Chapter #55Burning Your Old Friends by: Seuzz   Not much point in running, you decide. Even if you slipped him here, Joe knows your name and would be pissed when he caught up to you at home. You doubt Curt Straussler could protect you from Frank and Joe; and you don't want to go back to Eric Kim.
You dance from foot to foot until a shrill whistle pierces the air, and Joe gestures you over to the house. You slowly trot up--
"Move it, Prescott!"
--and end in a dead sprint. Joe pushes you inside.
The other Joe is here too, and looks uneasily between you and his original. "Hey boss," he chirps, then covers his mouth. "Oops. Maybe I shouldn't have--"
"What's this 'boss' business?" Joe demands.
"Golems are slaves. This one is mine."
"Okay, whatever. How do I get it off Frank?"
You reach for the golem's face, but Joe pushes you aside. "Show me what to do, Prescott."
"Alright, put your hand here--" You guide him to the proper spot. "And then you say--"
He glares at you coldly. "You're fucking kidding, right? That's the magic word?"
"That's what the book says, and it works."
"Fucking punster," he mutters under his breath. "I'm gonna take it off him now, Prescott," he continues. "If you've been playing my brother, you know what kind of mood he's going to be in."
"Yeah." Your sphincter loosens.
"So hide in my bedroom until we come find you. Don't bother locking the door, 'cos that'll just make Frank madder without slowing him down."
You retreat as directed, and sit nervously on the corner of the messy bed. This is so much worse than the day Steve Patterson charged down into the elementary school basement. That was when everything started to go wrong.
No, it started to go wrong when you found the fucking Libra. Why do things always happen to you?
Your dad's variant on your favorite complaint--Why do you always get into these messes?--rings in your ears. You've not seen him in weeks, it feels like. You'd like to see him one more time. Give him the satisfaction of knowing he was wrong about how stupid you can be. You're a lot stupider than he ever thought possible.
Five minutes pass. Ten minutes pass. An eternity goes by. Fifteen minutes. You've heard low voices outside, but no words you can make out. Frank's not screaming. He must be on the other side of fury.
Footsteps sound, and you hunch over. The door wrenches open, and the tall, grim figure of Frank Durras steps in. His face is tense, his eyes alert. "You Prescott?" he demands.
You nod, and stand up. He sticks out a hand. "Pleased to meet you. My brother--" Joe appears behind his shoulder. "--says you're the sharpest tack he's met out here."
Joe suppresses a snicker as you numbly take Frank's hand. Your own grip is limp, but he shakes your hand vigorously. "You can take us to the Libra?" Frank asks.
"Yeah," you croak. "I think I know where it is."
"Then let's roll." He marches back out the door.
Joe bites his grin. "Lies," he whispers in your ear. "All lies is what I told him about you. Keep your mouth shut if your head likes sitting on your shoulders. Let me do the talking."
* * * * *
Frank's "Let's roll" notwithstanding, you have to stand curbside for fifteen minutes while waiting for a cab. Frank asks for more on what's been going on; Joe answers, with you only inserting a few details where they seem appropriate. "First thing is to recover the Libra," Frank says when you're done. "That's the only thing, really."
"What about the other kids," you anxiously ask. "The guys doing it, and the people they, uh, like they did to you?"
"Oh, we'll round up masks, set everyone free," Joe says. "So Patterson and them will have to talk. You know where to find the guys at Eastman, though, right?"
"Sure. But what about Straussler's dad, and Eric Kim? What are they gonna--?"
"They're gonna try to get the Libra," Frank says. "Along with a couple of masks, if they can. They've got a mask of Monique Travers, you say?"
"That's right. If they put it on--"
"Will they know how to get it off?" Joe asks.
"They got it off me," you reply.
"What were you doing under her mask?" Frank asks suspiciously.
"So we have to get her mask back," Joe interrupts smoothly, "and get back any masks that her mask might lead to. What about it, Prescott? Any chance they could trace things through her mask?"
"Maybe. I'm not really sure. It might lead back to Carrie Carmichael--"
"Who's she?" Frank asks.
If Carrie knew that Frank was so oblivious to her existence-- you think wryly.
"Just a freshman girl, Frank," Joe says. "You wouldn't have noticed her."
"But I guess you have," Frank retorts. "You would. After we get the Libra, you two make a sweep of Eastman. We don't need to finesse it, Joe. Get the masks, get out, and let 'em be confused. I'll beat what we need to know about Westside outta Patterson."
You'd like to see that, but you'd be happier in Joe's company, and don't argue. "But what if Straussler's dad, or Eric, start going after Monique or them?" you ask.
"They won't. They're not interested."
"Are we interested in them," Joe asks. "If Fane is--"
"Our job is the Libra. Leave Fane to Hal. We'll mention it in the report to Dad."
"Who's Hal," you ask. "And Fane?"
"Not your business, Prescott," Frank says. "With luck, your part in all this ends tonight, and you'll never hear anything about it again."
You're glad his tone is so calm, or else you'd take that last bit as a threat.
* * * * *
Night has long since fallen when the cab drops you off a block from Westside. "Give us a quick recon, Joe," Frank orders. A fourth figure materializes by your trio and sprints off toward the parking lot. Neither brother explains this to you, but you now vaguely remember that Joe can project a kind of astral twin. That must be what he used to distract those guys at the comic book shop.
"All clear," Joe says, and the three of you sprint off toward the gym. You direct them to the side door; Frank grasps the handle, puts his hand over the lock, and pushes. The door jolts open.
But he holds you back and orders another recon; when Joe reports all is clear you move quickly up the stairs to the loft, which Frank opens easily. "Lights, Joe," he says, and a dim glow suffuses the space. "Shit," Frank says. "Looks like someone's already been searching."
"I think it's always like this," you say of the wreckage. Garbage--pizza boxes, beer cans, clothes, discarded gym mats--litter the loft. It reeks of sweat, alcohol, grime, and-- You gag. Sex. Lots and lots of sex. "They keep the stuff in there," you say, holding your breath and pointing at some cabinets.
"You know an awful lot about how they do things," Frank says. You think you've noticed his manner growing colder and colder.
"Like I told you, Frank," Joe murmurs. "He helped them a little, and they double-crossed him when he rebelled. Because he's got a conscience."
"Why were you helping them in the first place? I wanna hear it from him, Joe," he adds, and raises a warning finger.
You swallow. "Well, after I found that book, I started playing around with it with my friend--"
"You found it?" Joe says sharply. "You didn't tell me that."
"Is it important? I found it at Arnholm's Bookstore. My friend Caleb and I goofed off with it a little, but then Patterson came in on it. He started doing worse things, made us help him--"
"How? How did he make you?" Contempt drips from Frank's voice.
"Could you make Prescott do things, Frank?" Joe softly asks. "Things he didn't want to do?"
A look of discomfort washes over Frank's face. "Let's find the Libra," he says, and turns with a jerk toward the cabinets.
In one he finds a bunch of masks, which he tucks inside his backpack. "There's gonna be more riding around on people," you tell him. He just grunts. In the second cabinet is a big stack of containers--mask-making supplies--that he also bags. And in the third--
"Score," says Joe, who like you is looking over Frank's shoulder as he draws out a thick grimoire. Frank brushes it gently, checks the title, then slips it into the bag.
"Slide the rest of that shit in here," Frank says as he hands the bag to Joe, and points to a few more masks that were sitting next to the Libra. "I'll check out the rest of this place." He quickly catches sight of a white lump in the corner. "What's that?"
"A golem," you say. "It's like a mannequin. You put a mask on it, and it turns into that person. You can also order it around, because it's a slave."
"We'll need to take it too," Frank says. "Any more like it?" You shrug helplessly. "I guess we can-- Joe, you still got Prescott's mask?"
Joe doesn't answer. "Why do you wanna know?" you ask Frank.
"Well, how late can you stay out?" he replies. "I'm thinking we can put your mask on that golem thing there, send it home in your place, while you help Joe. Gets the golem outta here while--"
This sounds like an excuse for getting away from them. "I'm sick of fakes. I want my life back."
Frank opens his mouth to reply, but Joe interrupts. "Hey Will, what's your dad's name?"
"My dad? Harris. Why?"
Grimly, Joe holds up one of the masks that was by the Libra. Numbly you lean forward to read the name inside it: HARRIS STEVEN PRESCOTT. "And is your mom named Umeko?" Joe adds.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author