Chapter #12The Brains of the Operation by: Seuzz   It's a generous offer Connor has made, and you're curious to see what the new spell does, so you take him up on it. You think about waiting for Caleb; but since Justin won't be able to attend the "experiment," there doesn't seem any good reason to wait for a third person when the fourth can't show up.
Back in the basement, Connor fumbles nervously with one of the metal bands. He starts off by pressing it into the interior and then the exterior of Mansfield's mask, in case it's supposed to operate as an extension, but nothing seems to happen. Then he tries laying it on the open book, to see if it will unlock the next page, but nothing happens there either. With a deep breath, he concludes that the metal strip has to be tried on a person, and submits himself to the experiment.
He starts by trying to wrap it around his wrist, and then he presses it upon his bare stomach and his bare chest.
"I bet it has to do something with the face, like the mask," you suggest.
"Yeah, but I'm saving that for last," he replies. "Because if you don't use it on the face, I don't know where you use it." So he tries it on his throat and on his cheek and on his forehead—
That's when it clicks. The strip blazes for a moment, then vanishes. Connor falls forward into your lap, the way Mansfield had fallen forward yesterday.
And since you're prepared for this kind of thing based on what happened with the masks, you just lay him on his side and wait for the metal band to reappear. As with the mask, it takes about ten minutes to fall out of his forehead and strike the floor with a tinny clatter.
You pick it up, and almost drop it again. The runes have vanished, replaced with Roman letters that flicker with a bluish light as they seemingly float just above the surface of the metal band. Your hand trembles. They spell a name: CONNOR GARRETT HUTCHISON.
You press the band against the book, and when you lift it back up the page turns. There is only a brief line of text on the reverse of the page, and it easily translates as "To know the mind of another."
You take a couple of deep breaths. It looks like Connor was right: it copies a person's mind. As you look at it and at the other band, you see why Connor would have made the guess he did: These things do look like fragments of a head band or of a crown, the sort of thing you'd wear if you wanted to get close to someone's brain.
You lay the bands aside and study the next spell. It looks very simple, and you've almost got it all prepared by the time Connor wakes up.
* * * * *
"If you let me put this thing on you," Connor says as he fingers the blank metal band, "I could go in to Westside as you tomorrow."
"And what would I do all day?"
"Hang out here. Bring your laptop over, watch movies, surf the web, play some games. I found an outlet last night while I was looking around."
"You didn't have enough of being me this morning?"
Connor doesn't reply.
You don't mean to be argumentative, because you do see his point.
It's because of the new spell, the one that you finish up even as Connor is still shaking the cobwebs from his head. It makes up another kind of paste, but this one is very sticky, and after putting the bowl on the book and turning the page to read the reverse side, you find it's a glue for attaching one of those metal bands to the inner surface of a mask. In this way, you can copy someone's body and mind simultaneously; when you seal the mask, you will then be able to disguise yourself with not only their physical appearance but with all their memories too.
So right now you have a mask of Mansfield and mask of yourself; an unused metal band; and a metal band containing a copy of Connor's memories. Since you don't have a blank mask to copy Connor with, and since Mansfield isn't anywhere nearby, the only logical thing to do is to copy your brain into the blank metal strip and attach it to your mask.
But you resist. It doesn't seem fair somehow, and you counter with the suggestion that you look at the next spell. "The other guys are going to be kind of pissed if we get too far ahead without them," Connor says, but you're already looking up the Latin words on the internet.
You pause in the middle of the list, and hand your phone over to Connor. He stares at the screen, and at the ingredient you're underlining with your index finger. "Four hundred pounds of it, huh?" he says. "Let's see what else it wants."
It doesn't look any better after you've translated the rest of the list. But Connor isn't prepared to give up. "This is where we make it up to the other guys for getting ahead," he says. "Let's start putting it all together."
"It's almost eight o'clock," you protest. "I have to get home in a couple of hours and besides, everyplace is closed by now."
"Walmart isn't," Connor says. "That place never closes, and they'll have a lot of this crap. Well, except for—"
"Yeah, how are we going to get that?"
"With shovels and sandbags. We can get those at Walmart too."
"I have to get home," you insist.
Connor eyes you shrewdly. "Will, you keep talking about how you want to have 'fun'."
"No I don't."
"Sure you do. That's why you keep asking me and Justin what we do for fun. So here's some fun. Can you sneak out after going to bed? Around midnight?"
"Sure, but you're not suggesting something 'fun' if you're thinking about doing what I think—"
"Okay, I'll make you another trade. Me and Justin will take care of getting this shit together, and in return you let me go to Westside as you tomorrow. Body and brain both."
You temporize, for you don't much like either option, but you also don't want to shoot him down completely, for the itch to do something with the masks is still upon you. You glance at your phone, and decide your dad won't start steaming over your absence from the house until ten o'clock, at least. "I'll help you pick up the stuff at Walmart," you tell him. "We can decide after that."
* * * * *
At nine o'clock at night, Walmart is comparatively empty, though there are still enough fat women in motorized carts to make the aisles somewhat hard to get around in. The items on the shopping list seem kind of dangerous—lots of volatile chemicals—but Connor had correctly surmised that Walmart would carry them all. They also turn out to be expensive, but Connor has a credit card.
The last items to pick up are two shovels and a box of a hundred sand bags. That takes you back to the Lawn & Garden department, and you almost turn around once you set foot inside it.
But it's too late. Joshua Call has already spotted you.
He's dressed in a store uniform, so he works here, but he's got the same fell light in his eyes that he has at school. You rarely see him around—for which you are profoundly grateful—because he belongs to the worst class of bully at Westside: the psychotic delinquent with nothing to lose and so doesn't give a fuck.
You feel his eyes on you—those dead, dark eyes under the unflattering bangs in a bowl cut—and you flinch as you pass him, for he's as hard and unyielding as a statue and doesn't move aside at your approach. Connor asks your opinion about the shovels he's examining, and looks up at you when you don't answer. "I don't know, don't care," you say, and cough after it comes out as a squeak. He gives you a funny look.
And you don't dare look over at Call, who you're sure is still staring at you..
Connor picks up two identical shovels and drops them in the cart, and pushes it around to another aisle, where the sandbags are. "Why are you so rattled all of a sudden?" he asks you when jump at the sound of the box hitting the bottom of the cart.
"That guy," you mouth at him.
"What guy?" he says loudly.
"Sh!" You wince. "Joshua Call," you murmur. "Don't you recognize him?"
"He looks familiar."
"He's crazypants evil."
And Connor laughs. "What does that mean?"
"It means—"
"Come on, let's just go."
You follow him out, and as you pass one aisle you make the mistake of glancing down it. Call is standing in the middle of it, feet splayed, arms folded, chin raised, staring straight at you,.
He looks amused.
He looks like he's going to come looking for you tomorrow.
"So have you finally figured out what you want to do?" Connor asks when you've got the stuff in the back of your truck.
You're about to tell him that he can go in for you, so that he can experience Joshua Call on your behalf.
But then another thought hits you: If you put on that metal band that has Connor's memories in it, that might give you some ideas about how to deal with Call and the other guys.
In fact—you reflect as you sort through it—you'd have the Hutchison memories, the Prescott memories, and the Prescott face, which is exactly what Connor would have if he went in under you mask on Monday. The only difference is that it would be you in the one case, and him in the other. And wouldn't it be more fun to see what happens for yourself, even if it's bad?
The only downside is that you'd have to pay for this fun by taking a nighttime trip to a cemetery.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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