Touch of Death

Trigger warning: There is death and implied suicide in this story. Read at your own risk.

Amanda didn’t mean to kill her best friend. It just happened. 

It was a warm April day when the two of them were playing one on one basketball in his front yard. Given that he was six inches taller and had at least twice the muscles, he was winning handedly. He had always been winning since they hit puberty. She never gave up trying though. She played half out of fun, half out of stubbornness in her refusal to admit she couldn’t win anymore. He played mostly for fun, and partially to see the frustration she gave off every time he scored a goal or blocked one of hers. He found it adorable how she curled her fists and snarled after a particularly botched throw of hers. 

The score was three times in his favor when he was blocking the hoop from her, and she jumped forward as high as she could get the ball over his arms. The ball grazed his hands and went into the hoop. Amanda herself landed into him and knocked him over. He used his remaining balance to throw them to the right, and they landed on the grass without much harm. He got some dirt and grass on his back, while she was on top of him with her head on his chest. 

“Ha!” she exclaimed. “Take that Leo.” 

Leo grunted and used his elbows to lean his head up a bit. He looked down at her still laying there. 

“Do you feel like getting up anytime soon?” he asked. “You weigh a bit more than you used to.” 

“You sure you want up?” she asked while looking up at him. “The sooner we stand the sooner I get back to kicking your ass.” 

He chuckled and lifted his right arm to push her off. The second he grabbed her wrist he froze. His breath caught and his eyes widened. After a few seconds he started exhaling softly but continuously, like he was trying to scream but couldn’t get his vocal cords to work. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. When he didn’t respond she grabbed his hand. He went limp. 

“Leo? Leo! What’s wrong!” 

Her only response was his skin getting so pale that his veins and arteries stuck out. She got off him and felt his forehead. He was cold and clammy. He let out one long, shuddering breath and then he breathed no more. Amanda felt his throat and screamed. 

“Help!” she called out. “Somebody help!” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911. An operator answered on the third ring. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” a woman asked. At the same time Leo’s mom ran out and saw her son lying on the ground. She screamed for her husband and ran over to check him. 

“What happened?” Leo’s mom asked. 

“Ma’am?” the operator called. 

“My friend isn’t breathing!” Amanda told the phone. Leo’s mother moaned while feeling his forehead. 

“I’m contacting an ambulance,” the operator said. “Do you know CPR?” 

Amanda nodded before realizing she couldn’t be seen, then said “Yes” with a shaky breath. 

“Good. Give him CPR until somebody arrives and we’ll take care of him from there.” 

Amanda gave the phone to Leo's mom and started giving him chest compressions. 

“Come on,” she told him. “Don’t you dare die on me.” 

She reached down to give him a breath. Leo’s mother cried into the phone while the operator told her to give more information. The three of them worked for minutes trying to keep him alive. 

Fifteen minutes later an ambulance arrived with paramedics. It didn’t matter. He was already dead. 

Hours later Amanda was sitting in a police officer giving them all the information she could come up with. One of them had given her a blanket and a cup of hot coffee, which she held with a weak hand. 

“I don’t understand what happened,” she said. “He was just fine until he just stopped breathing.” 

“The coroner is going to examine the body soon,” one of the cops said. “But the paramedics say he looked like he had been dead for hours. Like he had been starving and dehydrated. That would have been obvious even before he started to die. Are you sure you didn’t notice anything?” 

“I’m telling you he was perfectly normal,” she insisted. “He was running around playing basketball no problem. It’s only when he fell that he started to feel bad.”  

They looked uncertain, but in the end there wasn’t much they or she could do. Later that evening she was released and her parents picked her up to take her home. She was curled in her bed when her mother came in with a plate of food. 

“I know you don’t feel like eating,” her mom said. “But you need to keep up your energy. Try at least a little. Your dad and I will be in the living room if you need us.” 

Her plate was left on the stand next to Amanda’s bed. At first she refused to touch anything. Any thought of eating and her mind brought back memories of his corpse. But after a long afternoon and night her stomach was grumbling and she felt weak. So, repressing the image of his death as much as she could, she dug in and tried to eat. She took a spoonful of soup and chewed. 

It tasted awful. She spat it out on a napkin and her eyes were in shock. The carrot and peas that had been in her mouth were black, rotting. She took another napkin and wiped her mouth out. She looked at her soup. It looked fresh and delicious. She picked out a fresh carrot with her left thumb and index finger. As she watched it turned black and shrunk until it fell off her finger as black mush. 

“What the fuck?” she said. She picked out a pea and the same thing happened. She shuddered and put her food to the side. 

“Mom!” she yelled while getting out of bed. “Something’s happening.” 

Her parents rushed into the room with worried looks on their faces. 

“What’s wrong?” they asked in unison. 

“Look,” Amanda said. She scooped a handful of soup out the bowl and held it out to them. They watched with confusion as all of the vegetables in her hand shriveled and died. 

“I don’t understand,” her father said. “What’s happening to them.” 

“It’s like I’m killing them,” Amanda replied. “Everything is dying when I touch it.” 

She tossed the muck to the side and stumbled as her head grew dizzy with questions. Her parents rushed to support her. Her mother was first and grabbed her arm. Then she too grew still and her touch loosened. 

“Mom?” Amanda said worriedly. 

“Patricia?” her dad asked his wife at the same time. 

She paled and then collapsed to the ground with a strangled scream as she let go. 

“Patricia!” her father yelled as he ran to her side. Amanda stood to the side and looked at her hands. 

“Oh God,” she gasped. “I'm killing my mom.” 

She started running out of the room. Her father grabbed at her leg and then fell over as well from her touch. She ran out of her room. She ran out of her house. Into the streets she went, sprinting into the night. 

“I hurt my mom,” she said to herself. “I killed my best friend. I killed Leo. I almost killed Mom. What‘s happening to me?” 

She didn’t realize where she had gone until she reached the dark street. Oakwood Lane, the name above the stop sign read. There was a rundown strip center to her left and a grimy gas station to her right. She knew the area. Although it wasn’t terribly far from her cushy suburban home, it was not a place one wanted to be alone at night. 

She walked into the convenience store connected to the gas station. One bored man sat at the register, giving her what was probably supposed to be a welcoming smile but looked more like a grimace. Other than the two of them, it was empty. 

Looking at the refrigerated drinks at the far end, she walked over and opened the door with the sodas inside. A rack of Coca-Colas sat invitingly. She got one and brought it to the front. On a whim she grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the stand by the attendant. Hopefully he lets my age slide, she thought. Because I need a distraction and I'm away from my parent’s liquor cabinet at home. That reminded her of her mother collapsing and she winced at the thought. 

“Do you have ID for that?” the man asked with a disbelieving tone. “Because I can’t sell it to you without some proof you are twenty-one or over.” 

“I didn’t bring it with me,” she said. 

He gave her a look. 

“Fine,” she admitted. “I’m only 17. But I really need this. I’ve…I’ve had a really bad day.” 

“Sorry, but the store accounts for everything. Besides, I could get in huge trouble selling to a minor.” 

“Please,” she said. “Just this once.”  

She begged him with her eyes. He squinted at her, then sighed as he gave in. He reached under the counter and pulled out an already open pack. He pulled out a slim cigarette and handed it to her. She took it, careful not to brush his fingers. He grabbed the pack she had put down. 

“Take the cig and the coke for free,” he said. “I’ll put a couple of dollars from my own wallet into the register for the soda. The fun’s on me.” 

“Thank you,” she told him. He grunted. 

“If anyone comes asking about this,” he said. “I just failed to catch you shoplifting. Got it?” 

She nodded and almost walked out before realizing she had forgotten something. 

“Uh, could you light my cigarette?” she asked. “I don’t have a lighter of my own.” 

He reached over with a small lighter and set the tip of the cigarette burning. She thanked him and then left the station. She walked around to the back of the building near the dumpsters. She took a long swig from her coke and then followed it with an inhale of her cigarette. It was her first time tasting one. She coughed the smoke up and nearly dropped her drink. 

“People like this stuff?” she said to herself. “This is disgusting.” 

She took another smoke and handled it better than the first. There she stood smoking and drinking, trying to numb the pain. Only when her cigarette was down to a tiny stub did she drop it and put the burning out with her shoe. When she finished her coke she picked up the smoldering stub and threw both of them in the dumpster. 

Only after her head was filled with nicotine and her lungs had a faint burn did she look at her hands. Death’s hands. I murdered my friend, she thought. I’m killing everyone and everything I touch. She thought of her mother falling to the floor and was disgusted with herself. She thought of her best friend’s corpse and despised herself. 

She looked at the highway overpass crossing over the street further ahead. She figured it was a least twenty feet in the air. Although it was late, the occasional car still roared by a few miles over the already generous speed limit. If she timed her jump right she would be on the ground just in time for the impact, with no chance for the car to swerve. 

She started walking. She had one last person to kill.