Touch: Trilogy

By Garrett Robinson

Sally suffers from a curse: the ability to Touch others and see their thoughts. She doesn't know how. She doesn't know why. All she knows is what people are thinking. And she doesn't like what she sees. Driven to a life of seclusion trying to avoid the minds of those around her, she has given up hope of a normal life.

Until a friend is murdered, and the police have no leads on the killer.

Now, in order to bring justice, Sally must come out of hiding, embracing her gift instead of rejecting it, and making use of every ability at her disposal - natural and unnatural. New enemies rise along with new friends, and the hope of a life Sally had long since given up on - if she can keep herself alive to enjoy it.

This debut work of independent author Garrett Robinson thrills from start to finish, exploring themes of thought versus action and takes a new, realistic look at the effect of inhuman abilities. A pulse-pounding ride that promises to keep you at the edge of your seat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Living Art Books
• Release date: Jul 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497720336

Book preview

This story is dedicated to my family

for whom I do everything

To those who first helped me with Touch:

Nolan, David, Rob, Kelly Rose, Ted and Zach

And to Johnny, Sean and Dave

who told me to write

::Touch: Trilogy::

Copyright © 2012 by Garrett Robinson. All rights reserved.

Cover copyright © 2012 by Garrett Robinson

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this story, or telling your friends or blog readers about it.

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Published by Garrett Robinson

***

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

I’ve been writing since I was thirteen. I don’t hit people with the old trope all my life since it’s only marginally true, and besides, I don’t think my childhood tales of Sally and Goldie go to the park really count as writing.

Thirteen was when I got into fantasy and science fiction. I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Ender’s Game, and countless others too many to name. I started playing Warhammer (and Warhammer 40,000) and creating worlds for my characters and armies to inhabit. And then I started writing stories about the worlds I was creating.

Until I had left high school, I thought that I wanted to be a writer for the rest of my life. Then, one day, I ended up on a film set. That changed everything. Film became my new world. I spent years on sets and behind computer in post-production. I absolutely love everything about film, from shooting to editing and to seeing my audience’s reaction when they watch a film I’ve created.

But there’s one thing about film, which is that unless you’re at the top, a paid writer and/or director, you don’t get to tell stories. You aren’t the one creating the world for the viewer to inhabit. And it is so hard - it is so hard to get to that point, where you are the one calling the shots and making the film. Practically impossible, unless you’re bankrolling it yourself, which itself is practically impossible for all but the barest-boned, independent films.

And so, I’ve returned to writing.

I realized I had an opportunity to tell every story I’ve ever wanted to tell - from the very simplest to the most epic. From nothing, I can create my worlds again. And I can share them with you, my Dear Reader.

There’s an endgame in my mind, an ulterior motive, and it’s based on how well I can share with you the worlds in my head. If I have a story and a written screenplay, no one in my world (the film world) gives a shit. It’s a simple fact of life. A written screenplay is great, but it is virtually impossible to get it sold. Those who do are the lucky less-than-one-percent, and they usually get there through industry connections, either through friends or family. I don’t have those connections.

But there is a trend in the film industry recently. Though it isn’t unique to the last two decades, it’s picked up steam considerably during that time. And that is that a film based on a pre-existing property is absolute gold to studio executives. I’ve got a screenplay, you say, and are met with blank stares. I’ve got a screenplay based on a best-selling book, you say, and suddenly everyone in the industry is your friend.

And that brings us to Touch.

TOUCH

Touch is actually the first film I ever made. In the heydey of my youth, a friend of mine rented a camera for a film project he was doing over a weekend. Then, the Sunday portion of the shoot was cancelled, so he had a camera and nothing to shoot with it. He called me and asked me if I wanted to do some test shots, play around with the camera, see what it could do.

Fuck that, I told him. We’re making a movie!

I called three actor friends of mine and we rehearsed the script (which I had written previously). We used an office that belongs to a dear friend of mine, and we shot the film. Liv did not exist in that script. She was added when I turned it into a novel. But we made that film, man. I edited it myself and I just thought it was great. (If I could watch it now, I might alter that opinion).

Then, the hard drive that the film was on failed. I lost everything - the footage, the edit, everything. My first film was now a useless hunk of metal, sitting on my desk and staring me in the face.

And there it stayed for two years. Until I decided to do this. Until I decided to start writing again.

Touch was the obvious choice. It was my first artistic endeavor in film, and so it would be my first attempt at a novel. So I sat down and wrote the story again, this time for a different format and a different audience. The film poured through my mind, through my fingertips on to the keyboard, and in only a few days it was done. I finished it, and then realized that I actually hadn’t. I didn’t know if anyone who read it wanted to know more, but I sure as hell wanted to tell more. What happened to Sally after the first book? I had some ideas, but I wanted to see where they led me.

So Touch 2 and 3 came next. People kept reading them. In fact, the response has been amazing. Of course, you hear first from people you know, friends and family. They told me they loved the book, and I said, Okay, great. But it wasn’t until I got my first five-star review from someone I didn’t know, that I really started to believe in it.

Would I make Touch into a film again? Absolutely. I would love to. There’s enough material in the trilogy for a feature film, absolutely. And guess who’d be directing it? (You can’t see it, but I’m pointing to myself with both thumbs). So, if you’re a fan of the books, you certainly wouldn’t have to worry about the director straying from the source material!

This trilogy is complete. Will there be more to the Touch story? Possibly. I would love to keep following Sally and Sean. I’d love to meet their kids. I’ve spent almost a month with them in this book, but I’ve spent three years with them before that. They’re friends now, and it’s possible I’ll swing by their neighborhood to catch up.

If I do, I’ll bring you along.

Thank you for your eyes.

Garrett Robinson

::TOUCH::

(PART ONE OF THE TOUCH TRILOGY)

The Curse

CHAPTER ONE

Sally

Sally stepped from the elevator into the office building. The office was mostly empty, like it usually was when she arrived for work. She went to the cleaning closet and got out her cart, grabbing a mop from the wall and sticking it, business end first, into the cart. She headed for the kitchen. Some people were still kicking around, wrapping up work in their cubicles. But hardly anyone spent time in the kitchen at this time of day.

Sally always worked at night.

She parked the cart outside the kitchen and stepped inside. It was empty, which was good. Sally could usually avoid Touching others, but it was easier if they weren’t in the room in the first place. Sally tied up the trash bag from the can by the door and began sweeping.

She glanced out the window while she worked. The office had a decent view of downtown Los Angeles. She loved the look of the city at night. At night, you couldn’t see the dirt which always hung in the air. There were only the bright, twinkling lights of the office buildings. She liked seeing what was beautiful about the city and ignoring the filth it always sat in.

Of course, Sally never visited downtown. Too many people. Too hard not to Touch them.

The kitchen door swung open and someone came in. Sally was pretty sure his name was Scott. He crossed the room to the fridge, and Sally used the motion of her sweeping to move as far away from him as possible. Long practice had made her good at it, subtle enough that he wouldn’t notice.

(Probably) Scott smiled politely at her. Hi, Sally. He reached the fridge and pulled it open.

Sally merely nodded in reply. Scott was polite. Always remembered her name, always greeted her if he saw her. But she never talked back much. Because Sally knew that when people were talking to you, they tended to move closer.

Scott opened the fridge and pulled out an empty tupperware container, lined with residue of whatever he’d had for lunch. He closed the fridge door and leaned against it, looking back at her.

Oh, no. He wants to talk.

Wife kills me if I don’t bring these things home, Scott said, holding up the container ruefully. These are the cheap ones, the kind that are supposed to be disposable, but she doesn’t care. She knows how to pinch a penny in two, you know what I mean?

Sally really didn’t, and she wasn’t sure how to shut him down. If she nodded again, he might see it as an invitation to keep talking. She could just walk away, but that wouldn’t do. Sally’s lifestyle revolved around seeming almost normal, but never friendly. Friendly lead to Touching. But if you were too rude, you got fired, and that was bad. Sally had to eat.

She was still trying to figure out what to do when Scott continued. I suppose it’s a good thing. I mean, she runs a damn good house, you know? He looked down, spinning the container between his palms. Never lets us spend more than we make. Great woman. He paused the spinning, looking over at Sally again.

You got a husband, Sally? Boyfriend?

Nope, Sally said.

Hm, said Scott, then mercifully fell silent. Sally hoped he was through. She’d learned that if you kept your answers to a word or two, and made it clear you weren’t interested in the conversation, most people would leave it alone pretty quickly.

Apparently Scott was like most people, because he pushed himself off the fridge and headed for the door.

Better be going, he said, clearly uncomfortable. You have a good one, Sally.

Thanks, said Sally, still not looking up at him. He stepped through the door and was gone.

Sally looked up at the door, her sweeping momentarily coming to a halt. She wondered what Scott was like, if he was really as nice as he seemed. But she guessed he wasn’t. People never were. At least they weren’t often enough that Sally knew never was the best way to think about it.

The floor was clean. She swept the pile into her dustpan, cursing momentarily as she realized she’d already double-knotted the trash bag. She always did that, and she always cursed afterward.

You’d think it would sink in after