Touch

by Jus Accardo

  13

  Before I opened my eyes the next morning, I knew Kale had gone. The room was quieter without his breathing. Colder.

  I grabbed my tank top from the floor and pulled it over my head. The memory of last night brought a flush to my skin. I’d been prepared to go further—all the way, probably—but somehow, what happened between us was far more intimate than sex.

  Gathering my things, I wandering to the bathroom in a daze. I showered, brushed my teeth, and dried my hair, all the while wearing a goofy grin and thinking about Kale. When I opened the bathroom door letting out the steam, the room cleared. And so did my head.

  There was work to be done. Time to focus.

  I found Dad downstairs at the kitchen table with his usual breakfast—a cup of coffee, a boysenberry scone, and The New York Times.

  “Hey.” I grabbed a mug from the cabinet. He glared at me in silence as I poured the off-limits coffee into the cup. “Last night’s bonding experience aside, I need to talk to you.”

  Eyebrows raised, he nodded for me to continue.

  “I need to feel like I’m in control,” I started. “Maybe I got that from you. What those bastards did to me, keeping me tied and locked in the dark, making all those threats, it made me feel out of control. I need to find some balance.”

  Dad put down the paper and leaned back, hands folded across the table. I could tell by the subtle twitch of his lip and the slight tilt of his head I had his attention. “What do you mean, balance?”

  “I need to do something about it. These people are out there—God knows how many—and I can’t help but wonder if that’s all I’ll think about from now on each time I close my eyes.”

  “What exactly do you propose?”

  “Take me to Denazen. They filled my head with horrible lies that won’t wipe away. You can fix it.” I slammed the cup on the table, sending half of it sloshing over the edge. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that one thing they told me was true. You’re not a lawyer. I need to know the rest. I need to know the truth.”

  He was silent for a long time, eyes searching mine. I thought it all sounded pretty convincing, but it was hard to tell with Dad. The guy had invented the poker face. I’d started to think he’d seen through me when a slow smile spread across his lips.

  “Go put your shoes on.”

  §

  As we pulled into the parking lot, it occurred to me that I’d never been here. Dad had been working for Denazen for as long as I could remember, and not once, even back before we publicly despised each other, had I ever been to his office.

  We exited the car in silence, walked up the stairs, and stopped inside the glass doors at the reception desk. The man on the other side raised an eyebrow at me while handing a clipboard and pen to Dad.

  The lobby was bathed in bright white with pristine, cherry wood floors and matching trim. A set of elevators flanked both sides of the room. One set silver, the other white as snow.

  Dad scribbled his name on the paper, looked at his watch, and pointed to the white elevator doors. “Let’s go.”

  There were no buttons, only a thin strip on the wall that looked like a credit card swiper. Dad reached into the right side pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small card. With a swift pass through the swiper, the doors opened.

  Without a word, we stepped inside. I waited several moments, and when nothing happened, I asked, “Well?”

  “Patience.”

  Another minute ticked by before a loud, odd, vacuum-sounding swoosh filled the air. Another set of doors opened on the far wall of the elevator.

  Dad pointed to them and stepped through. “This is the real elevator.” Clearing his throat, he stepped inside and said, “Fourth Floor.”

  Amazed, I followed him in, and the doors closed with a ping. A moment later, the elevator jerked to life and we began to climb.

  “The only way to operate this set of elevators is by using a security badge. Without it, the elevator doors won’t even close. It won’t take you any higher than your security card clearance allows.”

  After a short climb, we stepped out into a long, empty white hall and through a steel door. There was no one there as we made our way toward the single doorway at the other end of the hall. The silence made for an eerie stage and I wanted to fill it by asking questions—I had a million of them—but didn’t want to come across as too eager. Once we got through the door, everything changed.

  Our entry into the building felt surreal next to the bustle and activity now laid out in front of me. A long row of desks lined the entire outside of the room. It reminded me of the ASPCA charity call center setup from last year’s fundraiser. At each one someone was on the phone, head down, furiously jotting notes onto paper. No one looked up as we entered.

  In the middle of the room was a large reception area with a sign above that said Reception/Check In. Behind the desk, a chubby brunette with a wicked overbite flashed Dad a flirty smile. “Mornin’, Mr. Cross.”

  Dad nodded and honored her with a rare smile. “Hannah.”

  “Is this a new acquisition?” She gave me an almost fearful once-over before turning back to him. No secret what she thought of Sixes.

  Dad laughed. “No, this is my daughter, Deznee.”

  Hannah clucked her tongue in sympathy and nodded. “This is the poor dear that was assaulted by the Six, isn’t it?”

  “I wasn’t assaulted,” I snapped before remembering I was supposed to be on the nay side of the Six fence. “I mean, I held my own with the bastards.”

  She gave me a thin smile, one that said you-keep-telling-yourself-that. “Of course you did, dear.”

  “Please have a temporary level yellow pass made up for her. She’ll be spending the day with us.”

  Hannah rubbed her plump fingers together and giggled. “How exciting this must be for you!”

  I forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look too fake. “It really is.”

  “This way,” Dad said.

  We left the room and turned right, coming to another set of elevators—these doors were green. Once inside, Dad said, “Fifth floor.” After a moment, he added, “All the elevators in the building are color-coded for the different security levels. The first three floors are silver, for the law firm. The fourth floor, Denazen’s real reception area, is white. All Denazen employees must pass through there before going anywhere in the building. The cafeteria is also on that floor. The fifth floor, where we’re heading now, is green.”

  “What’s on green?”

  “There are ten levels here at Denazen,” he said, adjusting his briefcase. “The fifth floor is where the new Sixes are brought in, received, and processed. It’s also where security is located—and my office.”

  The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened to a short man wearing the same blue, pinstriped suit I’d seen the men at Curd’s wearing. He smiled, chipmunk-like cheeks scrunching his beady brown eyes to thin slits.

  “Mr. Cross, they’ve brought 104 back. Things were a complete success.”

  Dad nodded, and we stepped off the elevator. “Good. Make sure he’s brought back to level eight.”

  “Eight, sir? Don’t we usually house him on seven?”

  “We did—until he incinerated the person who brought him dinner two nights ago. He stays on eight until further notice.” Dad turned to me. “Follow and stay close.”

  Chipmunk Cheeks paid me no mind as we passed, turning away from Dad to bark orders at a man approaching us.

  “Someone got incinerated?” I balked. “Seriously?”

  We stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. Dad pulled the card he’d used in the elevator out, and passed it through the swiper on the door. It opened and we stepped inside.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured across the room to a large mahogany
desk. A cushy looking chair sat on either side.

  “These Sixes are dangerous if left unchecked. But when trained and put to proper use, they can be quite handy. We bring them here, train the ones we can, and house them. In exchange for food, shelter, and protection, they work for us.”

  He was so full of crap! Food, shelter, and protection? More like starvation, cages, and torture. “So the ones you have here are employees?”

  “Some, yes. They’re given every comfort and convenience in exchange for their services. Due to the nature of our work, they live on site as they’re on call twenty-four hours a day. Others, the dangerous ones we can’t rehabilitate, are held here for their own good. That boy you helped escape was one of them.”

  Helped escape. Not that boy who took you hostage. Not that boy who tried to kill you. Even now, I could do no right. He loved rubbing it in.

  Just you wait. Payback’s a bitch, Daddy.

  “What exactly is his deal?” I figured now was a good time to ask questions. “He touched someone and—” I shook my head, feigning fear. “He touched someone and they died. Shriveled up and turned to freaking dust!”

  “98. His touch is devastating—as you had the unfortunate opportunity to witness. It brings instant death to anything organic. People, plants, any living thing. Destroyed with a simple brush of his skin.”

  “Except for you.” He watched me with an odd kind of curiosity and hunger. It made my skin itch. It was the same look I’d seen on my high school English teacher, Mr. Parks, when he’d waved his winning lottery ticket at the class and skipped out.

  “Why? Not that I’m not glad,” I said, kicking back and throwing my feet onto his desk. He glared at me but said nothing. “Why didn’t I shrivel up?”

  “That’s a very good question.”

  §

  After some seriously uncomfortable probing—the verbal kind—Dad had taken me on a tour of the fifth and sixth floors. Training and Acquisition Research. I’d gotten to watch a young woman burn a hole through a concrete block by simply glaring at it, a man whose skin could turn to ice at will, and a small child transformed into a beautiful blue and gold parrot before my eyes. If I didn’t know what was really going on here, this place would have impressed me. I asked about the other floors, but he said anything involving containment and housing was off limits, and that had been the end of that conversation.

  We were standing in front of the elevator doors when Dad pulled out his security card. The doors opened and we stepped in. He was about to swipe the card when I reached out and snagged it from his hands.

  “Wow, that’s a really shitty picture, Dad,” I said, gripping the card tight between my fingers. The plastic was cold, smooth, and slightly flexible. Slipping my other hand into my back pocket, I fingered the yellow security badge I’d gotten at the desk when we came in. A knifelike jabbing assaulted my temples. It only lasted a few seconds, but stole my breath nonetheless.

  Dad didn’t seem to notice. With a swift move, the card was back in his hand, through the swiper, and disappearing into the folds of his coat. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Oh, yeah. I was smooth.

  By the time we made it back to the fourth floor, it was almost two in the afternoon. Dad had something to tend to, so he deposited me in the cafeteria. I was about to hit the elevator when someone plopped into the seat beside me.

  “Howdy!” said a cheerful voice.

  I swiveled in my chair to see a guy about my age. He was looking at me with soulful eyes, a springy curl of his chestnut brown hair falling into his face. He extended his hand, smiling. “I’m Flip. Haven’t seen you before. New?”

  “Um, Hi.”

  “First day?” he asked, taking a bite from the thin end of a raw, unpeeled carrot.

  “I’m actually here with my dad. Marshall Cross.”

  “You’re Cross’ kid?” He beamed. “Your Dad is amazing.

  Someone had a man-crush. “I take it you’re a fan.”

  “Hells, yeah. Your Dad is a great man. He really looks out for us.” He laughed. “I take it you’re a Nix?”

  “Nix?”

  “It’s what we on the inside call the non-Six folks.”

  Wow. Way original.

  “You’ll love it here,” Flip continued. “Denazen is awesome.”

  “Seriously?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice. Thankfully, Flip was too oblivious to notice.

  “Hells, yeah! We’re like frickin’ superheroes. Out there fighting the good fight. Making the world a safer place for mankind and all that.” He leaned in closer. “We take out the bad guys and restore order. We’re totally like X-Men or Justice League and shit!”

  I wondered if someday Flip’s diarrhea of the mouth would become fatal. “So they treat you okay?”

  “Are you kidding? I was a runaway. Totally clueless about things. Denazen found me, gave me a home, and taught me all the good I could do with my gift. We, like, help the government sometimes.”

  Talk about frigging delusional.

  “You’re not, like, a prisoner or anything?”

  That earned me a funny look. “Prisoner?”

  “You can come and go as you please?”

  “I don’t see why not…but we don’t. We stay here. It’s safer.” His expression turned thoughtful. “There’s a lot of bad shit out there. Denazen’s pissed off a lot of bad guys. Made a lot of enemies. On the outside, we’re walking, talking target practice. In here, we’re safe. They protect us.”

  “In exchange for your service,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. If I didn’t know better—if I hadn’t met Kale first—the crap Flip was selling might have been more believable. But I’d seen behind Denazen’s mask. The truth was out. Now, if I had my way, I’d make sure everyone and their uncle knew. “And you’re all cool with that?”

  He frowned. “Most of us, yeah. There are always some uncooperative ones. Some of us can be pretty dangerous. If Sixes starts hurting people, they bring them in and try to reason with them.”

  Rehabilitate.

  “And if they can’t?”

  “The police have jails, right? Same concept. Anyone with abilities that goes on mass killing sprees or whatever are criminals.” He looked down at his watch. “Crap. I’m late for the weight room.” He stood, giving me a wink. Flexing his arms, carrot hanging from the corner of his mouth, he said, “They help us get and stay ripped. I’m a total babe magnet now.”

  I smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Flip.”

  I watched him leave, breathing a sigh of relief. I wanted to get things moving.

  With the coast finally clear, I stood and made my way to the elevator. What I planned to do was risky, but it was the only hope I had of getting back into Dad’s office alone.

  They hadn’t let me into that Six-only party because I was cute.

  When I was seven, Uncle Mark took Brandt and me shopping right before Christmas. I saw a Barbie doll I absolutely had to have and begged him to buy it for me. He’d refused of course—money had been tight. When Uncle Mark went to check out, I snuck back. Grabbing the beautiful new doll, I clutched my old, raggy one, wishing she had the same beautiful, flowing white dress and shimmery crown sitting in a mass of golden hair. When I looked down, both dolls were identical and I threw up all over aisle eight.

  As I got older, I figured out how it worked. I could mimic one object into another so long as I was still touching the original. As long as the general size was the same, it worked. I’d experimented and found that my limitations were almost nonexistent. If I had a tuna sandwich and wanted a cheeseburger, no problem. It tasted exactly like a cheeseburger. If I wanted beer, but had soda? No worries! Liquid fun was only a wish away.

  You’d think with something as awesome as this, I’d be doing it like crazy, right? A teenager with the abili
ty to basically get what she wanted when she wanted would go nuts. Other than the obvious I should keep this to myself opinion formed at an early age, the pain wasn’t worth it. Each time I did it, my brains felt like they were being yanked out through my nose with a fishing hook. Size mattered a little. The bigger the object, the worse the pain. But when mimicking something as small as an ice cube caused you to blow projectile vomit and see stars, there better be a damned good reason for doing it.

  Last year, Dad had a brand new, fifty-two-inch flat screen delivered to the house while he was at work. I’d come home, messing around with some guy I met at a rave, and we’d knocked it over. After I got him to leave, I’d gone to the garage, dragged in the cardboard box, and voila! New TV. The hardest part had been getting rid of the ruined remains of the original with a blinding headache and gut-wrenching nausea. It lasted an entire day.

  I’d never told another living soul. What would I have said? Hi, my name is Dez and I’m some weird human wish factory? Wish in one hand…and it comes true in the other. Um, no. It came in handy in an emergency, but still, it was freaky. Then, when I heard about that kid who was dragged away at Sumrun and never heard from again, I kept my secret for a whole ’nother reason. I was scared as hell.

  When Kale told me about my mom and what she could do, it’d been so hard not to smile. Even though I’d never met her, it made me feel less alone. Like mother, like daughter—sort of, anyway. I’d never even considered trying to mimic myself into someone else. I mean, what if I couldn’t change back? And I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain that would come with something that big. It’d probably kill me.

  Now, working my mojo here—essentially the equal of shooting up in a police station—I was taking an insane risk. Dad had locked Mom away because of what she could do. How would he react if he found out what I could do?

  I swiped the card and said, “Fifth floor.”

  I don’t know if somewhere in the back of my mind I’d expected it not to work, or maybe I thought sirens and flashing lights would go off, alerting the entire building, but when the doors closed and the elevator jerked to a start, I felt a tidal wave of relief.