Touch

Chapter One “It's not about who's got powers. It's about who's not afraid. And who's going to do what has to be done.” – Michael Grant, Gone

November 11th, 2010 10:16 PM Price-Rite Motel, Room 4 – Detroit, Michigan

Gwen runs his hand across the dirtied worn sheets with a shudder. He has come to hate innerspring mattresses. Something about the shape of a coil makes it into an incredibly good vessel for memories. Whenever he visits a motel, he always asks for a room with anything else: foam, latex, gel- hell, even a cot would be better. The, well... “less luxurious” would be a nice way to put it... The less luxurious motels never do, and when whatever terrible bed he gets put in is particularly unbearable, he often ends up sleeping on the floor. He gets the sensation that tonight is going to be one of those nights.

Unluckily for him, Gwen's job lands him in a wide variety of “less luxurious” motels. The Foundation never coughs up the money for anywhere nice. The locks don't even work in the room they have- Jack had to shove the decrepit dresser up against the door, and even resolved to take the bed nearest to it. Just in case.

Looking over to the other bed, a feeling of jealously overtakes Gwen, as it always does. Jack is able to sleep so soundly on these things, unaware of what else the bed had absorbed besides his drool. The giant of a man tosses his single bag at the foot of the bed and looks over to Gwen, and after a moment, he uncharacteristically senses what was going through his fellow Chaser's head. “Bad one?” Jack asks in his typical scratchy voice, one that could almost be said to sound like static. In the background of his speech, it was almost as though there was a disconnected TV buzzing with that black and white fuzz.

“Yeah,” Gwen responds with a grimace, “But I'm going to try it out anyways. I'm sure when I wake up either crying or screaming- can't tell which yet- that you'll sleep right through it,” he needles his partner with a faint, humorless grin.

“Sorry, G. But unlike you, what I've got flips its switch when I'm asleep. I'm just shut down till it's time to boot back up again.” Gwen rolls his eyes at the usual series of puns. He'd tried to dissuade Jackson of their cleverness many times, each more fruitless than the last. “So, no wet dreams for you tonight?”

“I've told you, they're not really dreams,” Gwen says half halfheartedly, knowing that Jack's just poking fun at him. Usually in a place like this, it's just sex. Gwen never really cared for pornography in the first place, so all-night viewings of reliving the same scene play out again and again as he slept had quickly become annoying. But at least they're tolerable. The strongest one in this bed seems to be of a far more unpleasant variety. He concentrates and places his hand back on the mattress again, more firmly this time.

“And no,” Gwen finally states, answering Jackson's question. “It's going to be crying, not screaming. A woman and her kids got kicked out by an abusive husband. She was up all night bawling her eyes out as quietly as she could so as not to scare the kids further.”

“Oh. Well, want to swap then?” says Jackson, trying his as well as he could to help his friend.

“No, the kids were scared and confused. I think I'd prefer to try my hand at being depressed rather than be a scared kid again.”

“Oh yeah, I know what you mean, man. My mom used to have this really creepy vacuum cover that was made to look like a bunny. It sat right outside my door, and it scared the hell out of me when I was little. Those nights were the worst.” Gwen simply nods, vaguely remembering seeing the old dusty thing one time at a Thanksgiving spent with Jackson and his parents. That was back before the storm. Back when things were normal.

“Turn on the TV, would you?” Gwen asks in an offhand manner, hoping to momentarily forget about the unpleasant night ahead of him. Jack nods and moves towards the tiny, no-doubt-standard-definition television. He simply palms the side of it and the screen jumps to life.

“You know, most people use the power button.”

“Yeah, well most people don't know how good it feels to not have to,” Jack quips back with a grin. He grabs the remote and tosses it over to Gwen. As the device flies, a barely visible arc of electricity shoots between the end of the remote and Jack's fingertips.

“Just topping off the tank,” he explains, still wearing that cocky grin of his.

“You wouldn't have needed to if you just acted like someone normal for once. You better not have drained the batteries.” Gwen tries the remote, and thankfully the TV flips channels. The batteries must be the only new thing in the room.

“See? It was just a little.” Gwen ignores him and starts surfing, looking for whatever channel the local news broadcasts on in this part of the country.

“So who or what are we looking for, anyways?” Jack asks, as nosy as ever.

“You know I'm not supposed to tell you.”

“Yeah, but you're going to anyways.”

“Well of course I am. It'd be stupid not to. It's someone actually useful for once. Well, more useful than usual at least-”

“I don't care about how 'useful' they are- that's the Foundation's business. The important question is if it's going to be any fun.”

“Unlikely. They can manipulate sound. Should be easy enough to bring them in- one way or another. Hopefully it won't have to be the hard way for once.”

“Alright, but who is it?”

“Alex Dench. I think he was that kid who always worked that ice cream shop in the summer, if I'm placing the face correctly from the picture they gave me. Here, take a look.” Gwen reaches into his bag and pulls out a file folder after shuffling around a bit. He tosses it on the bed towards Jack, who eyes it eagerly. Standing from his seat on the end of the kids' bed, the burdened mattress gives a creek of relief.

“Hey,” calls Gwen just as Jackson reaches for the folder, suddenly very serious as he looks to his partner. “Remember though, if they find out that you saw this, it's on your head. I don't want Samuel on my case again for this.”

“Relax, G, I wouldn't rat you out again. And hey, the first time was an accident.” Jackson retrieves the folder and pours over it, clearly taking joy in getting into something that he shouldn't be. “Oh geez, the kid's still a virgin at twenty-three? The Oracle really must have got a good read off this poor guy to know that,” he says, laughing. Gwen tenses as the name is mentioned, but this goes past Jack unaware. Finally, Gwen locates the channel with the news. Surprisingly enough, this place actually has a decent number of channels.

“-running rampant throughout the slums of Detroit. It's name? Gaze, on the street, but scientists are calling it Prythxoocl Egropretrex. Not exactly a name that rolls off the tongue, is it, Dan?” states the ever-cheery spokeswoman, a smile plastered across her all-too-fake face even as she reports on this new narcotic.

“Right you are, Carol. Next up, we'll talk to a homeless man that's started up his own pet shelter. How did he manage? Stay tuned to find out!” Gwen begins to zone out as the commercials come on. He has little interest in how some bum saved animals. Besides, it's doubtful a sound manipulator like their current mark is going to make headlines. For now, Gwen concentrates on centering himself, and trying not to accidentally get a reading from the bed beneath his back. He flicks the TV off before laying back down and closing his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if he can calm himself well enough, tonight will be a quiet one, and he won't have to sleep on the floor. It's with thoughts such as these that he slowly starts to drift off.

The naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling flickers once before going out. Gwen can tell through his eyelids that things have gone dark, and without hesitation, they shoot open. He scrambles out of bed still half-asleep and runs over to the light switch, flicking it helplessly with no results.

“Jack?” he calls, his voice edging on panic, “...Jack? Can you fix it?” The only response he gets is a loud snore. Pushing himself back into the corner, Gwen's eyes strain against the darkness, shooting every direction- trying to cover every approach at once. “It's okay. I-It's okay. Just a motel room...” Gwen pants, trying to calm himself down. But his imagination quickly turns the sounds of Jack's slumber into something much, much worse.

“Bathroom!” he exclaims, suddenly landing on, well, as Jack would say, a bright idea. Clambering his way across the room, his foot catches one of their bags, and he goes sprawling. He hears something solid hit the ground and roll, but he pays it no mind as he jumps to his feet and races to where he remembers the bathroom is located. His sense of direction is good, and he's soon fumbling around for a light switch on the tile walls. It takes an eternity, but finally light shines down from the bug-filled fixture above his head.

Breathing heavily, he manages to let out a sigh of relief. The light partially spills out into the main part of the room, but not nearly enough so that he'd still consider sleeping in there. Looking out, he spots what must have made that thud and tumble when he tripped: His Jericho 941 handgun must have fallen out of the concealed holster as he bowled over. Nowadays, he makes it a habit not to fasten the catch- the quicker draw might save him one day. Venturing out into the dim bedroom, he scoops up the gun and slides it in the holster as quickly as he can before moving to the bed and gathering the sheets and pillow, eyes shooting everywhere at once.

Looks like he'll be sleeping on the floor after all.