The Book of Masks (Vol. 2)

Closer and Clover

Previously: "Thick as Identity Thieves" 

You don't have time to properly set up an ambush for Clover Mystery, but that doesn't mean you don't try. Meet me at Suffolk wilderness asap, you DM Jack, for you figure he can bring muscle that Patterson, in your body, can't. Dinner is almost ready when you fire off this DM, but you're able to wriggle out of it by claiming you need to rush some schoolwork you borrowed over to a friend. Mrs. Li looks a little put out, but agrees to put your supper in the oven for when you get back.

You shoot Jack another DM as you drive out, and even send him a text on Patterson's phone, telling him to check his DMs, but you've heard no answer before pulling into the parking lot at the entrance to the wilderness trailheads.

The Suffolk Wilderness is a nature preserve on the very southeastern edge of town, bounded on one side by the military base (Fort Suffolk), and on another side by Lake Covington. It's a very small and hilly nature preserve, good for some leisurely hiking and not much else, but pleasant. Jack used to come out here all the time with Parker and some of the girls, but it's been awhile since he has been out; and you hardly ever came out here at all.

It being evening, the small parking lot is almost entirely empty, save for an SUV you don't recognize parked near the tiny, faux-rustic visitors' hut. You carefully circle the area, looking for someone—anyone—else. But you seem to have it all for yourself. The place is silent, too, save for the swish and grumble of traffic on the nearby state highway. You perch on the hood of the minivan, and text Clover to say that you're here.

Great! the reply comes a few moments later. Come up main trail go left at split. You set your jaw and comply, while DMing the same instructions to Jack for when he follows. You take the hike slowly, often casting your eyes back to the parking lot for signs of help, until the trail rounds a bend and plunges under the eaves of the scrubby forest that covers most of the park.

Over hillocks and through hollows the trail winds around the base of the nearest hill, whose top is lit like fire and gold by the setting sun. But it is shadowy under the forest canopy; insects buzz and drone in the grass. How far I go? you text Clover, who doesn't reply. For a quarter mile ... then a half mile ... then maybe a full mile? ... you tramp, until you finally stop, angered by the feeling that you've fallen not into a trap but into a prank. Clover is probably back in town, eating a burger and laughing at me, you fume. If I ever get my hands on them— Before turning back to the parking lot, you text: Where r u?

Lol u passed me, comes the reply. Go back I stop u.

You grind your teeth, but happily turn back the way you came.

You've gone maybe a few hundred yards when a voice calls: "Hey! Jack!"

You stop. "Clover?"

"Yeah! Glad you made it!"

It's a feminine voice, one that is familiar but which you can't quite place. It is floating in from no great distance from off the trail to your right, but otherwise you can't pin it down. "Where are you?"

"Here! Don't worry about trying to find me! We can talk like this!"

"Okay, what do we talk about?"

"Anything you want! Oh, but I know! Let's talk about who I change you into next!"

Not this again. "I don't want to be changed into anyone else!"

"Oh, you like being Jack? That's cool! Jack's cool, I'm glad you—"

"I mean, I want to be changed back into myself!"

"Changed back into yourself," the voice echoes in a musing sort of way. "Okay! Maybe we can work with that!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! Maybe! You know the story about the princess and the frog, right?"

"Yeah?"

"The frog is a prince, but he can't change back until he's kissed by a princess!"

"Uh huh."

"So, which princess do you want to kiss you? Or—" There's a giggle. "Do you want it to be a prince?"

That gets your dander up, both yours and Jack's. "Don't fuck around with me! I don't want a fucking prince or princess to—"

"Then I guess you want to stay like you are!"

Your heart seems to freeze in your chest. "Look, what do you want?"

"I want to have fun! I want you to have fun! Hasn't it been fun, being another person, getting to live someone else's life for awhile? Getting to have new friends, new experiences? I think it's been good for you, Will! Being Jack, getting to think and feel like him. I've been watching you, you know, at school. You do a fantastic imitation of him! It's very natural! Almost perfect! It is perfect, as far as anyone else can—!"

"Look, you're hurting people! You're hurting me, you're hurting Jack and Steve—"

"Steve deserves to be hurt!" It startles you how fast the voice leaps to anger at the mention of Patterson's name. "Look what he did to you when you went to talk to Chelsea! I wanted to switch you and him, I wanted him to be Jack—that'd be sweet!—and I wanted you to be him! You'da been nicer than him. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you of?" Clover asks you again when you don't answer.

"I ... guess. I mean, I don't know—"

"You wouldn't?"

"I don't know! This is all so confusing—"

"You're not an asshole, Will. You do a good job being Jack—" A note of uncertainty creeps into the voice. "Would you'd of done a good job being Steve? I mean, would you be the perfect asshole, like you're—"

"That's not the issue!" you shout back. "What matters is putting us all back!"

"Right. So Steve can be his asshole self again," the voice says, this time very dryly.

You sigh. "I can't help that."

"Jack can help it. He's not being the asshole that Steve was. That part worked out, I guess—"

"Do you have some kind of plan?" you shriek. "You said you just wanted to have fun—"

"My plan is to have fun," Clover says, petulantly. "And maybe I'm having fun switching up people who are assholes with people who aren't. Is that such a bad thing?"

"Yeah, I think it is!"

There's a long silence. Then: "I'm sorry to hear that. I thought maybe you'd help me."

"Not if it means hurting people. Besides," you add when the voice maintains a hurt silence, "it seems to me you don't need my help. Whatever you're doing, it's not just me and Jack and Steve you're doing it to. You did it to Gordon too, didn't you? And to Chelsea?"

"What makes you say that?" There's a little gasp in Clover's voice.

"I'm not stupid. You did them too. Have you done any others?"

Now she sniggers. "That's for me to know, and for you to figure out!"

You sigh, and there's a silence between you. You check your phone, but there have been no replies from Jack. You really want to keep Clover here, distracted, until Jack can get here. But you have run out of things to say.

At least, you've run out if you stick to your guns.

"Look," you say, "there's gotta be some kind of compromise here, some kind of deal. Weren't you talking to me earlier, in your texts, about maybe switching Jack and Steve back if I, uh, if I let you ... switch me with someone else? What about—?"

There's a crash and a crunch, as of something falling into or struggling through bushes off in the direction of Clover's voice. You pause to listen. Is Clover coming out?

Not until the sounds have ceased do you call Clover's name. But there is no reply. You jump off the trail, only to find the ground under the trees treacherously pocked with hollows, bushes, and dead branches. You push through, still calling Clover's name. It has gotten very dark under the forest canopy, and you are starting to seriously worry about getting lost, when you bust through back onto the trail unexpectedly.

Except, you realize as you look around, it's a different trail, separated from the trail you came up by only a thin screen of trees. And Clover has disappeared down it.

That SUV is still in the parking lot when you find your way back; you photograph its license plate. But though you wait for thirty minutes, no one comes to retrieve it. At last, you give up and drive back into town.

* * * * *

"I was with Gordon," Steve explains later that night when you finally meet up with him. You're at the school, in the parking lot, which is safely deserted for this meeting. "Well, with the guy who's now him. It's really tricky, you know, getting someone to confess that he's not the person he's looking like. So no, I wasn't going to run off in the middle of that," he truculently declares.

Not even for a chance to catch Clover Mystery? you want to ask him, but you bite your tongue. You can see his point, even if you disagree with it and think his choice cost you plenty. Between the two of you, you're sure you could've trapped Clover and put an end to all this fuckery.

"So, did you get it him to say anything?" you ask.

"Yeah. He knows what's going on with you and me and Steve. And we know what's going on with him. We're all supposed to meet tomorrow to talk about it."

"Who is he? Really?"

"Crispin Fontana."

"Oh, shit. So Gordon is now—"

"Crispin Fontana," Steve repeats, grimly.

You can't help but laugh. Gordon Black, transformed into one of Charles Hartlein's gay mobsters.

Then you shiver. What does it say about you that suddenly Clover's words are beginning to make sense? That some people might deserve this fuckery? And that this fuckery might be ... fun?

Next: "Party Tardy" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 2)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 2)"