Touch Page 10
“Sorry, it’s probably none of my business.”
“It’s okay, but yeah, um, I guess they all have good intuition. But I don’t think I should talk about them behind their backs.”
Oh no, did that virtually give away the fact that there was something to hide?
“Yeah cool, no prob.” He shrugged. “Just curious.”
I thought I’d better elaborate so as to bring the focus back to my own abilities. “But no, none of them can do what I can do, I mean, with the feelings I get and the sense of touch.”
He nodded. “You’re one of a kind, yes?” He glanced my way, then drove onto the highway and sped up.
“Guess so.” As I smiled I placed one of my hands on the seat next to my thigh. Heavy-duty car seat fabric. No lamb’s wool. Did I know anyone whose car had lamb’s-wool seats?
“Have you had to use any more comebacks lately?”
“Nope, but apparently a reporter found out our home phone number and called one evening while I was in the shower. Mom answered, and when they asked why my apparent psychic abilities hadn’t solved my dad’s case, she went off on them and told them to mind their own goddamn business.”
“I like your mom,” Marco said. “She’s pretty cool.”
“Yeah, she is.” I didn’t know how she had managed to stay so sane after losing Dad, but somehow she had kept herself—and us—together. “You get along well with your parents?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” he said. “Guess I’m lucky. The only thing is that they expect a lot from me. They’re used to being hardworking and busy all the time, so they’ve kind of transferred that to me.”
“Do you mind, I mean, do you like working for them, or would you rather be doing something else?”
“I’m pretty happy with it for now. And I like keeping busy. I can’t sit still, unless I’m making something.”
“So you haven’t tried meditating?” I chuckled.
“Actually, I have. But my mind never seems to go calm and blank. If I try to relax, other things, thoughts and stuff, come up. So I relax by doing creative stuff. Works for me.”
I nodded. “My dad was good at making things. He was both technical and creative. And resourceful. Give him a pile of paperclips and some old cans or whatever, and he’d build something out of it.”
“Like a sculpture?”
“Yeah. Or something with a purpose.”
“Sounds like a great man.”
“He was.” No need to mention his criminal record. Not that it mattered. It was simply a mistake he’d made when he was young and impressionable.
We drove in silence for a while, and as the winding road took us onto Fern Ridge, I couldn’t wait to get into the class and start creating. Like Marco, I didn’t want to be still with my thoughts for too long.
When we got there, as soon as I unwrapped my clay, I pressed the face down to start again.
Lizzie came over and watched my work. “That was starting to take shape.”
“I just wasn’t happy with it. I’d rather not sculpt someone’s face,” I explained.
“That’s fair.” She said. “Faces can be tricky. What about doing a variation on that and sculpting a single body part, like Marco is doing with the hands?” She looked his way.
I considered her suggestion, then an idea struck me. “Actually, could I do five body parts? But separate, smaller ones, and then maybe when they’re dry I could glue them onto a board to make a sculpture wall hanging or something?”
Lizzie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, dislodging a bit of clay but adding another bit. “What body parts were you thinking?” she asked, and then when Peter laughed and Liana giggled, I realized my suggestion could have sounded a bit rude.
“Don’t worry, nothing X-rated.” I chuckled. “Just eyes, nose, mouth, ear, and a hand.”
“Ah, like for the five senses?”
“Yes.”
I could just see the finished product on the wall in our living room, a reminder of our gift, and a reminder of our pact.
“It might take me a while to get each part accurate, especially the hand, but I’m up for the challenge.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” said Marco with a smile he directed my way. “Even if you are boycotting my intuitive sculpting method and making a plan.” He winked, and my belly fluttered.
“I agree. Go ahead, Talia. And don’t forget you can use photos or real life to guide you. There are plenty of noses and eyes and hands around here!” She laughed.
“Copy Peter’s mouth. He has a big one,” said Liana with a laugh.
Peter pointed a finger at her and gave her a warning glance. “And Liana’s nose, complete with all that ridiculous metal.”
“Hey, I like my nose rings.”
As for the eye, I would not be doing one like on the face I’d created before. I would do a nice, friendly eye. Maybe Sandra’s. She had friendly eyes. Or Lizzie’s, even. Or Marco’s. In fact, maybe I should just base all the body parts on Marco’s. Then I would have an excuse to look at him. I mean, he was seated fairly close to me, so it was purely for convenience’s sake.
“Speaking of body parts,” said Marco as he stood, and my eyes found their way to his chest, where the subtle sculpture of pec muscles was visible under his cotton T-shirt. “I need to check someone’s hands.” He walked toward my desk. “Talia, may I?” He held his hand near mine.
Oh, here we go…
“Sure,” I said.
He slid his hand over mine, and our entwined hands resembled his sculpture and the photo on the book cover. “I just need to check this part here.” He pointed to the bit where the thumb of his hand overlapped with my hand. “Okay, cool. Thanks. I need to improve on the proportion. I think I’m making the thumb too big.”
“Happy to be of service.”
I thought I felt him squeeze my hand slightly before he released it, but couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was just like in my vision. Though I was sure he wouldn’t be saying, “Maybe we should go upstairs,” like Serena had heard, since we were already upstairs.
My hand was still warm from his even after he let go. His touch was more than physical. The unseen energy coated my skin with a smooth, light air of comfort. A cocoon. Maybe some of his sculpture skills would rub off on me. I flattened out the clay to start from scratch and decided to start with the trickiest of the five body parts, the hand. Might as well, since the expert was sitting nearby and I could draw inspiration from his sculpture.
If I didn’t create a wall hanging with each part, maybe I could give each one to my sisters for their particular sense. It could be a paperweight or something boring like that. But I liked the idea of all five of them hanging together on the wall, symbolic of how we would always stick together and work together.
As I moved the clay around, I wondered what we would do as we got older. If one or more of us moved out, went to college, or got married, how would we continue to connect and be the Delta Girls? Would we lose our abilities if we didn’t use them enough? Would we figure out a way to connect remotely without physically holding hands? And if one of us wasn’t present, would the sensory visions still come to the others?
Questions swirled as the clay took the basic shape of a hand.
I didn’t know the answers, and only time would tell. There were no instructions for our gift, never had been. And Mom’s past ability was different from ours, so she could only advise us based on what she’d experienced herself.
Marco was right when he’d said I was one of a kind. But what he didn’t know was that my sisters and I, we were one of a kind. Or five of a kind.
As the class ended, I didn’t want to get up. I was in the zone. The creative, artist zone that Lizzie had explained was a sign that we were on the right track with whatever we were doing.
“Stay a little longer if you like,” Lizzie said. “I’ll be here awhile, packing up.”
I glanced at Marco.
“Fine by me,” he said.
Lizzie busied herself, and Marco watched me work. I had put aside the hand for now to start on the nose. I looked at his. “Thanks,” I said.
“For what?”
“For providing me with a nose to look at.”
He laughed. “Happy to be of service.”
I did a bit more sculpting, and then Marco’s happy demeanor shifted somewhat. He glanced around the empty room—empty, since Lizzie was in the storeroom—and scratched his head.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Yep. Why?”
“You just look distracted.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “See what I mean? I stop keeping my hands busy and my thoughts start to roam, and I can’t relax.” His voice had a lighthearted tone to it, but I could feel an air of discomfort emanating from him.
Maybe I was keeping him from something.
I stood, wrapped up my clay, and packed things away. “Guess we’d better go,” I said. “Sorry to keep you.”
“It’s no problem. Can’t interrupt an artist when they’re in the zone.” He smiled. “See you, Lizzie,” he called out.
Lizzie popped her head out of the storeroom and waved. “See you Monday.”
I waved back, and Marco and I made our way down the stairs of the side entrance. His masculine scent accompanied us, and also the scent of gum as he popped a stick in his mouth. “Want some?” he asked, holding out the packet.
“No thanks,” I replied.
We exited the building and closed the door behind us. Light from a street lamp in the parking lot speared the alleyway beside the building. Butterflies danced in my belly. Maybe now was a good time to ask him out. While we were alone, and it was dark. For some reason, doing romantic things seemed easier in the dark. Maybe it was easier to hide any blushing that could occur. Or maybe the moonlight made people more receptive to romantic advances or something.
Marco’s breathing seemed faster than usual, and his eyes were wide and alert. He didn’t seem to want to move toward the parking lot. Unless…
Could it be…
Was he thinking of doing the same thing, asking me out? Maybe he was nervous.
Or maybe he wanted to forget about asking me out and just kiss me right then and there while no one was around.
No, surely he’d ask me out first.
I should just do it, put us both out of our misery.
But then he said something that confused me. “Maybe we should go upstairs.”
My brow furrowed, and he lightly grasped my elbow. “Why? Did you leave something up there?”
He shook his head, and the grip on my elbow tightened. His face was serious, worried. “I just… I um…. Talia…” He glanced around the alley, then back at me. “I need to tell you something, I…”
But then I heard a click.
I spun around, as did he. Not in the direction of the street lamp’s light, but the other direction. The spear-shaped light pointed directly at another person. A man. He took a step forward and, as the light hit his lower body, I saw it. The gun. The barrel, the muzzle, pointed right at us.
“Don’t make any noise,” the man said.
My heart pounded. My muscles clenched. A bitter, sick feeling churned in my stomach. Marco’s hand moved from my elbow and he stepped in front, shielding me.
Oh my God.
Oh no.
I gulped, and my chin trembled.
The man took another step forward, and light chased the darkness from his face.
I gasped, and a surge of electricity jolted through me.
He wore a large, khaki shirt, hanging loose over a black T-shirt. On one side of the shirt was a logo in the shape of a mountain: MW—Mountain Workwear.
He had a thick beard, a crooked nose, and dark, menacing eyes.
It was Sean Bolt.
Chapter 15
“Come with me.” Sean cocked his head. “Slowly. No noise.” I gripped Marco’s arms and moved forward. Marco’s body stiffened.
“Take me,” Marco said, “Just let her go.”
Sean scoffed. “It’s her I want. But it looks like I’ll have to take the both of you.” He gestured around the corner, and we moved in the direction he ordered.
My legs could barely hold me up. My mouth went dry.
“Phones, keys, bag—in there.” He pointed to the large, graffiti-covered dumpster.
I slid my bag from my shoulder and reached my hand slowly inside. Maybe I could call 911 silently.
“Hey, put it in the trash, right now!” His voice was no less menacing as a whisper.
I chucked the bag in, along with any hope of calling for help.
Marco took his phone from his pocket, and I knew he was wondering the same thing I had been wondering. But Sean grabbed the phone with his gloved hand and tossed it away. Keys jingled as they were withdrawn before Marco could consider attempting to use them as a weapon. But keys wouldn’t suffice when there was a gun pointed at our faces.
“Over here,” he said, and we approached a dark car around the corner from the dumpster. A silhouetted man sat in the driver’s seat, one hand poised on the steering wheel.
My stomach sunk. Oh God. Despite the gun, I had thought we at least had the advantage of two against one.
Sean stole a quick glance around, then urgently lifted the trunk. “Get in!” Cigarette breath launched toward me, and I coughed.
“Why?” Marco objected. “What do you want from us?”
“Just shut the hell up and get in, or I’ll make you get in.” His tone confirmed his threat.
Marco turned to look at me as if to apologize for not being able to do anything. I just clenched my jaw and tried not to cry. He lifted one foot into the trunk, then the other, not releasing my hand. As he crouched low, I followed him in, surprised at how much the back of the car tipped and wobbled from our weight, like it might topple over. We folded ourselves together into the compact trunk, and he held his arms around me. I was too scared to feel any comfort, but I didn’t know what I would do if he wasn’t with me. My eyes widened to take in all the light and our surroundings before the inevitable darkness came with the thud of the trunk, in case it was the last thing I ever saw.
“You make any noise at all, I’ll stop the car and make you pay. Keep quiet and still, got it?”
I nodded, and Marco huffed.
Thud.
Darkness.
We breathed quickly, Marco’s breath warm on the back of my neck.
The engine rumbled, and the car vibrated, and then we moved.
“Marco, I…” I tried to say how I recognized Sean Bolt, but my lungs felt starved of oxygen.
“Wait,” he said. “We have to try to figure out where they’re driving us. We need to pay attention to each turn, in case we’re able to help someone find us.”
I nodded weakly, and Marco spoke the names of each turn, until it was clear we were on the highway. But instead of continuing toward Iris Harbor, the car turned off not long after, which meant we were headed for the city.
“Marco, his name is Sean Bolt,” I said. “I saw him on the news. And I think he had something to do with my dad’s death.” My voice and my body trembled. Marco gripped me firmly.
“Maybe we can write it somewhere, do you have lipstick, or a pen, or…” He seemed to be rummaging in his pockets.
“Everything was in my bag.”
“Hang on.” Marco went still. “His death? You know that your dad’s…”
So much for keeping secrets. There was no time now, and it didn’t matter anymore. I just wanted to stay alive. “He didn’t just disappear. He was murdered.” I turned my head a little. “Wait, do you think they can hear us?” I whispered.
“Unless they have a recording device, I doubt it.”
“It’s not just me who’s psychic. My sisters are too,” I explained. “But it only works properly when we work together. Each of us is one of the five senses and together we are the whole picture.”
“Wow. Go on,” Marco said.
It was bizarre having this conversation in the back of a car when our lives were in danger, but it had to come out. I had to make sure he knew the whole situation before they opened that trunk.
“My sister Savannah saw Dad’s ghost, but he won’t tell us what happened; he still seems confused himself.” I turned my head again a little. “Sorry, probably too overwhelming. We should just focus on where they’re driving and try to think of a plan.” I lifted my hands to feel around my enclosure. Metal, carpet, holes, screws… I had no idea what part was what, and it was too dark to see.
“So this Sean guy had something to do with it?” Marco asked.
“His name and his brother Dave’s was hidden in a letter my dad wrote to my mom before he died, indicating he knew he was in danger. They have to be responsible. Dave’s in custody for something else, and the police are trying to find Sean for questioning.” I panted, the air in the trunk stuffy and hot. “Oh! And he’s wearing the same jacket my dad was wearing, with the Mountain Workwear logo. Oh God, Marco, what are they going to do to us?” My breath came even faster, and my chin quivered.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be okay. Somehow, we’ll get through this.” He stroked the hair that fell across my face.
I knew he was just trying to make me feel better. He knew as well as I did that them letting us go was a long shot. We knew what Sean looked like, and he obviously wanted me for something.
Marco felt around the trunk too. His arm reached over my body and fiddled with something.
“What are you doing?”
“Just trying to see if I can mess with the license plate screws.” He grunted and sighed and exhaled. “Can’t get it. It’s too tight. Can’t see. Damn it.” His arm dropped over my hips. Then he reached to the corner of the car, near my head, and fiddled with something there. “Won’t budge,” he said. He kicked the other corner near our feet. Hard.
“Marco!” I urged. “They said if we make noise they’ll—”