Eight feet straight up, and it was weirdly like flying. I felt the "ground" recede way, way below me. Dozens of times my own height. I knew I wouldn't be hurt if I fell. But still, hanging sideways, crawling straight up against gravity, seemed dangerous.
We reached the top of the beam and I was grateful to haul myself up and over into a space between the upright and a cross beam. We were just beneath the floor. But now things were complicated. The space between the second floor and the ceiling beneath it was mostly blocked by a wall of wood. But eventually we found a way in, walking sideways and scraping between rough-sawed wood-ends.
My antennae waved wildly, trying to comprehend the long, square tunnel before me. It was almost pitch-dark. Only a tiny hint of light filtered down from the floor above. And after the run-in with the spider, I was very jumpy. Who knew what might be in that vast, dark space?
"That light must be from some kind of crack," Jake said.
"I guess we go toward that. Unless anyone else has any ideas?"
"l have an idea," Marco said. "We get out of here, go back to the mall, and see how many Cinnabons Ax can eat before he explodes."
"Oh, come on, you babies," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
"Let's go." I scuttled forward. I was walking on Sheetrock that formed the ceiling below. The wooden walls on either side of me were insanely tall - ten, twenty times my height.
But we soon reached the light. I felt better. My roach brain felt worse.
Across our path lay a huge tube. It seemed to be metal and looked as big as a felled redwood. From the large tube, two smaller tubes went straight up toward a brighter light.
"Plumbing," Jake remarked.
Sudden movement in the darkness!
"Aaahhh!" I yelled, but even as I was yelling, I realized what it was.
"A brother roach," Marco said. "0r sister."
"Come on, let's get this over with," I said. I scampered straight up the nearest vertical pipe. And within seconds I was poking my bullwhip antennae out into the light beneath a sink.
"It's a bathroom," I reported. "Come on." We piled out through the hole, and down onto cold, white ceramic tile.
"Are we in the right place?" Marco wondered.
"l don't know. I forgot to bring my map of the inside of the walls of the nuthouse," I said. "We need to have Cassie or one of the guys confirm where we are. There's a window up there." I took off, scurrying across the tile, up the wall and onto the wire mesh of the window. I could see light, of course, but could not see through the glass.
"Hey, Cassie, Ax, Tobias. Do you see a roach sitting on a window?" Ax answered. "Yes. I see you. You are in a small room just alongside the room where the human named Edelman is."
"Thanks." I rejoined the others. "So. Now what?"
"Now we talk to Mr. Edelman," Jake said. "We need to get him to come in here. We'll have some privacy in here."
"And then what, he talks to a cockroach?"
"No. One of us needs to demorph and talk to him," Jake said.
"Wait a minute," Marco objected. "Isn't he going to think it's a little weird, some kid appearing magically in his bathroom?"
"It's a facility for people with mental illnesses, Marco," Jake pointed out. "Who's going to believe him?"
"I'll do the talking," I said. "Mr. Edelman is my responsibility. I rescued him. And I'm starting to think I'm sorry I did. You guys stay out of the way. I'd hate to accidentally step on you." I began to demorph.
The squares of ceramic tile grew rapidly smaller. I shot up and up, like Jack's magic bean sprout or something.
I was about two feet tall, with skin like burnt sugar, monstrously long antennae sprouting from my forehead, human eyes, semihuman legs that bristled with dagger-sharp hairs, blond hair, and a wide, throbbing yellowish-brown abdomen, when the bathroom door opened.
A man shuffled in, wearing slippers. He headed for the toilet. He hesitated. Slowly, very slowly, he turned.
My human mouth was just appearing. My lips grew from melted roach mouthparts.
"Hi. Could you get George Edelman for me?"
The man nodded. "Sure." He started to go. Then he turned back. "Are you real?"
"Nah. Just a figment of your imagination."
"Ah. I'll get George."
I was human by the time Mr. Edelman poked his head cautiously into the room.
"Hi," I said cheerfully. I stuck out my hand. "I'm ... I'm helping your lawyer with your court case."
He was startled. Who wouldn't be? He swept his eyes around the room as though maybe, just maybe, there was something weird about meeting me in a bathroom. He didn't notice the two cockroaches huddled together under the sink.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Then he looked down. "You're not wearing shoes."
"Yes, I apologize for my slightly ..." I was looking for a sophisticated word like "unconventional," but I couldn't think of it. ". . . my slightly weird appearance here."
"Yes. Weird." He glared at me for a while, uncertain what to make of my utterly bizarre appearance in his bathroom. Then he shook my outstretched hand. "I guess I'm not one to be talking about 'weird.'"
"Would you like to have a seat?" I said, indicating the toilet.
"No. Thanks." Again the look that said, "Wait a minute, I may be nuts, but there's something strange about this." Then he said, "You're awfully young."
"Thank you," I said. "Actually I'm twenty-five, but I work out, I eat the right foods, and I always wear sunscreen. Mr. Edelman," I said bluntly, before he could ask me any more questions, "why did you try to kill yourself?"
He sat down on the edge of the tub. I leaned against the sink and tried to look like a very youthful twenty-five-year-old with no shoes. Mr.
Edelman looked at me with confused, but kind, gray eyes. He made an effort to smooth his rumpled hair.
And he said, "I had no choice. It's this thing in my head."
I nodded. "Okay. Yes. What thing in your head?" ,. "The Yeerk." He made a weak smile, like he was expecting me to laugh and denounce him as a lunatic.