Chapter #15When Will Met Will by: Seuzz   You drive around for about thirty minutes, so it won't look like you're following anyone, and then head over to your old house. You are briefly overcome by a feeling of déjà vu when you pull into the drive way and step from the car, as though you really have returned home and everything that has happened to you has been a dream. But catching sight of yourself in the reflective glass of the screen door—the dark, moody looks and clothes—brings back to you that you are now a stranger. You settle back and let Will Shabbleman's personality come to the fore.
It's still a bit of a kick in the stomach, though, to have your mother answer the door and only look at you blankly. "Aunt Martha?" you say. She looks puzzled, and you smile lop-sidedly. "You don't remember me, probably, but I'm a cousin or nephew or something like that. Will Shabbleman. I'm down in town from Cuthbert."
There is no recognition in her eyes, but she warms in a way that isn't obviously insincere. "Oh, er, yes. Will, how nice to see you again. Come in." She opens the door awkwardly.
It's your house, it's your living room. And it's your dad stands up from his easy chair, muting the TV and looking at you with hooded curiosity. Your mom introduces you to your dad, who married into a family related to the Shabblemans. He isn't very friendly, but he asks politely about your business.
"I'm transferring to Keyserling next semester," you explain. (Lying comes very easily to you.) "Eastern just doesn't cut it. So I'm in town to scope it out, check out neighborhoods and living arrangements. You know."
The answer impresses your parents, and your polite, encouraging attentions to their advice and observations keeps the conversation going until you see a movement on the landing: Will Prescott.
"Will," your mother says, catching sight of him. "This is one of your cousins from Cuthbert." She gives him a précis of your reasons for being in town before turning back to you. "Have you eaten dinner yet? We should take you out."
You can read in Will's glance that he is not feeling friendly toward you—as indeed you wouldn't feel friendly to someone who looked like Shabbleman—but you need to get him alone. "Thanks much, ma'am," you say, "but I've eaten. I'll be in a town a few days yet, though, so I might take you up on it later." Her smile is quite sincere. "But I got some other questions about the town that Will here might be able to answer for me." You nod your head at him. "You know, like, what there is to do around here."
Your mother smiles tightly; your dad, to your chagrin, makes a small snort and hides a private grin; your replacement looks discomfited.
"So, cousin, can I take you out, treat you to an ice cream sundae or something, while I pick your brain?" Your manner is silky.
He turns a little paler and looks pleadingly at your mother; she ignores him. "I think that's a great idea," she says.
"Mom, I have things I have to do."
"You can take a break, sweetheart. You won't keep him out long?" She turns back to you.
"Oh, back in an hour, I'm sure."
Will sees defeat, and recomposes his expression of agony into one of resignation. He fishes his keys from his pockets, but you wave them back. "I'll drive."
Outside, his eyes widen a little at the sight of your baby and slides gingerly into her passenger seat. You punch him good-naturedly in the shoulder as he buckles up, and gun the engine appreciatively when you start it. "Maybe I'll let you drive it back," you wink at him.
"So you're coming out to school here," he says glumly. "I guess I'll be seeing more of you."
You laugh nastily. "Nah, that was just a story for your folks. Pfft. Parents with teenagers love to eat that 'I'm checking out college' shit." He gives you a sharp, sidelong glance. "We ain't goin' out for ice cream, neither. I got some business to talk over with you."
He says nothing, but it's a short ride, just over to the old elementary school. You park around back, where the shadows of the gathering dusk have already begun to fall. You lean back to gaze at him with even-tempered insouciance.
"So, what's this business you want to talk about," he says with ill-disguised loathing.
"Whaddaya think it is, sport? Drugs." You slap him slightly in the shoulder with the back of your hand. "I need a dealer down here. Best to keep it in the family. Whaddaya say to handling my shit in your school?"
He swallows hard.
You let the offer linger in the air, then laugh. "Don't be so gullible. I'm just jerkin' yer chain." You lean over to drape an arm around his shoulder; he tries pulling away but you tug him closer, and he's no match for your strength "Actually," you murmur in his ear, "I just need your face for a bit."
You grip him tightly in one arm as you reach up to his face with your free hand. He twists hard as you grip at his brow and mutter the unbinding spell—odd that you can remember the phrase so clearly, though Blackwell only taught it to you once—and then with a ripping sound he turns into a golem.
This is the moment of truth: You have no idea what exactly you have turned into, but your physical body seems to consist of a golem's body with a mask on it. Can you rip off your own mask? What will happen if you do? Luckily you have Shabbleman's own nerve to lean on, for you're not sure you could do it on your own. You put your hand to your brow, and unbind the mask.
* * * * *
There had been a brief white flash, and then you were holding two masks. Your hands seemed thick and malformed, and a quick glance in the mirror had disclosed that you were in fact a golem. But unlike those lifeless creatures, you are animate. You briefly donned the Will Prescott mask, long enough to confirm that you can change into your old form, and to learn what has happened in the past week.
Not much, it turns out. Only once did the new Prescott hear from Blackwell, and that was a brief phone conversation suspending his putative job but telling him to not take on any commitments, for Blackwell might be in touch again. After that, silence. | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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