At First Touch (25 page)

“Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t. Just what exactly did you do to me?” The fuming agent turned to glare at us as we entered the room, face taut with rage. “One minute I was here asking you questions, finally getting to the bottom of things and then the next thing I know, I hear your voice inside my head and I’m in my car five miles down the road! Explain!”

 I swallowed. I hadn’t seen a government agent this angry since…well, since a time I don’t like to think about anymore.

Somehow that memory gave me courage, reminding me I was free now, or at least relatively so, and I wasn’t about to return to those dark days anytime soon. As though he knew what I was feeling, Dad squeezed my gloved hand briefly, and I opened my mind to him.

“Sweetheart, it’s up to you what you want to do. I will support you and protect you no matter what, even if it includes knocking this man unconscious and making a run for it. We’ve done it before and we can do it again. I love you.”

 I closed the connection as tears sprang to my eyes, blurring my vision for a moment. Strangely, Thrasher backed down slightly as he saw my tears, uncertainty creeping into his expression. I took advantage of his weakened moment and gave his head a listen.

“Why is she crying? It seems genuine, and the way her father looks at her, as though each moment might be the last he sees her…they’re running from something, have been for a long time. She looks so frail all of a sudden…what has been done to her? Why are they so afraid of me?”

I took a deep breath and made a decision, one that rocked me to my core and made me doubt my sanity.

“I can read minds. I can learn everything about you from just one touch, and apparently I can implant memories in your brain and make you do things without meaning to,” I stated baldly, planning to just brazen it out and see where things led. I had a gut feeling, based on the tenor of Thrasher’s thoughts and my own knowledge of his innate honesty and good intentions, that he might, just might, try to help us.

Thrasher’s face underwent a bewildering shift of emotions, shock, disbelief, contempt, irritation, confusion, and a reluctant, dawning acceptance.

“Explain,” he said again, crossing his arms over his chest. I tuned into the racing thoughts in his head and repeated them back to him.

“Yeah right, there’s no way she’s telling the truth. Maybe she escaped from a psych ward and that’s why they’re running or maybe they’re…in…my god, is she, is it possible….she is, she’s reading my thoughts, I…”

“Oh my God!” he shouted suddenly, throwing his hands up to his ears, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You’re doing it, you’re reading my mind!”

I decided to do him one better. “When you were seven you fell through a rotted bridge at your uncle’s house and broke your leg; you still have the scar on your right thigh. Your father was a cop and was killed on the job when you were fifteen; you decided to be an FBI agent then because you thought they must be smarter and faster than regular cops and you didn’t want to die like your Dad.”

Thrasher’s mouth had dropped open and he was looking at me with a mixture of wonder and fear. “How did you…”

I took a breath and kept on going. “You lied about your birthday and joined the army six months before you turned eighteen so you could get away from your brother. The first time you killed a man you were twenty-two and you threw up next to the body. You still have nightmares about him.”

“Stop, just stop.” Thrasher held his hand up, clearly unable to take anymore. “It’s true, isn’t it? I never told anyone about that…about my father…” he broke off, shaking his head. Dad looked at me questioningly while Thrasher got hold of himself. I just nodded at him, knowing that I was on the right track. Of course, Thrasher could change his mind at any moment and try to arrest me, but based on what I knew of his character, and the amazement he felt right now, I didn’t think he would.

Thrasher sort of collapsed onto the couch, seeming to be completely unaware of his surroundings. Dad looked at me anxiously and I knew he was thinking this would be the perfect time to make our escape, but I shook my head, still listening intently to the tumult in Thrasher’s head. While he was both excited and scared, and a more than a little creeped out by what I had shared with him, he wasn’t rejecting it or considering how he could make my abilities work for him; he was thinking of how hard my life must have been and how it made sense now, how frightened I was. 

Finally he seemed to return to himself and looked up at us with clear eyes. “How long have you been on the run?” he asked. Dad looked surprised and wary but I answered, knowing where he was going.

“Since I was thirteen. I was normal until a car accident when I was eleven. I went into a coma for a year and when I woke up, I had these…abilities.” I shrugged. “I don’t know how it happened, really. It might have had something to do with the treatment they used when I was unconscious, or it could be something completely different. No one ever figured it out, much less me.”

Thrasher nodded slowly, taking everything in, regaining his usual calm. “And how long have you been running from the FBI?” he asked shrewdly. I smiled, feeling more and more certain about my decision.

“Since I was fourteen.” I told him the story of how they discovered me and what had been done. Thrasher grew paler and paler as I destroyed his illusions about the agency he had dedicated his life to. How they held a helpless girl prisoner, tortured her with lack of sleep and social interaction, kept her too drugged to save herself. Dad put an arm around me, his emotions running high as he remembered the past from which we had fled. When I finished, Thrasher just sat staring at me, eyes wide with astonishment and pity.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I’m so sorry. My God, I…I had just started when this happened to you. I swear I didn’t know; if I had…”

“It’s alright. I know you didn’t know,” I said, not without irony. Thrasher picked up on it and snorted.

“Of course you do,” he said, running his hands through his short hair. “What made you decide to tell me?” he asked, hesitation in his voice.

“You have good intentions and a strong dedication to doing what’s right. It was a gamble; I guess it still is, but I was hoping you would help us.”

He quickly leaned forward, suddenly intent. “Yes. You thought right. My God, I owe it to you, after what you’ve been through.” He sat shaking his head for a moment, shame and a burning desire for redemption blazing through him. After a moment his thoughts grew more regular and he looked at me with sharp eyes. “So what’s the real story with Fitz?  You, uh, downloaded him, right?  That’s how you knew about the cocaine drop and the bodies?”

“Yes. He really did attack me behind the diner. But I had to, um, mess with his memories a bit to protect myself. I know it was wrong and it was the first time I’ve ever done that, but I was scared and didn’t know what else to do,” I said, a pleading tone evident in my voice. We had gotten to the part I was ashamed of and I dreaded Thrasher’s reaction.

To my surprise he just nodded again. “Yes, I can understand that. So was it just to keep the police from finding out about you, or was there something more?” I half-smiled at the agent’s astuteness. He pieced things together so quickly and was being incredibly reasonable about something it had taken me months to accept.

“Yes, there’s more.” I hesitated and then dove all the way in. I told him about the Coalition, its goals, and my time with them. Thrasher was torn between horror at what they had done to me and a practical concern over what danger such an organization could present to the country. I was a little dismayed by his thoughts when I finished my explanation; he was wondering how best to get information from me and how he could write it up in a report.

“Stop right there,” I warned harshly and he looked up at me, startled out of his jumbled musings. “You cannot use me. Not for anything. I gave you the information about Fitz; if I tell you any more, people will wonder how I know so much. I’m not risking going back to the Bureau, not for anything,” I said vehemently. Thrasher was taken aback for a moment and then nodded his comprehension.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even thought it; it’s just…I mean it is really tempting. My god, what you could do in interrogations alone…” He snapped out of it and shrugged. “But of course, I won’t jeopardize your safety or freedom.”  He spoke sincerely and at the moment he meant it, but I knew I would have to keep close tabs on Thrasher in the future to make sure he kept to his promise.

“Fine,” I said, relaxing for the moment. I was fast approaching the time when my control would break and I wouldn’t be able to decipher Thrasher’s thoughts from my own. Dad recognized the signs and moved to take over the conversation.

“Agent Thrasher, my daughter is very tired. She needs to rest now. Perhaps you could think all this over and then come back and see us tomorrow morning?” Thrasher glanced at me and looked taken aback. I must’ve looked pretty bad.

“This really takes a toll on her doesn’t it?” he asked in a whispered voice.

“Yes. It does. Which is one of the reasons I don’t want anyone to use her the way the government or the Coalition wants. I don’t know what would happen to her if it went on too long.” Dad’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way off and I felt my eyes closing of their own volition.

“I suppose it could kill her,” I heard Dad say and then I lost consciousness.

I woke up with a blanket over me and a lukewarm, still-damp cloth on my head. Feeling like Rip Van Winkle, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, letting the cloth fall to my lap. I could hear Dad talking to someone in the kitchen and slowly got to my feet, stretching and trying to ease the crick in my neck. Glancing at the clock on the cable box, I was shocked to see that it was after six, meaning I had slept for two hours. I shook off the last vestiges of sleep and made my way to the kitchen, surprised to see Dad and Carey deep in conversation. His sharp hearing picking up my entrance, Carey turned my way and his face broke into a brilliant smile, making me sway on my feet from more than left-over tiredness.

Gripping the wall for support I greeted him with my own shaky smile. “Carey, hey! What uh…what are you doing here?” Dad and he both grinned, and I looked around uncertainly.

“Nothing hon, just having a chat. Carey came by to visit with you, but you were still resting.” Dad smiled and gestured toward Carey with an amused glint in his eyes. “We’ve come to an understanding,” he said cryptically.

 Carey hopped up and planted a quick kiss on my cheek, sending a shiver through me. Dad looked at us and rolled his eyes.

“Want to go see a movie, Liz? Your dad has finally agreed to let me take you out by ourselves.” I glanced at Dad in surprise and he shrugged.

“Oh, I was just being overprotective. If we can trust Carey with your secret, I guess I can trust him with you for a few hours.”

I hurried over to Dad and gave him a hug, pleased to see him being so comfortable with Carey. He patted my back, turning away to hide the sentimental look in his eyes.

“You, ah, might want to brush your hair before you go, hon,” Dad said, a sardonic note in his voice. My hands flew up to my hair and I groaned, wondering why I hadn’t thought to check it earlier. Sure enough, I could feel the strands plastered to my forehead from the damp cloth and the back seemed to have a strange lump, as though a family of birds had built a nest back there.

“I’ll be back in ten,” I said hurriedly, pushing past Carey and making a mad dash for the bathroom, cringing at the sound of male chuckles echoing behind me. The mirror confirmed my worst fears so I ducked my head under the shower to wet it and then dragged a comb through with some leave-in conditioner before plugging in the hair dryer.

Closer to twenty minutes later I emerged, hair dry and if not perfectly coifed, it was at least presentable, falling in a dark curtain around my shoulders. I had changed into jeans and a green cowl-neck sweater, and felt like I looked pretty spiffy, or at least as spiffy as I could manage on such short notice. Carey was waiting patiently on the couch, watching TV with Dad. I laughed quietly, wondering if this was going to become a routine.

“Ready?” I asked idiotically, since I was the one who had taken twenty minutes to get changed. Carey shot up from the couch in a dizzying movement and turned to smile at me. As I took in the smooth tilt of his lips, his carved features and shining blue eyes, I wondered if I would ever stop feeling weak in the knees at the sight of him.

“Yep; we should be just in time for the movie,” he replied, patting his pockets in the way that guys do, feeling for the reassuring bulge of his wallet.

Dad walked us to the door and told Carey to bring me home by eleven at the latest, to which my date agreed emphatically. Planting a final kiss on my forehead, Dad whispered, “Have fun, honey; you deserve it,” and then we were off, chugging down the road in Carey’s ancient car.

“It seems so strange that you travel this way most of the time when you can move as fast as you do,” I commented as Carey cautiously took to the main road. He laughed and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess. Of course, if I just showed up places all the time with no visible means of transportation, I’d probably get a lot of weird looks.” I agreed and we settled into a nervous silence, both of us feeling the pressure of our first official date.

“You know,” I said hesitantly, a little embarrassed, “I’ve never been on a date before. I’m not really sure what we’re supposed to do or how to act.” I gave Carey an apologetic grin, hoping he wouldn’t think I was totally lame.