by Dixie Primate
The young woman's name was Denise, but she would never hear it again. She stood at the bus stop in her blue jeans and tank top, her left hand holding her fare, her right hand absently twirling a lock of her shoulder-length blonde hair.
A moment later, she was dead, lying on her stomach on the cold sidewalk, her fare scattered about her, her right hand hanging over the curb. When her bus arrived, a lock of her hair blew against her cheek. They said it was a coronary attack. They were wrong.
*******
The next day, Victor Bahr, a guest at the downtown Hilton, nearly vomited when he found the body of Ben Grisholm lying in the elevator. He know Grisholm; they had met at a trade show a few years ago. There were no signs of violence. It was not a coronary.
*******
Late Saturday night, Professor David Plimpton received an e-mail through an anonymous re-mailer. It appeared to be a mailing list: names, addresses, dates, and times in neat columns. Prof. Plimpton knew better. The subject was "Reach Out and Touch Someone."
*******
Early Sunday morning, Michael and Amy Black were found dead in their apartment. The landlord noticed their bathroom window broken, and used his pass key to investigate. He found their bodies in the bedroom, both naked, Michael at the foot of the bed near the left side, his feet on the floor, his arms out, his face peaceful. Amy lay on top of him, covering his privates with her own, her breasts pressing down on the left edge of the bed, her long black hair and thin, pale arms hanging over the side, brushing the floor.
No signs of drugs. No sign of carbon monoxide. No signs of violence. The coroner could not determine a cause of death.
*******
The next Tuesday at 7:42 PM, Officer Jennifer Forrest responded to a routine complaint about a domestic disturbance on State Street. As she stepped from the police car, a man with dirty blonde hair wearing a gray trenchcoat approached her.
"Oh," he said. "A woman. Good."
The man then led Officer Forrest into an alley between an art gallery and a shoe store, both closed for the night. After about two minutes, there was a silent flash of blue light from between the buildings. This much was recorded on the video camera in Officer Forrest's squad car.
Officer Jonathan Thomas reported to the scene a half hour later when Officer Forrest did not report in. He found her body in the alley, so peaceful he thought her asleep. One arm lay across her stomach; her head rested on a garbage bag. She would never awaken.
*******
Thursday, 6:05 PM:
"Becca?"
"David?"
"He's back, Becca."
"What?"
"It's Touch. He's back."
"I'll be right there."
*******
Ten minutes later, Becca walked into the office of Professor Plimpton. As usual, the place was a mess. "How've you been, David?" she asked.
"Just fine." David got up and hugged his old friend.
"You look good," Becca said.
"No, I don't," David replied. Then, after a second, "You look wonderful."
"Thanks," she said.
"It's Touch, Becca," said David, his eyes on hers.
"So you said. You're sure?" Becca placed a hand on David's shoulder. She saw the sadness and fear in his eyes. "Of course you are."
"I think I know where he is," David said. He walked over to his computer. "Here, look." David stared at the computer screen.
Becca found a chair, moved the stack of books and papers on it, and pulled next to David. A map of the city was displayed. Four dark circles appeared at apparently random spots. "These are the murders the police know about," David said.
He pushed the space bar and another two or three dozen circles appeared. "Here are the ones they don't know about."
Becca gasped. "How long since..."
"A week ago tonight." David paused. "A week ago tonight."
Becca quickly changed the subject. "So that's, what, three a day?"
"More like five now. He's speeding up, getting more efficient." David pushed the space bar again. A progress bar appeared on the screen: "Updating..."
"How many can he..." Becca asked.
"He's been know to touch fifteen people a day for weeks. He can probably do more." David thumped his thumbs on the desk.
The progress bar inched across the screen. "Have you eaten dinner?" David asked.
"No, you?" Becca realized she was kind of hungry.
"This is going to take a minute," David said. "Let's go down for a bite."
"OK." Becca grabbed her hand bag.
*******
Over burgers and fries, Becca asked, "David, how'd it happen this time? Or do you not want to talk about it."
"No, it's OK," David said. "It was like before."
"Are you all right?" Becca's concern was genuine. Touch's escapes usually wounded her friend deeply, emotionally and sometimes physically.
"She surprised me, met me downstairs wearing a Supergirl costume, saying 'No, Lex, not Kryptonite...'" David blushed a little. "She'd kill me if she knew I told anyone."
Becca smiled, "She won't know."
"Anyway," David continued, "I let my guard down, just for a moment, when I felt him slip free from me. His first touch was about an hour later. I pretended I was playing along with the 'defeated Supergirl' game, crying over her limp form. She didn't know how much it hurt." David bit his lip.
Becca sat quietly.
"He's going to kill me someday," David said simply.
"Don't talk like that, David. There's only one of him." Becca put a hand on David's chin. "It's OK. Really."
They ate for a minute more.
"We've beaten him before," Becca said, "together."
"Yes, we have," said David.
*******
When they got back to David's office, the computer screen said "Ready." David clicked the button. A new window appeared showing a new image.
"Most of the work was already done. I just wanted to double check the coordinates. He's using a displacement map." David turned to face Becca.
"A what?" Becca asked.
"It's sort of a code, but with places rather than words. We start with the three touches he let the police find..."
"Four..." Becca interrupted. "They found four."
"Oh, right. You only count the women. The men are red herrings." David smiled. "Anyway, you move them about using the complex amplitudes from the two-dimensional Fourier transform of ..."
"You don't have to give me all the details," Becca interrupted.
"You're right, of course," said David. "It took the supercomputer all weekend to find it."
Becca looked at the dots on the screen. "Find what?"
"Ooops," said David, and he fiddled with the computer some. The figure changed.
"Back-to-back B's!" said Becca. "Banner and ..."
"And where they meet maps to here." Again with the space bar.
The map of the city returned, bearing a single red star. "Which is?" Becca asked.
"The Metropolis Bed and Breakfast!" David said.
"Of course!" Becca laughed.
"Shall we suit up?" David asked.
"Yes, we shall." Banner pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing Banner's red, white, and blue top.
"Oh, and take this," David said, handing Becca/Banner a small pill. He swallowed one like it.
Banner took hers. "What for?" she asked.
"To counteract the gas he's going to use on us," said David. He reached behind a file cabinet, pulling out a bundle of black clothes.
"How do you know..." Banner asked as she undid her pants.
"It's in the code. Do you really want to know more?" David asked as he unbuttoned his shirt.
"No," said Banner, as she pulled off her jeans to reveal Banner's hot pants. "Not now, anyway."
David finished removing his shirt and donned a short-sleeve black shirt with a deep crimson collar. "Would the glorious Banner please turn around?" he said.
Banner turned to face the door. "Modesty becomes you, my friend," she said.
David pulled off his shoes and pants. "No peeking!" he said.
"Nice boxers," Banner said. "How long have you had this mirror?"
David looked at the mirror next to the door and saw his friend's stare. Embarassed, David pulled on jet black slacks and a deep crimson belt and boots. I have to be more careful with Touch, he thought. An oversight like that could cost me everything.
David added a dark mask which covered his eyes, nose, and forehead. Then, he looked over at Banner. "You look splendid, Banner!" he said.
Banner turned around to face him. "And you look fantastic, Blackout!" she said.
*******
When they arrived at the B&B, the owner met them at the door.
"Banner! Blackout! To what do I owe this honor?" She was a gray-haired woman with remarkable bright green eyes.
"Is there a Steve Keller staying here?" Blackout asked. Steve Keller was the name Touch had before he learned of his power.
"Why, yes!" the woman said. "Nice young man."
"Which room is he in?" asked Banner.
"I'm not supposed to say," the woman answered.
"It's really important," said Blackout.
"We won't tell anyone," added Banner.
"Well," said the woman, "if I can't trust you two, who can I trust? He's in room 5, at the end of the second floor hall."
"Thank you," said Banner and Blackout. "Leave here now, and get everyone else out as well." They ran past her into the building and up the stairs, hoping the woman took their advice. Blackout's mask hid the sadness and uncertainty in his eyes, but by the time they reached the second floor, his plan was set.
Room 5 was unlocked, as the superheroes expected. When they entered the room, the door closed behind them and white gas began to roll out from under the bed.
"Told you," said Blackout.
Banner stood with her feet apart and her hands on her hips: her power pose. "Now what?" she said.
Blackout stepped toward her, "Banner?" he said.
"What?" she asked, looking at her friend.
"I'm truly sorry," Blackout whispered, and he touched her chest.
There was a flash of green. Banner's eyes grew wide in amazement, then snapped closed as her head dropped back. Her mind fell into darkness, her heart fell into silence, and her mighty form fell in a heap on the floor. Banner was dead.
*******
Blackout reached down and lifted Banner's limp, lifeless form in his arms. He carried her over to the bed, and laid her tenderly on it, very near the right edge. He draped her left arm across her stomach, her fingers touching the comforter beneath her.
Steve/Touch had been an old friend of David/Blackout, not surprising considering the simularity of their powers. Blackout knew that only he could defeat Touch, and only he was responsible when Touch broke free. All the killing.
Touch was a genius, but his snobbery made it possible to trick him. He never thought anyone could defeat him intellectually, which is why he always laid clues, enormously complicated clues, detailing his plans. He was proud, to say the least, and pride is a dangerous fault.
The sight of Banner, lying unmoving on the bed, was amazing. The mighty defender of the helpless was now no more. Blackout looked at her splayed hair, her emotionless face, her still chest, her limp arms and hands, her toned but flaccid legs. It was a sight which would haunt David's dreams for months. He placed a hand on her cheek, still warm. If this doesn't work, he thought, I will join you soon, Banner my old friend.
Blackout lay on the floor next to the bed, in the cloud of would-be noxious fumes which would soon fill the room. He grabbed Banner's hand, the one across her stomach, and pulled. She tumbled out the bed and landed on top of him, hard. Her cheek fell against his, her breasts pushed against his ribs, her legs parted, one to the right and one to the left. Blackout released Banner's hand, closed his eyes, prayed, and waited.
*******
About an hour later, the door to Room 5 opened a crack and a thin rod pushed through. On its tip was a tiny camera and along its length was a cable which fed the monitor in the hallway. It pointed at the limp forms of Blackout and Banner. After ten minutes, a firecracker rolled into the room and exploded. It was almost comic. The two inert forms remained motionless. Fifteen minutes later, Touch entered the room.
He pulled off his gray trenchcoat to reveal the black and green tights beneath. His dirty blonde hair needed combing, and probably washing. His beard needed shaving. His brown eyes were bloodshot. He was a little bit ticked off because he didn't get to touch the woman who ran this stinking bit of Martha Stewart-land.
But he smiled.
Then he laughed.
There on the floor lay all that stood between him and an eternity of freedom. There lay Banner (the bitch) and Blackout (the bastard). They were in his power, and would soon be in his soul.
"You should have looked at the time, my boy, the time," he shouted at the still forms. He laughed again.
"Ladies first, I suppose," said Touch, "since you're on top, bitch!" He paused. "Now, where to do it? The back? The head?"
He knelt beside the silent heroes. "Maybe you were right, bitch! It will all come out in the end\!" he shouted. He placed his hand on Banner's rear.
Touch's eyes widened in surprise. There was nothing -- no one -- there! He put his other hand on her bare thigh. Nothing. Nothing to take.
"Touch?" It was the voice of Blackout.
Touch swiveled his head to look at the hero's face. Surely he didn't kill his friend to capture him!
"Touché!" Blackout cried, and grabbed Touch's ankle.
"NO!!!" cried Steve/Touch as a green glow began to form under his skin. The eerie light grew steadily brighter, and then suddenly vanished. Touch was gone, as if he'd never been.
Blackout reached over and took Banner's hand. Banner's cold hand. He felt Banner's weight, the weight of her corpse, on his chest, his hips. He mourned her. It was a terrible gambit.
Blackout had never tried to restore a touch before. He was not sure it could be done, or what it would do to him, but he had to try. If he did nothing, his failure would haunt him forever, as did all his other failures.
He rolled Banner onto the floor, and placed both hands on her chest.
In a moment, or in an eternity, a yellow glow formed beneath his hands. Did he imagine warmth in Banner's skin?
Another moment. Another eternity.
Banner sucked breath into her lungs, and snapped open her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Banner," said Blackout, "but I had to..."
"Is Touch gone?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
"Yes," said Blackout. "For now."
Banner smiled weakly. "Then you have nothing to be sorry about."