The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

Breaking and Entering

Previously: "Counterfeits and Originals" 

You drop Owen—now Brett Landon—at his house and drive back to the community center to wait for word from him. Owen, when he was with Harris Prescott, had already explained to the golem that his "son" would not be coming home until after supper, so you've no place else that you need to go. Or want to.

You are, of course, endlessly antsy while you wait. Is this really what you want to do? Or is this just a temporary waypoint on your way to someplace and something else?

The latter is what you told Owen when you were talking it over. Look, I think these assholes had the right idea, you said. We want someplace where we can work on this shit without, you know, someone finding us. So I think we should get us a family. And if that meant one of you would have to be the parents, or have control of their golems? Yeah, that can be me, you said with a pretended reluctance that was stronger than what you felt. I'm trying to think of what'll work best!

So Owen accepted your plan (which, you also pointed out, would be less complicated to pull off than some of the other ideas you were kicking around). But he was also assuming that ultimately you're going to get yourself a mask of one of Brett's friends. Which you can do, and probably will. Except—

Well, except that once you are in a mask of Austin Ritter or Elijah Denton or Chase Weir, or another one of Brett's "boys," it's going to be hard to come up with an excuse to switch back with Brett's mother.

Maybe it's just a temporary thing with me, you tell yourself. Maybe I'm just hot for a MILF but it'll wear off after I'm her for a little while. But you're reluctant to lose that feeling, because you're not as hot to be one of Brett's friends as Owen was hot to be Brett.

You speculate a little on why Owen is so hot to be Brett, and can only come back around to the idea that it's envy. Though why Brett particularly? Maybe that will turn out to be a temporary infatuation, the same as your infatuation with Mrs. Landon might.

God, when is Owen going to call? you wonder as you squirm in the truck cab. What is taking so long?

* * * * *

"Bruh, thank God you're here!" Brett exclaims as he pulls you in through the front door. "We only got, like, five minutes!"

You've got more than that, and there's no rush, not when you'll be putting that golem-making goop inside the masks. But you're as eager to get things going as Owen is.

"Oh, fuck me, Brett's mom was fixing dinner," he says as he pulls you toward a dining room, "and I couldn't just grab her when she was on her feet! And then his dad was in and out helping! I finally just went for it when she went to get something out of that dresser there—"

It's a small dining room, with windows and a French door looking out onto a small porch and side yard. The dining table is square and is crowded in on one side by a kind of cabinet with glass doors, holding dinner ware. It is in between this cabinet and the French door that a woman is sprawled, half on her back and half on her side. It is hard to make her out, except that she is wearing gray slacks and a red sweater over a white blouse. Her hair is short and dark.

"Okay, I'll take care of her," you say. "Where's his dad?"

"In the living room at the TV. Want me I should—?"

"Yeah, you take care of him. Here!" You drop the box of supplies on a dinner table that is already set with dishes and glasses and silverware. "Let's get this sorted out here first."

You can't help glancing back toward the kitchen as you work. There's steaming pots on the stove, and you worry what will happen while you're occupied with changing places with Mrs. Landon. "Can you take care of stuff in there while I'm getting changed here?"

That's when you notice Brett staring at you. You stare back. Then he jumps, says "Sure!" and with a slightly puzzled expression takes one of the two plastic containers of golem-goop into the living room with him.

Oh, you think. He was expecting me to become the dad.

Well, you can worry about that later, if at all. Right now—

Mrs. Landon's head is at your feet, and you move around to the other side to get a better look at her. Your heart starts beating hard.

Her face is slack and glassy-eyed, so it is hard to get a sense of it, other than that her features are slightly sharp. (Or maybe that's just the way you remember them from the few times you've seen her.) She wears her dark hair short in a feathery cut. She is also very slim, and you're slightly disappointed that her breasts are not prominent. In fact, they are invisible under her disordered clothes.

You need to get her taken care of before you can put the mask of Will Prescott on her, because you don't want her clothes ripping or anything when you transform her into him. You start at the bottom by pulling the leather slippers off her bare feet. Then you unbutton her woolen slacks—which are a gray-green on closer inspection—and tugging them down her narrow hips and past her knees, exposing some very small and tight panties. You start to tremble, and almost swallow your tongue as you fumble the buttons of her blouse open.

You have flipped her onto her front, and are peeling her sweater and blouse off in one clump, when Brett comes back in.

"What are you doing?" he squeals, causing you to jump.

"I'm getting your mom ready!" you retort.

"Why do you have to take her clothes off? I mean—!"

"I'll have to put them on, bruh! Dur!"

"Yeah, but— I didn't take Brett's dad's clothes off'a him!"

"'Cos I'm not gonna dress up as him!"

Brett dances from foot to foot. "But in here? Bruh, we're gonna eat in here!"

"Go watch the stove! I'm gonna change upstairs anyway! I just need her out of her clothes for when I put the mask on her!"

"Okay," he grumbles, and withdraws toward the kitchen. "Sorry I came in here to ask if I could help!"

You ignore him, and finish stripping her of everything but bra and panties.

That's when you decide that maybe you should move her, and call Owen back in. It's a strain, at first, with him pulling her by the wrists and you pulling her by the ankles. At last you just kneel, take her in your arms, and lift her. Owen, dancing anxiously from foot to foot, guides you into the back of the house to a tastefully appointed master bedroom, and with a hard grunt of relief you lay her on the bed.

Yes, her breasts are on the tiny side.

"Okay, go back in the kitchen," you say. "I'll—"

And as you're looking at her face, the mask seems to melt into place there. Something catches in your throat.

"I'll go take care of Brett's dad," Owen says, and rushes from the room.

With your most delicate touch you lift the mask from her face, which now looks peacefully asleep, and look at the inner surface: LAURA PHYLIS WINSON LANDON, it says in glowing letters. You swallow.

Then you look around and realize you need the goop. And the other mask. You dash from the bedroom.

Brett, who is stooped over an easy chair in which a suited man is sitting, looks up with wide eyes as you pass, but you ignore him to fly into the kitchen, and he says nothing when you run back past into the bedroom. Out of breath from anticipation, not exertion, you huff and gasp as you bend over Mrs. Landon to place another mask there.

She vanishes, replaced instantly by Will Prescott.

His eyes open, and lock onto you. He freezes, then with a grimace sits up. That's when he notices what he's wearing.

"Oh, aren't you having fucking fun with this, bruh," he mutters.

* * * * *

You get him dressed and send him on his way home. And then, before you can be again interrupted, you seal up the mask of Mrs. Landon and push it onto your face.

You're stiff and chilly when you wake, and your head feels stuffed up. There's a pounding inside your skull—

Bump bump bump bump BUMP!

No, hang on, it's the bedroom door.

"Wha—?" you call.

"Bruh!" a voice sounds through it. "Are you up yet?"

"I—"

A feeling like a cold douche pours over you. You scramble up and back against the headboard of the bed. "Bruh!" the voice calls again.

"I just, um, woke up!" You rub your face.

"Well, what do I do about the timer? There's a timer going off!"

"Huh?"

"A timer! With the stove! It's going off!"

Threads of thought ripple through your head, weaving themselves into a tapestry of memory. Stove. Timer. Pot. Boiling—

"That's the potatoes!" you yell back. "Take them off the heat! Drain them in the sink! Use a colander!" you holler as footsteps run off. He's not going to use a colander, you grumble to yourself. My kid's so smart, but sometimes he—

A hard shiver ripples through you. My kid! you think. My little Brett!

Your skin is prickling and your heart beating as you clamber off the bed and shuffle into the master bath. You flick the switch as you lean inside the doorway, and the light comes on.

The staring face and narrow-shouldered form of Laura Landon looks back at you from the mirror over the vanity.

You touch your fingertips to your mouth and gape.

That's all for now.

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"