Story #105 - The Touch

The Touch

A dead bird in a pretty box wasn't a gift for most people, but it made Janice Richardson smile. Setting it down gently on her kitchen counter, she placed her hand inside and over the cold form of the small animal and waited. A minute passed and without fanfare, a breath came to the chest and a flutter to the wings. Janice stepped back, letting the bird regain its bearings and then carried the box to her patio door. A light touch on the head set the bird to chirping, and it winged off in to the distance as soon as the door was open enough for it to squeeze through.

It had been an interesting courtship so far, and Janice had to admit that her resolve was weakening. She hadn't dated anyone in years, owing to a long string of boyfriends (and girlfriends) that loved her desperately, but always seemed to...arrive to early when they were doing something of interest. That, and they displayed an unhealthy interest in her company, to a point where she had a drawer full of restraining orders.

To a man and woman they were good people; Janice's parents had raised her to choose well and with intelligence, but something seemed to happen when her lovers got too close – they would never leave.

This, though, this was different. It had started with a black rose delivered a week ago, and had followed with a pair of skull-and-crossbones earrings three days after that. Today was the bird, and if the card inside was telling the truth, her suitor would reveal himself tomorrow at one of the city's best view points. She had no concerns about her safety; though during the week the spot would be all but deserted, she had taken enough self-defense that she was confident in her ability to seriously wound any man who tried to push his luck.

Of course, she could always touch him barehanded and solve the problem, but she'd prefer not to do that unless it was absolutely necessary.

Her parents hadn't known anything about what she could do, and she hadn't understood it herself until the day her cat, Knuckles, passed away. She knew that if she touched people they'd become happier, friendlier, and do almost anything they could for her, but she had no idea she could raise the dead.

A hand laid on Knuckles in benediction had brought him back from the other side, and he had lived three more lives before she finally let him go. It was an odd thing – each time he returned, he seemed to have less energy, less of the spark that made him who he was, and by the end he just sat by the window, staring off into the distance. It was then that Janice decided that she'd kept him too long, that every creature had its day to die, and she had kept him long past his. A week later he died again, and she left him to pass in peace.

Great years had followed; Janice was smart and pretty, and had no trouble making friends wherever she went. A touch on the living seemed to only make them happier, more excited to be around her, and always coming back for more. She never wanted for male attention or opportunities for work, and she had the drive to back up the benefits her touching gave her. Life was good – mostly.

This suitor intrigued her. He obviously understood her, which meant that they'd not only met, but that he'd been paying careful attention. Few of the men she knew could look past her face and touch to see anything else about her, but this one did. Whatever tomorrow brought, she had no doubt it would be interesting.

***

The air was crisp on Mount Parker, just enough that Janice was glad she'd gone with a light jacket over her favorite shirt. Checking her watch, she saw that the climb had taken her five minutes more than she had thought, and that she was now late for the meeting her suitor had arranged. She didn't care, particularly; males of the species should always be made to wait. It helped make them attentive.

As she rounded the corner to the view point she saw a young man sitting on its edge. Her age or a few years junior, he had straight blond hair and a thin frame. His arms were crossed, and as their eyes met, he frowned.

“You're late.” His tone wasn't angry, just honest.

“Yes.” She wasn't about to apologize, not to some guy she'd just met.

“I take it you liked my gifts?” He didn't smile, but the frown had slid up to make his mouth a straight line. He was attractive enough, if a little gaunt.

“I did; thank you. They were very – unique.”

He did smile at that, briefly. “I'd imagine so. I'm betting not many people know your little secret.”

“No,” she said flatly, “they don't. How is it that you do?”

“Me?” He spread his hands. “I'm in the business of life and death myself. Death, specifically.”

Janice dropped into a crouch. Looked the guy was a nut-job, and probably wanted to eat her face or something equally awful. He didn't react to her posturing, however, and reached down to pick up a long black object on the ground at his feet.

Planting it next to him, he thumbed a catch and a long, curving blade sprang up and out of the thing's left side.

“You're -”

“Death. Correct. I kill by touch. You enliven by it. I have – difficultly – meeting women who can keep up with me, and I suspect you have too many men trying to keep up with you.”

She didn't see him move, but suddenly he was beside her, reaching out a hand and placing it on her cheek before she could stop him. A cold washed over her, a chill that she had felt only in the times she had wrapped her hands around the dead or the dying; the chill of the grave.

Her own power battled back, sending a surge of warmth to her cheek and she gasped. She wasn't used to feeling what she could do in her own body, and the sensation made her knees weak.

Death – or whoever he was – seemed just as stunned, and Janice could see him breathing heavily as he took his hand away.

“I propose dinner, Janice – at my place, and we'll see how it goes from there.”

She found herself nodding. This could be interesting.

- D