The Other Mitchell, Part 3

I balled up a wad of paper towels and threw it at the pool of beer on the floor, with a sigh I toed it around and threw it back at Danny. "Asshole," he growled as it caught him square in the face.

Danny handed me another beer. "This is so fucked up," I muttered taking a gulp. "Just how many of these fakes are there?"

"Dunno, at least two I guess."

I looked at my mobile: 17:23. "I'd better go home; the fake-Gordon's picking me up at six." I stuffed the suit that looked like me into the kit bag. "Can you look after this; I don't want to leave it at home." I looked him in the eye, "No fucking about with it ok?"

"Believe me it's the last thing on my mind," he retorted as I left.

---

When I pulled into the drive my gut knotted; Gordon's car was already parked outside. As I opened the door, I felt myself tense hearing voices from the kitchen.

"Oh there you are Sean, we were just talking about you," my mom said with a touch of pride in her voice. "Gordon tells me that the coach was really impressed with your wrestling and he's made you co-captain."

I felt my cheeks flush. "Oh yeah, good news huh?"

Mom beamed at the fake Gordon Black and touched his arm. "He's always so modest."

Gordon chuckled at my embarrassment. I sighed knowing Ryan Schuler was trapped and unconscious inside the suit, a pang of guilt cut through me knowing I'd put him there only an hour ago.

I checked the time; I wanted the fake out of the house. "Shouldn't we be going?" I said nodding towards the door.

Gordon tipped his glass. "Oh yeah gotta go, thanks for the juice Mrs. M."

"You're welcome Gordon, you should visit more often." My heart dropped, this fake was perfect. What hurt even more was knowing that for the past two weeks, it was me in that suit, and totally unaware of the whole masquerade while someone else pretended to be me.

I trudged after Gordon, going into the unknown. What was this meeting about? Who would I find there? Would I get discovered?

---

Gordon drove out to the suburbs; I was lost in my thoughts desperately trying to figure out a plan, when a bump snapped me back.  We'd pulled into a drive, a long one. Something kicked at my memory as the house came into view. Then I remembered this was where the party was two weeks ago.

Gordon parked up with the other cars, and we walked over to a group standing outside a large garage. From a cooler, he grabbed a couple of bottles; handing me one I cracked it open and looked at the rest of the group nervously. It was an odd collection, jocks, AP types, but they were all talking together, not in the usual cliques. I almost choked when I spotted Logan Finley: a friend from the football team.

I jostled my way through the group to Logan and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Sup bro'" I smiled.

"Hey Sean," he grunted. "Have you looked at the new football drills for next week? I don't want to bench you again."

I sucked on my lip; I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just nodded. "Yeah of course." My grip on Logan's shoulder shifted, and my thumb rested on his neck. A cold finger touched my heart, I felt a tell-tale nub of skin; another one of my friends--a fake.

"What are we waiting for?" I asked nervously.

"What do you think?" Logan snorted. "The guy in charge."

As if on cue a Chevy Camaro squealed to a halt. There was a cheer from the group as Devin Isenberger climbed out. He made his way to the knot of people jerking the leads of two bulldogs behind him bumping fist as he went. The group followed him into the garage and formed a rough circle around him.

He was confident in the way he commanded the meeting, talking about recruiting another six members. He gave no names but pushed the fact that anyone may be called upon to assist.

As he talked about locations, he glanced to the back of the group. I looked over and saw one of the AP types: Seth Windfeldt, who nodded to confirm the details.

As the meeting wound up Windfeldt and Isenberger talked privately. I was about to leave with Gordon when heard a shout from Isenberger. "Hey! Mitchell, Finley. Hang back I need to talk to you."

I shrugged at Gordon, but he still lingered by the door. "What are you waiting for Black? Meeting's over," Isenberger barked at him.

"I need to give Sean a lift back," Gordon replied a little hesitantly.

"Just go, I'll make sure he gets a lift," Isenberger gruffly replied. I nervously bit my lip feeling a little vulnerable as I watched him go. Even though he was a fake, he was still watching my back like the real Gordon.

With only four of us remaining, I was surprised at how Logan's attention followed Isenberger. That changed immediately when Windfeldt leaned over and whispered into Logan's ear. The Logan blinked a couple of times and turned his attention to Windfeldt.

Windfeldt turned to me; he whispered "Servum meum," in my ear. I paused for a moment and remembered the effect the phrase had on Logan. Twitching, I blinked a couple of times and turned towards Windfeldt and just played along.

I thought Isenberger was running the show, but it was Windfeldt pulling the strings.

He muttered something under his breath and pulled at the back of his neck. Windfeldt's face deformed and pulled away to reveal somebody wearing a balaclava. I'd seen the same type at Danny's house. Struggling I tried to remain passive and indifferent.

"Finley, what's your schedule?" he barked.

"Nothing that can't be cancelled," Logan replied.

"Mitchell?"

I swallowed suspecting he was looking for another identity to change into. "I don't have a vehicle. Tomorrow I'm at work all day," I lied.

"I'm going to need a pickup," he snorted. "Take Mitchell home, and wait for my call. Got it Finley?"

We both nodded obediently. "You," he prodded Isenberger. "Get out of those clothes; I'm sick of being this fucker."

I quickly realised what was about to happen, as I followed Logan to his pickup. "Can you drop me off at the coffee shop?" I asked, he didn't argue or speak much during the drive back.

---

Outside the coffee shop, I tried to call Danny: it went to voicemail. Danny told me to trust him, but after seeing the balaclava, I wasn't sure anymore.

I cussed under my breath stopping at the counter. "Hazelnut latte right?" the Barista asked.

I blinked and looked at the guy behind the counter. "Yeah thanks," I replied. The name tag pinned to his shirt said 'Charlie'. "Are you Danny's brother?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"You know where Danny is? I need to talk to him."

He paused for a moment staring vacantly over my shoulder before pushing the mug of coffee over. "We need to talk; Danny's not been entirely truthful. I finish my shift in a bit, can you wait for me?" I nodded and found a seat.

Charlie kept himself busy at the counter, always charming and helpful to the customers. His personality was completely different to his brother Danny who was always playing the joker. It wasn't the only difference; Charlie was in his twenties with broad shoulders; strongly contrasting Danny's lithe physique.

While I waited my thoughts went back to the meeting, the possibility of so many fakes was giving me a headache. It felt like the whole world was closing in on me as I stared into the mug of coffee. "Are you OK? You seem kinda out of it," Charlie asked.

"Headache," I replied rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand.

Charlie sat opposite. "There's a lot of bad shit going on. Stuff that I'm not meant to talk about," he said quietly. "Follow me home, I can tell you more there. You can talk to Danny as well." I told him I'd need a lift, and he shrugged.

---

The house was quiet; there was no sign of Danny. I followed him into the den. "You need to look at this, and then we can talk."

The den was dimly lit; heavy drapes blocked any sunlight from the single window. The room was divided by a sheet hung from the ceiling; a low rhythmic sound echoed around the room from something mechanical. Nervously my senses started to take it in, the sounds, the shelves of raw materials. This was more like a production line.

Charlie crouched next to a number of large plastic tubs; with a pop he peeled back a lid. Inside was filled with a grey viscous gloop. "This is what they're using. This is what suits start out as," Charlie muttered.

I was just about to ask how the gloop worked when there was a bang at the door. The colour drained from Charlie's face as he peered around the edge of the drapes. "Shit! It's them, you gotta hide, or we're both dead," he whispered in a trembling voice.

I lifted the sheet that divided the room and ducked underneath. It was pitch black, and I stumbled over something on the floor, behind me the rhythmic drone of the mysterious machine continued.

Backing up against the wall, I slowly slid down to a crouch. Pulling at the sheet I watched as Charlie left the den. A fist grasped my heart and squeezed as I heard raised voices inside the house. I wondered where my friends were; the real Gordon, and the real Logan, and realised they were at the same party two weeks ago.

The door to the den crashed open, and I watched as Charlie backed in holding his hands up. "...just don't hurt him, I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt my brother--please," he pleaded.

Three others followed Charlie, I couldn't see who they were; just silhouettes.

"We're recruiting more faces this weekend," the voice came through confidently, and I recognised it as Isenberger's.

He kicked at the four tubs of gloop, "We need more, at least two. Make sure they're ready, I'll send someone over to pick them up."

"Yeah. Yeah no problem," Charlie stuttered.

I squinted into the darkness as Isenberger prodded at Charlie's chest. "I could kill your brother if I wanted to. Put someone else in for him, nobody would know." He stepped forward menacingly, "But YOU'D know he was dead, and it would be YOUR fault. So don't fail me."

Charlie sank to the floor as they left slamming the door.