Touched - Part One

Touched

verb, transitive

to cause or permit a part of the body, especially the hand or fingers, to come in contact with so as to feel: reached out and touched the smooth stone.

adjective

slightly crazy; unbalanced: touched in the head.

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Tuesday, October 24, 1995

Tucson, Arizona

Amber McKenzie sipped a glass of orange juice while she divided her attention between the traffic report on the radio and her calculus homework. The compact radio was across the dining room, sitting atop the buffet table on the right wall. Her calculus homework was scattered out across the dining room table.

Beside her, Daniel, her father, read the paper while he finished the last of his breakfast. Dressed in dark grey slacks and a white dress shirt, he would still need to pull on his blue paisley tie and grey jacket before he could leave for work at his law office downtown. Both his tie and jacket were draped over the back of another chair on the other side of the dining room table.

Daniel was sixty-two, and while he still had a full head of hair, it was no secret that he’d been dying it chestnut-brown to match his old, natural color. The deep lines around his brown eyes and the crevices around his mouth were more telling of his age.

He sat sideways in his chair. His left arm rested over the seatback, holding the folded paper. His right hand patted the edge of his plate for the last cold slice of toast, raised it partway to his mouth to take a bite, and then froze as he finished reading an article.

Amber heard him sigh and turned to give him a curious look. “Bad news?” she asked.

“Last night was another bloodbath,” Daniel said. Setting aside his toast, he turned the paper toward her to point out a story. “Five people are dead this time, and the cops claim to have already caught the killer.”

Amber glanced at the article, though she didn’t bother reading anything beyond the headline before she offered a bored half shrug. “The killer knew most of the victims, right?”

“Yes, it’s the same story every time.”

“So why are you still being a skeptic?” Amber asked. She leaned over to keep working on an equation while she said, “The story is always the same. Someone just goes crazy and starts killing people.”

“Yes, but that’s why I’m skeptical,” Daniel said. “There’s only a few days between each of these stories. No matter what the police say, it isn’t typical to see multiple serial killings in the same city like this.”

He set the paper aside and grabbed his slice of toast. Biting into it, his expression became thoughtful as he had a random idea. “Maybe it’s some new kind of drug on the market.”

“Sure, that would be very popular,” Amber remarked. “I can see lots of people buying a drug that would make them kill their family and friends.”

“Well, maybe it’s a tainted drug, like—”

“No, you’re grasping at straws again, Dad,” Amber said. She waved her pen to point at the newspaper. “The police have said almost all of the people who have been captured came up clean for drugs. The few who didn’t were smoking grass or popping pain pills.”

Amber glanced up as her mother, Rachel, walked into the dining room. She was dressed in her usual way, with baggy, faded denim pants, and a blue quarter-sleeve top. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, giving her a square, almost masculine hairline.

Rachel was Amber’s mother, and Daniel’s second wife. His first wife, Camilla, had died from pneumonia in her late twenties, leaving Daniel with three young boys to look after, and a full-time job to worry about.

Daniel had hired Rachel from a childcare referral service to watch over the boys, but over the course of the next three years, he and she drifted together and became a couple. When Daniel announced to his sons that he was marrying Rachel, not one of them was surprised, nor did they have any objections. Two years later, Amber was born.

Waving her hand to get her mother’s attention, Amber asked, “Hey, Mom, help me out here, please?”

Rachel’s pale, round face tensed in a look of dread that was almost sincere. “What are we discussing?”

Amber said, “Dad thinks that drugs are what made all those people go crazy and start killing.”

Rachel shook her head, making her braided ponytail sway like a weighted pendulum. “Oh, I’m not getting into that. When he talks about bodies, I tune him out.”

Daniel chuckled and grabbed Rachel’s arm as she tried to pass behind his chair. He pulled her down for a quick kiss, though he still tried to fake a look of irritation. “I thought it was my job to smile and nod when you’re talking.”

“I only do it a few times.” Rachel leaned over the table gather dishes. “I have to whenever you try to make up theories for these killers. It’s just too morbid a topic for me to think about.”

“I wouldn’t mind if any of his theories made sense, but he’s just guessing.” Amber feigned a disappointed expression. “Even Jobe could—”

“Amber!” Daniel shouted. “What have I told you?”

“I’m sorry, I must have forgot myself.” Amber shut her book, and then her notebook as she got up from the table. She stacked and crammed them into her backpack before her temper overrode her common sense. “Remind me who was put in the hospital again?”

“That’s why you should know better,” Daniel insisted.

“Why? Because it makes you mad that I still care for him?” Amber zipped her backpack shut and turned to glare at her father. “You can skip the lecture. I’ve already heard it before.”

Daniel sighed and tried to reach out for her arm. “Amber, will you—”

She stepped back and away from him as she slid her bag over her shoulder. “Back off already.”

“Where are you going?” Rachel asked.

“I’m going to school.” Amber walked out of the dining room to grab her cell phone from the table in the hall. Turning around, she shouted over her shoulder, “If I stay here, I won’t be getting my homework finished.”

Before she got outside, she was already berating herself for mentioning her brother. Bringing up Jobe always upset her father, and she did it anyway.

Though she couldn’t admit it, the real reason why she kept bringing up the subject was that she had a hole in her memory. Amber wanted to remember exactly what Jobe had said just before he’d attacked her, but her every effort to recall the memory failed.

Jobe ran away from home at the age of fourteen, and Amber, who was nine at the time, had tracked him down on her own. When she found her brother, he pleaded with her to keep her distance, and she wouldn’t listen. She had moved to take hold of him, and then...nothing.

Amber had a strong impression that Jobe had said something immediately after that point, but when she tried to focus on the moment, her mental image of her brother became hazy and indistinct. Further efforts to recall Jobe back into the scene caused the rest of the memory to blur into obscurity too.

As she crossed the front yard to her car, Amber was still trying to prevent the blurry memory from falling apart when something cold touched her face. The sensation started under her chin, a fleeting tingle, like having a cotton swab dipped in alcohol on her skin.

The patch of cold rose over Amber’s round chin and slid up to her lips. The feeling faded before she could cover her mouth with her hand. Her skin was dry, even if she believed otherwise.

Amber’s body loosened in a shudder of repulsion, and she froze in place a few feet away from her car in the driveway. Her skin prickled, and she curled her lips to bite down on them.

She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at the front door. But no, she didn’t want to go back into the house to deal with the storm she’d just stirred up with her typical passive-aggressive ways. It would be better to drive to school, where she could finish up her homework in peace.

Amber walked with a much faster pace to her car. The thought came to her that perhaps she was being watched by some crazy person, and her senses had made up the odd feeling as a warning.

But it was a ridiculous notion, and she pushed the idea aside as she dug her keys out of her bag. Nobody is watching you, she thought. Just chill out.

***

“Rough morning?”

Amber looked up at Rochelle Turner, who had been Amber’s best friend since middle school. Tall, dark, and gracefully thin, Rochelle’s appearance was an extreme contrast to Amber, who was short, pale, and painfully plain.

Despite the cool autumn weather, Rochelle wore a short black skirt that showed off most of her lithe legs. She wore a sweater, but the deep plunging V neck of her light purple sweater left the upper half of her chest exposed. But, being athletically fit, Rochelle rarely noticed cold weather.

Her silky black hair was pulled into a simple bun on the back of her head, and she wore only light cosmetics. After years of slumber parties, Amber knew for certain that Rochelle didn’t need the makeup to look good. She woke up looking pretty. To even compete with her, Amber had to pile on a pound of foundation to fill in the rough spots.

Amber didn’t hear Rochelle’s question, so Rochelle asked, “Did you have a rough morning?”

Shaking her head, Amber said, “No, not really. Dad was trying to spin another theory about the killers, and I mentioned my brother.”

Rochelle sighed as she dropped her bag on the table and sat down. Though Amber had three brothers, Rochelle didn’t need to ask which one she’d been referring to. Only one of her brothers could provoke an angry reaction in Daniel.

Rochelle asked, “If you know it makes him mad, why do you keep doing it?”

“I guess it’s because I still want to talk about what happened,” Amber said. “The way my family sees it, he just attacked me. But that’s not what happened at all. Jobe told me that he was starting to have problems figuring out what was real or not, and I still wanted to take him back home.”

“Yeah, I know. You told me a dozen times, and I still don’t see why you would forgive him. He almost killed you, and all you did was grab his arm.”

“Rochelle, you’re missing the point. He ran away from us. Jobe knew that he’d become dangerous, and he left to protect us.” Amber frowned at a stray thought. “Maybe he caught whatever kind of crazy that people around here keep getting.”

“Or maybe it was just the plain old kind of crazy.” Rochelle smiled and leaned over to pat Amber’s hand. “I know just the thing to get your head away from morbid thoughts. We can head over to the gym and watch Derrick work out.”

Amber laughed and gestured down at her book. “No, I’ve got to finish this last problem. Besides, watching Derrick is what would cheer you up. I could only be mildly amused by the things you say while you watch him.”

Rochelle glanced at the open notebook filled with equations, and she winced with a look of genuine disgust. “I’d offer my help, but I’m just barely passing.”

“I’m okay. I just need some time to work without distractions.” Amber smiled at her friend’s silence and went back to work. She gave a nod as she finished and checked the time on her cell phone. “Great, I still have twenty minutes until class.”

Giggling, Rochelle asked, “So, now we can watch Derrick?”

Amber shook her head as she got up. “No, I’ve still got to fix up my face.”

Rochelle groaned, pouting with instant disapproval. “You shouldn’t say it like that. You aren’t that bad.”

Amber shouldered her bag and started to walk away from the cafeteria table. “You’re just being nice, but let’s be honest. When we go out to the bars, you like to invite me because I make you look good.”

She glanced at Rochelle, smirking over her friend’s guilty expression. “There is a reason why you always end up going home with a guy, and I go back to my house alone. I’m buck-toothed, pale, and I’ve got brown hair that people call mousy no matter what style I use on it.” She heaved a sigh. “I have this dreadful feeling that I’m going to grab the first guy who stares at me, and he’ll end up being a whack job.”

“Yeah...” Rochelle looked ahead, floundering for something positive to say. “But there are good and bad kinds of whack jobs, you know.”

Amber snickered. “Really.”

“No, really.” Rochelle laughed. “You could meet one of those comic book or anime whackos. The worst that could happen there is that they ask you to dress up like their favorite heroine.”

“That could work. I am a member of the anime club, and I’ve already got a Lum costume.”

Rochelle asked, “Sorry?”

Amber shook her head. “Forget I said anything.” She open the bathroom door, and turned her head to grin sheepishly at Rochelle. “Actually, I’ve been skipping some of the anime club meetings, because the only guys who pay attention to me are the ones who smell funny.”

“Okay, see? That right there proves you have standards. You won’t just take the first thing that comes along.”

“You’re missing the point, again. There are cute, normal guys at the anime club. They just never seem to notice me.” Laughing in a self-mocking way, Amber went to the counter and set down her bag. “Only the stinky guys do.”

She glanced up at her reflection and made a face, bulging out her round cheeks while she opened her eyes wide to fake a look of shock. She let her breath out, but to her, her cheeks were still too round. She either looked like a chipmunk, or an old porcelain doll. And not one of the cute ones.

No, she thought, I look like a creepy Victorian-era doll.

Like her mother, Amber had bulging cheeks. But while Rachel’s face was pretty for being round, the sum of Amber’s features made hers plain.

She had a bow-shaped mouth that was too small, and she’d inherited her big, crooked teeth from her father. Her nose was a hybrid from both parents, and it turned up at the tip, almost giving her a snout. Her brown eyes were too big, and her eyebrows were too thick. If all of that wasn’t bad enough, there was her lifeless and short chestnut-brown hair. Or, as it had often been called by others, mousy-brown.

Dropping her head to look through her bag for her makeup, she offered a short opinion of her appearance by muttering, “Bleh.”

“Oh, hush.” Lightly slapping Amber’s arm, Rochelle walked away from the counter. She headed into one of the stalls and closed the door before she started talking through it. “You aren’t ugly. You’re just plain.”

Amber ignored her, leaning over the counter to push down the tip of her nose with her finger. “Maybe a nose job might help.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Or, maybe just a boob job.” Amber smirked at her reflection and then leaned over to dig through her bag again. “Maybe if I had something for guys to stare at, they could ignore my face.”

Her smile faltered when something cold brushed over her shoulder and moved up the side of her neck.

Another involuntary shiver rippled out across her body, and her gaze snapped up to the mirror. Amber spun her head around to glance over her shoulder. “What is that?”

Rochelle asked, “What is what?”

“It’s weird, but twice now, I’ve had this weird feeling like...” Amber hesitated, looking around while she tried to sum up the sensation. “It’s like something was touching me.”

Rochelle made a short, spiteful laugh. “Was it a good touch or—”

Amber turned at the sound of Rochelle coughing. “Are you okay?” There was no answer. Amber walked to the stall and knocked on the door. “Rochelle? Hey, are you okay?”

She was moving to lean her head on the door when it swung open suddenly, almost sending her falling forward. Amber steadied herself on the dividing wall and took a step back. “Don’t do that! You—”

She couldn’t look up once she’d realized that Rochelle was peeing on herself. Rochelle’s skirt was wet, and her panties were stretched around her knees.

Amber forced herself to look up, and her heart began to hammer in her chest at the sight of Rochelle’s eyes. Her pupils were dilated out so wide that her eyes almost appeared black. More unsettling was the look of malice in her expression, a look that Amber had never seen before.

Rochelle hissed, “Freak.”

Amber took a step back. “What? Rochelle, what’s wrong with your voice?”

“Why do I keep running into little freaks like you?” Rochelle  asked.

There was a rasp to her voice, and it sounded lower in pitch, almost masculine.

Rochelle took a step toward Amber, and her panties fell to her ankles. She dropped her head as she kicked her underwear off. When she looked back up, her lips were thinned in a wide, unnatural grin. It seemed impossibly wide, yet her lips continued stretching until her upper lip split and began to bleed.

She leaned her head over until it almost touched her left shoulder, and her expression shifted to a mocking caricature of sympathy. “What’s wrong, freak? You look scared.”

Amber tried to take another step back before she bumped into the counter. She barely had time to utter a short scream before Rochelle leapt at her.

Amber threw her arms in front of her face, expecting to be punched or slapped. Instead hands clamped over her throat with an impossible strength.

Thinking desperately for a way to escape, Amber slipped her thumbs into the crooks of Rochelle’s elbows. She pressed down hard enough to break the skin, and blood poured around the edges of the wounds. But Rochelle’s grip on her throat tightened further, and her vision began to blur.

Amber leaned back onto the counter and wedged her leg up to plant her foot in Rochelle’s stomach. Straining to piston her leg out, Amber felt nails raking deep, burning scratches across the sides of her neck. The pain was intense, and as soon as she could draw a breath, she began to scream.

Rochelle stumbled back away from the counter, but she recovered a split second later and moved in for another attack. With nowhere to run, Amber hopped to sit on the counter and raised both of her legs to mule kick Rochelle back into the dividing wall between the stalls.

Though the impact was strong enough to break the dividing wall, Amber had a sick feeling that it still wasn’t enough to keep Rochelle down. She didn’t bother waiting to find out, and she slid off of the counter to run for the door.

She was halfway across the room when Rochelle grabbed a fistful of her hair close to her scalp and yanked her back. Forward momentum carried Amber’s legs out from under her, and she fell to the floor with a jarring force.

The air was knocked out of her, and she didn’t have a chance to open her eyes before hands clamped over her throat again. She struggled to free herself, but she was pinned with no way to escape.

The pneumatic door pump hissed as the bathroom door was shoved back too quickly, and all at once Amber was released.

Amber opened her eyes, and Rochelle stared at her with a look of genuine confusion. Amber scrabbled back across the floor, but even in her panicked state, the change in Rochelle’s expression and posture were obvious.

They gaped in disbelief at each other, both of them looking like complete strangers who were recovering from a random assault.

Rochelle became aware of her injuries, and once she noticed the holes in her arms, she began to shake. She collapsed on the floor on her side, her hands clamping over the leaking punctures.

Amber looked up when a professor took hold of her shoulder to lift her. Pulling away, she crawled to Rochelle and laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “What happened?”

“I...I don’t know,” Rochelle whispered. “There was something inside me...” She raised her hand to wipe blood from her lip. She stared at it blankly, shaking her head. “I didn’t really do that, did I?”

Amber glanced over her shoulder at the sound of someone running through the hall outside the bathroom. It was only then that she noticed the large crowd of gawkers just outside the open door.

The crowd parted reluctantly for a pair of campus police officers. “What’s going on?” the leaner of the two officers asked as he stepped into the bathroom.

“I’m not sure yet,” Amber said and got to her feet, wincing as her hip and her shoulder both protested over being moved too soon. “Help her up. I think she’s in worse shape than me.”

“What did you do to her?” the professor asked.

“She didn’t do anything,” Rochelle protested. She couldn’t suppress a strained whine as she was helped up by both of the officers. Rochelle grabbed her lower back before leaning heavily on the taller, heavier officer. “One minute, we were just talking, and the next, I got up and started attacking her.”

The heavier officer drew back a wet hand as his face pinched in disgust. “Oh hell, you’ve peed yourself.”

Rochelle looked down, and her face flushed purple with embarrassment. “I didn’t do it. I mean, I remember everything that just happened, but I’d swear to you that it wasn’t me. I don’t know why, but somehow I just...” Her bloodied lips drew into a frown as she searched for the right words. “I lost control of myself.”