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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The Businessman"  You're saved from embarrassment by the guy who looks like Justin Orr: "I thought I was supposed to go get Evie back." That draws puzzled glances from everyone else. He reddens a little under the white acne scars. "That's, uh, the real Justin," he says, and flicks a finger at you. "I'm Will." He keeps his eyes forward as the kid who looks like Joe and the kid who looks like Grant stare at him with raised eyebrows. "Oh Christ," Lindsay exclaims. "I forgot that's what you guys were going to do. I can't wait until we get things back to normal and so I know who's who. So you two need to switch back, then Will can—" "Will can't take a plane out to Oregon," you say, taking up the part you're supposed to be playing. "He needs ID, and his ID is at his house." "So go get it," Lindsay says. Caleb jumps in. "He can't," he says, and his eyes dart between you and Justin. "Gordon Black is pretending to be Will." "So switch them back!" "Lindsay," Pauline says as she lays a firm hand on her friend's shoulder. "Just let the guys work it out. Stop trying to run everything." "Good idea," you say. Lindsay flushes, but holds her tongue "So, uh, Will and I will switch back, and then he should use Macaulay's mask to get out to Oregon. He'll have to drive, but it's not like there's anything else going on with his life." "Maybe he should have a say in it," says Bhodi,. "It's fine with me," says the guy who looks like Justin, "if that's what, uh, Justin thinks is best." His complexion reddens even more. * * * * * "Lindsay has one idea I like," you tell Justin as you and he drive off together. "We need to get people out of these masks and back to pretending to be themselves. Wait," you add. "Did I say 'pretending to be themselves'?" "I think you did." Justin grins. "No, what we need to do is stop hanging out with Lindsay. Tell her it's all back to normal, and then who cares, right?" You grunt. "I suppose we can take that brain band out of you now. That way we can tell her 'switched' back." "No, leave it in," he says. "I kind of like it." "You like it?" "Yeah." He sucks in his lips. "It gives you a new perspective on things. I think it's doing Bhodi some good, too," he adds. You catch your breath. You'd almost forgot about giving Bhodi a copy of your brain. And you'd clean forgotten that Joe, with a copy of it too, would "remember" what you'd done. "How can you tell? What's he doing?" "I dunno. He just seems more confident. That's why you suggested it to him, right?" Justin squints at you. "So he wouldn't be so, uh, insecure?" Again, you grunt. You've never thought of yourself as being the confident type. And the day you pretended to be Bhodi it wasn't confidence in yourself you felt, it was confidence in him. "I guess that's why I want to keep wearing your thing, man," Justin says after you've awkwardly expressed this. "It gives me a kind of confidence in myself too. Except—" He laughs nervously. "Who am I? I got your brain in me, and I look like Justin." "Maybe Lindsay's got the right idea," you repeat. * * * * * Dwayne Macaulay keeps his car parked behind a convenience store a couple of blocks from his house, and that's where you have Justin drop you off. You're relieved to see it's still there, and that there's no sign of the real Macaulay. It's been hours since you dumped him in the basement, and you're paranoid about where he's been and what he's been up to, but you can only leave it in Karol Mathis's capable hands. Speaking of Karol Mathis: you call to tell him you'll be out of town for up to a week: "I'm getting Marianne's kid out of that school. Maybe that's part of what fucked her up. I dunno, he's all she's got." You assure him that Macaulay's various business enterprises won't suffer during your absence. Then you text Erik Carstairs, the Westside football player who's in charge of security at the Warehouse. You tell him you'll be out of town, and that he'll be in charge of collecting rents and payoffs on Sunday from the various dealers at the club. That's okay: Carstairs has collected for Macaulay in the past, and Macaulay trusts him. By five o'clock you have the car gassed up and have run it through a lube shop to check it for basic problems. You'd already stocked up on water bottles and traveling snacks. Just to be safe, you pick up some cheap used t-shirts and jeans at a second-hand store instead of swinging by his place for extra clothes. By five-thirty, you're on the interstate, heading for Oregon. And what have you got to amuse yourself? Only your own thoughts. And those of Dwayne Macaulay. * * * * * It's like your nerves have been on fire since putting on his mask and brain band. It's like you were thinking with his nerves. Get back to the house. Get the money and the stash. Talk to Ila. Talk to Mathis. Go get Aunt Marianne. Prep the car. Meet the other guys. Talk to Mathis and Carstairs. Collect the car. Hit the road. You flip down the visor against the lowering sun, and catch sight of your face in the mirror there. Jesus, you really do look like a rat. The nose and chin, small and pointed. The dark, narrow eyes that gleam and dart about. The tufts of beard down the jawline, and across the chin and upper lip. Even your ears, which are round and stick out from the side of your head, have a rodent-like quality. But it's fitting, somehow. The same qualities that let rats survive—a watchful cunning and a careful daring—have seen Dwayne Macaulay in and out of juvenile programs and short stints in jail. They've also left him under outstanding warrants scattered from Arizona to Maryland for a variety of small crimes: possession; possession with intent to distribute; burglary; assault. He's never found a secure footing, and even the last three years, in Saratoga Falls, under the wing of Karol Mathis and with his Aunt Marianne to look after (funny how caring for someone else brings more stability than caring for yourself does, sometimes) he feels as though his life is just one long sprint from the end of one high wire to the start of the next. He's never had rest and stability, and as you dart in and out of traffic—nipping at the bumpers of the cars ahead before zipping around them—you wonder if Dwayne himself would even want it. Burning nerves are a sign that you're alive. But safety and stability are not the same thing. And power is something else entirely. God, what Dwayne Macaulay could do with set of masks and brain bands like that book can make! Get Karol Mathis off in a quiet spot somewhere, pop a mask and brain band onto him, cap him in the back of the head and bam! After hiding the body you could be Karol Mathis with all that money and power. Better: Corner a police lieutenant or captain, substitute yourself for him, put the squeeze on Mathis for a cut while keeping yourself clean. Better still: Be a city councilman, or the mayor. Or get yourself onto Mathis's tit by capping Lionel Brampton and taking his place. Fuck, why stop there? Leave a trail of murder victims and aliases until you've moved into Los Angeles or New York or Nashville or someplace like that as a movie or TV or music star. There's thrills to be had there, and money and fame and women. You glance at the briefcase, and wonder if you're really going to find yourself a whore for the night wherever you stop to crash. And there wouldn't be anything easier than taking the book from the kids back there. This trip to bring Dane back, that'll get you in good with them, they'll never spot the double-cross coming. Just get your hands on the book long enough to get out and to a car and away, and with the money you got you can set up and hide anywhere you want, anywhere in the country, while figuring out where you want to go and who you want to be. And sure, you're not really Dwayne Macaulay, but you don't need to be, not after you're ... whoever. So occupied you drive until it's nearly midnight, when you finally pull off the highway and drive into a tiny little town with the absurdly grand name of Emerson City, where you catch six hours of sleep in a tiny motel. * * * * * It's a hard, ugly trip, and more than once you catch yourself eyeing a small city and giving hard and careful consideration to the thought of abandoning your mission and old life and starting over again—as Dwayne Macaulay—in a new town. The hardest such fit comes while crossing Wyoming, when your old Ford sedan suffers a breakdown and you're forced to spend three days, fuming with boredom, while it's repaired. By text you keep Caleb, Karol Mathis, and Erik Carstairs apprised of your situation. It's funny that three such different people should all urge you to hurry back soon as you can, and that's part of what tempts you to chuck it all and start over. But good sense prevails. Or maybe it's ambition. Even Dwayne, whose restless impatience and laziness (you sense) is behind his suboptimal life choices, can't resist the lure of the masks waiting back in Saratoga Falls. So you press on. * To continue: "The Return of the Reluctant Prodigal" |
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