Chapter #9Daddy Issues by: Seuzz   You thrust the band at Caleb. "I don't need getting inside my dad's head," you tell him.
He just snorts, then hops onto his bed, fingers the band a moment, and puts it to his forehead. It glows, sinking into him, and he falls onto his back. You watch him for what seems like forever, pacing back and forth in a tight circle, then freeze when his eyes pop open. His brow furrows, he blinks at the ceiling, and he sits up. The expression he gives you is rather puzzled. Then his brow darkens, and his mouth turns down. With a shock, you recognize it as your father's characteristic frown. "Caleb?" you squeak.
"Yeah, I'm here," he says brusquely. "You know, you're getting yourself into a shitload of trouble, young man. Science experiment, my ass."
You back up against the wall as he gets to his feet and surveys the bedroom, hands on hips. "Dude, this is pretty freaky," you whisper, and can't quite keep a quaver out of your voice.
"How do you think I feel?" he retorts. He looks down at his feet, then examines his palms, flexing his fingers. "At least your friend here has a pretty solid brain."
"Who exactly am I talking to?" Your voice is now edging toward a shriek.
He jogs the side of his head with the heel of his hand. "It's me, Will," he says, though that doesn't exactly answer your question. "But your dad has a pretty strong personality." He blinks and shakes his head. "God, you can be such an idiot."
"Don't start that with me," you retort, recovering a little. "I get enough of that at home!"
"Yeah, alright." He shakes his head again, then sighs. "Okay, let's look at that list of ingredients you need from work."
With more reluctance than you'd like to feel, you dig your notebook out of your backpack and hand it to him. He flips through it, and frowns at the list of materials you need. He sniffs and pulls at his nose--another creepily Dad-esque gesture.
"Yeah, we got this stuff at Salopek," he says. "Or we can get it. But how were you planning on walking out the front gate with it?"
"Well, how would you do it? You'll be the one going in to work on Monday."
He gives you one of those parental looks that makes you bridle.
"The thing to do is to get"—he stumbles a little—"your dad to pick them up and take them out. If you try walking out of the complex with this stuff you'll get busted and fired and grounded and maybe even arrested. The thing to do is to make a phone call." His throat seems to work. "Have you done your homework yet?" he asks with peevish impatience. "What did you get on your last math test?"
"What are you talking about?" you ask in bewilderment.
"I'm trying to do your dad's voice. Did I sound like him?"
"Not really. I mean, that's the way he talks, but your voice isn't—"
"Then we have to get a copy of his body. Make a total copy of him."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No, I'm inside his. You couldn't outwit a gerbil."
He sits at his desk, pushing the mess aside with a loud snort, and begins scribbling in your notebook. The hair on your back rises as you recognize your dad's handwriting as it flows across the page.
"I'll make a phone call on Monday, have them put together what we need," he says. "They'll pack it all up, nice and neat, and we can have it messengered out of the complex." He taps his finger. "No, that'll require signatures and expense accounts. Finance is bollixed up, but Tom might notice something." His frown deepens. "No, as long as we've got a copy of your dad, we'll just have to use it. He'll pick it up, take it over to the clubhouse."
"I don't want to copy my dad! Getting that mind band was creepy enough."
His eyes freeze. "Look, do want these chemicals or not? You go in half-assed and you'll get your whole ass blown off."
"Maybe I could just lift his credit card, buy the stuff in town."
"Now you're just looking to get busted, mister. I'll defin— Your dad will definitely notice those kinds of charges on the statement. The card company might even decline the charges while you're standing at the register, and then what will happen?"
* * * * *
It'll be the middle of the week before you can get the new mask polished up, and the weekend probably before you can try getting it onto your dad. You spend Monday afternoon hiding out in the elementary school basement, polishing the mask and watching a movie on your laptop while Caleb goes into work for you. Afterward you drive over to Caleb's to talk about his day at Salopek. "Oh, you know Sean Mitchell?" he says after giving a brief description of what sounds like a very boring job. "He works out there, they've got me paired up with him. Pretty nice. If we could copy him for you to wear, we could have some fun out there."
"And how would we get him out of the way?"
"Yeah, I know, I'm not serious. Anyway, it's not a lot of fun, but it's more fun with him than it could be. You know he's got a bottle of Scotch stashed away in one of the buildings? We had a little nip before quitting time."
You just grunt, and then a thought hits you. "Say, what'll happen if he tries talking to me at school about work?"
"I dunno. I guess you'll have to improvise. Anyway, what are the chances you'll have to talk to him?" Sean is a wrester and football player: not a jerk, but not someone you know except by acquaintance.
A sudden thought comes to you. "Hand me the mask. I wanna try something." He cocks an eyebrow as he hands it over. You finger it tentatively. Putting it to your face might destroy the day's memories it contains; or it might give them to you. Taking a deep breath you put it on.
What seems like ages later you wake with a feeling of claustrophobia and slap the mask off. Caleb is sitting on the bed by your side, staring at you intently. "What happened?" you ask.
"It went into you, then came back out. You've been out for twenty minutes. What happened on your end?"
You let your memories roll back, to remember—
Driving to work in Caleb's car; filling out paperwork; meeting your supervisor and Sean; working; the drink in the distribution center.
"I remember what happened today," you tell Caleb, and feel relief. Before you can stop him, Caleb takes the mask from you and puts it on himself. The transformation into you takes a few minutes, and then you compare notes after your newly reborn twin sits up. "Whoa, double vision," he says. "I remember being at work, but I also remember— God, that was a boring movie."
You part soon afterward, and are glad for having done the experiment after you go home and have to endure a third degree from your dad about the day's events at Salopek.
* * * * *
On Saturday you manage to get the new mask onto your dad without a repeat of the incident with Robert. You also filch one of your dad's dress shirts and slacks from his closet and take them over to Caleb's: You still don't want to get inside your dad's head, so you'll be going to work on Monday as yourself, and Caleb will play your dad.
When Monday afternoon arrives, you're glad that you have the past week's memories of being at Salopek to draw on, for it makes working with Sean and the others at the complex very natural and easy. Sean himself, as you "remember," is very friendly and easygoing, and you enjoy your time working with him. At around four-thirty, your supervisor, Andy Keyes, sends you around to the distribution center, where Jack has a package for your dad—seems he asked for you specifically to deliver it to him. Ah, the stuff, you think happily to yourself. To your surprise, as you round a corner you find that Caleb hasn't contented himself with waiting for you by the front office, but has plunged into the complex to find you. You thrust the box at him. "Jesus, better get outta here before someone spots you," you mutter.
He stares at you as he takes the box. "So what'll happen if someone 'spots' me?"
"Could be kinda awkward. Just get out of here. I gotta get back to work anyway." You hurry off, but at the corner of a building you turn and catch sight of him, rooted to the pavement, staring at you. Moron, you think.
But the route back to your current task takes you by the front office, and as you pass you hear someone call your name sharply. You turn and do a double-take: It's your dad. "You got something for me, mister?" he asks in a hard voice. "It's been nearly ten minutes since I called for it. There something wrong with the gears in your ass?"
Your jaw drops, and in a daze you point back whence you came. "I just— I just gave it to you. Back—" He frowns, and you feel your cheeks pale: He's wearing a different shirt—the shirt you pulled from his closet. You gulp. "I just gave it to you a minute ago." You point again.
He follows the direction of your finger, and you see him swallow. His eyes flick back to you.
"We'll talk about this later," he says in a cold, meaningful tone. "You just see what you can do about fixing your little screw up." He turns and stalks off into the parking lot.
How on earth are you going to explain your behavior to your dad--especially while trying to get the mis-delivered package back from him? Every fiber in your body says you should run and hide and leave well enough alone; maybe it will work out if you just stay still. But what will happen if he looks in that box and starts asking why someone was delivering a box of that stuff to him? | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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