The Bone Triangle

by B. V. Larson

  Weary, I sat on a metal bench outside. It was cool against my injured flesh and felt good. Soon, I stretched out on it. I didn’t even care if someone came along and sat on me.

  “What are we going to do now?” Jacqueline asked, still holding on to my hand. We were both invisible. “I can’t let go of you now, in just a hospital gown. Do you want me to call Gilling?”

  “No. I can think of only one person who can safely come and help us now.”

  “Who? And don’t say McKesson.”

  “Your mother.”

  Jacqueline wasn’t happy about it, but in the end she gave in and made the call. Her mother was thrilled, but cautious, as she learned more details of the situation. She questioned the need to bring a first-aid kit and a bag of men’s clothing. When Jacqueline specified medium-length, loose-fitting clothes, I thought she’d blown it. But Jacqueline refused to give her mother the address until she agreed. When Karen realized we wanted to be picked up in front of the hospital, she became more reasonable.

  Twenty long minutes later, Jacqueline shook me awake and I got to my feet. We were visible now, and Karen didn’t look very happy. Somehow, Jacqueline talked her into letting us get into the car, saying she could explain everything if we just got moving.

  Together, we climbed into the red Mercedes. I had the backseat all to myself. Karen tossed a paper bag of clothing at me and glared at her daughter.

  “I can’t believe you’re with this man,” she said. “He’s one step from homeless, you know.”

  “I’ll have you know I own an impressive house, madam,” I said from the back.

  “He does,” Jacqueline added.

  We drove off with excessive acceleration. I groaned, feeling vertigo roll over me. I tugged at the clothing she’d thrown at me, but was too tired to put it on. I draped it over myself instead.

  “Well, is that where you want to go?” Karen asked.

  “No,” Jacqueline said. “Take me to your house, Mom.”

  “Let me get this right; you’re coming home with me?”

  “If you let Mr. Draith stay a few days to recover, then yes.”

  Her mother made a sound of disgust. “I get it now. You’ve been sleeping together, haven’t you? I should never have sent this man looking for you. What did he tell you? He’s in some kind of trouble with the police, isn’t he? I’m sorry I ever hired him.”

  “It’s not like that, Mother. Don’t start talking Quentin down. He risked his life for me.”

  The discussion went on for some time in this vein, but at last Karen Swanson agreed to her daughter’s terms. By the end of it, I had a better understanding of exactly why Jacqueline had been so anxious to leave home. These two didn’t get along.

  “You can stay for now, Draith. But you’ll sleep on the couch. Please don’t make a mess—and don’t get too comfortable, either.”

  “There’s one more thing, Ms. Swanson,” I said.

  “Why am I not surprised? What?”

  I lifted my hand and extended my arm between the seats, holding my upraised palm under her nose. “I’ll take my final payment now. I feel I’ve earned it.”

  Jacqueline and her mother lived in a small mansion of their own and had plenty of spare cash to live on. I enjoyed my stay there, at least initially. For me, it was a peaceful timeout from what was usually a hectic life.

  I took several days to update my blog, Draith’s Weird Stuff. It never had paid the bills, but my readers were faithful, if few in number. After reading over the obits, I had my story.

  A neighborhood known as the Triangle has long plagued the citizens of our fair city. Sitting to the west of the Strip, the region is infamous for crime and strange happenings. I’m sorry to report that events there have taken a turn for the worse. Cases of vanishing street people are nothing new in this blighted area, but what has become noteworthy in recent weeks is the reappearance of their remains. Glistening piles of bone, thrown onto the sidewalk in a seemingly random pattern, have alarmed local residents. As one project-dweller of fifty-four years told this reporter, “Now I’ve seen it all. I walked right into that stack down there on the corner. It was all I could do to get my beagle Jasper to step around.

  By the end of the week, I’d begun to envy the old lunatic who’d tried to kill me. At least he had a quiet room to himself. Karen and Jacqueline Swanson were difficult to take as a team. They fought every day, usually about minor things. I suspected Jacqueline had been wise to move out, even if she hadn’t yet found legitimate employment.

  My recovery was nearly complete by the end of the week, and I’d begun to make inquiries. I didn’t dare go home, however. If Meng was still sending out assassins, they would check there first.

  Not for the last time, I debated a direct assault on Meng’s stronghold. I’d managed it before, but in that case my success had been attributable to surprise. If I tried it again, she would be ready. I was certain she’d have an upgraded security system and a pack of mind-washed goons. Normal people weren’t difficult for a technomancer like myself to best in a fight, but these wouldn’t be normal people. They’d be fanatical, like the old man in the hospital, willing to die to protect their beloved Dr. Meng.

  That could all be reversed, however, if I could put Meng out of commission. She wasn’t an imposing person by herself. She was a very professional-looking woman, if in a typical way. But in her domain, she could twist the mind of anyone I brought to the fight with me.

  I wrestled with the problem, coming up with various plans, but always rejecting them. I could, for instance, enlist Gilling’s help. Still, it all seemed too dangerous and full of unknowns. The placement of the rip was often iffy. Gilling might put me down in a closet or on the roof. Worse, I wouldn’t be able to tell ahead of time where I was going to go. I would just have to step into the rip and have a look around. I didn’t like the sound of that. I’d just recovered from a serious mauling, and I wasn’t excited about going another round with Meng’s minions.

  I came to the conclusion that I needed more information about Meng herself—and the layout of her domain, the infamous Sunset Sanatorium.

  After a few more days, my limp was gone and my arms had regrown their missing flesh. They were still covered in pink wales, but I knew those would fade quickly to white lines, then vanish entirely. They always did. I was feeling almost normal by the weekend. That’s when Karen Swanson came to have a little chat with me.

  “You seem much better,” she said. “In fact, I’d call your recovery miraculous.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She gave me an odd look, and I knew she was considering questioning me about my unnaturally fast recuperation. Fortunately, the moment passed.

  “I want to talk to you about Jacqueline.”

  I nodded. I’d suspected this was coming. Jacqueline was out running some errands, and I was certain Karen’s timing wasn’t accidental.

  “No need to thank me again,” I said.

  “You certainly have my thanks. But that wasn’t what I was getting at. Well…can you tell me what your intentions are toward my daughter?”

  “Uh,” I said, squirming in my chair. I closed my computer, and it turned itself off with a melodic tone. “I don’t know what Jacqueline wants, exactly. We’ve only just met.”

  Karen’s face soured. “It’s not just a matter of what she wants. She’s twenty-seven, but she acts like she’s still in college. She’s made a number of mistakes in the past.”

  “And you don’t want me to be one of them, is that it?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Never mind, I understand. I’m feeling much better now, and I thank you for your hospitality.”

  It was Sunday night, about 11:00 p.m., when I quietly packed my bags. Jacqueline caught me in the hallway before I could slip away. She appeared in front of me, having apparently been invisible. She wore a long pink T-shirt with a cat on it. Her feet were in slippers, and her legs were bare.

  “How long have y
ou been watching me?” I asked in a low voice. Karen had gone to bed with a bottle of champagne an hour ago, but I figured there was no point in risking awakening her by speaking loudly.

  “Long enough to know you were going to sneak out without saying good-bye.”

  “I’m not going off to war,” I said, smiling. “We’ll see each other soon.”

  She looked at me seriously. Her eyes, I saw now, were brimming with tears. “I know what you’re going to do. You’re going after Meng. That’s worse than going to war.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe eventually, but not tonight.”

  “Take me with you anyway. I was wrong to come back here.”

  “We almost died together,” I said. “You don’t want to hang around with me. It’s dangerous.”

  Her hand reached out and sought mine. For once, we both stayed visible. I felt a small tingle at her touch. It had been days since we’d had close contact. We’d been through a lot in a short time, and I found myself thinking about her often. I supposed it was only natural.

  “Why haven’t you ever tried to make a move on me?” she asked.

  I was surprised. I hadn’t realized she was in such a frame of mind. I found her very attractive, but it had felt wrong to make a move on her as a guest in her mother’s house. Clearly, I’d been too timid.

  “I don’t think your mother would approve.”

  She smiled at last. “I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

  Jacqueline kissed me suddenly, and she almost had me then. I hadn’t been with a woman for months. I touched her waist and she put her hands on the sides of my head. After making out for several long seconds, I disengaged gently.

  She looked at my face, reading my expression. When she realized I was still leaving, she pushed me away.

  “Just go then,” she said.

  “You’re a spoiled brat,” I said gently.

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  We parted, smiling again. I left the house soon after. Outside, the night was warm and still. I marched past a fake lake toward the highway. I thought about calling Gilling, but I didn’t want to involve him in any more of my misfortunes tonight. Together, we’d escaped the beach world, and he deserved to live another day. I thought about calling McKesson as well, but I didn’t want to make things so easy on him. I would catch up to him at some point. I was certain of that. And I had a few tricks in mind to play on him when I did.

  Who did that leave? Gutter Jim? He was the only non-hostile member of the Community I’d met. I wouldn’t call him friendly, but he was at least a neutral party. I wondered what he thought of Meng.

  Gilling had told me a way of contacting Gutter Jim. Unsurprisingly, it involved drains and manholes. You had to dangle something into his domain—something interesting.

  I traveled to Las Vegas on a series of buses. They made it pretty easy to get to the Strip from anywhere in the region. After all, if people couldn’t get to the casinos, they couldn’t gamble their paychecks. I took the last downtown express to the Strip at 12:30 a.m.

  The Strip was still lively, even in the early hours of Monday morning, but I wasn’t headed for the Strip. I took a turn and left the flashing lights and laughing tourists. I soon crossed into the Strip’s less popular neighbor, the Triangle. Finding a quiet corner was easy. In the Triangle, the streets were mostly empty.

  I considered each of my objects of power in turn. My plan required risking one of them. I was quite fond of my sunglasses and didn’t want to chance losing them. Next, I considered the photograph. After my near-death experience, there was no way I was going to chance losing it. Third was my Gray Man finger. I’d never been fond of it, but being immune to the direct attacks of other technomancers was a huge advantage. Meng, for example, was not able to bend my mind to her will because of this artifact. I couldn’t afford to let it leave my hand. Not even for a second.

  That made the choice quite easy in the end. I pulled out the drawstring on my hoodie until it came loose in my hand. It was only about three feet long, but it would have to do. I took off the wedding ring that gave me small bursts of luck and tied the drawstring to it. Dropping the ring down into the dark recesses of a storm drain took an effort of will, but I managed it.

  Even I, who’d always felt less enamored with artifacts of power than most people, had a hard time with this fishing expedition. I kept imagining strange, alien claws reaching for my ring out of the murky water. These hands, which existed purely in my own mind, had huge, broken nails like claws and a coating of slime that reflected the moonlight. I flinched when I thought I saw the slightest motion in the drain and heard a tiny gurgle.

  I fished there like that for quite a while. Absolutely nothing happened until about 1:00 a.m. By that time, the neighborhood had become too quiet for comfort. Only a few cars had passed by, mostly full of lost tourists who had gawked at the weirdo who appeared to be fishing in the storm drain. They had sped off quickly and left me in the darkness again.

  By 1:30 a.m. I began giving myself time limits. I would give up in ten minutes. The minutes passed, and I invariably gave myself five more.

  I was no longer fearing for my ring—instead, my tailbone hurt after crouching on concrete for over an hour. Worse, my fear of the Beast that supposedly stalked this place had grown steadily. I could only imagine two explanations for the silent streets: either the people here were all hiding and terrified, or they had already been eaten.

  The few houses with lights playing in the windows darkened one at a time, but no one came out on the street itself. Had the monster eaten the majority of the population here in the Triangle? Wouldn’t that astonishing fact have reached the nightly news? I was sure McKesson was good at his job, but I couldn’t believe he could cover up a happening of this magnitude.

  It was nearly two in the morning when I felt the first tug. Like all long-suffering fishermen, I was surprised and sucked in my breath. I tried not to jump, to scare away whatever it was that I’d attracted, but it was one of the hardest moments of self-control I’d ever attempted. I wanted to leap up and run.

  Instead, I quietly put my sunglasses on and leaned forward. I expected Gutter Jim to snatch my ring and attempt to vanish into his domain. The sunglasses would not allow it, however. Using them, I could turn the grate over the drain into rubbery, flopping bars and push them aside, entering his domain. We’d talked before, and I hoped he wouldn’t take offense.

  Once the sunglasses were on, I leaned over the drain and peered down into it. A burning orange light met my eyes. I squinted as the darkness, the grate, and the sunglasses all combined to make it hard to see. Then, at last, I realized what I was looking at.

  I ripped the sunglasses from my face and looked again. Yes, there could be no doubt. It wasn’t Gutter Jim down there.

  I was certain in my heart that I was looking at the Beast.

  The rip wasn’t quite the same shape as most of them. I was used to spherical patterns, but this one had an irregular outline. It looked more like a tear in a piece of tar paper. Behind the tar paper was a light that rippled and resembled flame. Perhaps it was flame, but I couldn’t tell. A common property of rips between worlds was the distortion of vision.

  But one thing I was sure of, the Beast was there inside that rip. It was looking at me even as I examined it in return. I knew it had to be the Beast, rather than some other alien, because it was huge. So huge that only a single eye was visible. That eye had to be four feet in diameter, surrounded by the flame-like edge of the rip. The iris was a shimmering greenish-gold. The pupil alone was a foot across.

  Dangling directly in front of the great eye was my ring. It glittered in the yellow-orange glow of the rip, which shone up out of the drain like firelight. I suspected the Beast had attempted to devour it, but had failed due to the properties of such objects. Wanting to determine the nature of the thing it had tasted, it had then moved its mouth away. Shifting to place an eye to the rip, it tried to see what it was that resisted its hunger.

&nb
sp; I fell over backward, then struggled to my feet. I strained to stand up, my stiff knees popping after having crouched there over the storm drain for hours. Dangling from the string, the ring tinkled and clicked against the asphalt.

  I cursed and scrambled away, uncertain if the creature could somehow still reach me. Most men would have run until they collapsed. But when I stood only ten feet from the glimmering opening in the street, I managed to get control of myself. Every time I’d seen this creature, it had been limited to a rip of short duration in a single spot. If I was fast on my feet, I should be able to avoid it, even if it tried to open a new rip under me. Cartoon had told me that the creature came out only occasionally to feed. I hoped that was because it could not summon the energy to cause a rip to appear more often.

  A thousand thoughts and questions surged in my mind. What was this thing? Where did it come from? Did anyone control it, or was it an independent entity? There were no answers, so I tried to push away the questions.

  “Hello?” I asked aloud, addressing the thing in the dark hole at my feet. I doubted it could hear me, or that it would respond if by some miracle it could comprehend my speech. But I felt the urge to attempt communication anyway. It was better than stepping around the drain in wide circles, terrified.

  To my surprise a response did come, but not from the drain at my feet. Instead, a voice rose up from behind me.

  “How rude,” the voice said.

  I whirled. The ring flew on its string, flashing with reflected light. A figure squatted there in the street on top of the nearest manhole. After a moment, I realized he wasn’t standing on the manhole; he was standing in the manhole. As I watched, he rose up out of it. It took only a moment for me to recognize him. It was Gutter Jim.

  I felt unnerved by my own success. I’d attracted both a lord of the Community and the Beast at the same time. “What’s rude?” I managed.

  “You’ve teased the Beast. Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to torment animals?”