Touch Read online

  My insides churned with nausea. I hated that Dad may have been caught up in something like that when he’d only had a good heart.

  “So is this enough evidence for them to take things even more seriously?” asked Sasha.

  “It’s only circumstantial, still not a direct link between your dad and Dave, just that they happened to be in the same vicinity on the same day, and some other days, and their banking habits had some similarities. But the detectives are paying more attention now.”

  I sighed. I was both relieved and troubled. Progress would only lead to more questions. That was the way things seemed to go. What they—we—needed, was a murder weapon, body, fingerprints on something significant, or a confession. Dad hiding their names in his letter was a clue, but not evidence.

  I needed to do something with my hands. Luckily I had my class tonight. I didn’t know what they would make, but it didn’t matter, as long as they created and did something.

  “Oh, Mom,” I said. “Marco can’t take me tonight, can you drive me?”

  “Sure. Is he alright?”

  I shrugged. “Just said he’s not going.”

  “Okay then, no problem. We’d better get dinner. Tamara?” She got up and went to the kitchen.

  When Serena got home, I sat her down and explained the latest developments while Mom and Tamara cooked. She added everything to her flow chart, and if the busyness of the inky lines, circles, and text resembled her mind in any way, I was glad I didn’t live inside her head.

  • • •

  I waited till lunchtime at school the next day before asking Marco if he would be going to class that night, or if I needed to arrange transport with my mom again. But just before I was about to text him, a text came in:

  Hey, how was class last night? I can take you tonight if you like.

  I smiled. The class had seemed empty the night before without him there.

  That would be great, thanks. Class was OK.

  The truth was, the class had freaked me out a little. Correction: my sculpture attempt had freaked me out a little. I had let my hands do their thing, and when I realized I was making a face, at first I had been curious. Then as I deepened the texture around the eye areas, I had struggled to hold back a gasp. It was like I had brought the eyes to life and they were watching me. But they looked familiar, so after the class I had Googled the name of someone I never wanted to look at: Sean Bolt. And when his photo appeared on a website as someone wanted by the police for questioning, I shivered, because his eyes looked at me the same way the eyes of the sculpture had.

  Was I sculpting the face of my father’s murderer?

  I had already packed away the clay when I’d realized, so tonight the first thing I wanted to do when I got to class was squash that face into oblivion and never look into those eyes again, unless I was watching him being escorted out of a courtroom after getting a life sentence.

  My sculpture had freaked me out so much that even when I walked out of the building to meet Mom in the parking lot, I felt like those eyes had followed me out. I felt that strange, disconcerting sense that someone was watching me. I’d been so relieved to get into Mom’s car.

  For the rest of that night, and the following school day, Sean’s face kept flashing in my mind, and along with it, a sharp, sudden jolt like an electric shock. His eyes dark and menacing, his nose slightly crooked, as though it had been broken in the past, a faint scar beside it. His dark hair was short and he had no facial hair, but if he was trying to lay low, I would bet my life that he had let himself grow a beard. Who knew what he looked like now, or if anyone would recognize him.

  I hoped that as soon as I started a new sculpture tonight, any visions of him would melt away, and I’d be able to focus on enjoying the class and having my much-needed time out.

  When I had changed into my pale blue frayed-hem jeans and a three-quarter-sleeved white top that was as soft and cozy as a newborn baby’s jumpsuit, I waited in the living room for Marco to arrive. The door opened, but Serena walked in with an uncharacteristically huge smile on her face.

  “Why so happy?” Savannah asked.

  I could feel her heart pulsing with bliss.

  She held out her wrist.

  “You got a tattoo?” I exclaimed.

  She chuckled. “No! But I thought you might think it was real.”

  Sasha dashed over to her. “I want a tattoo! Is this one of those fake ones?”

  “No, Damon drew it on me.” She smiled.

  I put my finger lightly on her wrist, tracing the figure-eight infinity symbol. In the never-ending linked design, Damon had included the flowing scripted letters ddjj on one curve, and ssdd on the other.

  “Our special initials: Damon Dedicated Jovial Jameson, and Serena…”

  “Yeah, yeah, we know… Serena Superhero Diva Delcarta,” Savannah finished.

  “You’re just jealous because Riley hasn’t given you a nickname or drawn a love tattoo on you.” She pulled her hand away.

  “I’m not jealous, I’m just…” She glanced out the window. “I just miss him. He works so many shifts now.”

  “You need to write down your blessings, Sav,” said Sasha. “Isn’t that right, Mom?” she called out.

  “For sure, sweetheart. Count your blessings and you’ll receive more to count.”

  Savannah rolled her eyes. She knew all too well that she was lucky—she had survived more than one life-threatening situation—but she had also grown impatient and wanted everything yesterday. “Life is short,” she’d say, “You’ve gotta make the most of every moment and not waste time.”

  Maybe I should take my youngest sister’s advice. Maybe I should not waste any time and start being proactive about my own desires in life. What did I want? All I’d ever really wanted was to find the answers about my dad, but maybe I needed to focus on other goals too. Maybe I needed to focus a bit more on my own life.

  Marco would be here soon.

  I wanted to spend more time with him. Not just at art classes, but socially.

  “Guys,” I said feebly, not used to discussing this sort of stuff with others. “What do you think about girls asking guys out? Is it weird? Would I look desperate?”

  Sasha’s eyes widened. “Oooh! You want to ask Marco out?”

  I shrugged.

  “Is it weird?” Savannah asked. “What, are you living in the previous century? If you want to, just ask him out for God’s sake.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’ve just never done it before. I don’t know how.”

  “You just say, ‘Hey, Marco,’ or ‘Hola, Marco, I’m working on a sculpture at home and was wondering if you could help me with it this weekend?’” Sasha suggested.

  “What? No, I can’t ask that.”

  “Then just invite him along to the movies next time we all go, as a group. Less date-like then,” said Savannah.

  Hmm, that could be an idea.

  “Do you want me to ask him for you?” Savvy asked. “He’s here now. This could be all over and done with in a matter of seconds.” She went to the door, and I noticed the car headlights.

  ‘No!” I lunged toward her. “Let me do it in my own time.” I grasped her arm. “And don’t embarrass me by hinting at something, okay?”

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry,” she said, zipping her lips with her fingers.

  Savannah opened the door before Marco had a chance to knock.

  “Good timing,” Marco said with a smile. “Hey,” he said.

  Marco greeted my sisters and my mom, but I noticed Serena’s blissful smile had vanished and she was tugging at her right ear.

  My body pulsed with heat, and I was about to walk with Marco outside to get into the fresh air when I noticed Sasha doing her nose-scrunch thing.

  Uh-oh.

  Not now.

  Yes now. My mind lost focus as physical sensations and emotions overtook me.

  Why couldn’t this have happened half an hour ago?

  “Um,” I said to Marco, “You
go. I’ll meet you out there in a sec. I’m just going to the bathroom.”

  “He can wait in here,” Mom said. “I’ll get you a drink, Marco.”

  “Wait,” I blurted. “Actually I don’t need the bathroom, I need to…” I cocked my head toward the triplets’ room.

  Mom’s expression changed to one of realization.

  “Sorry, Marco, I’m just um…” My hands waved about as though trying to speak. “Sensing something,” I said.

  But so were my sisters.

  “Oh, cool,” he said. “No problem, I’m a bit early anyway. I’ll leave you alone for a bit so you can um, do, um…” His hands waved about too.

  I smiled an awkward smile. “Um, guys,” I said to my sisters. “I have a feeling I might need your input on something,” I said. “Do you mind, ah, joining me?” I gestured down the hallway.

  I felt like I was in some circus sideshow act.

  Watch the teen psychic in action!

  See her sense the future!

  Five dollars a ticket! Step right up!

  “Sure,” Savannah said, in a little too high-pitched a tone.

  Serena nodded and tucked hair behind her ears, then scurried to her room, followed by Sasha and Tamara.

  “Marco, would you like some homemade lemonade?” Mom asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and I’ve made some muffins. It’s a new recipe, so I’d love your input if you’d like to try one.”

  Marco grinned. “I’ll have to come here more often!”

  I smiled and escaped to the room, then Savannah said, “Damn it, that would have been a perfect opportunity to ask him out, Talia.”

  “Huh?”

  “He said he’d have to come here more often. You could have said ‘How about this weekend?’”

  Ah. Damn it indeed. But my mind was elsewhere. “Now’s not the time. Let’s get this over with.” I held out my hands.

  Hands touched; jolts surged; bubbles rose. The sensations that had once been so new and intriguing were now as familiar as breathing. The heat I’d been feeling rushed through my body, then concentrated at my front like I was watching a fire. I breathed in relief as it passed and was replaced by a cool breeze, then the beautiful smooth warmth of a hand on mine again. Slight callouses. Marco. Mmm. But it wasn’t a handshake. It was softer, lingering, but it wasn’t like holding hands either. Then the cool breeze again. I shivered. And a sharp, sudden jolt occurred, different to the one that heralded our visions. More like the electric shock I’d been getting whenever the image of Sean Bolt popped into my mind. After that I only felt an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, like a hundred eyes were on me, watching me, following me, and my stomach felt empty and grumbly, churning with nausea. I tried to control my breathing to cope; I didn’t want to rip my hands away from my sisters in case we missed any important information coming through. Just a bit of discomfort. I could take it. I had to.

  I gripped my sisters’ hands as I breathed slowly, but then my grip softened as I felt a warm, soft, comforting sensation at my back and shoulders. A soothing embrace from behind. I breathed into the sensation, encouraging more detail. It was soft, but why? What was the softness? The part of my mind that analyzed tactile sensations focused in on it, zoomed in like a camera lens, but without sight. It wasn’t smooth; it was textured. Soft, but a complex texture. Okay… fabric? No, too thick. I tried to imagine my hands moving behind me to feel what it was, and then they tingled with the same sensation that I felt at my back. Without the filter of clothing, my skin felt the fluffy and soft texture. Lamb’s wool. A sweater or coat wrapped around me? No, I couldn’t feel the weight of anything on me. I was against it. Touching it. Like I was sitting on it? A car seat cover, that was what it felt like. Safe, secure. Or maybe it was just that it was such a contrast to the overwhelming dread from before.

  The fluffy softness dissolved, and my hands loosened their grip on my sisters’. Light returned to my eyes as my awareness returned to the bedroom.

  Marco. I’d almost forgotten he was here. We had to get to our class soon, so we needed to be efficient. I grabbed the journal.

  “Right, no time to waste.” I noted down and told them what I had felt, though I didn’t mention that the electric shock-like jolt was associated with the thought of Sean Bolt as I didn’t want that to impact their interpretation of what they had sensed.

  “I saw the two hands, like that book cover had come to life or something,” said Savannah.

  I wrote it down, along with the fact that she had seen herself moving along a deserted road as though in a moving car.

  “And Talia,” she added, “I saw that guy’s face, the one they showed on the news. One of the Bolt brothers.”

  Serena gasped.

  “Sean?” I asked.

  “I think so,” she said. “Though I’d have to Google it to be sure.”

  “No, don’t,” I said. “I know it was him.” I quickly filled them in about my sculpture and how it had resembled his face.

  “Oh God, this is getting creepy.” Sasha’s bangles jingled as she ran a hand through her hair. “I smelled cigarettes again, and also a car smell. And whatever stuff Marco wears, like cologne or aftershave or deodorant, I smelled that too. Unless it’s just wafting in from out there.” She gestured in the direction of the kitchen.

  “I can’t smell it,” I said.

  “I tasted gum, and then lots of bitterness. And just water, but like, not filtered, like we have,” said Tamara.

  “I heard what Marco said again,” Serena said. “That same thing about going upstairs.”

  “Ooh, so maybe that happens after you ask him out.” Sasha nodded with a smile.

  I wished Serena had heard him say, “Why yes Talia, I will certainly go out with you.”

  “And I heard the thump of a car’s trunk closing. A dull thump kind of sound.” Serena sat on the bed. “And also heavy breathing, two people breathing up close or something.”

  Sasha’s finger shot up into the air. “Ooh, and maybe that’s—”

  “Sasha!” I held my hand in front of her. “Facts only for now.”

  “And I heard you too, Talia,” said Serena. “You were having a conversation with someone, but I only got part of it.” She tugged at her ears and furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if it’s word for word, but you said: ‘Like you had to cooperate when you were a kid? Two days without food and water; you were lucky to survive.’”

  “And you don’t know who I was speaking to?”

  She shook her head.

  I repeated the words in my mind but couldn’t make sense of it yet, so I wrote everything down, then stood. “Okay, all done. I’d better go.”

  I turned to walk from the room, but it felt as though something was in my way. Not in a confronting, annoying way, but like a calm yet assertive hand was being held up, palm facing me, telling me, “Not yet.”

  I turned back around. Serena’s smiling face from her love tattoo was long gone, Savannah was rubbing her fingers around her eyes as though trying to erase Sean Bolt’s face from her mind, and Sasha was spraying herself with Fresh Fruity Blast. “Hey,” I said, walking toward them. Although we were all around the same age, and I was only older than Tamara by minutes, I felt like my sisters needed a leader. Someone to step up and let them know everything would be okay, and that we’d get to the bottom of Dad’s disappearance. Or at least that we’d never give up. “You remember how when we first discovered we had a gift, we made a pact to experiment with this ability every night?”

  They nodded, and Savannah’s eyes did that distant thing when she remembered the past or a vision she’d seen.

  “Okay, so we haven’t always connected every single night, but we’ve come a long way since that day. And I think that we should make a pact, right now, to never ever give up on Dad.”

  “Why would we give up?” Serena asked.

  “I’m not saying we would, but you know, sometimes it all gets too hard, too complicat
ed, and there’s only so much we can do when we can’t give the police the clues we get. So let’s not let it wear us down. Let’s not give in. Let’s not let the evil win.” I breathed in a clear sense of purpose. “I don’t know how to do this, or what’s going to happen, but let’s fight. Let’s listen to our senses, let’s believe that justice is possible.” My body straightened up with strength I had drawn from some unknown place. “Let’s keep moving forward, let’s find Dad’s body, and… and…” I wasn’t one for aggressive language, but, “Let’s get those sons of bitches.” My voice was sharp, and I pumped the air with my fist.

  Savannah grinned. “Hell yes!” She gave me a high five.

  Serena stood. “I won’t ever give up.”

  “Me neither,” said Sasha, moving close to us.

  “Nor me.” Tamara joined us in the middle of the room.

  I smiled and held out not my hands, but my arms, high and wide. My sisters moved in toward me, and each other, and we made a circle of strength. An unbreakable embrace. Truth would win. Sisterhood would win. Love would win. Somehow, someway, sometime, we would win. Dad was counting on us, and we wouldn’t let him down.

  Chapter 14

  “Sorry about the delay,” I said as I got into Marco’s parents’ car. He climbed out and kicked the wonky door shut.

  Then he got into the driver’s seat and turned down the wonky radio.

  “No need to apologize. I hope you did what you needed to do.”

  “We did. I mean, I did.”

  He started the engine and drove, and the scent that Sasha mentioned slowly inched its way into my awareness. Fresh, but not flowery. Manly, but not overpowering. It was nice.

  He nodded. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “I’ve heard that psychic ability can run in families,” he said. “Do any of your sisters have abilities? Or strong intuition?”

  My hand tightened on the door where it rested. “Um…”