At First Touch (7 page)

I stood there frantically trying to work out a plan of action when I heard a gasp behind me and swung around in a defensive stance, fists at the ready.

“What the hell?”

I dropped my hands and relaxed. Carey was standing a few feet away, surprise etched on his face. I had completely forgotten about him. He rushed toward me and clutched my shoulders, searching me for signs of damage. “What happened? Are you alright?” His voice sounded as shaky as I felt.

“Yes, I’m fine. This guy just attacked me…I think he was trying to mug me or something,” I lied. This was not good.

Carey released me and went over to stare at the slumped figure on the ground. After a tense moment he turned back to me with an expression of admiration.

“Wow. Remind me never to sneak up on you in a dark alley.”

I smiled then stopped abruptly. His presence made everything so much more complicated. He would want to call the police, which I couldn’t have, and I could hardly explain to him that the man was a mercenary with twenty kills under his belt and a cocaine habit that would make George Jung sneeze.

Right on cue, Carey said, “I guess we’d better call the police. Are you sure you’re ok?”

I swore under my breath. “Yeah, I’m ok. What are you doing back here anyway?” My voice may have been a little short, but I was thinking as quickly as I’d ever done.

“Um. You didn’t come back in and I couldn’t see you, so I just came out to see if you were ok.”

He didn’t meet my eyes so I opened the link between our minds and found that with his keen hearing, he had heard the sound of a struggle and come to investigate. No wonder he didn’t tell me; hearing the sound of a scuffle through brick walls and the busy sounds of a crowded restaurant wasn’t exactly normal. Closing the connection again, I nodded acceptance. Let him keep his secret. I could certainly understand.

He had already pulled out his cell phone and was starting to dial when I grabbed his wrist and told him to stop. He looked up at me, puzzled, and I prepared to spin the truth a bit.

“Can you wait? Listen, this is going to sound weird, but I really don’t want to get involved. It would be…very bad for me to come to the attention of the police just now.” His eyebrows shot up and he gave me a penetrating look. “It’s not what you think. I’m not a criminal or anything, but it’s very important for me to be inconspicuous. Knocking some guy out in an alley is going to put me on someone’s radar. Please,” I pleaded, putting as much feeling into my voice as possible, “my life could be in danger.”

He stared at me for a moment and I allowed him the privacy of his own thoughts. He glanced over at the prostrate figure on the ground and back at me. Finally, he nodded slowly and put the phone away.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He was winning so many brownie points.

I wasn’t really sure what to do, but as I stared at Fitz’s sprawled figure, a wild idea presented itself in my mind, one I had toyed with before, but never really put into practice. Since the accident I had been able to download other people’s minds and access their thoughts and memories whenever I wanted. But I have often wondered, what if I could plant new ones, or erase them?

“Well, I’m going to check on this guy, make sure I didn’t hurt him too badly. Can you keep a lookout?” He nodded and faced the street to watch out for intruders. I approached Fitz with some trepidation; I was about to try something I’d only imagined in theory.

He was drooped over, his left side leaning against the brick wall, mouth lolling open pathetically. Uncertainly, I closed my eyes and focused on Fitz, opening the connection between us. In a flash, I was inside his head, immersed in the images that floated through his subconscious. With all my focus I pushed further into his mind, thinking as hard as I could about myself, hoping that would bring his memories of me to the surface. For a moment there was nothing different, just the familiar sensation of flowing electricity between our brains and then I saw it, like a file on a hard drive ready for exploration.

Closing my eyes in concentration, I searched for any information on me, and there it was. As though I had remote access to Fitz’s brain, I was able to sort through the miscellaneous thoughts and isolate his memories about me, almost like a tech support guy would open a file from a distance on a frozen computer. After another moment, satisfied that I had found everything, I apprehensively thought “delete” and it was gone, everything he knew about me had disappeared from his mind. I closed the connection and opened my eyes, putting a hand up to my pounding head. Less than a minute had passed, and I had invaded this man’s mind and altered his memory.

I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

Instead, I turned around and looked at Carey’s straight back, the way his jeans hugged him, how his zip up sweater strained against his broad shoulders. I took a deep breath and told myself that what I had just done was for the best and wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“I think he’s ok, just out of it.” Carey turned back around and gave me an unreadable look. I sighed, realizing that just because I knew everything about Carey didn’t mean he knew anything about me, nor had any reason to trust me. “Look, I know this is weird, and I promise I will explain all this to you later, but I really, really can’t be connected with this.”

He considered me a moment and then moved with startling swiftness to stand directly in front of me. He looked at me steadily and I felt certain he could taste my fear.

“Fine, but I will want an explanation.  Soon.” His voice was stern and his eyes were unfriendly for the first time.  I felt something inside me crumple.

So much for making a friend.

“Of course.”

“Ok, then I’ll call the police and tell them I saw this man attacking a girl who ran off before I could see who it was. Does that work for you?” He raised his eyebrows inquiringly, but I could tell the prospect of lying was really bothering him. Well, there was nothing for it.

“Yes. Thank you. You just don’t know what you’re doing for me. Thank you.” My voice was filled with genuine gratitude and I looked at him like he was my hero. At that moment he was.

“Fine. I’m sorry, I won’t be able to take you home now. I’ll have to go down to the station to make a statement.”

He didn’t look happy about it, and I couldn’t really blame him. But if he was going to go with this story, I needed to make sure that Fitz remembered attacking someone or it wouldn’t hold water.  I sighed resignedly and turned back to the prostrate form on the ground, wearily reopening the connection between our minds. I was beginning to feel like I’d be stuck in Eddie Fitz’s twisted brain forever. I followed my previous procedure, pushing past his surface thoughts and seeking the place where information is stored.

“You’re a mugger,” I thought at him, waiting to see the information form in his memory.

Nothing happened.

I tried several different variations, but it seemed I couldn’t create memories or thoughts out of nothing. I paused, frustrated, for a moment, and then certain images floated to the surface, images I had downloaded from a disgusting man I brushed up against on the subway three years ago, before I learned to cover all my bare skin. That man had been a rapist; he had assaulted four women by the time I had downloaded him, and I had all the hideous details stored in my mind forever. They had been buried deep, since that was not the kind of information I ever wanted to think about, but with my mind on the subject of violent men, the recollections swam to the forefront. Without even realizing what I was doing, I saw the memories flow through the connection between my mind and Fitz’s like water running through a pipe, and I nearly cried out in surprise as the rapist’s memories were implanted in his mind.

It was as if I had copied and pasted someone else’s memories into Fitz’s brain. I hesitated, wondering if I should just delete the new memories, but self-preservation came to the fore and I let them stay. This man had killed twenty people, he deserved whatever he got. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

Before I could change my mind, I broke the connection, staggering as my head swam. Feeling slightly nauseous, I glanced back at Carey, who was staring at me like I had just painted myself bright pink and started clucking, and gave him a weak smile.

“You better get going. If you give me your number, I’ll call you later and tell you what happened.” I repressed the thrill of excitement I felt when he asked for my number, knowing it wasn’t because he wanted a second date. I gave it to him and he quickly programmed it into his phone.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” I said and then ran off behind the building. Behind me I could hear him talking to the police on his phone. I rounded the corner and pulled out my own cell phone and dialed my father, hoping he would answer this time. I had reached the other side of the building, down by the hardware store when I heard the sirens. Dad still wasn’t picking up and I was beginning to wonder if I would have to wait around until he got off of work when I saw Preston getting into his truck.  I swallowed my misgivings and ran forward to catch up to him.

“Preston, hey!” He paused, half-in, half-out of the truck and turned until he saw me. His scowl turned to a grin as I stopped beside him.

“Hey, Liz. What are you still doing here?” He was looking past me, obviously searching for his rival. Not seeing him nearby, confidence filled his face with an unattractive smugness. “Carey ditch you?”

I managed not to tell him he was a rapist weasel and gave him my best fake smile. “No, apparently some guy was trying to mug someone in the alley and Carey caught him. He has to go with the cops, so I’ve been trying to get hold of my Dad to come pick me up.”

Preston’s expression darkened for a moment and I could guess his thoughts at hearing Carey was a hero yet again. Finally he seemed to pick up on what I was saying.

“Do you need a ride?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. Dad must still be at work.”

He smiled broadly and chuckled. “Hop on in. I was just on my way home myself.”

He pulled himself the rest of the way into the truck and I climbed clumsily up into the passenger seat; apparently he had monster truck wheels, because I felt like I was about ten feet off the ground. He started the engine and some kind of heavy metal blared out of the speakers. Without making a move to turn down the tuneless shrieking of the lead singer, he started telling me about the addition to his house he and his dad were building and how he had just ordered more wood at the store. I feigned interest and told him where I lived. He exclaimed happily and said that his grandmother was only a mile from my house.

We kept the conversation light as we motored out of town onto a twisty road shaded by a phalanx of trees. The world seemed compressed into this country road, encased by brightly colored foliage and dappled sunshine. For a moment I forgot my troubles; the unpleasant fact that I had just tampered with someone’s mind without knowing what the long-term effects might be. With an effort, I let go of the worry that I had come so close to being caught by an agent of the Coalition. I looked out the window and took in the scenery as it flew by, letting my mind go blank and give me a brief moment of peace.

Belatedly, I realized that Preston was asking me a question; I tuned in and found he was asking me which house was mine. I pointed at a small brick ranch house on the corner of the street and he pulled forward and turned into the driveway. We had gotten the house relatively cheaply; it had been foreclosed on and was being rented by the bank for a fraction of its worth. It had two bedrooms, a living room and a family room, as well as a sizable kitchen. The outside was plain except for the lilac bushes planted alongside the walls, and the yard was small, pushed up close to the neighboring houses in the development.

He stopped the car and I practically leapt out the door, so thankful was I to be home. Preston jumped down from his side and waited for me, an expectant look on his face. It occurred to me that he was anticipating being asked in. Since the last thing I wanted was to be alone with someone who had attempted rape, I gave him an apologetic smile and started up the steps to the back door.

“Thanks for the ride, Preston. I’d invite you in, but we’ve still barely unpacked and the place is a wreck.” His smile fell and then he recovered himself.

“That’s cool. Do you want a ride to school tomorrow? I’m just up the road from here.” I grimaced and shook my head.

“No thanks, my dad would freak if I rode to school with a boy I just met. I’ll just have to cope with riding the bus.” I gave him a winning smile and moved back a few more steps. “See you tomorrow.”

He seemed to accept the finality of the situation and got back in his truck, waving goodbye with such friendliness that if I hadn’t known what he had done, I probably would have felt some liking for him. As it was, I just noticed his weak chin, beady eyes, and over-confident swagger and felt relieved to be done with him for the day.

I dug in my bag for my keys and unlocked the back door, breathing a sigh of relief as I entered the cool darkness of our new home. It was furnished minimally and blandly. Since we never invited anyone home and moved frequently, there was no point in exerting ourselves as far as decorating went.

“Koko,” I called, and was instantly greeted by my six-year old Blue-Point Siamese, purring and twisting around my ankles. I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and picked the cat up, snuggling him close to my face and reveling in the velvety feel of his fur. With an ear-splitting yowl he told me that he wanted down and it was high time I fed him. I released him and he sprang agilely to the floor and then rubbed his back against the cabinet where his food was kept. I laughed and obliged, filling his silver bowls with food and water. While he happily set to his dinner, I headed to my room, which resembled a monk’s cell with its plain walls and lack of decoration. My clothes were still in their suitcases, and the only things I had unpacked were my books and my laptop. I flung myself on the unmade bed and closed my eyes, truly alone for the first time in my rather eventful day.