“ . . . And she can make you slow while making your watch move fast . . . ”
Micky ceased his incessant drumming on the table top and gave Mike a curious look. “I thought it was ‘mind’, not ‘watch’.”
“Yeah, well, lyrics were made to be messed with.” Mike was sitting in one of the main room’s high-backed chairs, tipping it back with his legs propped up on the table; he cradled his guitar, thankful to be able to play it once again.
“I’m so glad to have you back,” Peter murmured, hugging his bass to his chest.
“Yeah, Peter, and I bet it’s just as glad to see you,” Mike said, resisting the urge to do the same with his twelve string.
Micky clutched his drumsticks tightly. “My darlings, how I’ve missed you!”
“Must he be such a ham?” a voice complained. The three turned as the basement door opened. Ivan emerged first, clutching a large stack of dusty notebooks. Davy followed close behind, shoving the much taller man towards the front door. Ella brought up the rear, holding the axe in one hand and an indistinguishable object that looked like a wine glass in the other.
“I like it,” Ella said, winking at Micky. “He’s funny.”
“You would,” Ivan snorted.
“All right,” Ella said, impatiently wrenching the front door open. “You got what you wanted, now scram.” Ivan slipped out the door and ran down the hill with a whoop, clutching his treasure to his chest.
Mike gently returned his guitar to its case and came to the door just as Ivan disappeared around the bend in the road. “You really think it’s a good idea to just let him go with that stuff?”
Ella smiled and patted Mike’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry. Those notebooks are filled with mistakes and failed experiments—when my uncle started to succeed in his endeavors he stopped writing things down. And I also went through and ripped out some strategic pages. It will be years before Ivan knows he’s been had!”
“You sneaky little . . . ” Mike said. “Man, remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“Not much chance of that. You’re not arrogant enough,” she teased.
“There’s just one thing that worries me,” Micky said darkly.
“What?” Peter said, clutching his bass even tighter.
“Well, Ivan did inject us with something . . . what was it?”
Ella held up the glass; it was not a wineglass but a six-inch pipette, half-filled with clear liquid. A small piece of tape that read “Android-cybr. DNA 10786529” was wrapped around its slender neck.
“That’s what’s left of Andy?” Peter asked, shivering.
“Is it?” Ella said, examining the liquid. “Let’s see . . . ” She tipped the pipette back and drank the contents in one gulp.
Micky shrieked and jumped out of his chair, while Mike grabbed the glass vessel away from her. “What did you just do!?”
“Relax, Mike. It’s saline—that’s what Ivan injected you with.”
“Saline!?!?” Micky screamed. “Mike! I don’t want to die Mike saline not saline oh God I’m going to die I can feel it—”
“Micky,” Mike said.
“—I’m already wasting away oh the horror—” Micky fell to the floor, writhing in apparent agony as Peter and Davy watched in shock.
“Micky!” Mike said again, a little louder.
“—Mike call an ambulance please don’t let me die I’m too young to die—”
“MICKY!” Ella shouted at the top of her lungs. Micky froze, staring up at her with his mouth hanging open. “Micky, saline is salt water. That’s it. I just didn’t peel off the label.”
“Salt water? So I’m not going to die?” Micky asked, sounding a little disappointed.
“Not for another fifty years or so,” she replied.
“I knew that,” Micky said as he crawled to his feet. “I was just, you know, playing around.”
“Uh huh,” Ella said doubtfully. “Speaking of play—I propose we adjourn to the basement one last time and see how much noise we can make destroying every bit of equipment down there.”
“Yeah!” Micky said, shoving and jostling Davy in his haste to get to the door. Mike carefully placed his hat on top of his guitar before scrambling after them.
Ella reached out and caught Peter’s arm. “Before we go, I have something to give you.” She reached up, placed her hands on the back of his neck, and pulled him into a deep, lingering kiss.
“Wow,” Peter breathed, blushing. “I-I thought you said it’d be too difficult if we . . . ”
Ella shrugged. “I guess I must like difficult, huh?” She and Peter stood smiling at each other until a huge crash and a loud whoop from Micky shattered the silence. “Yee-haa!” Mike shouted a second later.
“Speaking of difficult . . . ” she muttered. “C’mon, let’s go before they destroy all the good stuff.” She ran to the door, Peter following close behind.
THE END
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