lurches with it. The world around me disappears and I'm in a room somewhere, the walls dirty, pockmarked, the furniture worn. On a table, plates and cups are stacked, half-empty bottles line up beside them, and in the center is an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Everything is covered in flecks of crimson.
I turn in the vision and see a man leaning back in his chair, a bloody gash from one side of his neck to the other, the blood flowing down his chest, bubbles of blood frothing out of his mouth. The scent of blood is thick, turning my stomach and I glance down and see blood covering my hands and arms, and in my hand is the bloody dagger.
I'm trying to cut off the man's head.
I cry out, dropping the blade. As soon as I do, the vision dissipates and I'm back at the dojo. Michel reaches out to steady me as vertigo strikes, holding me up as my bearings return, taking one of my hands in his.
"Tell me what you saw."
I look in his eyes. "I saw," I say struggling to speak over my dizziness. "I saw a man with his throat slit. I was covered in blood. The dagger was in my hand…"
"Yes," he says. "It was used in a recent murder. I brought it along to show you what your gift is. This is why you're so valuable."
I close my eyes for a moment and try to calm myself. When I feel somewhat better, I try to pull my hand out of his but he resists me.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I say and finally, Michel lets go of my hand. "I feel a bit dizzy, that's all."
He nods. "It affects people differently." He bends down and picks up the dagger, returning it to the table.
"What happened? How did I do that?"
"You have touch telepathy, like I already said. But more than that, you can feel memory traces of violence in the objects you touch. When humans commit violent acts, their extreme emotions leave traces in the material they touch – weapons, everyday objects that have been touched soon afterwards. This exists at the quantum level and persists over time, depending on the material. In some materials, it persists longer, in others much shorter. After a while, the traces lose their power and vanish so it has to be relatively recent violence."
"How long does it last?"
"Depends on the person who left the trace, depends on the intensity of the event, depends on the material. Could be a few hours, a few days, or even weeks."
"I've never felt it before."
"You've led a very sheltered life. You've been kept from violence on purpose because your parents wanted to mute your gift, keep it from being used. If you had grown up in a violent environment, you would have felt it and it would have really bothered you. Since you weren't, you have to learn to use it, learn to focus it like any skill. The more you do this, the better you will get."
I try to understand what just happened and glance around, hoping to shut the awful image off in my mind's eye.
"Agent O'Neil will take you upstairs to sign some papers and let you know when the next test will take place. Go." He nods toward Agent O'Neil.
O'Neil leads me to the door to the stairwell and to the third floor. I glance back at Michel as I leave the dojo.
He's smiling to himself.
Agent O'Neil – Ed, he says I should call him – sends me home after I sign a few papers, including a contract to work with the SCU.
Ed introduces me to his partner Dr. Terri Starr and we shake hands. She says they knew my mother and that they're happy that I've resurfaced and am old enough to take on this role. They've been looking for almost a decade for me – since she died and I was taken into state custody and the file was lost – or stolen, they're not sure which.
Then I leave, going back down the elevator and out the empty entryway to the street. I'm surprised – and a little saddened – that Michel doesn't come up to the third floor and say anything to me before I leave.
I beat him – the memory of the very short battle and the moment after when I almost kissed him lingers on my mind. It
I turn in the vision and see a man leaning back in his chair, a bloody gash from one side of his neck to the other, the blood flowing down his chest, bubbles of blood frothing out of his mouth. The scent of blood is thick, turning my stomach and I glance down and see blood covering my hands and arms, and in my hand is the bloody dagger.
I'm trying to cut off the man's head.
I cry out, dropping the blade. As soon as I do, the vision dissipates and I'm back at the dojo. Michel reaches out to steady me as vertigo strikes, holding me up as my bearings return, taking one of my hands in his.
"Tell me what you saw."
I look in his eyes. "I saw," I say struggling to speak over my dizziness. "I saw a man with his throat slit. I was covered in blood. The dagger was in my hand…"
"Yes," he says. "It was used in a recent murder. I brought it along to show you what your gift is. This is why you're so valuable."
I close my eyes for a moment and try to calm myself. When I feel somewhat better, I try to pull my hand out of his but he resists me.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I say and finally, Michel lets go of my hand. "I feel a bit dizzy, that's all."
He nods. "It affects people differently." He bends down and picks up the dagger, returning it to the table.
"What happened? How did I do that?"
"You have touch telepathy, like I already said. But more than that, you can feel memory traces of violence in the objects you touch. When humans commit violent acts, their extreme emotions leave traces in the material they touch – weapons, everyday objects that have been touched soon afterwards. This exists at the quantum level and persists over time, depending on the material. In some materials, it persists longer, in others much shorter. After a while, the traces lose their power and vanish so it has to be relatively recent violence."
"How long does it last?"
"Depends on the person who left the trace, depends on the intensity of the event, depends on the material. Could be a few hours, a few days, or even weeks."
"I've never felt it before."
"You've led a very sheltered life. You've been kept from violence on purpose because your parents wanted to mute your gift, keep it from being used. If you had grown up in a violent environment, you would have felt it and it would have really bothered you. Since you weren't, you have to learn to use it, learn to focus it like any skill. The more you do this, the better you will get."
I try to understand what just happened and glance around, hoping to shut the awful image off in my mind's eye.
"Agent O'Neil will take you upstairs to sign some papers and let you know when the next test will take place. Go." He nods toward Agent O'Neil.
O'Neil leads me to the door to the stairwell and to the third floor. I glance back at Michel as I leave the dojo.
He's smiling to himself.
Agent O'Neil – Ed, he says I should call him – sends me home after I sign a few papers, including a contract to work with the SCU.
Ed introduces me to his partner Dr. Terri Starr and we shake hands. She says they knew my mother and that they're happy that I've resurfaced and am old enough to take on this role. They've been looking for almost a decade for me – since she died and I was taken into state custody and the file was lost – or stolen, they're not sure which.
Then I leave, going back down the elevator and out the empty entryway to the street. I'm surprised – and a little saddened – that Michel doesn't come up to the third floor and say anything to me before I leave.
I beat him – the memory of the very short battle and the moment after when I almost kissed him lingers on my mind. It
Similar Books
