This choice: Bust into the basement now. • Go Back...Chapter #9More Masks by: Seuzz   "Yo, check it out," you call to the other guys. You jerk your chin at the door and trot over. They follow, and as you sidle up to it you grin back at them. You twist the doorknob slowly, the push it open quickly.
Will Prescott looks up at you from the floor, first astonishment and then terror writ large on his features. He is holding something in his hand.
Well, this is a nice surprise. You glance back over at Richards and Javits, wishing you were alone with the guy you've just found, but it can't be helped. You chew on the inside of your cheek, and a wicked smile spreads across your face as you walk slowly up, to tower over Prescott. "The fuck have we here? Whatcha got?"
"Just a project," he says in low voice. He looks up at you from under his eyebrows.
You snigger. "A faggot arts project, huh?" You look around. There's a horrible acrid odor in the air, and two grayish-white masks and one blue one sit on a nearby table. You snatch up the blue mask and examine it; there's a metal strip on the inside. It must be the nearly finished mask that Blackwell took from the house.
You toss it to Jeremy and the other two, unfinished masks to Seth. "Big score for us, boyos. Looks like we just got ourselves a passing grade in Trencher's class." Prescott gasps and starts to stand. You push him down and yank the unfinished mask from his hand and toss it back to Jeremy. "What else ya got for us?"
You grab up his backpack and push him down, hard. Rifling through it you find your own textbooks and notebooks and papers and ...
"Fuckin' A. Where'd you lift this from?" You rub your hands carefully down the front of the Libras Persona. "This is wicked weird." You toss it back to Javits.
"That's a library book," Prescott protests.
"We'll return it for you," you gloat. "Wouldn't want you collecting any fines." You turn the backpack upside down and empty the contents on the floor. "Anything else? I lost my history book, so I'll take yours. Great, a term paper. Less work for me."
Prescott turns very red, and you see a glint of hard anger in his eye, but he can't do anything.
"Okay, I think we're done. We'll let ya get back to work. I got two more guys who need these whatchits for class, so make plenty."
You usher the other two players out the door. Javits is grinning, but Richards looks a little pained. He used to hang out with you and Caleb and Keith in middle school, and he's probably feeling a pang of conscience.
At the top of the steps into the basement you tell the other two to wait for you by the cars: you've got a little unfinished work back in the basement.
"Come on, Gordon," Richards protests. "He's not worth it."
"For fifty bucks you can watch, Richards."
His lips turn white, but he says nothing, and he and Javits return to where your cars are parked.
After they are around the corner you go back down into the basement. Too late you spot Prescott, and the two-by-four across the side of your face drops you to your knees.
It takes several moments for you to clear your head, and you're slow stumbling up the steps after him. You could probably outpace him, but he has too much of a head start, and you're too groggy to give chase. Cursing, you slowly walk back to join your erstwhile friends.
Richards is sitting by his car, leaning against it lazily. Javits looks up at you, and his face is white. He starts when he sees you nursing your eye. "What the fuck happened, Gordon?"
"Cocksucker got me with a board. You know him?"
"I've seen him around. I know who he hangs out with."
"Good. Monday we give him a special." You kick Richards in the foot. "What's your problem?"
"It's those things we got off the faggot," Javits says. His voice trembles.
Your blood freezes. "What happened?"
"I dunno. He started goofing around with one, put it to his face. And then he just fell over."
You crouch down and examine Richards carefully. His breathing is shallow and his gaze unfocused. You slap him a couple of times. "Where's the thing?"
"The thing?"
"The fucking thing you said he was fucking playing with, you fuckwit. Christ!" You both scramble around: there are three unpolished masks and the Libras on the ground. "There was a blue one, wasn't there?"
"I dunno, Gordon."
You snap your fingers in his face. "Learn to use your fucking eyes, Javits. God gave 'em to you for more than staring at porn."
It's pretty clear that Richards unwittingly tried on the polished mask. You have to get rid of Javits before it can—
Shit. Richards' face begins to glow, and the mask reappears. It drops into his lap. Seth makes a choking noise. You examine the mask: Jeremy's face glows from inside it, and on its inverted surface the words JEREMY THADDEUS RICHARDS seem to float above the surface.
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