Touch (Denazen #1)(46)

Using the last of my cash, I took the bus back across town. The corner of the seat was sticky and I had to lean to my right to avoid a very questionable stain. Oh, and the man across from me? He smelled like old cheese.

The woman next to me was on her cell phone having a heated argument with someone named Hank. Every once in a while, she’d fling her hands into the air, cursing. It was annoying, but saved me the trouble of asking her—or the cheese man—what time it was. Her watch read 9:45. To make matters worse, I’d apparently gotten on a bus with the one driver in the county who believed in going the speed limit and hitting every stop even though there were only three of us on the bus. He dropped me off in the town square, and by the time I hiked through the woods and made it home, it was almost 11:30. Only half an hour left till they pulled the ad.

Booting up my ancient computer took forever. Pulling out the questionable bag of licorice from my top drawer, I pulled up Craigslist and went to work. Finding the right ad proved harder than I thought. Apparently, there were a lot of weird ads. When midnight came, I’d called four possible numbers—an advertisement for Belly Dancing lessons, one for learning the proper way to wash a dog, a man claiming to teach hamsters amazing tricks, and a woman stating that you too can gain ultimate revenge for a broken heart.

Okay. That last one was probably more self-interest than anything else.

Several very colorful responses and an hour later, I’d given up.

I called Brandt again—still no answer—so I left a not-so-friendly voice mail. This was getting ridiculous. He hadn’t blown me off since we were in sixth grade and I’d kissed his best friend, David Fenrig.

Sleep came, but it wasn’t restful. I spent the night plagued by nightmares. Well, one nightmare. A mega mash of freaky, block-of-ice-in-your-stomach weirdness, creepy enough to curl Clive Barker’s toes.

I was back at the field party—the one on the night I’d met Kale. We were dancing. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of faded blue jeans and what looked like a dog collar on his neck. Not bad. The view certainly had promise.

Things were going well. We were swaying to a thumping beat, dangerously close. Kale wrapped his arms around my waist. He leaned in, about to kiss me, but suddenly jerked backward. When I looked over his shoulder, through the crowd of bodies grinding and twisting on the makeshift dance floor, I saw Dad, a long leash in his hands. Another jerk of the leash, and the distance between Kale and me widened.

“You should have let him go,” someone said from behind me. “You could have prevented all this.”

I tore my eyes away from Dad and turned to see Brandt, dressed in his favorite pair of worn jeans and Milford Ink T-shirt, standing with arms folded. His hair was wild and looked wrong. Darker in spots. The expression on his face made my stomach turn over. The angry set of his jaw, coupled with the strange, almost scary spark in his eyes. Vacant, yet somehow full of rage.

Even in the dark, I could see there was something wrong. But it wasn’t only his expression… There was a wide range of things that sent goose bumps skittering across my arms. His skin seemed a bit too pale, his eyes too dull. Even the way he was standing, tilted to the left and hunched, screamed wrong. His board was nowhere in sight. That alone felt jarring.

“You could have prevented all of this,” he repeated, the venom in his voice unmistakable this time. I’d heard that tone before, but never, ever directed at me. He pulled the neckline of his T-shirt down to reveal an ugly red-and bluish-tinged gash along the length of his throat. It was covered in blackened, dried bits of blood and crawling with maggots. I gasped and stumbled back, resisting the urge to vomit.

I tried searching the crowd for Kale, but something tipped me backward, sending me to the ground. Before I knew what hit me, I was being dragged through the mud. When I looked up, there was Dad, another leash in his hands. This one attached to the collar onmy neck.

Frantic, I searched for someone—anyone—I could turn to for help. Alex stood in the corner, arms clasped behind his back, wearing a look of apathy. Ginger sat next to him in a dark blue armchair. She wore a silver sequined dress and an elaborately decorated tiara on her head, and was sipping what looked like fruit punch out of a small plastic cup.

Dad hauled me to my feet as I screamed, “Alex! Do something, please!”

Alex ignored me.

I struggled against Dad’s grasp, but it was useless. Suddenly, he seemed to have the strength of ten men. “Ginger!”

Ginger laughed, fruit punch dripping down her chin.

Dad had me by the throat now, our eyes locked. “You should have let this go, Deznee.” He turned and nodded to the crowd.

I followed his gaze and saw Kale walking through the crowd, arms spread wide. As his fingers brushed them, one by one my friends shriveled and crumbled before my eyes. They turned to dust and fell to the ground. It only took moments. I blinked once and it was over. Thumping beats bounced eerily over the party-turned-graveyard.

Kale approached slowly, his leash still in Dad’s hand. He stopped in front of me, saying nothing.

“Kale?”

He placed a hand on either side of my neck, slowly trailing them down my back to the middle of my ass. He’d killed my friends. Dad stood over us, watching. Alex was here, eyes cold and unwavering.

It didn’t matter. Kale—his touch—his face now inches from mine—that was all there was. I was addicted.