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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Mugging a Preppie"  Why are you fucking around like a little pissant, in your pissant school, in this pissant town? You got a thing you could use to steal anyone's life. Why the fuck aren't you using it? That's the question Charles Whitney is putting to you, from deep inside your own mind. He's looking out through your eyes as you study his borrowed reflection in the dusty mirror that leans against the wall in a corner of the school basement. And as you study the face you have copied, you see the eyes becoming darker, harder, colder, more contemptuous. The lips twist into a small snarl of contempt. You little fuck-faced twerp. You know what you can do with this stuff, and instead of grabbing it with both hands and jamming your cock up inside it— You wheel from the mirror and stalk toward the basement door. I'll do it, you swear to yourself, and a hot itch blossoms all over you. It's like the skin of Charles Whitney is trying to blister yours from the inside. I'll grab one of those cocksuckers, and I'll make them my bitch. I'll make myself into them! * * * * * You have to take a hard jog around the neighborhood to burn off some of the hot anticipation that's coursing through your veins, then return to the basement to start putting your plan into effect. As you work on the necessary supplies, you wonder whose brain exactly it is that you're thinking with, because you're not sure you could have come up with the plan that suggests itself. You start by gluing the last blank memory strip you have on hand into one of your blank masks. Then you tear Whitney's mind out of yours—for you have no idea how it might interact with the mask that you've made—and set the newly completed set onto your face. When you wake—nearly suffocating—inside the mask, you pause only to confirm it has made a complete copy of you (face glistening under the outer surface; your name floating on the inner surface) before knocking yourself out again by putting Whitney's memory strip back on. Then you go home for supper. While there, you pack some loose-fitting extra clothes into a plastic sack and return to the school long enough to pick up the rest of the supplies that you need. Then you hurl yourself downstairs. You're passing through the living room, where you parents are watching TV, and you're about to tell them you're heading out, when it hits you: If I do this, it'll be the last time ever see them. The thought stops you dead in your tracks. Your dad pauses the TV, and he and your mom look over expectantly at you. You are overwhelmed with an anticipation of homesickness. But you have to say something, so you mumble something about going out to meet up with Caleb. "Alright, have fun," your mom replies. Your dad only nods, and restarts the TV. There's a gaping hole in your stomach as you stumble off toward the garage. Oh my God, you think, I just said goodbye to my family forever! And I didn't even say goodbye to my brother! Even the grasping, hard-charging mind and spirit of Charles Whitney is struck dumb. You have to take several deep breaths, and remind yourself of the fantastic life—the fantastic lives—to come, before you can put your truck into reverse and back into the street. You're still trembling slightly when you stop off at the old school to pick up the rest of your supplies, including the grimoire. The rest of the drive out to your destination passes in a haze, and not until you arrive at Jeff Spencer's do you come to life again. * * * * * The next few steps are like setting up a shell game. You collect the dull-witted Spencer, and he sullenly directs you to the poky little house in the bad part of the city where Joshua Call lives. There's a party going on there, or something, for there are a lot of cars out front, so you send Spencer in to bring Call out. The latter starts violently when he sees you, and for a moment you think he's going to sprint away, but with a sharp word you beckon him to you. With a few quick words you send him back inside with orders to clear out the party and send everyone away; you hunch in your truck and watch with grim amusement as Call, cursing hard and being cursed harder back, throws his guests out, then comes trudging out again to meet you. You order him to follow you in his car. Back to Spencer's place you go. Upstairs, in his cramped, disgusting apartment, you order Spencer to strip, and you pull the mask off him. The crude, bare lackey appears where he had stood. From the bag you pull the mask you made of yourself, and you set it on the face of the thing. Instantly, another Will Prescott appears. Joshua Call snickers unfeeling at your nude counterpart. "Whoa," your replacement says as he glances around. "Oh, fuck." "You know what's going on?" you ask him. You're anxious about how another version of you will act. For the moment, he just looks worried, and eyes Call warily. "Yeah, I think so," he says. "I didn't expect to wind up here, though." "It's just temporary," you assure him. "You're going home." You dump out the extra clothes you'd brought, and he dresses in them with obvious relief. "You're, um, going to be me. From now on." Your other self pauses in the act of pulling on trousers, and he gives you a rabbity, crinkley-eyed stare from under his bangs. "Like, permanently?" he asks. "I thought you said you knew the plan." "Well, I kind of guessed it. I— You're going to get yourself a new life." He resumes dressing. "And you're not coming back?" Never say never, you find yourself thinking. "We'll see," you say aloud. "I don't know when or how, though." "Right." Your doppelganger looks worried, and pauses again in the act of pulling on his shirt. When you ask him what's wrong, he says, "Nothing. But I guess I had the weird impression I'd be going along too." It's a suggestion that takes you aback. How could he go with you, if you're going to New York, or Hollywood, or Paris, or London or wherever. Of course, there's nothing to say that you can't eventually come back to Saratoga Falls and fetch him. Of course, it would depend upon who you turn yourself into. And it would also have to wait until— "You'll just have to hold things down until the end of the school year," you say. "Everything has to be normal. Just the way it was before, you know—" Your voice freezes up at the personal pronoun. That's me I'm talking to, it comes to you as the other you squats on the edge of Jeff Spencer's bed to put on the extra pair of shoes you brought. Another version of me. Dizziness briefly washes over you. Maybe that could have been me over there? Maybe I could have turned into the copy, and I'd be taking orders from ... another me ... who looked like me ... but was my boss? "Yeah, I know," he says as he gets to his feet again. Except for the clothes and the missing ball cap, he is your exact double. He flicks a worried glance over at Call, whose expression is openly contemptuous. "Is he— Are the other, uh, guys going to be cool with me?" It doesn't look like it, you'd have to say, so you give Call a very long and repetitive set of instructions, to the effect that "Will Prescott" is now his friend, that he will look out for Will and he will make sure that Spencer and the Molester also look out for Will, and that the three of them are to fuck up anyone who fucks with him. You don't know if your instructions will carry as far as the Molester, but Call is looking at your double with an expression of respect and maybe even fondness by the time you finish with him. It's weird and hard to say goodbye to your replacement. Harder even than it was to say goodbye to your family, because your double at least knows what's going on. So you dismiss him with a gruff "Be good, okay?" and send him downstairs with your truck keys, to take it and himself home to fill the Will Prescott-shaped hole that you're making in the world. * * * * * The rest of the evening is much more tedious. Charles—his memory strip tells you—was planning a Saturday night out with friends as they try to score some pussy. Taking Spencer's mask and the rest of your things with you, you have Joshua drive you to the north side of town, to where the Whitney's colonial-style McMansion stands in splendid isolation from its neighbors. A narrow lane leads from the street to the house, crossing a low bridge that spans the gurgling creek that acts as a decorative moat, and you order Joshua to park directly across the lane, to stop any traffic heading in or out. Then, leaving him to guard the approaches, you walk up to the house, ring the bell, and politely inquire of the woman who answers if Charles is home. He isn't, and you thank her and leave. Inside your head, the brain of Charles Whitney freaks out a little at being able to talk to his mom without her recognizing him. Out in the darkness, you crouch with Call in the bushes beside the road, passing the time by scrolling through your cell phone as you wait for your target to arrive. He will have to stop at the roadblock, and he'll get out, and that's when you'll catch him— And copy him. And replace him. So that tomorrow you can drive in to St. Xavier's and scout it out for a new identity. Next: "A Bad Night for Charles Whitney" |
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