The Bone Triangle

by B. V. Larson

  My plan was simple enough. Upon reaching the rock, I hoped they wouldn’t be able to track us any longer. After all, they would no longer have a clear set of three trails of splashing sands to follow. With any luck, they would break up to search the area. We would wait quietly until they dispersed, and then Gilling could perform his miracle and get us out of here.

  I already knew what I would have to do then. I would have to bleed myself. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I couldn’t think of another way. Gilling was too exhausted and hurt to offer up his blood. Jacqueline was tired, too, and much smaller. I thought I might have to ask her for a pint or so in the end, however. To make a stable rip, it took a fair amount of blood.

  I pulled out my pocketknife, planning to cut myself and dribble out blood on the black rocks. The plan was simple, but it failed utterly. The witch found us before we could get started.

  I could tell as she crept up toward us that she knew what she was facing. She’d been to our world and she knew better than the others the scent of humans. She probably understood artifacts like ours as well.

  She stalked closer up, her claws clicking on stone as she crept up toward us, sniffing. The rest of them wandered the trackless mounds of crystals. They seemed to be growing frustrated and moved more slowly with each passing minute. They were still trying to find us visually, to spot us and shout for their brothers and sisters to join the hunt. In time, they would probably give up and go back to their huts. Certainly by the time the sun rose, they would abandon the hunt. I felt sure of that.

  But the witch was made of wiser, sterner stuff. She approached toward us, sniffing carefully. She didn’t seem to have the nose of a bloodhound, but she definitely had our scent.

  “You’re going to have to shoot her,” Jacqueline whispered.

  “Not very sporting,” Gilling offered.

  I didn’t look at either of them. Instead, I eyed the witch, who was now down on all fours, creeping over the crumbling rocks toward us.

  “Keep contact with me, Jacqueline,” I whispered.

  She ran her small hand up my arm and touched my neck firmly. With my hand free, I reached into my pockets and fished out my .32. I checked the safety by feel, and tried to make sure a round was chambered.

  A tiny, audible click sounded. I froze, as did everyone else. A bullet had slid out of the breech and fell onto the rocks. It rolled downhill, rattling and clattering with a long series of small sounds.

  The bullet came to rest under the witch’s paws. She gave a screeching cry and rose up onto her haunches. The three of us winced in unison. We were keyed up and the shocking noise caused everyone to recoil.

  Somehow, Jacqueline’s hand slipped from my neck. She’d never had a good grip to begin with—nothing as firm as holding hands. In a moment, Gilling and I were visible.

  The witch didn’t charge us, however. She raised her forepaws in a gesture I recognized, summoning her powers. I raised my weapon as well, chambered another round and fired.

  She lurched, hissed, and as I went to squeeze off another precious round, I felt the gun fly from my grasp. It clattered on the rocks at the cat-lady’s feet.

  Then she charged us. For a moment, I was stunned by her vitality. I’d shot her at close range, but she didn’t seem to be slowed at all. A single moment was all I had. She was on me then, tearing at my skin. I had my pocketknife out, and was trying to stab her with it, but her fangs sank into my wrist.

  “Do it, Gilling! Do it now!”

  There was blood everywhere, and all I could hear was snarling. I got my left hand free and stabbed several times. Jacqueline was nearby, screaming. I wasn’t sure if she was injured or terrified or both.

  Gilling, for his part, began to chant. He spoke strange rhyming words in French. He sounded oddly at peace with the world, despite the fact I was being killed by a half-mad cat-witch. I understood, with a small part of my brain, that when he worked his power, he was happy inside, no matter what the circumstances. Our artifacts all had properties beyond the raw power they wielded. They affected our minds as well as the reality around us.

  A shimmering rip loomed directly on top of me. It was night there, on the other side. The skies were a true dark, not like the half-light that was eternal here.

  Claws. I felt them digging. This was an odd sensation, as anyone who’s been mauled can tell you. Painful, yes, but when your flesh is opened and hanging loose on your bones, shredded and bloody—it feels different somehow. It is cold, and the pain loses much of its initial sting. Nerves, overloaded by one agony after another, eventually refuse to transmit any more of it. I was reaching that state now. Shock, numbness, and flashes of searing pain.

  My shirt was gone, a bloody rag. My torso was slashed open, almost to the ribs. My flesh hung in places from my arms. Still, the fight went on, and still I stabbed at her—but I was losing, I knew it.

  Then something horrible happened. A bright light grew with shocking speed, and the light roared at me, a thundering roar.

  I heard words but didn’t truly understand them.

  “Get out of the way, Quentin! Get up!”

  It was Jacqueline’s voice, I understood that. But she was distant, a thousand miles away. Most of my existence was filled with the foul, green-eyed monster that crouched over me, doing her worst. I knew she was overjoyed she’d found me, and that we were dying together. I knew she must be feeling ecstasy as she killed me, and I struggled ever more weakly. Meng had put this compulsion in her, and now, she was finally being allowed to indulge herself fully.

  The lights grew intense over the last few seconds, then for a moment we were bathed in a shocking brilliance. There was a roaring, screeching sound—I knew that sound, vaguely. It was the squeal of locked brakes on a deserted highway.

  Then a two-trailer semitruck rolled over me. The bumper struck my killer and tossed her crushed body fifty yards down the highway. I was lying flat on my back, and it seemed that the truck screeched and roared inches above my face. Then at last, it came to a halt. Under the last trailer, my bloody body was illuminated by the red glow of brake lights.

  Overhead, I saw the twinkling glimmer of a thousand stars. Earthly stars are very bright at night in the desert, but not as bright as they had been on the beach world.

  I smiled and passed out, secure in the knowledge that I’d made it home at last.

  I awakened in a quiet hospital room. At first, I was groggy. As I grew more aware of my surroundings, fear gripped me. Could I be in the cruel hands of Dr. Meng again? I’d awakened with serious injuries before and found myself at her mercy.

  Relief flooded over me as I realized the room had a window, an unlocked door, and another tenant. The other guy was an elderly man, and he snored. His IV drip was yellow and his arms were terribly thin. Hopefully, I didn’t look as bad off as that. Next, I looked around for a visitor, but saw no one. It appeared to be after hours, and I consoled myself with the idea I might have been there for days. I couldn’t very well expect people to camp by my side forever.

  I groaned in pain and tried to move my limbs. They were heavily bandaged and resisted my attempts to move them with a combination of stiffness and sharp jabs. It felt as though needles were being driven into my flesh.

  My movement must have alerted Jacqueline, who made herself visible and stepped near. I saw her ripple out of the air. It was as if I watched her walk through a sheet of water for a moment—then she was hovering over me, looking worried and happy at the same time.

  “Are you awake?”

  “I think so,” I croaked. “Water?”

  She brought a cup with a bent straw to my lips. I sipped and swallowed. My throat felt like it was made of paper.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “They tried to throw you out, so you vanished on them.”

  “How’d you know?” she asked.

  I was glad to see the worry lines ease on her face. It was good to see her happy again. She had the kind of smile that made her cheeks swell. I liked her smile. I alm
ost drifted off again thinking about it. But then I roused myself with a sudden intake of breath.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “A little more than three days,” she said. “I’ve been here the whole time, waiting for you to wake up.”

  She proceeded to explain that we’d come back home in the middle of a highway. I’d switched worlds many times, but that night had to be my worst landing on record. We’d come back to Earth a few miles northwest of my home in Henderson, on a highway known as State Route 146—the St. Rose Parkway. I guess it could have been worse; we could have appeared on Interstate 15 itself and caused a pileup, but it could have been a lot better, too.

  The rips often worked that way. When you moved across the surface of a world, then switched to another, you came out where you came out, no promises. It was like tunneling underground and coming up into the unknown, hoping the exit was a safe one. In this case, it hadn’t been.

  “They weren’t sure you were going to make it,” she continued. “Heavy blood loss, shock. The doctors were cautioning us not to expect a full recovery. But you are looking dramatically better. There is a lot of scarring—but they can’t believe how much you’ve healed. There’s been talk of bringing in experts to study you.”

  I’d heard it all before, and I didn’t feel like explaining anything to the medical crowd.

  “No experts. No studies. I’m harder to kill than a city roach; that’s all they have to know.” The trick was my photograph. It was an artifact with very useful properties. I frowned as I thought of it.

  “What about my things?” I asked.

  “They took them, but I snuck around to find the envelope and…well, I took it. I brought it back here and put it under your sheets.”

  As she said those words, I felt something hard and papery up against my left side. I groped for it and found the envelope. I sent Jacqueline to find some surgical tape. The moment she was gone, I tore the envelope open with fumbling fingers and slipped the photo out. I put it under my sheets and pressed it against my chest. It seemed to be working for me through the envelope, but I wanted to be sure. I needed all the healing I could get. When she came back with the tape, I sent her for fresh ice water. While she was gone I taped the picture to my chest.

  I wheezed for a while after that, but felt better immediately. Just knowing it was with me helped. I felt a little bad hiding the artifact from Jacqueline. We’d been through so much already, and I did feel I could trust her. But the less she knew about my special items, some part of me said, the better. The photo was an artifact of power, possibly my best one. I’d never learned the origins of it, an unsolved mystery of my past—one of many. I’d gotten it at some point before I’d lost my memories. The important thing was it promoted very fast healing. Not miraculous healing, but better than the human norm. My flesh wouldn’t knit back together as fast as it was being cut. But I knew that after sustaining injuries that would place a normal guy in a hospital for six weeks, I’d spend perhaps six days on my back.

  “Has anyone else come after me?” I asked when she came back.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. This is St. Rose Dominican. You’re safe here.”

  I wasn’t as certain as she was, but I nodded and tried to smile. “What about him?” I asked, pointing at the old man in the next bed.

  “They transferred him in today. He looks pretty harmless. Until now, you were both unconscious. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Out of here,” I said.

  She shook her head and laughed quietly. “Gilling said you would say that. You can’t leave yet, you’re still a mess.”

  “I heal fast.”

  She gave me a strange look. She ran a finger over my cheek. “Yes, you do. There were wounds here. Deep ones. Now they’re pink lines. You’ve got something, don’t you? Something that makes you heal fast? Either that, or you are from an alien world yourself.”

  “That’s a rude question to ask a rogue.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Take my hand,” I said, reaching for her.

  She took my hand and clasped it in both of hers.

  “Make us vanish. I need to get out.”

  She came closer, and whispered to me. “You’re worried about another assassin, aren’t you? Relax. I made your wallet and ID disappear. We gave them a false name. The hospital doesn’t even know who you are.”

  I felt fatigue fighting against me. I was going to have to sleep again soon. “Not safe. She’ll find me.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m your bodyguard.”

  “I thought you went blind if you stayed out of sight for too long.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  And then, I had to do as she said. I was too tired, too overwhelmed by fatigue. I felt her soft fingers, they pressed against my brow. They felt cool there. I blinked, but I couldn’t see her. She’d faded out of sight.

  I didn’t awaken again for some hours. When I did, the room was quiet and still. I sensed it was the deep of the night. I wondered what had awakened me. Without moving anything other than my eyes, I looked around.

  The hospital room was dark except for the blue glow of the TV. The big fluorescents on the ceiling had been flipped off. I glanced up at the TV and saw a strange shadow. I squinted in the half-light, trying to focus my eyes.

  A shape loomed over my bedside. I saw it clearly now. Pale white skin. Stick-like arms dangling from a cotton hospital gown. The face was slack, expressionless. One arm was raised and took hold of my IV. The ancient hand pulsed closed, forming a fist. The other hand slid forward, seeking my lips.

  Adrenaline pumped into my bloodstream, along with a gush of liquid from the IV. He was squeezing it all into me—all at once. I tried to twist away, to cry out, but I was so weak, and he had the strength of a lunatic.

  The old man held me down, his leathery fingers clamping my mouth while I tried to get my arms out of the entangling sheets.

  I reached first for a low-hanging loop of plastic tubing. I yanked it loose. The IV line was gone, but I didn’t know how much drug I had been injected with—or even what it was. I felt sick and tasted metal in my mouth. My veins were cold with the stuff, whatever it was.

  The old man let go of the IV bag and the contents gurgled out on the floor. His hand sought my face again and clamped over my nose, squeezing it. His fingers intertwined themselves and my whistling breath was instantly blocked.

  I had my arms free now, and although they didn’t want to obey me, I reached up and latched onto his wrists with my hands. On any other day, I would have tossed him aside. But my injuries hadn’t healed yet, and my arms had taken much of the savage mauling I’d received from the feline witch. On top of that, his strength was hysterical. He’d gladly snap every bone in his hands to suffocate me, I knew.

  The TV played quietly in the background as the struggle went on. Bluish light lit up the twin scrims of hair on either side of his bald head. His dark eyes were glassy and reflective, like the black eyes of a doll. They glinted with reflected light from the TV.

  Finally, I heaved to the right and rolled away from him, breaking his grasp. I fell onto the floor. The fall was only a few feet, but I landed badly. My face and chest slapped on the hard floor. Groaning, I rose up to all fours. Whatever was in my veins was making me sicker by the moment. I fought the urge to vomit.

  Hard, knobby knees drove into my back then. The old man had climbed across the bed and fallen on me. I grunted but managed to stay on my hands and knees. I shook him off, and he fell with a thumping sound on the floor. I thought I heard bones break. He twisted and heaved, trying to get up, but he was too injured to do so. Silently, he strove to make his broken body obey his compulsions.

  The lights bloomed into a white glare.

  A nurse stood at the doorway—a large woman who blocked the entrance. But I could see Jacqueline standing behind her. Then Jacqueline vanished.

  The nurse gave a sucking gasp of horror at the scene. Blood and fluids were e
verywhere. I was still on all fours, panting. On the floor beside me was my roommate, who scrabbled determinedly.

  “What the—? Mr. Draith, are you two fighting?”

  “Get help,” I said shakily.

  The nurse shook her head. “I am help,” she said, and walked into the room. She pressed the call button, then she leaned over the vicious old guy. I’d hoped she would go away, but I could see that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Jacqueline,” I said, “take my hand.”

  I reached up and felt fingers clasp mine. Our palms locked, and my vision faded. The nurse did another of her whooping gasps. I’d vanished before her eyes. She craned her neck, looking for me, and lost her balance. With huge eyes, she sat down on the floor, hard.

  The old man, perhaps frustrated by his failure to end me, took his opportunity to make his feelings known. He bit her wrist. She screamed, and I felt sorry for her.

  “Watch out for him, he’s a mean one,” I said.

  The nurse escaped the growling thing on the floor and declared an emergency. “It’s that new transfer from Sunset,” she called into the hallway. “He’s gone berserk.”

  Sunset, I thought. She could only mean Sunset Sanatorium, the domain of Dr. Meng. While two orderlies wrestled with the fanatical old guy, we made our exit. I paused only long enough to gather my envelope full of precious belongings.

  “We have to get you some clothes,” Jacqueline whispered in my ear.

  “Forget about that. Keep me invisible and get me out of here.”

  We were on the third floor of the hospital. I tried not to lean too heavily on Jacqueline as we hugged walls down the corridor toward the back stairs. We had to dodge people who walked right toward us. Apparently, the nurse had summoned every orderly on the floor to my room.

  When we reached the emergency exit that led into the stairwell, I felt a surge of relief. We made our way down three flights of stairs and exited onto the parking lot. There were blooming desert plants and the area would have been peaceful if it hadn’t been for the roar of nearby traffic.