Touched (Sense Thieves)

by Corrine Jackson

  I headed down the hallway to her bedroom. I hadn’t been in this room since we’d moved here, and I felt like I was trespassing as I searched the drawers and closet without any luck.

  My last destination was my bedroom. There wasn’t much in the way of comfort in the sparse prison of a room with its twin bed, used dresser, and makeshift desk forged from plywood and concrete blocks.

  The few things I wanted to keep went into a duffel Ben had given me. Most of my clothes and personal things had already been sent to Blackwell Falls by Anna. Little of me remained. On top of the pile went the iPod Anna had surprised me with on my birthday a few months before. We didn’t have a computer, and I’d wondered at the extravagant gift I had no way to use. I’d never taken it out of the box, but it seemed Anna had used it since I’d moved to Blackwell Falls. If Dean had known about the iPod, he would have tried to sell it. Last into the bag went her crossword puzzle book and a picture of a younger, more carefree Anna taken pre-Dean. Next, I checked the bed where I’d hidden some money under my mattress. This was gone, as I’d expected. Dean would have found the cash right away.

  Noise sounded from the living room when Ben returned with the movers, and I went to meet him, duffel bag in hand. It took very little time for the movers to load up the contents of the apartment. Soon the rooms stood bare as if they’d never been inhabited, as if the walls hadn’t witnessed our pain. All traces of Anna and the girl I’d been were erased.

  Ben followed the movers out to return the apartment key to the manager. Only the kitchen chairs and the furniture in the living room remained, and the movers would take care of those items in short order. As I did one last walk through the empty, still rooms, my steps sounded an eerie echo. One last thing waited to be retrieved, and history had taught me to keep its hiding place a secret. Old habits were hard to break.

  In my bedroom, I moved to the bare closet and felt along the wall until I discovered the small hole I’d made at the very bottom of the drywall. It would have been impossible to find if you hadn’t known it existed, if you hadn’t been locked inside the small space on more than one occasion. Reaching into the hole, I rescued the small nest egg I’d saved working at the video store. This money had been my hope for a new start.

  I counted it. Fifteen hundred, ninety-eight dollars. I wouldn’t have gotten very far.

  “So that’s where you hid it.”

  Dean lounged against the doorjamb, inspecting me with his pale eyes while he flicked a lighter open and closed.

  He nodded to the money I crushed in my hand. “I knew the forty under your mattress wasn’t all you’d stashed.”

  His large body straightened, and he took a step forward, his blond curls askew. False sympathy resonated in a voice that sounded rougher than I remembered—as if a hand had wrapped around his throat to choke him. I’d done that to him. “I’m sorry about your mom. I was on a job in Springfield when I heard. Just got back today.”

  So that was his story. There would be people who would corroborate, too, if the police asked questions. He almost sounded sincere, and I had to give him credit. Dean was stupid, but he had a rat’s instinct for survival.

  My situation was precarious. I was alone in the apartment with my stepfather, and he had me cornered in the bedroom. I didn’t know how long Ben had been gone, or when he would return. What if he’d already returned and Dean had hurt him? My gut clenched. Oh, God, please no.

  Dean read my thoughts with his uncanny ability to sniff out fear. He sneered as he flicked the lighter to life again in a threat he knew had terrified me since he’d first burned me with his lit cigarette. “It was real nice of you and your daddy to pack up my things. I slashed the tires on your daddy’s rental car to return the favor. It’ll be a while before he comes looking for you, princess.”

  A surge of relief flooded through me to know Ben was safe, followed by a tidal wave of panic. I would have to save myself.

  Dean took another step and said, “What’s the matter, Remy? Cat got your tongue?”

  Rather than cringe as he expected, I moved toward him with confidence. Showing fear to Dean was inviting death, so my smile exuded calm. His advance halted, and he appeared wary for the first time. Was he recalling the pain I’d caused him the last night I lived here?

  In a conversational tone, I advised, “Remember what happened the last time you touched me? Two broken ribs, right?”

  One lip curled in a snarl, but he stopped advancing.

  He didn’t know I couldn’t hurt him without an injured Anna nearby to transfer wounds from. I would have to run for the door as soon as I could and hope he didn’t find out. “Do you know I’ve gotten even better at it? I’ve been practicing in case we met up again. Where is my mother’s journal, Dean?”

  My head spun with dizzy relief when he retreated from the bedroom, and I stalked him through the dark hallway. In the living room, he regained his composure and smirked. “She didn’t tell you? I learned a few things from it. Like how you’re powerless if you can’t touch me.”

  Shock and sorrow blasted me. Anna had betrayed me once more by telling him the one thing that could have saved my life. The journal was gone. He had to have it because, while it was possible he’d figured how my abilities worked, it wasn’t probable. Hopelessness overwhelmed me.

  Dean flexed his arm, and I knew he was finished talking.

  He cracked his knuckles, and I forced steel into my backbone. I would not be easy prey. He wouldn’t walk away from this fight uninjured. Balancing on the balls of my feet, I waited for his next move.

  It didn’t take long.

  He rushed me like a linebacker, and I waited until the last possible moment to sidestep him. His body moved past me, stumbled into the wall, and crumpled, sprawling on the floor. His momentary confusion allowed me to make a run for the front door.

  My retreat wasn’t fast enough. One of his hands closed around my ankle and he yanked my foot out from under me with a vicious twist. I tripped and threw out my hands to break my fall, unable to stop my face from colliding with the edge of the coffee table. My lip split open, and my shoulder tore as I slammed to the floor on my left side.

  Before I could register the pain, Dean dragged my body across the carpet toward him. I rolled over, ignoring the jolt in my shoulder. His face was mottled red with fury, and his blue eyes lit with malice. I used my free foot to kick him in the face as hard as I could. Blood spurted from his nose and I hoped I’d broken it as I stunned him into loosening his hold.

  Scrambling onto all fours, I scuttled away. Gaining my feet, I ran the few feet to the door. Panicked, I heard him rise and felt the change in the air as he rushed me. The doorknob twisted in my sweaty hand and opened two inches—my freedom so close—when his flat palm slammed it shut again. My forehead dropped against the hollow wood as he locked the door and crowded me against it. Hot breath fanned my neck, smelling of the beer and stale cigarettes from my nightmares.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled back my right elbow and shoved it in his gut as hard as I could.

  Doubling over, he grunted, and I twisted away, running for my bedroom. Maybe I could lock myself in until help came. Until Ben could come for me.

  I’d gone a few short feet when Dean gave me a brutal shove. My body flew over the couch and slammed into the entryway table. A new explosion of pain rippled from my hip to my back as I collided with the large mirror that hung on the wall, and it crashed down on me, shattering into tiny shards that sliced my arms and back. Stunned, I slid off the table and crumpled to the floor.

  Dean stood over me and shoved me on my back with his foot. I was too weak to run, and the triumph flaring in his eyes said he knew he’d won. He would kick me, and it would be over then. I wouldn’t be able to fight.

  Energy gathered in me like a snake coiling to strike. He drew his foot back.

  The front door shook as someone battered it.

  Dean glanced away for one brief moment, and I had my chance. I grabbed his leg and let the cur
rent sizzle through me to him in a violent lash of red electricity. My pain barreled into him before he could react. He grabbed one shoulder as it dislocated and his lip split, the blood mingling with that from his broken nose. New blood appeared in a dozen tiny cuts on his arms as he shrieked and collapsed on the floor, moaning. I rolled to my side, grabbed a larger piece of broken glass, and held it over his throat. His eyes locked on mine in terror, and I experienced a rush of primal satisfaction.

  There was a crack of wood splintering, and the door fell off its hinges as Ben kicked it in.

  My father rushed into the room and froze in shock. A male police officer filled the doorway behind him and moved to stand over Dean with a gun while Ben knelt at my side.

  “Drop the glass, miss. You’re safe now,” the officer said, in a calm voice.

  I did as he asked, and Ben lifted me from the floor without hesitation. He carried me to the kitchen like a child and sat in one of the hard-backed chairs with me cradled in his lap. His tight grasp hurt my shoulder, but I didn’t protest. Whatever he saw in my face, my father started crying. I wondered if he’d hurt himself breaking down the door. Under the guise of reassuring him, I patted his cheek to scan for possible injuries. “It’s okay, Ben. I’m safe.”

  He was healthy, unharmed, aside from the uneven beat of his heart, which could only mean he cried for me. “I’m safe now,” I repeated.

  When a female officer walked into the kitchen, Ben’s expression turned fierce and he said, “You better believe we’re pressing charges.”

  Ben refused to leave my side at the hospital, even to talk to the police.

  He told the two officers what he knew about my situation, including why I’d come to live with him and what he suspected about Anna’s death. He didn’t have to tell them about this latest confrontation since Officer Gonzalez had walked in on the scene with him. It turned out someone had seen Dean slashing the tires on Ben’s rental car while we’d been busy packing and had called the police. They’d come to investigate some hours later while my father was returning the key to the manager, and that was when he realized I might be in danger.

  Officer Gonzalez questioned me about the abuse, and I told the skeleton truth. Yes, Dean had been abusing us for years, starting with Anna and then me. Yes, the police had been notified by neighbors and hospital staff. No, charges had never been filed. Anna always lied to protect him, and I’d lied right along with her, afraid I’d be sent away. Each word that came out of my mouth seemed to cut Ben, so I kept the details to a bare minimum. I didn’t tell the police everything, but said enough to give them the picture while a nurse cleaned my split lip and the dozen cuts on my arms and back.

  The officers had heard stories like mine before. They nodded and asked more questions whenever I paused. The emergency room doctor told the men to step out so he could inspect my hip and side where I’d slammed into the entry table. Officer Kazinski—a policewoman whose face was locked in a permanent grimace—stayed behind to document my injuries. She took loads of pictures, and I resigned myself to another set of injuries I wouldn’t be able to heal for fear of discovery.

  The men stepped back in, and Officer Gonzalez continued questioning me while making notes in a small notepad. At last, they left to question Dean, who’d been admitted to another area of the ER. According to Kazinski, he would be transferred to jail when the doctors finished checking him out and a temporary restraining order would be put in place. Ben could file for a more permanent restraining order when we returned to Maine. For my part, I felt confident they would diagnose Dean as crazy if he tried to tell them what he knew about my ability to heal. No sane person would profess to believe in the abilities I had.

  Ben said nothing while I spoke to the officers. His tension grew as the doctor tallied my injuries. X-rays showed no new broken bones, but I’d sliced my palm with the glass I’d used to threaten Dean. Also, aside from the cuts and split lip, I had a deep bruise the size of a football spreading from my left hip to my back in a brilliant, livid blue and a dislocated shoulder. They assumed the pale bruises on my face from healing Anna were also from Dean.

  Even Kazinski had gasped when the doctor uncovered the deep, circular scar on the tender flesh on the underside of my upper arm. When I was fourteen Dean had noticed I healed more rapidly than normal, and he’d tested his theory by putting out his cigarette in the same spot night after night. That was when I realized he fed off my tears, and I’d refused to ever cry another drop for him, even if I had to bite my lip bloody to do it. Eventually, I’d stopped healing the burn so he’d leave me alone, and the grotesque scar served as an ugly reminder of what could happen if I wasn’t careful about who discovered my ability.

  Ben’s face turned a frightening shade of gray when the doctor reset my dislocated shoulder. My scream was stifled as I worried my father would snap. My vision blackened, but I managed to stay conscious by focusing on the smear of blood drying on Ben’s shirt where I’d brushed my hand or lip. I couldn’t remember which.

  The doctor slipped my arm into a sling and stepped back with a look of admiration for his handiwork. “That should do it, kid. You’ll be wearing this a few days, but you’ll be good as new before you know it.”

  I rose to my feet with as much haste as my abused body allowed. “Can I leave now? We have a flight to catch to Maine.”

  Ben finally spoke. “No, Remy. We’ll stay in New York tonight. You’re not in any shape to fly.”

  “I’m perfectly fine to fly.” When he would have argued, I added, “Look, I’m going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow, and I’d rather be at home. Please. I don’t feel safe here.”

  Guilt surfaced in his eyes. He blamed himself for not protecting me again, and I’d used it to manipulate him. I couldn’t be sorry because I didn’t want to stay in New York one more minute than was necessary. This place had become my waking nightmare.

  His jaw tightened, and he nodded with grim acceptance.

  It was decided. We were going home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Laura met us at the airport, her pretty face tensed with worry. She started to cry when she saw my face and embraced me. It felt like a homecoming, and I hugged her a little harder than I’d intended.

  In the car, I fell asleep from the painkillers Ben had compelled me to take, and my lids didn’t flutter open until he lifted me from the backseat. Lucy’s concerned whisper mixed with his husky reassurance in the icy darkness. He carried me up the stairs and tucked me between my familiar lavender-scented sheets like a child. Lips brushed my forehead, cool fingers skimmed my hair from my face, and I surrendered to nothingness.

  When I opened my eyes to morning light, I experienced a vague sense of déjà vu to discover Lucy sitting cross-legged on the bed staring at me. Her red-rimmed eyes swept over my face and caught on my split lip.

  “Think you have enough makeup to cover my lip for school?”

  With a shaky laugh, she said, “I don’t think the cosmetics counter at Macy’s has enough makeup for that miracle.”

  I laughed, too, and then grimaced when my entire body rebelled. “Oh, frick.”

  That made us snicker harder until I shuddered and shifted my stiff arm, held immobile in the sling. “Oh, man, that hurts. Why are we laughing?”

  She sobered. “I’m so relieved you’re okay. Dad told me what happened. Feel like talking?”

  Trying to soften my rejection, I shook my head. “Not now. Maybe sometime, okay?” I wouldn’t have known where to begin since I didn’t want to lie to Lucy any more than I already had.

  Her solemn gaze scanned my face. “You okay, Sis?”

  Clearly, she wasn’t asking about my injuries. No, I wasn’t okay. I felt guilty, angry, and sad. The release that tears offered sat out of reach when I yearned to howl with grief, but I’d turned off that spigot at thirteen, causing it to rust shut with disuse. My sister worried about me, though, so I lied.

  “Yeah, Luce. I will be now that I’m home.” I switched to a lighter tone
. “Except for my desperate need for a bathroom.”

  Every muscle in my body revolted in pain when I tried to rise. Apparently, I wasn’t going anywhere without help. I grimaced with distaste. “Lucy, you better call Ben.”

  She ran to the doorway and shouted, “Dad!”

  He appeared immediately, while I scowled at Lucy. “Way to go, slick. You scared him.”

  With a careless shrug, she responded. “You said you were desperate.”

  Later, Ben put me back in bed with a pillow to prop my sling, and I realized with disgust that the activity had exhausted me. Ben told me to rest, Lucy handed me my iPod from my duffel at my request, and they both left.

  Alone, I thought of my mother. I’d known that Dean would attack her more often if I wasn’t there to step in, and there’d always been a chance he would kill her if things went too far. I’d been so angry at her for protecting him, I’d left anyway. Now, remembering her lying in the hospital bed, I felt sick.

  Wanting to forget, I put the earbuds in and turned the iPod on, curious about what my mother had been listening to. There wasn’t much on the player, just one playlist that contained a few untitled tracks, and I picked one at random expecting to hear my mother’s favorite type of country song about a man who’d gone and done his woman wrong.

  Shock had my mouth dropping open when I heard my mother’s voice.

  What was I saying? Oh, yes. My mother, your grandmother. She was a Healer like y—

  Her throaty voice—earned from smoking too many cigarettes—washed over me, and I missed the rest of what she’d said. My attention caught on one detail: My mother had called me a Healer in her most casual tone. She’d known all along what I could do. I’d wanted nothing more than her acceptance while she lived, and she hadn’t given me even this small acknowledgment. Instead of talking to me, she’d recorded a one-way conversation on my iPod. What possible reason could she have had for doing this?