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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Three-Point Shot"  The loft is lost in shadows as dusk has deepened, but you can make out the form of Number Three—the doppelganger you have given the face and form of Steve Patterson—well enough. You are standing in the midst of the loft, facing each other, as you more fully explain the things to come. "I got rid of Steve and put you in his place because I want control of this loft," you tell him. "One of your jobs is to make sure it is clear when we need to use it, and to bring people up here when we're ready to replace them. We're going to be duplicating and replacing a lot more people at Westside, and here is where we'll be doing a lot of it." "It's a good spot for it," he says, glancing around. "Except there's one problem, boss. Gordon and Chelsea and Jason Lynch are up here a lot." "Don't worry about Chelsea. She is one of us already." The revelation doesn't seem to startle the doppelganger. "She is Number One. I am Number Two. You are Number Three. There will be more." "Why?" "Because that is what we want, Number Three. Both of us, all of us. We want to replace key people at the high school with ... things like us." "Does that include Gordon and Jason?" You hesitate. "I haven't decided yet. For now, when we want the loft, Chelsea can distract Gordon, like she's doing tonight. Can you get rid of Jason for us?" Number Three looks off somewhere over your head. "That's what Steve wanted," he says after a moment's thought. "But he couldn't get Gordon to go along with it. Gordon likes having Jason around, there's something between them." "What?" Another hesitation. "Steve didn't know. Gordon's funny that way, that's all that Steve knew. Lynch likes to come up here randomly, even when he knew that Steve was ... busy. He thought it was funny." "Think about how to handle him. For now, let me have Steve's number." You and Number Three exchange contact information. "After we've made a few more replacements, we'll have a meeting to make plans. For now, fill Steve Patterson's place. If I need the loft, I'll let you know." "Understood." You regard each other. The voice you have been speaking with comes from a place inside you that you hardly feel you control, but it now falls silent. When you speak again, it is a voice coming from somewhere else. "If the real Kim Walsh and the real Steve Patterson had come up here, tonight, like this—" You point to the laptop. "What would have happened?" Number Three's face is a cold and rigid mask as he answers. "He would have fucked her if he could, but he'd have made her feel special when he did, then fucked her and made her feel specialer some more, and kept fucking her and making her feel special, for about a week or two. Then she would have found out he was fucking another girl and making her feel just as special." You nod. "Is that something you can do?" It is very dark now, but you can see the look of puzzled contempt that faintly distorts Number Three's face. "I am a fully functional duplicate of Steve Patterson. Anything he could do, I can do." "Then do it. Not to me," you add as he reaches for you. "But to any girl I order you to." "You're the boss, boss." * * * * * So that's your Friday night. You leave Number Three to lock up the loft, and return to Kim's. You find it hard to concentrate after you are in her bedroom, having changed for bed but still sitting up to flick across the internet on her phone. This lack of concentration bothers you, and it also bothers you that you are not more bothered by it, only gently irritated. You felt a mental fog descending on you after classes let out, when you worked in the office conference room. It lifted while you were with Patterson; and while there was no fog while you were with Number Three, you still felt like a spectator inside your own mind and body, watching and listening as you swapped Number Three in for Patterson, and gave the replacement his instructions. That bothers you too. You didn't feel in control, even as those instructions came out of you, doing as you wanted and planned. Where did that "Number Three" business come from? It makes sense—you've been telling the doppelgangers, Chelsea and Kim and now Steve, that they are imposters, and giving them a number as a name and identity seems like a good idea for keeping them under control. Your time with Patterson, if nothing else, has convinced you how bad it could be if his duplicate was free to act like the original. You felt both bullied and seduced by him, and you wonder if you could resist if the doppelganger acted like Patterson with you. But you don't remember deciding to call the duplicates by numbers rather than by names. It just came out that way. Kim's dad knocks to say good night, and shortly afterward you put out the light. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling as sleepless now as when you woke this morning. That's when the trouble started, you realize with a frown. I woke up this morning in a kind of mental fog, and I was in a mental fog all day. Well, except when I was in class, and with Steve. A cold ripple runs over you. It cleared up when I had to act like Kim because other people were around. The thought, Act like Kim comes to you, and at once, with a shuddering sigh, you are warm all over. Your eyes droop and you sleep. * * * * * You run errands for your dad all next morning, and help around the house until a little after noon. During that time you text Numbers One and Three, to see what they are doing. Steve is also busy; Chelsea reports she has reached a kind of detente with Gordon, thought he is still being "a butt." You would leave it there, but as your chores are winding down you get another text from Chelsea: Omg boss did u sleep at loft wi steve last nite? She links you to an x2z thread filled with anonymous speculations. You set her to tracking down the source of the rumors, then call Number Three. "Betcha anything it was Kendra," he says when you meet at William McKinley Elementary. He's in shorts and a tank top, and he brought a ball and is shooting hoops while you watch from the edge of the blacktop. He seemed "switched off" and robotic when you met, so you told him to "be Steve", and his face relaxed into a louche and knowing smirk as he spun the ball on a fingertip. His face grew hard and his eyes very cold, though, when you told him of the rumors. "Also," he complains, "you're talking like you don't want people thinking it's true." "I don't want people talking about us. I don't want them knowing what happened up there last night." "You mean you don't want people knowing what really happened," he retorts. "Best deflection is to let 'em think we did something else instead." He mimes passing the ball to his left, then pivots to his right to loft and sink the ball in the basket. "Besides, what's wrong with people thinking Kim and Steve are being a couple of beasts with each other?" he asks as he jogs over to retrieve the ball. "It'd make sense for us to be together, if I'm going to help you. "You know, it's funny," he continues when you say nothing. "Remember last night, at Canopies, when Steve said you help people too much? He was going to add something about how you needed someone to help you. But then he came up with a different line, a different way to get into your panties. Moron." He snorts. "And now here I am"—he sends the ball into the basket again—"doing that and all his other jobs for him." You are reminded of that fear you had last night, of how easy it would be for him to bully you with his attentions and his personality. "Okay. Then stop being Steve for a minute. If you want to help, let's talk about the plan." So he leaves the ball to roll away while standing attentively but impassively before you. You have the security of the loft, but now you want a money stream. So you describe to him the ideas you've had for your next replacement: Kelsey Blankenship, a queen bee who runs one of the top cliques at school, and whose father gave her a BMW from one of his dealerships, and gives her lots of spending money. Charles Hartlein, the very out-of-the-closet drama club president, who has his finger on the pulse of the artsy underground at school, and who also has lots of money to throw around. "Whoever it is" that runs the drug trade at school. (Number Three confirms that it's Gary Chen who is the root of that particular evil.) And "whoever it is" that runs the Warehouse and makes money off it. (There, too, Number Three confirms that Erik Carstairs of the football squad would be the best person to replace with a doppelganger if you want to control that.) But then he offers a surprising suggestion. "Jonathan Straussler." "I don't know who he is." "He's at Eastman. He's on their basketball team, and his dad is a software and technology tycoon or something. He's a billionaire, anyway." "Does Jonathan have money? Of his own, I mean?" "Steve had the impression he does. If we really want money, though, we'd want to replace his father. But also Jonathan, to act as a conduit." You ponder this. When it becomes too awkward having Number Three hovering lifelessly over you, you tell him to "turn Steve back on." That means his expression softens into a smirk. "Yeah, okay. You know, I could get us Straussler this afternoon, I bet," he says. "Unless—" He leans over you. "You wanna start some more rumors about Steve and Kim." Next: "The Gossip Girl" |
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