Twisted Reunion

by Tullius, Mark

  Half an inch, an inch, the skin continues to stretch. He jerks his head and the skin tears, a large patch stuck to the floor, the rest dangling from the side of his face.

  As he gets to his feet and staggers over, I see his entire body is blistered, rivers of sweat running between the bubbles. The crucifix hanging from its silver chain glows bright over the man’s chest. A crazed, deranged look fills his wide eyes. Two more lurching steps and he falls to a knee. Patches of skin are missing from his forearms and thighs. Steam rises from his shaved head. He says something I can’t hear.

  I point to the wall. “The door! Try the door!”

  He shakes his head, the crucifix burns brighter, and the steam rising off his head thickens.

  My room’s still cold and damp. Even the glass is cool.

  He keeps coming for me, waving me away from the window. His feet leave patches of flesh with each step.

  I spin away. The light from the furnace room illuminates the walls. There’s the shiny knob. I can’t see the door, only the knob. I grab it and twist it but it just spins in my hand. It’s hard to see in the shadows, but I can’t make out any cracks in the wall, no sign of a door.

  I turn as the light dims. The blistered man’s steaming silhouette fills most of the window, blocking the fluorescent lights. I feel like an ass, but wave him away and turn my back on him.

  He stays there for another second, and then falls to his knees. The light in his room flickers out.

  My heart’s racing. What the fuck’s happening? Someone turned off those lights. When would my light go on? What’s going to happen if it does? Maybe I’m just here to watch, but I’m pretty certain I’m not just a witness.

  I keep feeling the wall, but there’s no other door. There has to be an entrance here; I got in somehow. Was it through the one with the dogs?

  I reach the corner and suddenly hear water. I keep moving. My foot splashes. I keep moving. The water hits my ankles. I keep moving. I’m back at the first window when the water reaches my shins. I drop to my hands and knees and feel along the tile. There’s a current. It’s coming from close by. I find the grate where the water is coming from. It’s being pumped from below. I place my ass over it, but it’s not enough, not even with my palms helping to block. The water’s at my chest now. I have to cover the vent. I strip off my shirt, wad it up, and smash it over the grate, but I still feel the water pulsing through. My pants are off next, even though I’m sure they’re useless. I’m naked and think of the men in the other rooms. Were they forced to strip themselves just like me?

  The water’s rising fast. It’s at my neck. I have a minute or two before the room will be flooded. I paddle with my arms, push the water out of my way. “What the fuck do you want?” I keep asking that, but there’s no answer. “I’ll give you anything. Whatever you think I’ve done, I’ll make it up to you. I swear.” The water touches my chin, but I continue moving. The bright outline of a rectangle blinks to life in the middle of the back wall, its lower third shimmering under the water.

  I start swimming, I’m a few yards from the wall when I surface and take a deep breath. The water doesn’t seem to be rising, but there’s a hissing sound and the pungent smell of chlorine sweeps over me. I write it off as chemically-treated water, take one more breath. The metallic taste of pepper and pineapple stings the back of my throat. My scalp and face start to burn.

  I lower my head close to the water, shut my eyes. My face no longer burns, but the back of my neck does. I’ve seen enough of the History Channel to know what chlorine gas can do.

  My feet can’t touch the floor any longer, I just float. The water’s stopped at the top of what looks like another window. I plunge my hand to pull the shade, but there’s nothing there, only slick, unbreakable glass.

  I surface to breathe and everything burns. Plunging deeper, I feel some relief. The shade shoots up on the other side of the glass, and a woman, someone I’ve never seen, stares at me. She’s still clothed. It’s just starting for her.

  I scream for her to help and point at the glass. I tell her to get something to break it, but she backs away.

  My ears are ringing. I try to float to the surface, but the water’s at the ceiling. I keep my eyes locked on the woman’s. She takes another step back from the window and I don’t blame her. Maybe I’m her first window. Maybe she’ll find a way out.

  REVIEW

  If you enjoyed these stories I hope you’ll take a moment to write a quick review. As an independent author, word of mouth and reviews are incredibly helpful. Whether you leave 1 star or 5, honest feedback is truly appreciated. And if it is a 1 star review be sure to leave your address so it’ll be much easier for me to hunt you down. Thanks!

  OUT NOW

  Brightside

  Across the nation, telepaths are rounded up and sent to the beautiful mountain town of Brightside. They’re told it’s just like everywhere else, probably even nicer. As long as they follow the rules and don’t ever think about leaving. Joe Nolan is one of the accused, a man who spent his life hearing things people left unsaid. And now he’s paying for it on his hundredth day in Brightside, fighting to keep hold of his secret in a town where no thought is safe.

  25 Perfect Days

  Named one of IndieReader’s best Indie Books of 2013.

  A totalitarian state doesn’t just happen overnight. It’s a slow, dangerous slide. 25 Perfect Days chronicles the path into a hellish future of food shortages, contaminated water, sweeping incarceration, an ultra-radical religion, and the extreme measures taken to reduce the population. Through these twenty-five interlinked stories, each written from a different character’s point of view, 25 Perfect Days captures the sacrifice, courage, and love needed to survive and eventually overcome this dystopian nightmare.

  The audiobook is now available through Audible.com.

  5 More Perfect Days

  The companion novella to 25 Perfect Days. Through five interlinked stories, each written from a different character's point of view, 5 More Perfect Days goes deeper into a world gone wrong, the first signs of resistance, whistleblowers, drones, and a population so under control they're not even aware. Get it while it’s free.

  Try Not to Die: At Grandma’s House

  It’s Grandma’s House – quiet, cozy, nestled on a little mountain in West Virginia. What could possibly go wrong? A lot, actually.

  So watch your back. Choose wisely. One misstep will get you and your little sister killed.

  To survive, you’ll battle creatures, beasts, and even your grandparents as you unravel the mystery of your older brother’s death in this interactive, graphic novel.

  Triple S Agency: Puzzle at the Preschool

  The first children’s book in what’s planned to be a long series written by Mark and his daughter, Olivia. In this book, Lena and Marie are best friends and Super Secret Spies. For their first case they try to solve the mystery of the missing puzzle piece.

  COMING SOON

  Unlocking the Cage

  A nonfiction project scheduled for release 2016. As a former fighter, Mark could never answer why he stepped in the cage. Through an extensive survey and interviews of hundreds of MMA fighters from across North America, he hopes to answer who fighters are and what they have in common.

  Try Not to Die: In Brightside

  Volume 2 of the interactive series takes us back to the beautiful town of Brightside where telepaths have been imprisoned. Summer 2016

  SINCERE THANKS

  Special thanks to my editors, Anthony Szpak, my father, Michael Tullius, and my sister, Mary Nyeholt. I couldn’t have reworked these stories without their help.

  I’d also like to thank select members from Marked for Life who acted as the fourth and final editors on many stories. Their trusted input helped with critical decisions, caught some errors, and came up with new names for a couple of characters. If you had an issue with any of the stories please blame these guys:

  Fourth Editors:

  Chris Nicholson


  Don Theye

  Jasmine Thompson

  Kim Hutto

  Linda Moore

  Meghan Thompson

  Michelle Gilhouse

  Rebecca Dotson

  And finally, thank you to all the readers and reviewers for your support and encouragement. You guys are why I write these stories. And so I don’t go crazy. I’m hoping to prevent that as long as possible.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mark Tullius is the author of 25 Perfect Days, which was named one of IndieReader’s Best Indie Books for 2013. An Ivy League graduate, Mark lists Chuck Palahniuk and Stephen King as the authors who most influence his own writing. He attests that attending Tom Spanbauer’s Dangerous Writing workshop marked the turning point in his career. In addition to 25 Perfect Days, Mark is the published author of five books and over two dozen short stories. His blog addresses a wide range of topics including mental health, fitness, parenting, and social issues; one of his blogs was featured by the NoH8 Campaign.

  Mark’s passion for martial arts once had him competing in Mixed Martial Arts (MMA). When head injuries sidelined his training, Mark launched a project called Unlocking the Cage that merges his love of the martial arts, his talent for writing, and his sociology degree from Brown University. In October 2014, Mark was invited to guest lecture on the Sociology of Martial Arts at his alma mater.

  Unlocking the Cage is a sociological study of why fighters are drawn to the sport of MMA, and why, despite actual and potential injuries, they continue to climb into the cage. Mark has traveled to 25 states, visited over 130 gyms, and 400 fighters from very diverse backgrounds. UTC is due to be released in 2016. Interviews from Mark’s travels can be found on his YouTube channel.

  Mark resides in Southern California with his wife and two children.

  For more information about Mark’s work, he invites you to connect with him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

  EXCERPT FROM 5 MORE PERFECT DAYS

  30-Day Program

  March 23, 2048

  The bell rang and Gabe got up from his desk. He pretended to look for something in his bag, waited until everyone had left the room. He threw two pills in his mouth, swallowed them dry.

  Gabe’s locker was ten feet from the door, but in the wrong direction. Only left turns when leaving classrooms, another stupid rule. It took him almost two minutes to circle back around each time.

  He took the left, and someone kicked the bottom of Gabe’s shoe. Fucking Frankie, been doing this shit since they were five. Through his nasally laugh, Frankie said, “Hold up, man.”

  Gabe kept going, made a right at the first hallway.

  Frankie popped up beside him. “Gotta hit your locker?”

  “No, I’m just taking a tour, dumbass.”

  “You don’t have to be a dick.”

  Gabe switched his focus to Derrick, the new kid, his blond hair bouncing off his shoulders. A couple of days ago they got partnered up in chemistry. Derrick wasn’t like most of the others transferred here. He didn’t seem to care if he fit in or not, hardly spoke at all. Until this morning. Derrick had asked Gabe if he shot hoops. Gabe thought it might be some new drug, but Derrick was just talking about basketball. At the end of class, Gabe agreed to play him one-on-one after school.

  A line of students filed through the archway toward everyone waiting for Transport, but Derrick swerved right, snuck through the fence. Not asking permission to opt out of Transport was cause for expulsion, but Derrick walked like a man without a care.

  Gabe turned the corner, and Frankie asked, “So, would you do it?”

  Gabe moved onto the walkway closest to the window, split his attention between the dumpy girl in front of him and the idiots attached to their screens, oblivious to everyone around them. No one more oblivious than Bryce, standing there, drool glistening in the corner of his mouth, a different dude after The Program.

  Frankie repeated, “Would you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Get Connected?”

  “That’s just for the Controllers.”

  “Didn’t you hear anything Torres said? This summer it’s open to anyone.”

  Gabe had been daydreaming in class, thinking about what Derrick had said in chemistry the first day they’d been paired up, that he recognized him. Gabe had never seen him before last month when Derrick transferred.

  “I could never afford it,” Gabe said.

  “But if you could?”

  They made their final right, stopped at Gabe’s locker, ten feet from where he’d started. Gabe pressed his thumb to the lock to open it. He said, “We’re already too connected as it is.”

  “Well, I’m definitely asking my uncle.” Frankie’s uncle raked in the big bucks as an anchorman, but Frankie never saw a dime. His parents were in the same position as Gabe’s.

  “You need to lighten up,” Frankie said. He dug in his back pocket and pulled out a pink envelope. “Trisha asked me to give this to you.”

  Gabe looked past the note at Rocky’s locker. It’d been over 3 months since they put him in The Program. No one had heard a thing. No one was asking.

  “Here, man,” Frankie said.

  Gabe grabbed the card, “Gabriel” in cursive flowing across it. He shoved the envelope in his bag, merged back into the herd.

  “Well, what should I tell her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She digs you, man. You can’t keep ignoring her.”

  They headed for the archway. Landon, a chunky senior training to become a True Resident for Peace, stood near the loading area in his silver sash, scrutinizing everyone.

  “Man, I’m telling you,” Frankie said, “if Trish even looked at me like that, we’d have fifty fucking babies by now.”

  “You’re a moron.” Gabe didn’t just mean about girls. Just like all their classmates, Frankie believed the lies his uncle spread on the news.

  Gabe didn’t. His dad had explained how everything worked the last time they’d gone hiking, left their electronics behind. His dad had stood up to the Reverend and turned his back on The Way, lived to whisper about it. They hadn’t talked about it since Gabe got chipped for school, but Gabe remembered every word.

  Through the six-inch slit in the wall, Gabe saw a couple of kids out on the sidewalk, only those that lived within three blocks were given free passes to be on foot. Then there was Derrick, across the street slipping through the trees.

  Gabe said, “You know what? I’m not taking TP today. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Frankie chuckled. “You serious? We have to take it.”

  They only lived five blocks from campus, but Transport was the rule unless they personally opted out. The glorified hall monitors rarely granted passes. The Way got paid for each body on board.

  “Yeah, I’m just going to walk.”

  “Dude,” Frankie said, “that’s not a good idea.”

  Gabe didn’t care. He told Frankie, “I’ll be fine.”

  Frankie shook his head, continued down the fenced walkway, joined the students standing four across waiting for Transport.

  Gabe straightened his back the way his dad used to, tough and strong, not a scared little coward, and headed straight for Landon checking off names on his electronic clipboard. Gabe ignored the recog glasses, focused on the acne covering the senior’s face. Gabe held out his wrist. “I’m opting out of TP.”

  Landon pushed out his chest so it almost matched his belly. “You have a note from your mommy?”

  There was no chance of lying with Landon wearing the glasses so Gabe recited p. 53 of the school manual. “Students can be granted permission if they are fifteen years of age and request to opt out.”

  Landon studied Gabe’s face, the recog glasses checking his vitals. Gabe slowed his breath until Landon scanned his wrist. “Don’t get bleached, weirdo.”

  Landon wasn’t a True Resident for Peace or a Controller, but he was the kind of guy who’d track Gabe down the moment he became one. With n
o reason to upset Landon anymore, Gabe asked, “May I go?”

  Landon flicked him in the head, and Gabe bit his tongue, walked off. The sun was brilliant, Gabe cut through the trees, stopped for a second, heard the slap of the basketball on cement. Derrick was directly across the street bouncing the ball, his button-down shirt off, now tucked in his back pocket, tight white tank top hugging his chest. At six feet, with all those muscles, he had to be close to the cutoff weight.

  Derrick kept bouncing the ball. “There he is. I knew you’d follow me. You ready to get your ass handed to you?”

  Gabe acted like it was no big deal. “Not today.” He lunged to steal the ball.

  Derrick spun and laughed when Gabe slammed into his back. “With those moves, this is going to get ugly.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. I told you, it’s been a long time since I played.”

  “Oh, I believe you.” Derrick dribbled the ball a foot in front of Gabe. “You ready?”

  “I have to stop by my house first to check in.” A giant silver and black Transport rumbled down the street. The sidewalks were practically empty. There were no signs of the local gangs, no threat of having bleach thrown on his face. “Plus, I need to change.”

  “Lead the way,” Derrick said.

  “Nah, I’m all right.”

  Derrick followed anyway. “You better not be thinking of chickening out.”

  Walking with Derrick behind him let Gabe breathe a little easier. He hadn’t been out on the streets by himself since his uncle Julio’s accident left the man in a wheelchair.

  Derrick bounced the basketball off Gabe, went back to dribbling. “You’ve never opted out, have you?”

  Gabe shook his head, counted the houses that’d been torn down, the others with “Reverend’s Real Estate – Sold” signs marking their destruction. Gabe’s dad had explained how all the empty lots were the work of the Controllers. They paid beyond top dollar so The Way made an easy profit.