Isabel said, “I peed on him.”
Jeremy burst out laughing and walked toward the toilet. Isabel flapped her arms, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t look at my pee!”
Jeremy jumped back. “I think we need to get him out of there, Isabel,” he said.
Isabel nodded. “I know. But I don’t want a man to see my pee.”
“So Amy can see your urine, but I can’t? That’s really weird, Isabel.”
“It’s just my thing, okay? I don’t want you to see my pee.”
“I’m a doctor, Isabel, I’ve seen lots of pee.”
Isabel shook her head. “You’re my friend. We’re roommates. I read in a magazine once that if a man sees you urinate he’ll never look at you the same way again.”
“What way?” he asked.
“Just don’t look at my pee!” she shouted on the verge of hysteria.
“Okay, okay,” Jeremy said, backing up and not looking anywhere near the toilet.
“I have a plan,” Amy said. “I think I can flush the toilet, the pee will disappear and then we can get Steve out,”
“Won’t that make him madder?” Isabel said, untwisting her panties and pulling up her pants. “He might get really violent the madder he gets.”
“It’ll just be like a wave crashing over him,” Amy said. “He can pretend he’s on the beach.” She flushed the toilet. Steve bumped about and then settled, his antennae seeming to approve.
“You can look now,” Isabel said to Jeremy.
“How about we put him in the tub,” Amy said. She stopper-ed the tub and turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature to what she believed Steve would find comfortable.
Jeremy studied Steve, being careful to keep his fingers out of claw range. “We have those BBQ tongs, right?”
“Yes,” Isabel said. “I’ll get them.” She jumped off the counter and ran out of the room.
“Do you think she’s all right?” Jeremy whispered after Isabel was gone.
“I think so. Although she’ll never sit down again without looking,” Amy said.
“I’ve never sat without looking after I saw that movie where alligators roamed the sewers of New York,” Jeremy said.
Isabel ran back in with an enormous set of metal tongs. “These should work.”
Isabel poked around in the toilet with the tongs. Steve thrashed. “Listen, you little shit. We have to get through tomorrow and then I’ll set you free, so just settle down and I’ll get you out of there. I’m sorry I peed on you but if you’re going to hang around in a toilet bowl that’s to be expected.”
“She does know she’s talking to a bug wearing an exoskeleton, right?” Jeremy said.
“Well, they did share an intimate moment,” Amy replied.
“I’ll say. He could’ve bitten off my vagina,” Isabel said. She frowned. “I’d never get a date then.”
“You’re more than the sum of your parts,” Jeremy said.
“That’s very nice of you to say, Jeremy, but a girl that hasn’t got a vagina stands no chance against one that does,” Isabel said. She furrowed her brow, opened the tongs and clamped Steve around his midsection. “Ha! I got you.” She dashed toward the tub with the flailing lobster dripping water everywhere and his antennae going wild. She dropped him in the tub with a big plop.
“Wow, awesome job,” Amy said. They all watched Steve for a moment as he swam to and fro. “He looks happy, don’t you think?”
“What do we do when we want to bathe?” Amy asked.
“Use the shower in my room,” Isabel said. “I’ll have him out of here tomorrow afternoon.”
“Okay,” Amy said.
“So, let’s order a pizza and forget any of this happened. What do you say?” Isabel said, her face flushed from her triumph.
“Good idea,” Jeremy and Amy said in unison.
Isabel was the last one to leave the bathroom. She flipped off the light and whispered in the dark, “Good night, Steve. Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the crustaceans bite,” Amy said from down the hallway.
“Ha ha,” Isabel muttered. “Not funny.”
The Interrogation
All hell was breaking loose. Jordan had always thought that expression was nothing more than a silly cliché. Now she was changing her mind. As soon as she walked in the front door and heard the commotion (banging, muffled yelling, strange machine-like whirring noises) from upstairs in Edison’s laboratory, Jordan knew all hell was indeed breaking loose.
Her brain shifted into rescue mode while her body went into survival mode. She didn’t know whether to run to the noises or run away from the noises. In the end, brain and body compromised and she slowly crept upstairs to Edison’s lab. She felt like the virgin in a horror movie. The virgin was always the last to die. If she heard any creepy music she was running back down the stairs.
Jordan put a hand on the lab door like she was testing the temperature within the room. She had seen that in a safety video once. If the door felt hot that meant there was a hellish backdraft waiting to jump out and crispy-fry her.
The door felt lukewarm. Jordan thought that meant she could open the door; that nothing hellacious was contained within the confines of the four walls on the other side of that wooden two-inch slab.
She was wrong.
What she saw took a bloated moment to register: Petronella, dressed all in white, was sitting in a straight-backed chair in the middle of the room. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet were tied at the ankles. And the scariest part? The entire room was covered in plastic wrap.
Every. Single. Thing. Covered. In. Plastic.
Jordan’s brain balked, refusing to admit what her eyes were seeing. Then once it did register, she very nearly upchucked. She had unwittingly entered a murder den. Petronella was going to be slaughtered and the murderer didn’t want blood to get all over everything.
Edison jumped out from behind the door with a big smile plastered on her face. “Good! You’re here!”
Jordan opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again and stuttered, “What the fuckity fuck?”
Edison said, “You got here just in time for the interrogation.”
Interrogation? Something clicked into place and Jordan’s mind flashbacked to yesterday. Edison had led her to the garage, saying, “I have to show you something. Petronella has been up to her old tricks.”
“You’re talking about the slashed tires and the whore on the porch thing?” Jordan asked.
“Yes, among other things.”
“Other things?” Jordan said.
Edison pointed to the corner of the garage. A stack of political signs, the kind politicians stick in front yards during elections, leaned against the wall. Jordan went over to look closer. They weren’t political signs; they were Biblical signs.
“What the hell?” she said and began reading them. They were Bible verses, indictments against homosexuality of the “man shall not lie with man” variety.
“I came home the other night and the lawn was plastered with them. And, boy, GLAAD is mad. Their spokeswoman called and warned me that such bigotry will not be tolerated,” Edison said.
“Wait a minute. They actually thought we were putting these in our yard on purpose?” Jordan asked.
“Yep.”
“Did you explain that we’re gay?” Jordan asked.
“I tried but the woman was ranting so much I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I took the signs down and stacked them in here.”
“This is pretty low, even for Petronella.”
“Duh, think about it. It’s a perfect premise. She’s trying to make us look bad in front of the whole neighborhood. Mrs. Wickersham from across the street flipped me the bird this morning. Even the cute letter-carrier snubbed me.”
Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”