Dark Touch

by Elle Lewis

  I lay down on the couch and curled into a ball. Why had he grabbed me like that? The whole thing happened so fast and was just so bizarre. Not only the way he had snapped, but the strange sensation I felt when our skin met. It felt like a strong forceful surge of electricity. And for some reason that I could not explain, I was still in pain. It started at my left finger tips, ran up my arm and shoulder, and was creeping towards my neck.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to tell myself that I was fine. I regretted my isolated life style. Being alone was something that I typically sought after and enjoyed. But now, I desperately wanted some company. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t manage to get the image of those black eyes out of my mind.

  Exhaustion tugged at me. The garage was warm, and it was comforting to be home, surrounded by my art work. Gradually I relaxed, even though my heart was still beating too fast. The searing pain continued to slowly creep up my neck as I drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  KOI

  I found myself plunged in complete darkness. I was standing on something soggy and wet, and there was a dripping noise all around like leaking water. I threw my hands out, blind in the darkness, and felt a smooth hard surface on either side of me. It must be a hallway. Cold liquid splashed over my hands—slithering in-between my fingers. Keeping my hands on the wet walls, I moved forward, my breath loud. And then, I felt the distinct presence of something lurking in the dark. It brushed against the back of my neck, like hot breath. I could feel its malintent, its hunger. Goosebumps broke across my skin. It snarled. I ran, keeping one hand against the wall for guidance. A sudden pale light glinted up ahead. I ran harder, my feet splashing on wet carpet. I had to get out, before the evil presence consumed me. It wanted me, so badly. It would take me and never let go.

  In a desperate burst of energy, I ran and then jumped towards the light, clearing the hallway and sliding onto a hard, white floor. I sat up and looked behind me.

  The entrance to the hallway began to shrink, white marble closing over the darkness until there was nothing but a smooth wall. I felt a moment of relief until I looked at my hands. What I thought was cold water that splashed onto me, was in fact a thick black substance. It moved, snaking its way around my wrists and arms. A choked sound came out of my mouth. I scrambled to my feet, panic crawling up my throat.

  I looked around desperately. I was in a perfectly square antechamber. The walls were smooth white marble, with gold designs woven across the ceiling. A gigantic black crystal chandelier hung in the center, directly over a small golden table. Sitting on top of the table was a bright red flower, its petals the color of blood. In each corner stood a golden mirror, the glass surfaces blank, not reflecting anything in the room.

  The black substance continued to spread. It started to burn, as if hot tar had been poured over my skin. I screamed, frantically trying to pull it off. Suddenly, a white stairwell appeared at the far end of the room, each step rapidly emerging one-by-one out of thin air. I ran towards it and took the stairs two at a time. The stairs curled around and around, like a snail shell, taking me higher and farther away from the chamber.

  The stairs brought me to another hallway. This one was lit, and I could see to the very end. Pieces of a bathroom were placed oddly against the far wall. There was a mirror, a sink, and a bathtub. I ran forward, ignoring the strangeness of it, hoping the water worked. The sink was broken in half, and the mirror was cracked. I hastily turned on the faucet. Water poured out and I plunged my hands under it, eager to wash away the black substance. But it was gone. My arms were bare. I looked up into the mirror, confused, and saw a man standing behind me. His eyes were black fathomless pits, his short hair the color of white snow. I froze. I continued to stare at him in the mirror. And then, my eyes began to change. Darkness bled into them, like ink spilling into clear water. Soon, my irises and sclera were both gone. My eyes now matched his perfectly. The man smiled.

  *

  I screamed, and my eyes snapped open. I was on my garage floor, drenched in cold sweat. My heart raced, my entire body trembling. I sat up, expecting to see the man with black eyes hovering in a corner. But the garage was empty, all three lights still on. I sat on the floor for a few minutes, trying to get my breathing back to normal. It had only been a dream, just a dream…a very realistic dream in which my eyes had turned black.

  A sudden high-pitched sound made me gasp. My cell phone was ringing. It was on the floor, next to my foot. I quickly snatched it up, feeling stupid for being so freaked.

  “Hello?” My voice sounded raspy.

  “Sloan! How is your painting coming along?” Millie asked brightly. “I hope well, because I could use some tips on how to use oil paint. I hate it! Acrylics are so easy to work with, but oil just globs onto the canvas. My colors keep mixing together when I don’t want them to! Why is professor Imperial making me work outside of my comfort zone? Is he trying to develop my skills as an artist or something?”

  I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on the conversation.

  “Seriously though, how are you doing with it?” she asked again. “I need help! And you know Donovan is no artist. He always has his nose buried in chemistry.”

  “Uh, actually I didn’t work on it at all last night,” I responded. “I didn’t get home from work until almost ten.”

  “That office is going to suck the life out of you eventually, you do know that, right?”

  I smirked, the fear from the dream gradually receding in the wake of Millie’s bright personality. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Hey, you want some Saturday morning Dim Sum? I can come pick you up—in like an hour?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Millie was constantly operating at a million miles a minute, dragging me enthusiastically along. It was what made her so, well, Millie. Being around her usually cheered me up. Which, at the moment I greatly needed. I still felt uneasy and anxious.

  “Dim Sum sounds good.”

  “Perfect. I will see you soon. Wear something cute!”

  I snorted. “Bye.”

  I made my way into to the bathroom and turned on the light. Talking to Millie had made me feel a little calmer. I examined my eyes in the mirror, getting so close that the tip of my noise touched the glass. My eyes were totally normal. I let out a sigh and then laughed nervously. I felt ridiculous actually checking to see if my eyes had turned black.

  I stared at my reflection. My hair was a tangled mess and there was still a hint of fear lingering at the edge of my eyes. This wasn’t me. I didn’t scare easily or panic when shit happened. I had moved to Seattle all by myself when I was only nineteen. My life in Los Angeles had been, well, extremely difficult. Some would say that by coming to Seattle I had run away from my problems, and maybe that was accurate. Regardless, I had been through much worse and needed to get control of my emotions. With that resolution I got undressed and turned on the shower. The water was blissfully hot, and it helped clear my head. I reached for the shampoo and that’s when I felt it. The burning pain beneath my skin was throbbing fiercely and it was much stronger than yesterday. I had been distracted when I first woke up and had not noticed it. But now I could feel it distinctly and it had moved all the way up to my left temple. I stood in the shower motionless, the shampoo forgotten in my hand.

  A warm ball of fear snuggled deep in my stomach. What does this mean? Whatever this strange pain was, it sure as hell was spreading fast. I told myself not to worry. If it was still present after Dim Sum, I would go to the hospital. It would be okay. In a few short hours it would be sorted out. I squeezed some shampoo into the palm of my hand and washed my hair, stubbornly ignoring the burning pain that was twisting its way beneath my skin.

  *

  Chinatown was bustling with people. It w
as a beautiful clear October day, around sixty degrees, and not a cloud in the sky. Millie zipped through the streets in her electric blue mini cooper, parking it on a side street a few blocks from the restaurant. We got out, savoring the sunshine and catching up as we walked the rest of the way. There were a lot of great places in the city, but Chinatown was one of my favorite spots. The accents of Asia were present in all the architecture. Red and gold dragons curled around several rooftops, their sculpted faces frozen mid growl. There were dozens of shops and restaurants, each one unique, featuring items that were authentic to the culture. Multi-colored lanterns were strung over the streets, like whimsical balloons that would never float away. And the best part—the smell of hot food. It hung potently on the air, a promise of delicious Asian flavors and a full belly.

  Millie and I didn’t need to look at the menu, we were dim sum experts. We ordered an assortment of shrimp, chicken, and pork dumplings, as well as Chinese broccoli, steamed white rice, warm pineapple buns, and a pot of hot green tea. I tried to enjoy the meal, despite the constant throb of pain beneath my skin and my abnormally fast heartbeat. It refused to slow down no matter what I was doing.

  “I’m not exaggerating,” I said after swallowing half a pork dumpling. “It’s the nastiest color green, and he wears them every day.”

  Millie laughed. “Do you think that maybe he is color blind?”

  I took a sip of green tea, smirking. “It’s a plausible theory. Although you would think that Penny would let him know that he is wearing something that is the color of vomit.”

  “But aren’t her outfits disgusting too?” Millie asked with a smile.

  “She must be color blind too! And they shop together! The plot thickens.” I said.

  Millie burst out laughing. She had thick curly auburn hair that surrounded her head like a halo. Her eyes were a deep brown and her small nose had a splash of freckles, as if someone had sprinkled cinnamon over just that one spot. When I first met her, I immediately compared her to a very short and petite Julia Roberts—plus freckles.

  She shook her head, a smile spreading across her wide mouth. “Why exactly did Penny keep you there until almost ten last night?”

  “She literally dumped a ton of paperwork on my desk at five and demanded it be finished before I left.”

  She took a huge bite of a pineapple bun. “Ugh, she is the worst. Hey so…Donovan’s cousin is coming into town. I hope you don’t mind but I told him about you. He is really cute.”

  I frowned. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Come on Sloan, you never date! Seattle guys are fun.”

  “How do you know I’m not already seeing someone?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Because every time a hot guy has ever approached you I have heard you say the following two words—Fuck. Off.” She made little quotation marks in the air.

  Millie was not exaggerating. Fuck off was my go to statement when guys tried to ask me out. It worked like a charm. “I can’t argue.”

  “Damn right. You are way too pretty to be turning away sexy guys. Come on, just have a coffee with him.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not like you have to marry the guy.”

  “You just want me to get laid?”

  “Pretty much,” she giggled.

  I shook my head, grinning. “Thanks for looking out, but I’m not interested.”

  “Ugh fine. Well if you aren’t going to let me play match maker then you can come to Japanese Gardens with me today. No dating talk, I promise.”

  “The gardens?”

  “Yes!” Millie rolled her eyes. “I need inspiration! There is no way I can do a Neo-Classical painting with oils, I can’t control where anything goes. I have no idea why I even picked that style, it’s too hard.” She put a finger in the air. “But then I thought, what if I changed to Impressionist? The colors are supposed to mix! Brilliant, right? I know, I’m a genius, but I need to take some pictures of flowers and water. Please, please come with me?”

  “Will Professor Imperial let you change the art period?” The assignment was to pick a specific art style from the Rococo, Neo-Classical, Romanticism, or Impressionist period and create a painting based on the parameters of that particular style.

  “Yes, thank god…he emailed me back this morning.”

  I thought about it for a minute. The pain drummed steadily beneath my skin. I needed to go to the hospital. Would it hurt to see a doctor a little later? As of now, the burning pain was not spreading any further.

  Millie watched me think it over with puppy dog eyes, her hands pressed together in a silent prayer.

  I smirked. “Fine, I will go with you.”

  She smiled brightly and then popped another pork dumpling in her mouth. “So, how is your Romanticism painting coming along? I love that period. So bold and dramatic and the colors are gorgeous. But it is such a complex style—I was impressed when you chose it—although not surprised. Your artwork is incredible.”

  Art was the one thing that had always made sense to me. I had started drawing and painting when I was very young. There was something very calming and natural about filling a blank canvas with color. For me creating art was normal. Getting compliments for it was relatively new, and it occasionally made me feel awkward.

  I shrugged and smiled slightly. “Thanks, um, the painting is coming together. I still have a lot of work to do before class Wednesday.”

  Millie nodded. “Have you given any thought to taking more classes in the Spring? In addition to art?”

  I shook my head. “No, I think art is all I want to take for now.”

  She nodded and grabbed the soy sauce. “Well, you’re only twenty. You have plenty of time to figure out college.”

  That was the great thing about Millie. Even though her own world was operating at a million miles a minute, filled with her energetic personality, she was at heart a great listener, always understanding. She never pressed an issue and was extremely intuitive. It was the reason we had been able to become friends. Millie didn’t ask people personal questions, unless they brought it up first. She had never once asked me about my parents or why I was living in the city alone. Donovan was the same way, probably following Millie’s example.

  Over the summer Millie had confided that she had been involved in a car accident when she was twelve. Her mom had been driving, and although Millie had been wearing a seatbelt, her mother had not. Her mom died instantly. Millie stayed in the car with her until the paramedics arrived. Millie somehow still managed to be a positive person, but I knew this was the reason she never asked people questions about their pasts, or their families. Thankfully, she and her father were close. I was glad that she at least had him. Not having any parents at all was something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  *

  The Japanese Garden was full of color. Pink cherry blossoms burst underneath deep green boughs, the bark of the trees a dark brown, still wet from the rain the day before. Delicate bridges arched over still ponds, the water so clear it was easy to see the tan and dark blue stones at the bottom. Japanese sculptures were scattered throughout, the light grey stone peeking through the greens of bamboo, maple and pine trees. Pink, purple, and yellow flowers shimmered like little stars tucked into the foliage. The presence of Fall wove throughout it all, orange and red swirling within the green.

  Millie enthusiastically took pictures, her camera centering on the reflection of flowers and plants that hung close to the water. She looked like a woodland fairy, wearing a deep green tweed sweater, grey skinny jeans, and black UGGs. She blended in with the garden, her small figure making her look even more pixie like.

  At five-eight, I regularly felt like the Jolly G
reen Giant when standing next to her. Not only was I tall, but I also had a curvy hourglass figure, which resulted in a lot of attention that I didn’t want. My height and figure, however, didn’t hold me back when it came to clothes. I loved fashion, and so did Millie. Although considering the last twenty-four hours, style was the last thing on my mind when I got dressed this morning. I had on a simple black hoodie, dark blue skinny jeans, and motorcycle style boots, the flaps and shoe laces hardly arranged. It wasn’t really the festive outfit one would choose for a beautiful day out in a garden, but oh well.

  “I love the way these colors mingle on the water.” Millie looked up from the camera. “Do you think I could use a sponge instead of a brush?” She made dabbing motions in the air. “Just kind of smudge the colors on?”

  I picked a pink flower from a nearby bush and knelt, dropping it in the water. The petals spun and twirled along its surface, a pink blur on glass. “You can definitely do that. You can even use a wad of paper towels.”

  “Really? Do you typically use one color at a time, or…?”

  I stood up. “You can use a few colors at a time. Once it’s on the canvas, it looks really pretty.”

  “Great.” She kept snapping pictures, moving away from the water and following a path that wove its way into a small stretch of bamboo trees.

  A cold breeze suddenly picked up. I shivered and pulled my hood up. I still wasn’t quite used to cold weather. The frigid breeze brought a sweet aroma with it, carrying a mingled scent of flowers, soggy earth and grass. The cool weather didn’t seem to have any effect on the pain underneath my skin. It continued to burn, hot and sharp, and my heartbeat proceeded in its strange new rapid beat. I felt happy to be with Millie, but it was hard not to be worried about what was going on in my body. It made me feel anxious and disconnected. I needed a minute to myself.