This choice: Tell the fake Blackwell to meet at the basement. • Go Back...Chapter #31Delirium Demens by: Nostrum   Even though you know bringing the clone to the basement isn’t a good idea, going to the professor’s house seems a worse one. Just thinking of it gives you goosebumps. The professor’s clone would have all of his memories – and therefore knowledge of any traps inside the house.
But the basement is your home turf. Sean is here, in case something goes wrong. Nor are the old elementary school grounds visited very often, if something does go wrong. Like, no one ever noticed you had a girl living there for an entire week.
You text the clone a reply, telling him to meet you at the Acheson Community Center. When the clone asks why you won't be coming out to the house, you reply that you are being held back at work.
--
You’re downstairs, with a gagged and sweaty Blackwell looking at you with scorn. You grip the crowbar tightly, until your knuckles white. You made sure to check on his pockets for any surprises, and you made sure to set everything as far as possible from him. You barely contained your anger at seeing him, at thinking how close he was to you without you even realizing. If you hadn’t acted earlier ... if you hadn’t found Lucy’s dupe and confronted your own fears, Blackwell could have been at your house, perhaps preparing to dispose of you. You can’t help but feel hatred at his affront, but his helplessness gives you pause. It’s only after you feel a buzz on your phone that you take your eyes off him. It’s Taylor, telling you that "Blackwell" is approaching. You point the crowbar at the real deal in a silent threat, then set it down and go upstairs.
You step outside to meet Taylor, as the two of you see Blackwell’s car approaching. He parks between your trucks – maybe not recognizing either of them, to your fortune – and you're moving toward him even before he's gotten out of the car.
"Get ready," you tell Taylor. "I’m gonna bring him close. When you see your chance, grab and hold him while I get the mask off." Even as the professor gets out of his car with a worried expression on his face, you're stepping up to meet him. "Professor Blackwell?" you call.
He turns and looks at you with disdain. "Ah, William. Such a ... ah ... strange coincidence!"
"Yeah," you reply with a smirk. "Dad’s waiting for you downstairs." You jerk your chin at the window peeping up at ground level. "In the basement."
The professor starts. Then, to your surprise, an evil grin creases his face.
"So," he says with a gloat in his voice. "I take it he procured the supplies?"
Supplies? you wonder. Then you remember what Taylor said, about helping your "dad" carry some materials out to his car. Was that what Blackwell was doing? Replenishing his cache of supplies? More and more, it dawns on you how fortunate you were to capture him in time.
Blackwell grasps you by the hand. "So good, William, to have you finally on the team," he murmurs. "I trust you can bring Ms. Vredenburg to us? I think we would both be glad of her comp—"
From behind you, Taylor launches himself at the professor, knocking him to the ground. The clone's eyes pop with surprise and horror as you grab him by the brow. "No! You can't! You must be—!" he manages to gasp before his face comes away in your hand.
You almost drop it in fright and surprise. Underneath, where you expected to find another lumpish thing like you found under the Lucy-clone's face, is something quite different.
It's your father. Petrified, with an expression of surprise and despair on his frozen face.
"Will! Will!" Taylor shakes you, but you don't respond. "Will, come on, snap out of—"
You shake him off and with a snarl of rage rush back to the basement door and down the stairs. You grab up the crowbar as you pass, and as the professor cowers you slam him blindly across the shoulder. He yowls and tries to jump out of his bonds.
"Son of a bitch!" you scream. "What did you do to my father?"
"Do, William?" he replies through a wince. "I'm afraid I don't follow—"
"You turned him into one of those things!" You smash him in the side of his hip with the crowbar. "You killed him!"
Blackwell cackles. Stunned by his laugh and the sudden grin he turns on you, you take a step back. But your grip on the crowbar tightens, and it's only because you know you still have to deal with him that you don't crush his skull with it.
"Ah me," Blackwell sighs, and there are tears of laughter mixed with the tears of pain in his eyes. "You are a clever lad. I really should have employed you, if only to keep a close eye on you. And you would have made a better test subject than your father." His grin turns into a grimace. "If only to get you out of the way," he softly snarls.
"Shut. UP!"
You raise the crowbar, but a strong hand grabs it. "Will, stop it!" someone shouts, and the weapon is wrenched from your hand. You wheel to find Taylor and Sean both glaring at you. "Get a grip!"
"You don’t get it!" you scream at them. "He killed my dad! He—" You gulp back a sudden flood of hot tears. "He killed my dad..." You drop to your knees, and your head hangs.
"Will," Sean says as he squats beside you. "Maybe he isn’t dead. Maybe he—"
"No," you lament. "He’s gone. Lucy’s right. Lucy was right all along."
"Will, listen to me." Sean shakes you. "I don’t think he's dead. I checked him out. I swear, I think he’s breathing!"
You look up, your rage numbed by a wild hope. You wheel to stare at the professor.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Prescott?" the magician sneers. "Wouldn't we both like to know? Though I have good reason, I would say, to withdraw my earlier offer, it still stands. Release me, and—"
But you jump to your feet and run out the basement. You dash over to where what's left of your father, still in the professor's clothes, lies inert in the grass. Blackwell's mask is on the ground beside it.
"Will!" One of the Mitchells is yelling at you, but you're already unbuttoning your trousers and kicking off your shoes. "You're really going through with it?"
"Like he said, I have to know," you tell him as you pull off your shirt. "And if I'm wearing this mask, then we'll both know."
Mitchell sucks in his lips but doesn't argue as you kick off the last of your clothes. Then you settle on the grass next to your father, and lift the cold mask to your face.
--
You wake up with a hard groan. The last thing you recall was Prescott’s bastard tricking you. You can still feel his cold, sweaty fingers on your face as he pulls at the mask.
The mask. You sit up and look down at your naked body, then recoil in disgust. The vast belly is fish-white, and it hangs off your gut and into your lap like a great bag of dough. You look around and find you're alone.
But not forgotten. Blackwell's clothes—black pants and a gray turtleneck sweater—are nearby. You don't blame the Mitchells for fleeing after dropping them next to your new, fat, inert body.
And they wait until you're pulling on shoes and socks before coming out to meet you. "Will?" Taylor says warily.
"Yeah?" You glare up at him.
He sighs. "So I guess you've found out already."
"Found out what?"
"That you can't get the memories out of the mask?"
You frown. What's he talking about? You clearly remember it all, with just a little self-prompting. The trip to upstate New York to abscond with the sad remaining assets of an elderly madwoman. The visit to Salopek to pick up a box you had so cleverly misdirected. The gloating pleasure at studying and performing the initial spells. The savory delight at kidnapping that odious (but delectable!) Vredenburg girl, and copying her and replacing her. Your rage at finding the Libra Personae missing, and your fury at the bullheaded bookstore owner who refused to tell you who had purchased it. The bitterness at knowing you would never find it again, and the astonished excitement when Harris Prescott, the book in his possession, blundered into your house. You remember too (though a little more dimly) making a mask of the man, and returning home to put a stop to his son's experiments, and you remember too—
Your stomach drops with horror.
You remember too the prisoner's shouts when you entered his cell (lately vacated by the mysteriously vanished Lucy Vredenburg); you remember knocking him out and dragging him upon the Libra so you could execute the next spell.
The Cadaver spell. The one that turns a living human into a pedisequos, the magician's loyal servant.
You retch as you confirm your worst fears. Blackwell turned your father into one of those statues that can be turned into a clone.
"Will?" Taylor says. "What are you going to do? Without Blackwell's memories—"
"Oh, I've got his memories," you snap back. "I know exactly what the bastard did and how he did it!"
"What?" Taylor exclaims. "You mean he was lying? He told us the memories won't work for you, that only the crafter of the mask—"
Oh what a cunning piece of shit he is, you think. (And because you're thinking it with a copy of Aubrey Blackwell's own brain inside yours, the thought contains more than a tinge of admiration.) For you shouldn't be able to get the memories, not this fast. In his own experience, it takes many hours, usually with a period of sleep in between, before the memories come. The motherfucker was trying to bluff you into taking the mask off before you realized it would work for you, only after a delay.
So what do you do?   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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