Flight of the Gazebo

Chapter 13 - Presence of Mind

Mrs Dillinger stood at the open back door and watched Pip walk with peculiar lurching steps across the lawn of her small garden.

There was something not quite right about him. Perhaps the poor dear had an upset tummy. He did sometimes react badly to rich food. Perhaps it was the chocolate eclair. Well, the eclairs had to be eaten up now the fridge wasn't working. She wondered how much longer it would take before someone sorted out the electricity problem. It made her quite cross. Hadn't she always payed her bills on time?

Pip stopped next to the hydrangeas and stared around like it was the first time he'd seen the garden.

Mrs Dillinger made cooing noises. "You'll be all right, Pip darling. Mummy will look after you."

******

For Pip it wasn't an entirely new experience to have someone else in his head.

First there had been the sub-personality, which had made him feel a little unusual. But now that the sub-personality had been replaced by a full personality, albeit a dazed and confused one, he felt stranger still. The odd impulses to stand upright on his hind legs and to form his tongue and larynx into shapes beyond those he normally used for yapping and growling were weird. Weirder still was the urge to use his eyes rather than his nose to investigate his surroundings.

******

Drome didn't feel he was coping very well. The equipment had done something to him, something very strange indeed.

Everything about his situation was weird.

Maybe he was dreaming. Of course! That's what it was. A dream. A very real one. But a dream nevertheless, one in which his body fought every movement he made and everything looked, felt and smelled unlike anything he was used to.

It was a bit of a worry Mrs Dillinger featured so prominently. He quickly suppressed that thought. Far too Freudian.

Mrs Dillinger had carried him out to her back garden and deposited him on the lawn. It was odd how she had wrapped her hands around his waist and had picked him up with such ease.

And it was peculiar to be crawling around on what he could only think of as his hands and knees. Why couldn't he see properly? Why did everything smell so intense?

It's a dream, he reminded himself.

******

Huge tears splashed onto the human's body as Hulger carried it back into the cell and deposited it gently on the floor.

With a soft pat on the human's head, he straightened, wiped his eyes and gazed misty-eyed at the poor creature.

Why was he punishing himself with guilt? He hadn't known the human would be killed. The emperor's master of ceremonies had said the cushion would help the human, not kill it.

He sighed and carefully folded the human's arms across its chest.

The small, pathetic creature had such a vulnerable look about it. The garish clothing and ridiculous headgear with the sticking-up flap of material looked oddly out of place in the grim surroundings of the cell. Impulsively Hulger took the pink cushion he had been carrying under his arm and placed it under the human's head to keep it off the grimy floor. There, the pitiful human looked more comfortable now.

As he stood up again, his arm brushed the stool he had brought that morning and tipped the bowl of cold soup on to the floor. He snarled, a low, menacing sound in the bare cell as a yellow puddle spread from the upturned bowl. He had made a mess right next to the dead human. What further indignities would he heap upon it?