“But Mr. Munificent said… Are you saying Mason’s not our connection to the Knight?”
Kathryn took my hand. “No, sweetheart. He’s sneaky, vile, deceptive, and he hangs out with the wrong crowd. I’m saying Mason is the Knight.”
Chapter Eight
The Stalker and Mr. Scallion
I got off the toilet and stepped out of the mineshaft. Having remembered to flush this time, I was happily dry and odor-free. Andy had once again strategically positioned himself under the yellow light bulb.
“If it’s a brilliant mind you need,” he said, pointing to the bulb glowing above his head, “I must say in all modesty that you’ve come to the right place.”
“You’re just the picture of humility.” I patted Andy on the cheek.
“True, true. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Better yet, let’s talk about me. Let me summarize my amazing grasp of the situation. First, you have a vision of Amos Munificent being attacked by some guy in a skull mask and leotards. Next, you ignore my orders and let him escape.”
“Actually,” I said, “it was the stalker who escaped.”
“Exactly! So you attack him with a weapon you can’t control, see his face and his memories, and completely botch your first mission, crushing my high hopes for you. And now you want me to help you spy on the mayor’s son because he hit you with a dodgeball. Tell me, has my uncanny mind captured the essence of the dilemma?”
“I don’t remember anybody in leotards, and the entire gym class hit me with a dodgeball.”
“There you have it. You don’t remember. If I tell you the key to everything is your memory, will you let me go back to my Three Stooges marathon?”
I flashed an eye roll at him. “I don’t think my memory is the problem here.”
“Not the problem. The solution. Something sparked that vision of Amos,” Andy said. “Every time we witness an event, or touch an object, we pick up memory fragments. The ones you picked up were very powerful. Strong enough to form pictures in your pretty little head without trying.”
“Are you saying I actually saw someone attack Mr. Munificent?”
“Either that, or you had too many Twinkies before bedtime.”
“I don’t like Twinkies.”
“Your life is so empty.” Andy shook his head. “Tell you what. Let’s project your memories and see what’s in that teeny tiny brain of yours.”
“I haven’t learned mental projection, yet. That takes years to master.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So does the Mental Blast, the Psi Weapons, levitation, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Your point?”
“I can’t levitate, either,” I said. “If I knew how to project, I could have shown you the stalker’s face and he would be behind bars. What good is seeing his face if I can’t describe it? I wish the Kilodan could scan me.”
“You saw something nasty. Something you weren’t ready for. You’re suppressing those images because they are too painful. Fortunately for your emotionally clouded mind, I am a genius. Follow me, my brother, and I will lead you to enlightenment.”
“I’m a girl, Andy. Girls are usually referred to as ‘sister’.”
“Technicality,” Andy said. “I repeat. Follow me.”
Andy took me by the hand and led me through the mines, skipping and singing The Wizard of Oz theme song. After passing several dark corridors branching off the main tunnel, we stopped at the K-Mart sign that marked the entrance to the tech lab. We were about to enter Andy’s own twisted version of the Emerald City.
Andy placed his hand on the entry panel. His hair fluffed, and the door clicked open. Inside, a man screamed as though he was in terrible pain.
“Don’t worry,” Andy said, entering the room. “It’s just an experiment. And a very successful one, I might add. Wish I’d had it working the night you saw the stalker.”
I followed, wondering what kind of experiment involved a screaming man. The room was round like the inside of an igloo, with plasma screens where walls should have been. In the center of the white floor, a white box rested on a white stand next to a white chair. At the front of the igloo, Moe was pulling Curly’s tooth with a large pair of pliers, and Larry stood nearby with a mallet.
“Only you would experiment with Three Stooges movies. What are you trying to do, extract a sense of humor?”
“Not exactly.” Andy glanced over his shoulder. His face was unusually serious, and the snappy comeback I expected never came. “Look behind you.”
I turned toward the door we had come through. While the Stooges acted out their scene on the set in front of us, cameramen and stagehands worked at the back of the room. The director sat smiling in his tall chair, and, high above him, a boy fiddled with a huge stage light.
“Hey, I never saw that in this episode. Where did you get this footage?” I turned back toward the front of the room. Moe held a large molar victoriously in his pliers, and Curly moaned theatrically while holding his jaw.