Untouched The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,3

all the time.

The second set of powers a meta possesses is unique to each one, to his or her type of metahuman. Wolfe, for instance, had skin that was highly adaptable to damage. If he got shot, the next time it happened he was able to take a greater amount of that kind of damage. I saw a shotgun go off at point blank range and leave nothing but red marks on his skin.

It was in my final confrontation with Wolfe that I had discovered my other power. I am a succubus, possessed of the ability to drain a soul, or the essence of a person, with nothing but the touch of my skin. He had me in a chokehold, but I touched him, and he screamed, and I drained the life out of him.

Hence the bra and panties for sleepwear. If anyone came for me during the night, I wanted to be able to defend myself. I didn’t think anyone would, but when you’ve been imprisoned in your own home for twelve years and then turned loose in a world where everyone wants a piece of you, it’s easy to develop a sense of paranoia. Except it’s not paranoia when they’re actually after you.

I sighed, feeling the water dripping down my skin. I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t know for certain, but I was pretty sure my meta powers also included enhanced hearing, smell, sight, taste, and feeling, because it felt like I could see every detail of the water drops that were tracing their way down my pale belly.

I wasn’t very tall, about five foot four, and my brown hair was tangled from the way I slept on it. My eyes looked more blue than green, and I had acquired a couple of small freckles since the last time I had studied myself in the mirror. I had yet to see the sun, but I had spent enough time outside that they had formed, one on my cheek and one on the tip of my nose. I stripped, removing the wet clothing, and toweled off before I turned off the light.

As I turned to leave, something in the mirror caught my attention. A flash of black eyes, tangled, matted, dirty hair, far different than the slight mess that mine was, and a vision of wicked teeth, the type a predator would use to rip and shred its prey. The eyes watched me, and I could almost taste the desire for my blood—and something else, less savory.

So pretty, the voice came. So pure and sweet and untouched.

“Dammit, Wolfe,” I said, my words coming out as close to a growl as I could imagine, “Can’t you just go away?”

The unfortunate side effect of my power, one which I had told no one about yet, was that I now had Wolfe bouncing around in my head. He gave a running commentary on my life; his thoughts ranged from the mundane to the disgusting, and I got all of them—unfiltered, profane, and revolting. Living a life cooped up with my mother had kept me more or less innocent, and having this diseased freak sharing my skull was giving me nightmares, both figurative and literal, as I got to witness his crimes every night as I slept. And there were so many.

Can’t go away, he whispered back. You and Wolfe are bound together, little doll. Intertwined.

I resisted the urge to vomit in my mouth and flipped the light switch, casting the bathroom in the bright aura of the overhead lamps. The reflection of Wolfe was gone from the mirror.

Such sweetness, he intoned, his words growing with verve in my head. Wolfe would have touched you, Wolfe would have made you scream with pleasure—

“You would have died,” I said to my reflection, as though I could sense his presence behind my eyes. “Oh, wait,” I said with mock joy, “You did. And it couldn’t have happened to a more disgusting creature.” I thought about it for a beat. “Actually, you dying did make me scream with pleasure—”

I felt a searing pain in my skull, one that dropped me to my knees. With my eyes almost squinted shut, I could only see blurry shapes in the mirror; one was flesh-toned, on its knees, the other was behind me, stalking back and forth—

I turned, but there was no one there. I fell back on my haunches, felt the cold linoleum of the bathroom floor against my backside, and lay down, closing my eyes