A Touch Dead

A Touch Dead
Chapter One

I stare at my hands, blacker than coal, blacker than the darkest of night. These hands are utterly enthralling and disgusting. I turn my palm down and place it gently upon my fathers’ forehead. I feel the flare of his thoughts slip into me, murky from sleep, lulled into small currents of his dream. And through his dream I can feel his worries from the day that he fell asleep with. That our money is practically gone and he can’t afford to take care of me. He’s worried I’ll be taken away and he won’t be able to fight the legal system this time to keep me.

I yank my hand back, ashamed and concerned. I flex my fingers, trying to coax them to move again. They hurt but movement is slowly returning, like it always does after I touch into the brain of an unconscious body. Once the person is awake, their mind is blocked from me. Their thoughts back under their own control. Even the dead I can read, and that utterly scares me and fascinates me because there is no sense to it. There is no life in a corpse and yet I get flashes of their strongest emotions from important parts from their former life. It’s like snip-its, fragments that I can decipher. But it is just glimpses of what they experienced. There is no communication to them in the after life, or whatever it is that happens to a person who dies.

I have a theory, it’s weak and flawed but it’s what I’ve discovered from experimenting from childhood with my ‘gift’. Each time I touch a body, each time their thoughts slip into me-invited or not-my skin dies. Yes, my hands were once normal. My skin was as tanned as any boy growing up in the sun. My skin was as smooth and soft as any other child. But as I touched other people my skin fades as I take from them. And I couldn’t control it. As I slept next to my dad as a toddler, curled into his warmth in our tiny cheap-ass apartment, the skin contact from my fingertips against his, I’d feel his dreams enter me, violate my own dreams and suddenly nothing was secret from me. If it was on his mind when he went to sleep, then it was always creeping into his dreams and into me.

And as it continued to happen my skin discoloured. It became dry and dark and the light colour of my skin disappeared altogether. My hands weren’t dead, but the skin was. It didn’t shrivel, flake or fall off either, but it remained texture-less and black until it couldn’t become any blacker. There was no warmth, just coldness so sharp that it was a wonder my hands were as bad as being severely frostbitten. They functioned alright despite the discolouration and lack of fingerprints or temperature.

It was like a disease. The black skin spread from my fingertips to my palms, and now to the bone at the joint of my wrist. It could come across as another layer of skin, a glove as I called it. And so I wore wristbands where my normal skin met the blackness.

Once the flexibility has returned completely to my hand I slip back into my t-shirt, sweater and jeans and pack a spare outfit before tip toeing down the hall to the kitchen which is about 4 steps from the bedroom. I grab my backpack, stuffing it with some bread, cheese, 2 bottles of water and a couple apples. I grab my wallet off the top of the fridge, where I keep it out of the way and slip out of the shit hole we live in. I leave down the creaky old stairs, my hand sliding along the railing as a reassurance, the stairs creaking and moaning so loudly I’m concerned they’ll cave in. I pull up my hood, hiding solidly under it and slump through the alleys and make my way to the train station. I wait an hour by the old freight carts until one is rumbling into life, preparing to take off. As it slowly jerks into motion I run from my hiding spot, throwing my backpack into an open freight before hulling myself into it. I slip farther into it, and sit in the darkness, waiting until we’re in endless fields before I allow myself to doze, free to dream my own dreams.

+

With my bag on my shoulders I crouch down and slip off the side of the freight, stumbling and falling to my knees as I hit the gravel. I quickly jump to my feet and run to the gate, climbing it and rushing into the darkness of the woods. After hitching rides on 3 freight trains, I’m so far from home that dad couldn’t find me. I chose at random and it’s about time I find something to survive on. My food from home is gone and I’m so hungry and tired that I almost regret my decision. But then I remember why I left and know I can’t go back. Dad will be able to turn his life around without having to take care of me.

Trekking through the woods I go in too deep to be comfortable but I can’t rest close to the tracks or go too far that I hit the city. My legs ache in protest and I feel absolutely drained. My stomach has gone beyond hunger and I have to stop as my insides lurch. I vomit bile, my stomach unsatisfied with my lack of attention to its care. Tomorrow morning I’ll have to find something to eat, but right now I’m too tired.

I continue to stumble over roots and piles of leaves and suddenly one is just too big and I fall onto my face, grunting as I feel twigs snag in my long bangs and tear up a line up my left cheek. I spit out a pile of dirt and shift to see what I tripped over so carelessly. I reach out and push through the unnaturally large pile of mud and leaves and suddenly I feel a tug on my mind an instant before I am pulled harshly into flashes of a memory.

I find myself choking, and shortly after I feel the hands on my throat and the soreness surrounding my head. I feel the cold setting into my body and I feel so afraid, so utterly alone that I can’t seem to scream for help. Help won’t come and I am so scared and angry and confused. I see a face but it’s gone faster than it appeared and my air is gone. I feel my lungs stop, my brain stop, and my heart stop and then I’m back in my own head.

I’m gasping, not able to catch my breath or move myself. My hand is so stiff I can’t even feel my fingers and it takes a while for me to even try to flex them, to bring life and movement back into them. I look at what I touched and I am not surprised to see the corpse hidden very well beneath the debris of the forest. And I know I witnessed his most terrifying moment. But I don’t understand. From the few times I’ve touched a corpse, I usually don’t see how they die. But I’ve never touched a murdered body before and I can only guess he was strangled…but I can’t be sure. The pain was everywhere but mostly focused on the head. But the lack of air hadn’t started from being choked…which is the mystery. I have no clue what happened here.

I pull my sleeves past my hands and use them to swipe aside the dirt and leaves. I pick through his filth covered clothing and find a wallet. So it wasn’t a mugging, I deduct. I find about $100 cash and a gift credit card with the name Morgan Steels. His student ID indicates he’s 17, attends Bathers High School and new to the area. I find the little tag that must have been attached to the gift credit card. It reads: Morgan, enjoy living on you own for the first time! We’re so excited for your independence. Remember to write. We’ll mail you your allowance biweekly so don’t spend it on partying. You promised Dad. Love Mom

Spoiled rich kid. Perfect. Now to find out this kids address. I shove him under a bush, and re-cover him, still surprised I even found him. I have no need to bury the kid, he’s not my responsibility. At least not right now. I don’t have the strength or energy. I scramble to my feet and walk to a thick tree about 4 meters away from the body half under the bush, concealed enough to not look too suspicious. I rip at the bark, removing enough to make a weird M shape so I can find him again. I spend the next hour and a half walking in one direction until I find a dirt road. I follow it until I find a gas station, just at the edge of the city. I go to the pay phone and insert a quarter, dialling the operator’s number and asking for Bathers High School. Judging by the height of the sun, school should be starting about now.

A woman answers and I work my beautiful lying skills on her. “Hi, my name is Morgan Steels. I was supposed to have my schedule sent to my new living arrangements and I think you might have mailed it to the wrong house.”

“Okay dear, let me check our system.” A pause and I hear her punching some keys. “I have a note here saying it was mailed a little while ago, so it should have arrived.”

“Could you read me the address, in case you have it inputted wrong?”

“Sure.”

Hanging up I go into the gas station. I go to their bathroom and see myself in the mirror for the first time in 3 days. I look horrendous. My brown hair is greasy and knotted my skin not so nice a tan as I’m usually proud of. My face is dirty and my cheek has a blotted scraped right up to my ear. I rinse my face and hair thoroughly in the sink before I exit. I go up to the cash and the guy eyes me suspiciously. I give him my most believable sheepish smile, shrugging a little. “Went camping and the hike back was rough.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “What can I get ya kid?”

“A local bus route map, a pack of your cheapest cigarettes, a lighter, and a bottle of water. I think that’s it.” He asks me for ID and I scowl. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my own wallet, now a few cards fuller, and pull out my own fake ID. He gives me my items and I hand him the gift visa. It approves, and I make sure I don’t outwardly show my relief. Taking the bag I walk out and sit on the curb. I guzzle down the water and sigh in relief. Not wanting to overwhelm my stomach, I hold off on the food. I light up a cigarette and open the map. I examine it carefully until I find my destination. Collier Road. I’ll have to catch the bus. I walk about five minutes to the closest stop and wait not too long until it arrives. I pay the fair with what little coin I have left, not willing to pay the driver a twenty for a one way ride. I sit in the far back, hood up again, hands tucked protectively into my sleeves.

+

Kid has a little one level house. I scope out the property and find no spare key hidden outside. I make it casual, like I’m just checking to make sure no one has damaged my new home. Of course that’s exactly what I’ll have to do. I go to the back of the house and pick the lock on the back door. I enter the house and am relieved that it is alarm free. The place is a mess. Typical teen style living. Boxes are everywhere, the kid having been too lazy to actually unpack anything more then the barest necessities to survive here in the little time he’s been moved in. No phone, so he must have relied on a cell. I find the bedroom and just collapse onto it, falling asleep much faster than I was aware.

+

The bedroom and kitchen are sorted and cleaned for the most part by the end of the second day I arrived. I found his registry papers and call the school to say I’ll start next week, as I’ve had a plumbing issue that needs immediate attention before I can even leave the house. I head out to the closest corner store, grabbing basic groceries, and some hair dye. By the end of the day I am no longer ash brown, instead, a dirty blonde, like Morgan. Luckily, the kid wasn’t anything impressionable, so I’m sure no one will really tell the difference. I can back my theory up by the return address on the note of Morgan from his mom. His home town is no where near this place. I guess he wanted away from an overbearing family.

The following morning I call up the inquiry number on the gift credit card and find out the balance. I nearly laugh at the crazy amount on it. And this kid is expecting allowances? Well shit. I can’t bring myself to do much more than shake my head in amazement and shove the card back into my wallet. I get back to work and before the week is up the house looks like it should be for sale. I have never been in a house so clean, let alone so large. I mean, compared to the other houses on the street, this one is tiny. It’s one floor, with a total of four rooms; the living room which you walk in through the front door, the kitchen, then in the short hall, the bedroom and a single bathroom with a stand up shower. It’s a really tiny place, but more then enough for me. I’m used to living in less. It’s definitely a step up from Dad’s, well probably a couple steps.

I put the school papers I’ll need to hand in on my first day on the counter and gather some loose paper and pens for what classes he has. In the mailbox at the end of the driveway I found a letter from his parents, restating basically the same thing I found before, plus his time schedule. Easy courses. English, College level Math, Biology, Phys-Ed, and some other health/wellness course and a spare period. I basically took the same things, except for the gym class and health/wellness. Not much my thing but not a bad idea. I just don’t like getting physical; especially since they usually require you to wear t-shirts which is outside my usual comfort zone. I prefer hoodies any day. I guess I’ll have to deal. Looks like this kid is planning on being a fitness trainer from all the health and fitness magazines I’ve found loitered around the place.

+

I arrive at the school about 15 minutes prior to the first class. Dressed in jeans and a black hoodies I head for the office. One hand is stuck in my sleeve, resting in the front pocket of my sweater, the other holding the sheets which I hand the lady at the front desk. She files them; types shit on the computer and asked me if I need help finding my class. “No.” I say and quickly add, “Thank you though.” And escape as fast at possible. I hate offices. Can’t stand them. Not the risks they involve, since they always need to know who you are, what you want, and crap like that. I’ve been to enough offices to hate them, even though the ones I visited were relating to financial issues and custody fights.

I glance at the door numbers and follow them down to room 121, English. First class of the day and I am more than satisfied that I’ve pulled this off. Now I just need to not blow my cover, and hope no one goes through the woods deep enough to find where the body of the real Morgan Steels is. I had gone to the dump site a few days back and buried him properly, safely covering the now smoothed-out and covered grave to better conceal the location. Now all I have to do is learn to live as Morgan Steels. Chaise Foeman is no longer allowed to be addressed while I live apart from my Dad.


~ Chapter one is complete, feedback would be awesome! Kayaz and I love to know what everyone thinks, and to give us some ideas as well. Chapter two will be posted soon, see you then~