The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)

More Equals Merrier?

Previously: "A Girl Who Never Was" 

Eileen knows Joshua better; and besides, your instinct aligns with hers. So though you follow her up and out of the basement, you veer toward the back yard while she goes out the front door.

Joshua is in back, already measuring out ingredients. His hands shake and he glowers to himself.

"Hey, can you be careful with that stuff?" you call.

"What?" He glowers up at you.

"Nothing. I'm just asking you, be a little calm there. You don't wanna mess up."

He bites his lip, but he does slow down. After watching him a minute, you start measuring stuff out too. "So what are you planning to do?" you ask in a carefully neutral tone.

"Make another mask."

"And do what with it?"

"Use it on someone."

"Who? Me, you, someone else?"

He doesn't answer. He still hasn't answered after setting fire to the stuff, and pouring it out over the mirror. He has picked it up and is holding it in a death grip when you ask, "Do you want to make another one?"

"What?" The question seems to startle him. Or maybe it's the shell, which spasms in his grip, turning into a mask.

"Do you wanna make another one? One for you and one for me. I mean, I'd like to have some fun too."

He blinks a couple of times, then sets the mask down and starts measuring out ingredients again. You help. You're just combining them all when he mumbles, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being in a pissy mood. Eileen, sometimes, she just— What did she say after I went? Is she still inside?" His glance is keen.

"No, she left, said she wanted to pick up some clothes that'd fit her better. And she didn't say anything, except that maybe I should come out here to help you."

Joshua snorts. "Well, I'm sorry anyway. This is your stuff, and—" He freezes in the act of taking out the lighter to set fire to the stuff. "Oh, Jesus. I am sorry."

"For what?" you ask again.

"Oh, fuck me. You should just tell me, tell both of us, to fuck off," he sighs. "This is your stuff, and here we are—" He twists on his feet.

"No, it's okay, I wanted someone to test this stuff out with. It's freaky, right?"

"Yeah, well, you should be the one in charge, since it's your stuff. And you should tell Eileen that!"

"I will," you promise, though you also wonder if you really will be able to impose yourself on her. She doesn't seem the impose-ible-upon type. "But seriously—" You take the lighter from Joshua. "What do you want to do with the things?" you ask as you set fire to the bowl and scamper back from the stench.

"Well, what do you want to do?" he ripostes. "I mean, there's not a lot to do with 'em, except, you know—" He chews his lip. "Use 'em on us."

"To make a new face? Well, that's one mask. What about the other one?"

His eyes dart between you and the smoke pouring from the bowl. "I dunno. I mean, I guess I could get another guy out here. Or a couple of guys, and we could—"

"A couple? How many?"

"Well, like, two. One for each of—"

"You know, it might be simpler," you say, voicing the thought almost as soon as it comes to you, "to just use up all the stuff and make up as many of the things as we can. That way we don't have all this stuff laying around where you have to store it. And we'll also have a bunch of, you know, things instead of just two."

Joshua stares. Then he breaks out into a grin. You grin back.

* * * * *

You are able to make up five more masks before you run out of some of the stuff. You clean up the work station in the back while Joshua starts polishing one, and he is almost done with it by the time Eileen gets back. You do a hard double-take when she comes into the garage, for you'd almost forgotten what the new girl looks like, and at first you take her for a stranger busting in on you. Even after she's said, "Hey, how's it going?" you haven't quite grasped that it's her. Joshua seems equally panicked, and not until she says, "What's wrong?" do you finally get yourself sorted out.

"Oh, nothing," you stammer. "You get new clothes?"

"Wearing them!" She spins around. "What do you think?" She's dressed in a pair of very tight, highly worn blue jeans, and a small, tight red blouse that looks like it's made out of the same kind of thin cloth that bandanas get made of. Instead of shoes, she's wearing flip-flops. "I didn't want to buy a lot or spend a lot," she goes on, "'cos they're gonna be too small for me to wear regularly."

"They look nice." They do indeed, and your eyes start to water as you stare at those tight clothes on that tight body.

"Yeah, nice," Joshua echoes. "Hey, what's your name?"

"What's my name?" she asks. "You know me!"

"Well, you're not Eileen Piper," Joshua chortles. "'Cos I know Eileen Piper, and you don't look nothing like her. So what's your name?"

She stares, then giggles. "Oh wow, that's right! So what's my name? Um—"

"Juleene," Joshua offers. "Ilie."

"Eww! Francesca," she says. "That's my middle name. Do I look like a Francesca?"

You look good whatever your name is, you want to say, but good sense stops you from saying it aloud. "So what are you doing?" she asks.

"We made a bunch more masks," you say. "Used up almost all the stuff."

"Oh yeah?" She looks concerned. "And what are you gonna do with—?"

"Make more, um, faces. Like, uh, Francesca." When she looks dubious, you add, "You can't be the only one who gets to have fun."

She sighs. "I know. But I'm just thinking— We wanna be really careful here. I mean, we don't wanna get caught."

"We didn't get caught by Julie," Joshua says. "We'll do it like with her. Get some guys out here, get 'em nice and toasted, and then—"

"You gonna get stoned with 'em?" Eileen asks. She looks at you. "You wanna stick around, take charge of things? 'Cos I know Joshua, he'll get—"

"I'll be fine!"

"Yeah," you say, "I don't think I should stay out here if you guys are gonna be smoking any—" You pluck at your shirt. "I don't wanna go home smelling like it."

"So go home and get some fresh clothes you can change into."

"I don't wanna take a chance. Tell you what." You point to the pile of unpolished masks. "I'll take two of those and get 'em polished up at home—I'm pretty sure we got one of those buffer things at my place—and then tomorrow after school we can get together and see what we've got, what we can do with them. We can have, like, two apiece."

"Think you can use them on some of your friends?" Joshua asks.

"Maybe." You pick up two of the masks. "I'm not gonna rush anything, though. Like, uh, Francesca says—" Eileen grins at the use of her alias's name. "I wanna be careful."

You wish your two new friends the best of luck, collect the book, and go to leave.

But you're just about to get into your truck when you hear your name shouted, and Eileen—Francesca—Whoever—comes running out. "Hey," she says when she breathlessly catches up to you. "We just had an idea. Can you stick around until Joshua finishes up? He's almost done."

"Sure, what's up?"

"Well, we were just thinking—" She gulps a little. "That maybe you could go ahead and, um, put your face in it?" Her eyebrows peak. "That way we could start making a mask that uses, um, yours as one of the—"

She's having a very hard time coming out with it: She wants to make a mask that combines your features with someone else's. But you'd probably have a hard time voicing the same idea. "So we could have it around to use tonight," she concludes.

The idea makes sense, though it gives you a very weird turn. I'm going to put my face inside a mask, you think, and the prospect of doing that now makes it suddenly very real and more than a little frightening.

But what can you do? You were going to do that anyway, eventually, right? And Eileen's already done it. So how could you refuse? But you feel yourself turning cold and bloodless all over, even as you accede, and follow her back into the house.

* * * * *

It wasn't a painful experience, but it wasn't a very pleasant one, either. Eileen put you in a beanbag chair downstairs, then came back a little later with the newly polished mask. You set it on your face. It turned very warm and very heavy, and you thought you felt it pressing down into the front of your skull, like it was an anvil and your face was a bowl of oatmeal. Then you woke a little later with "Francesca" chafing your wrists. You were groggy and stiff, but otherwise hale.

You went home after that, found a car buffer in the garage, and set to work on the masks. Your dad came out at one point to ask what you were doing, and you told him you were helping a friend with an art project. He grunted and left you alone. About two hours later you were done with the masks. You took them upstairs and propped up on the bed with them, to figure out what comes next.

You are in the middle of thought when a text comes in from a source you'd almost forgot about: Scott Frazier, wanting to know if you got that "project" figured out. You frown at the text.

On the one hand, it's nice to learn that he didn't forget about you completely. On the other hand, you resent that he seemed so uninterested. But on some third hand: His face might look good in a mask.

Next: "Masks in the Night" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 1)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 1)"