“
A rat,” she said, breathless. “Behind that box. It’s four feet long.” Lucy wasn’t trying to get at anything in the closet. “I think you scared my dog,” he said. “The rat scared her, I bet.” Noah entered the closet cautiously, kicked the box, and when nothing rustled, he pulled it out a bit. Ah. Behind the box was a dead mouse. Probably four inches long at best. It was very dead, dried out, kaput. He lifted it by the tail and held it toward her. “Is this the rat?” “No. My rat is much bigger. That must be its baby.” “Maybe you just got scared and it looked much bigger.” “No,” she said. “There’s a rat the size of a Volkswagen in there.” “Was it a dead rat, Ellie?” “Possibly. It wasn’t moving.” He went into the downstairs bathroom and dropped the thing in the trash. “Why did you do that?” she yelled, getting to her feet. “What if he gets out of there and attacks me?” “He’s petrified. It’s over,” Noah said. Then he smiled at her. “I’ll protect you.” “Right,” she said. “So far you don’t even have the real rat! What good are you?
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