THE OTHERLAND EXPRESS

Gregory Simmons was nearly asleep when his iPod battery died. He looked away from the window and frowned. Without music, there was nothing to keep the Greyhound’s ambience at bay. He could already hear the other passengers murmuring to themselves over the engine’s white noise.

He’d left his charger back at his old man’s place. The AC adapter was still plugged into the wall socket next to his bed, one of the few belongings he’d left behind in haste, and he didn’t have enough cash left to buy a new one.

So much for that. He coiled his earbuds, stuffed the iPod into his backpack, and leaned his head against the window, watching as the world rolled past in a darkened blur. Miles away, lightning arced across a cloudbank, turning the hills into silhouettes and his thoughts into fears.

What if his old man came after him? Unlikely, but plausible. Then again, Gregory doubted his old man had even noticed he was gone. These days, the only time Eddie Simmons paid his son any attention was when he wanted a beer or when he wanted something to beat on.

Light from a passing car filled the cabin, and for an instant, Gregory saw his reflection in the glass. The bruises were still fresh, but the swelling had gone down. That was good. People wouldn’t be so keen to notice or stare. The last thing he needed was for some Good Samaritan to ask if he was okay, where was he going, where were his parents, and so on.

In Gregory’s rush to escape from his father’s apartment, he’d not given much thought to a cover story should a stranger inquire about his travels. “Traveling to visit my mom” seemed too cliché; “Traveling to my mom’s funeral” was far more accurate even if it was just a few years too late. Both stories made his heart hurt for the same reason.

No one bothered to ask though. It was a fact that might have irritated him under different circumstances, but today he was grateful for the anonymity. Today, he was a seventeen-year-old nobody, just another kid with fresh bruises on the run from the bad cards life had dealt him. A couple hundred miles back, his father was probably arriving home with a fresh buzz from the bar, the old bastard’s knuckles still raw, ignorant of Gregory’s absence or the money missing from beneath his mattress.

His father’s drunken slurs echoed in his head: Should’a kicked yer ass out years ago, ya worthless punk! Yer a parasite, that’s what you are. A worthless faggot parasite.

The old man’s words always did more harm than his fists, but years of suffering through both had tempered Gregory’s wits, and he wouldn’t let himself be frightened into returning home. Eddie Simmons crossed a line this time, and Gregory had had enough.

A bolt of lightning lit up the night, fracturing the skyline into a thousand jagged pieces. Gregory’s bruised reflection stared back from the window, and he was about to turn away when something else caught his eye: the reflection of a man sitting in the seat across the aisle. He was staring at Gregory.

Or was he? Gregory couldn’t tell, and the lightning had ceased by the time he looked over his shoulder. There was only a bus filled with shadows, its occupants marked as silhouettes against the glare of headlights from passing cars. The man across the aisle turned his head slightly and offered a short nod.

Gregory returned the nod instinctively, more as a reaction than out of good manners, and turned back toward the window. Heat flooded Gregory’s cheeks and he tried holding his breath to slow his thudding heart. What if the stranger knew he was a runaway? What if Gregory had given something away in his appearance or maybe even through his mannerisms?

Stop it, he told himself. The guy’s just being nice. You’re the one who turned around and stared, remember?

He glanced back across the aisle. The stranger had turned away, staring out the window at the passing storm. Gregory leaned his head against the glass and closed his eyes. Just my imagination. The real monster’s a few hundred miles back. Keep it cool until the next stop. Call Tommy when you get there. He’ll be worried. Just don’t draw attention to yourself.

The thought of his boyfriend—was he a boyfriend? Could he call Tommy that now?—set his heart at ease, but the lingering fear that this stranger somehow knew what he was doing kept Gregory awake for the next fifty miles.

***

The phone rang three times before a voice said, “Hello?”

“Hey Tommy, it’s me.”

“Greg? Are you okay?”

The surprise in Tommy Keegan’s voice made him smile. “Yeah. A little bruised, but the old man’s done worse. I missed you.”

His cheeks flushed. Speaking those words aloud filled him with a giddiness he’d not felt since he was a child, and the smile on his face felt so alien that he didn’t recognize the sensation at first. His stomach tumbled and rolled, held adrift by the butterflies inside, finally free of the stone he’d carried. He had missed him.

Gregory was so caught up in his elation that he didn’t notice the long pause on the other end of the line.

“Tommy? You still there?”

“Yeah, Greg. I’m here. Listen, I’m not supposed to talk to you anymore. My mom . . . well, your dad called my mom after . . . you know. She knows all about us. About what we were doing.”

That familiar heat clung to Gregory’s cheeks but for different reasons. No matter how far he ran, he couldn’t escape his father’s shadow.

“You don’t . . . regret what we did, do you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know, Greg. I’m just confused, y’know? I mean, I don’t even know you, and you’re on the other side of the country. It was fun chatting with you online, but now things are so serious, y’know? I think I just need some time to get my head straight.”

Gregory didn’t know how to respond. The elation he’d felt only moments before had completely drained from him, and the butterflies in his gut had all but flown away. He felt as though he’d taken one of his dad’s sucker punches, his lungs deflated, his head lost in a daze. The bruise on his cheek throbbed. He squeezed the payphone against his ear and leaned against the wall.

“You don’t mean that, Tommy.”

“I think I do, Greg. We’re just names in a chat room, man. It’s not like we’ll ever meet face to face. We just met the wrong people is all.”

He squeezed the receiver until his knuckles popped. The wrong people. Those were his father’s words. A voice boomed overhead from a loudspeaker, announcing the next bus was boarding.

“What was that? Greg, where are you?”

Gregory clenched his teeth as his vision went cloudy with tears. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I bothered you, Tommy. I’m sorry—”

—I ever met you, but he didn’t say it. The words hung there on his tongue, weighted down by the pointless anger of heartbreak. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the flood building up behind them. His face burned.

“Don’t be like this,” Tommy said, but Gregory was already hanging up the phone. Just before he set the receiver back in its cradle, he thought he heard Tommy say they could still be friends. That was a lie, though, just like everything else.

Gregory slung his backpack over his shoulder, took a breath, and found a quiet corner at the far end of the terminal. He sat down, drew his knees to his chest, and allowed the levy to break behind his eyes. The floodwaters rose. He hoped he would drown in them.

***

Tommy had only ever asked once about Gregory’s family. After a few months of chatting online, they’d swapped phone numbers so they’d have a voice to match their text. Gregory’s father was still working third shift at the factory, so he had free reign of the phone in the late hours—which was great because Tommy lived on the west coast where everything was three hours behind. Gregory missed those early days. He slept better.

“There’s not much to say. My mom died of cancer a few years ago. And my dad . . . ”

As far as Gregory was concerned, his real father had died in an accident after he was born. That’s what he told himself to deal with the monster wearing his father’s face. When he was younger, he made up stories about how his real father died while committing a heroic act, like saving a group of children from a burning orphanage. Sometimes, he told people his real father died in a car accident. And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly cynical, he told people the truth: The man he lived with really was his father. Sometimes, when the old bastard had had enough to drink, Eddie Simmons beat up his only son to make himself feel better.

That first night they spoke, Gregory chose to be honest with his friend.

“Your old man sounds like a real asshole.”

“He is,” Gregory said. “One day, I’m going to pack up and leave.”

“You could always come out here,” Tommy said. “We’ve got a spare bedroom. It would be nice to meet you face to face.”

Gregory smiled. “I’d like that.”

After a long pause, Tommy let out an exasperated sigh. “I think I would too.”

Their calls were infrequent at first, only once or twice a week, but as their relationship grew, so did their desire to speak to one another. Tommy asked his mom for a webcam for his birthday, and Gregory managed to scrape together enough spare cash to buy a cheap camera for himself. The resolution was shitty, but he could finally see Tommy’s face, and that gave him something to look forward to every day.

Looking back, Gregory knew that was the beginning of something he wished he’d never started. The low ache in his cheek—and the pain he felt in his heart whenever he thought of Tommy—simply wasn’t worth it. Now, he was stranded in a bus terminal hundreds of miles from home, caught between two dead ends.

***

“You okay, son?”

Gregory opened his eyes, squinting at the dark figure standing over him. He squeezed the strap of his backpack to make sure it was still there.

“Dangerous, you know.” The stranger stepped back and offered his hand. “Sleeping in the terminal, I mean. All manner of folk come through here at all hours. Lost and found, they all come through here.”

He eyed the stranger’s gesture with caution. After a moment, his vision cleared, and Gregory saw the man’s odd face with harsh clarity. The stranger wore a dusty old suit with fraying seams. He was older, with shiny salt and pepper hair slicked back and tucked behind his ears. The skin of his face was leathery, stretched tight over bone, and his eyes were like two gray pearls submerged in darkened sands.

“I’m fine,” Gregory said, licking his lips. His gaze fell upon a pair of soda machines on the other side of the terminal. How much money did he have left? He couldn’t remember.

The stranger twiddled his fingers in the air. “I won’t bite. Just want to help.”

Gregory hesitated a moment longer before taking the man’s hand. The stranger helped him to his feet. “Thanks,” he said, looping his arm through the backpack’s strap. He checked his iPod for the time but remembered the battery was dead. He looked at the odd man with the sunken eyes. “Do you have the time?”

The stranger pulled back his jacket cuff and checked his watch. “Quarter past two. You were asleep for an hour.”

Gregory nodded, took two steps, and stopped. He turned and looked back at the man with the leathery face.

“What did you say?”

“You were asleep for an hour. I was watching from over there.” He pointed to a bench fifteen feet away. “Here’s some advice if you’re going to run: you can’t be invisible to everyone all the time. Someone’s always watching.” The stranger held out his hand. “Name’s John.”

Gregory gaped in stunned silence. His first impulse was to tell this man with the weird face to piss off, but there was distinct calm in John’s voice that disarmed Gregory’s mental alarms. John didn’t mean him any harm; if he did, he would’ve already made his move while Gregory slept. That thought gave Gregory some comfort.

He reached out and shook John’s hand. “I’m Greg.”

“Greg, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Always nice to meet another wayward soul at a bus terminal. By the look of you, I’d say your reasons for running are about as good as they get.”

The flush of Gregory’s cheeks prompted his bruise to throb, and he put his hand to his face instinctively. “Yeah,” he said. “Nice to meet you too.”

John nodded. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t mean to offend, but that is quite a shiner you’ve got.”

Gregory blushed. “It’s . . . it’s a long story.”

“Hey, I understand. Listen, we have a rule where I come from: Always look forward. Never mind what happened. It’s in the past, so let it stay there, you know?” John pulled back his sleeve and took another look at his watch. His knuckles were badly wrinkled, almost as if he’d suffered severe burns in the past. “I’ve got about an hour to kill before my ride shows up. What do you say I buy you a snack?”

Gregory reached into his pocket and frowned at the loose collection of nickels and dimes. Sixty cents in total. He met John’s gaze and nodded. “All right,” he said. “You’re on, mister.”

“Wonderful,” John said, his leathery face wrinkling at his cheeks.

Gregory followed his newfound friend across the lonely terminal, picked out something from the vending machine, and sat down on a nearby bench. He opened his pack of crackers and took a bite. John watched with unblinking curiosity. The way the stranger stared with those sunken eyes unnerved him, and he had a sudden flash of recognition: the man on the bus.

Gregory swallowed too fast, wincing as the bits of cracker scratched the back of his throat. He coughed, spraying crumbs across the floor. John chuckled.

“Not all at once, son.”

“Sorry,” Gregory rasped. He cleared his throat. “Where did you say you were headed again?”

John smiled. “I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Is there something you want to ask me?”

Gregory took another bite of cracker, but not because he was hungry. No, the feeling of hunger had passed moments before, displaced by a leaden weight in his gut. Heat clung to his cheeks now, threatening to suffocate him as he struggled to find the right words. Be cool, a voice spoke in his mind. Just be cool.

There was something he wanted to ask this strange man, and the words were right there, ready to be given voice, but he was so afraid. He felt like he was in the presence of his father, too afraid to speak, too afraid to move.

John put his hand on Gregory’s shoulder. “I won’t bite, Greg.”

Gregory chewed the cracker and swallowed. He took a breath. “Are you the man who was staring at me on the bus?”

“Of course I am.”

John spoke so matter-of-factly, so disarmingly that Gregory almost accepted the statement without question—but the look in the stranger’s eye was too gleeful and eager to set his mind at ease. A chill crawled down the back of Gregory’s neck.

“You—you were watching me?”

“I was.”

“So you followed me?”

“Only as far back as the last stop. You caught my eye immediately. I know a runner when I see one, son. Old John Doe used to be one himself.”

Gregory blinked. “John Doe? Seriously?”

“Yes, sir.” He rose to his feet and offered Gregory a short bow. “A genuine Nobody, at your service.”

Gregory squeezed the strap of his backpack. All of his belongings were in the pack, and if he needed to run—and he might—he didn’t want to leave them all behind. Not that keeping the backpack would do him much good. Aside from his ID, all he had was a change of clothes, an empty wallet, and a dead iPod.

“Relax,” John Doe said, recognizing the boy’s apprehension. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Isn’t that what you would say if you were going to hurt me?”

“Touché.” John returned to his seat, leaving a wide space between them. Gregory gripped the backpack, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. “Despite what you may think of me, I have helped thousands of others suffering from the same plight as you.”

Gregory scoffed. “Same plight? Mister, you don’t even know me.”

“This is true,” John Doe said. He reached up and scratched at his face. The flesh around his eye sagged from the pressure and made a strange squelching sound which twisted Gregory’s stomach into knots. “But what I do know is enough. I know your name is Gregory Simmons. I know that you’re on the run from your father because he beats you on a daily basis, and last night, he went a little too far because he caught you masturbating to your boyfriend over the internet.” John Doe smiled, revealing yellowed teeth and spotted gums. “Would you say that’s enough? Or should I go on?”

An icy serpent coiled around Gregory’s insides, squeezing the last breath of air from his lungs. He exhaled in a low, raspy heave as the cloud of heat returned to his face. He suddenly felt like a child lost in the wilderness, yearning for the comfort of his home no matter how broken it was. And yet here he was, hundreds of miles from his comfort zone, facing the real world head on for the first time—and feeling helplessly terrified.

Gregory stared into John Doe’s sunken eyes. “Who are you?” He swallowed back the ball of cotton in his throat. “What are you?”

“I told you, Greg. I’m a genuine Nobody. I help all the other Nobodies get from here to there, and sometimes I find Nobodies who don’t realize they’re Nobodies. Sometimes, I find people who want to become Nobodies just like the rest of us.”

“I don’t understand,” Gregory said, shaking his head. “What do you mean you’re nobody?”

“Ask yourself something, son. Where are you going to go after tonight? Back to your father’s home? Or to your boyfriend’s house? Neither one of them want you. All you have is a pocket full of loose change and a bus ticket to the west coast.”

Gregory turned away. “How do you know that? This doesn’t make any sense, you fucking weirdo.”

“I know because it’s my business to know. Because it’s my part to play. I help others disappear, and sometimes that means finding those who don’t realize they want to. People like you, I can almost smell your desperation. It’s like overripe fruit, just a bit too sweet and a bit too bruised. No one wants you the way you are. So I’ll ask you again, son: Where are you going to go?”

He dropped his smile and stared. Gregory looked down at his backpack, running his fingers across the fabric of the strap while a number of sarcastic replies ran through his mind. What could he say? He hadn’t considered Tommy backtracking on everything, and he’d not yet given himself time to grieve over that particular loss. Going back home wasn’t an option now, especially since he’d stolen his old man’s rainy day savings to buy a one-way bus ticket. He could already hear Eddie Simmons shouting loud enough to shake the heavens.

Like it or not, he was on his own now, and this strange man with the squelching face had a point: No one wanted him. He wished his mom were still alive. She might’ve been upset over what he’d been doing with Tommy, but she wouldn’t have hit him. She would’ve made an effort to understand.

But that didn’t matter now because she’d been dead for years. Now he was alone, and no one wanted him. No one except Mr. Doe.

John checked his watch. “In about five minutes, a bus full of other Nobodies is going to pull up to the station, and I’m going to climb aboard. If you come with me, no one’s going to ask for your ticket. You’ll be welcomed. If you join me, Greg, I can make you two promises.” He climbed to his feet and once again held out a wrinkled, leathery hand. “The first is that you can be whomever you want to be, and no one will judge you for what you choose.”

Gregory wiped tears from his eyes and looked up at John Doe. “And the second?”

“The second is that everything you are now will never be again. Gregory Simmons will cease to exist. Who you become afterward is up to you, but you can never be you again.”

Gregory took John Doe’s hand and rose to his feet. “You mean I’ll have a new identity? New ID, name, address?”

John Doe smiled, and his lips clicked when they slid across his teeth. “Something like that.”

***

The bus arrived on time just as John Doe said it would, and a voice filled the terminal from a series of loudspeakers announcing its departure time. They had ten minutes to board. Gregory stood with his companion on the sidewalk, shivering in the breeze. The storm had let up over an hour ago, but the damp air carried a chill that nipped at his ears.

John Doe took a breath. “Last chance to change your mind, son. Once you board the Otherland Express, you can’t go back. Everything changes from here on out.”

“You were right,” Gregory said, clenching his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering, “when you said no one wants me the way I am. I don’t know how you knew, but you were right. There’s nothing waiting for me now.”

“Have you thought about where you’ll go? This bus will take you wherever you like.”

He hadn’t, but the answer came easily enough. “I’d still like to visit the west coast. See the ocean. You know, where it’s warm.”

“West coast it is, then.” John Doe held up his hand and the bus door folded open. He stepped across the sidewalk and stuck his head inside. “Just two tonight, Joe.” He turned back and motioned to Gregory. “Right this way, Mr. Simmons.”

Frowning, Gregory slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack. “Don’t call me that,” he said. “That’s my father’s name.”

John Doe nodded. “My apologies, Greg. After tonight, you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

A series of overhead dome lights stretched to the back of the bus, illuminating rows of smiling faces. Men and women of varying ages filled the cabin, and despite the poor lighting, Gregory could see their eyes were sunken into their skulls just like his strange host. Several of the passengers turned to watch as he followed John Doe down the aisle toward the back of bus.

After he found a seat near the back, Gregory realized his heart was racing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or excitement. He thought about what he would tell Tommy, but his heart sank when he remembered how their last conversation had gone. And what was it that John Doe had said? He wouldn’t be himself after this?

Not that he’d want to pay Tommy a visit anyway. Even though Gregory’s heart ached, somewhere deep down, he knew Tommy lacked conviction. Gregory wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done. It felt good and right, and he’d do it again if given the chance. He wished his old man was there so he could say it to his face.

But all that will be behind me, he thought. It’s time to look forward.

John Doe took a seat across the aisle. He raised his hand again, and the bus shuddered into gear. The driver, Joe, came over the loudspeaker. “Good evening, fellow Nobodies. We’ve got some miles to go before our next stop, but before we make our way through the Otherlands, please put your hands together for our newcomer, Greg. He’s the latest to join our tribe!”

Gregory looked at John and mouthed, Tribe?

John winked and joined in the applause. “Welcome, Gregory!”

A pair of older men turned in their seats and congratulated him. “We’ve been Nobodies for more than a decade,” they said. “We joined together, and we make the exchange every few years. It’s great to shed the skin. You’ll love it!”

Gregory offered a polite smile, unsure of what to say. Joe’s voice boomed from the speaker above: “Now you all know the rules: no shedding until we’ve crossed the boundary lines. We’ve got a long stretch through the Otherlands tonight, so that means you’ve got more time to make your exchange. Until then, find someone you like, someone who’s your type, and get to know them. And remember, people: John Doe gets dibs on the newcomer.”

He turned to John Doe once more, but his strange friend was conversing with a pair of young women in front of him. Gregory sank back into his seat and watched with mounting trepidation as the bus terminal grew smaller in the distance. Soon, the bus was back on the highway, headed west toward America’s enigmatic Otherlands.

***

They were on the road for an hour before John called out to him. Gregory lifted his head from the window pane and looked across the aisle at Mr. Doe’s silhouette.

“We’re almost there,” John said. He shuffled across the aisle and sat next to Gregory. “Before we get there, I need to explain something.”

Gregory sat up in his seat and rubbed his eyes. He’d almost dozed off, lulled to slumber by the rock and hum of the Greyhound. “What is it?”

John Doe leaned forward and rubbed his hands absently, his head bowed as if in prayer. “The Otherlands is a special place. Things are different there.”

“Different how?”

“Different . . . in a lot of ways. You’ll see it. More importantly, you’ll feel it. It’s like being drunk. Your senses are numbed. This place is where you’ll become someone else.”

Gregory leaned over and whispered into John’s ear, “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? Whatever it was that Joe was talking about back at the station?”

“I’m getting to that,” John said. “But I think it may be best to show you. Do you feel that?”

He wasn’t sure what John was talking about at first, but the sensation that came over him a moment later told him all he needed to know. He lost the feeling in his lips and tongue, followed by the tips of his nose and ear lobes. His fingertips tingled, and his toes were tickled with dozens of phantom pinpricks. Gregory blinked lazily, marveling at the strange purple glow spreading across the sky.

Outside, the highway melted into an alien landscape pockmarked with gray craters and dotted with maroon vegetation. Trees curved from the earth like tentacles, their branches writhing with wildlife too small to be seen, but somehow, Gregory could sense them, could almost see the vibration of their tiny wings beating the air. He remembered something Tommy had said about experiencing acid for the first time, and he wondered if John Doe had drugged him somehow.

“Is this—?”

“It’s real,” John said. His lips peeled back into another toothy grin. “This is where the Nobodies of the world come to commune, Greg. Out here, we get to frolic backstage while the world carries on with its self-importance and loathing. Out here in the Otherlands, we’re free to be ourselves.”

The bus slowed to a stop in the middle of the gray desert. As if on cue, the passengers erupted into cries of jubilation. The two men in front embraced while the women across the aisle kissed. Gregory marveled at the landscape, wondering how such a place could ever exist, and he was so caught up in the sensations in his body that he didn’t notice the articles of clothing flying through the air.

John Doe rose from his seat and raised his hand to calm everyone.

“Friends and fellow Nobodies, tonight we inaugurate a new face into our tribe. He’s a little nervous, but I think that once we strip off our earthly burdens, he’ll feel right at home. After all, we’re all the same beneath the flesh!”

What happened next left Gregory’s mind reeling, and for the first few terrifying moments, he questioned what he was seeing. The other passengers climbed out of their seats and stripped out of the remains of their clothing. Their naked silhouettes were cast in the dim, purple glow of the world beyond, and when the dome lights came on, Gregory saw that John Doe had joined them.

“Let me show you,” John said. “Let me show you how to shed the old you.”

So he did, and Gregory bit his cheeks to stifle a scream.

John reached up, found a seam behind his ear, and peeled back the mask of his face, revealing the sinuous meat and muscle beneath. He lifted underneath his chin and yanked, stripping the flap of his face from his skull with a single motion. The sound that met Gregory’s ears reminded him of Velcro, and the gaping stare of John Doe’s skinless face made his stomach crawl into itself.

He watched in sickening horror as John Doe peeled back every bit of himself like a piece of fruit, moving on to his arms and hands, then on to his chest, gut, and groin. Every fold of skin peeled away with that same scratchy, squelching Velcro sound, and now Gregory understood the odd noise he’d heard back at the bus station.

He looked away from the stranger and recoiled in disgust as he witnessed others doing the same. The men in the next row helped each other peel away their flesh, one working his hands under the wrinkles and folds of the other, inching the skin away from the meat underneath like stripping back a sticker from plastic. The women across the aisle were already exposed. They ran their hands across their sinuous folds, exploring their anatomy, and Gregory realized with sickening horror that he couldn’t tell if they were smiling anymore because their lips were gone.

“This is what it is to shed your skin,” John said, offering his hand. “We come here to the Otherlands to strip away our burdens and trade faces. Here, we are free to be whomever we wish. Tonight, you will become me, Gregory. And I will become you. Forever one with the Nobody Tribe.”

Gregory’s mind buzzed. Was this what he wanted? Was this the price he had to pay to become someone else?

John Doe slicked his leathery tongue across the top of his brittle teeth. “Remember what I told you, Greg. It’s too late to go back, but I promise you’ll thank me when it’s over. I keep my promises.”

Gregory reached out and took John Doe’s hand for the last time. “Will I remember anything? Will it hurt?”

“You’ll remember everything.” John squeezed Gregory’s hand. “And yes, my friend, it will hurt. The pain will be transcendent, the most glorious thing you have ever felt in your life.”

John Doe’s fingers sank into the boy’s flesh, and Gregory knew his friend wasn’t lying.

***

One day later, a man no one had ever seen before stepped off an unmarked Greyhound bus in Long Beach. He wore a dusty black suit that was nearly a size too big, and his youthful eyes betrayed the mess of salt and pepper hair sitting atop his head. No one paid him any attention, and at another time, in another life, this fact would have bothered him.

He smiled, feeling his cheeks wrinkle back. His face was too big, but that was all right; his friends in the tribe told him he would grow into it.

He walked over to a nearby trash can, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He thumbed through until he found his old ID and looked at the smiling face of a young man who would never again know the force of his father’s fist.

Gregory Doe tossed the ID into the trash, grimacing as his muscles ached. The other Nobodies on the bus told him aspirin would be his best bet until he got used to his new skin.

A breeze blew past him, filling his nostrils with the scent of the salty Pacific, and he thought of Tommy. Tommy Keegan, with his sun-bleached hair. A fluttering ache rose up within his chest, and he frowned.

The other Nobodies didn’t have a remedy for that. Heartache was something he couldn’t shed, something he couldn’t throw away. Can anyone?