Touch.

I hate funerals; too many strangers telling the family, telling me that it was a beautiful service. What’s so beautiful about celebrating someone’s death? All these people that didn’t even know Ryan telling us that he’s in a better place, that he’s finally at peace. F**k that. When you’ve known someone for twenty-something years, a self-inflicted bullet wound to the head doesn’t put anyone at peace.

Daniel paused at the steps that led to Ryan’s secluded house. It was a small brick cabin, surrounded and covered by ivy. He couldn’t recall the last time that he had entered the house; Ryan would go through the same sort of depression often that would cause him to isolate himself for several months at a time with little to no human contact. Just as suddenly as he would fall into the depression, he would snap right back out of it and turn back into the extroverted and intelligent man that Daniel had grown up with. This time, Daniel darkly mused, I guess he isn’t coming out of it.

The winter wind blew through him, layers and all, chilling him to the bone. He fished into his coat pocket and produced the keys to Ryan’s house. His hands were covered in their signature thick leather gloves as the lock clicked and he pushed open the heavy door. The air was dense and musky, like the house of a person much older than Ryan’s twenty-six years; the curtains were drawn tightly, allowing no natural light in. He closed the door behind him to prevent the icy wind from chilling him further. Daniel fumbled for a light in the cluttered dark room, finally finding a lamp after nearly tripping over a multitude of haphazard objects. He breathed in a sigh of relief as the lamp brought light enough for him to study the room.

The house itself was small, suitable for no more than a three person family, although Ryan had lived in it alone. The living room was decorated by abstract paintings that Ryan himself had painted, using greens and grays and browns. The furniture was old and unwanted, picked up off the sides of streets and thrift stores. Ryan had always found use for things that were unwanted, Daniel himself being one of them. Daniel hadn’t had the best family life growing up and when the inevitable happened and Daniel was abandoned, Ryan and his family adopted Daniel without a second thought. He wandered through the living room, running his clothed hands over bits and pieces of the room.

The room was cluttered from Ryan’s packrat tendency, littered with books on every subject imaginable, even a few in languages that he never learned to speak. Daniel eased off the glove to his left hand and smoothed it over one such book. Instantly, the memory hit him with force. The images played behind his eyes.

There was Ryan, standing in front of me at some thrift store off of Main. He looked like he always did, hair a mess and the scent of cigarettes clinging to his every movement. He was holding several books, one of which was in a foreign language. “Why’re you gonna buy that? You don’t even speak Spanish.” I asked him in my normal lack luster voice. I always wondered why he loved these beaten down places full of s**t no one else wanted anymore. “It’s French, Danny, and who knows, if I keep it around I may want to learn French just to read it!”

The vision faded just as quickly as it appeared, leaving Daniel feeling empty as he always did after it happened. His head felt a bit dizzy and using his still clothed hand, he lowered himself unto the dark green couch. Daniel was an empath. He always just had been able to touch something, anything and know its history. It wasn’t something he enjoyed sharing; in fact, Ryan and Ryan’s family were the only people who actually knew about it. He buried his head in his hands and breathed in deeply.

Ryan had always been that kind of person, full of life and just as many bad habits. He saw the world in ways no else really could, like every single problem just took a change of perspective to fix, a catalyst to set it all off. Daniel never could share that point of view. In comparison, Daniel was cynical, bored, and introverted. However, even when others got tired of Daniel’s attitude, Ryan had always wanted him around, always wanted to share in the misery rather than let Daniel be overcome by it. I guess he just couldn’t do the same. Daniel knew that he wasn’t the best of support in dark times, but he had never expected this from Ryan, in fact, he had always just assumed it would be him in the casket with a hole through his head.

Which was the entire reason that he was here in the first place, to understand what drove his best friend to end his life. Daniel stood from the couch, and removed the glove on his other hand, stuffing them into his pocket. He felt bare without his gloves, the only things that kept the visions out. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to remove the naked feeling as he began to search. Daniel moved from room to room flipping switches to lights with his clothed wrist, careful not to touch anything just yet. He found his way into Ryan’s bedroom. He stood there for a moment unsure of where to start. Pieces of Ryan’s phone gleamed in the overhead light next to Daniel, leaning down he grazed his fingers through the remains.

I’m in Ryan’s perspective, huddled in the corner of the bedroom, talking to the phone as it rings. His voice is frantic, higher pitched then I had ever heard it. Caroline, Ryan’s girlfriend, struggles to speak back through his jumbled stutter. “Hello? Ryan? Wait, what? I don’t understand Ryan, what are you talking about? Ryan slow down! I don’t understand.” The line goes dead as Ryan throws the phone against the far side wall.

The image ends. Daniel sits on the floor and stares at the broken phone. Even in Ryan’s perspective, he was unable to understand what the man was saying. Why was he so scared? Daniel fished into his pocket once more to put on a glove and grab his own cell phone. He quickly dialed Caroline's number. The line opened to Caroline's familiar voice, yet it was etched with despair and grief in every word.

“...Hello?” she sounded drained and unsteady.

“Caroline, it’s Daniel. I know it isn't the best time, but I need to ask you something.”

“...What?” Daniel sighed softly at her terse answer. The two had been together for years. If Ryan had ever thought of marriage, it would have been with Caroline. The utter distress in her voice unnerved Daniel. He wasn't particularly good with emotions himself, let alone the emotions of others.

“Did you have any contact with him before...all this happened?” he hated asking the question, hated asking her to remember. However, he didn't have much choice. Caroline sobbed softly on the end.

“Oh Daniel, I don't understand what happened. He wouldn't talk to me. He called me once, a week ago. I couldn't understand what he was saying. I tried, Daniel, but he just hung up.” she erupted into a new string of sobs, still speaking, but Daniel couldn't understand her. After a moment of deep breathing, she spoke again. “He sounded so scared and lost. What if it was my fault that he did it? What if I had just understood him, helped him?”

“Caroline, there was nothing that you could have done. Nothing....anyone could have done.” Daniel ran his hand through his hair, “Is there...anything else that happened? Anything at all?” Daniel squeezed his eyes shut to her momentary pause.

“...No, Daniel. It just happened and now I don't know what to do anymore. I know that you feel like there is some logical way to understand this, but there isn't. There just isn't.” she spoke with grief bordering on anger, anger that Daniel found himself questioning. He said his goodbyes and hung up. He didn't need empathic abilities to know that she had left something out. He stood up, but kept his left hand still encased in its glove.

He scanned the room again, everything looked as he remembered it. Floor stained with remnants of old nights spent drinking, with paint that hadn't been quite dry. His dresser marked with Caroline's possessions, for when she decided to stay weekends. The bed itself was tousled and unkempt. A splash of color, however, caught his eye amongst all the familiarity. He moved himself to investigate the bed. Several drops of dried blood clung to the sheets of Ryan's bed. Daniel steeled himself and with his unclothed hand, he touched the blood.

I'm apart of the room itself. I see Caroline, she's being led by Ryan into the room, giggling like I remember. “I'm glad you're feeling better! You really scared me.” she spoke and he just nodded. He climbed onto the bed and gestured for her to join him, they began to make love. She's riding him at this point, face twisted in pleasure. He's just watching her as something moves behind his eyes. I feel it. Just before she climaxes, he scrapes his uneven, blunt fingernails down her back. Caroline screams and instantly detaches herself from Ryan. Her back is bleeding profusely as he just watches her scramble her things together and run from the house.

Daniel caught himself with his gloved hand as the images disappeared and a light headache began. He felt sick. So much blood, how hard would he have to scratch with no fingernails to produce that much blood? Daniel breathed unsteadily, the very act of just being in the bedroom now unsettled him. He straightened his back and decided to move to another room. He stumbled somewhat ungracefully down the short hallway to the kitchen, and upon swinging the stagnant kitchen door open, he was hit the pungent smell of rotting meat.

Once again Daniel relied on his clothed hand to steady himself as the repulsive scent assaulted him. He gagged heavily against his arm and moved himself quickly from the entrance to the kitchen. He took fast gulps of fresh air in an attempt to settle his uneasy stomach and his fast beating heart. God, what the f**k is that? After a moment of deep breathing, Daniel held his clothed hand to his nose and attempted once more to proceed into the kitchen.

Even breathing through his mouth was a feat that nearly caused a thousand dry heaves with each breath. The kitchen was a catastrophe, broken dishes and other kitchen utensils littered the floor and counter tops. The back door hung on just barely to its hinges, the table and chairs were splintered and broken into multiple pieces, and excrement met Daniel's every step. However, this was not the true source of the offending odor. Small, partially skinned animals were hung out over windows, under cabinets, their lifeless eyes tracked Daniel as he stood in horror, their red flesh glistening in what winter sun could reveal itself through the dense clouds outside. Piles of pure meat graced the floors in dried bloody circles while rats invaded the mounds, feasting upon the flesh of whatever poor animal had suffered this fate. Daniel saw the world spin before him, and without thinking he steadied his naked hand against the bloodied counter top.

Screaming, the world is screaming. Ryan is screaming as he hacks another rabbit into pieces, throwing the pieces in whatever direction seems best. His eyes are blood-shot and his clothes are stained. The animals he's found are terrified, torn to pieced, halfway skinned. A pack of wolves sit outside the house, on the edge of the forest, watching with their reflective eyes as their prey is slaughter. Each wolf is starving, but none is foolish enough to approach the madman's house. Ryan rips the flesh from his recent kill and rubs his hands down his face, red marks him. “I NEED OUT!” he's screaming as he throws himself against his backdoor, setting it off it's hinges, yet even as it breaks, he doesn't step foot outside. He grabs a book that sits nearby, dark leather and worn down by age. He opens it and runs his bloody hands over some pages, as he does this, he begins to laugh. I've never heard something so horrid, a laugh mixed with sobs and hysteria, a laugh coated in the essence of madness itself.

Daniel could no longer hold his stomach together, its contents spilled out before he could hope to stop them. Tears streaked down his face as he rushed to evacuate himself from the awful scene. He quickly found himself doubled over in the living room; images of the prior vision assaulted his memories, swarmed behind his eyelids. His mind strained, trying to comprehend what could cause a person like Ryan to become so twisted. He held his hands to himself and fell onto a nearby chair. Everything felt surreal. His breathing was uneven and forced, and his stomach tied itself into knots looking for more to expel yet he was finally empty.

From his position, he stared down the hallway, past the kitchen door, past the bedroom, where a closed door clearly sat in front of him. Despite that Ryan kept so many books in his living room, the important ones were all kept together in his library. It was the only room that Daniel hadn’t even thought about looking into. No longer was he clear of the force that drove him, yet without hesitation he found himself walking down the hallway once more.

Opening the door with his gloved hand revealed Ryan’s familiar library coated in blood. However, it wasn’t the same gore as Daniel had encountered in the kitchen. It was a splatter of blood and bits of brain and bone matter. For whatever reason, it had never occurred to Daniel that Ryan had committed suicide in this very house. The room itself was a mess of disheveled books and the mismatched bits furniture shoved against whatever wall they had been closest to. This seemed to have been done to allow the very center of the room to be free and clean, for etched into the floor with knives, and chalk were the strangest amount of symbols and signs and lettering.

However, Daniel just found himself staring into the pieces of his friend staining the wall. Twenty-six years of life, gone, in the blink of a bullet, painting the walls with the last seconds. Daniel threw his gloves to the floor, among the fray of carnage and lost forgotten books. He stood there in the room that had begun Ryan’s madness and that had ultimately ended his life and he began to cry. He fell to his knees and forced his hands into the etchings of the floor.

Ryan is crouching in the center, doodling the symbols while reading through the same book that was in the kitchen. He hums to himself, happy and carefree. He’s normal again, letting his curiosity become his downfall. Another second passes. A different day? A different month even? He moves from using chalk to a knife, pulling it steadily into the floor, face twisted in concentration. He’s now frantically flipping through the pages, making sure that every symbol and sign and word is perfect. Another moment passes; he’s blood covered and crushing the bones of animals to fill the hard etched symbols. I watch him as he talks to himself while he works. The murmur of a man lost in insanity.

One more moment passes. He stands in front of me, gun in one hand, book in the other. “So close.” The wind vibrates on his words as he speaks to an empty room. “They want to know, they need to hear it.” He breaks into a laugh that transforms into a sob. “But I’ll never tell. I’ll never tell.” Without hesitation, he brings the gun to his head and pulls the trigger.

Daniel sits in the center of the room, watching Ryan’s last moments as his eyes move behind his eyelids. The room breathes unsteadily, gasping for air. The world churns as a phantom hand reaches for Daniel. The etchings in the floor twist and convulse, wrapping themselves around his helpless form. He’d scream, but his voice has already left him.

But I’ll never tell.