It’s Thursday. I hate Thursdays.
Thursdays are when the dames come, sobbing, pleading, and looking for a pro-bono Private Eye.
On Thursdays, I say “know” more often than a philosophy student who just learned about epistemology, but without the “k” and the “w”.
Today, I surprise myself. I say yes.
“Do you expect me to talk?” scoffed Evan Edgelow.
“No, Mr. Edgelow,” said Dr. Maisoui, “I expect you to shout.” He pressed a button. The laser-light machine was very loud.
Edgelow only smirked as Timothy Thicke crept up behind the doctor, hit him with a potted plant, and shrugged modestly.
Cliven followed the zombie dragon and the pudgy princess until they finally alighted on a rooftop.
“Nogard!” cried Cliven. “Come down! Please don’t hurt her!”
Nogard shook his head playfully, turned, and very gently nipped Emeldatine on the shoulder.
The princess started to cry.
Then she turned very, very pale.
“Can anyone tell me what illegal means?” Miss Flannerty asked with a very serious expression on her face.
Billy and Bobby and Suzie said it meant bad and wrong and against the law.
“Those are good answers,” said Miss Flannerty, “but it really means ‘don’t tell anyone about it’. Deal?”
Timothy Thicke peered through the binoculars, watching as Evan Edgelow lobbed a smoke grenade. He paused a moment to wipe condensation off the binocular lenses.
When he looked back, Edgelow was gone.
“Mission accomplished,” Edgelow whispered from beside him.
“How do you do that?!” Thicke asked, amazed.
“Optical illusions, mostly.”
“As I suspected, Gling, the human aliens are paranoid and aggressive. He ‘killed’ the dummy in order to escape.”
Gling gargled. “But this one had a weapon. We must test others.”
Kling shrugged.
They watched as Herbert Cralston flung the hospital doors open and sank to his knees in despair.
Herbert peered very cautiously around the corner. The hallway was empty.
No, wait. One of the inhuman creatures was lounging in a chair just beside the exit with its back turned.
It was all or nothing.
Herbert crept up behind the creature—
raised the steel letter opener—
and struck.
Freedom.
Herbert slid his shirt on over the bandages covering his sides. The wounds were painful, but not crippling.
Picking up the steel letter opener, he realized he didn’t really care how he had come to be here. All he cared about was getting out.
Unfortunately, he still had no socks.
“Consider us philanthropists,” gargled one of the inhuman faces.
Herbert looked woozily around the room. His tattered clothes were draped over a chair. The steel letter opener was lying on the floor.
“May I get dressed?” he asked. “Privately?”
“Certainly. Your wounds are healing well, but be gentle.”
They left.
Herbert Cralston blinked heavily. Light poured into his eyes the moment they opened, forcing him to shut them again.
He groaned.
“He is awake,” said a gargling voice.
“Very good,” responded another voice. “Dim the lights.”
Gratefully, Herbert eased his eyes open.
The faces he saw were definitely not human.