This is Part 3 of a three-part serialization. Read Part 1 and Part 2.
The detective climbed down the stairs, keeping as silent as possible while also still counting out loud to himself, since that was the game he played when he climbed stairs.
“One, two, three, three, three, three, three . . . ”
He’d made it down at least three steps when something made him freeze. Gaga wasn’t alone. Standing beside her in the darkened garage were a pair of grim-faced figures, holding suitcases.
Mama and Dada had returned.
“What happened?” Mama asked.
“It’s not my fault,” Gaga said. “It’s the damn Bosch. Why does it have so many settings?”
The detective was starting to lose the thread. But then he spotted something that made his heart leap in his chest. It was Moomoo. She was right where Anna had said she was, inside the plastic bag. There was only one problem.
She’d been murdered.
Her horn had been severed, and her hooves had been ripped clean off her body. Her magic wand was bent, and her purple cape was singed a ghastly black.
Gaga had taken an innocent life. And now Mama was back to run the coverup. The detective watched with disgust as she gestured at Dada, who obediently tossed Moomoo’s corpse into a trash can.
“Don’t worry,” Mama told her co-conspirators. “She’ll never know.”
The detective hid behind the sleeping car as the grownups climbed the stairs. He knew that the truth would destroy Baby Anna. But he had a responsibility to tell her what had happened. If he didn’t, she would spend the rest of her life searching for Moomoo, or at least a few more moments, until she got distracted by the sound of a faucet or the dishwasher. He was almost up the stairs when he heard an unnerving sound.
Laughter.
He turned the corner just in time to see Mama take a new unicorn out of a package.
“Look!” Anna said with a smile. “Mama found Moomoo!”
The detective broke out in a cold sweat.
“Anna, listen to me,” he said. “That’s not Moomoo. The real Moomoo’s dead.”
“But this looks like Moomoo,” Anna said.
“I know,” the detective said. “I can’t explain it. But you’ve got to believe me—I saw them bury the body! I saw it with my own damn eyes!”
“But Mama said that this is Moomoo. She used the word ‘Moomoo’ and pointed at it.”
The detective grabbed her by the shoulders.
“You can’t trust Mama! You can’t trust any of them! They’re all in on this together!”
“Easy, bud,” Dada said. “Remember, we play gentle.”
The detective looked up. The grownups were closing in. He didn’t have much time.
“Anna, they’re gonna nab me any second. I need you to do something for me. Please, for the love of God, I need to hear you say that you believe me! I need to hear you say that this isn’t Moomoo!”
Anna stared at him blankly.
“But Mama said it was.”
The detective let out an anguished cry. “I thought we had something. Something real.” He shook his head, holding back tears. “I’ve been a fool.”
He picked up his Batman stickers and started to trudge out of the room.
“Uh-oh,” Mama said. “Looks like someone got into the Hanukkah drawer.”
The detective watched with silent rage as Mama snatched the stickers from his hands.
“He’s going through a phase,” she said to Gaga. “Sneaking around, getting into everything. He thinks he’s a little detective.”
The grownups laughed in the detective’s face, and as their sick coffee breath hit his nose, he felt something inside him. Before he could stop himself, he was lunging right at them, arms flailing, legs kicking. He could hear someone screaming in the distance—a piercing, high-pitched wail. It took him some time to realize that it was his own voice.
“Terrible twos,” Gaga said with a shrug.
The detective punched and spat as the grownups restrained him. He knew they had the muscle to subdue him, but he was determined not to break this time. This time, he wasn’t going down without a fight.
“How about some yummy medicine?” Mama said.
The detective woke up hours later. His mouth was woolly, and his body ached. The room was so dark that some time passed before he realized he wasn’t alone. Staring up at him from the rug beside his crib was Baby Anna.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t remember coming in here. I was chasing a shadow and now here I am, and I have no idea what’s happening.” She reached through the crib and squeezed his hand. “But I’m glad we’re back together.”
The detective pulled away.
“Go find yourself some other sap to double-cross. We’re through.”
He expected her to hightail it out of there, but, to his surprise, the kid held her ground. Part of it was that she couldn’t walk, but he also sensed some toughness in her. A stubborn strength that he hadn’t noticed until now.
“I brought this for you,” she said.
She slid something through the bars of his crib. He couldn’t make it out in the darkness, but he could feel it with his hands: fluffy hooves, soft cape, fun horn.
“Don’t be crazy, kid,” he said. “Moomoo’s all you’ve got.”
“I want us to be square,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like it’s the real Moomoo.”
The detective swallowed. “What are you saying?”
She looked him in the eyes. “I’m saying I believe you. Anyway . . . see you around.”
She began to crawl away. She was halfway across the rug when the detective cleared his throat.
“Wait,” he said. “This case isn’t closed yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve answered a few questions, but a lot remains unsolved.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we still don’t know why Mama and Dada went away this weekend, or where they went, or what they did there. We don’t know why they go to work, or what work is, or why they both have glasses. We don’t know why they shout sometimes and laugh sometimes and sometimes just look at their phones. We don’t know their penis-and-vagina situation and why they take showers and not baths. We don’t even know if Mama and Dada are their real names.”
She nodded. “That’s a lot to crack.”
“I know,” he said. “But I was thinking . . . maybe it would be easier if we worked together.”
She was so excited, she grabbed the crib bars and pulled herself up to a standing position. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, partners. You and me.”
“I don’t have any experience,” she said. “You’d have to train me.”
“It won’t take long,” he said. “We can start right now.” He handed her a crayon so that she could take notes.
“Is this food?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Don’t eat it.”
“I’m completely lost,” she said. “I don’t know where I am, and I forgot what’s happening. I don’t know if this is a dream or if I’m awake, and I also don’t understand mirrors.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll figure it all out together.”
This excerpt is drawn from “New Teeth,” by Simon Rich, out this month from Little, Brown and Company.
