Chapter #19Chelsea Cooper by: Seuzz   You spot Gordon Black just inside a second living room and force your way through to him. You have to stand on a piano bench to reach his ear, and you have to repeat it three times before he understands your low-decibel message: "Chelsea wants to do it in Meghan's room. On her bed." You give him a pinched, unhappy look—what a humiliating message to have to deliver!—when he looks back wonderingly at you. He cocks an eyebrow and grins.
You then go into the kitchen, to linger impatiently in a spot where you can see the foot of the stairs. But Gordon comes into the kitchen to find Chelsea. Shit! He leans over and murmurs in her ear. Her eyes go wide and she gives a little jerk. Then she covers a wicked smile with the back of her hand and nods at him. He goes out and up the stairs.
Perverts. You've chosen your victims well.
You storm back into the living room and snatch your purse up from Prescott. "Why don't you go find Gordon, see if he can teach you some manners," you yell at him. "I think he's upstairs." He laughs softly to himself, and you pretend to quail as he brushes past you, to swagger upstairs after Black.
With a sigh of relief—the hard part is over; now comes the tricky part—you lean against the wall near the foot of the stairs. Ben Kleema, one of the band guys, sidles up to you. "So, I saw you chewing out Prescott," he says. "I like a girl who can handle jerks."
"I'll kick your ass too," you snap. "I'm so sick of freaks tonight." His face falls, and with a mumble he slinks away.
You grasp at Chelsea as she brushes past. "I dunno what's up, but Gordon said to tell you, um, 'the master bedroom'? Because Prescott's in Meghan's room?"
She pulls away but doesn't reprimand you, and she doesn't say anything as you follow her up. Down the other leg of the hall you can see Prescott draped across a bedroom door and smiling into it. He's smoking a cigarette: Man, what you wouldn't give to see how freaked out Black is. He might jump out a window.
Chelsea steps into the master bedroom and looks around. You squeeze in behind her and quietly shut the door. You've got the mask out and are about to reach around with it when she wheels on you. "This is bullshit. What's going on?" You slam the mask hard against her; she gives a short squeal and takes a shorter fall to the ground.
You drag her around behind the bed where she can't be seen and quickly pull her dress off her: luckily she's wearing only a short, tightly-fitted, one-piece sleeveless sack and undergarments. That done you rush back to the door and pull it open a crack. Prescott was watching you too, and is already guarding the door to the master bedroom; he slips in and you shut and lock it. "Into the bathroom, quick," you hiss. "Get your clothes off." You start pulling your own off as well.
So many things to coordinate: you take Prescott's clothes and drop them next to Chelsea just as the mask reappears on her face. Crap: that was too short. You hurl your clothes into the bathroom at the naked Prescott, who is now stretched out on the tile floor. Carefully, you lift the mask from Chelsea's face; she doesn't wake. You rip the mask off Prescott, revealing a naked and unconscious Yumi, who will wake to find herself suddenly transported from her car to a bathroom in a strange house; that should be fun for her. You quietly close the bathroom door on her and drop the Prescott mask onto Chelsea. The change there is instantaneous, and he wakes with a start. You motion him to hush, and quietly tell him to get dressed and get over to the door; you think you heard the locked knob jiggle. Finally, you rip the Yumi mask from your face and toss it to Prescott, who tucks it under his jacket as he ducks out the door; you then press the new Chelsea mask to your face.
You fight to keep awake, but briefly pass out from the excruciating pain of feeling yourself crushed into much smaller frame. That pain is gone when you awake a few seconds later, though. You are a little groggy and haven't got time to give your new body an appreciate going over; instead, you just pull your new dress over your head ... only to realize that the zipper is in the back.
With a gulp, you sit down on the bed. How are you going to explain this?
A movement at the door draws your eye; it's Gordon, and his face is an ugly mix of chalk-white and green. "I just saw Prescott come out of here," he says numbly.
You burst into tears and run over, throwing your arms around him. "He got me in here, Gordon, and then he ... he ...!" You scream and bury your face in his stomach.
He is very still as he takes in your unzipped state, and the bra and panties that are lying on the floor. Heavily, he pats you on the back, and clumsily he pulls up the zipper on your dress.
"I'm going to kill the fucker," he says in a thick voice.
* * * * *
Of course, there is no question of staying at the party after that. You swear Gordon to secrecy, but he insists on driving you home. He wants to walk you in, but you bravely insist on going in alone. "I don't want my folks to know." You snuffle and sniff and sob uncontrollably, give him a long hug, and then crawl from the car. You compose yourself on the front porch before entering the house.
"You're home early," your mother observes with surprise. She hasn't even changed into her night gown.
You roll your eyes. "It was the most lame ass party, like, ever. Meghan has no business throwing those things. I'm going to take a bath."
It's in the bathtub that you finish getting acquainted with the most lusted-after body at Westside High. And it is even more glorious when it's yours, because you know where to stick your fingers to make its fibers vibrate like the string section of a metropolitan orchestra. You warble along with your throaty soprano.
* * * * *
You wake late the next morning from soft dreams to find yourself at the center of the biggest clusterfuck in Westside history. Your Facebook page is scrawled-over with condolences and outrage; you have over a hundred text messages on your cell phone.
Everyone knows that you were raped at Meghan's house by Will Prescott.
Your first thought is to kill Gordon for talking. Further reading discloses that it's Yumi's fault. Prescott was seen exiting the bedroom; then you were seen being hustled out by Gordon; then Yumi, in a disheveled and confused state, appeared. She has no memories from the past week, so everyone leaped to a conclusion that she herself then embraced: The weird, threatening, drug-dealing Prescott had done something to her, something so loathsome that she was blocking it out. That was enough to get Gordon jump in too.
You need to think. Actually, you need to get back over to Blackwell's house before you are cornered by the sympathetic mob. You quickly dress—nothing special, just jeans and a sweater—and then remember your car is at Meghan's. Or is it? Your mom tells you that Gordon dropped it off this morning. Did he say anything, you ask. She shakes her head absent-mindedly. So you snatch up your keys and dash off.
This is bad, you think to yourself. You don't care especially about "Will Prescott," except insofar as he represents damaged property. You pretty much have no intention of returning to your old life. But this mess will damage Chelsea's. If you admit nothing happened the reputation of the girl you stole will be ruined so much she'll have to change her name and move to another state. If you insist something did happen, even to the point of pressing charges, then you'll be at the center of a circus that won't be any fun.
Maybe you should bail out of Chelsea's life real quick. Yumi was an amnesiac; Chelsea's behavior last night could be excused on the same grounds, if you brought her back this afternoon. The life of "Prescott" would be ruined, but you don't care about that.
Or ... What if "Will Prescott" vanished? What if he vanished spectacularly, in a terrifying manner? You grin. What a punctuation mark to your sad, sad high school career. You could continue as Chelsea. Why, being a victim of a horrific crime at the hands of a ... of a warlock would make her unassailable in the school. The circus would turn into an endless line of girls and boys unable to do anything but suck up to you.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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