The Bones Beneath My Skin Page 3

  Everything felt sharp around Nate. His vision narrowed. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. There was blood rushing in his ears. His mind was utterly blank, bathed in a sheet of white.

  He’d been mugged once. In Bethesda, down in the Metro. There’d been a small knife and a look of desperation on the man’s face, eyes darting back and forth. He’d demanded Nate’s wallet. “Now,” he’d chanted. “Now, now, now, man, I swear, you need to move, give it to me now.”

  It’d felt the same. There was fear, sure, and it was causing his muscles to freeze, his brain shorting out with what felt like an audible pop. The knife hadn’t been anything to sneeze at, a pigsticker with a sharp blade, and somehow—somehow—Nate had managed to hand over his wallet. The man had snatched it from his hand and taken off.

  People had kept walking around him as if nothing had happened.

  He’d stood there for a long time.

  Eventually he’d moved. He’d found a Metro cop and filed a report. “Probably won’t ever see it again,” the cop had told him. “It’s a pain in the ass, but just cancel your cards and get a new license. It won’t ever turn up.”

  He’d done exactly that.

  His wallet had never been found.

  It’d been leather, a gift. Nothing extravagant. And he’d had twenty bucks in it. But that was all.

  But for months after, every time he’d gone down into the Metro, he’d kept an eye out. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found the guy again, if he saw him on the train. Confront him? Say, hey, remember when you held a knife to my stomach and took away my sense of security?

  Of course he’d never seen the guy again. It’s not how those things happened.

  But it was that same fear. Like he was outside of himself. He felt separate. Mechanical. He knew it was cold, but he didn’t feel it anymore. He knew the inside of the shed was warm, but that was a thing of the past.

  Now it was only the gun against his head.

  The deep, hoarse voice at his back.

  He bent slowly, the press of the gun barrel never leaving his head. He dropped his flashlight. It bounced on the floor of the shed with a wooden thunk.

  He stood again, moving as though he were underwater. He brought his hands back up behind his head as he’d been told, the keys pressing against his neck.

  They were taken from him before he could lock his fingers.

  They jangled somewhere behind him.

  The gun barrel never wavered.

  He gripped the back of his neck tightly.

  He said, “I don’t have much money. My wallet is in my back right pocket. You can have whatever’s in it.”

  “You have anything else on you?” the voice asked again.

  “No.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  And that—that was not a question he was expecting. He couldn’t process it. He didn’t understand. He said, “I don’t work for anyone.”

  “Bullshit,” the man growled, sounding angrier. “Are you alone? Who else is with you?”

  “No one.”

  “Who knows you’re here?”

  He blinked rapidly. “Uh—Big Eddie. From the gas station in Roseland. My brother probably.” He swallowed thickly. “The attorney who gave me the keys. That’s it.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You asked who—”

  “You came from the Mountain?”

  “I drove up the mountain, yes. It’s how I got here.”

  “You’re lying. How did you find us?”

  “I didn’t find anyone.” He was starting to sound a little hysterical. He couldn’t help it. His throat was starting to close, and panic was clawing at his chest. “My parents died and left me the cabin, and I drove up here to get away, okay? That’s all. That’s it. I had nothing else, and this is it. This fucking cabin. That goddamn truck. It’s all I have left and—”

  Another voice. This time female and younger. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

  The barrel pulled away slightly. “I told you to stay inside the house.”

  Nate closed his eyes.

  “I know,” the girl said, and Christ, she sounded so young. “But here I am anyway.”

  “He’s lying.” The barrel was back. “What did I tell you about this?”

  The girl sighed. “That there’s no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason.”

  The man coughed. It sounded painful. “And now he’s here.”

  “Maybe he’s meant to be. Maybe he’s—”

  “Don’t.”

  “You’re still hurt. You should be resting.”

  “I told you, I’m fine. We need to figure out who he’s working for. They could be—”

  “Is he going to piss himself?” The girl sounded far too curious. “Isn’t that what happens when you get really scared? I read in a book that you can lose control of your bowels and—”

  “Art. Get. Inside. Now.”

  “No. I won’t leave you. You promised.”

  The man made a noise that sounded pained. “God. I know. Okay? I know I promised, but we can’t take chances. There’s no such thing as coincidence. If he’s here, then it’s for a reason. And we need to—”

  “She’s right,” Nate heard himself say. “I’m not lying. I swear, I’m not—”

  The gun barrel was back. “Don’t you talk to her,” the man snarled. “Don’t you ever talk to her. Tell me how you found us. Tell me who else is coming.”

  “No one,” Nate croaked. “There’s no one. This is my parents’ cabin. They’re dead. This is my only home now. I can’t—”

  The gun barrel fell away.

  Nate heard the man step back away from him.

  He gulped in a deep breath. It hurt his throat.

  “Keep your hands where they are,” the man said. “And turn around slowly. I will shoot you if you don’t do what I say.”

  Nate almost laughed hysterically.

  Instead, he turned.

  There in the dark was a man with a very large gun pointed in his direction. The man himself had short black hair that was almost a buzz cut and dark eyes that watched every move Nate made. He was older, lines around his narrowed eyes and mouth. He had stubble across his cheeks and jaw. His skin was pale, and his hand was shaking slightly. He had an arm wrapped around his waist, a big hand holding on to his side. He wore jeans and an open flannel shirt. Nate could see the skin and hair on his chest and stomach, and what looked to be a thick bandage on the man’s side.

  And next to him was a little girl.

  She wasn’t scared. Not like the man whose leg she stood next to, a hand wrapped in the hem of his shirt. She wasn’t angry like he was either. Instead she looked merely curious. Her hair was blonde and pulled back into a loose ponytail, with escaped tendrils hanging around her ears. She had big eyes and a little upturned nose. She wore a shirt that had a Care Bear on it. It swallowed her small frame.

  The man was large. He had a few inches on Nate. He seemed almost as wide as he was tall. He dwarfed the little girl, the top of her head barely coming past his waist.

  “Howdy, partner,” the girl said. “My name is Artemis Darth Vader. It’s nice to meet you, I reckon.”

  “Art,” the man growled down at her.

  “You said I have to act normal, Alex,” the girl said, staring up at the man. “Normal people introduce themselves. I read that in a book.”

  “What the fuck,” Nate said faintly.

  “I also told you that you need to not talk to strangers,” the man—Alex?—snapped at her. The aim of the gun went off to the left. He looked as if he was swaying.

  “He’s not a stranger,” the girl said, suddenly looking down. “His name is Nathaniel Cartwright. He lives in Washington, DC.”

  “How the hell did you—is that my wallet?”

  She glanced back up at him. “Yes. This is your wallet. Very astute.”

  “
How did you—” He hadn’t even felt her take it.

  “You said we could have it. Oh boy. You were right. There’s not much money in here. That’s too bad. I like money. It smells weird.”

  “Art!” the man barked again. “Get inside the house. Now.”

  And then, just because Nate’s night couldn’t get any stranger, the man’s eyes rolled back up in his head and he collapsed to the ground.

  The gun fell from his hand.

  “I told him not to push it,” the girl who’d introduced herself as Artemis Darth Vader said. “He needs to listen to me more.” She looked up at Nate. “Nathaniel Cartwright of Washington, DC. I’d sure appreciate it, hoss, if you could mosey on over here and help a fellow cowpoke out. Need to get this guy into the cabin over yonder.”

  Nate did the only thing he could.

  He passed out too.

  chapter two

  “…you should have secured him. We can’t take any chances.”

  “I’m not going to tie him up. One does not tie up guests, Alex.”

  “He’s not a guest. He’s—”

  “He’s in the photos.”

  “What?”

  “The photos. In the bedroom. In the hallway. Above the fireplace. He’s in the photos. He’s telling—no. Don’t move. I can show you if you need to see. If you would just trust me, I could—”

  “It’s not about trust. I told you that. It’s about survival. We’re not—”

  Nate groaned.

  “Oh look,” the girl said. “He’s waking up.”

  “Get away from him. Art, just—”

  Something poked his cheek.

  He opened his eyes.

  The little girl was staring down at him. Her eyes were the brightest green he’d ever seen before in his life. They were enchanting.

  He made a little strangled noise in the back of his throat, jerking up.

  “Howdy, partner,” she said, stepping back. “Welcome back to being awake. You were unconscious for twenty minutes, seventeen seconds. That’s a long time for someone like you.”

  Nate was on the couch. His Chucks had been removed. A blanket was laid over him, which fell to his lap as he sat up. His head felt stuffed, his muscles stiff.

  The man sat across from him in a wooden chair Nate recognized as being from the kitchen. His shirt was buttoned a little, enough to cover the bandage. The gun sat on his thick thigh, his hand around the grip. He was breathing shallowly, his eyes never leaving Nate.

  “You can’t kill me,” Nate said, the first thing that came to his mind.

  “I can,” the man said, a sneer on his face. “Very easily. You’d be surprised at just how easy it would be.”

  “He’s not lying,” the little girl said solemnly. “He’s a gunslinger. A lonely man, a six-shooter on his hip, the iron hot as he fixes the brim of his hat and rides off into the sunset on the mesa—”

  “I told you not to read those damn books,” the man said.

  “Well, I found those other books, but you wouldn’t let me read them. The ones you said were inappropriate for someone my age, even if I’m—”

  “Art.”

  She rolled her eyes. Then, “Did I do that right? Did I look exasperated because you wouldn’t let me find out why Judy needed to stay after class to meet with the teacher in order to raise her grade? I mean, why couldn’t she just get extra work to take—oh. Oh.” She frowned. “That can’t be ethical.”

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “Nathaniel,” he said. He coughed and shook his head. “Nathaniel Cartwright.”

  “Wow,” the girl said. “Just like I told you earlier. How about that.”

  “And why are you here?”

  “This is my cabin,” Nate said, wondering where the anger was coming from. Because yes, he’d had a gun pointed at him. Yes, he’d been threatened. Yes, these people were here, and he didn’t know who the fuck they were. And maybe he was a little embarrassed too. He’d passed out for no goddamn reason, for fuck’s sake. That added to it, sure. His blood was boiling. He stood, the blanket falling to the ground. It was an afghan his mother had knitted. He hated the sight of it.

  The man immediately raised the gun.

  The girl took a step back.

  “This is my cabin,” Nate said again, the words stronger. “You don’t have the right to ask me what I’m doing here when I live here. Who the fuck are you? You know what? I don’t care. I’m calling the cops.”

  The man cocked the gun. “You’re not going to do shit.”

  “You would have shot me already if you were going to,” Nate said, looking around for his cell phone before remembering it was still sitting on the bench seat in the truck.

  “Oh boy, hoss,” the girl said. “You should not have said that.”

  The man fired the gun. The blast was flat and sharp in the small space of the living room. Nate swore he felt the buzz of the bullet right by his cheek. He turned slowly to see a ragged hole in the wall behind him. His skin felt like it was vibrating.

  “Don’t think I won’t do it,” the man said coldly. “Because I will do whatever it takes to keep her—” He grimaced then, leaning forward and groaning.

  The girl was at his side in an instant, hands running over his stomach and chest.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Nate asked, feeling like he was floating above himself, secured by a thin tether.

  “Nothing,” the man said through gritted teeth. “It’s just—”

  “He was shot,” the girl said. “By a jerk who wouldn’t get out of the way.”

  “Shot,” Nate repeated dully. “Like he almost just shot me.”

  “He missed,” the girl said.

  “I didn’t miss,” the man said, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  Nate didn’t know what to do with that. “Why don’t you take him to a hospital?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Because that’s not how being on the run works. Don’t you know that?”

  “Art, I swear to god, you’re going to—”

  “He doesn’t know how it works,” Art said, turning back toward the man. “I’m just telling him so he knows. You need to stop talking. The more you talk, the more you hurt, and I don’t like it when you hurt. I need you to be okay again so we can be together. I cried, Alex. You made me cry. That’s not very nice of you.”

  And wonder of all wonders, the man’s scowl softened. “You don’t need to cry. Especially not over me.”

  She fussed over him, tugging on his shirt. “You don’t need to get shot. Or be rude. I don’t like it when either of those things happens.”

  “You’ve never seen me get shot before.”

  “Yes, but I’ve seen you be rude all the time, so.”

  The man slumped back in the chair, tilting his head back. His grip was loose on the gun. It would be so easy to just—

  “Here,” Art said, taking the gun from the man’s lap, holding it toward Nate.

  The man’s eyes flashed open. “What are you doing?”

  “He was thinking about going for the gun,” Art said. The gun looked huge in her small hand. “I figured if I gave it to him, he would know he could trust us.” She frowned. “Or at least trust me, seeing as how you almost shot him in the head trying to show how manly you are.” She looked back at Nate. “Wasn’t he manly? Say yes so he feels better.”

  “Yes,” Nate said immediately.

  Art turned back toward the man. “Do you feel better?”

  He tried to sit forward. “Give me the gun.”

  “No. Nathaniel, come get the gun.”

  “Nathaniel, do not touch that gun, I swear to—”

  Nate stepped forward and took the gun. He didn’t know the first thing about how to use it, but he pointed it directly at them.

  “Nathaniel,” the girl said. “Don’t be rude.”

  The man stood with a groan and forced the girl behind him. She squawked but
stayed where he’d put her, peeking around his hip to look at Nate. “If you point that thing at me, you better be ready to use it.”

  The barrel shook.

  He put pressure on the trigger.

  “He looks unsure,” the girl whispered. “That’s not a good look to have when you’re pointing a gun.”

  Nate blinked. She didn’t even sound scared. He felt bad, yeah, of course he did. Whatever was happening, she was just a little girl, and this wasn’t her fault.

  He said, “I’m going to get my phone. I’m going to call the cops.”

  “You’re still pointing that gun at me,” the man said, pushing the girl farther behind him, much to her visible irritation. “I told you—”

  It was a distraction, of course. Even while he was still talking, the man moved. One moment they were facing off, the gun in Nate’s hand, the man several feet away. The next, the man had moved, and the gun was now in his hand. It took Nate’s brain a few seconds to catch up, to understand what had just happened. His arm was still raised.

  He lowered it slowly.

  The man wasn’t pointing the gun at him anymore. He sat back down in the seat with a groan.

  The girl glanced between the two of them. “Now that that’s out of the way, y’all reckon we could patch this up here, buckaroo?”

  No bars.

  The fucking Nokia had no bars.

  He sat in the truck staring down at the green screen in the dark.

  They hadn’t tried to stop him when he’d gone outside. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The man had made some kind of noise, trying to push himself up, but the girl put her hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down. Which for such a little thing was rather remarkable.

  “He’ll be back,” the girl said as Nate fled out the door.

  Fuck that.

  He raised the phone above his head, hitting the top of the cab of the truck.

  No bars.

  “Come on,” he muttered.

  He got out of the truck.

  The air was cold. The sun was gone.

  He turned in circles.

  No bars.

  He got into the bed of the truck.

  No bars.

  He jumped into the air as high as he could.