This choice: He's being way too mysterious • Go Back...Chapter #34A Booby Falls Into a Trap of His Own Making by: Seuzz   "What do you want the key to the basement for?" you ask Caleb.
He looks very pinched. "Just for something," he says.
"I wanna know why you want it before—"
"Fuck, never mind then," he says, and paces the floor. "It's none of your business, okay?" He's blushing.
Is it something to do with sex? you wonder. Is he going to—?
Eww! Now you don't want to know what he wants to do, and you don't want to help him out. "It's my key and my lock," you tell him, "so if it's not my business I won't lend them to you."
"Oh come on, Will! I can get you out of that cemetery run tonight if—"
"Uh uh. All our magic stuff is down here, and you sound like you want to get up to something."
"And you could get up to something if you wanted! We're all supposed to be sharing this stuff—"
"Then you can share with me what you want to do down here."
Caleb looks like he's going to burst, but he masters himself and shakes it off with a shrug. "Okay, never mind." Then he gives you a sidelong look. "I could still help you get out of working tonight. What'll you do for me if I let you use my minion?"
It's a tempting idea. But you don't want to put yourself in Caleb's debt, and you also don't much like the idea of a fake you running around, even if it's for only one night.
"I don't want to get into any more trouble with the other guys, so let's just do it their way." Caleb gives you a disgusted look, but drops the suggestion, and the two you start pulling together the rest of ingredients you'll need to make three more minions.
Connor and Justin return with the sand bags not long after you've made up a large batch of volatile chemicals: after that, you've only to separate it into three containers and add hair. Then, with nothing else on the agenda, the four of you gather round to study the next spell in the grimoire. Caleb wonders aloud if maybe you shouldn't have done that before preparing to make more minions.
But he changes his mind after you've all digested it, and the book is put away. The consensus—felt with a little regret mixed with a lot of horror—is that there will be no more new spells to play with, as no one wants to unlock any more spells by executing the next one.
* * * * *
"Come on, Prescott, you can move faster than that."
You ignore the sharp tone of the speaker and glare over at Caleb. "Can't you make him shut up?"
Caleb's grin shines brightly in his dirty face. "I could but I won't. And he's right, you know. Pick up the pace."
With a curse in the back of your throat you pour the few reserves you've got into your arms and shoulders, and heave the dirt out of the hole a little more quickly.
It's almost three o'clock in the morning, and you're on your fourth shift of digging. Connor and Justin have taken your truck—its bed loaded with a second freight-load of cemetery dirt—back to the elementary school, leaving you alone with Caleb.
Well, not quite alone. Marc Garner is an unwelcome third wheel.
Except it's not Marc Garner, not really, and Caleb's plan to substitute a Will-minion for yourself wouldn't have worked anyway. It was Justin's idea: get a fifth hand to help out, and who could help out better than a Marc-minion with his deep chest and strong arms? It came at the cost of some fraught and confused talk, but Caleb even managed to talk the initially confused and angry Marc-minion down into a state of docility and even helpfulness; remarkably, the thing now understands perfectly well that it is a fake version of a real person and must obey Caleb without question or backtalk. It has also pitched into the work of moving more than a thousand pounds of dirt with alacrity and even enthusiasm, and to Caleb's delight has even taken to yelling at the other guys when they've shown signs of slacking.
And it's easy to slack. You've only moved six hundred pounds so far—enough for one and a half minions—and you and everyone else are completely worn out. You see no way that you'll be able to get the rest of the dirt moved before sunrise, so you've decided to get enough for a second minion and then bag it for the night.
You turn over a dozen more spadefuls into the bag that Caleb is holding open, then stop to catch your breath and rest arms that are burning from exertion. "There's no way I can work nineteen hours tomorrow after tonight," you say.
"It's the price you pay for that pussy party you had Friday night," Caleb says.
"You were at the pussy party too."
"I didn't get laid."
You jerk your head at the Marc-minion. "I wonder what he would have to say if you did get laid Friday."
"Nothing I wouldn't let him say." Caleb's grin turns into a smirk.
"I should put that mask onto my minion when I get it made, tell it to kick your ass."
"If you worked out the rest of your muscles the way you work out your tongue," says the Marc-minion, "we'd be done by now."
"Don't piss him off," Caleb says. "I won't stop him if he decides to kick your ass on his own."
"Can it really get pissed off?" you wonder aloud. "Or is it fake all the way through?"
"What's it matter if he goes medieval on your ass?"
You groan and return to work. Each spadeful is lighter than the last until Connor and Justin return, at which point they take over digging duties for awhile and you hold open the sand bags and haul them over to the truck.
* * * * *
It's nearly four in the morning before you've got the last of this night's work offloaded into the basement: enough dirt for two more minions. But everyone is so exhausted that it's agreed to put off finishing the mix until tomorrow afternoon. You won't be on hand to help out, though, as Justin reminds you that you're on tap to work at Starbucks for him and Connor until nearly midnight. You're too tired to flip him off.
Then it's back home. You had such success the last time you snuck out that you try the same tactic, coming in quietly through the front door and sneaking through the living room to the stairs, with the plan of hitting the bathroom and a shower.
You've got one foot on the first step when the living room light clicks on. Your dad, in his bathrobe, is in his easy chair, glowering at you.
So you're caught in the act. There's no point recounting the conversation that follows—one so loud that it draws both your mother and your brother to the landing to gape and blink at you—for you can only stammer and sputter and utterly fail to improvise excuses or explanations. The best you can do is admit that you were out in the middle of the night doing manual labor—which causes your dad to turn almost purple with incredulity—and when he presses you to explain what kind of "manual labor" has to be done in the middle of the night, you can only say that you're doing it to help some college-age guys you know. "I think they're digging a storm shelter in their back yard," you tell him.
His voice is strangled. "And it can only be done in the middle of the night?"
"Uh, they sleep during the day?"
"They're vampires?"
"I don't know! I mean, they're not vampires, but this is the only, uh, time that they can, uh—"
The consequence is that you're grounded for a month, and are expected to be home by four o'clock in the afternoon every school day, and on weekends can only leave the house to run errands.
You text the news to Connor before falling face-first—still filthy from the night's work—onto your pillow.
* * * * *
The alarm goes off at seven—since you have to make an early start—and find no answer to the text you sent. So you drag yourself into the shower and into fresh clothes and out to your truck. You're supposed to meet Justin at Starbucks for the change-over, and he's just unlocking the door when you pull into the lot. The bags under his eyes are probably as bad as the ones under yours. "I got grounded," you tell him. He only blinks heavily. "Did you hear me?"
"Yeah. So?"
"So, how am I supposed to get home tonight, after I close up here?"
"We'll figure it out later." He opens the door.
"I don't think I can do this, man."
His eyes harden. "You said you would. You have to make up for—"
"I will! But I don't think I can do it today, not after last night, and not after getting grounded, and I can't even think straight. I'll fuck everything up."
Justin's fingers tighten on the door handle. "Listen, you pussy, I'm just as beat as you—"
Your iPhone buzzes. It's a text from Connor, saying he'll call Justin, and a second later Justin's own cell rings. He pulls you inside and pushes you into a corner as he mutters darkly into his phone. You slump into a chair, splay yourself over a table, and are about to doze off again when Justin shakes you rudely.
"Here's the deal," he says. "You cover for us today, like you promised, and you get to have one of those two new minions. If you postpone it until Wednesday, though, Connor and I get the next two minions."   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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