Chapter #43Spoils of Victory by: Seuzz   An indecisive hour passes, and you grow more and more restless. Finally, you can't take it anymore.
It's not hard to find Joe's number: it's in the call list on your own cell, which the doppelganger left on your desk. "Will!" Joe exclaims when he answers. "Dude, what's up?"
"Just checking in. Bredon—"
"Call him 'Rick'. He hates being called by his last name."
"Well, he said something about maybe getting together tomorrow?"
"Uh huh?" Joe's tone turns guarded, and you hesitate.
"So ... What time?" you finally ask.
A sound like a cock crowing comes over the other end. "I knew you'd come through!" Joe exults. "A guy who'd cross Rick behind his back to rescue Frank while pretending to be me—! Rick said you'd funk it, but I knew you were just being shy! So, how about brunch? Ten-thirty, over here, then we'll head out for chocolate pastries and shit!"
"I have to go to church in the morning."
"Oh. Okay. Hey, what denomination? Catholic?"
"Episcopalian."
He chortles. "Dude, what's the point in that? You'd get more real religion at brunch with us. But whatever, I shouldn't mock your faith tradition." He snickers hard. "So make it two, over here, we can play touch football over at the park." He hangs up.
* * * * *
Rick Bredon's sedan is in front of their house, and so is Carson Ioeger's car. Joe hooks a brawny arm around your neck and pulls you inside. "The man of hour, fashionably late," he hoots.
The others are in the living room: Rick on the sofa, nursing a glass tumbler filled with something brown; Frank and Carson relaxing in the floor, each with a bottle of beer. Joe goes into the kitchen to get one for you.
Frank puts out a hand and smiles at you. It's a cool smile, but seems sincere enough. "I didn't have a chance to thank you yesterday. Thank you." His grip is like iron.
"I got lucky," you mumble, feeling very embarrassed. "I probably shouldn't have run off that way to find you. I wasn't supposed to." You glance at Bredon.
"Didn't matter," Bredon says. "I had it covered whichever way you jumped. I got two eyes, one for Ioeger and one for you. Once I saw you had the cadet out from under the blanket, I went back to what I was doing, then sat it out and watched for a bit."
"Can you guys tell me more about what happened yesterday?"
"Not much to tell," Frank says. "Ioeger and I split up and got through our list about as fast as you and Joe got through yours. Once we'd hit 'em all, we went back to Eastman and stripped the masks from the kids waiting there. Then we left them to find their way back home. There'll be a buzz at the school, but it'll fade with time."
"Walberg told me—" You take your beer as Joe sits next to you. "Did you tell Carson it was Mr. Walberg behind it all?"
"Pft, we had that figured out at the Strausslers'," Carson says. "Didn't you get it when you saw who was under the masks?"
"I only saw two of them, and I didn't know who they were. Joe mostly took 'em in alone when we unmasked them," you add when Carson gives you a quizzical look.
"He made the cutest little Monique," Joe says, and gives you a quick hug, which you push away with a surly cuss word. "So precious and vulnerable and innocent. The guys we were hunting took one look at her giant brown eyes and dropped their guard." He toasts you with his beer bottle, and chugs half of it down.
"Who did you catch?" Carson asks. "From Westside, we caught Ms. Goretsky and Mr. Santiago and Coach Tesla. Oh, and Coach Porter. You had Mr. Gelding tied up here."
"We most caught old people, their parents, I guess. But one young guy, at least. I didn't recognize him."
"A friend or relative, probably," says Carson. "We had one or two like that."
"Mr. Walberg was the only one I recognized. Uh, do we know who all they were at Westside? I mean, which of our friends were fakes?"
An uncomfortable silence descends, and you're on the verge of withdrawing the question when Joe gets up. "Maybe it's a good idea you know. That way you'll know who to be, uh, gentle with when you go back to school."
Cripes, that's right. You'll have to go to school tomorrow, and you'll have lost a week and not have any idea what's going on. And Mr. Walberg will be there too!
Joe brings in a big box, which makes a clinking sound when he drops it. "These are the masks from Westside. So, let's see— Oh, it could almost be Christmas, if we were going to use these things."
"Joe," says Frank in a warning tone.
"Yeah, I know, I know. Fuck, you guys shoulda spotted faux-Frank as a fake when he talked you guys into putting on masks. The real one never woulda stood for it. He has no sense of fun." He clucks his tongue as he takes out a mask.
"But let's see. Anthony Kirk," he says as he reads the inside of the first mask, and lays it aside. "Ethan Nieves. Joseph Ysleta. Kendra Saunders. Yumi Saito."
"We knew about those last two," Carson says.
"Cameron Huber. Anita Nuevo. Kim Walsh. Dane Matthias."
"It must've been Walberg playing Dane," you say. "Man, I cannot picture that. I mean, old Walrus-Butt as Dane?"
"Rachel Burton. Jessica Garner. Caleb Johansson."
You grab that one from him and stare into it, shivering hard. Sure enough, it's got Caleb's name inside it, and when you turn it over, you can make out the ghostly face of your best friend floating on the outer surface. But for how long was a doppelganger playing him?
"Steven Patterson. Gordon Black. Laurent Delacroix. Victoria Rodriguez. Geoffrey Mansfield. And that's it."
An interesting set, you think. Some of them make sense to you: Gordon and Steve and Laurent, for a start. Kendra and Yumi. Some interesting omissions. No one wanted to be Chelsea Cooper? That surprises you.
"What about Javits?" Carson asks. "Did you say his name?"
Joe looks back through the masks as he returns them to the box. Seth's mask isn't in there. And it's not in the other boxes, Joe says, when he returns from the bedroom where they're keeping them.
"Does that mean there's still another doppelganger out there?" you ask. "Maybe that's the one that has the— Did you guys find the book?"
Heads shake, but no one seems upset. You and Carson exchange a worried glance.
Just then the doorbell rings. "Maybe that's the mystery doppelganger come to turn himself in," says Bredon.
"I'll get it," says Joe, and saunters over to the door. "Yes? Oh, hey! Hi! Prescott!" He grins as he pulls the visitor inside. "Your date's here!"
Lisa Yarborough, looking deeply discomfited, even a little scared, stumbles in. "Oh. Hi, Will. Uh, Carson."
You get up, feeling as confused as Lisa looks. The fuck is going on? "Lisa! I didn't know you were—! Um, about the other night—"
"It's my fault, and I should explain," says Joe. "You remember me from Friday night, right?" he says to Lisa. "I was the one who got all handsy with your date down by the river."
Lisa shrinks from him.
"At least," says Joe very humbly. "That's what they tell me. See, I wasn't feeling myself. I got kicked in the head or something, was practically somebody else. I don't normally go around doing things like that. I'm actually a sweetie-pie. Forgive me?" He turns dopey puppy-dog-eyes on her, and blinks piteously.
"Sure," says Lisa, sounding ever more uncertain by the moment.
"So, to compensate you guys, I arranged for this make up date. That was me who called you a little while ago. I was pretending to be Will. I'm, uh, kind of a mimic, and I wanted to surprise him. No hard feelings, are there, Prescott? Just a little thank-you gesture from all of us, getting things square between you and Lisa, show how much we appreciate your help the last few days."
You have to stare before you find your voice. "Sure. I mean, thanks," you say, and look around. Frank looks watchful; Rick looks bored; Carson looks as baffled as you.
"Well, um, since I'm here, and we're ready," Lisa says, her voice coming in quick gasps. "Maybe we could go?" Her smile is rather ghastly.
You nod, but Joe steps in front of you. "Oh hey, Lisa, you got a little schmutz on your—" His hand goes over her face, and he mutters something rapidly. There's a sound of ripping cloth, and Lisa collapses to the floor, wallowing in the ruins of her dress.
Except it's not Lisa. It's a fat man with a bad comb-over and a greasy-looking moustache-goatee combination. His tongue protrudes from his mouth as his head lolls.
You jump, and jump again when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Carson's eyes are starting from his head. "It's Professor Blackwell!" he exclaims.
"Jinkies!" laughs Joe.
* * * * *
"No, it wasn't him all along," snorts Rick after he and Frank have handcuffed the professor and bundled him into a car. "Except way back at the start. But if you want to hear the whole thing from the beginning, come with me out to his villa. Though I'll warn you, it won't be pleasant."  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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