FROM AWAY ~ BOOK TWO Read online

  “Now, I’ll admit: Not all Islanders feel the way I do. There are those - very few in number - who would rather live beneath the federal thumb. Suckle at the federal teat. And kiss the federal ass!” Ren’s scalp prickles as Danny/Dennis turns his scowl directly towards him. “These self-hating so-called Islanders would rather be anywhere but here. And on that at least, I agree with them. We should all be happy to help them follow their dreams, and kick them the hell off of our island!”

  Ren may only indistinctly remember the protester, but clearly, the protester knows Ren. Knows and has formed a very definite opinion of him. One he doesn’t mind sharing. As Ren looks around, he finds himself the focus of many less-than-charitable gazes. Both in the crowd and among the other demonstrators, all of whom are glaring in Ren’s direction. Shouting in agreement. Rattling bristol board signs.

  STOP THE INVASION!

  SAVE ISLAND CULTURE!

  FROM AWAY? KEEP AWAY!

  “There’s a word where I come from for that sort of person. And because I know you all come from where I come from, I know you all know it. And that word is: Traitor.”

  Despite the widespread use of the word, it evokes murmurs from the crowd. And no fewer shouts of support.

  A vibration in Ren’s pocket. He checks his phone. Finds a text from his bosses on the mainland: How intransigent are they? Any chance you’ll be able to negotiate?

  Ren looks up. Danny/Dennis is no longer just looking at him. Now the man is pointing at him. “Backstabber, we call a man like that. Deserter.... Judas!”

  Ren thumbs back: Hard to say. I’ll have to see what I can do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DeltaCharm: Goodby, Aron. Your leaving a hole in all are lives.

  Gyrosaur: Rip to a cool kid. Gone 2 soon.

  CandyWing: I couldn’t believe it when I heard. Aaron wasn’t suppose to go yet. He had so long to go and its a tradegy for everybody on the Island that he’s not gone be here with us anymore.

  CiderPort2002: <3 My heart is aching for you and your fam. xx Aaron.

  IGnatzio: Cheers, bro. I’ll drink one for you.

  SweetuM: We didn’t hang, but I seen him every day and will always miss that smile. RIP.

  Harbinger: Didn’t know Aaron, but so grateful to him. Someone had to go first. Our time is nigh, but his sacrifice has set the cosmic wheels in motion and made possible all that is to come.

  SudderPharon: Known you since jk. In total shock to think ur not going to be there now. God must need another angel to take you before your time. Trust. xxx

  ~

  “Hi there, Ass-hats.”

  Max holds his laptop out in front of him. Too close, really. His brightly-lit face fills its camera lens. Flares. Overexposes for a moment as the camera compensates. The wounds he received from the explosion resolve themselves clearly. Every cut. Every scratch. Obvious. Unavoidable.

  “I was Aaron’s best friend, and I’ve been reading through all your bullshit tribute comments. And it’s awesome how you all care so much about Aaron. Now. Now that he’s gone, I mean. Because a week ago, you either ignored him completely, or you were actively shitty to him. How you even have the balls to get on here and talk about how you’ll miss him...”

  For a moment, Max can’t even find the words.

  “I mean, maybe you don’t remember this, but last year a bunch of you cocksuckers took me aside to say how much you’d like to hang out with me, but you just couldn’t because Aaron and I were always together, and he was just too much of a loser to risk being associated with. Have you forgotten that, Candy-Wing? Because I haven’t. You fucking hypocrite.”

  Max takes a breath. Barely.

  “Looking at all the comments, maybe you’d think he had tons of friends. But it doesn’t take a genius to see his actual list has only thirty-four people on it. And most of that is family members. So for anybody out there thinking about commenting? If you aren’t already on his list? Fuck directly off. Stop hitching a ride on other people’s sadness. Unless you want to apologize for what complete and utter dicks you were to Aaron while he was alive - in which case: Please. By all means. Do. Otherwise, you know you’ve got zero business posting here, and you should just... Just...”

  Max runs out of steam. Trails away.

  After a few seconds of silence, he shakes his head. Stops recording.

  Deletes the video.

  ~

  “This video is for all the commenters posting here about Aaron’s death...”

  Max sets down his laptop. Leans back against the wall. Out of the direct path of the light. Auto-exposure lightens the world, searching for him. The damage from the blast visible on his face. Less obvious. No longer focal.

  “Let’s be honest, guys... You weren’t his friends. Most of you barely knew him. Some of you who did know him... You weren’t usually very nice to him.”

  Max looks off camera. Sighs deeply.

  “I’m posting, because I find it really sad. The fact that you guys seem to have nothing better to do with yourselves than to come on here, and pretend you were close friends with somebody, just because they died. To exploit his death for... I don’t even know what. Why would you do that? It doesn’t fool anybody. Obviously, he meant nothing to you, or you would’ve been there before. Responding to him when he was still alive. Seriously. Take a look at some of his posts. Who was there, commenting? Yeah. Pretty much me. Occasionally, his dad. But now, here you are. So sorry to hear. Just couldn’t believe it. God must need an angel. All that... Garbage. Truly, I can’t even guess what you think you’re getting out of it. It’s really just so... So... Sad.”

  Max groans. Stops recording.

  Deletes the video.

  ~

  “Uh... Hi.”

  Max faces his laptop. Sitting back from the camera. Pillows visible behind him. Obviously in bed. Dimly lit from one side by a kink-necked desk lamp. His injuries abstract themselves. Partly masked by darkness and distance. Noticeable, but not that bad. He’s clearly healing well.

  “On behalf of Aaron. And if it’s all right: Also his friends and family... I just want to thank everyone for all your tributes and kind words. He was an amazing person. My very best friend for almost my whole life. He would’ve... Really appreciated everyone taking the time to say such nice things.”

  Max searches for more to say. Doesn’t find it.

  “That’s it. Just thanks.”

  He stops recording. Sighs. Posts it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wanda wakes. Tucked into her own bed.

  Once open, her eyes settle on the horizontal blinds. Tilted downwards, the light of day beats through from almost directly overhead. It must be around noon. Before anything else, she knows she’s missed the funeral. Her aching head reminds her there are more important things to worry about. Nonetheless, she feels like a failure.

  On seeing the man, her first response is unreasoning outrage that he would dare to wear her blue silk pajama bottoms. This passes quickly when she realizes he has no skin.

  Nearly. Nearly no skin. The man appears to have been boiled. Hot-pink and entirely hairless. His striated musculature ripples. Rolls with each shift in balance. Every vein and artery pulses clearly. Everything visible beneath the thinnest possible layer of practically transparent skin.

  Wanda does not recognize him. Doesn’t know she should until she hears his voice.

  “W-Wanda... W-What hap-- What happened to your hand?” Familiar. She can’t quite place it. Not coming out of that face.

  “I had a bit of an accident.”

  “Shit... That’s rough.” When he blinks, his pupils remain partly visible through translucent eyelids. “You, uh... You c-carrying?” The familiar voice says something familiar. Now she’s got it.

  “Marshall?” She props herself up on her intact arm. “How long has it been since you dosed?”

  “Too long. W-W-Way too long. You got any?”

  “You know the answer to that.” She lifts the sheet. Naked ben
eath it. Stripped. “You’ve already checked.”

  He hangs his head. He has. After knocking her out, he searched her top-to-bottom. Just as he’d done with her trailer on arrival.

  Wanda scratches at her stump. Takes a closer look at the man. This is how it goes. After the sweats and the shakes and the deep-body-sickness. After the migraines and the DTs. When you go off the goo - try to go straight - sooner or later - your skin comes off.

  Starting in the places you dose, it just pulls away. Loosens. Peels off like a bad sunburn. Just the top layer at first. Leaving you feeling a bit raw underneath. And if you haven’t used for long, maybe that’s where it ends. Lucky you.

  The thought makes her stump itch. She scratches. “How many peels is that?”

  “Th-three. So far. Not sure I g-got another in me.”

  Marshall has been using a very long time. Nearly as long as Wanda - who first introduced him to the stuff - but with more dedication and commitment. The consequences for him are nothing short of startling.

  “So what happened? You get cut off?”

  “Worse. It’s likea-likea-like an intervention or something. Hardcore. They grabbed me up. P-put me in this little room. Took me off, cold-t-turkey. Told me through the door: One way or the other, I was done with the goo.”

  “Shit, Mars.” She reaches for his hand. “I’ve never seen it this bad.”

  He jerks away, before she can touch him.

  “Ev-ev-everything hurts. Wind. Dust in the air. The sun-- Oh my God, the sun. It’s like burn-burn-burning alive.”

  “And they let you go like this?”

  “Let me?” He cackles. “I escaped.”

  Wanda sits up. “You escaped? And you came here?” He flinches out of the way as she jumps to her feet.

  “Look at me, Wanda! I-I-I had to get some. You’re always holding, so I-- Goddamn, Wanda. I just need it so bad. N-N-Never felt anything like it. But I was always gonna pay you back. Would-wouldn’t ever steal from you.”

  “I don’t give a shit. But what if they think I was helping? That ever occur to you? What they might do to me?” Wanda peers out through her blinds. Into the trailer park: Nobody around. No suspicious vehicles. Didn’t seem especially likely, but... Maybe Marshall had gotten away clean.

  “I wasn’t th-thinking! I just need-need-need...” He droops. “So y-you gonna help me? Just think b-back on all the shit I done f-for--”

  “Fine. I’ll help.” She turns from the window. Looks at him. “But are you sure that’s what you want? Back on the stuff? I mean, you must be almost there. You really want to come this close to kicking only to turn back?”

  Marshall looks at his hands. The blood shifting around just beneath the surface. “It’s n-not gonna stop here. I can feel-feel it.” He carefully moves his fingers. Watches the paper-thin skin fold over itself. “I’m gonna p-peel again. And wh-wh-when I do? I d-don’t think there’ll be anything left to ho-hold me together.”

  Pained, Wanda nods. “All right.”

  She turns to her dresser. Its drawers all hang open. More evidence of Marshall’s search. She finds herself: Underwear. Relatively loose army-surplus cargo pants covered in pockets. An oversized t-shirt left behind by someone larger. A black hoodie.

  All set. Wanda dresses. It’s neither an easy process, nor one easy to observe. But she makes relatively good time pulling herself together. Compared to her first effort at least.

  “Pretty sure I’ve got some credit with Delia now.” She heads for the door. Rolling the hoodie’s left sleeve back over her stump. For better scratching access. “Sit tight, Mars. I’ll see what I can get my hands on.”

  She makes a slight detour. Grabs her phone and wallet from the coffee table where Marshall left them. Pushes open the front door.

  “W-Wanda?”

  She pauses. Half-in. Half-out. Looks back at the nearly-skinless man. Cowering away from the light shining in through the door.

  “I’m... S-Sorry I went through all y-your shit.”

  “S’okay, Mars.” She smiles, grimly. “Shit’s only shit.”

  She’s out the door. Cutting across her own lawnless front yard. Taking the shortest possible path towards Delia’s trailer. To the bottles of goo waiting there.

  Her stump aches. She gouges at it as she walks. Wondering if she would’ve been making this trip, even without Marshall’s surprise skinless materialization in her trailer. As an addict, it was really only a matter of time. After all, how long had it been since she’d--

  Wanda stops. Assesses herself. No sweats. No shakes. No signs of withdrawal whatsoever.

  Three days... Usually she can’t go twenty-four hours without the goo. Not unless she wants to suffer a serious reaction. She went two days once. At that point, her skin had just started to peel. Nothing like Marshall. Losing only a single layer before she found a new supply. But now, it’s been three full days since her last dosing.

  Four since she painted herself. Three since the Old Men poured it on her. As punishment. Permanently burning her leg. Permanently? She gropes at her own inner thigh. Feels no pain. Healed. No pain and no cravings. She hasn’t even thought about goo until now. How was that even possible? Did something happen in the hospital? Why would--

  Realizing she’s just been standing in the middle of the dirt road, she continues on. Rounds the corner towards Delia’s. Stopping only when she’s sure she’s out of sight of her own trailer. Where Marshall can’t see her. Afraid to go further.

  If she’s somehow miraculously kicked... She does not want to jinx it by coming in contact with Delia again. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, but can’t risk it. A thought spins through her brain. Before she can change her mind, she pulls out her phone. Finds the last number that called her. Calls it back.

  “Wanda...” Miss Philips voice is honey. “How’s the hand?”

  “Still AWOL, thanks for asking. Listen: You looking for one Marshall Tanner?”

  There’s a surprised pause. Then: “As a matter of fact, we--”

  “He’s in my trailer. Not going anywhere, anytime soon. You didn’t hear it from me, and are very upset with me for harboring a fugitive.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good. See you soon.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “That’s a flower, Magnus. Yes it is, babes. A pretty flower.” Roxy smiles into the stroller. “I’d tell you its name if I knew it. But I don’t, so... We’ll just have to be ignorant together!”

  Her baby looks up at the red petals. Bobbing on the end of a long stem. Tipping in and out of his small bubble of awareness.

  “I know! We can name it after us. We’ll call it... The Red Ignorantium. How do you like that?”

  It’s good enough for him. He reaches for for the flower. Knocks it away. His brow furrows slightly as it goes. When it swings back, he laughs uproariously.

  Roxy sighs. Happy baby. Happy mommy.

  The young mother steps behind the stroller. She’s not much taller. Only a bit heavier. She gives it a heave to get it going. Easier here, on the hard-packed dirt, than on the gravel at either end of the trail. Only the occasional errant root can stop her progress once she gets going. That, and this:

  The baby cries.

  “All right, babes, what’s the trouble now?”

  Squirming and stretching. Magnus bawls. Reaches out of his stroller. Back towards the flowers his mother had so cruelly teased him with.

  “I see. Okay, then. If you insist.” She yanks one out by the root. Wraps its stem around the stroller’s handle bar. Positions the flower over her baby’s head. An impromptu mobile. “Better?”

  Magnus burbles. Writhes with happiness.

  “Excellent. So pleased to be of service to you, sir.” With a grunt, she shoves the stroller into motion once again. “Going home now, babes. Going home. Gonna see Daddy soon. Hope he’s done work for the day. Then, he can huggle us up. You and me both.” She smiles to herself. “But maybe mostly me.”

  Since the weather c
leared in the spring, Roxy’s pushed Magnus up and down this trail hundreds of times without incident. Never has an obstruction blocked their path. At no point has anything at all stood in their way. As a result, she barrels along with confidence. Not once suspecting there might be a big, square hole ahead.

  Eight feet long. Eight feet wide. Eight feet deep.

  Magnus, of course, is focused only on the bouncing Ignorantium. No awareness as the front wheels pass over the lip of the hole. No sense of lost equilibrium as he tips forward.

  Roxy doesn’t understand what’s happening when gravity takes over. The handle of the stroller wrenches out of her grip. She stumbles as it topples over the edge. Unable to halt its fall. Unable to save her baby.

  Then, the stroller stops.

  A filthy pair of hands grab onto the front axle in the air. Catch the stroller before its rear wheels cross the edge. Push it backwards. Onto the path. Until all four wheels are once again on solid ground.

  Roxy yanks it away from the hole. Looks Magnus over. The Ignorantium continues to hold his happy attention. Relieved beyond speech, she turns. Looks down into the pit which nearly claimed him.

  At the bottom, their savior: A dirt-covered man in a badly torn suit. A complete mess.

  Behind him in the hole, deep furrows have been carved into the soft dirt. The man’s desperate, scrambling efforts to escape written clearly on the walls.

  He looks up at her. Clear blue eyes especially bright inside his mud-caked face.

  “Don’t suppose you could help me out of here, couldja?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ren despises Deputy Schilling on sight. The very moment the man steps out of his patrol car, Ren’s opinion on him is cemented.

  Muscular. Thick-necked. Heavily corded arms. Scribbled over with bulging veins. The kind of physique built for its own glory. Not the side-effect of honest work. An extreme amount of effort expended on little more than surface sheen.