Chapter #32Breakfast of Champions by: Seuzz   "Morning, Prescott," Bredon says. "How do you like your eggs? Scrambled it is," he adds when you don't reply.
"What's going on?" you ask. Gordon and Steve are looking almost as freaked out as you feel.
"Hope you don't mind the way I let us in," Bredon replies. "It was cold outside. Go get Ioeger. Coffee'll be ready in a minute."
You back slowly out of the dining room.
* * * * *
There are no greetings when you and Carson join the others at the small dining room table. Bredon silently slides plates in front of each of you, and sets down one for himself. He sets out five cups of coffee as well. Four of them are full, but Bredon takes only half a cup. You'd guess he's being careful of caffeine, until he fills the cup the rest of the way with a brown liquid poured from a flask.
Four high school seniors eat quietly, not talking, watching each other out of the corners of their eyes. Bredon also doesn't talk, but wolfs his food down quickly, and guzzles his coffee appreciatively. "Much better," he says when he's done. "The harder the case, the hollower I get." His eyes gleam and his teeth are sharp as he glances around. "Now then, boys, I don't much like to talk, even when I have to, so how about you introduce yourselves for me." He leans back insolently.
A long and uncomfortable silence follows. Four big high school boys shift in their seats like small children. Eyes glance off each other and look away. Shoulders hunch. Bredon just smiles.
"Gordon Black," the big guy across the table from you finally mumbles.
"Steve Patterson," his friend says, sounding much more angry.
"Will Prescott," you say, taking a deep breath as you do so.
"Carson Ioeger."
Black and Patterson both jump a little, and stare at Carson. They dart suspicious glances at you, and then back at Bredon. "You know that name?" the latter casually asks. "Ioeger?"
"I know a Carson Ioeger," says Gordon. "Puke-faced little twig always mouthing off with his friends about shit that's none of his fucking business." His eyes glitter as he stares at Carson. Your friend smiles tightly back.
"And this is him?" Bredon asks, and drinks deeply from his cup.
"Doesn't look like him," says Patterson. His eyes—so pale and gray and cold—gleam.
"And yet he talks like Ioeger, acts like Ioeger, knows things that only Ioeger could know." Bredon shrugs. "So if he doesn't look like Ioeger, who does he look like?"
"A guy named Frank Durras," Gordon mutters after a long pause.
"What is this bullshit," exclaims Patterson. "I don't understand what's going on. You bust me outta my house—"
"You don't understand what's going on," Bredon interrupts, though his tone is mild, "because you're missing a couple of days. That's what you told me when we had our six o'clock chat."
Patterson looks pained and glances at Black.
"You got a big blank spot, just like your friend," Bredon continues. He takes a little black notebook from his pocket, glances into it. "A couple of your other friends, I'd bet, probably also got blank spots as well. A guy named Javits, some girls named Saunders and Walsh, a few others. I haven't checked them out, of course." He closes the notebook and puts it away. "But you'll be happy to know you're not alone."
"What's that got to do with these two?" Gordon's eyes are slits as he turns to you and Carson.
"They're here to help me give a little demonstration, so you'll understand what happened to you. You say they look like the Durras boys. That they do. But it's just a disguise. As they told you, their real names are Carson Ioeger and Will Pres—"
"Oh, bullshit!" Patterson exclaims. "No disguise, no latex mask is that good. I know Ioeger, and he's— Pssht!" He waves his hand with rude dismissiveness, and his face curls up in an ugly sneer.
"It's a very good disguise," Bredon says. "As for what kind of disguise it is, watch."
He takes that knife out. Everyone at the table rears back, but no one dares move more than that.
Slowly Bredon moves around the table. First from Gordon and Steve, then from you and Carson, he slices off a thick lock of hair, dropping it on the table before each person. "Keep an eye on those," he says. "Well, keep an eye on Ioeger's and Prescott's. That's where the action'll be."
But for many long and slow minutes there is no action. Carson has made a little grunting noise, and you're on the verge of asking what's supposed to happen, when the tufts of hair he clipped from you and your friend evaporate in a little puff of dust. There's a sharp intake of breath from around the table, and Carson gingerly puts his fingers to where they had been. He also touches the hair from Gordon and Steve, which remains solid.
"It's a kind of illusion," Bredon says after draining his coffee cup. "One that doesn't last long when bits of it get sliced off the main mass. I noticed it yesterday while playing mumblety-peg with these two. I poked Prescott to get him to talk, and came away with a little spot of blood. Went to wipe it off afterward, and it was gone. I made a note of it. Later, I talked to two other fellas—skinnier and uglier than these two—and gave each of 'em a little hair trim, found the trimmings didn't last but a few minutes. Blood, hair, probably lots of things don't last when they come off someone who's wearing one of these disguises."
"So these guys—" Carson picks up the lock of Gordon's hair between his fingers, and rubs it. "These are the real guys?"
"Uh huh. Stonehenge!" Gordon turns sharply at the word. "What's the last day you remember before your amnesia kicks in?"
"It was about two weeks ago," Gordon says uneasily. He chews a fingernail. "It was a Wednesday, I remember, because it was—" He blushes and falls silent. Under prodding, he mumbles something.
"It was a Wednesday, because his girlfriend promised him a real 'Hump Day'," Patterson says, and Gordon shoots him a very dirty look.
"What's the last thing you remember from that day?"
"Seth Javits wanted to talk to me about something," says Gordon, "so I skipped fifth period, went back to the portables. We were talking, and something like a monkey jumped on me from behind."
"What's the first thing you remember when it all starts up again?"
"I woke up in the loft, naked. It was Monday night. I found some clothes down in—"
"Alright. What about you, Flagpole?" Bredon says to Patterson. "When did the tunnel start, and when did it end?"
"Around the same time," Patterson says. He stares hard at Gordon, then glares at you and Carson. "It was Thursday morning, after practice, and—" He turns back to staring at Gordon. When he resumes, he speaks very slowly. "Gordon and Seth wanted to talk, so we skipped a period and I went upstairs with them. I turned around at one point, and someone—I thought it was you—grabbed me from behind. It felt like something went over my face."
Gordon turns very pale.
"And when did you wake up?"
"Monday. In my car, in front of my house."
"And no one, none of your friends, asked where you went or what happened to you during that week you can't remember?" Bredon asks, and both the ball players shake their heads. "So you just assumed you'd taken a blow to the skull or something, and went on like nothing had happened." They nod.
"I don't know where you were," Bredon continues. "But I can tell you the reason no one noticed you were gone. That's because while you were blacked out, there were two guys walking around pretending to be you. It's like with these two jokers," he says, and points to you and Carson. "Someone made disguises of you and your friends, and they replaced you. There were others." Again, he consults that notebook. "Javits, Saunders, and Walsh, for a start. Matthias—"
"Dane Matthias?" asks Gordon sharply. "He was hanging around those portables when I met Javits."
"That was probably the monkey who jumped you. Well, someone done up to look like Matthias. Same as it was someone done up to look like you who grabbed your friend Patterson when it was his turn to be replaced."
"Hang on," Carson exclaims. "How do we know these two guys are really the real ones? We told you that there are these two kinds of masks. Sure, the kind Prescott and I are wearing, the hair and blood might disappear. But what about the advanced masks? Maybe these guys are still—"
"The other masks work like yours," says Bredon calmly. "I told you, I tried it out on those imposters pretending to be you and your friend. Same thing happened with them as with you two. The hair doesn't last."
"But I don't get it," you blurt out. "Are you saying that Frank and Joe rescued Black and Patterson, and got rid of their doppelegangers?"
"And Joe told us they tested Patterson on Monday," says Carson. "They said he wasn't a doppelganger."
"When was that?" Bredon says. "What time on Monday?"
"Afternoon, I guess. Right after school."
"And what time did you wake up in your car?" he asks Steve.
"Around nine."
Bredon pulls at his nose, and sniffs.
"So they were wrong about Patterson not being a doppelganger?" you ask.
"They didn't have a chance to be wrong," Bredon says. "Because it wasn't Joe and Frank by that point. Last Friday they left you here while they went off to talk to Gordon Black. While they were gone, you two boys went to talk to a university professor. You came back, and a little later Frank and Joe came back too.
"Except they didn't. It was two imposters who came back here, and put you inside those masks you're wearing now." You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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