She said that last part, and then 
looked at me, before adding, “He’s the 
real asshole. Not you.”                
     I’d already heard all this before,
but the Cat threw in a few things that 
I didn’t know before.                  
     Of course, Frankenstein wasn’t his
real name. It was Bartholomew, but he  
liked to be called Bart.               
     I knew about that, how she got her
name, the screaming mouse, the video   
cameras, and the cage, but I didn’t    
know that he had two Doctorates.       
     “Doctorates in what?” Mouse wanted
to know.                               
     “One in organic chemistry, and the
other, I think, is micro-molecular     
genetic engineering or some such       
nonsense. His work is... I've read some
of it, and I know enough about         
* genetics, to not know what the hell      
he's talking about. Seriously, it's    
like trying to read another language,  
one made up entirely of gibberish.     
     “He's smart, but he's also        
sadistic, and his two wingnuts are just
plain stupid, and I hate them too.     
They’re everything that’s wrong with   
the human species, all rolled into one 
sick little threesome.”                
     Even under Rhonda's careful pet-  
ting, slow and soft and safe, she still
shuddered while telling everyone about 
the scream.                            
     “I could feel the terror and the  
pain in it. I know a little paranoia   
isn't a big deal, but sometimes, it's  
not your paranoia that's out to get    
you, but something else, something real
and scary, and to me, that was Frankie.



CHAPTER 15: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1st
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