Page 14 of Bent Heavens

Liv screwed the point of her knife into the tabletop. “He acted normal at the hospital. Ashamed and embarrassed, all that. But the second he got home, that’s when it got bad. He told us the truth. What he thought was the truth.”

“Which was…?”

Liv narrowed her eyes at Bruno. She didn’t trust the gleam in his eyes. Her story wasn’t a torta. So she kept the full answer for herself, as the awful scene screened in her mind. She remembered coming home with her dad and how she’d expected him to retreat to his bedroom as the implications of the town-square event hit him. Instead, he’d marched about the house, unplugging or removing batteries from communications devices—the TV, the computers, the shower radio—while John padded after him in jubilant fascination. Aggie perched on the edge of the sofa, winded by the flutter of activity. Liv took a chair, worried her knees would buckle from the press of descending doom.

Had her father actually said everything Liv recalled that he’d said? She felt like she could recite his rant verbatim.

I was in the woods. I couldn’t even tell you where. There was a place, like a clearing. And tubes—two giant tubes. I think these tubes suctioned me up. That part is confusing. It felt like I was going downward, into the earth, because it was cold. But I know I was going up. It was so dark up there. Their eyes aren’t like ours. They only need a little illumination to see. And it was cramped. I didn’t expect that. Something comes from that far away, you’d think their ship would be gigantic, but it was small. It makes sense if you think about it. Think about our space capsules and space shuttles. All those little astronaut tunnels. No wasted space. That’s what it was like. Like they couldn’t fit past each other fast enough to get to me. But they did.

Who? Aggie had asked, and Lee’s answer was all that Liv gave to Bruno:

“Aliens.”

Bruno nodded in sage confirmation. “The skinnies.”

Liv looked away from the sawdust the knife had dug from the table to give Bruno a reappraisal. He sounded genuine enough. But Lee Fleming had sounded genuine, too.

“Skinners,” Liv corrected. “That’s what he called them. He said they had blue, wrinkled skin they’d shed every day. There were a few specific skinners he was obsessed with.”

She set down the knife.

“Don’t you want to know who they were?”

Bruno registered her darkened tone.

“Yeah.” He sounded hesitant. “I guess?”

Liv sniffed and realized her nose was runny, which meant she was close to crying for the second time in two days. What was wrong with her? She crashed onward, trying to outpace the sob. “Because to me, it’s the worst part. I mean, anyone can get sick and see little green men. They’re in all the UFO movies. But the skinners he dreamed up? He was really sick, you know? Really, really, really sick.”

“Hey, let’s stop,” Bruno said.

But her voice was growing louder. “There was the Whistler. When the skinners were doing experiments on him, Dad said the Whistler stood out of view, whistling. That was weird because, guess what? Skinners don’t have mouths.”

“C’mon.” He was looking around in concern. “Stop.”

Louder now, losing control. “Then there was the Floating Pumpkin. This big, orange orb that floated over his body during experiments. He thought it emitted anesthetic rays. Oh, and the Green Man. The Green Man was the scariest one of all. Dad thought maybe the Green Man was what a skinner looked like after it shed its final skin. The Green Man was ten feet tall and just stood there, reaching for him with big green fingers.”

“Enough, all right? I’m sorry I made you talk about it.”

“But we haven’t even gotten to your question. We haven’t even gotten to the play.”

“That’s okay. I get it. He jammed all this stuff into Oliver! and it was weird. Right? Look, that fried cheese isn’t going to eat itself.”

“But you think that’s the point of the story. How weird it all was. You probably heard all sorts of stuff about the play. The orphans wearing big, blue smocks—skinners, check. An orange disco ball—Floating Pumpkin, check. A huge green stripe down the stage—the Green Man, check. What else? Oh, how by the end of act one, all the actors were holding each other and crying. Does that about cover it?”

Bruno’s regret had given way to a less charitable look. She was on the offense now, for no good reason, and they both knew it. Liv swiped the napkin from her tray.

“Is any of that true?” Bruno asked.

Liv blew her nose. “Some of it.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“The point,” Liv snapped, staring through swollen eyes, “is that it wasn’t a play. It was a crack in my dad’s head, and we were all staring inside it instead of helping him. Everyone knew Dad wasn’t okay, but we all let the play happen anyway. Because they already sold tickets? Because me and Mom hoped it would set everything straight? We were so stupid.”

“You didn’t know what to do. It was a new situation.”

“Gamble did. He stopped the play.”