Page 3 of Touched

The sidewalks are as packed as the street. But again, that’s not at all uncommon for these parts. New Orleans is a city that never sleeps, and the tourists sure like that aspect. Of course, here, near the French Quarter, the party atmosphere, availability of alcohol twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred-sixty-five days a year, except Bourbon Street from midnight to 6AM on Ash Wednesday, culture, architecture, and the richest and most delicious food on the planet also helps.

Ducking and weaving my way through the mixture of tourists, who are stopping every two feet to take selfies or photos, and the locals who are scurrying on their way to escape the suffocating heat, I make my way down the sidewalk.

The stoplight changes on the street, and everyone stops. Traffic floods the blacktop as horns fill the air. The red-line streetcar passes along the tracks in front of us as I glance around at the crowd, noting the eclectic variety of attire.

Suddenly, I feel as though someone is directly behind me, invading my personal space. Whirling quickly, intending to tell them to kindly back the fuck up, I stop dead in my tracks as I realize… no one is there. Sure, people are close to me, but no one is directly behind me, practically touching my back.

I feel like someone is there.

What the hell?

Maybe it’s just the body heat of all these people combined with the sweltering temperature and oppressive humidity.

Callum, no one is there. You’re looking at an empty space.

A strange feeling overcomes me, and I feel my brow crease as I look at the uninhabited space now directly in front of me. It literally feels like someone is standing there. I can almost feel a phantom breath on my chin. The hair on my arms rises as confusion descends like smoke.

It must be the heat. I need to get into the air conditioning as quickly as possible. Heat stroke is a very real thing.

Shaking my head at myself, I turn back around. A shriek echoes behind me seconds before a solid mass slams into my back, almost knocking me down. Managing to catch myself before I fall, I quickly whirl, trying to view what’s happening. My eyes widen as I see the most beautiful woman I have ever witnessed in my life staring up at me. Her hands are wrapped around my arm to steady herself and my skin feels almost electric under her palm. Her eyes are a deep golden color, almost the exact shade of warm honey. Her skin is deeply bronzed. Long, wavy, dark brown hair covers her shoulders, neck, and flows down her back. She’sstunning.

Fear shrouds her face. My brows immediately rise as my hands reach out to cup her shoulders. “Are you all right? What happened? You bumped into me. Are you hurt?”

She jumps at the touch of my hand as her magnificent eyes widen and her mouth falls open, forming an “O.” She sputters wildly, “You canseeme…?” and tries to jerk free from my touch.

Um, what?

She’s asking if I can see her… something is wrong.

I don’t let go as I look past her to a woman on the ground. People are crowding around her as she screams at the top of her lungs that someone shoved her and snatched her purse. Her ankle is swelling. Thinking quickly, I snap, “Someone call the police. Ma’am, please don’t try to get up. You may have twisted or broken your ankle.” She wails as she grabs the joint in pain, and yells that all her money, her credit cards, and her hotel key were in her purse. A man from the crowd helps move her onto a storefront stoop and talks into his phone to the dispatcher.

Seeing he has it handled, I turn back to the gorgeous woman I’m still holding onto. She’s muttering quietly. I can barely make out her words as she says in a high-pitched, panicked tone, “What have I done? He can see me. He’s touching me. I have to go. I must get away. This cannot happen.”

She is in trouble.

Why wouldn’t I be able to see her?

What’s going on? Who is she running from? Is someone trying to harm her?

What cannot happen?

Whoever is chasing her can’t catch her?

Does she have a jealous husband? Or boyfriend? Is he abusive?

Is that what she means? That I’ve seen her out and about?

Leaning back slightly, I take in her appearance. My breath catches in my throat as I see her lush curves filling out a golden, amber minidress. What seems like miles of toned, bronzed legs are on display before they stop at delicate flats, that almost appear to shimmer like spiderwebs covered with fresh morning dew, protect her feet. My eyes return to her face and my chest tightens as her sheer beauty astounds me.

Stop it, Callum. Focus. If she’s in trouble, maybe you can help.

But what kind of trouble is she in?

Make sure she’s safe and walk away, man. Do not get involved.

Yeah, that’s not happening.

I’m so getting involved.

---