Chapter #12Does Anybody Mind? by: Seuzz   "What do you mean, the mask isn't working?" you ask the straw-headed boy.
He gives you a look. "What part of 'The mask isn't working' doesn't make sense?" he demands. "I mean, this part"—he sticks out a skinny arm—"works fine! And that part"—he points at you—"looks like it works fine!" His eyes narrow. "You said you're getting my, uh, thoughts?"
"Well, not like telepathy," you stammer. "But if you mean, like, do I remember—" You bite your lip as you get a vivid flash of the girls' locker room, after soccer practice today, as the girls changed out of their uniforms and into their classroom clothes. "Uh, yeah." You feel your face hotting up, and that makes it hot up even more.
His glare narrows. It's an ugly look—a dark, mulish, resentful scowl—that makes you blanch. Is that a look I usually get? you wonder. Is that a look I ever give my dad? No wonder he sometimes acts like he wants to slap me!
"Well, I'm not getting anything," he says. "Where do you live?"
"Um—" You find you have to think a moment, to disentangle Josie's address from yours, before you can answer. "When's your birthday?" he continues. "What's your mom's name? What's your dad's name? Do you have any brothers or sisters?" He grows more and more angry as you answer him. "No," he says when you ask if your answers are jogging anything loose. "I'm trying to picture your mom and dad— But I'm not getting anything!"
"Well, you're not missing much. In fact—"
But before you can tell him that he's probably happier for not being able to remember some of the stuff he might remember, you're interrupted by the squeak of the basement door opening. "Hey!" a voice calls. "Are you guys decent yet?"
You and the boy exchange a glance. He hops off the desk. "I guess we better go tell Philip," he says. "This is something he's going to want to hear."
* * * * *
Fairfax frowns and pulls at his lower lip as he receives the report.
"Interesting," he says. "I suppose the thing to do is—"
"Unplug them and plug them back in?" Mike offers with laugh.
Fairfax gives his friend a look, then says, "I know you're joking, but that is more or less what I think we need to do. Can everyone stick around for the next hour or so?" He glances around the group.
"Well, I need to get back home pretty soon," Kim says. Her eyes dart.
"Then we'll hurry," Fairfax says. "You and, uh, Josie and Will come back down into the basement with me. Um, Mike too."
"So all of us," Mike says.
Fairfax gets a distant look, as though performing elaborate mathematical calculations on what Mike said.
Then he says, "Yes."
* * * * *
It's the start of a convoluted shell game. Fairfax makes everyone (himself included) strip off their pants, then has everyone lay out side by side on the biggest table in the basement. Masks are torn from your face and Josie's, and when you wake you find two of her and another one of you, dressed in Mike's and Kim's clothes. Fairfax questions them about your biography, and Josie's, without success, and he double- and triple-checks with you that you got Josie's memories immediately on waking. Then he switches Josie's mask to Mike and your mask to Kim and puts them through the same interrogation when they wake. Then—after Kim has left—Fairfax takes one turn apiece in each of the masks, and reports after some long and intense thought that he can "remember" nothing of either her or your biography. He concludes by putting Josie's mask back onto you, then asking you questions whose answers he checks with Josie. She confirms that you get all of them right.
But she's also lost all patience by that time, and after shoving herself inside her clothes she announces that she's leaving. "You guys figure it out," she says before running for the stairs.
You and Mike and Philip all look at each other after she's gone. Somehow, it doesn't surprise you that the girls were the first to bail on the experiment. But no one says anything, and Fairfax hops onto a desk with the book and begins carefully rereading all the spells you've unlocked thus far, cross-checking the text with a translation on his phone.
"I would hypothesize," he says after a while, "that we introduced an error into the masks during the manufacturing process. In the item that replicates memories, to be exact. However, the fact that Will is able to successfully extract the memories from Josie's mask when no one else can—" He pulls at his lip. "I would like to make another mask. Or at least another memory strip—"
"I have to get home," says Mike. You also have to get home, and Philip, with a sigh, adds, "As do I. But," he continues, "if I have Will's permission to take his book and the supplies home, I can at least get a start on another item."
"It makes an unholy fucking stink when you make a mask," you warn him.
"I'm going to restrict myself to the memory strips," he says. "The masks themselves seem to work perfectly at capturing and recapitulating the physical image."
You glance at Mike, who rolls his eyes.
"Fine by me," you tell Philip. "Are we done?"
He thinks a moment, then nods.
"In that case—" You sweep up the two masks and shove them into a drawer. "Let's all go home. Suddenly, I'm starving."
* * * * *
You turn over the day's events in your head after supper, as you struggle to do your homework. If Fairfax is going to make a new thingummy, it occurs to you, he's going to have to test it on himself. You wonder if it would make you smarter if you put it on.
As for the screw-up with the masks, you don't understand why it happened. How come was it that you could get your head into the masks when the others couldn't? Maybe (you theorize) it has to do with the fact that the book belongs to you—it has got your blood in it, after all. But why would that make a difference to the metal doohickeys but not to the masks?
Close to bedtime, you get a text from Josie, asking for an update on what happened after she left. You tell her that you only talked a little more but couldn't figure anything out, and that Philip is going to try making some more of the metal strips to do some more experiments with. She doesn't answer for a very long time. When she does reply, it's to ask if you are going to be the guinea pig again. I bet we all r, you reply. Fairfax seems nothing if not thorough.
And because Josie asked you about the rest of the afternoon, you text Kim an update. Her reply seems unnecessarily prim: Thx Will. But pls don't text me abt this things. Now I have to delete the conversation. You make a face at that.
* * * * *
The next day is Friday, and there is an extra exuberance in the flocks of students sauntering across the student parking lot toward the school. Too much exuberance for your taste, as you loiter near the entrance of the breezeway that connects the parking lot to the school proper. A couple of times you have dip out when you see someone—Lester "The Molester" Pozniak; Dalton Douglas; Stephanie Wyatt—heading in your direction. You don't want any of them (including Stephanie) to get the idea that Friday should be celebrated by beating you up.
Eventually the guys you were waiting for arrive: Mike and Philip. You weren't expecting them to arrive together, but they come sauntering up side by side when they appear. "Hey, did you get the thing made?" you ask Philip.
"Affirmative. The process was tedious but the results satisfactory. Exemplary, even, and I have already formulated a set of adumbrations for the further investigation of the phenomena. When we reconvene this afternoon I will propose several possible verification techniques to further extend our inquiries."
Your jaw drops. For it wasn't Philip who reeled out this mouthful. It was Mike. He holds your eye for a moment, then breaks out in a wide, shit-eating grin.
You look between him and Philip, who looks like he's patiently trying to hide his exasperation. You point between them, and gesture at their faces. "Did— Did you two, um—?"
"No," says Philip. "I didn't make any more masks. I just used the mens on myself—"
"—then prevailed upon my collaborator to confirm its efficacy," Mike finishes for him. "As our company can now attest, it was a resounding success." He pauses, then adds, "Don't I just sound like the perfect, motherfucking genius?"
"Are the rest of us going to get a chance to try it out?"
"That's the plan," says Philip. His brow creases. "That's the motherfucking idea."
"I suggest," Mike retorts, "that you refrain from any attempted impersonations until—"
"Oh, shut up." You point to his forehead. "Any chance I could take a spin with that thing after lunch? I got Calculus, and—"
"You will have a chance after school, Prescott," Mike snaps. "But presently, I am strategizing a rendezvous with Carlos, for an extempore colloquy on the possible ramifications and complications attendant upon a— Uh—"
"Yes?" says Philip, dryly.
Mike's eyebrows work. "How do I say, 'I want to talk to Carlos about seeing a movie tonight'?"
"How about, 'I want to talk to Carlos about seeing a movie tonight'?"
"That's so pedestrian!"
You follow them into the school. Philip soon breaks away to visit his locker, leaving you with the swaggering Mike. "So you can talk like him," you observe.
"Converse like him," Mike agrees. "Reason like him. Emote like him."
If I asked a personal question, you wonder, could you answer for him?
Because Josie Holden has a crush on him.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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