This choice: Go find the person with your phone • Go Back...Chapter #37When a Body Meets a Body by: Seuzz   You furrow your brow at the phone. It takes several seconds for the fact to register: The name at the top of screen is "Will Prescott," and the text balloon dude what up? is being sent from your phone.
Or at least from your account. "The fuck?" you gasp.
"Yeah," Keith drawls. "What do you want me to say back?"
Something starts boiling in your stomach. It bubbles up through your chest and up your neck and into your brain. A reddish haze fills your eyeballs.
Some smartass son of a bitch has your phone and he's using it to text your friends!
Goddamned fuckery is what this is!
"Will?"
You grab Keith's phone from him. "Lemme have this," you mumble. "I'm'a go fix this asshole's shi—iiiiiiii!"
Standing up, you discover, is a bad idea. The room heaves and buckles and wallows, and so does your stomach in a frightening counterpoint.
"Dude," Keith says, and he lays a hand on your arm. "Maybe you better—"
No. Fuck it! You jerk away and lurch to the door, pulled along by a resentful, and probably drunken, fury.
Fury doesn't help you walk, though. It's like clambering down the length of a rollercoaster while said rollercoaster is racing up and down a track. But you manage to fall out of the donut shop to the sidewalk beyond and—dodging a fat lady and her two kids—you stumble over to your truck.
There you have to bend over. You brace yourself against the side of your truck and with one rolling, heaving shudder after another blurt out everything you've lately eaten—which isn't much—and what you've lately drunk—which is somewhat more—onto the pavement. Great ropes of stuff like wet snot come dribbling out of your mouth. You gasp and burp and catch your breath, then splash your front wheel with a more lengths of your stomach lining.
It must have done you some good, though, for even though the cramping (and the hard morning sunlight) have given you a sudden headache, you feel much clearer and better as you clamber into your truck. You start the engine with a growl—
Then you turn it off, because you're not a complete, shit-faced moron.
Instead, you pull out Tilley's phone. There's another text from the mystery sender: dude?
You ponder revealing your identity, or challenging his, but decide to play it cautiously. So you reply: here busy what up?
A lengthy pause, and you wonder if he's mystified by the reply from "keith tilley." Maybe it's an innocent mistake, and he doesn't know he's texting someone named Tilley on the phone of someone named Prescott?
Then: nothing. at the storage unit. bored.
You wonder what he means by "storage unit."
Then he texts: busy making donuts?
not too busy, you text back. come out hang out give you free donut maybe two n coffee. If you can get him out here, you can get your phone back.
awesome but im stuck here, he says.
cant you get aride? how did you get out there?
covering for asshole. tried texting caleb but hes passed out guess
"Jesus!" you mutter to yourself. The guy knows Caleb too. So who is this? wher u say yu ar?
carlos storeage place on 20th so bored.
At least it's a clue. You restart your truck and jackrabbit backwards onto Twentieth. Top Shelf Self-Storage is only about a mile down that street. Inside of ten minutes, probably, you'll have your phone back, and maybe you'll have kicked the ass of ... whoever it is that has it.
* * * * *
A gate blocks access to the storage complex, and you need a code to get in. You remember that Carlos had given you one when you came out to watch that long-ass movie, but of course you've forgotten it. But there's a car in front of the office, so you park and run inside to see if you can get the numbers.
A middle-aged woman looks up at you from behind the desk with a pleasant expression. "Yes?" she says.
"Hey, I need to get in to meet someone who's inside. Can I get a code for the gate?"
"You need to have a unit here for us to open the gate. Do you have one?" You shake your head. "I see. Well, does your friend have one?"
"I guess so. It's Carlos Montoya, and I think he has two units—"
"Oh, Carlos!" she exclaims. "You're a friend of his? Are you moving something, because if you just want to get in to see him, there's a door through there into the complex." She points down a hallway.
You thank her and tell her that'll be fine.
The wind is chilly when you step out the back door into the complex. The sun still very harsh, and you wish you had your sunglasses with you.
There's no one around, and it occurs to you that maybe you've been lured into a snipe hunt. Maybe that guy is around, or maybe he's off somewhere laughing about where he's sent you because, after all, he's texting you from a phone that he ... found? Stole?
So, feeling suddenly wary, you huddle behind the corner of a building and text him again. where in complex are you?
studio tv here but dont know how use it.
Would that be Carlos and Mike's studio? are crlos n mike wth you?
no told yu just me.
"But who are you, asshole?" you mutter to yourself. You don't want to just come out and ask him because, no matter the answer, it would look weird: Asking the guy using Will Prescott's phone who he is.
So you try a slightly different angle of attack. y u using will prescotts phone?
A long pause. Then: lol me who fuck else?
You almost jump out of your skin. The cocksucker is pretending to be you? Or is it some asshole friend of Tilley's, and Keith would know who it is?
come outside got surprise for you, you text. You peer around the corner of the building, so you can safely spy on him when he emerges from the climate-controlled building.
If he does come out. You now seriously doubt that the asshole is anywhere nearby.
dude u get caleb up? he texts.
just come see. You grit your teeth.
No reply, and no movement. No reply, and no movement. You wonder what excuse the fucker will come up with. Maybe none. Maybe he's figured out he's busted.
No reply, and no movement.
Then: Movement. The door opens, and a figure steps out.
You hang back just long enough to confirm it's not the Molester or a football player or anyone who is likely to seriously hurt you. He sure doesn't look physically intimidating. He's in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, and with those skinny arms and skinny shanks he'd probably have a hard time beating up a girl.
So you charge at him.
You're halfway across the lot before it registers that there's something very familiar about that shock of straw-like hair atop his head, and the crooked grimace he turns on you when he sees you coming.
But not until his jaw drops and his eyes pop does his face acquire a shape that lets you organize all the pieces into something you recognize.
The figure in front of you could be your twin. You skid to a hard stop, and your own jaw drops.
* * * * *
You've heard of "doppelgangers" before. Not the creatures out of D&D and fantasy worlds, though you've heard of them, too. Just the mundane sort. The uncanny twins that sometimes show up. People who look like people you know, except for subtle differences. Innocent lookalikes.
This guy could be your innocent lookalike.
Except that he doesn't act very innocent. For a couple of seconds you stare at each other, the horror and surprise on his face mirroring the horror and surprise that probably appears on yours.
Then he says "Eep" and wheels around. He tugs at the door to the climate unit. It doesn't open. As, stupidly, you continue to stare at him, he taps at the keypad by the door. Not until he's got the door open do you jump after him, and then it's too late. The door wheezes shut before you can grasp the handle, and it's locked again when you yank at it. You jam your face to the glass in the door and peer in. A shadowy figure is sprinting down the central corridor of the building.
Holy fuck! Did you actually see what you think you just saw?
You hop back and stare at the door, then tear off around the building in case there's another entrance. There isn't one—the only way out is through the door with the keypad. After frowning at it and chewing your lip, you run back to the office.
"Hey, can I get the code for the climate control building?" you ask the clerk.
But this time she frowns at you. "Why?"
"Well, 'cos Carlos is in there—"
"Can't he let you in?"
That shuts you up. And as you hesitate, you see the doubt and suspicion creeping into her eyes.
So you run out the front door to your truck before she can start challenging you. And to be extra safe, you move your truck to the laundromat across the street. There's a high fence all around the Top Shelf Storage complex, so the gate's the only way out, and from the laundromat you can spot anyone who tries leaving.
But what are you going to do now?
Well, Carlos could get you inside, and he'd probably like to know that there's someone inside the climate-controlled unit and maybe inside his studio. A quick search shows that Keith has Carlos's number on his phone, so that's an option.
You could also call Keith—at the donut shop's own number—and tell him what you saw and maybe get him to come out and help you get inside to confront ... whatever it is in there.
Or you could just wait and watch to see who emerges, and follow them.
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