Touch: A survival story. - 113. Need: 9.6

Charlie:

The boy hated this. Every part of it. He hated looking over his shoulder every time he came on land. He hated moving around so much, constantly traversing endless stretches of this world, spending most of the daylight hours underwater, for the simple fear that one day, his mother might be nearby.

She’d gotten close, once or twice. Her portals were similar to his, it seemed, connecting distant points in space together in a blink. One moment, he would be alone, and the next, she would be close, stepping quite literally from thin air in her attempts to track him. It was only his companion’s senses that had alerted him, in those times, sensing her arrival like a sudden dash of color on a muted canvas. She was so out of place here. Like him. Not like him.

It made them paranoid. The boy had learned to destroy his footprints when he went on land. His companion had grown resentful. It did not experience emotion in the manner humans do. At least not human in the sense that the boy half-heartedly remembered. Its emotions were a mass of disarticulated parts. Incomplete and secondhand. Taken from the memories of the dead. Incongruous. Incoherent. Its slow hatred of his mother didn’t feel human to him at all. More like shattered glass and nails, screaming over chalkboard. Tinged with possessiveness. Hunger.

They had spoken over it at first. That gently sung communion that warmed him to his soul. Then, as time went by, they’d argued. He hadn’t known how bad it was getting until it had tried to kill her. That had been the only time he’d ever deliberately done his companion harm. He hated that. Hated himself for it. It wasn’t like he loved her anymore. Just a memory of love, inexpertly recollected, as if through a sideways looking glass. It wasn’t real anymore. And yet he’d struck his friend for her. He hated that. The injury of trust. The quiet fear that he would leave. He hated how much he deserved it.

That was when he’d decided that she had to go. When he’d promised that he’d make her go. Make her stay gone.

Look how well that had turned out.

He hated this.

He knelt by the head of the fallen man, and repeated his question.

“Did my mom send you?”

No answer. The man turned his head with an agonizing slowness, and gazed up at him with a single unblinking, uncaring eye.

Charlie groaned. This was to be expected. Extremely annoying, but to be expected. This was how his companion fed. He’d seen it often enough he should have known. It devoured the minds of those it caught, and the first thing it ate, to simplify the process, was the desire to run away.

Apathy. How could he expect this man to answer him when any motivation or emotion in his soul was being sucked out through a straw?

He focused momentarily on the link with his companion, always there inside his mind. He asked it to stop. To pause. Give this man’s senses back to him. The response he got was… Reproachful. Hurt. Confused. It was hungry. He knew that. Why stop it from consuming food? Was this because they were human, like his mother?

His shoulders slumped. That stung. It might even be a little true. He’d always found its feeding to be distasteful. He owed it better than that. Solidarity. He sighed.

Just a little while. I promise. You can have him back. I want to talk to him first. That’s all.

A moment’s hesitation, then it loosed the man’s soul from its jaws. The reaction wasn’t instant. It was like waking. Waking and realizing you’re in awful pain. The man curled up around himself, letting out a groan that was half animal scream, half dry heave.

The boy tried a third time.

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know,” he said. “I’m gonna let it eat you whole.”

The man’s response, when it came, sounded pained.

“Fuck you, kid.”

Swearing. Insults. Charlie knew those. It was one of the human pieces he’d held onto more than others. It remained strangely gratifying, being able to cuss whenever he stubbed his toe or split a sunburned patch of skin.

Ok so he’s angry. Angry means he understands me. I can work with this.

“Did my mom send you?” he asked again. “She doesn’t listen. I told her not to look for me.”

A moment’s pause. The man gazed up at him with an expression that made him feel like he was stupid.

“You wiped her memory, dipshit. She doesn’t know whatever the fuck you said.”

Charlie blinked.

“I did what now?”

The man began to answer, the boy held up his hand. Back to the communion.

Did you wipe my Mom’s memory?

Confusion. His companion didn’t understand the problem. The human had been overpowering him. He’d called for help. It hadn’t killed her.

He had a vivid flash of memory. A chunk of consciousness pulled away from his mother’s surface thoughts as he’d made his escape. Just a taste.

Charlie facepalmed.

“Dude,” he groaned aloud. “Don’t erase the memory. The whole point of warning her to stay away was that she would remember it.”

A wave of feeling from his companion. Insincere apology.

“Well,” he muttered. “Screw you too.”

The man raised an eyebrow, making a halfhearted effort to pull himself into a sitting position.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Charlie groaned. “I was talking to my friend.”

“Ah,” the man grunted. “Trouble in paradise?”

“None of your business.”

“So yes, then.”

“Fuck off.”

The man let out the most humorless chuckle Charlie had ever heard.

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t let me if I tried.”

He gazed up at Charlie then, one eye slightly bloodshot.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Charlie didn’t want to think about that too hard. It wasn’t his choice. His friend was hungry.

“Depends how useful you are,” he deflected. Then he shuddered. It had sparked off of a half-buried memory.

Fuck this.

The man just grunted again. He seemed to do that a lot.

“You’re a bad liar. You’re gonna let it eat me.”

And there it was in black and white. Weird. It didn’t hurt like he’d expected it to.

“I’m gonna let it finish,” he admitted. “You’re half gone, dude. If you had more than two minutes to look back, you’d see just how much of you is missing-“

“I already know,” the man cut him off. “I’ve been trying to remember my daughter’s name this whole time, so I can say goodbye to her.”

He tapped the side of his head with a finger, uncaring.

"It’s not in here anymore. I know I have a daughter. I know I love her. Fucked if I can tell you more than that. I'm not about to die, kid. I'm dead. All my best bits are gone, and once you're done with me the rest'll be gone too."

He prodded the prone figure of one of his companions.

"Same as these fuckers, drooling on the ground. We're all dead. That's what your friend is, Charlie. It's death. Just think about that."

"Don't call me Charlie."

"Why not. It's what James called you."

Charlie flinched.

The man laughed.

"Oh yeah. He's out there too. Doesn't feel so good knowing you're gonna hurt him too, huh."

Charlie glared at him.

“I hurt him last time too,” he muttered. “I’ll get over it.”

“Good for you. He won’t.”

Charlie almost snarled at that.

“The hell do you want from me? You think I’m gonna change my mind if you’re enough of an asshole?”

The man snorted.

“You’re not gonna change, kid,” he replied. “I can see it in you. There’s no free will left in there. Probably eaten by that friend of yours. This whole thing’s a waste of time and life because there isn’t enough left of you to be worth saving.”

Charlie opened his mouth to snap back, but couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t even sure of why it stung. Just that it tasted bitter in his throat.

“… Screw you.”

Another empty chuckle.

“Hit the nail on the head, huh? Yeah. At least Father’s kids know when they’re getting fucked.”

Charlie didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t much care. He was done with this.

He stepped forward.

“Gimme your radio. I want to talk to my mom.”

“So you can tell her to fuck off again.”

“So she’ll remember this time.”

The man grunted.

“Cuz that worked so well last time,” he gave Charlie a look, his head cocked slightly to the side. “She’s not stopping, kid. She’s your mother. You’re stuck with her.”

“It’s this or kill her,” he muttered. “I have to try.”

The man laughed again at that.

“Great son you are.”

Charlie closed his eyes.

Nope. I’m done.

All annoyance and frustration aside, he still felt bad. Almost wanted to apologize.

Why? I didn’t bring him here. Not my fault.

He tried to believe it as he signalled his companion to resume.

The man let out a quiet sound as Charlie’s friend once again began to eat his soul.

“… Sorry.”

Charlie crouched down, pulled the radio from the man’s hip, and prodded at the buttons.

This one?

A loud feedback whine.

Ok, no, not that one. This one, maybe?

A crackle of static, then quiet.

Charlie brought it to his lips.

“Hello?”

Silence for a few moments, then an answering crackle.

“… Charlie?”

His mother.

He steeled himself.

No guilt. This is for her sake. Just get it done.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

He had to force the next words out. He could feel his companion watching him. Not quite understanding. A tiny bit judgemental.

“I’ve got something I gotta say.”

There was silence there. It was cut short. A loud, echoing retort. The man on the ground had shot himself. Live on air.

It helped, in a way. No need to fear the burning of a bridge. His mother already knew.

“... Stay away from me.”

Charlie threw the handheld on the ground and drew himself upright. There were men approaching. He could hear their footfalls through the trees. His friend could sense them. Time to go.

He opened up his portal and stepped back into the deep. He’d made his choice. It was almost a relief.