Mr. Peebles refused to join me on the WheelBot. I felt bad about leaving him behind, but I had to get to a phone quick. Myke Duchakis lived just a few blocks away, so I headed over there. Guess what I saw parked in his driveway.
Yup, a red ATV.
I hit the doorbell about six times. Myke answered the door with his chinchilla perched on his shoulder.
“Did you call the police?” I said.
Myke and his chinchilla both looked surprised. I guess I was kind of frantic.
“Um . . . no? Why?”
“Gimme your cell.”
Myke reached into his pocket and handed me his phone. As I punched in 911, I saw Dottie peeking around the corner.
“What’s going on?” Myke asked.
“Ask your girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” He looked back at Dottie, who ducked out of sight.
“Thanks a lot, Dottie,” I yelled.
“Hello?” said the 911 operator. “Can I help you?”
“Yes!” I told her I’d been assaulted. She had a million questions. I tried to answer them, and finally she said she’d send a car over to the Tisks’ house.
I disconnected and called my dad. He answered on the third ring.
“Ginger?” he said.
“Are you still at the lab?”
“Yes. We’re making progress.”
“I found Rausch.” I quickly told him what had happened, and how Mr. Peebles had saved me. “I called the police, but Rausch might be gone by now.” I heard a siren approaching.
“We’ll get there as soon as possible,” my dad said. “Stay where you are.”
• • •
Stay where I was?
No way! I tossed the phone back to a very confused-looking Myke Duchakis and ran outside to the WheelBot. I arrived at the Tisks’ moments after the police. The two cops were peering through the broken garage door with their guns drawn. I hopped off the unicycle and came up behind them.
“He’s not moving,” said one of the officers. He raised his voice. “Sir! Are you all right?”
“I’m going in.” The cop ducked his head and entered the garage. A moment later he said, “Call an ambulance.”
Right then my dad and two of his security guys pulled up in an ACPOD van. My dad jumped out, gave me the Look, and followed the cops into the garage. A minute later he came out, looking grim.
“Is he dead?” I asked. “Did Mr. Peebles kill him?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t I tell you to stay at Myke’s?”
“Sorry.”
He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at my face. “Are you okay?” He touched my cheek where Rausch had slapped me.
“I think so. He hit me really hard, but it feels okay now.”
“You’re going to have a bruise.”
“What happened to him?”
Dad shook his head. “He’s sitting in there with that device on his head, looking very confused. He doesn’t seem to know who he is, or where he is, or what is going on. He’s quite agitated, talking a blue streak but not making any sense. He’s talking about banana slug mating rituals and obscure baseball statistics and the history of sailing vessels and who wrote which Beatles songs and all sorts of other random trivia. It’s as if somebody ripped the encyclopedia into a million pieces and shoved it into his brain.”
“He rauschinated himself?”
“So it would seem.”