The Death Touch

Wyatt entered the greenhouse. As usual, he wore two layers, had gloves, and a hat. Although, since he was in a greenhouse, his clothes were thin.

Compared to some, this greenhouse was organized. It had a wide path in the middle, with the plants rarely extending outside their pots.

Both his clothes and the greenhouse were clearly selected so he wouldn’t accidentally touch a plant with his bare skin. Most people were wary about letting him work in their greenhouses in general, and he couldn’t just get his own. Who had the money for their own greenhouse?

Wyatt couldn’t really blame them. In fact he was grateful his cheek wouldn’t accidentally brush against a leaf and kill the whole plant.

His super power was the death touch. People compared it to those toxic frogs. Anything alive that touched his skin would stop being alive. He’d been shoved to the ground a lot as a teenager. One time, he’d fallen sideways, and all the grass touching his cheek turned brown and wilted.

He’d tried to control it, of course. He’d practiced for so long on grass and other plants. Lots of people could control their super power. Most could at least do better than him. But his best efforts had been for nothing. If his skin touched something, it didn’t matter if he was trying or not.

He hadn’t asked to end up like this. Most powers could have some useful application, even if it was once in a blue moon. Even the ones that couldn’t be useful were usually just neutral, like that person who could make it rain for one minuet a day. How had Wyatt ended up with one so awful? Why had Wyatt ended up with one so awful?

He slammed his palms against a table. Several pots of herbs rattled in front of him.

Wyatt pulled away from the table. He took a deep breath, and grabbed a watering can.

He couldn’t control his power, and he couldn’t waste more years of his life trying. But he wasn’t going to kill any of these plants by touching them, and he certainly wasn’t going to kill them by knocking them over, either.

He’d spent a lot of time around plants, back when he was trying to control the death touch. He’d grown fond of them, the way someone might grow fond of a pet goldfish. And after having such an easy ability to kill most of his life, it was nice to help things live instead. He had some plants in his own apartment, but he liked working at greenhouses. When people would let him. He was going to prove their trust wasn’t misplaced.

Wyatt watered the plants. He checked for signs of mold, parasites, or any other threats to them. He plucked a few leaves off the herbs to take home. He was allowed to.

“If you can get rosemary leaves with a glove on, you’re welcome to them.”

“Wyatt?”

Wyatt stared at the sage a little longer, blinking before he turned back to the entrance.

He smiled. “Hetti.”

The woman just inside would be his wife. She also wore a lot of clothes, because of his power, but she cared a lot more about looking nice. She had a dress on, it was just designed to be worn with more clothes underneath.

Hetti crossed the room, took his gloved hand in her own, and leaned as close to him as anyone would dare.

Well actually, when they’d first gotten together, she’d wanted to lean in even closer. But if he accidentally killed his girlfriend, it would mess him up far worse than a bit of distance would. She’d adjusted after he pointed that out.

“Are you ready to go home?” Hetti asked. “Your brother’s going to visit tonight. We should probably get there before he does.”

“If you hadn’t gone to get me, that wouldn’t have been a problem,” Wyatt pointed out. But he smiled as he said it. Besides, it was possible he’d lost track of time.

He and Hettie went back to their apartment. Wyatt took off one of his leather gloves, and then the latex glove beneath it, and pet the robot they had. It was designed to be a bit like a pet, one Wyatt could touch, since it wasn’t alive.

Hettie dropped her purse off in their bedroom. (They shared a bedroom, but they had two separate beds, like you saw in old movies.)

Then the two started on dinner. Wyatt was planning to keep his gloves on, but his power only effected some foods, like onions or potatoes.

He got out a can of artichokes, and started cutting, while Hetti started on an onion. She told him about her day as she worked.

She’d been asked to make a dress for someone whose power involved spikes on her body. Hetti would either need some very sturdy material, or would need to be particular about gaps in the cloth. She’d also gotten a new book from the library. She’d met with a friend at a coffee shop. Said friend had questioned Hetti and Wyatt’s relationship.

Wyatt slowed his cutting, and probably would’ve cut his finger if he wasn’t still wearing a thick leather glove.

“Wyatt? Are you okay?”

Right. Hettie was just mentioning this as an incidental part of her day. She was complaining about it the way people complained about traffic, or weather, or their favorite snack being gone from the vending machine. Wyatt was the one making a big deal out of it, making her worry.

“Sorry,” Wyatt said. “For making you worry. And well, it’s sort of my fault you get these questions.”

“Excuse me?”

Hetti sounded a little incredulous, and put her hands on her hips. But hearing her be truly angry was very rare, so Wyatt continued.

“Well, it’s my power that makes a relationship . . . hard. And if people were questioning me, it would be annoying, but at least it would be a bit fairer. But they decided they just have to ask you personal questions as well, which is. . .”

“Shut up.”

Well. That was unexpected. Wyatt stopped cutting and looked directly at Hetti.

“I know everyone seems to think I’m an idiot when it comes to romance, but I did in fact know we wouldn’t have a normal relationship. And I did know some people would have no sense of personal boundaries, and ask incredibly invasive questions if we got married.” She put her hand to her chin like she was in thought. “And last I checked, you didn’t force me to get married. Literally none of this is your fault. So no self-pitying.”

Wyatt scowled. “I haven’t brought up my power in days.” Not directly anyway. He did have to at least consider it if he was around anyone or anything alive, but he thought he did pretty well at living a normal life. “I kill things by touching them.” He put both palms on the counter and leaned forward. “There’s literally no bright side to that. I wouldn’t say it’s self-pity when that’s just the reality.”

“You’ve never been stung by bees or bit by mosquitoes.”

“The mosquitoes try sometimes.”

“Believe me, bringing the mosquito population down is a good thing.”

Wyatt groaned and put his head in his hands. How did she manage to come up with something so stupid?

Hetti sighed. “I don’t know how to say this. I know it’s not exactly a positive, and that more than one person can have extremely similar powers, but I’m glad you’re the one who has yours.”

“What?”

“You’re a good person. Better than you seem to realize. Can you imagine if death touch went to someone who didn’t care? Or someone who actively wanted to do harm?”

Wyatt was silent for a moment, getting a great view of the palms of his gloves. “Huh.”

He hadn’t considered it that way before. It was true that someone else could end up with a power like his. And normally not killing things was a very low moral bar to clear. But when death was so easy to cause, maybe it counted for a bit more. He could’ve ended up a terrifying super villain. He hadn’t. He arguably had made the world a better place by not doing something.

“I hadn’t thought if it that way,” he admitted.

It wasn’t directly related to his complaint, but it did make him feel a bit better. He slowly lifted his head, but he could hear the smile in Hetti’s voice, even before he could see her.

“There, you see? I-”

Someone knocked on the door. “My brother, I presume,” Wyatt guessed.

“And we haven’t finished.”

“Eh, he’ll probably want to help us.” Wyatt stood up and headed for the door. He was smiling again. “Let’s go.”