The presence lingered for a moment, somehow conveying a sense that it would soon return. There was something that might have been the exultant praise of a father to a clever child before the presence was gone.
Harry's precognition faded, leaving only a faint memory of that benison. He stared at his father, noticing that there were tears in Lawson's eyes. Then full realization hit him, and he leaped to his feet, shoving the chair back.
"Ellen!" There had been no sign of her in his vision, though the child might have been hers.
But there was no unusual worry on Grimes' face as the lawyer looked up at their entrance.
Ellen lay on the bed. Her face was that of a sleeping child. Her lips were swollen from the wounds that she had inflicted on herself, and her torn fingers lay swathed in bandages. She had been washed, and her hair was combed back. There was no tension anywhere in her.
Harry probed very gently at her thoughts. The hell through which she had gone and the brutal means of her return could have burned away her powers, just as shock treatments had destroyed those of Lawson. Her mind was quiet now, filled with sleep rhythms that seemed natural. Then there was awareness of him, a welcome that needed no words, and she turned toward him. If she had feared him before, that fear was gone.
Her response seemed less rich and greatly weakened. But strength could be developed again, so long as her talents were not wholly gone. He probed further carefully, finding scars and areas that were closed down, as if too sore to be used. But she was at peace within herself now.
Then her eyes opened, and she sat up, staring at them for a moment. She nodded and smiled at them, the little girl smile she had worn in her sleep. But the feel of her mind in Harry's was stronger now, and she seemed to draw strength from him.
"Hello, Harry," she said. "I'm tired of this place. I want to go back to our home."
Harry nodded and smiled down at her, while Grimes beamed his approval.
"All right, honey," Harry told her. "We'll go back. We're done here and we'll go home as soon as I can pack."
The interlude was over.
XVII. AMEN
Professor Harris looked down at the large gray rat in the cage before him, nodding impatiently at the nervous explanations pouring from the mouth of young Jones. The rat stared back calmly, neither seeking nor avoiding his eyes.
"He just wouldn't go crazy," Jones was repeating. "We tried everything. Jenny—Miss Simpson, I mean—she thought we must have done something wrong. So we put him in with the second batch and ran it all over again. But he wouldn't react! You can see the others over in the big cage. They all went into shock. But he—"
Harris nodded again, trying to pretend interest. He'd read the report already. They had tried every type of pressure and unexpected punishment on the rat they called Muley. They confused rewards and punishments, mixed food with electric shocks, and generally made life hell for the poor little beast. But Muley refused to cooperate; he simply accepted the whim of fate and waited them out.
Now Harris cut off the flow of words. "All right, Jones. You'd better dispose of those others."
"And Muley?"
"Muley?" Harris smiled down at the rat, then began opening the cage. "No, Jones. Nothing that simple for him. I've been waiting twenty years to find one of his kind. I've got a lot of special things for him."
He picked up the rat in his hands and went out, stroking the gray fur approvingly. Muley stared back at him calmly.
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Released: November, 10th, 2002
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