This choice: Put the mask back on him and talk to him. • Go Back...Chapter #34Who Are Those Masked Men? by: Seuzz   Shit shit shit! you mutter to yourself as you stare down at Robert, who is slumped unconscious in the Whitney's living room, wearing Charles Whitney's clothes. You bite on a thumbnail with worry.
Your brother is the last person you expected to discover under Charles's mask. And who were you expecting? Ethan, probably. Or Marius. Even Erik Carstairs would make more sense.
Why would Robert be under Charles's mask? There's only two reasons. Either someone put him under a mask of Charles Whitney, the way they put Zachary Holzer under Marius Hall's. Or he put himself under the mask. The first doesn't make sense—Robert and Charles have no connection to each other. As for the second ...
Don't be paranoid, you tell yourself firmly.
You could wake him and ask him, but after a moment's frantic thought you decide to approach things at an angle. He don't want him freaking out by finding himself re-transformed back into himself suddenly. And he'd really freak out if he had to talk to "Mrs. Whitney" about this stuff. (And it would be fucking awkward for both of you.)
So you push Charles's mask gently back onto his face.
His eyes pop open even as you're straightening up. "The fu—?" he starts to say, and rears back to glare at you from under a hooded brow.
That's a surprise: It took Zachary a couple of minutes to wake up when he put Marius's mask back on. But you soldier on with your plan.
"Okay, Charles," you tell him. "You don't have to take the arts council job if you don't want to." He blinks, like he doesn't know what you're talking about. "Okay?"
His eyes dart about. "Okay. Are we done here?"
"Well, there's one more possibility for you." You pause to congratulate yourself on the cleverness of your idea. "You could take a job at Salopek."
You are watching him closely, but he doesn't react, except to ask, "What's that?"
"Salopek Aerospace. You know."
He doesn't twitch a muscle; only a slight fog of puzzlement enters his eyes. "No," he says, "I don't know."
"They're an aerospace company. Local. They do stuff with the base."
"If you say so," he mutters.
"Well, what would you say to a job there?"
"I don't know. Why are you trying to get me a job?"
"Well, you don't want a job working at Taco Bell!"
"What do I want a—? This isn't about my allowance, is it?" He is starting to look both baffled and angry.
"It's about your applications! You wanted to take a year off before starting college. Well, you should take a job that will—"
"Can't you let me pick?" His voice is almost a shout. "Besides, I was talking about going to Amsterdam with—!"
"I'm just trying to—! Look, you know the Prescotts, right?"
He blinks like you've just thumped him between the eyes. "The Prescotts," you repeat. He shrugs and rolls his eyes. "Harris and Martha Prescott? Their sons? Will and Robert?"
"Mom, I told you, I was talking about going back to Amsterdam with Jared van Camp and—"
"The Prescotts, Charles!"
"What about them?"
"You know them!"
He throws his hands out. "So what? Who are they? I don't know who you mean!"
You stare at him. He stares back at you with an expression of haggard incomprehension. If Robert is acting, it's a damn persuasive act.
You surrender. "Well," you sigh, "maybe one of us confused."
"I guess so." He bounces to his feet. "Can I go now?"
"Fine. Yes," you mutter.
He practically runs from the room.
* * * * *
After Charles leaves, you text Marius's number: Charles gone probly on way to see u. But theres problem he is still acting like Charles. Marius—Zachary—asks if you got the mask off him. After chewing over several possible answers, you put him off with, Its complicated think u should just avoid him. That elicits a line of question marks, which you ignore.
But he isn't done, and texts a minute later to say that he has got the mask off Ethan Gilkey and found Charles underneath. And Zachary Holzer? He got text had go home.
But after that there's only silence. Even after you poke him to ask what is going on, he doesn't answer.
It leaves you anxious and distracted. Almost without noticing what you're doing, you take out Carol's cell phone and begin going through her social media.
Well, she's got quite a lot to go through, honestly. Besides Facebook and other places that her friends post updates on, there are all of the celebrities that she likes to follow, and podcasts on contemporary events. (She's a whore for news about the British royal family.) Even though you feel as anxious as ever as you scroll through posts from Virginia about the remodeling job they're doing on the dining room, and dip into podcast interviews about Charles and William and Harry, you lose track of the time. So you don't realize how late it's gotten until the door from the garage slams shut and Michael walks in.
That's Michael Whitney, Carol's husband.
He was a handsome man at twenty-five, when they married. Slim, as a fanatical bicyclist should be, with a full head of dark hair that settled on his head like ravens' wings; and an aquiline nose. Now that he's in his late forties, he's lost most of his hair, acquired a paunch without gaining any mass anywhere else, and his nose makes her think of a greyhound—which she has always thought were ugly dogs.
At least he's got a lot more money than when they married. He's a managing partner in a real estate trust company that owns big chunks of downtown Saratoga Falls. In fact, he's the brains of the operation, and collects a share of the profits well above his nominal share of its capital.
"What's that thing in the middle of the garage?" he demands. (And he doesn't look at you, he just squints peevishly at everything else in the room.)
"What thing?" you grunt back.
"That old trunk. I couldn't put my Lexus away."
Crap! You forgot all about the trunk. Michael asks, "Where's Charles?" as you start to get up.
"Out with friends," you snap at him.
"Well, is that thing his? What's it doing in the middle of the—?"
"It was in the barn." You charge past him.
"Well, what's it doing out of the barn?"
You roll your eyes and put him out of your mind. You won't be able to lug it back to the barn, but you will be able to slide it out of the way. Maybe out the side door and onto the side patio, where Michael will forget about it and not go snooping through it.
You as you bend to grab a handle, you pause. Your parents were replaced. Could Charles's parents have been replaced as well? Well, not Carol, of course. But Michael?
You shake your head. That's ridiculous. Why would someone impersonate Michael Whitney but not Carol? She's ten times more attractive than he is!
Still, you decide, better safe than sorry. The book, at least, you should move from the trunk to someplace else in the house. Too many people know where it's being kept.
But when you open the lid, you find the book is gone.
* * * * *
At least Michael didn't come looking for you before you had a chance to recover from your panic attack. Even now, after you've caught your breath, you are shaking all over. Where the fuck did it go?
You start by making a discreet search of the house, pretending (when Michael asks) that you're looking for your cell phone. Then you look back in the barn. You even look in the Mercedes, though you knew it wouldn't be there.
It can't have walked out by itself, you tell yourself. That leaves only one grim alternative: Someone else walked out with it.
Who?
Could have been anyone: Zachary (either the real one or the fake), leaving with Charles's friends. Charles—the fake with Robert under the mask. Hell, Michael could have snagged it while coming inside and hidden it somewhere in the garage.
You toy with texting Charles, to tell him to come home so you can directly confront and question him. But instead—because you realize how long it's been since you've talked to him—you text the guy at Marius Hall's number to ask for an update.
He answers a quarter of an hour later, asking you to meet him.
The bizarre thing is, the address he gives you is in Acheson. The home of Harris and Martha Prescott.
* * * * *
You considered refusing, and asking him to come back out to the Whitney's. But Michael is home now. Also, it might look weird if you refused to go out to meet him. And maybe, if he has found your real house, Zachary has gotten to the bottom of the business.
You put your head into Michael's study long enough to tell him that you have to go out. He replies with a soft snort.
It's nearly six when you pull up in front of your house. You were here just this morning, in your own face, but it feels like ages since then.
It also feels like you've never been out here before. (Thanks, Carol!)
There's a couple of cars out front, but none of which you recognize. Almost you turn around and sneak away. But curiosity (and hope!) get the better of you, and you totter up the front walk to ring the doorbell.
Your dad answers, which gives you a start. "Come on in," he says with a smile, as though expecting you. Your heart is in your throat as you enter.
He grabs you from behind and hustles you into the living room. There, he holds you fast in front of a small inquisition seated on the sofa: Marius Hall, two editions of Charles Whitney, Scott Bickelmeier (a jock from Westside).
And, sitting the middle, is your own brother.
Robert has the book in his lap, and he peers insolently down his nose at you.
"Bruh," he says. "The fuck have you been up to?"  You have the following choice:  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