White Space Season 1

to in chat rooms?” Milo said. “You some kinda pervert?”
    Cody ignored him, looking into the shadows as though hunting the dark, and rubbing his arms like they were covered in ants.
    “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I had to talk to you, or someone like you, and couldn’t exactly use my real name.”
    “Why not?” Milo said.
    “Because I like breathing.” He leaned into Milo. “Look, I meant what I said the other day, before your accident with Other Mother.”
    Milo’s eyes widened at the words other and mother, used together and with an implied capital. “How did you know I called her that?”
    “I know a lot,” Cody said. “A shit ton more than I want to.” He swallowed. “More than you want to.”
    Milo said, “I want to go home. So unless you’re about to enlighten me with something concrete, I’d rather you leave me alone.”
    Cody said, “Understood.” Then, “My name’s not Cody. It’s Don Bellows. Like a lot of the folks in there,” he jerked his thumb toward the auditorium. “My loved ones disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”
    “What happened?” Milo said.
    “Most of the disappearances are a person at a time. My entirely family disappeared. Gone, overnight. My wife, Lucinda, and our twins, Mark and Ryan.”
    “Fraternal or identical?” Milo asked, as if it mattered.
    Don looked up from his sleeve. “Identical.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, they all went missing three years ago, and nothing made sense. No bodies, no ferry rides — they have a camera 24 hours, you know — nothing. So I started investigating all the weird shit on the island. And there’s plenty.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe all of the layers in this onion.”
    Milo was willing to buy into conspiracy but his patience was paper-thin, and the guy was giving off some weird stalker vibes. Milo glanced around, suddenly aware that nobody else had left the auditorium yet. If Don wanted, he could easily pull a knife or gun on Milo.
    Don was too busy scratching at his arm beneath his jacket, however, to make Milo too concerned.
    He looked at Don’s arm. “You okay?”
    Don stopped scratching, then looked at Milo and said, “Sorry, one of the symptoms.”
    “Symptoms of what?”
    “Well,” he shook his head. “It’s something like Morgellon’s, I imagine, though I don’t know that for sure. And if it is, it’s only like Morgellon’s in some ways. It’s also altogether different.” Don went back to scratching, like he couldn’t help it. “These … things in my skin. It’s the stuff they put in us.”
    Something about the way Don was speaking reminded Milo of Beatrice staring at the snowy TV, and all the many weird ripened stories he’d just heard in the Hamilton auditorium.
    Milo wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the power of suggestion, so he started dragging his nails across his own arms, too. “What are you talking about? What’s Morgellon’s?” he said.
    “You’ve got it, too? The itching?”
    Milo shook his head. “It’s nothing. Probably just itching from the healing wounds.”
    Don lifted his shirt and jacket, displaying a long line of red welts dotting the length of his arm; armies of scars where his torn skin had healed over.
    Milo’s stomach flopped like a fish.
    Above them, clouds parted and returned their wet to the ocean floor.
    “ They’re doing this to us,” Don said. “Everything is connected.” He looked up as the first of the exiting survivors opened the door to the auditorium and began to flow out.
    Milo was done. “You’re not saying anything,” he said. “And I’m not willing to stick around to get drenched and jerked around.”
    “Research for yourself,” Don said, handing Milo a flash drive. “There’s some docs on here to get you started. And some advice on how to do research undetected, well relatively undetected. And whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what you find.”
    “Do you think I’m still in danger?” Milo asked, not really sure he was buying what Don was selling just yet, but too curious not to ask.
    “Not at the moment. If they wanted you gone, you wouldn’t have come out of the hospital.”
    People began to walk past them, on the way to the parking lot.
    “I should go,” Don said. “I’ll be in touch.”
    Don walked toward the parking lot. Milo unlocked his bike, watched the people filing out, though making sure not to make eye contact with anyone who might recognize him. As Milo