The Forgetting Machine (16 page)

“I think that one's accurate,” I said. I went back to the first line I'd typed. The word “restoration” looked wrong. I changed it to “restore.” That looked better. “Is that enough?”

“You can't remember any more?” Billy said.

“Unlike
some
people, I do not have an eidetic memory,” I said peevishly. “I know your initials were there, and probably the Latin name for dog, since we're pretty sure your memories got transferred to Gertrude.”

Gertrude, hearing her name, emitted a sleepy bark from the corner.

“Okay, we'll go with what we've got,” Billy said, taking my place at the terminal. “If we can crack Rausch's encryption, we might be able to access all his records and figure out how to get our lost memories back.” His fingers flew across the keyboard. “There.”

“You got it?” I asked.

“Not yet. The pattern-recognition program is running. This might take a while.”

The screen showed nothing but a spinning, multicolored disk, indicating that the computer was thinking.

“How long is a while?”

Billy shrugged. “A couple hours,” he said.

  •  •  •  

I am not a girl who can sit staring at a computer for two hours. Besides, the neuroprosthetics lab smelled like three guys had been working there for hours, with the faint, lingering scent of Ernest Rausch's abominable cologne.

“Do you need me anymore?” I asked.

They ignored me. They were staring at the spinning disk like three hypnotized owls. I'd seen guys do that before, as if staring hard at the display could make the disk spin faster, while completely ignoring the female person in the room.

“What about Mr. Rausch? Have they found him yet?”

“The police are working on it, Ginger,” my father said without looking at me.

“I'll just be going, then.”

Nobody said anything.

“Maybe I'll rob the bank, or dance down the street in my underwear.”

One of them grunted—I couldn't tell who. It might have been Gertrude.

I stole my father's WheelBot. I knew the key code, and it was just sitting there in the ACPOD parking lot, and my dad was so absentminded he'd probably figure he'd gotten to work by some other means. Also, I was kind of irritated by the way he'd ignored me once I was no longer useful.

As I rolled down the street stewing about that, I decided to stew about some other people I was mad at. Like my mother, who wouldn't tell me why our town was called Flinkwater. And Mr. Rausch, who had erased me from my fiancé's memory. And Billy, for forgetting me, even if it wasn't his fault. And Dottie Tisk . . . except I wasn't mad at Dottie anymore since she had brought me the book.

That reminded me that I'd promised to get it back to her as soon as possible. I rolled left on Third Street and aimed the WheelBot in the direction of the giant Jesus statue.

  •  •  •  

I knew Dottie wouldn't want her parents to see the book, so I parked the WheelBot two houses down, tucked Charlotte into my waistband, and pulled my T-shirt over it. My plan was to sneak around to Dottie's bedroom window and, if she was there, give it to her. My plan worked perfectly until I got to her window and peeked inside. Dottie wasn't there.

Okay, on to plan B. I went to the front door and rang the bell. Maybe Dottie would answer it, or maybe her mom would let me in and I could slip Dottie the book without Mrs. Tisk seeing.

No answer. They must all be at church doing churchy things. On to plan C.

I went back to Dottie's window. If I could open it, I could climb inside and hide the book under her mattress where she'd hidden it before.

The window was locked. I thought hard for a moment and came up with plan D. I would hide the book somewhere on their property and try to get a message to Dottie telling her where. I looked around for a protected place where it wouldn't get rained on or anything. The garage? I tried the garage door. Locked. Who locks their garage in Flinkwater? Hardly anybody even locks their front door. I peered through the grimy window. I couldn't see much, but what I did see made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Parked inside was a bright red ATV. The only red ATV I knew of in Flinkwater was the one Ernest Rausch had escaped on yesterday. Why was it parked in the Tisks' garage?

I knew what I should do. I should call my dad. But I imagined how that might go.

“Dad, there's a red ATV parked in the Tisks' garage.”

“That's nice, Ginger, but I'm watching this very important spinning disk right now.”

“Dad, I think it's Mr. Rausch's ATV. I think the Tisks are harboring a fugitive!”

“Don't be ridiculous, Ginger. The Tisks are a fine, upstanding family, and I'm sure there are many red ATVs in Flinkwater County.”

“But Dad—”

“Look, the disk is spinning faster!”

“But—”

“Ginger, please . . . ”

I did not want to have that conversation. I was already mad at him, and I didn't want to get any madder. Also, my cell had died back at Rausch's farm, so I couldn't call him even if I wanted. Anyway, the next time I saw my dad I wanted to have some solid evidence that Rausch had been there. I went back to the house. The front and back doors were locked. I tested all the windows. Locked.

What would Billy do?
I wondered. He would probably pick the door lock. I didn't have his lock-picking skills, but maybe the Tisks, being fanatical door lockers, had hidden a spare key someplace. I went back to the front and looked under the welcome mat. I turned over some rocks in the garden. I ran my fingers along the sill above the door. I reached into the mail slot and felt around. No key. I performed a similar search around the back door. Nada. I went back to the front and stood in the shadow of the Jesus statue and tried to imagine where I would hide a key.

“I'm out of ideas,” I said to the statue. “Any suggestions?”

Jesus did not reply. I sat down on the concrete base of the statue, thinking hard. Maybe there was no hidden key, and I was wasting my time. I looked down at Jesus's feet. Some of the paint was peeling off. Idly, I picked at the loose paint with my fingernail, then felt bad about it. I don't object to a bit of minor vandalism—I'd TPed Myke Duchakis's house last Halloween—but I didn't think I should mess with Jesus's feet. I noticed, however, that there was a gap between his left foot and the concrete base, and an inch of string sticking out of it.

I pulled on the string and out came a key.

The Tisks' house felt dead inside. The only sound was the hammering of my heart, and the only colors were beige, white, or gray. The furniture looked as if it had never been sat on or used. A sepia-toned print over the sofa showed Eve in the Garden of Eden being tempted by the serpent.

I crept down the hall and peeked into the first room. There were two beds, neatly made with coverlets the color of raw canvas. Mr. and Mrs. Tisk's room, I assumed.

The next room was Dottie's. I shoved Charlotte between her sheet and the mattress so she'd feel it when she climbed into bed.

There was one more bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed. I twisted the knob and eased the door open. One bed, with the covers thrown back and the sheets tangled, but it wasn't the bed that got my attention—it was the lingering aroma of Bay Rum aftershave.

As far as I was concerned that was proof that Ernest Rausch had stayed at the Tisks' last night. I checked under the bed and in the closet, hoping to find the REMEMBER machine, but there was nothing. Maybe it was in the garage with his ATV. I found a key hanging on the wall near the back door. The tag on the key said
GARAGE
. I let myself out, went back to the garage, and unlocked the side door and stepped inside.

The first thing I noticed was Dottie, sitting in a chair on the other side of the ATV, staring at me with a peculiar wide-eyed expression. Her hair looked weird—then I saw that it wasn't her hair; she was wearing the Rauschinator.

The second thing I noticed was the powerful smell of Bay Rum.

The door slammed behind me.

“Ms. Crump,” said Ernest Rausch. “Shall we take up where we left off?”

  •  •  •  

I tried to run around him to the door. He spread his long arms and tried to grab me. I ducked under his left arm and got my hand on the doorknob, but Rausch grabbed the back of my belt and yanked me back. I twisted free and jumped onto the ATV. Rausch lunged for me, but I jumped back down on the far side of the ATV.

“You can't get out,” he said, edging around the back of the ATV.

I waited for him to get almost all the way around, then jumped onto and over the ATV, heading for the door. He was too fast for me. I had to back off. Once again we faced each other across the ATV. I took a quick look at Dottie. The wires from the Rauschinator led to a square plastic box on the floor—the REMEMBER machine. Dottie was about to get rauschinated, if she hadn't been already. She looked scared.

“You okay?” I asked her, keeping an eye on Rausch.

Dottie shook her head. I noticed Mr. Peebles then, sitting calmly on the floor next to her feet.

“Dottie is about to memorize the Greek and Latin translations of the Old Testament,” Rausch said. “To take her mind off that Duchakis boy.”

“Myke?” I glanced back at Dottie.

“I wrote some things about him in my diary,” she said. “My mom found it.”

“You're in love with Myke Duchakis?” I said.

She was blushing. “She says I'm too young to have a boyfriend, so she told Uncle Ernie to give me another attitude adjustment.”

“Uncle Ernie?” I said.

“That's right,” Rausch said. “Mabel is my sister. This is a family affair, and you have rudely interrupted us.” He shrugged. “But it doesn't matter. An hour from now you'll both have other things to think about.”

“Do you
want
to forget Myke?” I asked Dottie.

“No,” she said.

“I didn't think so.”

I grabbed the Rauschinator and yanked it off Dottie's head. “Ow!” she cried out.

Rausch moved faster than I thought possible, leaping onto and over the ATV and diving at me. Before I could move, he crashed into us, knocking Dottie off the chair and landing on top of me. Mr. Peebles yowled and jumped onto a metal shelf against the back wall.

I kicked; I clawed; I bit. It didn't work. I tried to scream, but Rausch had me wrapped in his long, sinewy arms, squeezing so hard I could hardly breathe.

“If you don't stop, I'll squeeze until your ribs crack,” he said. I stopped struggling. “Much better,” he said, relaxing his grip slightly. “And congratulations—you've moved to the head of the line. Dottie will have to wait her turn, but she's a good girl.” He raised his voice. “You're a good girl, aren't you, Dottie?”

The answer was a whining growl. Dottie was on the ATV, revving the engine.

“No!” Rausch yelled. Dottie twisted the accelerator; the machine leaped forward and hit the garage door. The plywood panels shattered; the ATV burst through onto the driveway and screeched onto the street.

Go, Dottie,
I thought.
Go!