before then? What
was
he doing, anyway? It had been several days now, and still he was down in the basement, working feverishly among the computers.
“I suppose we’ll find out on Wednesday,” said Sticky, when after much discussion no answers emerged. “One way or another, we’ll get some answers then.”
“One way or another,” Reynie repeated grimly.
There followed a long silence, during which the three older children stared glumly at the rug. Finally Constance heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “Can we just talk about this and get it over with? You’re all thinking the same thing, you know. And don’t get mad at me for knowing, either. I can’t help it—your thoughts might as well be screaming at me.”
Startled, they all looked at Constance, and then at one another, with expressions half-sheepish and half-relieved.
“Sorry,” Kate said. “I know I’ve been avoiding everyone—”
“You have?” Sticky said. “I have, too! I didn’t want…” He hesitated. “Well, it just didn’t seem decent to be worried about what happens to
us,
not when there’s this much more important question…”
Reynie shook his head wonderingly. “I thought I was the only one thinking about it.”
Kate snorted. “Are you kidding? It’s all I’ve been able to think about for days. And is it just me, or does anyone else think Mr. Benedict gave us that riddle as a distraction? Something to take our minds off what’s going to happen?”
“I’ve wondered about that,” Reynie said. “And the exercise with Constance, too. It seems like quite a coincidence that he gave us so much to think about all of a sudden.”
“Well, it didn’t work, I can tell you that,” Constance said peevishly. “I’ve been constantly worrying about what will happen if that nasty man gets his hands on the Whisperer again, and I can’t stand to think that Mr. Benedict might not have enough time to find a cure for his narcolepsy, and on top of it all there’s this thing with, you know…” She pointed at her head.
“What, are you worried it will go off?” Sticky asked.
“Ha ha,” Constance said, making a face at him. “You wouldn’t think it was so funny if you’d been through what I went through. I’ve never felt so sick in my life.”
Sticky refrained from saying that the experience had not been exactly pleasant for him, either. “Listen, though, Constance, do you still think that’s what Mr. Benedict’s working on—a cure for his narcolepsy? You aren’t getting any thoughts or vibes or whatever that it’s something else?”
Constance rolled her eyes. “For one thing, I haven’t seen him any more than you have. And for another, I’ve been trying to keep my thoughts to myself, if you know what I mean. But I hope that’s what he’s working on, don’t you?”
“I hope a whole lot of things,” Sticky said.
“So do I,” Kate said.
“So do I,” Reynie said.
And they were all telling the truth, yet somehow, strangely enough, none of them felt very hopeful at all.
On Tuesday afternoon, the day before the Whisperer was scheduled to be removed, Mr. Benedict was still at work. If it was a remedy for narcolepsy he sought, he obviously had not found it yet, for when an unexpected visitor arrived and Number Two hurried down to tell him who it was, he fell straight to sleep in his chair. He had seemed quite startled, Number Two told Rhonda upstairs (forgetting, in her fretfulness, to keep her voice down)—startled and even upset, and now she was having trouble waking him.
“I’ll go back down with you,” said Rhonda gravely. She turned (they were just outside the dining room) and saw Constance in the doorway, listening. “Constance, would you go tell Milligan—”
Milligan appeared behind her. “I already heard. Constance, scoot along upstairs, won’t you?”
By the time Number Two and Rhonda had managed to wake Mr. Benedict, everyone in the house knew what had happened and who was at the door.
was
he doing, anyway? It had been several days now, and still he was down in the basement, working feverishly among the computers.
“I suppose we’ll find out on Wednesday,” said Sticky, when after much discussion no answers emerged. “One way or another, we’ll get some answers then.”
“One way or another,” Reynie repeated grimly.
There followed a long silence, during which the three older children stared glumly at the rug. Finally Constance heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “Can we just talk about this and get it over with? You’re all thinking the same thing, you know. And don’t get mad at me for knowing, either. I can’t help it—your thoughts might as well be screaming at me.”
Startled, they all looked at Constance, and then at one another, with expressions half-sheepish and half-relieved.
“Sorry,” Kate said. “I know I’ve been avoiding everyone—”
“You have?” Sticky said. “I have, too! I didn’t want…” He hesitated. “Well, it just didn’t seem decent to be worried about what happens to
us,
not when there’s this much more important question…”
Reynie shook his head wonderingly. “I thought I was the only one thinking about it.”
Kate snorted. “Are you kidding? It’s all I’ve been able to think about for days. And is it just me, or does anyone else think Mr. Benedict gave us that riddle as a distraction? Something to take our minds off what’s going to happen?”
“I’ve wondered about that,” Reynie said. “And the exercise with Constance, too. It seems like quite a coincidence that he gave us so much to think about all of a sudden.”
“Well, it didn’t work, I can tell you that,” Constance said peevishly. “I’ve been constantly worrying about what will happen if that nasty man gets his hands on the Whisperer again, and I can’t stand to think that Mr. Benedict might not have enough time to find a cure for his narcolepsy, and on top of it all there’s this thing with, you know…” She pointed at her head.
“What, are you worried it will go off?” Sticky asked.
“Ha ha,” Constance said, making a face at him. “You wouldn’t think it was so funny if you’d been through what I went through. I’ve never felt so sick in my life.”
Sticky refrained from saying that the experience had not been exactly pleasant for him, either. “Listen, though, Constance, do you still think that’s what Mr. Benedict’s working on—a cure for his narcolepsy? You aren’t getting any thoughts or vibes or whatever that it’s something else?”
Constance rolled her eyes. “For one thing, I haven’t seen him any more than you have. And for another, I’ve been trying to keep my thoughts to myself, if you know what I mean. But I hope that’s what he’s working on, don’t you?”
“I hope a whole lot of things,” Sticky said.
“So do I,” Kate said.
“So do I,” Reynie said.
And they were all telling the truth, yet somehow, strangely enough, none of them felt very hopeful at all.
On Tuesday afternoon, the day before the Whisperer was scheduled to be removed, Mr. Benedict was still at work. If it was a remedy for narcolepsy he sought, he obviously had not found it yet, for when an unexpected visitor arrived and Number Two hurried down to tell him who it was, he fell straight to sleep in his chair. He had seemed quite startled, Number Two told Rhonda upstairs (forgetting, in her fretfulness, to keep her voice down)—startled and even upset, and now she was having trouble waking him.
“I’ll go back down with you,” said Rhonda gravely. She turned (they were just outside the dining room) and saw Constance in the doorway, listening. “Constance, would you go tell Milligan—”
Milligan appeared behind her. “I already heard. Constance, scoot along upstairs, won’t you?”
By the time Number Two and Rhonda had managed to wake Mr. Benedict, everyone in the house knew what had happened and who was at the door.
Similar Books
