Touch

Fourth

Plodding footsteps gave away Will Pops's arrival. He was a heavy-set man, with a hard belly, rugged arms, small, globulous eyes, and an uncannily well-shaped mouth. His honey-brown hair was straight and drab; his face bore that portentous and sly look akin to businessmen. His voice, however, was even higher-pitched than Katie's. It was thin, effeminate, and he was well aware it commanded no authority.

He eyed his pensive wife and teary, wide-eyed daughter with a frown, wondering how to phrase his question so that he spoke as little as possible. And then it hit him. "What?"

"Katie says she was attacked by a hand," Tasha answered drily. "Apparently, the hand came out of the tap."

"I swear to Christ!" Katie wailed. She sniffled and rubbed her face, threw her arms into the air. Her hair now formed a sticky curtain around her head - like a giant, dishevelled, puffy brown cloud. "I know this makes no sense, but I know what I saw!"

"Are you sure that's what you saw?" Tasha Pops finally seemed to hear the rush of still-running water. "You left the tap on?" She moved toward the ensuite door.

"No!" Katie screeched, all but holding her mother's arm back, clutching it tight. "You can't go in there," she mumbled, forcing her voice down. She needed to sound as sane as she could, even if that wasn't very sane. "It's in there. It's in there."

"You don't have to go in there," Tasha said in a conciliatory tone. "I'll do it."

"Mom..."

"Quiet, Katie. I know how you work. I also know there is absolutely nothing in that bathroom. What do you hope to gain from this farce?"

"I'm not..." Katie studied her parent's hard, unflinching faces, and faltered.

They didn't believe her.

Her heart pounded, pounded. Was blood still flowing through her veins? Or had it turned into something thicker, something sicker?

No, she thought. Stop.

But her silent pleas were just that: silent. Tasha gently pushed the bathroom door open, stepped into the dangerous room, looked around.

No hand in sight.

"See?" Tasha said.

Get out.

Get out now.

She closed the tap.

Get out.

Get out!

"Shut the door," Katie said. "Please, Mom, shut the door."

Get out get out get out get out!

Will Pops had barely spoken. This was deliberate, and mostly due to long years of acclimation. But the situation seemed to require some paternal kindling. "Katie, dear, is there a particular reason you're doing this? There's no need to keep up the act."

Katie wanted to scream. Couldn't they see? Couldn't they understand? There was no faking the wild glint in her eyes, the knife's edge to her voice. This was real. "Close the door and-and I'll tell you. Just--CLOSE THE DOOR!"

Will nodded, Tasha obeyed, Katie breathed. "You'll tell me now?" Will asked.

"I was attacked," Katie insisted.

"Maybe you got caught in the shower curtain, imagined-"

"I know what I saw."

"Speaking of showers," Tasha Pops said, "I'm long overdue for one."

"The thing's in the pipes. You can't!"

Without a word in reply, Tasha vanished out the door and down the hallway.

Katie balled her fists. Fear and frustration were giving way to anger. "You're not listening to me. You need to listen to me."

Will fumed. "No, you need to listen to me. Your mother is tired of your antics. So am I. Maybe it's time you considered--"

She looked at her bed, picturing herself falling on and into it, hiding under the covers like a small child. Anything to get away from that thing. She'd make herself a castle or a fortress out of pillows and duvet; she'd be safe. She'd be safe.

But the hand might find her anyway... might slither under the ensuite door's frame and through the throw... might catch her throat and silence her scream... might tear off chunks of her...

"Katie? Are you listening?"

"No." She strode across the room, nearly tumbling down the stairs in her haste to get away. If they wouldn't believe her, that was their problem. She wasn't going to stick around until the hand came back.

"Where are you going?" Will asked, following her downstairs.

"Out."

She reached for her car keys on the hook on the wall; her father snatched them first, placing them in his pockets.

"You're not going anywhere until we finish our discussion," he said.

Screw him.

She took to the stairs two by two, pausing at the top to catch her bated breath. Then she made for her room, locked her door, fell onto her bed, and hid under her covers. She was so terrified she uttered a short, vague prayer to Whomever was supposed to be listening.

She could call the police.

They won't believe you either, a voice within her mocked. They'll think you're crazy.

Lucas will believe me, Katie thought violently.

Decided now, she pulled out her cellphone and dialed his number.

"Hello?"

She automatically relaxed at the sound of her boyfriend's rough, rude voice. She loved hearing him. "It's Katie. Can you come over?"

"I'm in the middle of something-"

"Look, Luke, I need you to come over. Now."

A pause that seemed to last forever. Katie's chest sagged a little; she closed her eyes and hoped. He wouldn't say no. He would believe her. He would-

"I'll be there."