This choice: Work with Seth and Jeremy. • Go Back...Chapter #10The Magician's End by: Seuzz   "He's a fucking wizard," you say. "Or magician or warlock or some shit like that." You lean back on Richards' bed and tap the book.
"Prescott's a lot of things, but he's no Harry Potter," Richards insists.
"You used to fuck around with him, right? What was he like?" Richards talks about you, emphasizing the stupider aspects of your behavior and personality, you notice. "This isn't his kind of thing," he says when he's done.
"He sounds like a fucking loner," you say. "Columbine wannabe." Richards shakes his head emphatically. "Then how come he's making this shit? Look at what he can do with it." You nod your head at the other Richards, who is still checking himself out in the mirror. "Yo, you want some privacy, Javits? Richards, give him your jerk-off sock."
"He uses a t-shirt," the Richards-wearing Javits says. "Sorry," he mumbles as Richards glares at him.
"Let's get that thing off you. This is getting real fruity." You gesture Javits over, and after consulting the book again you rip the mask from his face. "So, it looks to me like he's out to replace people at the school." You point to the scattered notes you've taken as you and the other two have "deciphered" the book with the help of a laptop. "He can make these masks and mind-rape people and even make these golem things."
"Maybe it's not really Prescott doing these things," Richards says. "Maybe he's been replaced himself." Three-point shot for Richards. "I mean, whoever it is has to be stopped, of course ..."
You suck on your lip. "I wish I knew what this next spell was supposed to do." It's, the one Blackwell was presumably preparing. "It needs a live person, it says."
"And all that graveyard dirt," Javits says, making a face.
"Well, I know what you boys are doing tonight," you say, getting to your feet. "I say we experiment on the fucker, use him to figure out this next spell."
"Us?" Richards asks, turning pale. "And him?"
"You got a better idea? You said he has to be stopped. I say we use his own magic against him."
"So what do we do," Javits asks as Richards says nothing.
"Like I said, you boys go out and get some graveyard shit. It's dark, no one will see you."
"You coming too?"
"Can't. The old man'll kill me if I'm not back home in an hour." You snatch up the book. "I'll get the rest of the shit. Meet me tomorrow at the fuck room. We'll take care of it there."
"How?"
"Keep your shit together, Richards. It's all, like, interlocking gears and shit. I'll tell you your part tomorrow. You just get that fucking dirt. And don't tell anyone else anything."
* * * * *
They meet you outside the gym door the next day at one, and you lead them up. It's their first time up in the VIP room, and they try to look suitably impressed, even though it's just a smelly loft. At your direction they spread the dirt out on the gym mat, and you add the other ingredients, including a bit of your (not Gordon's) hair. "Okay, I told Lynch and Patterson to stay the fuck away, so this should go smooth. As long as Javits doesn't fuck it up."
"Me? What do I gotta do?"
"You gotta get Prescott, bring him here. Use this and be his friend." You thrust the Jeremy Richards mask at Javits.
"The fuck?" Richards protests. "What's the idea, Gordon?"
"So you guys were, like, fuckbuddies in middle school, right? So you're feeling awful about what happened yesterday, so you should go out to see him today." You turn to Javits. "Use the mask. Cry like a little girl if you have to. Just get him out of his fucking house, get him over here. I know, tell him we stowed his shit up here in the fuck room, and you can get it back for him if he comes with you."
"And how come Javits is going instead of me?" Richards asks.
"Because you will feel like shit and mess it up. I can see it in your eyes. The guy's bad news, but you'd suck his cock before giving him the screwing over he needs."
* * * * *
You and Richards don't say much after Javits has left. You make a few muted noises about not liking to do what you have to do, but he doesn't believe you much; and really, you're not sincere. About thirty minutes later, you look out the window and see the fake Jeremy and Prescott arrive. "Don't fuck this up, Richards," you warn your companion. "We take him from behind." You both hide.
Voices come from outside, and then the door opens and Prescott appears. As soon as he's in, you tackle him and pin him to the ground. "The rope, Richards! Now!"
Nothing happens but Prescott's struggles. You look behind you. An anguished Richards is standing stock still, fiddling with the rope.
"God damn it, Richards! Give me the rope!"
He turns red. "Fuck you, Gordon. This is fucked up!"
You swear hard and jump at him. You struggle, but he is fierce, and you can't get the rope from him or get a grip. "Javits!" you call to your confused third. "Keep the faggot down! Don't let him—" Richards elbows you in the mouth, and you drag him down as you fall. "Javits! Little help?" you say from the floor.
You struggle to push Richards off, and then you feel the shuddering blow as Javits tackles his friend. You look up in time to see Prescott jump for the door. You shove your foot out, and with a cry he takes a header, banging his head hard on the corner of the doorway. You scramble over, away from the dueling twins, and turn him over. He is out cold.
The two Richards are grunting and cursing, but you ignore them, and put your hand to Prescott's brow; you murmur the words and pull. The mask comes off, and there is a ripping sound as Blackwell's massive bulk appears and tears away Prescott's clothes.
You stand with a grunt. "Javits! Let him up! It's okay!" The two players fall away from each other, dazed. You point to the unconscious figure. "Take a look at your friend now, Richards. Gotta say, you were right."
Richards comes over, looking dumbfounded and aghast at Blackwell. You hand him the mask you tore from the man. He says nothing, but looks at the mask numbly.
"Javits, help me with this cocksucker." The two of you lift Blackwell onto the bier of earth, and you pour the magic powder over him. "Light it up." Javits swallows, flicks a match, and tosses it onto Blackwell. There is a bright flash, and ghostly, heatless flame envelops the magician.
After checking to make sure the flame is going good, you glance back at Richards, in time to see him put the mask to his face. "The fuck are you—" But it's too late, and he goes down. You and Javits watch as he shifts and contorts, as Javits did when he put on the mask of Jeremy.
When it's over, you bend down next to the new Prescott. "Richards, is that you in there? You okay?"
He nods dazedly, and his brow crinkles. He looks like he's trying to remember something. "The guy. His name is Blackwell. He's a professor. And he—" His face goes white and he scrambles for the door. "He's got ... he's got Will and Lucy Vredenburg!"
"Richards!" You leap after him and catch him by the loose, overlarge clothing he's wearing. "Don't go off half cocked, you fuckwit. Hang on! We gotta make sure that motherfucker's taken care of!"
"But he's got my friend! He's got Lucy! At his place!" He stops short. "Wait, no. They got out somehow. They escaped." He bites his lip. "I don't know where they are."
"There, you see? They'll be okay. We just gotta make sure whatsisname back there is out of commission."
Glumly, he follows you back into the loft.
* * * * *
"Near as I can tell," you say, prodding the recumbent figure, "it turned him into another one of these golem things." Blackwell is now a solid granite color, and he seems to have been turned to stone itself. But he is still lightly breathing. His eyes are open, though, and they are the same stony texture, so you doubt he'll be waking up.
"What do we do with him?"
You shrug and toss the Prescott mask onto its face. It vanishes like a stone in a pool, and color ripples over the form, turning it into Will Prescott. The figure groans and clutches its head. "Oh, shit, my head hurts!" It sits up, and jerks a little when it sees you. "Fuck. No offense, boss, but you're the last person I wanted to see."
"What's your name, little dude?"
"Will Prescott. So where's Blackwell?"
"Don't you know?" He shakes his head, then winces. "Never mind then. You called me 'boss'. How come?"
"That's what you are. My boss."
"You mean, you're like my bitch?" You grin.
It glowers. "If that's the way you prefer things ..."
"This is all kinds of fucked up," Richards exclaims. "That's not Prescott. It's a— a—"
"I keep telling you to keep your shit together, Richards. I know what it is." You look over at Javits. "Will you take that fucking face off already? Two Richards is about four times as much ugly as I can stomach. And you can go fuck off now. Him, me and it can take it from here."
After Javits has gone, you look grimly between Richards and the Prescott golem.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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