Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Patricia woke up craving carrots.

She was dressed and out the door without stopping for her tea or to check on - or feed - Alfalfa, but she comforted herself with the thought that rabbits like carrots, so if she brought one for him, he would probably forgive her.

Patricia paid for her pound of carrots at the small produce market only a few short blocks from her house, and started in one on her walk back. She knew she should wash it first, but she couldn't help herself: she needed to eat this carrot. She gave up fighting it and happily crunched it into bits.

When she walked back into her apartment, Alfalfa greeted her at the door, raising on his haunches and patting her leg.

"Hello, dear," Patricia greeted him, patting his head gently. "Let me wash one of these and you can have a bit of a treat," she said, holding open the bag of carrots so he could see.

Yes, he signalled, and she grinned broadly at the excitement she thought she could see in his eyes, heading to the kitchen.

Patricia gave Alfalfa his carrot, made a pot of green tea whose name was listed in Japanese on the package, told the rabbit she was going to work on her murder mystery for a while, and settled in at her computer.




She had taken a break to go for a walk, and to play bridge at the seniors' centre in the afternoon. She didn't want her friends to get worried about her, but she still went back to her novel as soon as the game finished, not even lingering for a tea - but they drank Red Rose, she justified it to herself, and loose leaf was so much fuller in flavour.

The writing was pouring out of her. She felt more creative than she had in days, and all the ideas worked.

She was so engrossed in her writing that she didn't even notice that there was an unfamiliar rabbit, black fur on black skin, sleeping on her couch, nestled beneath the pillow Patricia hadn't taken the time to remove after May went home.



Brrrrt, the noise rattled into Patricia's consciousness, and her eyes lost focus on the text on her screen. Brrrrrt, it sounded again.

Phone, some forgotten part of her mind suggested, and she blinked into the present day. She wasn't embroiled in a murder mystery, wasn't trying to find her husband's killers or their motive in the depths of a foggy city.

Brrrrrt, the phone called again.

"Oh," she said aloud, and got up - so stiff! - and picked the receiver up from its cradle.

"Hello?" Patricia said, staring uncomprehendingly at the darkness that had already settled the ground outside her window. She knew it got dark early after daylight savings time ended, but surely it had just been lunchtime...

"Grandma, it's me," her granddaughter's voice said on the other end of the line.

"Hullo May," she replied automatically. "Zale missed you last night."

"She did? You don't happen to have her name for the forums, do you?" May asked, not sounding like she had much hope.

"Actually, I do!" Patricia said, suddenly coming into focus. "Zale gave it to me last night - Jamie's too. Let me just get it." Patricia set the phone on the table and went to get her notebook from the computer desk. "Hello? Are you still there, dear?"

"Yes, grandma," May responded.

"Zale's name is Zalster100, and Jamie isleprechaun. Do you need me to spell either of those?"

"No thanks, grandma, I've got them. Thank you!"

"No problem, May. Zale said something about putting your word count on the forums - do you know what she's talking about?"

"Yes! I'll show you this weekend." May paused. "I mean, that's why I called. Mom says I can come this weekend - on Friday; my school is closed - if I go to the Remembrance Day ceremony with her tomorrow. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course, dear, that sounds lovely," Patricia said, smiling into the receiver.

"Great! Thanks grandma! I'd better go so I can finish my homework before I come - we have Thursday and Friday off school, so of course the teachers piled it on," May said, dramatically emphasizing 'piled'. Oh, the life of a teenager.

"Good luck, May!" Patricia laughed. "I'll see you Friday - the early ferry or the afternoon?"

"Early. Unless I'm not done my homework - if it changes, I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, bye love."

"Bye grandma!"

Patricia settled the phone into its cradle, washed a carrot to munch on, and sat back at the computer. She could feel another scene just waiting for her to spill it into the computer.





May knew there was something wrong as soon as her grandmother let her in the apartment door. Grandma had offered to pick her up from the ferry terminal, but she had managed all right on her own the previous week, so she had decided just to transit it again.

There were three rabbits behind her, one that looked the same as the one which had been in the cage the previous week, and two that were new to her, but which looked identically black. They seemed darker than a black rabbit would be, and definitely darker than the black cat which lived next door to May and her mother. She wondered what made it so dark. Perhaps it was the light.

She gave her grandmother a hug, wondering at how much lighter she seemed than the previous week. Her grandmother had never been big, but she seemed somehow frail.

But not out of energy: grandma bustled ahead through the living room to the kitchen and put on the kettle. “Is green tea okay, dear? I have a nice genmaicha, which is a Japanese green with popcorn pieces in it.”

Green? She'd never had green before. Then again, her grandma loved her teas, and popcorn sounded like it would have piqued her interest. “Sure, grandma.” May reached down to pet two of the bunnies. One of the black ones had scooted away to the other side of the living room, near the balcony, but the other two stayed beside her and suffered themselves to be stroked. She preferred cats, she thought. A little purring would be nice right about now.

“Hey grandma?”

“Yes dear?” Her grandmother paused in her puttering in the kitchen, a tea cup hovering mid-air as she looked over her shoulder at May.

“What's with all the rabbits, grandma? There was only one when I left.”

“Oh, the two black ones are here to visit Alfalfa. Nothing to worry about,” grandma said, turning back to the tea as the kettle boiled. She must have started it boiling when May buzzed the door.

“Alfalfa? Is that the brown one who was here before?” May was looking at her grandmother, so she didn't notice the rabbit turn his ears as if in answer – or that the black one near the window turned to give him a dirty look.

“Yes, that's right,” her grandma told her. “Let's have a seat at the table, dear, and you can tell me how your novel is going, or what happened in school this week, or anything you like, really,” grandma said, carrying the tea pot in its tea cozy and one of the tea cups over to the table. May scooted into the kitchenette to grab the second cup, and went to her usual chair by the table.

“Um, grandma?” May asked, pausing as she was about to sit down.

“Yes, dear?” her grandma asked, already seated and pouring hot tea into their cups. It wouldn't be as flavourful as they liked, but it would appease them while the pot brewed, as was their usual practice.

“Grandma, there are four pounds of carrots on this chair.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I must have forgotten to put them in the fridge. Do you mind, dear?”

“No, of course not,” May said. Her grandmother? Forgetful? And about carrots? She didn't even like them. She hefted the big bag of orange vegetables and carried them to the fridge, but had to balance them on the counter just to free up one hand without dropping the bag.

She almost dropped the bag anyway. The fridge was full of carrots. There must be at least sixteen pounds of them in there already, she thought. And there was a big jug of carrot juice in the door. Something was definitely up.

May supposed she still needed to put the carrots away somewhere, so she jigged the bags that were already in the fridge over a bit and forced the new bag in between them. She opened up the bag and checked inside – lettuce. Iceberg lettuce. Her grandmother didn't like that either; she was all about the darker greens, the romaines and the spinaches, if she was going to have leafy greens at all. She preferred bell peppers and snap peas. That she would have – May counted – four heads of iceberg lettuce was as far out of character as the fridge full of twenty pounds of carrots.

She went back to the table and sat in the now-available chair. May blew across the top of the liquid in her cup, then took a deliberate sip. Something was up, but how was she to get to the bottom of it?

“So, tell me how you are, dear,” her grandmother said, smiling at her over her own tea cup.

“Good...” May said. “I haven't started a carrot diet or anything, but I'm doing well. Um. Novel isn't going very well, but I've been trying to at least write a few hundred words of something creative every day. School's okay. Not much happened except talking about the history of the two World Wars ahead of Remembrance Day. My friend Sara wrote a poem about her grandfather and read it at the ceremony mom and I went to. And that's about it, really. I did homework most of the week so I would be able to come visit this weekend.”

“That's nice, dear,” Patricia said, and sipped some more tea.

“How about you, grandma? What have you done this week?” May asked, hoping that something her grandmother said might give her a clue as to what was going on. Yes, there had been a rabbit here, but there had been no inkling of carrots and lettuce.

“Well, I went to bridge at the seniors' centre, and I've been doing quite a lot of writing,” Patricia smiled. “I've been very inspired to work on my murder mystery since Tuesday, and it's been going very well. I'm quite enjoying it.”

“Have you been keeping track of your word count, grandma?” May asked. On the forums, that's what everyone seemed to talk about, and she wanted to start her grandma an account, so it seemed like a good place to start.

“Oh, not really. I have a lot of pages – around 50? - but I'm just enjoying how far into my story I am, love,” Patricia said, and topped both of their cups with the now-stronger tea.

“Um,” said May, toying with the handle of the cup. “Grandma, are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, dear. Why do you ask?”

“Look, grandma,” May said, glancing behind her at the slight scrabbling she heard by the couch – just a bunny – and looking back at her grandmother. “You have three rabbits in your apartment, and you say two of them just showed up to visit the first one. You have twenty pounds of carrots in your fridge. You have four heads of iceberg lettuce in your fridge. You're drinking green tea, which is delicious, but not really to your usual decadent taste in flavours. And you haven't called me by name, or challenged me to a game of air hockey, or tried to make anything from your week sound interesting. You always try to make something sound like it was absolutely fascinating, even if it's just buying a new flavour of herbal tea. And you don't think anything's wrong.”

“No, dear,” Patricia said, smiling serenely. “Would you like a carrot? I think I'll have one.”

May stared at her grandmother as she pushed herself out of her chair, walked into the kitchen and got a carrot out of the fridge, washed it, and began eating it.

The rabbits. There must be some connection.

“You!” May said, turning around. “What have you done with my grandma?”

The two black rabbits didn't even look at her, but the brown one did. Its ears turned completely to its right, as if it were listening to something from the door, but when May looked she didn't see anything. What was that supposed to mean?

Although she supposed she shouldn't really have expected an answer from the rabbits.

“Come on, grandma,” May said. “I'm taking you out for dinner. All you have here are carrots.”

“Okay, dear,” her grandmother answered, still gnawing on her carrot.




At dinner, May refused to let her grandmother order anything involving carrots, and they eventually compromised with a sweet potato-based soup. It was still orange.

By the time they finished, Patricia had actually opened up a bit about her week. May had been unable to get her to talk about anything since Tuesday – she didn't even seem to remember May's phone call on Wednesday night – but had managed to convince her grandmother to tell her about starting a new project on Tuesday. She had started to write a love triangle, her grandmother had explained, and in a way it was a tribute to Alfred. After their conversations earlier in the month, May could understand that, but wondered if perhaps the connection to Alfred had made her lose it at least a little bit... but no, because that didn't explain anything to do with the rabbits.

May realised she hadn't seen any of the rabbits appear. Perhaps her grandmother had been lonely and went to a pet store and bought them. But she had seemed fine the week before, had been curious and intrigued and intellectually alert. May didn't think she could start doubting her grandmother's story about the brown rabbit's appearance now.

What had she called him? Ah -

“Grandma, you said the brown rabbit's name is Alfalfa, right?”

“Yes, that's right,” her grandmother replied, not minding in the least that May had interrupted in the middle of an explanation of the ins and outs of the set up to the love triangle. Something about basing it on a story Alfred had told her once, back when they were courting. It sounded romantic and nostalgic and all, but with everything that was going on with Alex and Chrissie – which was still messing with her head – May had no interest in hearing or thinking about love triangles. Somehow it resonated with her and made her think about Alex Alex Alex – and she rather preferred for that not to happen in her head.

“How do you know?” May asked.

“He told me, of course,” Patricia replied.

“He told you? How? When?”

“In a dream,” Patricia explained. “Sunday night, after I talked to Kara and PJ.”

“So you talked to the rabbit in a dream?”

“I didn't talk – he talked, dear,” Patricia corrected.

“Grandma, I normally don't doubt you, but I would really appreciate some more context before I take you back to the rabbits in your apartment.”

“PJ helped me figure out why I hadn't been sleeping well,” Patricia explained. “We discovered that the rabbit who was in my apartment was trying to tell me something, and that it had something to do with Alfred. So I went home and told Alfalfa that Alfred had died four years ago, but that if he could tell me a little about it I would do what I could to help. And then I dreamt, and he showed me how he saw Alfred, and he told me his name, and he showed me you, and that was the end.”

“Me?” May asked, startled. “What did he show you about me?”

“You were in a bubble of light, with two others, a boy and a girl. He said the next day that it might be dangerous but he wasn't sure.”

“A boy and a girl... Grandma, do you remember anything about them? I might recognise them if you told me more about them,” May said, thinking of Alex and Chrissie.

“Well, the boy was dark-haired, and quite tall, a bit narrow. Nothing like Alfred, even when he was young; he was always broad-shouldered. And the girl had red hair, in long braids down her back that might me think of Pippi Longstocking, except that I was looking at you.”

“That's Alex and Chrissie, grandma!” May said, hoping somehow to startle her grandmother out of her daze.

“Alex and Chrissie, dear?”

“Remember I told you? I had been spending time with Alex and then suddenly Chrissie stole – I mean was dating him – and then I felt like I ought to be jealous even though Alex and I had just been friends, and I couldn't help how I felt. It was like someone was forcing me to fill a role. Remember, grandma?”

“Oh yes. Alex and Chrissie. That was why you came to visit,” Patricia said.

“Come on, grandma!” May said, exasperated. “I need your help! You just said it might be dangerous to me – but what about to them? They aren't any more to blame for the situation than I am, especially if those rabbits had something to do with it. But I can't figure it out by myself. I need you to help me put all the pieces together!”

“May?” Patricia's suddenly more alert voice said. “May, is everything alright? You said you were in trouble...”

“Grandma!” May shouted, suddenly very relieved, and she jumped up to throw her arms around her grandmother. Then she paused. “How do you feel about carrots, grandma?”

“Carrots? No thanks. Besides,” Patricia added, glancing down at the remnants of dinner on the table between their chairs. “It looks like I just ate?”

“Yes, grandma,” May answered, moving back to her own side of the table. “I'm so glad you're back.”

“Back? Where did I go?”

“You've got twenty pounds of carrots in your fridge, along with four heads of iceberg lettuce,” May wrinkled her nose at the same time as her grandmother, “and there are three rabbits in your apartment.”

“Oh yes,” Patricia said. “Alfalfa, the Mad Hatter, and the White Rabbit.”

“Um, is the White Rabbit black?”

“No, he's white, of course,” Patricia said, surprised.

“Then unless I missed one, he isn't there,” May told her. “I saw the brown one, which you've said is Alfalfa, and two very dark black ones.”

“One of those could be the Mad Hatter,” Patricia said doubtfully. “But now I'm not even sure of that. The brown one must be Alfalfa, though. Can we go home and talk to them?”

“Okay, grandma, but what do I do if you start liking carrots again?”

“Danger! May, I thought you were in danger. Are you safe?” Patricia looked around the restaurant, suddenly alert.

“Yes, grandma, we're fine,” May reassured her. “At least for now. You had just told me that Alfalfa had told you that I might be in danger because of something to do with Alex and Chrissie and Alfalfa, and I freaked out because you weren't being very cogent, and then you said there might be danger, and – well, I'm glad you're back.”

“Alfalfa did tell me that it might be dangerous for you, but he wasn't sure. I didn't think to ask about the others – let's ask him when we get back to the apartment.”

“Ask him? You don't need to be asleep to talk to him, then?” May asked.

“Asleep? Oh, yes, he did send me a dream – or maybe two, but I'm not certain about the second; it was very different – but we worked out a way to communicate a little without that. He can't really say much of anything, but he uses his ears to tell me yes, no and maybe – like in movies, you know? He turns his ears to his left to tell me yes, to his right to tell me no, and one followed by the other to indicate maybe or that he doesn't know.”

“Oh, that's clever, grandma. Oh!” May realised. “That must have been what he meant when I -” she stopped. “I yelled at your rabbits grandma, I'm sorry. I was freaking out because you were acting strangely and you were standing in your kitchenette eating a carrot.”

Patricia laughed. “Let's go home and talk to Alfalfa, okay?”




But when the pair got back to the apartment, the three rabbits were gone. Instead, there was a white rabbit sitting on the couch waiting for them.

“Hullo, White Rabbit,” Patricia greeted him as she came in.

“Hello,” said May, deciding that she might as well give up on being perturbed by talking to rabbits. After all, her grandmother seemed to be back in control of her faculties. She trusted her grandmother to have a method to her madness. “I don't think I've met you before. I'm May.”

The rabbit twitched its nose and crouched momentarily lower on the couch.

“Did Alfalfa teach you the system we had going, White Rabbit?” asked Patricia, but received no response from the rabbit. “Alright, well, if Alfalfa is out, I think May and I are going to take a look at the forums. I'll put a carrot down for you – May tells me I have plenty – but other than that, please let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright, May,” Patricia said after cleaning the White Rabbit a carrot, and shaking her head at the contents of her fridge. “What are these forums you keep telling me about?”





May had set up an account for her grandmother on the forums as “WordWidow” - Patricia's suggestion – and shown her the Vancouver discussion board as well as the word count widgets. She opened up Patricia's Film Noir story document, showed her grandmother how to calculate the number of words, and then updated the word count on the account. Patricia was suitably impressed by the graph and the statistics available, and pleasantly surprised to find herself actually above the word count required for the twelfth day of the month. She was already halfway through the target word count – at 25,038 – even without the material she had written in her notebook and not taken the time to type up. She supposed quite a bit of that had been written the past few days, which May told her she had said little about other than that she had found it easy to work on her murder story.

But it was the forums – not the regional forums, but the global forums – which caught Patricia's eye the most. People from all over the world were writing in the forum space dedicated to murder mysteries, and in the room for just chatting about anything, and here – what was the Night of Writing Dangerously? It sounded like something that suited her novel perfectly.

From what she gathered, and from May's enthusiastic comments, it was a write-in, but hosted by the creators of National Novel Writing Month, and a fundraiser for the efforts to incorporate NaNoWriMo into school curricula. What a fantastic idea, she thought. Young kids, working on their own novels – what an excellent way to show them how delightfully creative the world of books could be. And the night itself – she thought about it fleetingly – just up and going to San Francisco. She could; she had the funds, if she dipped into her savings. She had plenty to live on, and enough for indulgences, though she hadn't really used money for many of those since Alfred died.

But neither did she really have any major reason to go. And this situation with the rabbits, and, as May had reminded her earlier, the potential danger to her own granddaughter, meant that she ought to stay. This is where everything had happened so far – or at least, everything that she knew about. Alfalfa had admitted to her that there was a plot of some sort against the whole of National Novel Writing Month. So perhaps there was something happening in San Francisco too – but what could she do about it there? Here at least she knew the territory, and at least one of the rabbits involved.

She glanced over to the white rabbit sleeping on her couch. She couldn't picture him in a fedora. He belonged in the waistcoat and pocketwatch of the White Rabbit. But those black rabbits... those she could see crashing a Film Noir-themed write-in, and she shivered involuntarily. But what could the plot bunnies do?

Or perhaps she should be wondering: what had they done? She trusted May. If she said Patricia had been acting strangely, she believed her – and the carrots and lettuce in her fridge certainly backed her granddaughter's story. So the plot bunnies probably could wreak havoc.

In any event, she wasn't going to go.

Patricia smiled at May, who was still enthusiastically exploring topics and talking aloud about them - “ooh grandma, listen to this plot idea!”

“Can I write a message, May?”

“Ooh, where, grandma?” her granddaughter asked enthusiastically.

“How about back in the Film Noir forum?” she asked.

“Right!” May brought her to the right place, and helped her find a thread talking about characters, and she added in a description of one of her fedora-sporting thugs. She also made a note that she was writing her first forum post, thanks to the help of her granddaughter, and then she got May to help her post it.

“There, grandma! Now you're talking to the whole world of NaNoWriMo novelists!”

“Pretty spiffy,” Patricia said, grinning. “Now how about a game of air hockey to celebrate?”