At First Touch (31 page)

I kept my eyes closed, no matter how much I was itching to get a good look at him, to leap up and smash his face against the dashboard. Instead, I shifted my head slightly and groaned, “Dad?”

“Damn,” he muttered again and I could hear him digging around in the console. I opened one eye slightly and watched him pull out a cloth and a small dark bottle that was probably the Chloroform, or whatever it was he had used on me. He dropped a little of the liquid on the cloth, holding it as far from himself as possible, and then climbed out of the car, hitting the unlock button for the backseat. Knowing that this was my big chance, I tensed myself to strike as he came around to my side of the car, my heart pounding noisily in my head.

The door opened and I felt Carson loom over me. I forced myself to remain still until a chemical smell drifted toward me, and then I flew into action. I opened my eyes, caught sight of his throat and then punched my right fist with the pick pointing out directly into his windpipe as hard as I could.

Carson staggered back, clutching his throat and gagging.  In a flash, when the paralysis from the download wore off, I was sitting up and plunging my pick through the tape at my ankles, knowing I had only a matter of seconds before he pulled himself together. The pick cut through the tape enough for me to pull it rest of the way apart with my right hand and I reached across the seat to open the door. Without a backward glance, I flung myself unsteadily out of the car and into the darkness of the surrounding forest.

Staggering and still hazy from the drug, I ran as fast as I could, not paying any attention to where I was going, just concentrating on putting as much space between Carson and me as possible. The moon was hidden behind clouds and the forest seemed to eat up most of the light, making the uneven ground impossible to see, but I kept moving. Holding my right arm ahead of me to deflect some of the branches that slapped my face, I just ran, stumbling over rocks and tree roots. At one point, I tripped over my now tattered skirt and landed on my useless left arm, nearly screaming out at the blinding stab of pain in my neck and shoulder, but no matter what, I kept moving, knowing that was the only thing that might keep me alive.

After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few minutes, I paused, clinging to a tree as I gulped big breaths of air, nearly drowning in exhaustion. When I was able to quiet my breathing, I listened to the forest, trying to determine if Carson were following me or if I had lost him, or maybe even injured him badly enough that he couldn’t pursue.

It was relatively quiet for a moment and I felt a surge of hope, wondering if I could stay put and wait for Thrasher and Carey, or if I should keep moving. There was sound about fifty feet to my left and I froze, not even breathing as I opened the brand new connection to Carson’s mind and listened in.

“That’s it you little bitch, you just stay right there where I can see you…a bullet in your other arm ought to keep you from hitting me again…maybe we’ll just put one in your knee as well, so I can quit chasing you. God, I’m getting too old for this. Bergen better make this worth my while, make it enough to get me out of the Bureau…otherwise I guess I’ll just off her and cut my losses. But damn it, the little bitch cut me. She’s going to pay for that…”

I swallowed my panic and tried to get a grip. I didn’t know who Bergen was, but a quick sift through his memories told me that he was a member of the Coalition, the psychiatrist I had known as Samuelson. I shuddered uncontrollably, my worst fears realized. Everything my Dad and I had run from was now waiting to shoot me here in the woods.

The thought of my father steadied me and I forced myself to focus. Moving as carefully as possible, I shifted around the tree and lowered myself to the ground so that I would be covered from any shooting he might attempt in his incensed state. It seemed I might have done more harm than good with my escape plan. If he got hands on me again, my arm would be least of my problems.  

“I know you’re out there, Liz…or should I call you Elizabeth Mason?” Carson’s out of breath voice croaked across the distance. I cringed inwardly to hear my real name, wishing I had the time to look through his memories and see exactly how much he knew about me. “You were much easier to catch last time, you know. You’ve really grown up. Almost makes me proud,” he jeered, and I heard the crunch of leaves that told me he was moving closer to my position.

Without consciously meaning to, my mind pulled up a memory from Carson’s file, like watching a movie slightly out of focus.

 
Carson waited in a van behind a school bus, a black mask covering his face, wearing long sleeves and gloves, allowing not even an inch of skin to show. Through tinted windows he watched a nervous-looking girl get off of the bus and turn to cross the intersection where he waited. He gave the word to the thug he had hired waiting in the back and the side door flew open as arms reached out to grab the girl, pulling her into the dark recesses of the vehicle before anyone could hear her scream. The girl was thrashing around, striking out wildly and yelling like a banshee. “Shut her up,” he commanded as he sped through the green light and barreled down the road, heading for the interstate. “Just put the syringe in her and push. It’ll knock her out.” He watched in the rearview mirror as a needle plunged into the girl’s arm and she quieted, finally lying still. He watched the road behind him uneasily until they were on the highway, strictly following the speed limit and there was still no tail. His accomplice crawled into the passenger seat without a backward look.

“She’s a feisty one, isn’t she?” the man asked, a jack-o-lantern grin stretched loosely across his face. “What’d she do?  See you kill somebody or something?”

Carson shot a look at his companion, glad that he was going to be able to kill him as soon as his usefulness ran out and then glanced at the girl from the rearview. She laid there, arms and legs bound, head lolling back and forth on the floor of the van, completely helpless. “She’s seen a lot of things,” Carson replied as he pushed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

Tears streamed from my eyes and my breaths came in quick gasps. Carson was the one who had kidnapped me for the Coalition. He had been working for them all along. He was the reason I had been strapped to an operating table to be prodded and stuck with needles. He was the reason I had been shocked with electricity over and over again just to see if it affected my abilities. He was the reason my father had spent a week believing I was dead. And now, he was the reason I was injured and hiding in the forest, bare feet bleeding and aching, freezing in the cold October air, my arm hanging uselessly at my side.

I hated him.

A powerful, maddening loathing pooled at my feet and grew deeper, sucking me into its depths till I could barely breathe for the intensity of it. If I had been carrying a gun I would have shot Carson without hesitation in that moment. And I would have smiled as I pulled the trigger.

My little trip down memory lane had lost me about a minute, and I knew Carson was getting closer, thirty feet away and moving a little faster. I geared myself up to run again, hoping that I could just dodge whatever bullets he shot, and trust that he wouldn’t aim to kill. I turned around, ready to sprint, when I heard an almighty thud and crash as something hard and fast flew into Carson’s shadowy form and pinned him to the ground. My heart leapt in my throat as I made out the man-sized shape on top of Carson and realized with a thrill that it must be Carey, come to save me, hopefully with Thrasher not far behind. I did a little inward cheer and straightened, still tensed to run if necessary, but feeling more confident.

There was a muffled pop and the sharp, acrid smell of smoke. I looked around, eyes wild, and froze as I heard Carey’s unmistakable voice say “Oh,” in surprise.

All my blood stopped flowing at the sight of Carey’s body slumping uncharacteristically as Carson heaved him off to the side where he lay still and unmoving. I tried to move toward Carey, to help him up, to shake him, to do something, anything, but my feet seemed to be stuck in cement and I remained clinging to the tree, willing him with every ounce of my being to sit up and laugh it off.

But he didn’t.

“Oh no,” I sobbed, my knees giving way as I drooped against the tree trunk, my legs like jelly. I shivered uncontrollably as I watched the motionless form of my hero. Carey wasn’t supposed to get hurt; he was invincible, he moved faster than bullets. How could one hit him?

The frozen silence of the moment was broken by Carson’s unsteady rise to his feet. He stared down at Carey’s inert body, then shook his head and turned toward my tree. I could make out the white gleam of his teeth in the milky light and tried to pull myself together, knowing if I had a complete breakdown there was no way Carey would get any help. And I had to believe that he would still need help. Anything else was unthinkable.

“Your boyfriend packs one hell of a punch,” Carson said sarcastically, but I could hear the note of fear in his voice. “So I must have missed a tracker when I patted you down. Who else is following us?” he demanded, moving closer to me.

I certainly hoped that Thrasher was coming, but knew it was a possibility that he didn’t know what had happened, or where to find us. I was on my own.

“No one,” I lied, surprised at how firm my voice sounded. There was barely a note of quaver to give away the intensity of my fear and despair.

“Sure,” he replied dismissively. “Now look, here’s what’s going to happen. Your guy here is still breathing, but I doubt he has long. I can put a bullet in his brain, or you can walk over here nice and easy and give me the tracker, and we’ll get back in the car, and have a nice ride to meet some old friends.” Old friends, indeed. “What do you think?”

I knew he was lying. The second Carson got his hands on me he’d shoot Carey anyway, so that plan was out. The thought of Carey dying because of me nearly made me throw up. I was sick with horror, knowing that losing me again would destroy my dad as well.  

“You son of bitch,” I whispered, clenching my fist so hard I drew blood. This was it. If I didn’t find some way to thwart Carson, I would end up in the Coalition’s power again, and they would never let me escape. They would torture me in the name of science until I finally agreed to do what they wanted. My blood went cold when I thought of what they would make me do.

Unless I got out of this now, my life was over.

I looked at Carey’s wounded form, barely able to make out the slight movement of his chest as he struggled for breath. My own chest burned as I saw that his arm was stretched out as though reaching for me, and suddenly the fear began to abate, leaving a clean, pure, berserk rage that gave me focus.

Carson had been so careful not to touch me all this time, which suggested he knew at least a little of what I could do. It was easy to flip through his mind and discover that despite working for scientists who explored the extraordinary and paranormal, Carson secretly feared and reviled the strange. Deep down he was terrified of me and my ‘mind tricks.’

Well. I could work with that.

“What do I think?” I repeated, my voice menacing and unfamiliar. “I think that your mind is mine.”

I could see the faint gleam of his smile falter just a bit and his steps halted. “Just what do you mean by that?” he asked, voice full of false bravado. It seemed I had touched a nerve.

“I mean I own you now, Carson. When I hit you in the throat? You know what that means right? I touched you, so your mind belongs to me. I know everything you know, all your memories, every conversation you’ve ever had, every crime you’ve ever committed, everyone you’ve ever murdered. It’s all in here now,” I said, tapping my head. “And now I can do anything I want with it.” Using his momentary confusion to start backing away, I moved toward the trees behind me for better cover. “Remember Fitz? How messed up he is now?”

There was a pause. “What of it?” Carson snapped. I smiled bitterly, hating myself as I kept going.

“I did that to him,” I claimed with false pride in my voice. “I put someone else’s memories in his head and took away his own. He’s just a mash-up of other people now. And I can do that to you, Carson. I’ll make you forget your own name.”

Carson went utterly still and I took advantage, scuttling quickly around a grouping of trees behind me that would shield me from three sides. In the distance, I could see Carey’s body lying in the weak light, not moving, not even twitching. I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. My legs started to shake again, but I ruthlessly quelled my weakness, knowing I had to be vicious now, I had to be emotionless, or I would never get away and Carey would die for certain.

“You’re bluffing,” Carson said quietly, unsure. I gave a harsh bark of laughter and then opened the connection between our minds.

He was a wreck, deeply frightened on a level I didn’t quite comprehend. His terror of my ability went beyond the normal discomfort and boiled up from his subconscious like tar, thick and dark, immobilizing his ability to reason, forcing him to act on instinct alone. I couldn’t understand it, but I was ready to manipulate it.

Crouching down behind my shield of trees, I dug through my own mind for a suitable memory to implant, finally coming up with the truly fractured and painful mind of a Vietnam War veteran I had accidently downloaded years before. Concentrating fiercely as I had with Fitz, I imagined the chosen memory travelling down the connection between my mind and Carson’s like electricity running down a wire, and then there it was, just as before. I quickly shut off the connection so I wouldn’t be dragged down with Carson and watched my handiwork.