At First Touch (33 page)

“But I don’t get it! Why did you leave like that? I was really worried, and then Carey just disappeared and I couldn’t get you on your cell, and your Dad didn’t know where you were…” V.J exclaimed, arms flailing dangerously as she stomped back and forth in my living room. I was sitting on the couch, my arm in a sling, watching her performance with no real amusement. I wasn’t sure I’d ever find anything amusing again.

“And then, I finally get your Dad on the phone again yesterday and he says you’ve been hurt and can’t talk and I don’t hear anything else until this morning when you asked me to get your homework for you this week at school! What the hell happened?” she demanded, her pixyish face drawn with worry and confusion.

 I sighed and shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t really know what to tell her; the explanations Dad and I had tried to come up with all sounded as weak and untrue as they were.

“I told you, V.J.,” I said finally, with no real conviction. “Carey and I got in a fight, and I tried to walk home and fell on something sharp. He brought me to the doctor, and now I’m fine. I’m sorry you were worried.” Even to me my voice sounded lackluster and unconvincing.

V.J. just eyed me suspiciously for a moment and then took a seat next to me on the couch, careful not to jostle my arm. “You fell on something sharp. Right.” She sighed and leaned back. “Carey didn’t do this to you, did he?”

My eyes flew wide open with shock. “No of course not! How could you even think that?” I retorted angrily. If that was the conclusion people were jumping to I’d definitely need to work on a more convincing story.

Her eyes widened but she didn’t comment. “Was it Preston? Did something happen that you don’t want to talk about?”

I wondered why she thought I’d answer that question if it was something I didn’t want to talk about, but let it pass. We weren’t blaming my shoulder injury on Preston, even if it was his fault. He had been too drunk afterward to remember much of what happened. We were worried that if reminded, he might recall the strange man who had come up to him at the party and encouraged him to take me off to a dark corner for a confrontation. It was best that everyone forgot my connection to Carson.

“No, nothing like that,” I said, trying to be more reassuring. “V.J., I’m fine, and I don’t really want to talk about it anymore,” I said firmly. She opened her mouth to say something else but then stopped as she got a good look at my face.

“Alright,” she conceded, admitting defeat. “But if you need to talk, I’m here.” She squeezed my good arm briefly and then got her things to go. I watched her leave, helpless to grasp the remnants of my old life. I nearly called her back, but I remembered that I was someone to fear, someone who shouldn’t be around normal people.

I flipped on the TV when I heard V.J.’s car leave the driveway and absent-mindedly surfed through the channels, not looking for anything in particular. I halted on the local news station, where a reporter stood in front of an expanse of woods, interviewing a police officer who was removing rolls of crime scene tape.

“How do you respond to allegations that the deceased was a rogue FBI agent with ties to the mercenary Eddie Fitz and the biker gang, The Slashers?” the reporter demanded, sticking the microphone directly under the cop’s nose. The cop just shook his head and replied, “No comment.”

I laughed without amusement. That was the line I should take.

 “Honey, how do you feel?”

No comment.

“Liz, are you ever going to smile again?”

No comment.

“What did you do to Agent Carson before he died?”

No comment.

“You’re safe now, aren’t you happy?”

No comment.

I couldn’t stand to sleep because all I could see was Carey’s lifeless body lying in the dead leaves and cold moonlight, all I could hear were Carson’s dying thoughts repeating over and over again in my mind. I could still feel the place where he had died. All his memories and knowledge were still there, but it was like the screen inside my head had suddenly gone black and I couldn’t stop staring at it, wondering why it didn’t start up again.

Dad said I was crazy to be this torn up over Carson’s death. According to him, and Carey, and Thrasher, Carson had it coming. I couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t Carson I was upset about. It was me. What I had done to him. In my rage, I had shredded a man’s mind, not even thinking of the consequences, just wanting to cause him pain the only way I knew how.

If I was honest with myself, this wasn’t the first time I had crossed a line. It seemed like any time I had felt angry or threatened, I resorted to my ‘gift’ as a weapon. I took people’s minds and turned them against themselves. I had to wonder if the things I’d been through changed something in me? Something vital and essential to my makeup that was now broken or weakened?

 I woke up at night remembering Carson’s last moment. After all the terrible things he’d done, the people he’d hurt, as the light faded, he had simply been a bewildered little boy wondering “is this it?”

Would that happen to me?

“Sweetheart,” Dad interrupted, his voice quiet and serious, expression concerned.

“What is it, Dad?” I asked, still lost in thought. He padded forward, extending the cordless phone to me.

“Carey’s on the phone, hon,” he said, and handed me the phone, exiting the room swiftly. I knew he was hoping that Carey could cheer me up. Dad now viewed Carey as some sort of guardian angel, promising to never forget that he had nearly given his life for mine.

I sighed and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Carey. How are you feeling?” I asked, unable to mask the anxiety in my voice.

“I’m fine, thanks to you. I just saw Nurse Nora again, and she’s satisfied that all the shards are out,” he reassured me.

I had gotten him to Nurse Nora in the nick of time. The healing skin had been pushing the bullet shards deeper and deeper into his chest, dangerously close to his lungs. Between the two of us, and using tools and methods I doubt any hospital would approve of, we had managed to get all the shards out. Carey had woken up halfway through our makeshift operation, making dreadful noises, and Nurse Nora had dosed him with some Chloroform she’d had hidden in her cabinet. I found that ironic.

We had worked tirelessly on him for over three hours, until we were satisfied that every piece of the bullet was out. We actually hadn’t spoken much, and she didn’t press me for details. I think she knew I hadn’t processed what had happened quite yet. I liked her for that.

Carey kept the bullet shards in a little jar and took them home to keep in his room as a souvenir. Even though I can read minds, I’ll never understand how boys work.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked, remembering I was still on the phone with Carey.

He repeated his question patiently. “I asked if you were going to school tomorrow.”

“No. I really don’t feel up to it. You’re not going are you?” I asked incredulously.

He laughed and then drew in a sharp breath. “No. No I guess not. It still hurts when I move my arms or breathe too deeply. I’ll give it a couple days. Mom’s telling people that I went out of town to visit a cousin, but I’ll just be cooped up in my room. You can come visit me if you want,” he offered, a slightly more cheerful note in his voice.

“Thanks. Maybe I will, if I feel better,” I said, and he knew I was lying.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you. I know I missed a lot while I was out. Something pretty bad happened, right?” he asked, sobered.

I laughed without humor. “You mean besides you getting shot and nearly dying? Or Thrasher almost getting shot? Or me almost being shot?  That’s bad enough, I think,” I retorted, a hint of irritation in my voice.

“Ok,” he said wearily. “But you can tell me anything. Anything,” he emphasized.

I hung up soon after, too tired to argue.

Thrasher was actually the most understanding about the whole thing. He wasn’t too happy about Carson’s death either, though for different reasons. It meant a whole investigation for him at work, but with the evidence that was surfacing about Carson, including some details about his murdered ex-partner I directed Thrasher to, he was confident the investigation would go smoothly. He even hoped to get some sort of commendation for his initiative in taking down a rogue agent. He managed to keep Carey and me completely separate from what had happened, which I was grateful for.

“I can keep you shielded from the Bureau,” he had promised that morning, when he was getting ready to head back to Washington. “But I want something in return.”

I had listened to his thoughts warily, worried that he would forget his promises and try to use me the way so many others had done before. I didn’t feel much better when I heard his request.

“Help me get the Coalition. It will be safer for you, and it will certainly be better for the rest of the world. Based on what you’ve told me, I’m worried about what an organization like that might do, what kind of danger it poses to this country. You know things about it; give me some hints, some information I can use to start building an investigation, and I’ll make sure no one ever comes near you or Carey again.”

Knowing he was right, and his intentions were good, I agreed, on the condition that he never forced me to download someone against my will to help his case.  He accepted without reservation, but I withheld judgment. I had spent far too long being wary of government agents to change now.

I doubted I ever would.

I hadn’t learned as much as I’d hoped from my download of Carson, but I was able to give Thrasher somewhere to start his investigation. Carson had been working for the Coalition for years, trading secrets about FBI investigations and covering up any illegal activity for them in return for a big paycheck. His partner had suspected something and trailed Carson to a cleanup job after Coalition scientists had tried out a new serum on a group of homeless men that ended up killing them. Carson caught his partner and set him up to be killed in a firefight. He was utterly soulless.

Carson had never told the Coalition he had found me. He was hoping to keep me hidden until he could drive up the bounty price; so ironically, Pound, which had been so dangerous for me the past month, was now the safest place in the world I could be.

I missed a week of school, mainly because I couldn’t move my arm and I wasn’t ready to face people quite yet. After a few days, Dad insisted that I go to the hospital to get an MRI on my shoulder. He didn’t trust my diagnosis. I was right about the nerve damage; but the doctor told me I was very lucky. The nerve hadn’t torn, so as long as I rested it, I was promised that in a few weeks, when the swelling went down and the nerve healed, I would start to get feeling back in my arm.

I returned to school the next Monday. I got a few strange looks in the morning. There were some pretty wild rumors floating around about why I had left the party so early and where I’d been since then, but since nothing was close to the truth, I just shrugged them off.

Carey pressed me when it was obvious I wasn’t happy, but I couldn’t really explain my depression. By all rights, I should have been ecstatic that I was finally safe, I could have friends, Carey was mine to keep. But I couldn’t forget the moment when I watched Carson’s mind splinter, trapped in someone else’s nightmare, and remember that I had done that.

He had been right; I was a freak of nature.

Wednesday afternoon I stood in front of my locker, thinking of nothing in particular as my classmates ran around to after-school practices or made plans to work on homework together. Carey stood to the side, watching me anxiously, as he always did now, and I found myself wondering for the umpteenth time who my locker partner was. It seemed odd that in so many weeks I had never run into them. Shrugging my good arm, I turned to slam the door shut and came face to face with Missy, one of Chasisity’s shadows.

She looked at me in surprise and then put out her hand to stop the door from shutting. As she did, one of her books slid from her arms and fell to the floor. Automatically I dropped down to pick it up and she followed, her head bumping against mine as we reached for the book at the same time. I remained on the ground, immobilized by the unexpected download, my mind linking with Missy’s in a quick, violent rush of images and sounds, none of them good.

When I could see through my own eyes again I looked up at her with intense pity. She appeared not to notice anything and went on with her business, slamming the locker door shut when she was done and walking away without another look in my direction.

I blinked, and found that tears were rolling down my cheeks unheeded at the glimpse I had gotten of Missy’s life. Her father had died when she was seven and her mother was an alcoholic. Missy’s stepfather beat her mother regularly and had sexually abused Missy since she was ten. Her entire life was a series of dark scenes and weeping in the closet, putting on extra makeup to cover the bruises, and fighting extra hard to blend in so that no one ever knew the hideous truth.

Carey rushed to my side, taking my face in his hands and kissing the tears away. I sank into his arms gratefully and admitted that while I might be a freak of nature, there were real monsters in the world, and I didn’t have any corner on suffering.

“What is it, Liz?” Carey asked, his eyes boring into mine with a mixture of passion and worry. I just shook my head, knowing that I had to keep Missy’s secrets to myself, though I was determined to do something to improve her situation. Perhaps if I could help her it would go a little way towards fixing the damage I had done by invading Fitz’s and Carson’s minds.