car. Can't you imagine the situation? Great scene.