Touch-Me-Not

By Josh Thomas

Georgia Rose hides. She hides because she knows everything about people before they ever open their mouth and because grocery stores and movie theaters sound like excruciating rock concerts inside her head. She hides from the world, her friends, and any chance of love.

Now she is being driven from her hiding place by someone who knows her secret. A menacing creature from her past, one with immense powers of his own, threatens to destroy her protected world and the trusted few who reside in it. As Georgia discovers, however, she is not alone. Others are watching and have a vested interest in her safety. As her current world unravels, a new world, filled with rare and exotic individuals, unfolds before her.

Georgia races across the Rocky Mountains and into the Colorado flatlands. As she travels above ground and under water, through a brutal fight for survival and a desperate chance at love, her safety and future depends on her ability to do the most difficult of alltrust others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491706053

Josh Thomas

Josh Thomas is a graduate of Oklahoma State University and works with his father and brother as a financial advisor with an international brokerage firm. He and his wife, Christi, live on a small ranch in western Oklahoma. They have three daughters.

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Prologue

Boston, winter, twenty-five years ago

SHE HAD BEEN RUNNING FOR twenty minutes and had, at the least, fifteen more before she would reach the train station. Luckily, here the city employees had been able to keep up with the falling snow, for record amounts of accumulation had slowed the city to a snail’s pace, and most of the sidewalks were still buried under two feet of heavy powder. She would not have been slowed too terribly if it hadn’t been cleared, but it was one less thing to worry about. A light breeze blew in her face, lifting her long, black, cashmere overcoat behind her as she ran. A dark fur hat hugged her head as she made her way quickly down the tree-lined sidewalk.

Hoping to shave off a few minutes’ time, she cut across the street and entered a long, snow-cleared walkway that ran diagonally across an open city park. She picked up speed down the straightaway and then rounded the duck pond, which was only visible because of how perfectly flat the snow lay on top of the ice compared to the undulating topography of the park’s landscape. The trees that lined the perimeter of the park were laden with snow, their branches bending low from the weight. The playground, where she had hoped to bring her daughter one day, was buried so deep some of the riding horses and benches were no longer visible.

She rushed, holding her arms tightly to her chest, concealing what was hidden beneath in the fold of a soft blanket. She made her way to the far sidewalk. With only four blocks to go she headed across the slippery street.

Halfway across, lights suddenly illuminated the buildings and street signs along the avenue. She looked behind her and saw distant headlights three or four blocks away. She darted down a side street, running past small courtyards and concrete stairways leading up to residential townhouses. She quickly covered one block, sneaking furtive glances behind her as she ran.

As she rounded the corner, she looked back one last time.

With headlights blazing through the early morning darkness, a silver Ferrari 308 slowly slinked its way around the corner. Snowflakes fell from the luminous white clouds, as if signaling its arrival.

With a desperate cry she pushed herself as fast as she could down the snowy sidewalk. The powder was fresh and slightly deeper off the main road, and she left easy-to-read tracks. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice, and speed was all that could save her now.

Two blocks ahead another set of headlights—pickup-truck lights—turned the corner. That would be Desmond.

She angled across the street and fled down a narrow alley between townhouses; she was still headed toward the train station.

Taking strides nearly twice as long as any normal person, she made no more than a whisper as her footfalls made light, soft impressions in the fresh falling snow. But no matter how far apart, no matter how light or soft, she would still be seen by her pursuers. To their eyes, her marks would stand out like fresh blood splashed in the white powder. She had to find a hiding place. She had to momentarily divert them to change direction.

The familiar roar of the pickup’s two giant tailpipes could be heard over the rooftops of the townhouses. Scanning the rear windows, brick walled gardens, fire-escape ladders leading to upper stories, dumpsters and rear garages, she began formulating a plan.

Eyeing another interior garden further ahead, she quickly glanced for a fire-escape ladder and overhead balcony. She scooped up a rock and leapt nearly fifteen feet into the air onto the high balcony. As a diversion she threw the rock through the window, causing a loud crash that echoed off the brick walls. She kicked the fire-escape ladder down toward the street. With one quick glance back toward the entrance of the alley, she leapt from the balcony and landed on top of the brick wall of the opposite garden. She had cleared a span of nearly thirty feet and a drop of nearly ten, making no more noise than the light puff of her feet hitting the snow on top of the wall.

Cries of groggy confusion burst from the broken window behind her. Strong headlights pierced their way down the dark walls of the alley.

Scanning the small garden, she found two large trash bags covered in snow lying beside an aluminum trash can. The bags sat near the back door, with just enough space between them and the townhouses’ rear wall. With a silent and soaring leap, she sailed through the air, landing cleanly between the trash bags and the wall. Grabbing the lid, she scooped up a broad swath of snow beside her and tossed it high into the air. Slipping the lid back on the can, she pulled her overcoat over her head, sat Indian style low behind the two trash bags, and let the falling scooped snow pile on top of her.

She heard people shouting through the broken window and heard familiar voices asking if someone had entered their home.

She had to have gone to the roof. The tracks stop at the ladder, and she wouldn’t have wanted any of these folks involved.

I’ll go topside. You stay low and look for any sign of her coming down. And keep your radio on. If she gets away, Grey will turn us inside out.

A new set of headlights came blasting from the other end of the alley.

Get up there. I’m not hanging around to chat with him until we find her!

She heard a shuffling of feet and quick, metallic bangs as someone began scaling the metal ladder. The truck’s engine roared to life, the muffler growling loudly in the close quarters of the alleyway, and the lights faded as it backed its way to the street.

Slowly, in shimmering silver, the sloped nose of the Ferrari inched its way into view. The menacing car stopped at the gate, nearly stopping her heart as she heard the car door open. Through the iron bars of the gate and the falling snow, she watched the occupant rise from the black interior of the groaning car. Long white hair, pulled back into a severe ponytail, fell over a soot-black overcoat, already collecting pure white specks of snow that refused to melt in the cold night. His face was as pale as the snow.

Her heart picked up speed, and she fought to keep her breath under control.

The man looked up at the individual climbing the ladder and then down the long alley at the retreating truck. Then, twisting his head ever so slowly, he turned to look into the garden.

At just the moment she felt she had been caught—and that to save her life she’d have to make a move before he leapt over the wall and descended on her—something wriggled in her lap. Her senses had been firing on all cylinders like lighting, and the sudden movement froze her breath. She looked downward, and refusing to make the slightest sound that would easily be heard by the man, she gently hugged her arm closer. Her body trembled slightly with fear, and her breath had a tremulous sound when it escaped her lips.

The stirring in her lap subsided as quickly as it had begun, and before she lifted her eyes to look, she heard the door to the car close. She peered through her coat and saw the silver Ferrari begin to move out of view.

Rising from her small corner, she shook the snow from her coat and walked to the center of the small garden. She looked down at what she held in her left arm and delicately opened the soft blanket.

Her daughter’s plump and beautiful face shined brightly. She cooed playfully as snowflakes landed lightly on her cheeks, too young to understand them as they lighted on her soft skin. She gently touched her baby’s soft forehead and nose.

On her light pink cheek, between the delicate snowflakes, landed a drop of salty water, like rain. Another tear drop landed beside it, and the young woman wiped away the next from her own cheek before it could follow the first two. She had to make a decision, one that would forever change her life. A decision she would never be able to forgive herself for, yet one she could not ignore. If she wanted to live, if she wanted her daughter to live and have a normal life, she had to change things forever.

Taking one step and then leaping over the garden wall, she landed on the fading tire tracks of the silver Ferrari. Her best bet was to get to higher ground.

Leaping up to the next balcony, she easily scaled the fire-escape ladder that led to the roof. She headed across the roof, and without even blinking, she leapt over the cavernous alleyway to the next building, continuing her escape in the direction of the train station.

The sun was beginning to light the eastern sky. In a half hour, the streets would be bustling with people beginning their day’s activities, offering her an advantage in hiding her tracks with theirs. If she could stay on the move and stay hidden, she would make it for a little longer.

Leaping to the next street, she noticed the Ferrari underneath her as she sailed overhead. She leapt from building to building until she came to the last in the line. From the top of the townhouse, she felt her heart crush as she looked out across the large, flat expanse.

Between the residential area and the train station lay nothing but open parking lots.

As she spied the distance to the train station, wondering about the time it would take and the speed at which she could cover it, a faint scratching sound found its way into her ears. She whirled around looking for its source but found nothing.

Following the noise, she peered over the front side of the townhouse down onto the narrow street. Halfway down the block a man was standing on the sidewalk looking into the sky as the snow fell to his face. After a few thoughtful seconds he turned and took a shovel that had been leaning against a large tree and began cleaning snow from a wood stack on his front porch.

The young woman looked back at the large expanse of parking lot and considered hard for several seconds before she turned back the way she came. She leapt from building to building until she came to the roof directly across from the man shoveling snow.

Getting down on her knees behind the raised roofline and peering as closely as she could, she studied him intently for more than a minute. Taking in as much information as she could and pouring over it with blistering speed, she cataloged it all in her mind and scoured it for certain details. Seeing what she had hoped and prayed she would see, she stood.

The man turned toward the street. He looked at the sidewalk and then peered across the street at the opposite townhouse, up its brick façade, finally falling on her as she stared back at him.

She turned, looking down at the balcony below her. She leapt silently to it. She then leapt fifteen feet to an adjacent lower balcony, and then another fifteen feet back to the front porch roof, finally landing on the snow-covered front sidewalk of the townhouse.

She looked up at the distant figure and noticed his snow shovel now lying on the sidewalk at his feet, though his hands were frozen in place, as if he were still grasping the wooden handle. He was staring at her in stern contemplation.

As she walked toward him, the snow fell heavily. She moved easily through the deep snow, plowing through the three-foot drifts left by the road plow as if they were no more than piled Styrofoam popcorn. Her gaze was constant upon him, regarding him intently as she approached—as if searching for something on his face or in his mannerisms.

The man appeared to be in his late thirties and wore a dark-green cap covering curly dark hair that fought its way out from under the thick cotton weave. He had a kind, unremarkable face, and she was heartened to find that it advertised an equally strong and kind heart.

At a face-to-face distance, she could now see what had made him into the man he had become. Heartbreak and loss had softened his heart and aged him into a man beyond his years. Grounded morals had tethered him to living a good and honest life, regardless of what he’d been dealt.

She glanced down the street in both directions and the man took notice.

Ma’am, if someone like you needs help, I’m not sure how much good I would be. He then swallowed. But I’ll do what I can.

The young woman opened her coat, uncovering her tiny daughter for him to see. She looked up, and his face was now a mask of questions and uncertainty.

He then looked down into the baby’s crystal-green eyes and studied her for a long moment. Do you need me?

Her eyes welled with tears, and her lips quivered, not from the cold but from piercing heartache. She looked down, and her cold tears fell from her cheeks onto the warm blanket wrapped around her baby girl.

You can’t help me, but you can save her. And saving her will save many more after her. She grabbed his arm, watching him intently for several seconds. I see you, Henry Rose. I see that you’re a good man. And I hope she helps you as much as I know you can help her.

She pulled his arm toward her and moved the little girl into his. She then picked up a short piece of firewood from his stack and placed it inside her coat.

You must go inside now and then disappear. You have to take her far away from here to protect her. You have to make a new life, new friends, and never come back here. Do this today, Henry Rose. You have to do this now.

She then backed away from him. She backed into the middle of the street and turned, peering down the icy road. She glanced back, seeing the man look down at her little girl and put his large gloved hand on top of her, adjusting the blanket around her face. Her baby looked so small in his arms, almost disappearing in his large coat. The snow fell so heavily now, they looked like dark shadows in fog.

She turned back toward the street, looking for any sign of her pursuers.

Hank.

She looked back.

The look on his face said he knew he would never see her again.

Those who know me call me Hank.

Tears froze on her face like strings of crystals. Love her for me, will you? Tell her I love her, over and over.

She pulled the fur hat from her head, dropping it to the ground, and long, golden-blonde hair fell around her shoulders, glowing brilliantly in the brightening sky. She then ran down the street toward the train station as fast as she could, the townhouses streaking past. She made the intersection quickly and angled diagonally across it.

Headlights hit her as she approached the parking lot. The engine’s high-pitched whine told her it was the Ferrari.

Sprinting at an incredible speed, she made out the dark shape of the train station. The ticket booth stood out front, a fence line running in both directions. Reaching the fence would be good enough. She could jump it in less than a second.

Out of nowhere a white bus appeared directly in front of her. The falling snow had camouflaged it, not giving her enough time to adjust her course on the icy cement. She turned as much as she could but still hit the front corner of the bumper with her hip, slinging her across the pavement, first rolling, and then sliding into a snowdrift.

The Ferrari had been angling toward the same location and tried to stop before hitting her, but its brakes apparently locked up, and its tires slid across the icy pavement. It careened through a large snowdrift, pushing the front end away and turning the car into a spin, finally coming to a stop between her and the dark impression of the train station.

She pushed herself up on her elbows. Her left side throbbed where she’d bounced off the bus. She sat up, looking for the car.

Forty feet in front of her, she could barely make out the outline of the silver Ferrari. The door opened, pushing a heap of snow out of its way, and the dark figure emerged, stepping into knee-deep powder.

Elizabeth! Lizzie! Please stop this. You don’t need to run.

His dark coat loomed menacingly against the white of the surroundings, but his blond hair and pale skin disappeared into the background, almost making him look like a headless apparition.

Come back with me—let’s talk. You don’t belong anywhere else, Lizzie. No one else can understand you, no one else could know what you go through.

She pushed herself to her feet, a sharp pain shooting from her hip, down her leg, and into her foot. It made her double over and grit her teeth hard. This wasn’t the moment to get hurt or give up. She was so close.

She called out, If I can’t leave when I choose, then I don’t want to stay. She started backing away, deeper into the blinding snow. I’m not yours to keep. I’m not yours to use.

He was beginning to disappear from her view, and the bus that had derailed her was now visible behind her.

With tremendous anger and ferocity, his voice erupted from his invisible face. She wasn’t yours to take, Elizabeth! You will not do this to me. Not me!

From the depths of the falling snow, his dark figure appeared. He came after her, running to catch her.

She fled past the bus, racing past the same bumper that had only seconds before stopped her escape. She heard his footsteps in the snow behind her, and they were getting closer with each step. Within seconds he would have her.

Stop, Lizzie. Right now!

She burst into the parking lot and took three fast strides when the dark shape of the pickup roared through the thick falling snow, colliding with her.

A loud, deep bang rang out, one that reverberated from within her ears down to her bones. She felt weightless, and the loud roaring in her head silenced everything around her. Then she moved and tumbled, but not with any associated pain. Her elbows, knees, head, hands, hips, and feet bounced and banged in all different directions, but her consciousness just seemed to be along for the ride.

Then all was quiet. She felt sleepy, loopy actually, as if she’d had too much to drink. Faced down in the snow, she heard people talking and yelling. Multiple footfalls approached, and she felt herself being moved. Then the dark turned to white as they rolled her over, her face turned upright into the falling snow.

A hissing, venomous voice broke the silence. If she dies, you’d better run as far away from me as you can, because your days of running will be your last.

She then heard a wretchedly pleading voice. Please, I didn’t see her. I couldn’t have!

Not you, you imbecile. Her!

She opened her eyes and saw the white-haired man rifling through her coat and sweater, pulling and tugging at her, making her body fire bolts of pain.

There you are. What the …? What is this?

The chunk of firewood was held above her and then thrown away, out of view.

The man knelt and placed his hands around her throat. In a soft and controlled voice, he asked, What did you do with her? Where is she?

The golden-haired young woman, body broken, her only child given away to the arms of a complete stranger, lay in the snow of a parking lot beneath three men who cared nothing for her. She smiled. She smiled because she knew. She knew her daughter was safe. She smiled as the white of the sky faded to black.

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Two blocks away, a snow shovel, still lying in the front yard of a townhouse, was gradually covered by the falling powder. Behind the townhouse, a Jeep Wagoneer, loaded with several duffel bags of clothes and a few snacks to tide the driver over until they were far away, crept its way down the alley. The headlights were off, hoping the Jeep could stay hidden within the winter storm, and the tire tracks disappeared almost as quickly as they were made.

At the end of the alley, the Jeep turned and disappeared around the corner, as if it had never been there at all.

1

GEORGIA ROSE STEPPED OFF HER front porch, and her bare feet sank into the cool grass. She started every spring barefoot, gingerly walking on tender feet but quickly gaining confidence as her calluses grew thick by the time summer arrived. This morning the summer sun had yet to make its way above the horizon of tree-covered mountaintops to the east, but it was sending enough light ahead that she could see her surroundings quite well.

Dressed in old cutoff jeans shorts and a waterproof, long-sleeve pullover, she carried her tall mug of coffee, creamed and sugared to perfection, across her front lawn. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her crystal-green eyes picked their way across the many flowers planted within the confines of her small, intimate yard. The lawn was mowed to a short length, tickling her feet, and the cool dew sitting atop the blades of grass made the morning seem just a little cooler. The flowerbeds curved their way around the yard in long, graceful arches, and here and there one could find a birdbath or a bench hidden within the dark, dense flora. But she was careful not to add clutter to the landscape; it was the flowers that she most treasured.

Tall, bold dahlias, with their dinner-plate sized blooms sitting atop four-foot stalks, boasted their deep colors of rosy purple and canary yellow as she walked by. The long, leafy daylilies seemed to be trying their best to honk their golden-pedaled horns to get her attention. And the full, soft beds of alyssum, with their thousands of tiny snow-white flowers that completely covered the light green leaves underneath looked liked a feather mattress, beckoning her to lie back down and get a few more minutes of morning sleep.

She could lie here in the garden if she chose to; she had done it many times before. No one would see, for behind the winding beds of shrubs and flowers were towering trees of all kinds. Large oaks and maples branched their way toward the sky before a deep beautiful backdrop of evergreen pines and cedars. Small, flowering trees, crabapples, redbuds, and pears, among others, dotted their way below the looming branches of their older cousins behind them. Georgia’s home was a private retreat, blocked from the prying eyes of the world.

She trailed her way through her yard, randomly stopping to pull an invading weed or help guide a wandering vine along a trellis, until she made her way to a tall magnolia, which seemed to be the ending point of this narrow avenue of lawn. Stopping briefly to snip an old rose blossom from the trailing vines growing along a white trellis, she slipped around the massive evergreen, hugging close to the giant, glossy leaves and saucer-sized white blossoms, and let herself through a white wooden gate.

Stepping through Georgia’s front gate did not lead to a sidewalk or a street. It did not open her view to a tree-lined avenue or a busy urban intersection. Staring at Georgia, barely thirty feet away, were three tall walls made of semiclear plastic, shaped in half-circles. Under her feet was a thick pad of gravel that covered all the ground she could see. It wasn’t the view most would want when leaving their home, but it was exactly as Georgia wanted it, further hiding her from the world.

To her left was parked her Jeep Wagoneer, old but well taken care of. Burnt orange in color, with wood-paneling trim, the old Jeep had been purchased new by her father before SUVs were considered a legitimate family car. Tough and big by 1970s standards, its aura through the years had slowly morphed into being too big, then too outdated, on to technologically archaic, and then surprisingly too small by recent SUV standards while simultaneously being frowned upon as a gas guzzler. But like many things in this world, its life was coming full circle. Her father’s Wagoneer was now widely regarded as cool and hip by young and old alike. Too often when leaving a store, she would have to pace herself, giving the people looking in her Jeep’s windows and touching her wood paneling time to investigate, and possibly to reminisce about years past when they or someone they knew had had one. It being one of her father’s favorite possessions, she wouldn’t let herself get rid of it. It held too many memories of when she was a girl, riding in the passenger seat while her father drove through deep mud puddles and over big bumps.

That’s what these Jeeps are for. Her father had never lost the kid in him. The army uses them to drive through fields, and now we have one to drive to the store—through fields, of course.

He would then make a crazy sharp turn and barrel through some random pasture, both of them bouncing and laughing crazily. She missed her father deeply since his passing. He had been badly hurt in a construction accident two months after she graduated from high school. For two weeks she had sat by his side in the hospital before his normally strong body finally gave out. She would never get rid of her Wagoneer. Her dad’s Wagoneer.

Crunching across the gravel, she made her way to a door in the center wall. Taking a key from her pocket, she let herself in and breathed in the familiar odors: dirt, water, heat, and a light minty fragrance tying it all together. Walking down the center aisle, inspecting the tables that lined either side, she arrived at another door at the other end of the building. Before going through, she punched a button on the wall and ducked out just before millions of tiny water droplets rained down on the hundreds of new, sprouting plants bursting from their small, one-inch square morsels of earth. She quickly made the same trip through the other two greenhouses on either side before entering the back door of her small store.

Flicking on the lights and making her way to the office behind the counter, she checked the answering machine and turned on the computer for the day. Adding coffee grounds to the coffee maker and checking to make sure it was set to come on for Terri and Coach, she headed out the front door to continue her morning ritual.

Outside the small store was an outdoor market of plants. Shrubs, trees, vines, groundcovers, and especially flowers, annuals and perennials, were all featured in Georgia’s nursery. Since she was a little girl she had been fascinated by flowers, and as she grew older, she began to see the wonder of the entire plant world. While brightly colored flowers were pretty and smelled fresh, the plant kingdom could be quite fragile at times and downright vicious at others.

But plants didn’t run away; they didn’t change their mind and become something else. And if you neglected them, many were so forgiving as to perk right back up and smile with just the smallest of gestures from their owner. Georgia understood these things about people and plants, and she would be fooling herself if they didn’t apply to her as well, to a certain degree. But her connection to plants and flowers ran much deeper than it did for most. For her, it was a lifeline to this world because she had all but severed her connections to people, save for a trusted few.

She made her way to the racks of full sun annuals and cranked on the hose. The nozzle sprayer fragmented the water stream into a wide misting plume of rain, settling down on the deep-green foliage and bright-colored petals, making them glisten. Many of these small plants had been raised from seed inside her greenhouses, and to see them stretch for the sun and rain every morning was extremely gratifying. As the sun showed its face over the tree line, it painted a rainbow on the sweeping clouds of water floating down on the plants.

She moved to the farther racks of perennials, soaking the many varieties of daylilies, cannas, hostas, and numerous other bulbs, tubers, and roots. She replaced the hose and walked to her improvised farmer’s market,