But we soon reached the light. I felt better. My roach brain felt worse.

Across our path lay a huge tube. It seemed to be metal and looked as big as a felled redwood. From the large tube, two smaller tubes went straight up toward a brighter light.

"Plumbing," Jake remarked.

Sudden movement in the darkness!

"Aaahhh!" I yelled, but even as I was yelling, I realized what it was.

"A brother roach," Marco said. "0r sister."

"Come on, let's get this over with," I said. I scampered straight up the nearest vertical pipe. And within seconds I was poking my bullwhip antennae out into the light beneath a sink.

"It's a bathroom," I reported. "Come on." We piled out through the hole, and down onto cold, white ceramic tile.

"Are we in the right place?" Marco wondered.

"l don't know. I forgot to bring my map of the inside of the walls of the nuthouse," I said. "We need to have Cassie or one of the guys confirm where we are. There's a window up there." I took off, scurrying across the tile, up the wall and onto the wire mesh of the window. I could see light, of course, but could not see through the glass.

"Hey, Cassie, Ax, Tobias. Do you see a roach sitting on a window?" Ax answered. "Yes. I see you. You are in a small room just alongside the room where the human named Edelman is."

"Thanks." I rejoined the others. "So. Now what?"

"Now we talk to Mr. Edelman," Jake said. "We need to get him to come in here. We'll have some privacy in here."

"And then what, he talks to a cockroach?"

"No. One of us needs to demorph and talk to him," Jake said.

"Wait a minute," Marco objected. "Isn't he going to think it's a little weird, some kid appearing magically in his bathroom?"

"It's a facility for people with mental illnesses, Marco," Jake pointed out. "Who's going to believe him?"

"I'll do the talking," I said. "Mr. Edelman is my responsibility. I rescued him. And I'm starting to think I'm sorry I did. You guys stay out of the way. I'd hate to accidentally step on you." I began to demorph.

The squares of ceramic tile grew rapidly smaller. I shot up and up, like Jack's magic bean sprout or something.

I was about two feet tall, with skin like burnt sugar, monstrously long antennae sprouting from my forehead, human eyes, semihuman legs that bristled with dagger-sharp hairs, blond hair, and a wide, throbbing yellowish-brown abdomen, when the bathroom door opened.

A man shuffled in, wearing slippers. He headed for the toilet. He hesitated. Slowly, very slowly, he turned.

My human mouth was just appearing. My lips grew from melted roach mouthparts.

"Hi. Could you get George Edelman for me?"

The man nodded. "Sure." He started to go. Then he turned back. "Are you real?"

"Nah. Just a figment of your imagination."

"Ah. I'll get George."

I was human by the time Mr. Edelman poked his head cautiously into the room.

"Hi," I said cheerfully. I stuck out my hand. "I'm ... I'm helping your lawyer with your court case."

He was startled. Who wouldn't be? He swept his eyes around the room as though maybe, just maybe, there was something weird about meeting me in a bathroom. He didn't notice the two cockroaches huddled together under the sink.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Then he looked down. "You're not wearing shoes."

"Yes, I apologize for my slightly ..." I was looking for a sophisticated word like "unconventional," but I couldn't think of it. ". . . my slightly weird appearance here."

"Yes. Weird." He glared at me for a while, uncertain what to make of my utterly bizarre appearance in his bathroom. Then he shook my outstretched hand. "I guess I'm not one to be talking about 'weird.'"

"Would you like to have a seat?" I said, indicating the toilet.

"No. Thanks." Again the look that said, "Wait a minute, I may be nuts, but there's something strange about this." Then he said, "You're awfully young."

"Thank you," I said. "Actually I'm twenty-five, but I work out, I eat the right foods, and I always wear sunscreen. Mr. Edelman," I said bluntly, before he could ask me any more questions, "why did you try to kill yourself?"

He sat down on the edge of the tub. I leaned against the sink and tried to look like a very youthful twenty-five-year-old with no shoes. Mr.

Edelman looked at me with confused, but kind, gray eyes. He made an effort to smooth his rumpled hair.

And he said, "I had no choice. It's this thing in my head."

I nodded. "Okay. Yes. What thing in your head?" ,. "The Yeerk." He made a weak smile, like he was expecting me to laugh and denounce him as a lunatic.

My heart beat faster and I missed a breath. I sucked in a lungful and kept my expression fixed.

"What exactly is a Yeerk, sir?"

He hesitated again. He was tired of telling stories no one believed.

Maybe he was on prescription drugs. They do that in psychiatric hospitals. He was probably loaded up on tran-quilizers or something. All of a sudden, I felt sorry for him.

"Mr. Edelman, I promise you ! won't laugh. And I won't make you take any pills. And I won't say you're crazy. Can you tell me what you mean when you say 'Yeerk'?"

He nodded. "Yes. Yeerks are parasitic aliens. They enter the brain through the ear canal. They take over every function of your conscious mind. They . . ." Suddenly he went into a spasm. It wracked his body. He jerked wildly, wrapped his arms tight together, and tried to control it.

His mouth snapped open and shut like some mad ventriloquist's dummy.

I grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to do something to help. But then he started raving. He was speaking in a strange, manic voice.

"Ill what? Farum yeft kalash sip! Sip! Sip! The pool!

Gacastp AAAAHHH! Help! Coranch! Coranch!"

Suddenly, he fell silent and almost collapsed. I propped him back up.