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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "When a Body Meets a Body"  Yes! Direct action! That's the thing! You shoot Montoya a text: hey this will prescott i got keith's phone but its me i need talk can i call u? The reply comes with a ring tone: "Uh, Will?" a muzzy voice says when you pick up. "Yeah! Is that you, Carlos? You get my text?" "Sure, that's why I'm— Uh ... What's up?" "Well, I'm over at your storage unit, and I was trying to get in, and—" "Hang on, Will," Carlos says. "I got texts coming in." That's fine. You're happy for the wait so you try to figure out how to explain to Carlos that you saw your evil twin at his storage complex. "Okay, I'm back," he says a minute later. "Were you trying to get in earlier? Asking Dolores for the key code to the climate unit?" "Yeah." You lunge at the one story that makes the most sense. "Some asshole stole my phone from me at the Warehouse last night, and he started texting my friends. I tracked him down to your storage unit, but I can't get in to him. I think he might be inside your studio," you add, in case that will help light a fire under Carlos, "'cos he was talking about how there's a TV in there and—" "Yeah, okay, I get it," Carlos says. "Um. Where are you now?" "Across the street, watching the gate. In case he tries to bust out." "Well, you just stay there and watch. Call me if you see anything weird." You doubt he means 'weird like your own doppelganger'. "I have to get a shower and get dressed, but I'll be out there as fast as I can." Well, that's great, you think as you hang up. But now you just have to anticipate what'll happen when you get inside and Carlos Montoya discovers that there are two of you. * * * * * Carlos wastes no time getting out there, which you're glad of. Only one vehicle went in and out while you were waiting, and you're pretty sure your doppelganger didn't slip out with it. Carlos pulls into a spot next to the office, and after getting out he waves vaguely in your direction. You gun your engine and hop across the street to park next to him. After a quick "hey" is exchanged, he ushers you into the office, introduces you to "Dolores"—whose blank look can't entirely cover her obvious suspicions about you—and walks you back into the complex. "So what's this story again?" he asks as he taps a text into his cell. "Some guy stole my phone. He told me he was out here—" "Why was he talking to you?" "He texted Keith. I was with him, so I took Keith's phone and started talking back to the guy. Anyway, he told me he was out here. I came out and looked around, and— Well, I think I got a look at him before he ran into the climate building." Carlos stops in his tracks to squint at you. "Uh huh?" he says. "Yeah," is all you can think to say back. "Well," Carlos sighs after his phone has dinged again, "we should go take a look." After briefly glancing at his phone, he puts it away and leads you over to the climate building. "Grab the handle while I get the code in," he grunts as he taps at the pad. "The thing is funny and you have to be quick. That's great," he adds as you yank the door open. "After you." You step inside. It is very dim after the brightness outside. It's also very cold. And that's all you have time to notice before you're grabbed from behind and something dark closes over your face. * * * * * It's dark when you wake up. Of course it's dark. Your eyes are closed. So you open them. It's still dark. So you open them again. It's still dark. So you open them again. It's still dark. Okay, this is getting ridiculous, you think. You sit up, and only then do you realize you were lying on your back. But it's still dark, and you reel dizzily. You shake your head and rub your eyes. Now the darkness is filled with phantom lights, which is no improvement. You feel around yourself. You are seated on a narrow, padded something, and your fingers run into cold metal arms. Some of these connect the padded seat to the ground, and others stick straight up. You grip them until you convince yourself that you are actually awake, and seated, and that you are probably not hanging upside down from a ceiling. You stand up. The world doesn't look or feel any different. You crouch to feel the floor. Concrete. Very cold concrete. Now that you notice it, there's a motor humming nearby, and moving air gently whooshes. That's it! You're on a space ship, and those are the engines! Okay, probably not. You shuffle about, and— Bang! "Son of a bitch!" You reach down to touch what you bumped into: It's a chest of some kind, with a lock. But the lid won't lift. You shuffle about some more, more carefully this time, on account of your aching toes. They and your nose meet a wall almost simultaneously. You feel along the length of this until you find another wall. You follow this to another wall. Then another wall and— Hang on. A sheet of metal hanging vertically. It rattles. You push and pull at it, but it won't budge. You bang on it. "Hey! Hey!" No answer. So you resume shuffling along the wall. You meet another wall. Then— Bang! "Son of a bitch!" You kneel. If it's not the same goddamned chest, then there's two of them. You feel around until you find that padded bench, and sit back down. You try to place yourself. Okay, you were going into the storage complex with Carlos, to look for ... that guy with your phone. You'd just stepped inside when someone grabbed you and ... Knocked you out? Your head doesn't ache, except from that same hangover-y ache you've been feeling since sobering up. Still, it seems the likeliest explanation: That guy you saw earlier saw you coming, and he jumped you and banged you on the head. Then he ... dragged you into one of the storage units and locked you in? Well, it's not a happy hypothesis, but it has the virtue of making sense. Now, what happened to Carlos? After a very long time, you decide you'll never be a detective because you're lousy at coming up with theories of the crime. * * * * * Wonder eventually gave way to worry, which yielded to fear, which yielded to gloom and self-pity. Now, though, you're mostly just bored. How long have you been here? You've no idea, for you lost Keith's cell phone in the scrum. You want to say hours but you know your impatience well enough to guess it's probably been closer to fifteen minutes. The first sign that something is afoot comes when you hear a scraping noise from outside. Then someone bangs on the metal door. "Will? You in there?" "Yeah! Who is it?" "Mike! Hollister! I thought you might be in there! Hang on, I'll get you out!" The old expression forms in your mind: For the love of Mike! "What's going on?" "Hang on!" The door rattles and lifts a few inches. Then it stops and rattles again. It rattles harder. "Shit." "What's wrong?" "The fuckity-boo's jimmer-jammered on the gottverdammit." The door rattles again. "Um, think you can slide out under?" It looks like a tight fit, but you're happy to try. So you lay back on the cold floor, grasp the bottom of the door, and with eyes clenched shut pull yourself out. Something dark and cold drops onto your face. * * * * * "What?" "I said, she fell asleep." "It's a boring movie, Eva, do you blame her?" "It's not my fault! I'm not the one who picked it!" There's a throbbing in your head, so you keep your eyes closed even after you have heard the voices. But now, with a frown, you open them. There's a big-screen TV a couple of feet away. It shows a man and a woman—you don't recognize them—sitting at a kitchen table, talking in a foreign language. There are subtitles, though. THE COFFEE IS COLD, the woman says. THE COFFEE IS ALWAYS COLD. The man says, ONE LEARNS TO ACCEPT IT WITH HUMILITY. "Don't you just want to punch him?" someone grouses. You sit up and look around. "Hello, sleepyhead," Eva Garner says. You blink at her, then turn to look at Jessica Garner. On the other side of her, with arms crossed and a bored expression, is Cindy Vredenburg. You are all lounging in bean bag chairs, turned toward a TV. Behind you, in a corner, is a large desk. There's video equipment in the corner. You know this room. This is the studio where Carlos Montoya and Michael Hollister make their YouTube videos. Mike! You sit up sharply. "Tina?" says Eva. Jessica turns toward you. "Mike," you gasp. "Michael? Hollister?" you add when Jessica frowns. "Where'd he go? What happened?" "Oh, sweetie," Eva says, "you've been out for an hour. Mike's long gone. Lucky asshole." "But when he let me out of the—" You break off. All three girls turn to you with confused expressions. Naturally, for you yourself are confused. You were going to say that Mike Hollister was pulling you out of a locked storeroom inside of which you'd been stashed by a maniac. But that's ridiculous. You've been sitting here with Eva and Jessica and Cindy watching a movie. They invited you out to watch it. Yes, you're in Mike and Carlos's studio. They wanted you girls to watch a movie and maybe help them make a video about it. Well, they wanted Eva and Jessica and Cindy to watch it. And Eva and Jessica and Cindy are the ones who invited you—Tina Branson—along. That's all for now. |
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