He clumped one more step into the room and Astor scrambled off her stool and scurried to the windows, as far away from the door as she could get. Doakes paused and looked at her. Then his eyes swung back to Cody, who slid off his stool and stood there unblinking, facing Doakes.

Doakes stared at Cody, Cody stared back, and Doakes made what I can only call a Darth Vader intake of breath. Then he swung his head back to me and clumped one rapid step closer, nearly losing his balance. "You," he said again, hissing it this time. "Kigs!"

"Kigs?" I said, and I really was puzzled and not trying to provoke him. I mean, if he insisted on stomping around and frightening children, the least he could do is carry a notepad and pencil to communicate with. Apparently that thoughtful gesture was beyond him, though. Instead he gave another Darth Vader breath and slowly pointed his steel claw at Cody. "Kigs," he said agian, his lips drawn back in a snarl. "He means me," Cody said. I turned to him, surprised to hear him speak with Doakes right there, like a nightmare come to life. But of course, Cody didn't have nightmares. He simply looked at Doakes.

"What about you, Cody?" I said.
"He saw my shadow," Cody said.

Sergeant Doakes took another wobbly step toward me. His right claw snapped, as if it had decided on its own to attack me. "You. Goo. Gik."

It was becoming apparent that he had something on his mind, but it was even clearer that he ought to stick with the silent glaring, since it was nearly impossible to understand the gooey syllables that came from his damaged mouth.

"Wuk. You. Goo," he hissed, and it was such a clear condemnation of all that was Dexter, I at last understood that he was accusing me of something.

"What do you mean?" I said. "I didn't do anything." "Goy," he said, pointing again at Cody.

"Why, yes," I said. "Methodist, actually." I admit that I deliberately misunderstood him: he was saying "boy" and it came out "goy" because he had no tongue, but really, one can only take so much. It should have been painfully clear to Doakes that his attempts at vocal communication were having very limited success, and yet he insisted on trying. Didn't the man have any sense of decorum at all?

Happily for all of us, we were interrupted by a clatter in the hallway and Deborah rushed into the room. "Dexter," she said. She paused as she took in the wild tableau of Doakes with claw upraised against me, Astor cringing against the window, and Cody lifting a scalpel off the bench to use against Doakes. "What the hell," Deborah said. "Doakes?"

He very slowly let his arm drop, but he did not take his eyes off me.
"I've been looking for you, Dexter. Where were you?"