Touch Page 16

  “Hello, Ken,” Dad said as a man wearing the same leotard suit as the men who chased Kale through the woods, appeared behind us. He set down a black small case and dug into his front pocket, pulling out a security badge with a red stripe across the front. “Is it harvesting time already?”

  The man nodded and swiped the card through the reader next to Kale’s door.

  “You don’t mind if we watch, do you? I’m giving Deznee here a small tour.”

  Ken gave a noncommittal shrug and retrieved his case before slipping into Kale’s cell.

  “Harvesting time?” I asked, watching as the door whooshed closed behind the man. Kale still hadn’t looked up.

  “The board voted to put him down, but we have a dilemma. 98 is a truly rare individual. His gift, of course, is highly dangerous, but he also has a latent ability we need. Something in the chemical makeup of his blood renders Sixes sedate and pliable. Unlike modern drugs that have nasty side effects and render the subject ultimately useless for a time, 98’s blood obliterates any and all violent tendencies and makes them completely obedient.”

  “98 is an interesting case.” Dad continued. “The boy’s been with us since infancy. He was raised by another one of our residents and has worked for Denazen his entire life.”

  “I thought you said he wasn’t an employee.”

  Dad shook his head. “He used to be. He was given military-grade combat training and continuous physical conditioning. We used him in the most important missions. But after an unprovoked attack and his escape—and of course his abduction of you—many of us feel 98 is unsalvageable at this point. Something snapped and now he’s broken.”

  Like a toy.

  “You’re keeping him alive so you can bleed him dry?” I tried—and failed—not to let the horror in my voice come through.

  Dad shrugged as though he hadn’t noticed my reaction. “We’ve been trying to reproduce it synthetically, but we’ve had no luck. We’ve increased the harvesting schedule from one time a day to four, in case something happens and we need to terminate sooner. Unfortunately, this will only help for a short time. After several days, the chemical in his blood goes dormant and can no longer be used in the serum. We’re trying to perfect a way to store it, but so far we’ve been unsuccessful.”

  I turned back to the glass and watched Ken haul Kale to his feet. Kale looked up, noticing us for the first time. Our eyes locked and the bottom dropped out from beneath me. He was too pale, with bluish bruises under both eyes and across his left cheek. He was having a hard time standing on his own—twice, Ken had to prop him up against the wall to keep him from sinking to the ground.

  “He looks horrible,” I whispered. It was the least damaging thing I could think of to say. Dad was watching me. No way he didn’t notice my reaction.

  “He put up a bit of a fight the first day back. I’m afraid some of our employees were forced to be quite rough. He’s doing much better, though. Almost standing on his own.”

  Rage bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I needed to get him out of here.

  Dad nodded to the corner of the cell. Along the wall several glasses were lined up like soldiers marching off to war, all filled with thick yellow liquid. Orange juice. “So far, he’s been refusing to eat or drink.”

  Inside the cage, Ken was putting his equipment back in the case. On his way out, he stopped to pick up one of the full glasses of juice and handed it to Kale. He took it and turned back to me.

  “Can he hear us out here?”

  Dad shook his head and stepped to meet Ken as he exited the cell.

  Kale came forward as I glanced over my shoulder at Dad. He spoke to Ken in hushed tones, ignoring me. “Drink it,” I mouthed. To my relief, he brought the glass to his lips and downed the entire thing. I kept my face turned away from Dad, stuffing my hands deep into my pockets to keep from placing them on the glass. “I’m sorry.”

  Kale’s expression stayed neutral, but his eyes conveyed a longing that matched my own. If I could only touch him, even for a minute…

  “Are you ready to head back?” I jumped as Dad’s hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  CRASH

  Kale had thrown the empty glass at the front window of the cage—directly where Dad’s head was. Tiny droplets of juice dripped down the uncracked glass and pooled on the floor.

  He backed into the corner of the cell, eyes never leaving Dad’s, and wearing a bone-chilling sneer.

  20

  We got home sometime after 7:30 that night. Dad had gone back to Denazen to take care of some things, so I was left alone. For the first time as far back as I could remember, all I wanted to do was curl up and cry.

  I wandered the living room, picking up small mementos from a life that had never existed. A tiny porcelain kitten statue, a blue glass rose. All lies. I came to the vase. That stinking, ugly vase. I picked it up, turning it over as Kale had done the night we’d met and gave it a good shake.

  This should have plants in it, right?

  I ran my index finger along the rim of it once before heaving it at the wall. It shattered—much like Kale’s glass—pieces exploding every which way. They fell, tiny plinks and clinks as they hit the hardwood and bounced across the floor.

  The rest of the rooms went pretty much the same. A heavy fog had settled over my head and no matter what I tried, it wouldn’t go away. I smashed things, ripped things—nothing helped. I tried calling Brandt again. No answer. I emailed. No response. At this point, I was getting worried. It could have been that he was blowing me off because he’d kept digging. I saw it in his eyes at the Graveyard. He’d never been able to resist a challenge, and since the guy couldn’t lie to me, he was avoiding. The logic was flawed and didn’t seem right, but it made me feel slightly better.

  I found my way into the kitchen and fixed my favorite sandwich—turkey, tomato, and peanut butter—but after closer inspection, found it unappetizing. I took a bite regardless, but the bread tasted stale and crumbly, and the turkey smelled bad even though it was fresh. I spit the mouthful into my open palm, almost gagging. My stomach rumbled in hungry protest, but I dumped the remainder of the sandwich in the trash on the way up to my room.

  Television—nothing on. Radio—all the songs sucked. Computer—all the usual chat rooms were empty. I entertained the idea of sneaking out to find some action—a few choice calls and I’d undoubtedly have the 411 on a party going down somewhere along the strip—but I didn’t have the energy.

  Instead, I kicked off my shoes and crawled under the covers. All the mimicking I did earlier had caught up with me again, and even though my head buzzed—annoyance over Brandt, disgust for my father, and fear for Kale—sleep came easier than I thought it would.

  §

  I woke sometime later to a soft but noticeable clinking sound. Sitting up, I surveyed the room. It was the second night of the full moon—the brightest of the three—and the floor of my bedroom was illuminated by silvery light shining through the window.

  The window.

  That’s where the noise had been coming from. I slid off the bed, opened the window, and peered over the edge. Alex.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Can I come up?”

  I shrugged and backed away as he started to climb.

  He slid through the open window and gave me a quick once-over, frowning. I was suddenly glad I never changed into my pajamas. “You just get home? I looked up and down the strip for you.”

  “Been here all night,” I said falling back onto the bed. “Why were you looking for me anyway? Didn’t we say all we needed to say last time we saw each other? Remember? You told me to get the hell out?”

  “I was worried about you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Next time, use the phone. Or email. Hell, use a carrier pigeon.”

 
“I don’t have your number anymore. Or your email. And I don’t own any pigeons.”

  “My email’s the same it’s always been.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence.

  “Well?” I snuck a look over at the clock on my nightstand. Only midnight. I must have dozed off because the last time I’d looked at the clock, it’d been 11:20.

  “Well what?” he asked, irritated.

  “You said you wanted to see if I was all right.” I twirled once. “Obviously, I’m all right.”

  “God,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You’re so irritating!”

  “Thank you,” I said, pointing to the window. “Would it be ironic if I told you to get the hell out now?”

  Alex sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night. Denazen kinda freaks me out. I—”

  I wasn’t interested in a patented half-hearted Alex Mojourn apology. “No big, okay? You gotta look out for you. I get it.”

  He was quiet for a minute, subtly surveying the room. “You haven’t changed much in here, huh?”

  The walls were still the same shade of royal blue they’d been when I was seven. Some of the furniture had been upgraded, but everything was still positioned in the same general place. If you pulled the bed away from the wall, you’d even see the small heart carved into the back of the headboard with both our names running through it. A thousand times after that night at Roudey’s I’d pulled out the bed, kitchen knife in hand, ready to gouge the reminder from existence. Each time I stopped, unable to go through with it.

  “There something else you want? I mean, besides admiring my décor?”

  He fidgeted and looked at the floor. Fred wobbled a bit. “I need to tell you something.”

  Whatever he had to say was making him nervous. It was worth a few more minutes of my time. I sat back on the bed to enjoy it while he continued to squirm.

  “I knew who you were.”

  I figured he’d finally give me some bullshit—and long overdue—apology for what he’d done. Closure. I should have known better. “Huh?”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “I knew who you were. Right from the start. I knew you were Marshall Cross’ daughter.”

  All the air drained from the room. It was the ultimate sucker punch. My mouth opened, then closed again. Words. I’d forgotten all of them. He used me? Was that what he was saying? It had all been a lie?

  “I figured getting close to you might lead us to information about your father—and Denazen.”

  He stopped to gage my reaction. What he saw on my face must have worried him, because he rushed on, starting to pace.

  “It wasn’t long, though, before I realized you really had no clue about Denazen or what your father did. You were just an innocent kid caught in the middle of something you had no idea about.”

  At that moment, he was worse than my dad. Worse because I’d had so much faith in him. In us. To find out it’d all been bullshit was devastating. “How long?”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “We’d only been dating like six months by the time I put it all together.”

  “What about the rest of the time?” I advanced on him. My head was spinning—he’d used me, to get to my dad of all people! “We were together over a year.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Ginger and the others—they told me to break it off once we were sure you were a dead end. I couldn’t though. I fell in—”

  I lost it. My fist connected with the corner of his jaw in a satisfying, although painful, thud. “Don’t you dare stand here and tell me you fell in love with me.”

  “Don’t want to hear it?” Reaching up, he rubbed his chin, expression darkening. “Too damn bad. I fell in love with you. Nothing we ever had was fake.”

  I went to hit him again, but he knew me. Expected it. He caught my hand and deflected it and I stumbled to the side. Deep breath. “You’re a prick. It wasn’t enough for you to rip me apart once, you had to come and try to do it again?”

  “If I remember correctly, you came to me this time. I had no intention of looking for you.”

  I didn’t answer. We stood there in the moonlight, locked together in a stare-down. After a few minutes he spoke again, his voice low. “I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?” I snapped.

  “Denazen. I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

  Priceless. Come in, gouge out my heart, then try to suck up? Such a typical Alex Mojourn move. “Why? Why change your mind? If this has anything to do with guilt—”

  “Guilt has nothing to do with it. I can’t sleep knowing you’re in this alone.”

  I laughed. “All of a sudden you care about me? I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor. You’re an epic fail when it comes to that, so do me a favor and scram.”

  “Jesus,” he swore. “I’m really trying here, Dez.”

  “Well, don’t! Who asked you to?” I pushed him hard toward the window.

  He stumbled, recovered, and pushed me back. “You think you know everything, but you don’t,” he growled. “That night—at Roudey’s—that girl was a Six.”

  I groaned. The last thing I needed was the gory details. Next he’d tell me her bra size and that she liked moonlit walks along the beach. “And why the hell would you think I care? It’s old news. History. Moving on now. If you think that makes it okay, then whatever.”

  “She was doing me a favor.”

  “A favor?” And the funny kept coming. If this had been anyone other than me, I might have found the whole thing laughably ironic. But because I was the star of this little tragedy? Yeah. Not so much. “Letting you grope her while you sucked the lips off her face? That’s one hell of a favor.”

  “It was a setup—I set you up. I wanted you to see us together.”

  A setup? What the hell did that mean? “You never struck me as the ball-less type. Why not break up with me if you’d gotten bored?”

  “I told you, the others wanted me to call things off with you. When I didn’t, they were annoyed, but oh well. They got over it. As time went on, though, they started talking about using you for more than information. They wanted to use you to get at your father. I didn’t want you involved in anything to do with Denazen. I told them that.”

  “You’re trying to say you broke my heart for my own good?”

  “It was the only thing I could think of to wipe you out of my life. I knew you’d never forgive me.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “It killed me—the look on your face. The pain in your eyes. I did what I had to do to keep you out of it. If I’d had any idea you were a Six…”

  “You’re lying,” I said, even though deep down in the pit of my stomach, I kind of believed him. Our relationship had been intense—or maybe it had only seemed that way to me because he’d been my first love—but I didn’t want to believe it had all been a lie. If this was true, it didn’t make up for things, but it gave me some small peace of mind at least.

  He closed the distance between us and took my face between his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry.

  The last of my resolve crumbled. All the anger drained away, leaving the gaping, empty wound he’d left behind. I’d waited so long to hear the words. I stretched on my toes, crushing my lips to his. He responded, equally eager. The way he nipped at my top lip, his rough stubble scratching against my cheek and chin—all the familiar sensations my mind associated with him—all exploding from the locked box I’d kept them hidden in for so long.

  He pulled away long enough to drag the shirt over his head, before backing us up to the bed. We tumbled to the mattress, a tangle of limbs and greedy, clutching hands. “I missed you,” he mumbled into my mouth. Fingers tugged at the edge of my shirt, inching it upwards.

  The kiss was euphoric—a haze of buzz-worthy bliss mingled with f
ond memories that brought a flush to my cheeks and lit a fire in my chest. This…this was familiar. This was…

  Wrong.

  He managed to tug my shirt over my shoulders as I pushed him away. The shock of the cool air against my skin was enough to make me lose my train of thought and pull back. Distance. I needed distance.

  “Stop,” I panted, scooting back across the bed.

  Breathing hard, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. After a few minutes, his breathing slowed—as did mine—and he opened his eyes, watching me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this,” I said. “Not now. Not with you.”

  “Not with—”

  “Kale,” I said, remembering the night he’d been recaptured—and the night before. How his touch—so gentle, yet somehow so primal—had burned him into my heart, mind, and soul.

  The day Alex broke my heart, I thought he’d broken me, too. I didn’t date after that. Not really. Nothing serious and nothing exclusive. I saw who I wanted, when I wanted, with no commitment. I hadn’t slept around, but I’d sure as hell fooled around. A lot. Not once had I ever felt guilty. There was no reason to. No one had ever made me think twice about the choices I’d made. Monogamy wasn’t for me. Not anymore. Not until Kale.

  Alex jumped up, fuming. “Are you serious? You’re telling me you’re with him?”

  “I’m not with him,” I said, reaching for my shirt. Or was I? I pulled it over my head, tugging it into place, and stood. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh? How so? I still love you.” He reached for my arm. “I know you still have feelings for me.”

  “Maybe I do,” I admitted, ducking out of his reach. Part of me screamed that this is what I’d wanted for so long—him—but another part of me laughed. He deserved this. To be hurt. By me. Fair turn and all. I’d dreamed about giving it back to him. The slap of rejection. Now that I was in the position to get what I wanted, I wasn’t into it. Hurting him like that didn’t hold the appeal it used to. “But that doesn’t change much.”