The Forgetting Machine (9 page)

Dottie Tisk had the library's only copy of
Charlotte's Web
. That was the worst possible situation. If her parents found it, they'd destroy it. If I went to their house and asked Dottie if I could borrow it, she might deny she had it. But I had to try. The Tisks lived just a few houses away, so I headed over there.

The Jesus statue was standing guard, of course. I avoided his eyes, but as I passed, I said, “Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything bad.”

No one answered the door. I should've known—they were probably at Glorious Heart, Mr. Tisk's church, being it was Sunday and all. I peeked in through the front window. An ordinary living room—no
Charlotte's Web
in sight. I looked back at the statue. It hadn't turned its head or anything spooky, so I walked around the house and checked out some of the other windows.

Dottie's bedroom was at the back of the house. Her window was behind some rosebushes. I eased between the thorny bushes and the house. Her window was open a crack. I pushed the window up far enough to poke my head through and looked around. The room was incredibly neat and boring—nothing hanging on the walls, no clothes strewn on the floor, no
Charlotte's Web
or any other books. I hiked the front half of my body onto the sill and took a closer look. She had probably hidden the book from her parents. I inched farther in so just my legs were sticking out of the window.

Something furry and gray exploded from the floor and flew past me through the open window. I was so startled I fell into the room.

“Come back here!” I yelled.

Mr. Peebles was about to do no such thing. He was over the fence and gone in an instant.

“Not my fault,” I muttered. Even though it clearly
was
my fault, saying it wasn't made me feel better. As long as I was in Dottie's room—also not my fault—I decided to take a look around.

From what I could see, Dottie was the neatest, most boring fourteen-year-old girl on the planet. Her bed was so perfectly made it looked like something out of a virtual-reality set.

Where would a neat freak hide a book? I looked through all the drawers. I checked her closet with its precisely hung row of stodgy dresses. I looked under her bed. Not so much as a single dust bunny.

I heard voices, then the sound of the bedroom door opening. I scooted under the bed. I could see Dottie's feet.

“Mom!” she shouted. A moment later I saw Mrs. Tisk's white shoes enter the room.

“Mr. Peebles is gone!” Dottie said.

“Tsk—you left your window open,” Mrs. Tisk said.

“I did not! It was only open a crack when I left.”

Mrs. Tisk crossed over to the window and closed it.

“Mr. Peebles must have got it open,” Dottie said.

“That cat is freakishly smart,” Mrs. Tisk said. “He's more trouble than he's worth. If he returns, we're giving him back to your uncle.”

“Nooo!” Dottie wailed.

I heard a
thwack
and a gasp. I was pretty sure Dottie had just gotten slapped.

“Control yourself!” Mrs. Tisk snapped. “Do not contradict your elders. You will stay in this room until I decide it's time for you to come out!” She marched out of the room and slammed the door.

Dottie let out a tiny sob and sat down on her bed. After a few more sobs she knelt down next to the bed. Her knees were inches from my face. Was she praying? No, she was pulling something out from between the mattress and the box spring. She stood up and plopped onto the bed. A moment later I heard the dry, slithery sound of paper pages being turned.

Charlotte!
I was sure of it. She was reading
Charlotte's Web
!

I would have to wait for Dottie to leave, then grab the book and escape through the window—but judging by the tone her mother had taken, that could be hours. I eased my cell out of my pocket and texted Billy.

Help! Stuck under Dottie's bed and she is sitting on it. Need distraction.

I hit send. My phone made a whoosh sound—I'd forgotten to mute it. Had Dottie heard? I held my breath. Dottie was moving around. I watched for her feet to hit the floor, but instead it was her hair that landed on the carpet, framing her upside-down face like a curtain. Her colorless eyes regarded me with the cold, unblinking detachment of a boa constrictor.

“Hey,” I said friendlily.

“You are under my bed,” she said unfriendlily.

“True.” There was no point in denying it.

“You left my window open,” she said.

“It was already a little bit open,” I said. “I just opened it a little more.”

“Why do you keep stealing Mr. Peebles?” Her face was turning red. I thought for a second it was because she was mad, but then I decided it was because she was hanging upside down.

“Mr. Peebles has a mind of his own.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because of
Charlotte's Web
,” I said.

She stared at me without replying.

“Your parents wrecked my e-book. They made a computer virus that messed up every digital copy of
Charlotte's Web
on the planet. I need to borrow the book so I can fix it.”

Dottie's head retracted. I wriggled out from under the bed. She was sitting against the headboard hugging the copy of Charlotte to her chest.

“You can't have it. I'm not done.”

“You're not even supposed to be reading it,” I said.

“And you're not supposed to be breaking into people's houses stealing their cats.”

“That was an accident! Anyway, if you call your parents, I'll tell them you're reading Charlotte.”

I had her there—I could tell by the way she scowled.

“My parents don't even have a computer,” Dottie said. “They couldn't do what you said even if they wanted to.”

“Maybe they got somebody else to do it for them.”

Dottie's dead eyes flickered at that. She knew something she wasn't telling me.

“We're going to track down whoever did it,” I said. “Billy Bates has a webhound on the digital trail, and I bet it leads right here.”

Dottie laughed. It sounded like rusty bedsprings. I guessed she hadn't had much practice.

“You won't be laughing when I have your parents arrested.” I said that mostly because I was mad, not because I thought I could actually do it.

Dottie's face turned red. “You better not. You think losing your stupid e-book is bad, what if . . . whoever did it . . . what if . . . oh never mind.” She looked away. “It's just one stupid book. What if you forgot everything you ever read? How would you like that?”

I said, “Huh?”

My cell chirped. It was Billy.

You still stuck?

I texted back.

No.

Billy replied a second later.

Get over here now.

I hesitated. Did he mean “as soon as is convenient” or “
NOW
now”? I texted back.

Getting book. Be there in a while.

“Who are you talking to?” Dottie asked.

“None of your business. Look, Dottie, I really need that book. I promise I'll return it to you tomorrow.”

“No! I want to know what happens.”

“You can wait. This is important!”

Dottie shoved the book under her butt and crossed her arms. This was not going well.

I said, in my most reasonable voice, “Dottie, you—”

My cell chirped again. It was Billy.

NOW!!!

“Dottie!” Mrs. Tisk's voice came from outside the room. “Who are you talking to?”

I was out the window in a flash. It was an impressive exit—except for the part where I landed in the rosebushes, then snagged my favorite jeans on the way over the fence and tore a huge hole in the knee. Scratched, irritated, and a bit shredded, I headed for Billy's house.

Alfred let me in.

“Master Billy is in the backyard,” he informed me. I followed him through the house and out a set of French doors to where Billy and Gilly were sitting on the patio watching a black disk hovering three feet above the lawn. Billy was holding a tablet in his lap. He moved his fingers over the surface of the tab, and the disk rose several feet higher.

“Nice drone,” I said.

Billy's hand jerked; the disk tipped and did a nosedive into a flower bed.

“Sorry,” Billy said to his father.

“Don't worry,” Gilly said. “The AG-3601 is quite durable, but the control interface is touchy.” He took the tab from Billy. The drone rose from the flower bed, swooped toward us, and settled on the patio.

Billy said, “Pretty cool, huh?”

“It looks like a flying manhole cover,” I said. “Is
that
what you texted me about?” I was a bit irritated. Not that the antigravity drone wasn't cool, but I was focused on Charlotte, and I didn't like having my mission interrupted. “Did you find the source of the book hacking, or have you been playing dronemaster?”

“Never mind the book,” Billy said. “We've got bigger problems.” He looked intently at his father. “Dad, do you remember Ginger?”

“Certainly,” Gilly said. “Hello, Ginger.” He looked at my torn jeans. “Is that the new fashion these days?”

“It's what everybody's wearing,” I said. “I'm glad you got your memory back.”

“There's nothing wrong with my memory.” He looked at Billy. “I really don't know why you keep going on about it.”

Billy said, “Do you remember when Ginger was here this morning, and you didn't remember her at all?”

“Do you mean do I remember not remembering Ginger? How could I not remember Ginger?” He smiled at me. “Ginger is very memorable.”

“Tell us what you were doing this afternoon.”

“Why, I was at the office.”

“And why did you go to work on a Sunday afternoon?”

Gilly shrugged. “I can't say I recall.”

“And what did you do while you were there?”

“Several things, I'm sure.”

“Did you see Mr. Rausch?”

“Possibly. Who is he again?”

Billy looked at me. I looked at Billy. We both looked at Gilly, who seemed blissfully unconcerned.

“I can be a bit absentminded when I'm working on a project,” he admitted. “Did I miss a dental appointment or something?”

  •  •  •  

“This is serious,” Billy said. “Rausch did something to Gilly's brain.”

“He did something to your brain too, don't forget.” We were in Billy's room. Gilly was still on the patio working on the AG-3601 interface.

“At least I haven't forgotten that I don't remember you,” he said.

“That makes me feel so much better.”

Billy said, “It's not all bad news. We know the process is reversible, because this morning Gilly didn't remember you at all, and now he does—but he's forgotten who Mr. Rausch is.”

“Why would Rausch wipe himself out of your dad's memory?”

“Gilly said he wanted to shut down the REMEMBER program, remember? I bet Rausch made him forget that to save his job. It looks like he's deliberately stealing people's memories.”

“But why? Why would he bother to steal
your
memories of
me
? It doesn't make sense.”

“I suppose we could ask him.”

“We have to ask him sneakily,” I said. “Myke told me Rausch has a farm north of town. Happy Smile Acres. Maybe we should pay him a visit.”

“A sneaky visit?”

“Very sneaky.”

Going on a secret reconnaissance mission required a new look, especially since my jeans were shredded, so I went home for a quick change.

Mom was gone. Dad was in his reading chair with Dr. Moreau and, to my utter astonishment, Mr. Peebles.

This was remarkable not because Mr. Peebles had found his way to our house—after all, he knew he could get tuna fish—but because my father did not like cats. He and Barney barely tolerated each other, and here he was with Mr. Peebles nestled in his arms, the two of them happily reading a book.