The Bones Beneath My Skin

by TJ Klune

  “Says the guy who got body-jacked by an alien for twenty years and yet barely looks older than me.” Nate winced. “Shit. Sorry. That probably didn’t come out like I wanted it to.”

  “I think it came out exactly like you wanted,” Peter said evenly. “But I take no offense. I understand your point. You’re very… direct.”

  “Good,” Nate said, ignoring the trickle of sweat that ran down the back of his neck. “I don’t want to make things difficult. You’ve been very kind to us since we arrived.”

  “Can I ask you a question, Nate?”

  “Ye-es?”

  “Who have you lost?”

  Nate blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re very… cynical for someone your age. It would suggest that you’ve experienced loss so young.”

  “I don’t… What does that have to do with anything?”

  Peter leaned against the doorjamb that led to his office. Nate could see a video camera set up on a tripod in the middle of the room over his shoulder. It was pointed at the desk where he’d been sitting before. The camera seemed out of place for a farm that was supposedly off the grid. “I’m merely trying to figure out who Artemis has aligned herself with.”

  “Aligned,” Nate said, looking back at him. “What does that mean?”

  “She’s fond of you.”

  “I’m pretty fond of her too.”

  “And the Marine. That… Alex.”

  Nate bristled a little at the derision in Peter’s tone. “He helped her when no one else would. He saved her life.”

  “Did he? And how did he do that?”

  “She’s here, isn’t she? She’s not still in the Mountain. She’s safe.”

  “She is. More so here than probably anywhere else in the world. I’m glad you see it that way.”

  That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “And that’s because of Alex.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” Nate growled. “He rescued her. He risked his life for her. Hell, he almost fucking died for her. She means the world to him.”

  “Of course she does,” Peter said soothingly. “It’s almost like she’s some kind of replacement for him, isn’t it?”

  Nate opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because wasn’t that not too far from the truth? Wasn’t that almost exactly what had happened? It was—oh hell. What was the psychobabble called? Transference. That sounded right. Transferring the feelings for one to another. It was… not unexpected. The people running the Mountain had been smart in choosing Alex, and more than a little cruel.

  “Ah,” Peter said. “I see it on your face. That’s what it is, isn’t it? She’s a replacement.” He sighed. “How unfortunate. I mean, the depths they would go to. I wonder if she knows. That’s… that might just end up breaking her heart. That is, if she’s capable of having her heart broken at all. They’re not… They don’t have emotions like we do. Not to the same extent.”

  That was a glaring untruth. Nate had seen it with his own eyes. Either Peter was lying to him, or he was clueless as to who Art really was. “That’s not what this is,” Nate snapped. “You don’t know anything about them.”

  “Don’t I? Out of all of us, Nate, who do you think would understand what they have—what they are—more? You? Or me? Because I know what it’s like to be engulfed by all that she is—by all that it is. You see a little girl. You see her big eyes and her crooked smile and the way she dances on Alex’s feet. And for all you know, that’s exactly what she wants you to see. Have you ever thought of it that way? Clearly, you are intelligent. Has it never crossed your mind that she’s showing you exactly what she thinks you want to see in her?”

  Well… no. He hadn’t thought that at all. She was—she was Artemis Darth Vader. She was inquisitive and kind and stared at Alex adoringly. She liked reading and waitresses and movies about space princesses. Of course that’s who she was. Right? Yes, maybe if she were capable of deception, this would be the way to go about it, to play upon their emotions, to act the part of a bright-eyed, smiling little girl until she turned on them and—

  No. He’d seen her. He knew her. She wasn’t like that.

  “No,” Nate said. “Never.”

  Peter smiled, as if this was the answer he expected. “Do you want to know what I see?”

  “I don’t—”

  “I see a god. I see a being who can impart knowledge far beyond what the human mind is capable of. I see, in part, our salvation.”

  Nate narrowed his eyes. “She’s not yours.”

  Peter held up his hands in placation. “I know. She doesn’t belong to any of us. If anything, she belongs in the stars. That’s where she’s from. And it is to there she must return.”

  He felt… better? Hearing that. That Peter thought she needed to go back to where she’d come from. It—well, it actually wasn’t comforting, not really. Nothing about this place was. But as long as Peter understood what the endgame was here, nothing else mattered. Maybe they’d only be here for another day or two. Artemis would get what she needed from the farm. From Peter. From Oren. And then they would leave. It was funny when he thought about it. He’d been initially relieved that they’d found a place to stop for a few days. Now all he wanted to do was get back out on the road again, put the farm in their rearview mirror. “I agree,” Nate said. “Just… you don’t know what Alex has been through. What Art has. Hell, even though it doesn’t compare, you don’t know what I’ve been through.”

  “I don’t,” Peter agreed. “But you know loss, just as much as they do. Just as much as everyone here does. Tell me, Nate. Do you know what everyone in this place has in common? Why they came here as they have?”

  Nate shook his head. He couldn’t even begin to guess.

  Peter tsked as if disappointed. “It boils down to this: l’appel du vide. It’s a French phrase. It means, quite literally, the call of the void.” He uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. “It’s an urge for… destruction. Have you ever been driving down the road and thought to yourself, what would happen if I swerved into oncoming traffic? Or have you ever been on the edge of a cliff staring down into nothing and thought, what would happen if I just took one more step? It’s not suicidal. It’s an impulse. A need somehow embedded into our genetic code. Most don’t act upon it because we are capable of rational thought. But there, buried in our lizard brain, is always the what-if. Your hands on the steering wheel and there’s an oncoming semi. The tips of your shoes hanging into nothing. It’s exhilarating. It’s debilitating.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nate said, feeling slightly dizzy.

  “I know,” Peter said. “And that’s okay. Maybe you have yet to experience it. You are so young, after all. But the people at the farm, they know of what I speak. They’ve all gone through l’appel du vide at one point or another. They all have a desire for something… more. Something further.”

  “And you…? What. Think you can give it to them?”

  Peter laughed. “You sound so dismissive.”

  “You sound like Jim Jones.”

  Peter didn’t laugh at that. “Do I?”

  “Have you ever heard him speak?” Nate glanced pointedly over Peter’s shoulder at the video camera. “Or seen his tapes? Because I have.”

  “This isn’t Jonestown,” Peter said. “I’m not a demagogue.”

  “Aren’t you?” Nate asked, suddenly curious. “Because Christ, you give a good speech, Oren. Sorry, I mean Peter. Hell, there are moments even I almost believe you.”

  “Belief,” Peter said. “It’s a funny thing when you think about it. It can be so fickle until it’s solidified. And even then, there are moments so extreme that can cause it to shatter into the tiniest pieces. I had a belief, tenuous though it was. I thought I understood the order of the universe. But that was before my body was taken over by a being from the stars. That changes you, Nate. If you’ve never been through it, you can never understand it. It’s… it showed me thing
s. Expanded my mind in ways I never thought possible. And when it was taken from me, when they tore the Seventh Sea from my body, I was bereft. It felt as if I’d been forsaken. I felt loss, Nate. Like you. Like Alex. You may think of me as you do, but I am like you. I understand pain. And grief. I have felt alone while my heart broke just a little more with every beat. While our paths have been different, we have all been led here. To this moment. These people, those who have felt the call of the void, are here by choice, because they no longer wanted to feel alone. Can you not say the same?”

  He wanted to. He really did. He wanted to tell Peter he was fucking crazy. That he was done with this conversation. If everyone else wanted to believe it, fine. That was their choice, but Nate wasn’t going to be a part of it.

  The problem with that was that he could say the same. It wasn’t until he’d found Alex and Art that he realized just how lonely he’d been. After all, what did he have left? He had no job. His friends had abandoned him when news of his little scandal had broken. His parents were dead. His brother wasn’t speaking to him. All he’d had left was a cabin in the middle of the woods in the mountains of Oregon (and God only knew if that still stood).

  And if he really thought about it, if he allowed Peter’s words to sink in, hadn’t he felt the call of the void before? L’appel du vide. He had, hadn’t he? There’d been that moment, months before. After his brother had called him to tell him their parents were dead, but before the call about the cabin and the truck. He’d been… dazed. He’d left his little apartment, his mind almost uniformly blank. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten to Chinatown. One moment he’d been sitting on his couch, staring at the walls, and the next he’d been standing under the ornate arch, people milling around him. He’d blinked slowly, like he was just waking from a deep sleep, the remnants of a dream still clinging to him with sticky fingers.

  It’d been late in the day and he should have been at work, but hell, that wasn’t an option anymore, was it? He was numb. Everything felt numb.

  He’d turned and headed for home.

  And it was while he was standing on the Metro platform, waiting for the train, that he’d thought what if? It had been nothing more than a whisper in the back of his mind as he watched the light from the approaching train in the tunnel get bigger and brighter.

  What if.

  What if?

  What if he took a step off the platform in front of the train? It would be quick, wouldn’t it? A breath, a step, and then it would all be over, and holy fuck, it had called to him, the whisper becoming a goddamn scream in his head, brief and earsplitting, and he’d lifted his foot. He’d lifted his foot, his other leg tensing as he started to step forward and—

  The train had whooshed by in front of him.

  He’d taken a step back, eyes feeling like they were bulging from his head, heart thundering in his chest.

  He’d gasped for air as he bumped into a woman behind him. He’d apologized, voice a croak, and the woman looked concerned, asking him if he was okay. He’d nodded, yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just—I’m okay. The train startled me. Daydreaming, wouldn’t you know.

  She’d smiled cautiously.

  He’d sat on a bench, head in his hands, for close to an hour.

  Eventually, he’d made his way home.

  A couple weeks later, his brother had called. The cabin at Herschel Lake. Dad’s old truck. That’s it, Nate. That’s all they left you, so don’t ask for anything else. That’s all you’re going to get.

  Yeah, Ricky. Okay.

  “Nate?”

  He jerked his head up.

  Peter looked worried. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’m… fine. Look, Peter. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. For Art. And… yeah. You’re right. I don’t understand what it is you went through with her. When she was… you. But she’s different now. She’s changed. Because of Alex.”

  “And you, I would suspect.”

  Nate shook his head. “No. It’s not like that. She’s—”

  “You don’t see it, do you?”

  “What?”

  “The way she looks at you. The way they both do. The three of you, you’re… I suspect you’re all connected. In one way or another.”

  Nate flushed. He couldn’t help himself. “We’ve been through a lot together,” he muttered.

  Peter smiled. “I know. I think everyone here can say the same. And while you may not agree with our way of life, I hope you can respect it. We’re all travelers, after all. Just trying to find our way.”

  Nate could get that. He really could. “I know. And I’m sorry if I came off as—I don’t know. Rude. Or something. You’ve been nothing but nice to us, and I’m here accusing you of being…”

  “Jim Jones?”

  Nate grimaced. “Yeah.”

  Peter waved him away. “I can see where you’d come to that conclusion, far-fetched though it may be.”

  “Who were you recording the video for, then?”

  Peter laughed. “A bit of self-indulgence, if you can believe it. Ever since I was freed from the shackles of the Mountain, I’ve created a video journal of sorts. To document my experiences so that one day, if all of this were to come to light, people would see the truth. How many people in this world could say they have been in my position?”

  “Not many,” Nate said. “At least, I would hope not.”

  “Precisely. I think it’s important for the entire world to know what has happened here. To me. To us. You know as well as I do that the Mountain will do everything it can to cover this up. To keep the truth hidden in shadow.”

  Nate believed that completely. “We won’t let them.”

  “No,” Peter said, smile growing as wide as Nate had ever seen it. “No, I don’t expect we will.” He took a step back. “I’ll leave you to your laundry. Thank you, Nate. This conversation has been most… enlightening. You are truly an extraordinary individual.”

  Nate didn’t know what to say to that.

  Then, “Peter?”

  Peter Williams stopped in the doorway to his office. He looked back over his shoulder at Nate. “Yes?”

  Nate nodded toward the padlocked metal door. “What’s in there?”

  Peter laughed. “Basement. We store chemicals and fertilizer down there for the fields and the gardens. We had kept such things in the barn, but they were stolen from us repeatedly. It can be used to manufacture methamphetamines, in case you didn’t know. I will not be involved in the destruction of the human body, especially not for monetary gain. It was easier to keep it all locked away. Will there be anything else?”

  Nate shook his head.

  Peter closed the door behind him.

  Moments later, Peter began speaking again, though the words were muffled now.

  Nate turned back toward the laundry and went about what he’d set out to do.

  He waited until after lunch to pull Art and Alex into the barn. Art was babbling about the horses she’d seen, there had been three of them, and one of them had eaten an apple slice out of her hand, could Nate believe that? Could he really believe that?

  It turned out he could.

  Alex had looked a little worried when Nate had glanced around before nodding toward the barn. Peter had already gone back inside the house, and the others were moving rather lethargically toward their afternoon chores. No one seemed to be in any real hurry.

  The comet was a white light against a bright blue sky.

  “Is everything okay?” Alex asked him after they’d climbed up to the loft. “You were… quiet at lunch.”

  Nate shook his head. “I don’t know. Honestly, it’s probably nothing. I mean…” He struggled to find the words. “I had a talk with Peter.”

  “About what?” Art asked, sitting on a bale of hay, feet dangling above the floor.

  “How well do you know him?”

  “How well do we know anyone?”
r />   “Art,” Alex warned.

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. For him, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.”

  “But not for you,” Nate said slowly.

  “No. I told you. Time moves differently for me. It’s… hard to explain.”

  “That can’t be your answer for everything. That’s dirty pool.”

  She snorted. “Your tiny human brain isn’t quite capable of understanding the complexities of everything I am. Trust me on that.”

  “Be nice,” Alex told her.

  “I didn’t say that to be mean. I was being honest. Literally, your brain could potentially explode if I showed you everything.”

  “O… kay,” Nate said. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  She shrugged. “He’s changed.”

  “For the better?”

  “Maybe? He was… angry. At first at me. Then at the people in the Mountain. He was disillusioned, I think, that his own people could keep him locked away. After a while, the anger faded. We talked. A lot. It was like a dream.”

  “Did you bond with him? Like you have with Alex?”

  “And you,” she reminded him. “You’re part of this too. And no. It’s wasn’t the same. We were sharing the same space. With you, I shared everything else.”

  That was… vague as usual. “Why are we here?”

  She looked frustrated. “I don’t know yet. I just know we have to be here.”

  “How?” Alex asked. “How do you know?”

  “It wasn’t—we’re not still connected. Not really. That was broken when they forced me out of him. But I think a piece of me remained in him, or a piece of him was in me. Maybe he imprinted on me, or I on him. I don’t know. We were only ever supposed to observe.” Her shoulders slumped. “I messed up. It’s no wonder they left me behind.”

  Nate sighed. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Art. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re here. What the point of this is. This place.” He gave them a quick rundown of the conversation he’d had with Peter outside his office. He didn’t talk about the call of the void. He didn’t tell them about standing on the edge of a Metro platform, the grand what-if of it all. He couldn’t bring himself to share that. But even without that, he realized just how crazy he sounded. It was there, that gut instinct, but what proof did he have to back anything up? So what if Peter was weird? He’d been possessed by a fucking alien for twenty years. Of course he’d be weird.