Psy Touch

by A. D. McLain

  Then, during the ten minutes of warmth, he felt a draft of cool air coming from the direction of the door. He waited, muscles tensed, but it didn’t prepare him for the sudden pain in his stomach. It felt like a fist with a ring on one finger. Jared rolled to his side and fell off the bed. He landed on his ankle and knees and felt around, trying to find his attacker. The second hit was just as unexpected. And it continued. He was hit in the back, kicked in the stomach with what felt like pointed steel-toed shoes, slammed across the back, and smacked across the kneecaps. Every hit came from a different direction and was followed by several moments of nothing, so he didn’t know where his attacker was.

  Then it stopped. Jared remained still for many heartbeats. The rush of air from the A/C kicked on. He wanted to walk the room, to know he was alone, but it would be nothing to try to stay ahead of a man who couldn’t see or hear. Walking the room would prove nothing. So he went back to his bed and waited.

  The next time he felt the rush of air from the door, he made a run for it. He had no weapon, no eyes or ears, and no knowledge of the building past his room. The mystery attacker slammed him into the wall, and he felt a rib crack. Then the beating resumed. In between coughing up blood and clutching his stomach, he caught a scent of soap or perfume. After sending out a pushing pulse in the direction of the scent, he was rewarded with contact. There was a pause. Then the air from the door stopped. His attacker was gone.

  Jared stayed on the floor for two rounds of the air conditioner before pulling over to the sink and attempting to clean up. His initial feeling of relief and achievement was gone. There was no success to be had from using his pulse as he had. This was what the woman had wanted, to see what he would do when hurt, and he’d fallen for it. Then again, what was he supposed to do? His chest hurt from the rib break and he could barely put any weight on his ankle.

  He turned off the sink and hobbled back to his bed. While focusing on Lexy’s light, he fell asleep.

  “Looks like she finally caught a strong one,” the old man said.

  Logan agreed. It was always difficult to watch when they caught any new prisoner. In the early days, they would be tortured until they agreed to work for the government. Those who didn’t were tossed into the lower cells. It wasn’t so bad there. They were mostly forgotten. But as the years wore on, the torture of new captures became different. As a Reader, Logan was able to observe the change in each prisoner’s Psy energy as the strange experiments took place. Only he and a few other Readers were strong enough to understand what was going on. The others were either too weak to begin with or their abilities had degraded from disuse and apathy. They could see past a few dozen feet at best, and most didn’t care what they saw when there was something within their range.

  But Logan watched and listened. His greatest secret was his knack for picking out stray thoughts along the Psy pulses. Only the old man had confessed to a similar skill. They watched as she set things in motion for this new unlucky soul. He was strong. Logan felt him pulse once, far beyond the confines of the buildings. Even now, there was a faint connection there, though he wisely avoided any further active contact with this person he obviously cared for.

  Logan saw him touch the people he couldn’t see, and he felt Val’s energy buzzing with joy. She had been waiting for one like him, someone who could pulse without their senses. It was the ultimate achievement for weapon development. While Psy abilities gave assassins the freedom to kill without touch, they still needed to be close enough to see or hear their target. If you could train someone to kill without those restrictions, it opened the door to a wide range of options. Find a Forcer with some range who was skilled enough to do so and the options were limitless.

  “She isn’t holding anything back this time.” Logan said.

  He felt sorry for the man. From what he could hear through the Psy energy in the building, this one was caught while saving a life. He had a good energy, and he’d refused her requests to kill, which had cost him greatly. Val was ruthless when it came to provoking the reaction she wanted. And she was successful. Unlike any of her previous prisoners, this man had learned to attack what he couldn’t see. The beatings would only grow more severe, until he was pushed to the point where he must choose to kill or die. Then self-preservation would likely win over and he would kill his attacker. What he couldn’t know was that his attacker was someone like him, a prisoner tortured to the point of submission, forced into the same choice to fight or die.

  Logan screwed his face. He’d always hated Val, even before the Storm. He never trusted her. She wore a shield, like him, and they were supposed to stick together, guard each other’s backs. Trust should’ve been a given, but he never felt right about her. Her eyes were absent of light. The Storm only confirmed his suspicions. She hid behind her shield and played by the rules, but she never did so to serve or protect anyone.

  He forgot about her, at first. There was a lot of adjustments to be made and much to deal with. Old hatreds were forgotten. Everyone began anew, on a clean slate as they struggled to get a handle on their new senses. His connection with her was even strengthened once he realized they had something in common. The two of them saw the light and few others could. New teams were developed, and they began to work and train together more frequently. Then came the Purge. She used the information she’d learned while pretending friendships, and helped the State develop false cases against each Reader on the Force. Val played them against each other. None of them knew how skilled she was at that game. She learned their fears, knew their families, and hit them where it hurt. One at a time, they were killed or brought to Fixton. As far as any of them knew, only Tracy Lin had escaped, but not without a cost. Val killed Tracy’s husband and sister to frame and arrest her former teammate. No one believed Tracy when she accused Val of the crime. —Tracy's husband was killed with Psy and everyone on the force knew that Readers had trouble pulsing. While Tracy shared a close enough connection to him to commit the crime, experience indicated that Val shouldn’t have been able to accomplish the thought-killing. Logan was the only one who believed her back then. Now everyone in the prison knew she was right. Val could pulse. Not as strong as a non-Reader, and her range was limited to only a few feet, but it was enough to get the job done. What she didn’t account for was Tracy’s little brother. As the manhunt grew fierce, her brother awakened to his ability as a Shield and hid his remaining sister from their pursuit. They’d been in hiding ever since.

  Logan shook off the memories and tossed a piece of bread over to the old man. They ate the meager meal in silence. The old man, once a captain at another precinct, had transferred to their group in the early days when they were still recruiting skilled Readers to develop plans and solve crimes. One of the patrolmen, a non-Reader named Tom, came through the pen that first night after he arrived and asked who the old man was. Tom was mortified when the old man walked up and introduced himself with a smile, but he wasn’t the least bit insulted. He said he may be old, but that just meant he’d been smart enough to survive that long. He considered it an honor to earn that title. All of them began calling him Old Man from that point on. Of course, he was only in his mid-forties at the time. Now he really was an old man.

  “Logan, do you see anything different about that light the boy is watching?”

  Logan leaned back and followed the trail. It was now coming strongest from the person on the other end. Whoever the Forcer was connected to was keeping the connection open despite his efforts to close it. At the end of the trail was a sparkling light obscured by haze and distance.

  “I can’t tell much. The person is too far away.”

  “She is far. I’ll give you that. But if I can see her, then you should be able to as well.”

  “You can see her?” Logan pushed his focus to the person at the other end of the thread.

  Whoever she was, she was getting closer. That meant she also had to be a Reader. For her to see her friend at that distance, she had to be a strong one, but Logan
couldn’t see any more than that. He looked around at people near her, but they were clear, so the distance wasn’t the issue as he’d first assumed.

  “I can’t see her,” Logan said.

  “I figured as much, which can only mean it’s an Oedipus block.”

  Logan’s eyes widened. An Oedipus block was the natural phenomenon whereby closely related family members were unable to affect each other psychically due to the similarity in their Psy energy frequency. Readers could still see near kin, but it was hazy and they couldn’t psychically touch or communicate with one another. Generally, the block was stronger on the side of the child than the parent, with parents having a greater sense of their offspring than vice versa. The block could grow weaker with time and practice, but it never disappeared.

  Logan put his head down. “No. She can’t come here.”

  “I don’t see how you can stop her,” Old Man said. “You can’t communicate with her. She probably can’t even sense you’re here, no matter how strong she’s become. She’s coming for him, and based on the strength of that connection, I don’t see that there’s anything that would stop her.”

  “Val will see her the minute she gets anywhere close to this building. I have to find a way to help her.” Logan stood and paced the room.

  There was a stirring once the other men and women of the cell noticed their conversation and began mumbling about his agitation. He knew his energy was flaring and struggled to put a clamp on his thoughts and emotions before it could be noticed outside of their room. “

  What’s going on?” one of the men asked.

  “His daughter,” Old Man said. “She’s on her way here, now.”

  Logan felt a wave of energy pass through the room and turned to look back. Everyone was standing and looking at him, with compassionate expressions and vibrating in their hearts. He looked at Old Man, who stood and smiled.

  “So what’s your plan?”

  Lexy struggled with the steering wheel, but the road was full of holes and uneven breaks. Each one threatened to run her off into the grass or down the sidewalk. These roads hadn’t been used in a long time. There weren’t even any open businesses or homes along most of the route. She was too far from the wired roads. The area was abandoned, in favor of consolidating everything at a central location. It would’ve been faster to drive the wired roads, but it was also easier to be tracked that way. If someone saw her car going too far from its regular destinations, they could start asking questions. This would be especially true if she was already being pinged for her connection to Jared. If they really wanted to find her, they still could, but traveling off the wires could buy her some time.

  Signs of life started cropping up. It began with a lit window or random car driving by. People sat on building steps and walked home from bus stops. Music played from bars and clubs. Pedestrian traffic grew thicker. People walked across the street, in front of her car, without a second glance. Some didn’t even give a first glance. They moved like they owned the streets and she was the one who needed to get out of the way.

  Lexy rubbed her forehead to ease her band withdrawal headache. As the amount of people increased, so did the Psy energy. And most of people around there weren’t banded, nor were they adept at controlling their energy. Some of the clubs were intense bright. The businesses weren’t crystaled, so any Psy activity from within their walls could be seen and felt from miles away. She kept her head low and eyes diverted and continued driving.

  Then she ran over one pothole too many and her car swerved from the force of the blown tire. She maneuvered her car to the side of the road and turned off the engine. A few people turned to look at her, then went back to what they were doing. She popped the trunk and tucked her keys in her pocket, then got out to retrieve her spare tire. After pushing past the junk, she lifted the flap and pulled out her spare and tools. It didn’t take long to prop up the car and get the flat tire off, but the dummy tire took a few tries to get tight enough. All the while, she kept her senses trained for anyone who may approach her. Thankfully, she was left alone. After tossing the flat in her trunk, she got back in the car and drove.

  Having to drive slow on her dummy tire and over the bad roads, it took another half-hour before she reached the city limits. Upon feeling the lag of another flat tire, she pulled over to the nearest business and looked around. There was more traffic. Some people looked like locals, and there was a fair number of homes within walking distance, but there were also a lot of cars from the city. People in nice suits and dresses walked by people in dirty, torn clothing and bare feet. The streets were lined with bars, clubs, theaters, and artists. About half the people wore inhibitor bands. Psy energy was everywhere, and vibrations hit her from all directions. The buildings were old, but not without some charm. Wire railings and posts formed balconies which were home to dancers and diners alike. Just like the earlier clubs she’d passed, the buildings here weren’t protected by crystals and she could see the Psy outlines of people dancing and moving provocatively. Other people were simply drinking or eating. Psy-sex houses were tucked behind the front row of businesses, not visible to normal sight but close enough for her to get a read on. Ahead of her, a group of loud women roamed the streets and weaved in and out of clubs. They wore feathered boas, strings of lights, and reeked of alcohol. They appeared to be enjoying bachelorette celebrations.

  Back before the Storm, women would throw a party before getting married. Now, with marriage nearly extinct in the city, women still yearned for a reason to celebrate and party with their friends. They missed the tradition, so some women would throw annual bachelorette parties, not to celebrate getting married, but to celebrate their continued status as a bachelorette.

  Trying her best to ignore everything, Lexy searched around and saw the outline of the Fixton building a few blocks away. After locking her car and adjusting her hat, she strode in that direction.

  12

  Curtis waited for the any signs of life at the Den. The club didn’t open for a couple hours, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t show up before that. Kara and Lexy’s mom waited in the backseat. No one said a word. Finally, a light went on and he saw someone walk by the window. He hopped out, locked the doors and hurried to the club’s front door. It took ten knocks before someone answered.

  A man wearing a black laced-up renaissance-style shirt and brown leather pants answered the door. He had on tall cuffed boots and a sheathed dagger at his hip.

  “You must be Mick.”

  The man looked over Curtis, then noted the car sitting across the street. “And you are?”

  “Curtis. I’m a friend of Jared’s. He’s in trouble.”

  Mick stepped back and let him in. Showed him to the back of the room, down a long hall. Knocked on a door marked Traymore and waited for the man in the room to answer. Then he opened the door and walked in, motioning for Curtis to follow.

  The resemblance of man behind the desk to his son was clear, even if Curtis hadn’t recognized the name on the door. They had the same sharp nose, dark red brown hair, and cut of the jaw. Even their mannerisms were similar. This was definitely Jared’s father.

  “Can I help you?” Traymore asked.

  Mick stepped to the side to allow Curtis to speak.

  “Jared’s been arrested.”

  The two men shared a glance.

  “And you know this because?” Traymore asked.

  “His girlfriend told me. She’s… got strong senses. She’s a Reader. This morning, she went near catatonic and said she sensed him at Fixton. Told me to come see you and bring you these.” Curtis handed over a handful of cards from his pocket. “She’s got hundreds of these in boxes. They have copies of everything that’s been censored since the Storm. For some reason she thought you could do something with them. She also asked me to get her mom to safety. I know Jared spoke about some safe place near here, but he never showed me where it was. I was hoping you could see that she got there.”

  Traymore handed the c
ards to Mick, who pulled up a laptop.

  “It seems legit,” Mick said, after checking a couple cards and a flash drive. “There’s books on here I haven’t seen since high school, and I saw some unedited police reports and public records files on the flash drive. How did she get this?”

  “She works for History Remembered. Apparently, she’s been copying all their files for years. She didn’t even tell her roommate about it until last night.”

  Traymore turned back to Curtis. “And where is she now?”

  “She went after Jared earlier today.”

  “She went after him by herself? What hope does she think a recently unchained Reader has against a prison full of trained Psy guards?”

  “She was determined. That’s why she asked me to take care of her mom. She’s afraid that if she gets caught, they might go after her.”

  “A wise concern,” Mick said. “What should we do, sir?”

  Traymore stood and walked over to a metal filing cabinet. He took out a handwritten address book and handed it to Mick.

  “See to the girl’s mother, then gather all these data cards and distribute them to the printers. Contact everyone on the list and tell them it’s time.”

  “Sir?” Mick’s body tensed.

  “We’ve been waiting for a sign. It doesn’t get any bigger than this. Everyone knows what to do, and this uncensored information is the goldmine we’ve been waiting for. Besides, if she really is going to try a prison break, she’ll need a distraction. If we can get things moving fast enough, it could give her a chance. And if we’re lucky, her prison break plan will serve as a distraction for us as well. We can attack them on both fronts.” Traymore pulled his keys from his desk drawer and headed to the door. “I’m counting on you to run this like we planned.”

  “Where will you be?” Mick followed him out into the hall.