The Feminine Touch

by V. J. Chambers

  Nash was feeling his stomach start to churn. He didn’t like where this was going.

  “Anyway,” said Charity, “one night, he just got good and drunk, and he came after me. I tried to fight him off, and I tried to run, but I couldn’t. He was too strong. So, he did what he wanted. And then I couldn’t go back there. I went to the shelter instead.”

  “Oh my God,” said Zoe, and her voice cracked a little bit. “That’s the worst thing I ever heard.”

  Nash felt sick. “That’s… that’s… I’m very sorry, Charity.”

  Charity shrugged. “It’s not your fault. Some men are just evil, you know?”

  “Did you go to the police?” said Zoe.

  “Well, I did eventually,” said Charity. “After I told them what happened at the shelter, they had the police come talk to me. But it was days later, and I had taken showers and stuff and there was no more evidence on me, and they said that it would be tough if I wanted to press charges, because without proof, this guy’s lawyer would go after me. But I was going to do it, because I hated him. But then I found I was pregnant, and I didn’t want him to find that out. If I had to testify against him, he would see. So, I just dropped it.”

  Nash sucked in breath, his stomach still roiling. He wished he knew what to say.

  Zoe’s voice was quiet. “So, what did Siobhan do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Charity. “All I know is that after I told her, she got really angry. She wanted to know where he lived, and she just left. She came back a couple hours later, and when I asked her where she went, she said it was something we didn’t need to talk about, but that I should try to breathe easier, because I was safe now. About a week later, I start getting calls from people asking me if I know where he is. Apparently, he just disappeared. No one’s seen him since.”

  Zoe looked up at Nash.

  He put a hand to his lips, but he didn’t speak.

  THE PAST

  Siobhan’s mother Ida was a librarian at the town library, and Nash had seen her lots of times, ever since he was a little kid. She wasn’t like the stereotypes of librarians with big buns on their heads and glasses and dark pencil skirts. She wasn’t stern. Instead, she wore her blond hair long and flowy, and she always had on bright blouses with her gray slacks. She smiled a lot, and she laughed a lot. She never once shh-ed him in the library.

  Nash had always liked her.

  When he arrived at Siobhan’s house at around 6:55 the night of the dance, Ida pulled him into the house. “Stevie Wilt!” She called over her shoulder, “Siobhan, you didn’t tell me it was Stevie.”

  Nash was surprised how close Siobhan lived to Pike. They were nearly neighbors. He could walk to Pike’s place from here. It might be a long walk, but it would be doable. He’d never known that before.

  Siobhan appeared in the doorway. Nash was standing just inside the living room, which was decorated with pictures of Siobhan at every age, from tiny baby to little girl.

  “He goes by Nash now, Mom,” said Siobhan.

  “Oh,” said Ida. “How grown up.”

  Truthfully, the only person who called him Nash was Siobhan. Well, and his teachers. This was the first year he hadn’t corrected them when they called roll. They called out “Nash Wilt,” and instead of saying, “It’s, uh, Steve, actually,” he only said, “Present.”

  Siobhan was wearing a red dress. It had one long sleeve, encrusted with sequins, and the other shoulder was bare. The skirt was long. She looked very, very pretty.

  He felt nervous just looking at her.

  “You look adorable, Nash,” said Ida, looking him over.

  Nash was wearing a suit. It was nothing special. He thrust out a corsage. His mother had made him get it, and had been really annoyed that he didn’t know what color dress Siobhan was wearing to coordinate it. She’d said they’d just get white, because it would match everything.

  “Oh!” Siobhan came forward and took the corsage. “It’s beautiful. Thanks, Nash.”

  He smiled at her. “Sure.”

  There were a few minutes of fumbling to get the corsage on, and then Ida made them take a gazillion pictures in front of the mantle in the living room. “Just one more,” she kept saying. And, “Let me know your mother’s email, and I’ll send these to her.”

  Finally, Siobhan dragged them out of there, telling her mother they were going to be late.

  They got into Nash’s car—well, the car his parents let him use—and they drove to the dance. They made small talk on the way, mostly about the weather because Nash was too nervous to think of anything else to say.

  By the time they arrived, the gym was already packed with other students, who were dressed to the nines in their fancy dresses and suits. The winter formal was kind of a big deal at Nash’s school. He knew that the other high school in the county didn’t even have a winter formal, so he wasn’t sure why exactly it was such a thing here, but he thought it had to do with the theater teacher, Mr. Gand, who apparently was obsessed with formal dances and musicals in equal measure. He was also the sponsor for student council, so he made those kids froth at the mouth for the dances. They organized them all, and they were always doing fundraisers for decorations and refreshments.

  The refreshment table was the first place he and Siobhan went. They got tiny plastic glasses of red punch and some cookies and crackers and cheese. Then they found a table to sit at.

  They munched. They drank.

  Nash tried to think of something to say. He had basically exhausted the weather. “So, how far ahead are you in your classes now?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Pretty far ahead.”

  “But not done yet?”

  “Well, I wrote a research paper for English class, but then Mrs. Skore explained how she wants it done, and I need to go back in and add in some actual book resources from the library. She says we can’t have all Internet sources.”

  “Yeah, that’s typical,” said Nash.

  “Is it? Because last year, Ms. Oak wanted us to only use Internet sources, because she wanted us to be prepared for twenty-first century technology.”

  Nash laughed.

  Siobhan laughed.

  It was quiet again.

  Nash drank his punch.

  Siobhan nibbled on her cookie.

  Nash studied his fingernails and then looked up at her.

  “I have to go to the restroom,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

  She got up.

  Now, he was alone.

  She was gone a long time.

  Eventually, he decided he’d go and look for her. Maybe she’d found other interesting people to hang out with.

  But he didn’t see her anywhere.

  Instead, he ran into Pike. He was standing by the boys’ restroom, leaning against the wall. When he saw Nash, he pushed off and came for him with long strides.

  Nash’s heart started to beat faster, but he didn’t back down. He flared his nostrils and headed right for Pike.

  “I knew you were after her,” said Pike. “I knew it.”

  Nash narrowed his eyes. “She told me what you tried to do to her.”

  Pike smirked. “I’m sure she made it sound all horrible, like she’s some innocent flower. Trust me, that girl is not innocent. She’s a tease.”

  “You shouldn’t say stuff like that about her.”

  Pike stepped closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Nash?” It was Siobhan, coming out of the girls’ room. She looked Pike over. She looked Nash over. “What’s going on?”

  Pike rolled his eyes. He pointed at Nash. “She’s fucking crazy. You can have her.” And then he stalked off.

  Nash glared after him.

  Siobhan reached up to touch his face. She turned him to look at her. “Hey, forget about him.”

  And Nash didn’t give Pike another thought. Her fingers were a pleasant tingle, and they had overtaken all his senses. All parts of him
were only focused on the place where she was touching him. He sucked in a sharp breath.

  Over the speakers, a slow, lilting song was starting to play.

  She smiled. “Let’s dance, huh?” Her finger trailed away from his face, down over his shoulder, and took his arm. She led him out onto the dance floor.

  Nash wasn’t sure what to do.

  She stood facing him, looking at him expectantly.

  Was he supposed to put his hands on her waist? Could he even handle doing that? He raised his hands, swallowing hard. Carefully, he placed them on her waist. She was warm beneath her dress. He felt dizzy.

  She put her arms on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

  He was going to screw this up somehow. He knew it.

  They began to sway, and she kept her gaze on him the whole time. They looked into each other’s eyes and they swayed together. They moved in a slow, circle, back and forth.

  She tilted her head back.

  Suddenly, Nash’s gaze zoomed in on her lips. They were red and slightly parted and they looked… inviting. He glanced up into her eyes, a question.

  She licked her lips.

  He looked from her lips to her eyes, back and forth. He was pretty sure that she wanted him to kiss her. He didn’t even know how to do something like that.

  But it was simple, right? Lips press against lips. That was it. He could do that. He started to bend toward her, slowly, slowly.

  She shut her eyes.

  He shut his, moving by feel.

  And then her hands weren’t on his shoulders.

  His eyes opened.

  She was backing away from him.

  His hands slid off her waist. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted—”

  “I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I just can’t.” And then she took off running, holding up her skirts.

  He went after her, but she went into the bathroom where he couldn’t follow. He waited outside instead.

  He waited for nearly a half hour.

  Finally, he went in after her. “Siobhan?” he called.

  She was in one of the stalls and she pushed it open angrily. Her face was stained with tears. “What the hell are you doing in here, Nash?”

  “I’m worried about you,” he said. “Why’d you run off? Did I do something, or—”

  “No, it’s me,” she said. “Go away. Please, go away.”

  “Is this about Pike?”

  Her nostrils flared. “God, you can be so dense, Classic Rock.”

  He didn’t like the way it felt for her to insult him. He licked his lips. “Look, whatever I did, Siobhan—”

  Suddenly, her hand darted out and grabbed him by the shirt. She dragged him into the stall with her and shut the door.

  He started to protest.

  She put her finger over his lips and shook her head.

  And then Nash heard voices. Two girls came into the bathroom and chattered to each other about their plans to go to some party after the dance. Nash felt acutely uncomfortable, partly because he heard them pee and partly because Siobhan still had her finger on his lips. Her body was close, and he felt confused and a little turned on. He was a teenage boy. It wasn’t as if it was difficult for him to get an erection.

  When the girls left, Siobhan’s hand snaked down his body to his crotch. She squeezed him through his pants. “Is this why you came after me?”

  “No,” he said, trying to pry her hands away from him. He had often fantasized about having a girl—especially Siobhan—touch that part of his body, but this wasn’t right somehow. He didn’t like being in the girls’ bathroom, and he didn’t like the way her hand was squeezing harder and harder. It almost hurt. More than anything, he was embarrassed. His face was flaming. He was sweating on the back of his neck. “Stop that.”

  “I thought this was what you wanted,” she said. “This is what all the guys want, right?”

  “Siobhan—”

  “Guys’ll do all kinds of things for this.” She rubbed him through his pants, and it was just gentle enough to feel good and just enough of a squeeze to be painful.

  He scrabbled at her fingers, trying to remove her hand.

  “If I do this for you, you’ll do whatever I want, right? Anything I want.”

  “No,” he said. “Not like this. Please.”

  “What, Nash?” Her expression was ugly. “Isn’t this why you asked me out? Or are you just pissed because you’re only getting a hand job? You think if you played your cards right I’d be on my knees?”

  “No!” He succeeded in prying her hand away from him, and his hands encircled her wrist, clenching her.

  She winced. “Ouch. You’re hurting me.”

  He dropped her hand like it burned him.

  She cradled her wrist, rubbed it. “Jesus,” she muttered.

  “Sorry,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. His hand got sweaty. He wiped it on his pants. He wanted out of this bathroom stall more than anything on earth.

  She looked down at the floor. Tears were gleaming in her eyes again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. But he had to get out of that bathroom. He threw open the door to the stall and fled. He went to the guys’ bathroom and splashed cold water on his face and his neck and tried to get himself together.

  By the time he felt okay enough to go back to the dance, Siobhan was gone. He looked everywhere, but he didn’t see her.

  Which was maybe fine anyway. He didn’t know what to say to her. He wasn’t sure what he did to make her act that way, but he wished he hadn’t done it at all.

  He drove home.

  That night, before he went to sleep, he couldn’t help but think of her hand on him in the bathroom. He touched himself and he thought of her. But when he was done, he felt as if the act had somehow been a betrayal.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Did you ask Charity?” Zoe met Nash at the top of the steps above the studio.

  Nash was coming in from the outside. “I tried to get her to tell me, but she wouldn’t. She says she doesn’t know where Siobhan is.”

  “She’s lying.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I get the impression Siobhan hides a lot of things from Charity.”

  “That does seem true,” said Zoe. “She does hide things. I don’t think Charity really knows everything about her. She didn’t know about the marriages to other men.”

  “I have to admit, though, it doesn’t make any sense,” said Nash. “If Siobhan is a sociopath, then why do all these nice things for people? I don’t understand that. That’s not how sociopaths behave. They use people. They’re charming while they’re using you, so you don’t suspect, but that’s as far as it goes. So either Siobhan is using all these people in a very extensive long con of some kind or she’s not a sociopath.”

  “You think maybe she didn’t kill Bart after all?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s like I first thought, that she killed him in self-defense or something. Maybe Parker died of natural causes. Maybe she’s just had bad luck.”

  “Why marry the men under assumed names if she wasn’t up to something?”

  “To keep Charity from finding out about it? Maybe she’s just trying to hide the fact she’s a bigamist.”

  Zoe snorted.

  He spread his hands. “It could be.”

  “Maybe,” said Zoe. “How are we going to find out for sure if we can’t find her?”

  “I’m thinking we go to talk to people who knew Nathan Parker,” said Nash.

  “You mean go to California?”

  “Yeah. I can go by myself if you’re not up for a drive that long.”

  “Drive? Are you kidding? We’re flying. I’ll buy the plane tickets if you spring for the hotel.”

  He sighed. “I can’t take money from you. Don’t you need it for student loans?”

  “If the alternative is driving across the country, then it’s totally worth it,” she said.

  So, they flew. They dr
ove to the nearest airport and took the best flight they could get, which did mean they had to layover around halfway. But it was infinitely better than driving, so Nash couldn’t complain.

  On the plane, they talked about podcasting. Zoe shared with him that she had special email lists of subscribers with whom she shared exclusive content, and that those subscribers donated enough money to cover the bulk of her expenses. All her ad money was pure profit.

  Nash wasn’t sure it would work for him. He thought his audience might be different than the comic book audience. But he was seriously considering giving it a try.

  When they finally reached their destination, it was late. They checked into their hotel and went to sleep.

  Morning would come early, and Nash had already lined up an interview with them for the next day. They’d be figuring out the truth of Nathan Parker, and Siobhan Thorn too, soon enough.

  * * *

  “So, I guess I’m still confused,” said Pam Evans. She was perched on a recliner in her living room, and Zoe and Nash were on the couch. Nash had just finished rigging her up with a microphone for recording.

  He was still checking her levels. “About what, exactly?”

  “Well, you said this a podcast about unsolved crimes?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “What’s the crime here? Nathan drowned accidentally. You do think it was an accident, right?”

  “We’re not really sure how all of this connects,” said Nash.

  “Yeah,” said Zoe, “we’re just following the threads where they lead us. Hopefully, we’re going to get all this untangled soon.”

  “Okay,” said Pam. “Well, I don’t mind talking about him. I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all, but I don’t have a lot good to say about him. We didn’t have an amicable split.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Nash.

  “It was all about our son, Oakley,” she said. “I really thought that Nathan should have left him more money. I was convinced there was more, and I even hounded Nathan’s accountant after the funeral, but he said that Oakley had gotten everything there was and that I should stop bothering him. Eventually, I just gave up on it. I was probably being an idiot about it. The money’s all in a trust for Oakley. It’s accumulating interest. It should be enough to pay for his college education and a little more. Still, Nathan was a plastic surgeon to the stars. He had that enormous house out in Hollywood. I’m sure there was more money somewhere.”