Every Touch

by Parke, Nerika

  Just then she began to stir. He put her hand down immediately.

  She slowly opened her eyes and looked around, touching one hand to her face.

  “What on earth...” she began, then her eyes widened. “Are... are you there?”

  Denny touched her hand softly and she immediately wrapped her fingers around him, making him gasp.

  “I fainted, didn’t I?” she said.

  He tapped her wrist once.

  He was looking at their hands. The speed with which she’d grabbed his hand, the way she was holding it so tight, had left him breathless.

  “You must think I’m such a lightweight,” she said.

  He immediately tapped twice, wishing he could tell her she was the bravest person he’d ever met. She smiled.

  “I’m feeling a bit light headed,” she said, “would you mind if I just lay here for a while? And,” she paused, looking down, “do you mind if I keep holding your hand?”

  He felt like someone had just picked him up and squeezed him tight, pushing all the air from his body. Did he mind? He would stay there for the rest of her life and hold her hand if she wanted him to, never moving again, just to be with her.

  He tapped her wrist twice.

  She looked confused.

  “Hold on,” she said, “is that no, you don’t mind me holding your hand or no, you don’t want me to hold your hand?”

  He frowned. This could get awkward.

  “Okay, I can see I need to phrase things better,” she said, “so my question is, can I keep holding your hand?”

  He tapped once and she smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a while.”

  She snuggled down into the sofa, closing her eyes, and brought her other hand over to take his, so she was holding onto him with both hands. After a while her breathing became deep and regular as she fell asleep.

  Denny gazed at her, thinking that he only breathed out of habit anyway so if he never did again, it wouldn’t really matter.

  Nineteen

  Laila woke slowly with that groggy feeling that comes with sleeping when you’d usually be awake.

  The first thing she felt was the hand in hers. She was momentarily startled, until she remembered what had happened. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep. She was surprised she had, after how terrified she’d been after Avery’s attack.

  She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. Of all people, Laila should have recognised what was going on with him. But she’d been blinded, by her loneliness, by his charm and apparent kindness. How could it have happened to her a second time? Why did she keep attracting these type of men? Was there something about her that said, I’m a victim?

  She didn’t want to think about what would have happened if it hadn’t been for... him.

  She knew it was a man who had saved her, she could feel his hand, larger than hers, the soft hairs on the back. A ghost. That was going to take some getting used to. Ghosts existed. And there was one in her flat, holding her hand. She thought she should be afraid, but his presence made her feel safe. He had saved her.

  She opened her eyes and felt his hand shift position slightly, as if he had moved. She wondered how long he’d been sitting there, holding her hand as she slept.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I hope you haven’t been waiting there long. You should have let go.”

  She felt two taps on the inside of her wrist. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying no to, but it made her smile. She was smiling. At something a ghost had said. It suddenly struck her how insane the whole thing was. Was this really happening?

  She sat up and shook her head. “Am I going crazy?”

  There was a brief pause before she felt the two taps on her wrist.

  “I felt that,” she said, unable to suppress the slightly hysterical giggle welling up inside her, “I felt you pause!”

  She felt his hand begin to shake and she realised he was laughing.

  Without thinking, she reached out her free hand towards him and encountered a hard chest clad in a soft, fitted shirt. He froze as her hand touched him and she felt a hand rest gently on top of hers. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart missed a beat. His hand moved away again.

  Suddenly embarrassed, she withdrew the hand on his chest and loosened her grip on the one she was holding, pulling away gently. His fingers held onto hers for a moment, as if he was reluctant to let go, then opened. She immediately missed his touch, wanting to reach out and hold him again. She resolutely put both hands into her lap. She didn’t want to come across as clingy.

  “We need a way to communicate,” she said, feeling awkward talking into the air and wishing she could see him. “At least, you need a way to communicate with me. So what I’m wondering is, if you can touch me, can you touch everything else?”

  She felt a tap on her wrist.

  “So you could type then?”

  There was a pause before she felt the single tap.

  She smiled, starting to get up. “That’s great, so you can talk to me.”

  She retrieved her laptop from the bedroom and went back to sit on the sofa, opening it on her lap. Hesitating, she patted the seat next to her then held her breath. After a few seconds, she felt a body lower onto the sofa beside her.

  She fought an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him, instead busying her hands with turning the laptop on and opening a blank document. She then lifted the computer and held it out towards him. A moment later, its weight lessened in her hands as he took hold of it and she let go, watching in awe as it seemed to float through the air and came to rest a few inches above the cushion of the sofa next to her.

  “That is so cool,” she said.

  A shaking through the back of the sofa accompanied his laughter. He took her hand and squeezed it briefly before letting go. She understood. He was saying thank you. She couldn’t stop her smile.

  The keys on the laptop keyboard began to tap and she looked at the screen.

  [hello]

  “Hello.” An unexpected burst of happiness made her grin, before thinking how stupid she must look. “Okay, first of all, what’s your name?”

  [Dennis Carpenter call me Denny]

  The words appeared slowly, with a severe dearth of punctuation and much autocorrecting, as if typing was a completely foreign activity to him.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Denny. I’m Laila,” she said, holding out her hand without thinking, then realising how dorky that was. She felt his hand take hers and shake it slowly, again seeming reluctant to let go. She looked down. “Although I suppose you know that.”

  [yes]

  “How long have you been here? I mean around my flat? Have you been here the whole time I’ve lived here?”

  [yes. I can move around the rest of the building but I am here the most]

  She felt a twinge of excitement. Was he here because of her?

  “Why here the most?”

  There was a pause before he answered. [I used to live here it was my flat]

  How stupid could she be? Of course that was why, not for her.

  “Do you mean you can’t leave the building then?”

  [no. stuck here]

  “Because you lived here?”

  [because I died here]

  Laila gasped and clasped one hand over her mouth. With her other hand she found his forearm and touched it softly. She felt bare skin and a rolled up shirt sleeve.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  [its ok. it was over 4 years ago] There was a pause, then he added, [Im learning to live with dying]

  She laughed then hoped that it wasn’t an inappropriate response. His hand touched the back of hers which was still on his arm, just a quick, soft touch then it was gone. She moved her hand away self-consciously and put it in her lap, clasping her other hand around it to make it behave.

  “Can I ask...” She stopped, feeling awkward.

  [how I di
ed] There was a pause while he found the question mark. [?]

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s none of my business.”

  [its ok. I was murdered]

  Laila stared at the screen in shock. “Murdered,” she whispered.

  [Im sorry I didn’t mean to scare you]

  “No, I... I’m just... that’s so awful. I’m so sorry.”

  She lapsed into silence, feeling horrible and wishing she hadn’t asked. She felt his hand slip into hers and squeeze reassuringly. She wrapped her fingers around his. Why was it that whenever he held her hand, she felt like she never wanted to let go?

  “Did they catch your... who did it?” she said.

  He slid his hand from her grasp and she felt a stab of disappointment as cool air replaced the warmth of his skin against hers.

  [yes he is in jail]

  She felt a deep sense of relief. If he hadn’t been caught, she had been ready to march straight out and find him herself, to do anything to get justice for Denny. The anger she suddenly felt burning against whoever had taken his life came as a surprise. She’d only just met him, why did she feel so strongly about it? Maybe it was to do with what had happened, with him saving her. Yes, that sounded right. Bonding with her saviour.

  She wanted to ask more about his death, but she didn’t want to make him think about the most traumatic event in his life, so she decided to change the subject.

  “How long did you live here, before, you know?”

  [six years]

  She nodded. “And now you can’t leave.”

  [no. I can go anywhere in the building but I can’t go outside]

  “Why not?”

  [don’t know. death didn’t come with a manual] There was a pause, then he typed, [smiley face!]

  She smiled and reached her hand over to the keyboard, feeling his arm brush against hers as she did so.

  “Like this,” she said, pressing the alt key and the number pad one key at the same time. The desired emoticon appeared.

  She watched as he tried it out for himself, creating the smiley face, then squeezing her hand again in gratitude. This time when he tried to pull his hand away again, she held onto it.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “for... for being here tonight. For protecting me.”

  An unexpected sob welled up in her chest. Tears began to slide down her cheeks. She felt Denny go still next to her and, after a few seconds, the laptop floated onto the coffee table. She felt him move beside her and pull his hand from her grasp and then his arms were wrapped around her. She stiffened for a moment then melted, helpless, into his embrace. Clutching onto his shirt with one hand, her fear and humiliation poured out of her in great wrenching sobs against his chest.

  It was a while before she stopped crying.

  Her tearful breakdown shocked her. She hadn’t cried that way since the few weeks after she moved into the flat four months ago when the whole emotional upheaval had finally got to her. She never cried in front of anyone, only ever by herself when she knew no-one would see or hear her. Then it came to her, had Denny been there that first night in the flat? Had he seen all the times she’d cried herself to sleep those first weeks? She thought it was probable he had. Knowing that should have made her feel at least awkward, self-conscious, maybe even angry at the invasion of her privacy. But amazingly, it was comforting.

  She hadn’t been alone. She wasn’t alone now.

  When her tears finally did stop, she drew away from him, a little reluctantly, and apologised. He retrieved the laptop and assured her it was alright and that she didn’t have to feel self-conscious about her emotions with him.

  And then they talked.

  It was a slow process, with his inexpert, halting typing, but Laila loved seeing his words appear on the screen. She imagined him saying them to her, even though she had no idea what he sounded like. Her questions were endless and a couple of times she felt the need to ask him if she was being nosey or if he was tired of answering. Both times he seemed very eager to make her understand he was enjoying the conversation as much as she was. But she didn’t ask him about his death. It seemed such a personal thing to ask and she didn’t want to bring up bad memories. Although she had some very bad memories of her own, she imagined that nothing could be as traumatic as remembering your own death.

  As it passed midnight, Laila began to yawn. She didn’t want to stop talking to Denny, but she had to work in the morning and her eyelids were drooping.

  [do you mind if I keep sleeping on your sofa?] he said when she told him she needed to go to bed.

  She didn’t. “No, I don’t mind at all.” She really truly didn’t. In the slightest.

  [thank you. I feel more comfortable sleeping in my own flat] He paused. [I mean your flat. And I want to be here just in case the creep] He stopped, then erased ‘the creep’ and replaced it. [Avery tries to come back]

  She reached across the keyboard, erasing ‘Avery’ and replacing it with ‘the creep’, smiling when she felt Denny laugh next to her.

  “Do you need a blanket or a pillow or anything?”

  There was a pause. [that would be nice thank you]

  As she got ready for bed, Laila thought about how safe she felt knowing Denny was in her living room, watching out for her. For the first time in a long time, she felt no fear whatsoever. It was liberating.

  It did occur to her as she undressed that she wouldn’t know if he came into her bedroom and watched her, but somehow she knew that he wouldn’t. Even though she’d only just met him, she trusted him. She had no idea why, she simply did. She did wonder if he’d ever watched her when she was naked, but the idea that he may have didn’t disturb her as she thought it should. In fact, she felt a frisson of excitement at the notion.

  That was her life all over. She’d finally found a man who was interesting and caring and sweet and kind and who she felt safe with, and he was dead. She rolled her eyes at the realisation as she climbed into bed. That was just typical for her, falling for the man she couldn’t have.

  But she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she turned off the light and fell asleep.

  ***

  Denny lay awake on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around him and his head on a pillow. It felt strange. He’d become used to just stretching out, as much as he could at over six feet, on the bare sofa and sleeping. Even when he slept in the spare bedroom in flat three, when Mr Jameson and his wife hadn’t had an argument and were actually sleeping in the same bed, he couldn’t use the covers. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to wrap a blanket around him. He didn’t need it for warmth, but it felt good. Comforting.

  But not comforting enough to make him sleep. His thoughts were spinning around in his brain like a whirlwind.

  He’d dreamed of Laila finding out about him, but the dreams had always been ruined by how much of a disaster he thought it would be. He had been convinced the idea of a ghost she couldn’t see or hear in her flat would send Laila screaming, and he wouldn’t have blamed her. From her point of view, it was at best disconcerting.

  But not only was she not running or screaming, she seemed to trust him. Knowing that made him unbelievably happy.

  He’d seen her fear close-up, knew something had happened to her that had affected her so deeply she hardly ever even left the flat, other than for work. She should be terrified of him, but she wasn’t. It was a life-changing, or rather death-changing experience. She knew he existed, they had talked, and she wasn’t afraid of him. She even seemed to like him. It couldn’t have gone any better. It had certainly gone a lot better than he ever thought it would.

  He smiled into the darkness. This could work, whatever this was. Their relationship, however it developed, could work. He didn’t know what would happen from now on, but for the first time in a long time, he had hope.

  And as he finally drifted off to sleep, he knew one thing. He knew he needed to learn how to type.

  Twenty

  Denny woke to
the soft touch of a woman’s fingertips on his face.

  He opened his eyes to see Laila sitting on the coffee table in front of him, her arm extended towards him and her fingers brushing his hair back from his eyes. He smiled, thinking he could really get used to waking up to her face every morning, and turned his head.

  She gasped at his movement and snatched her hand back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t... I mean, I’d only just... I was curious.”

  “Oh, Laila,” he said, sitting up, “you can touch me all you want.”

  He grinned, thinking it was just as well she couldn’t hear him.

  Settling in front of her with their knees brushing against each other, he reached his hand to hers and touched the back. She smiled and turned her hand over, wrapping her fingers around his and making his heart flip in his chest. It was something he would never tire of seeing her do.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Yes, amazingly, I did,” he replied, tapping the inside of her wrist at the same time.

  He brought her hand up to his face, straightening her fingers and placing them onto his skin, hoping she understood he was giving her permission to touch him. The flush that coloured her cheeks made him smile.

  “Oh, now I feel all awkward,” she said with a small giggle, but she didn’t move her hand from his face.

  He took her other hand and laid it on his other cheek, placing both his hands over hers briefly in encouragement, then letting go.

  She began to touch his face.

  It was a scene he’d watched in any number of movies with characters who were blind. There was always soft music to convey how intimate the moment was. Denny didn’t need the music to tell him that. He was relieved she couldn’t hear him because, at that moment, he was sure she would have heard the thudding of his heart.