The Other Mitchell, Part 2

I frowned at the unconscious form in front of me. Somehow I'd expected it to be Gordon Black under my face. But it wasn't, and I was glad--he'd been my friend since middle school. "Who the fuck is this?" I barked at Danny.

He glanced over my shoulder. "It's Ryan Schuler."

"Who?"

"He's one of the basketball players."

"Ah." I recognised the face but couldn't put a name to it. "So he's on Gordon's team?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Shit. What's the connection, where does this jerk-off fit in," I muttered under my breath. "I don't want him running around as me. Help me get him into the back of the truck. We'll undress him there."

"Mitchell," Danny said. "What if we're seen?"

"I can't take him home. My mom's there."

"We can go to my house. My brother's out."

So I followed him back to the old ranch-style house he shared with his brother. Danny held the front door open while I pulled Schuler inside. I steered toward a door that looked like it led to a den, but Danny slammed it shut. "Erm that's where my brother keeps his shit. Take him into the living room."

I dropped Schuler in the middle of the floor. I couldn't stand looking at my double any more, and pulled my clothes off the fake, then pulled at the suit Schuler was wearing. It didn't take long to get it off, even though it was bound tightly to his body. I looked it over after I got it off. It was me, down to the hairs and freckles on the arms. "These suits," I muttered to Danny, though it was more to myself. "They feel so real." I frowned trying to remember something from the past couple of weeks. "And I've got no memories of even wearing one."

"Seriously weird. You don't remember anything? Not even the party last Saturday? You and Gordon, Sean?" He stumbled over the names, "Well you were both there. Wow! That was one hell of a night."

"No, I don't remember that," I sighed and started to bite a nail. "Maybe when you're in one of these suits, they sort of take over, and you become that person? I mean coach wants me to co-captain the team now, just because my fake was so good at wrestling yesterday."

Danny slapped me on the back. "Aww. Congrats man."

I looked at him coldly. "Yeah, but it was this fucker, not me."

"What are you doing?" Danny asked as I pulled the Gordon Black suit from my kit bag.

"We'll put Schuler in this one. Gordon can't just go missing, right? I think once he's in this suit he'll act exactly like Gordon. But if he suspects something we'll have to deal with him here."

It was harder stuffing Schuler into a suit than taking him out of one, not that Danny was any help. I was just about to pull the face over his head when I noticed a circular tattoo or inscription on the inside of the suit's forehead. It was made up of loops and circles, with "Gordon Black" written around the bottom. Words in some other language wound around the top. It seemed to be burnt into the suit. I pointed it out to Danny. "You see this?"

"Looks tribal or something," he muttered, biting his lip.

"Or magic, like a sigil?" I surmised.

"Maybe."

Schuler groaned. Quickly I pulled the mask over his face, and he relaxed again. I rolled him over and pulled the seal up to the nape of his neck. The suit healed over the hard nub of skin. But there were still the clothes to get swapped out. "Get us some beers. Three," I said to Danny as I pulled Gordon's shirt off myself. After we had the props arranged--clothes exchanged, and a beer in Gordon's hand--we sat down to wait.

A few minutes later, fake-Gordon jerked awake and dumped half a bottle of beer into his lap. "Fuck!" he yelled.

"You piss yourself?" I asked with a smirk.

"Fuck you!" he retorted and looked around. "Where the hell am I?"

"What are you talking about Gordon? We're at Russo's house. We came here for some beers." I told him holding up my bottle.

Gordon's eyes locked onto Danny, and he paused for a moment. I watched as Danny looked him in the eye and shook his head. "Fuck," Gordon said again and stormed from the room. The door to the bathroom slammed.

I grabbed Danny by the shirt. "What the hell was that about?" I demanded. "I saw the way he looked at you. Why did you shake your head? What the fuck do you know Russo?"

"Nothing," he stuttered glancing at the floor. I was about to lose my temper with him when I heard a noise from the corridor, and I pushed him back into the chair.

Gordon was rubbing his shorts with a wad of paper towels when he returned. In his other hand he had his phone. It burst to life as he powered it on, and chirped manically as some messages came through. He eyed them, then frowned at me. "You get the message as well?" he asked.

I pulled out my own mobile and skimmed through the messages. I bit my lip at one: can't get hold of Black tell him there's a meeting tonight at the usual place. I sighed, it explained why the fake-Mitchell was trying to call me--as the fake Gordon--earlier.

My heart sunk as I realised that this was bigger than just the fake-Mitchell and fake-Gordon. How many of these were there? I'd placed myself in a dangerous position, I was taking the place of the fake-Mitchell without a clue of what was going on. I knew this was all wrong, it was fucked up, people shouldn't be used like this.

Looking at the mobile again I didn't recognise the number, and I didn't know anything about the meeting either. "Erm yeah. Usual place, I guess?" I asked hoping that Gordon would mention the venue.

Gordon's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, usual place," he replied, and I cussed under my breath.

I ran my tongue over my teeth. "Will Schuler be there?" I asked watching Gordon carefully.

"Hell no," Gordon retorted. "He's a loser, hardly putting any effort into the game. I'm thinking of cutting him from the team."

He was just like Gordon, but I knew the illusion was only skin deep. I wanted to know where my real friend was, perhaps I could get a clue at the meeting. "Can you give me a lift?"

"Whatever, I'll pick you up at six. I'm going home to get a change of clothes," he moaned and left.

A shiver ran through me as I stared at the bottle in my hands. This fake had all of Gordon's mannerisms, just as my own fake had mine in the coffee shop earlier. It had fooled my friends so easily, and my heart sank at the thought that someone had been living my life for the past couple of weeks.

"You okay, Sean?"

"No, not really," I replied. I pulled the Mitchell-suit back out. I looked into its eyes, pushing the hair back. I remembered what I'd thought earlier: that the disguises are perfect.

Deliberately, I dropped my bottle, sending it spinning across the floor, spilling beer as it went. As Danny dove to grab it, I planted a heavy foot on his back and pushed him to the floor. "Get the fuck off," he gasped. "What are you doing, bro'?"

"Shut up and hold still," I growled. Slowly I traced my fingers around the back of his neck, feeling for a bump or scab. There was nothing, and feeling relief I let him go.

"You fucking idiot, you only had to ask." I sank into a chair, cupping my head in my hands. I shifted and realised I was sitting on something. I pulled out a black balaclava, which Danny snatched away. "It's my brothers," he muttered as he took the bottle back to the kitchen. I wondered who else might be a fake, and where the real Gordon Black was.

A roll of paper towels hit me on the back of the head. "Clear it up, Mitchell." Danny said. "And if you want my help you're just going to have to trust me."

Part 3: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1973964-The-Other-Mitchell-Part-3