Marrow by Preston Norton Page A

many times I had lost count.
    I was suddenly outside in the sunlight. Even though I knew the sun was fake, I couldn’t help but cherish the warm rays. I was still tied to my chair, although I was tipped over on my back rather than sitting upright. My confusion was cleared up instantly as I turned my head to the right.
    Train tracks. I was laying on train tracks. Great.
    A horn blared from the opposite direction. I turned to my left. Sure enough, a bulky gray silhouette dotted the horizon, distorted in the afternoon heat waves.
    I attempted to squirm in my chair, but naturally, the chair was tied to the tracks. I was just like the damsel in distress in those cheesy westerns. Except for the part where someone actually comes to rescue me.
    Closing my eyes, I attempted to relax in my chair. Nothing was going to hit me.
    “Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts . . .” I said to myself.
    Oh geez. I sounded like Peter Pan.
    I couldn’t think of anything happy. In fact, the only thing my brain could seem to process at the moment other than my impending death-by-train was my meeting with Oracle. A meeting that I had recounted to Nightmare a hundred times now. This was less like searching for a needle in a haystack and more like searching for a particular needle in a needle stack. The details . . . All these useless details . . . They were ricocheting around the inside of my skull like a pinball machine.
    He’s able to change the bone matter in his skull so it deflects Oracle’s telepathy.
    She can’t get inside his head when he does.
    . . . the bone matter in his skull . . . she can’t get inside his head . . .
    I opened my eyes.
    That was it.
    Not the information Nightmare was looking for, supposing that such information even existed. But it was a solution of sorts. It was something that could at least salvage my sanity. Nightmare wasn’t a Telepath per se . . . but his power involved getting inside my head.
    What if I could shut him out?
    My power was a simpler version of my father’s after all. How hard could it be?
    The train’s horn blared louder. I didn’t even bother looking at it. I needed to concentrate. Tapping into my skeletal structure, I concentrated on my skull. That was the easy part. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Altering my bone density was like flipping a switch; there were only two ways it could go. But this was more than just making my skull heavier or lighter. I had to somehow change the substance of it entirely.
    I decided that increasing the density was probably part of it. A bone with higher density seemed less likely to be penetrable. At least that was the logic in my head.
    I felt my head become a bowling ball on the gravel. This was particularly uncomfortable since my neck was craned back slightly. I could survive discomfort, however. This was the first glimmer of hope I had felt in what seemed like ages.
    Okay. Now what?
    Concentration became impossible as the distant vibrations became violent rumblings. My brain rattled inside my bowling ball skull. Before I could even cast the train a second glance, the sun became an interrogation light and blue skies were swallowed in a shadowy room.
    Nightmare eyed me with a heavy eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, throwing off the symmetry of his already misshapen face. Did he suspect something?
    He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. Our silence was an awkward standoff. After nearly a solid minute of this, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I did the unthinkable.
    “Well what are you waiting for?” I asked.
    His eyebrow elevated a notch higher. Again, he said nothing. Did nothing. He was definitely suspicious. I didn’t know if this was good or bad.
    “Is awkward staring your other superpower?” I asked. “Nightmare by day, Creeperman by night?”
    Again. Nothing. Time to bust out the heavy artillery.
    “So I was talking to your mom the other day,” I said. “Well . . . at least I tried to. I don’t speak monkey