Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 15 - My Knight

Expecting to return to the police station, I was pleasantly surprised when Duthbert's goons took me up an elevator to the second floor of the palace, where a door awaited me with a golden number “1” above it. When the door was unlocked, I gaped at the vision of a soft bed, a TV, and a mini refrigerator. The room had a private bathroom with little bottles of shampoo (though alas, there were no jets in the tub). There was even a Gideon bible on the dresser.

Gold Mouth said, “Our number’s by the phone. Give us a call if you need anything.”

“Or if you get lonely,” added Horse Face with a grin. They started to close the door.

“But what about my bodyguards?” I asked.

“Until further notice,” said Gold Mouth, “we’re your bodyguards.” And then they were gone, locking the door behind them.

I didn’t hesitate to throw myself onto the bed. Finally, real relief. Even if I was locked up, being alone in a hotel room was better than being anywhere else in Molemania. The time on the alarm clock was 1:14 PM. If I was still in the “netherworld,” I would have been suffering the brain-racking torture of pre-calculus. How nice to have a legitimate excuse for skipping class. In fact, for the first time in my life, I had absolutely no way of being productive. This was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Hopping off the bed, I flung open the refrigerator. There was nothing but a box of baking soda. But that was okay, because I soon got what I really needed: the bath of all baths. Emptying all three bottles of shampoo, I washed the weight of the world out of my hair, draining tub after tub of brown, filthy water. In no time my skin was as fresh as a baby’s and as wrinkly as a ninety-year-old-woman’s.

After drying myself, the thought of putting on the stinky clothes with which I’d crawled through the belly of the earth made me sick. Then I noticed the little, yellow dress hanging in the closet. No doubt it was hung there for me, though it was much too small, probably made for a molewoman. Besides, I wasn't about to let Duthbert choose my wardrobe. So, with a sigh, I put on my dirty clothes.

Fully dressed, I found myself sitting on the bed, doing nothing. I was almost preferring the dungeon. When the world around me had been in shadows, the mystery of the future allowed for hope. Now I wasn’t so sure.

My eyes turned to the phone on the dresser. Impulsively, I grabbed the receiver and dialed my family’s number. It didn’t take long for a nasally voice to respond with, “We’re sorry, but the number you dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” Next I tried 9-11.

“Nine-one-on emergency,” said the unmistakable voice of a molewoman.

“No more molepeople!” I slammed down the receiver.

My attention was drawn to the mirror above the sink, at my frizzy hair and sunken eyes. Now there was a tortured soul. What does Duthbert see in me? The chin began to quiver. The eyes were blinking. I thought I was done with tears. I was wrong.

Just when I was about to curl into a ball and let myself go, I remembered my New Year’s resolution and my promise that there would be no exceptions, no matter how good the excuse. To preserve the precious battery life of my phone – just in case – I opened the Gideon bible to a random verse in Proverbs twenty-one:

19. It is better to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and an angry woman.

I closed the book … and shed another tear. With my shoes on and the overhead light burning away (I’d had enough darkness), I crawled beneath linen sheets, closed my eyes, and …

“No!” I threw off the sheet and took another look in the mirror. This time I saw something different in those bloodshot eyes. I got myself into this, and I can get myself out. I still have two days.