This choice: Stay - find a way to fix her • Go Back...Chapter #12Cover and Recover by: Unknown by Masktrix
Today is Friday. That means you’ve got a weekend to find a solution. And right now you need to help Marion. She is a good person, her mind tells you. Forgetful, a little bumbling at times, but good. You crouch down and let her mind guide you through moving an injury. Recovery position. Unnecessary here. Instead you stoop down, grab her arms and drag her into the bedroom. It feels eerie, touching her flesh with those same fingertips. You pant and perspire a little at the exertion, before pulling her up into bed. Then you help her into her (hideous to your mind, cute to hers) PJs. You do your best not to look.
By the end, you’re doubled over and out of breath. Marion really needs a better fitness routine. Her mind is insistent she ‘gets her steps in’ just doing patrols. Yeah, but you also get your jelly supreme donuts...
You edge out of her uniform, trousers looking around your shins before you gather and fold them properly. Moments later you’re in Marion’s jogging bottoms and a loose top with a faded logo from an old grunge band. You undo your bun, letting the wild mane of hair release. Then, without really knowing why, you pick Marion’s glasses off her face and place the spare on her nightstand.
You are now Marion Pruitt. At least for a few hours while you try to decide what you are going to do.
- - -
You are back to your shavenheaded self. You thought it'd take half an hour to get home, get your things and get back to Marion’s apartment. You didn’t figure on your parents. While you made it back to your house in record time, you weren’t expecting a lecture on your recent behavior. Shaven head. For 20 dollars? And then there is the C you got on the time capsule. Not good enough. You are virtually forced to sit through family dinner.
You mutter something about a new job. That gets your parents’ interest piqued.
“Nirdlinger’s,” you say. “Security. Just a few hours a week.”
Your father dissects his pork chop as he considers it. “Better than Dairy Queen,” he shrugs.
Then you need to persuade your parents that you’re going to be away this weekend, camping with Caleb. You’ve texted him to cover for you. That was a harder sell - especially after the poor grade. Instead, you had to change approach.
“I’m going to stay at...”
“No.” Your father chews slowly. “Not Caleb, after this week’s grades. You need to study. This is your future, Will. You aren’t going to throw it away.”
“I wasn’t going to say Caleb,” you sigh. Shit. You search for your alternative. “I was going to say Brent.”
“Who’s Brent?” Your mom asks.
“Brent Pruitt. He’s on the AP track. We’re going to have a cram session. He owes me for... y’know. Something. And we’re going to be working hard all weekend.”
Your parents can’t really argue with that. “Fine,” your father says, before noting your clothes. After removing the mask you didn’t bother changing; Marion’s pants had drawstrings and the T-shirt just got a little baggier on your frame. “Since when did you listen to Soundgarden?”
You decide to head up before you are subjected to his attempt to bond over his taste in music.
- - -
You’re back at Marion’s - as Marion - a full hour and a half after you left. You step out of the elevator, waving as you pass Holly, letting in Smoke who has been pawing at her door. Then you slip in the keys you took from your... patient? Prisoner? You aren’t sure what Marion is, right now. All you know is you are relieved that she is still unconscious and in bed when you check on her. Blowing a loose strand of her stolen hair out of your face, you dart into the kitchen and then sink into the couch with some chips. Stress eating. It’s slightly disturbing to realize that it’s a Marion trait, not a Will one.
You’ve taken everything you need from your room. The Grimoire. Your supplies. A few books to keep your parents from getting suspicious. Now you won’t be disturbed as you look after Marion. Frustratingly, the book still won’t let you look for a solution beyond the next page. Four hundred pounds of grave dirt. You are certain it won’t be about helping someone who’s having a mental breakdown.
You have a few options. First, you can polish some more masks, then get further into the grimoire. Or, alternatively, you can try and find other magical options. There is a mystic shop in town; you remember some of the goth kids talking about a ‘Madame Andrassy’. Maybe if you got a mind band on her, you could find an alternative solution.
But first there is a call you need to make that could ruin your school reputation.
“Hey, little bro,” you chirp down the phone, voice full of Marion’s innate, bubbly warmth.
“Hey,” Brent Pruitt answers, a little confused.
“You studying hard?” You can hear the groan down the end of the line. Marion likes to tease her sibling though.
“I guess,” he says. “Trying to get through some problems for the mathlete contest.”
“Ooh! Go on, then!” You say it out of instinct. Inside you groan, not wanting a math problem. Nor does Marion, but she likes to appear game.
“Heh,” Brent laughs. “I don’t think that would help. But I have to get these done tonight. Mom is really turning the screw.” Your Marion memories remind you that Brent has always been under this kind of pressure. As Will you assumed that he was just wet; now you know that his parents are taskmasters. All three kids took to coping with unfair expectations. Marion started eating and got an apartment as soon as she could. Brent, youngest and most gifted, got it worst of all. He’s expected to be brilliant. It suffocates him. Marion’s emotions cause your face to frown in empathy.
“Hang in there, little B.” You say. There is awkward silence on the line.
“Thanks, Sis. So, what’s up?”
“I need a favour,” you say, wincing inwardly as you do. “Do you know a Will Prescott?”
“Yeah, he goes to my school,” Brent replies, curious. “Why?”
Steel yourself. You lower your voice. “This goes no further, OK? Totally in confidence?”
“Sure.”
“I caught him shoplifting at work. He’s in a lot of trouble, but don’t want to ruin his life so we’re coming up with an alternative. He’s going to work it off this weekend.”
“Okay...”
“So, I told him we don’t need to include his parents in this. But he needs a reason he is away this weekend. So, I was thinking...”
“You want me to cover for him?”
“Is that cool?”
“I guess,” Brent mutters. “I mean, I barely know him. I think he’s got a girlfriend, maybe Lisa would be a better...”
“I think,” you interrupt, “a weekend studying with a little genius is better cover than a date. C’mon, little B. Hmm? Hmmmm?”
You finish the call five minutes later, having persuaded your disguise’s little brother to cover your absence. You have two days. You have Marion Pruitt’s life and meagre savings. The only question is how you’re going to help the real Marion, comatose in her bed. And there is another problem with the Grimoire spell. You need a lock of your own hair... and Caleb shaved it off two days ago.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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