In Laymon's Terms

“No can do.”

“Uh?”

“You can never tell regular people you’re an Invisible.”

“Who says?”

“That’s our law.”

“It’s not my law.” He was grinning. “I’ll tell who I want...and Jesus Christ! I’ve just realized. I’ll be a god. I can payback all the people who’ve screwed me over. I can walk into a bank and help myself to as much cash as—”

“Ham, it doesn’t work like—”

“I’ll kick newsreaders in the ass live on TV—no one will see me do it.”

“Ham, you can’t,” I warned. “We’ve got rules. No interference. No telling people we’re—”

“Oh shit.” His eyes blazed. “Think of the fun!’’

I grabbed his hand. “Now, that’s what you can have. Fun. But only if you obey our rules.”

Quickly I told him about us. That Invisibles inherited a gene—from the mother’s side of the family—that leads to a sudden loss of visibility in the teens. A bit like inheriting a gene for red hair. And no, it wasn’t permanent. It lasts just a few hours every night when there’s a full moon. That it’s been calculated that there’s about a million of us the world over.

“Are you sure this isn’t a wind up?” he asked all of a sudden.

“No.”

“I really am invisible?”

“Yes, to ordinary people.”

“But you can see me?”

“Invisibles can see other Invisibles. That’s how it works.”

“But I’ve seen the invisible man movies. Shouldn’t we be naked?”

“No.”

“But why can’t people see our clothes?”

“That’s part of the syndrome, too. Whatever’s in intimate contact with our body for longer than a few minutes becomes infected with invisibility, too.”

“No shit.”

“Think about it,” I told him. “There are bits of you that aren’t alive, but you consider them part of your body; do you follow?”

“You mean like hair and fingernails?”

“And don’t forget the fillings in your teeth and that stud in your ear.”

“Jesus. This is more awesome than I thought.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Shuffle along the seat. No, the other way...away from me. Now look at the wood.”

“Hell, I can see right through it.”

“You follow? Close proximity to us makes things invisible.”

“Wait. I can see the bench again.”

“It only lasts a second or two when we move away from it. Think of it like body heat. If you hold a pen it’ll stay warm for a—wait! Ham, where are you going?”

“Sightseeing.”

“Ham, there’s stuff I should tell you first. Important stuff.”

“Sorry, Kate. I want to make the most of this.”

“Wait, you can’t walk through—”

“Ouch.”

“I was going to explain that you can’t walk through walls.”

“Nurrr...now you tell me.”

I took him by the shoulders and looked at his face. A good-looking face, I noted, with those brown, soulful eyes. “You’ve grazed your nose. It doesn’t look broken though.”

“Bruised jaw, grazed nose. What an initiation into being a god.”

“We’re not gods, Ham.”

“But we’re invisible!” Excitement bubbled up inside of him again. His eyes twinkled. “Come on!”

I had to run to keep up. “Ham! Wait, you don’t know the rules yet!”

“Tell them to go fuck the rules!”

“Where you going?”

“The County Morgue.”

“Ham...I don’t think that’s a good idea. Ham?”

But he was running fast.

I got the feeling he’d learn the rules the hard way.

We arrived panting at the dumpy concrete structure with those ridgey glass blocks for windows. You know? The ones that you’re not supposed to be able to see through, but you can always see enough blurry shapes to give you a good idea of what’s going on anyway.

Ham stood by the doorway to a brilliantly lit lobby. The sign over the door read in big, doomy letters: COUNTY MORGUE. AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.

I groaned. “Oh, shit, are you sure you want to do this?”

“How old are you, Kate?”

“Seventeen.”

“I’m eighteen and I’ve never seen a dead body.”

“Sheesh. Who wants to?”

“Kate, I’ve always been sheltered by an over protective mother. I’ve lived life in a kind of wishy-washy twilight.”

“Don’t rush things, you don’t know what—”

“Now I’ve got the opportunity to really LIVE life. To experience life, death...” He licked his lips. “Everything.”

With that, he turned away to push through the swing doors. I followed.

Fast.

A cop stood in the hallway. He turned when he heard the doors open. He looked in our direction but I saw from the focus of his eyes he couldn’t see us. His eyes were on the door. Maybe he was thinking someone had pushed open the door then let it close again without coming in. Bold, Ham walked up to the cop, stuck out his tongue, then waved his hands in front of the big man’s face.

The cop didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Didn’t see, Ham or me.

Delighted, Ham turned to me. Before he could open his mouth and give us away, I put my fingers to his lips. I felt them mould into a smile beneath my fingertips.

He turned. Walked. I followed.

Hell, where was he taking me?