The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

The Real Boss

Previously: "Compromising with Kelsey" 

Kelsey, her eyes open and staring, seems to relax bonelessly into the sofa as the mask vanishes from her face. You glance over in alarm at Yumi, who returns your look with a wide-eyed stare of her own, then grab Kelsey's arm and feel at her wrist. You let out a sigh of relief at the strong, steady pulse you find there.

"Where's Kelsey's bedroom?" you ask Yumi.

"Across the hall." She hurries for the doorway and looks out. "Are you moving her there?"

"Yeah. We can't let anyone find her like this, and her bedroom—"

You break off as you bend and scoop the unconscious girl into your arms. Her head flops at a frightening angle, and with a quick word you summon Yumi back over to support it as you carry Kelsey out the doorway and into the hallway.

The house is muffled—even the TV in the game room is almost inaudible—as you carry Kelsey halfway down the hallway and through a tall wide door on the other side of the passage. Inside, you find a bedroom that's bigger than the living room at your house. A king-size bed with a peach bedspread sits against the far wall, and there are two dressers, a chest of drawers, an armoire, and a dressing table with a padded stool and large mirror along the other walls. Two tall windows, with gauzy drapes and heavy curtains pulled back, look out onto the yard between the house and the garage; and there are more doors in the wall opposite the bed.

You spread Kelsey carefully over the bed, arranging her limbs and head after telling Yumi to fetch your bag from the other room. Once you have it, you open it up to pull out the rest of the stuff that you brought. You give Yumi instructions as you lay these out on the nightstand next to the bed, like the implements in an operating room.

"Lock the door. Then help me get Kelsey undressed. I'm going to have to get undressed too— Is there a bathroom in here?" Yumi points to one of the doors. "I'll undress in there, take off this mask. You're going to have to wake me up, don't let me stay passed out. Hit me, slap me, whatever it takes. Then we'll finish with Kelsey. You'll probably have to stand guard in the hall, hang out in that game room or something, make like Kelsey is busy if someone comes looking for her. By the way, how did you know she's got a bathroom in here?"

"I've been here before."

"Yeah, but I thought you said you and Kelsey didn't like each other."

"I've been up here before," Yumi repeats with a slight sneer. "With Eva and Jessica. Lin."

You grunt, then return to disrobing Kelsey.

Yumi has been taking care of her bottom, unbuttoning and pulling down her jeans and some tight white panties underneath. You've been pulling and twisting her arms this way and that, to get the vest off her, and then the blouse—which is more like a fitted t-shirt, made of linen or some other light and soft material—off over her head. You disorder her hair completely with these actions, and briefly straighten it out before calling Yumi up to take care of her earrings and necklace while you bend over and shove your arms under Kelsey's torso in a quasi embrace to find the hooks to her bra. Her scent—an outdoorsy scent, like wood shavings faintly perfumed of pine—envelops your face, and gives you a raging boner.

"Okay," you mutter as you straighten up with her bra in your hand, and look down on the girl. Your tongue seems to go all thick as you suck in the sight of the naked Kelsey Blankenship: the slim, pert breasts ending in brown tips; the flat but soft stomach; the narrow bulge of the hips, and the legs twined close together. On an impulse, you push her thighs apart for a look at her nest. No surprise, but it is shaven, leaving an anonymous but rosy bulge with an inviting slit up the middle.

Mine, you think. Me. Soon.

"Okay," you say again, in an even huskier voice. "I'm gonna go get undressed now." But you can't tear your eyes off of Kelsey, and stumble over your own heels as you back away from the bed. Only when you almost lose your balance do you turn around and hurry for the door that Yumi indicated, and even then you pause in the doorway to look back at Kelsey: a smooth, slim girl with a tawny yet satiny skin, draped atop the bed. Inside the bathroom you can hardly bear to touch your own hairy and brawny form.

Yumi stands in the doorway, watching dispassionately as you kick off your shoes and peel off your socks; pull your shirt off over your head; and unbutton and push down your jeans and underwear. Once you are naked you look around—and discover that the bathroom altogether is probably as big as your bedroom back home, with a long, deep vanity with two sinks; a bathtub built into a tiled platform with steps leading up to it; and a walk-in shower. Fucking luxury, you marvel enviously to yourself.

With no better place except maybe the floor, you lay back on the bathtub's platform, which is just wide enough to accommodate your shoulders, and more than long enough to accommodate your length. After settling yourself comfortably, you stretch your hand across your brow and look at Yumi, who is hovering nearby. "Remember," you say, "don't let me sleep." She nods.

You grip your temples between fingertips and thumb, close your eyes, mutter some arcane words, and pull. The first time your fingers slip, but the second time it is as though you are ripping off your face, letting a liquid darkness pour into your exposed brain to drown you.

* * * * *

It's the cold sting of water against your face that brings you around; and after forcing your way through a smothering fog into wakefulness, you raise up on one elbow with a gasp, and ward off the spray with your hand. You sputter and choke as you grope for words that refuse to come to your benumbed brain.

The spray finally stops, and you spit and grumble as you wipe the water from your face and eyes. When you pry your eyes open and look around, a grave-looking Yumi is looking back at you, holding a shower head-and-hose whose other end is attached to the tub near the faucet.

"Oh, God!" you gasp. Your brain feels frozen and heavy, like cast iron, and your limbs are so stiff they hardly want to work. "Jesus!"

"You told me to, boss," Yumi says.

"I know, it's alright!" You wipe at your face again. You very much want to lay back down and go back to sleep, but you force yourself to sit up, and then to stand. Yumi puts out a steadying hand as you straighten up, swaying, onto your feet. You stumble over to the vanity and lean heavily against it as you raise your face to regard your reflection.

The face of Will Prescott looks back. It's been a long time.

Water is still trickling down your cheek, and your bangs are dark and dripping. Your eyes are barely open, and your mouth is hanging open in a stupid and embarrassing way. You gape and woozily wonder what the fuck happened to you. Did Yumi put this mask on me while I was asleep?

Even after you've shaken your head and reminded yourself that this is you, you can't help staring at yourself with a kind of horrified shock. You are small and bony where before you had been tall and strong. Your face is twisted up into a kind of rabbity anxiety, where before it had been strong and confident. I'm this little jerk? you think with a sinking despair. I was—!

Snap the fuck out of it! a voice in your head commands. You stare, then in an almost unwilled answer to the command you straighten up and settle your features. You shut your mouth and relax your eyes; you put out your chest and push back your shoulders. You settle comfortably back on your heels.

As you do so, a familiar and confident flush spreads through you. No, this isn't the body or the look that you want. But that's no fucking reason to twist yourself up like a wire hanger. You're the boss here. You've been the boss. You'll be the boss again.

And, most important, you tell yourself that you've learned how to be the boss. Your gaze has none of the cold power of Steve Patterson's. But at least you can put into it a cool confidence you can respect.

You turn and look over the tub and floor, spotting the mask where it tumbled onto the tile. In two steps you are upon it, bending to pick it up, and you turn it over in your hands. STEVEN PERCEVAL PATTERSON, says the name that floats over the inner surface. You feel your expression tighten. How odd to think that the person you were just a few minutes ago—the bones and muscles and body and brains that were yours, along with the memories—are inside this small thing.

Not all of it is inside the mask, though. You can still feel the warmth of Steve's personality inside your brain, and it's with a tight, Steve-like smile that brush past Yumi and stride out—still naked—into the bedroom, where Kelsey is sprawling on her bed.

"Bring me Steve's clothes," you order Yumi as you study Kelsey's face. On an impulse you sweep up her hand, and squeeze it. "Fold them up and lay them on the dresser," you order when Yumi has returned. "Then go outside and wait for Steve to come out." You keep your eyes locked onto Kelsey, so you only hear it and don't see it as Yumi leaves.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later Steve Patterson has returned, unfurling to his full height in the bedroom of Kelsey Blankenship. His expression is coldly professional as he accepts your orders, but he calls you "boss" as he acknowledges them.

Then he goes, leaving you standing next to a dresser on which sits an unsealed mask and a set of rudely folded clothes: the makings of your next impersonation.

Next: Coming soon! Check back!

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"