Chapter #36The Promotion by: Seuzz   You glance back at the unconscious Nurse Shaffer, and shudder. Fifteen masks sounds like an impossible order, but it's better than the alternative. "Fifteen Easties," you mutter.
"Smart pick," he says. "We'll leave Nursie's job to Tilley." He puts an arm around your shoulder and guides you back out into the hall. "Your job is a big one, but you'll like it. Trust me. Now get back to class. I'll call you in a day or two when things are ready for you to make the move to Eastman."
"Move to Eastman?" you ask, but he just punches you on the shoulder and saunters off.
* * * * *
"Why weren't you at the team meeting?" Keith asks you the next day at lunch.
"No one told me there was one," you reply.
"Lucky bastard," Keith grumbles. "It was just me and Patterson and Johansson, yelling at me because of Yumi. It's not my fault!"
"I'm sitting right here, you know," Caleb says, speaking around his sandwich.
"No, you're not," Keith retorts. "You're off with Patterson and Black and Lynch at the fucking jock table."
"Must be nice to be me," Caleb says sarcastically. "You know, when Patterson showed me Javits, all sprawled out on the floor of the fuck room, and said I could take his place, I was really pretty excited. Imagine my disappointment when I woke up and found I was still myself."
You and Keith exchange a glance. "Are you saying you really are Caleb," you ask.
He chews thoughtfully, and swallows. "I dunno, maybe I am," he says. "I can't tell the difference. Except that I have to do what Javits tells me."
"You don't suppose—" you start to say, but Keith blows a raspberry.
"I was up there yesterday, remember," he says. "They took this fucker's face off and showed me how it worked. That's Javits under Caleb's face, there. I'd love to punch him, but he's asleep under there, and wouldn't feel it."
"Not to mention even a fake Caleb could totally take you in a fight," you tell him. He flips you off.
"Look, just remember that I totally feel like Caleb Johansson," the other one says, turning a little red. "You guys are going to do the same thing, and there's gonna be copies of you walking around feeling totally like you. So be nice to them."
Except I'll be at Eastman, you think to yourself, for you're starting to glimpse what Patterson's plan must be. Keith, meanwhile, takes a big bite from his apple. "I wonder who I'll get to be," he says.
Nurse Shaffer, you chuckle to yourself. "A girl," you tell him with a mischievous smile. "Blonde."
"You think?"
"I know. Patterson told me yesterday. He's already got her picked out."
"Who?" Keith's eyes shine.
"You'll see. You'll never see it coming. Trust me."
* * * * *
The thrill associated with going up the fuck room has long since evaporated; no, these days you feel dread. So when you step into the loft that evening, to find Patterson standing in the usual spot, you just shrug and say, "Okay, I guess I'm ready."
"Over here," a voice calls, and you look over to find another Steve Patterson bending over the dorm fridge. "You like my double?" he adds. "I think he's sexy."
The other Patterson eyes you coolly, and gives a quick smile.
"You'd like to have this body, wouldn't you, Prescott?" he says. You flush, and he continues. "Don't tell me you haven't fantasized about cradling this cock in your hands and— Ow! Fucker!" he yells as a heavy can bounces off the side of his face.
"Don't pay any attention to his shit," the real Steve says. "He always lips off when I let him out. He's Jealous 'cos I only let him out when I'm aiming to have some fun. Although this time he gets to have the fun, so I don't know why he's complaining." The other Patterson shrugs and scowls. "Anyway, you can take off now," Steve tells him. "Don't do anyone I wouldn't do."
"That really cuts down the possibilities." The fake laughs, and brushes past you.
You look back furtively at Patterson, uncertain if he wants to acknowledge what the golem said. He pulls at his nose.
"Yeah, self-knowledge is a bitch," he murmurs. "Okay, Prescott," he continues more loudly. "Here's a beer for one hand, and a mask for the other." He tosses two heavy objects at you, and you barely manage to grab onto both. "Put it on. The mask I mean. The beer can wait."
"Whose is it?"
"Yours. Well, it's gonna be. Come on, step lively. We got a lot of ground to cover."
Blanching at the knowledge that you're putting yourself at his mercy while the mask copies your most recent memories, you flop onto the ground and put it to your face ...
* * * * *
"You'd really like to be sitting here, running things like this, wouldn't you?" he says. He looks just like you, and he's even wearing your clothes, because he pulled them off you while you were unconscious. But though the face is Will Prescott's, the wearer is Steve Patterson.
You pull your bare knees tighter to your chin. You'd not suspected he was going to put the mask on himself. You're glad you resisted the urge to rummage through the secret cabinet when you had the chance.
"Well, you are going to be running things, in a manner of speaking," he says, "for the next week. I'll be stepping in for you while you're at Eastman." He pulls another mask from behind himself. "Here's Johnson's mask. His clothes are over there." He tilts his chin.
"What about the real Johnson?"
"You saw him earlier. That was him under my mask. Like what we did with Caleb and Seth. Same deal. We put some stuff into it so that Johnson passed out. All he is is a mobile whatchacallit—" He glances over his shoulder at the golem. "So you'll step into his life, take over for him, for at least a week. Maybe longer, depending on how you do."
"While I get those fifteen masks, you mean?"
"Three, actually. Or eighteen. It depends on how you look at it." His chuckle is a hiss—just like yours is. "You're actually getting an early promotion, sort of, and you're going to be higher up than Caleb, so stop being a jealous jackass. I'm the president of the Westside Bodysnatcher Club, and you're going to be president of the Eastman branch. Still junior to me, I guess, but pretty much it's gonna be your show over there."
"What do you mean, the Eastman branch?"
"Just what I said. We'll soon have Westside totally wired. I want the same thing at Eastman. I can't be in two places at once, so you'll be in charge over there. If you pull off the final job."
"Which is what, exactly?" This is getting confusing.
He leans back.
"Don't take this the wrong way," he says, "but there's no way I could have managed what we got here without you three dipshits—you and Johansson and Tilley—doing the grunt work. You're going to pull off the same thing at Eastman. You're going to get three dipshits of your own out there. Pick some losers, show them the masks and how they work, make yourself a squad like I did with you three. Put 'em through the paces, make 'em work, like I made you guys work. Make them get fifteen masks, with the promise of 'senior' level at the end of it." He smiles. "They'll be your crew, and you'll be their boss, just like I'm the boss at this school."
You stare. Holy crap, is he serious? He sure seems to be. Your eyes drift up. You, in charge of a team, the way Patterson had been, with the same school-conquering agenda. "What kind of masks am I supposed to be getting?" you ask.
"It's your pick. But you'll want pussy, right? So get lots of girls. The cheerleaders, like that. Thing is, you're going to have to get some guys, too, so you can get to some of the girls. Like, if there's a hot girl and she has a boyfriend, you might have to get the boyfriend. Or get some guys who are always scoring pussy. If fucking Jason ever got ahold of Delacroix, for instance—" He turns moody for a moment, then brightens again. "Think strategically. It's like a network. Don't waste time on the margins, get the people who are at the center of lots of stuff. When you've got the fifteen most centered people, you can get anyone else you could possibly want."
You suck on your teeth. "The guys I pick, the junior members, I mean. Do I tell them who I really am?"
He shakes his head, then hesitates, then shakes his head again.
"It'd be a bad idea," he says. "Again, don't take this the wrong way, but you don't got a lot of authority. Johnson does. He was, like, class president last year, and he's on a varsity squad. People listen to him, do what he says. Find guys you can push around. Guys like Tilley."
"Or me," you can't help adding.
He just grins. "Also, you've got a deadline. One week to get your junior club set up. I don't mean the full set of fifteen masks. I mean the three guys. Bring me masks of them by Sunday, so I can look them over. If you can't cut it, I'll have to put Johansson or Tilley in for you."
"Shouldn't be too hard," you say. There's got to be lots of losers over at Eastman.
"One more thing," he says as he saunters over to the secret cabinet. "You're going to need the book. Keep it over at the old elementary school by my—" He catches himself. "By our house. So we can both have access to it." His eyes gleam as he takes it out. "I'm glad to see I can trust you with it."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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