Chapter #36Two Masks Come Off--But One Stays On by: Seuzz   What did Carson say, after you and he had visited that professor? Something about "keeping a balance" between all the people who are after that book? You have a feeling you'd be a little safer if Joe and Frank were back in circulation, to balance against Bredon. You hide that knife in Joe's backpack—which you swing onto your shoulders—and call a cab.
* * * * *
"Yes?" Carson's mother, a pleasant-looking but rather worn woman, looks at you through the screen door without opening it.
"Mrs. Ioeger? I'm Will— Will Durras. I'm a friend of Carson's. Is he home?"
Your polite manner (along with Joe's winning smile) seems to reassure her, and with a welcoming "Of course, come right in," she opens the door for you. You step into a small but neatly kept house. "Carson, sweetheart," she calls, and you suppress a laugh.
Carson Ioeger—tall, thin, with an expression that combines mischief and suspicion—appears. "Yo," you say. "Got a minute to talk?"
"Uh, sure," he says uncertainly, and gives his mother a quizzical glance.
"Outside?" you ask.
"Why?"
Christ, this ... person, or whatever ... is acting just like Ioeger. On a sudden inspiration, you take a chance. "The, uh, boss man wants to talk to you."
The color drains from his face. "Okay, I'll put on my shoes." He goes back into the other room.
"Boss man?" Mrs. Ioeger's laugh has a little anxiety in it. "What's this 'boss man'?"
"It's just a nickname," you tell her. "Bo— Uh, Bo Smanuel," you stammer. "Sounds like 'Boss Man,' and he's kind of pushy, so we call him 'boss man'."
"Smanuel? What kind of name is that?"
"Um ... African American."
"Oh." Now she looks embarrassed, even mortified.
To your relief, the fake Carson doesn't take long to return, and you grip him by the elbow as you lead him to the cab. "What's the boss man want?" he asks.
"You'll find out when we get there."
* * * * *
You're very glad that the other fake Carson has gone to lunch, for there are no cars in front of the Durrases' when you get back. The fake Carson with you is very puzzled as you lead him in, and resists so that you have to drag him over the threshold. "Let's do it in the bedroom," you say.
"Do what?" he asks in alarm, and slaps you away.
"Wait for the boss man."
"Listen, whoever you are, I'm starting to think that—"
You leap on him, kicking his feet from under him and pushing to the ground. You're able to pin him before he can react—
And now comes the great gamble. You grasp him by the forehead and mutter those words that are still ringing so clearly in your head.
Nothing happens, except that Carson yells at you.
You try it again, shifting the position of your hand a little. Again, nothing as you say the words.
Carson is beating at you now, but he's got little strength in his skinny arms, and Joe Durras is solidly built. Will the third time be the charm?
No. Nor are the fourth and fifth times. Despair turns to frustration, and the sixth time you're not content to hold his face between your fingertips. Now you yank angrily at him while shouting those words.
A vibration, like a subtle tearing, goes through your fingertips. You straighten up in shock at finding yourself holding a thin but heavy mask made of some bluish ceramic material. You blink and look down. Frank Durras, his eyes shut and his jaw slack, lays beneath you. You take a deep breath and slap him. And slap him again. And slap him again.
His eyes snap open, blazing. And what happens next is—
Well, if it weren't for all the weird stuff that's already happened to you recently, you'd think you were hallucinating.
Something like an invisible iron clamp closes around your torso and hurls you backward, pinning you to the wall; your feet kick at the air. "Frank!" you gasp.
"For fuck's sake, Joe!" he exclaims as he sits up. He blinks and looks around. "How the fuck did we get back—?" His eyes narrow and blaze. "Okay, you better have a fucking good explanation for—"
* * * * *
You do have a good explanation, but at the moment you're too terrified to give it. If you tell Frank that you're not Joe— That you're not Joe, while he somehow has you pinned against the wall in mid-air without using his hands— And if he can pin you against the wall in mid-air without using his hands, maybe he can rip the head clean off your shoulders— And the way his eyes are blazing, he might be in the mood rip your head from your shoulders if he finds out you're a fake—
So maybe it's better to pretend to be Joe and show you're a friend than to explain who you are and why you look like Joe. "What's the last thing you remember?" you gasp.
"We were up in that loft at Westside, and half the athletic squad was crowding us. I think you got knocked down, and then I saw Patterson running at me."
"Well, that was a week ago. I don't know what they did with us, but—"
"A week?!"
"Can you put me down? Oof!" You get to your feet. "They put these masks on us, it did something like give us amnesia. I took a chance on finding you out at Ioeger's house—"
"What have you been doing all this time?"
"I was in the same condition. It's kind of confusing, but I got out of it, and took a chance and found you. Also, don't ask, it's a long story, but one of the doppelgangers will be here in, like, less than an hour, I think. And Frank—" You swallow hard. "He's got your face."
Frank's eyes pop. From the kitchen comes the sound of shattering glass.
"Also, Rick Bredon's in town."
Frank's mouth falls open, and his color turns very chalky. "Oh, shit," he groans. He clutches his temples. "Oh, fuck!"
* * * * *
Somehow, through a combination of bluff and fast talking, you get Frank to hide in the bedroom until his twin can show up. "Just come out and grab him," you tell him. "Like you did with me. I'll get the mask off him."
"Why can't I get it off him?"
"You don't know how."
"Show me."
So you're forced to oblige. Luckily, he doesn't think to test the technique on you. He waits in the back, and you settle at the computer.
Twenty minutes pass. Then comes a rumble in the driveway, and a minute after that a rattle at the door. Another guy who looks like Frank comes in. "Hey man, where's Bredon?" he asks.
"Running an errand. What happened with Darcy?"
"Nothin'. Had lunch at The Blue. I was shitting bricks the whole time, thinking someone was going to come out and grab me. But come on, we should make hay while that creep's gone. Let's go see that prof again, and—"
He looks to the side, and does a double take. That's all he has time for before he's jerked—as though rigged with invisible wires—into the air and flung out of sight into the adjoining living room. Then Frank stalks through, his face burning, to also disappear into the living room. "Oh, fuck! Will!" someone with Frank's voice screams. "Get him—! Get—! Don't!"
His cries abruptly cut out. There's a soft thud. Your heart rises into your throat, and your arms and legs go numb.
Frank got the mask off him. That's what it sounds like. He got the mask off him. You only have to get up and walk into living room, and you'll see who one of the doppelgangers really is.
Before you can get to your feet, though, Frank appears. "Get me some rope out of the garage."
"Huh? Oh." You stagger to your feet, and have to hunt for a few minutes before you find some thin but strong cord. Frank meets you in the kitchen. "Go get me some lunch," he says, and presses the truck keys to you. "I'm starving." He takes the rope and precedes you into the living room, where he kneels next to a figure who's lying face down. You can't see who it is—only the clothes Carson was wearing—and when Frank turns to give you a hard glare, you scurry out the door without getting any closer.
* * * * *
He's waiting for you out front when you drive back up with burgers. You get a cold feeling when you see him, for he's changed into the clothes that the other Frank had been wearing, including that letterman jacket. He swings into the cab and shoves a hand into the bag for a clutch of fries. "Okay, let's head out to Straussler's."
"Why?"
"That's where you said the rest of the gang was hanging out," he says around his food. "You were a little unclear on how you knew that, but I figure—"
"Yeah, okay. You wanna take care of 'em all in one fast thing? Who are they? I didn't get a look at that guy in there."
"I don't know. Someone from Westside." He spends the rest of the drive eating, speaking only to give you directions to your destination.
* * * * *
You stop in front of a gate in a high wall. "So, you wait out here and keep watch," Frank tells you. "Don't interfere, just make a note of whoever comes and goes. Call me if it looks hinky."
"Sure thing."
Frank's lips twitch. "You're so easy to work with, Joe. I don't think I tell you that often enough." With that gnomic and slightly unsettling remark, he hops from the cab and rings a bell by the gate. After a few seconds, it opens, and he slips inside.
You wait, nervously, but not for long, maybe five minutes, before a little convertible drives out. It pauses. Behind the wheel is that old man you saw earlier during your recon. He frowns at you.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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