novel: "Touch" chapter 14

[violetcheetah]

Trudy could feel herself being sucked from half-wakefulness into a dream that would be a nightmare, but she was too tired to pull back. And the dream was pleasant when she started. She was walking on the abandoned train tracks between her home and the park, the wild mini-daisies and Queen Anne's lace higher than her waist, growing close enough to the rails to tickle her elbows. She was barefoot, and her toes helped grip the rail she was balancing on, which was warm but not too hot. She paused, raised her heels so she was standing on the balls of her feet, and executed a perfect, dancer-like pivot until she was facing backwards. She continued walking down the tracks backwards, but seeing in her mind's eye the rails receding into the distance behind her.

It didn't seem strange that Amy had suddenly appeared at her back. "How long has it been since the trains have run?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe five years. Maybe fifty. What's it matter?"

"I'm just trying to picture the last train. Did it know it was the last?"

"You know trains don't think, right?"

"Duh. I just like to imagine. It would make a good story, don't you think?"

"Everybody would accuse you of copying Thomas the Tank Engine if you wrote about sentient trains. "

"'Sentient,'" Amy murmured softly, obviously approving of the word. "No one says Thomas is plagiarizing 'The Little Engine That Could.'"

"Well, write the story first, and then worry about what people say."

"I think I will; can we stop on the other side of the bridge so I can do that?"

"What bridge?"

"The one right behind us."

"There's no bridge here." Trudy pivoted again, and Amy was right. It was cordoned off with a concrete barrier, and there was nothing left of the bridge but the rails themselves and a fragile-looking gridwork of metal beneath them, with faded green paint in the places that weren't rusted.

"Are we even allowed?" Amy asked, pointing to the barrier.

Trudy was pretty sure they weren't, but she said, "That's just to keep cars or ATVs out. It's fine if you're on foot." She stepped off the tracks just long enough to get around the barrier, and then she and Amy proceeded side-by-side, each on their own track. Trudy tried to ignore the feeling that someone was watching, a police officer, maybe, about to run up and yell at them. She didn't mean to give in, but without thinking, she spun around to see if anyone was behind them. Instead of a policeman, it was her mother, standing on the rusty grid and yet taller than Trudy. She pointed at Trudy, her face twisted with rage and betrayal.

"You said you wouldn't come here anymore. I told you you'll get yourself killed."

From behind Trudy, Amy said, "It's okay, Susan, there are no trains anymore."

"That's not Susan, you moron."

"Oh." Amy's voice shrank. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." She extended her hand past Trudy to shake. "I'm Amy."

Trudy's mother pointed at Amy now. "This is your doing! It was fine until you got involved." She stepped onto the rail and grabbed Amy's hand, but not to shake it. "Get away from my daughter!"

Trudy was frozen, pushed to the side as her mother tried to yank Amy toward her. Then her mother's face went blank and stony, and she released Amy, put a hand against Amy's collarbone, and shoved. And now Trudy was inside Amy's vision, watching the sky flash into view, then seeing the rails pass by above, seeing Amy's arm reach out and almost catch the green grid. Then the rails and grid were above her, with dangling light bulbs glowing dimly in the daylight. Amy's arms still reached up, and now Trudy realizing Amy was reaching for her. Then her vision went away, and her mother was gripping Trudy's own shoulders, trying to push her off the tracks, as well.

"Trudy, it's fine, you're safe." Her vision came back — her own twisted face for a few seconds and then Susan's in a too-bright room — but she still pushed against the hands gripping her even after she knew it was Susan and she was sitting on her own bed. There were guttural, animal sounds coming from her own throat, and she was embarrassed but she couldn't stop them, so she stopped trying. The growls turned to a keening wail. Her arms stopped trying to break free, but they stayed up in front of her chest, her wrists crossed, her hands palms out in front of her neck.

"You're fine. This is fine. This is expected."

"Shut up!" It didn't come out as loud as she wanted, and she shoved Susan's hands off her shoulder. "Just shut up! It's not fine! I don't want this, I don't want to... I don't want this!" She stood so abruptly that she lost Amy's vision; she hadn't even noticed where they'd been in contact. She stood waiting for Amy to touch her again so she could smack her hand away. But Trudy stayed wrapped in darkness. As her own hissing breath subsided, she heard Susan sigh deeply.

"Well, hell, who would? Who would want this? You're — would you mind letting Amy hear this?" Trudy moved her hand out about two inches, and Amy rested one finger on her wrist. "I said, 'Who would want this?'" Amy looked at Susan, who was peering intently at nothing. "You're dependent; you're beholden, first to each other, now to me. And it's not like you have any reason to trust me." Amy started to say something, but Susan held up a hand. "Not you, Amy, you've had four years. Trudy hasn't had four weeks here. She doesn't really know me from Adam." She and Trudy snort-laughed at the same time, and Susan smiled and shook her head. "Well, not social-worker Adam. Though for that matter, why trust him, either?" She pulled in one corner of her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "I could rip your life apart with one phone call. Jesus!" She ran her fingers through the short hair at her temples, gripping the back of her head for a moment. When she brought her arms down, there were goosebumps on her skin. "That's terrifying. I'm terrifying. That's... I don't want that." She looked at Trudy, leaning forward slightly. "And there's nothing I can do about it, is there? Wait it out. We've both got to just wait it out. That sucks."

The silence that followed seemed to settle heavily on Trudy's shoulders. But not crushing, just pulling softly like a thick down comforter. Amy closed her eyes for a bit longer than a blink. Trudy sat back down on the bed, heart beating a little faster, knowing she'd have to return to sleep soon. Her shoulder twitched as she quelled the desire to ask Susan to stay in their room. Susan glanced at her and then away again, rubbed the back of her own neck and yawned.

"I vote for distraction tomorrow. Tago Park, tandem bike, I let you guys outpace me and go off on your own."

"'Let' us outpace you?"

"You think I can't keep up if I want to? You want me to prove it tomorrow, or would you prefer to hold onto your illusion?"

Trudy contemplated. "How about I pretend to believe you so you don't have to destroy your own illusion?"

"Whatever helps you sleep, young whippersnapper." She yawned again, perhaps a little exaggeratedly. "And on that note, I bid you good night. A better night." She put one hand on each girl's shoulder, for barely a second, stood, stretched, and walked out of the room.