by John Hansen
Two can play at that game I think to myself. “You are welcome, Chance.” I say boldly after reading his name on his MediCard.
A jolt is sent through my system when I go to hand him back his card accidentally making contact with his hand in the process. I gasp as the intense feeling cycles through my blood stream. I’m not sure how to describe the sensation other than euphoric. I realize that my hand is still making contact with his but I can’t seem to pull it away due to some unseen magnetic force holding it steadfast. I look up into his eyes and a dizzying sensation washes over me. A second later I find myself floating in the air, weightlessly carried like a feather through the cafe and out the front door into the cold night. Icy snowflakes melt on my warm cheeks. I don’t feel cold though, only warmth. Relishing in the carefree ethereal feeling I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy this moment. I can’t possibly process what is happening or causing this; all I know is that for the first time in my life, I feel no pain. I don’t even feel that dull ache that is still residually left after I take my meds for the day. This must be what it feels like to ghost I think to myself.
“Austin, you need to open your eyes now.” Chance says in a hushed but urgent tone. I shake my head ‘no’. I’m swimming in elation and I can’t bear to pull myself out.
“Yes, you need to open them now.” He says again, more urgently this time.
I don’t listen to him and a moment later I’m jolted awake and lying alone on the snow covered ground. I open my mouth to scream out in agony but I’m rolling in a pain so deep that my brain can’t process it fast enough to even make my vocal chords work. My eyes are open now but the pain is so intense that I feel as if I’m blinded by it and all I can see is darkness. The arctic cold air blasts at my exposed skin and sends prickling goose bumps across my bare arms.
I vaguely hear my name being called over and over again.
“Austin, look at me. Look at me Austin!” Chase is yelling in my ear now. This time he touches me slightly dulling the pain. He uses his hands to guide my head upwards to meet his eyes. “Look at me Austin.” He says again.
I comply and will my eyes to focus on his. Like the lens of a camera going into focus I see into Chance’s eyes. With it comes the peace I had felt earlier in the cafe. I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly as the excruciating pain subsides. “What was that…I mean this?” I ask groggily.
“I don’t have time to explain it. They are coming now and I must go. You need to get back inside the cafe now.” He says urgently.
“But…” I start to say but am cut off by the shrill sound of a scream not too far away.
“I will come back for you. I promise.” He says helping me to my feet. He brushes my hair away from my face and gives me a gentle guiding push towards the cafe door.
I look back when I reach the door to see him still standing there, yet he’s poised to run. “Now.” He says demandingly.
Although I don’t want to, I turn and go inside. Once I’m safely in the doors I look out the window to find him gone. Emptiness settles into me with his absence, which is strange since I had never met Chance before. I don’t have time to dwell on it when I see them. To the naked eye they look like average people, but I know better. The two men walking down the empty street are Ghost Reapers. I know because I have seen men like them before, a long time ago.
I still remember that night that they came for my parents. It was my seventh birthday. I had just blown out the candles when we heard the first scream. It sounded like our housekeeper, Lucia.
My father grabbed my hand and told me gravely, “The time has come.”
“No daddy.” I remember saying as tears started flowing down my cheeks.
“Yes honey. You must go, remember the plan. We love you, but you must go now.” He said sadly. He kissed me on my forehead.
My mom bent down and gave me the strongest hug she could muster. I could feel her arms shake. I knew she was scared. “I love you.” She said her eyes pooled with tears.
They pushed me out the back door and into the night. Ever since I could remember, my parents would practice the plan. I was to run through the forest and loose myself inside the city. They told me that a time would come when they would need to leave me. My mother was on the run from some very bad people. She had a gift that they wanted and since she chose not to join them, they sent the Ghost Reapers to hunt her.
Reapers have a horrific gift; they take. Most Reapers control their abilities and avoid physical contact, which commences the taking. If uncontrolled a Reaper can take everything of value within a human including thoughts, emotions and memories. The process is said to be excruciating and can leave the human severely damaged or brain dead. A Ghost Reaper is a Reaper who underwent the ghosting procedure. With their emotions and feelings turned off, they are easy to control and often used by the government or other evil factions.
I never knew what my mother’s gift was or why it was so wanted. I didn’t understand much of anything my parents did back then.
Although I had rehearsed the escape plan over and over again with my parents, executing it was a different story. At first I hid just within the confines of the forest. When I saw the Ghost Reapers through the kitchen window I froze unable to avert my gaze. It wasn’t until I heard my mother scream that I finally turned to run. I was so scared that night that I ended up taking the wrong path and tumbled off a shallow cliff.
The doctors had said I laid there for two days in the forest unconscious. I had fallen fifteen feet and broken or fractured over sixty bones in my body. I spent two months in the hospital. I pretended to have amnesia. My fingerprints didn’t match any of those on file so I was labeled a Jane Doe.
I ended up in foster care. That was where I first found out what my gift was. The doctors said I was a Receiver. Similar to the average receiving device, my gift allows me to receive emotional signals or waves from those around me. Because of my personal physical and emotional pain, my body tends to receive heightened signals of the same accord from those around me. Which in short means that when those around me suffer from pain or anguish, I do as well. I spent much of my childhood in and out of hospitals and moving from home to home because of my gift. I was often immobilized by pain and it took many tests and trials for them to find a combination of medicines that could dull the pain and allow me to function semi-normally.
What I never truly understood was how my gift never sparked when my parents were alive.
I’m brought back to present when Mel, one of the servers calls my name from the back. I look back through the window and see that the Ghost Reapers are gone, then turn and head towards the back of the cafe. On my way, I look around and notice that the world hadn’t stopped like I felt it had. Everyone is still going on with their eating or working without a hitch. Nobody seems to have noticed my dramatic exit or the crazed Ghost Reapers roaming the streets outside.
I head over to Mel, the server who called my name. “Yes?” I respond.
“Are you feeling better?” She asks. Her face doesn’t show concern, so I can only assume that she chalked up my exit outside as one of the many dizzy spells I get when my pain gets too intense.
“Yes, sorry about that.” I say.
“Why don’t you go on home then.” She says looking at the clock. “There’s only an hour left on your shift anyhow and it’s pretty slow in here.”
I normally would balk at even losing one hour worth of wages, but tonight I agree without complaint. In the back of my mind I secretly hope that if I head out now, I might run into Chance.
***
Walking to work the next morning I chide myself for feeling disappointed that I didn’t run into Chance last night. I have one major rule in my life that protects me. I don’t allow myself to care about other people. Being close to someone means I have to feel too much and I can’t afford any more pain in my life. I also receive stronger signals when I touch people, so I try to avoid all physical contact when possible.
I wonder wha
t Chance’s gift is. Whatever it is, it must be one of the few good ones left. I find myself yearning to touch him again and to get lost in the serenity it brings. Stop it Austin! I chide myself. I do not need to get mixed up with Chance; after all, if the Ghost Reapers are after him, he must be running from something awful.
My eight hour shift goes by mindlessly fast at the cafe. I found myself watching for Chance even against my better judgment. He didn’t show up. When the clock strikes ten in the evening, I pull off my apron; throw on my coat and head out the door into the chilly night. My body aches and groans from the long shift and the usual pain I receive from those around me. I can feel the medicine begin to wear off and I hope to make it home quickly as to avoid any additional reception of signals from passersby’s.
I step up my pace when I turn on the street of my residence. I live in an extremely small efficiency. The building is rather run down but the walls are thick with concrete, which blocks signals from the other tenants in the. That’s all I can ask for these days.
I enter the building and head up the stairs towards my flat but stop midway when I see a shadowed figure standing near my door. It’s not uncommon to see a petty thief in my building. I don’t usually worry much about them though since I don’t own anything of value. Even still, my heart picks up it’s pace knowing there is a stranger nearby. I quietly reach my hand into my purse to grab out a can of pepper spray that I carry just in case. Clutching it in my hand, I cautiously continue to ascend the stairs. When I reach the top of the steps the stranger steps into the light. A rush of relief swooshes through me as I stare at Chance in wonderment.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I promised I would come back.” He says then looks down at my hand and continues, “Whoa, I can leave if you would like me to.”
I look down at the pepper spray that I’m clutching. I quickly put it away in my purse then look back up towards him purposefully avoiding eye contact. Not that I don’t want to experience that elated feeling again, but I need some answers first. “How do you know where I live Chance?”
“I followed you home last night.” He says shamelessly.
“You…You what?” I ask caught off guard. Why would he follow me home?
“I wanted to make sure you were safe. I didn’t think that they saw you with me but I had to make sure.” He says.
“The Ghost Reapers?” I whisper questioningly.
His eyes open wide in surprise. “You know what they are?”
I nod in answer.
“How?” He asks.
“I don’t really want to talk about it.” I look away from him when I sense that he’s trying to make eye contact with me.
“Anyhow, I’m safe. You see it for yourself so you may go now.” I say brashly. On one hand I hope he will go and on the other, I hope he will stay. It’s a lonely life that I live and having a meaningful conversation with someone is a rarity in my world.
“Yes, you are safe for now. I should leave, but I don’t want to.” He says the last part as if he’s trying to convince himself otherwise.
I dare to look up and into his eyes. It overcomes me again, the feeling of peace and tranquility. I savor in it as one would savor the warm sun on a cold day.
He looks down breaking our connection. “Do you mind if we go inside?” He asks.
I should say no, but everything inside me says yes. “Okay.” I step around him, careful not to make contact with him, and unlock my door.
Once we are both inside Chance goes right to making himself comfortable by taking a seat on my couch. It’s odd looking at him sitting there. I’ve never actually seen anyone sit on my couch. Actually, I’ve never had anyone in my apartment except for the building’s maintenance supervisor for the occasional repair. Something about the way he stares at me feels extremely intimate.
He runs his hands through his hair and asks, “So how long have you been a Receiver?”
“Excuse me?” Most of us who have gifts don’t vocally advertise it; so to hear him say what I am out loud strikes a chord that puts me at instant unease.
“Come on Austin. I know what you are. I don’t see why you are trying to hide it from me. You already know that I have a gift as well. You can trust me.”
“I don’t know you Chance and I don’t trust anyone. Since you know what my gift is, I think you should tell me what yours is.” I stand in front of him with my hands on my hips trying to look dominant.
“I don’t think you really want to know what my gift is.” Chance looks down at his hands.
Something about his posture and the way he says it hints of loneliness. Perhaps he and I may be more alike than I had originally thought. I relax my stance and decide to take a seat on the couch. I sit on the opposite side allowing the middle cushion to act as a barrier between us. It’s not that I don’t want to be close to him, because I do. In fact, I want too badly to be close to him, to touch him. That feeling I get is like a drug and I feel that the line to addiction is way too thin. I can’t afford something so menial as dependence. No, I need to keep my distance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find out what it is that causes that feeling. “I do want to know.” I say urging him.
He looks up at me, catching my eyes and pulling me into that safe place that only he can seem to take me to. “Shield.”
I shoot up off my couch like a rocket. Breaking eye contact with him sends sharp needles of pain shooting through my head. I use my fingers to massage my temples. Although I have my back to him, I can feel his stare. A freaking Shield! In my living room too, this is so not good. I should have known this whole time what he was! He’s a Shield and Shields block gifts. That’s what that feeling is, the absence of pain! My body doesn’t understand what it’s like to be without it so that explains the intense euphoric sensation I get from him.
“Do you even know the danger you put me in by being here? Do you even care? I can’t believe you are a freaking Shield!” I wheel around and gasp when I find that he’s standing only a foot from me. So close, that I can feel it radiating off of him, that blissful peace. If I just reach my hand out I can take some of it for myself. No! I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from reaching out to him.
“You don’t think I know? Do you think a day goes by that I’m not reminded of what I am or what I run from? I didn’t choose this gift! I wish it never were! I made a mistake in coming here. I don’t know why I did. It was just…the feeling I got when you touched me. It was like coming home. I know it sounds absolutely absurd, but the instant you touched me, I felt like I had known you forever. I’ve never felt this before for anyone. I don’t even allow anyone close enough to give it a chance.” He runs his hands through his hair frustrated and continues. “Now, I’m just rambling on. I will leave. I’m sorry Austin” The look in his eyes is so sincere that I believe him.
I almost feel bad for Chance, but I can’t afford to worry about it. I have to protect myself and as we speak I could be in danger. If word got out that I had a Shield in my home, I would be hunted just the same. I’ve heard stories of people being tortured in an attempt to extract information about a Shield’s whereabouts. Shields are not allowed to exist outside of the Government. When you are labeled with the gift of shielding you are instantly forced to join into the militia forces. There is no choice; they are forced to serve. It is such a rare gift that only one in a million are said to have it. The Government knows the necessity of owning a Shield during wartime.
A shiver runs through me when I think of Chance being thought of as a belonging, not a man who has a choice. “How are you even here? I mean, how did you get away?”
“My mom chose to give birth at home with a midwife instead of going to the hospital. She had bad experiences with hospitals. She was a Receiver like you and the pain signals inside the hospital were too intense for her to handle. She said that she felt it the instant she held me in her arms when I was born. Many Shields do not show signs of their gift until later in life. My mom said that
my gift must be exceptionally strong. My parents chose to hide me, knowing the fate that was bestowed on their only son. They paid off the midwife so that my birth was not documented.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, moisture filling his eyes. “When I was fourteen, a neighbor realized what was going on. They turned us in. My parents tried to run with me, we survived for two years. When I was sixteen they found us. My parents forced me to run away, but I saw what happened. The Ghost Reapers came for them. They took everything from them trying to reap through their memories to find a hint of where I was. I wanted to go back and help them, but my mom made me promise that I would not allow their sacrifice to be for nothing by giving myself up. I never break my promises.” He says the last part boldly.
Before I can catch myself, I find myself reaching out to touch him. It’s unlike me, but I want to comfort him, perhaps since nobody was ever there to comfort me. I place my hand over his and it begins. I take in shallow breaths as I let the feeling run through me. This time I know what to expect, so I fight to maintain control and not pass out like some lightweight who had her first shot of Russian vodka. I look down at my hand that is still touching his and relish in the absence of pain. I look up into his eyes and see something there. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s like hunger or need. When he leans into me and nears his lips to mine, I back away instantly freezing up in shock. Is he trying to kiss me? I’ve never been kissed before. I mean, I’ve seen people kiss, but I’ve never experienced one. I’ve never let anyone close enough to me to even try.
“I’m sorry Austin, I overstepped.” He backs away looking concerned, like he hurt me.
I look down at my hand and see that I’m still holding on to his. I don’t want to let it go. There is an irrevocable voice in the back of my head that is saying that I should never let it go. My heartbeat is racing and something feels strange within my stomach. It’s like a fluttering inside that won’t stop. I hold onto it with my empty hand hoping that if I hold my stomach tight enough the feeling will ease. It’s not a bad feeling, but since I’ve never experienced it before, I feel vulnerable. I look up with confused eyes at Chance wondering if something is wrong with me. His emerald eyes look confused at first but then a look of knowing crosses them.