Psy Touch

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Book excerpt

Chapter One

In her dreams, she had a family. Her mother and father laughed and smiled while watching the grandchildren playing in the backyard. A small boy would run and climb the ladder to the slide. A young girl sat on the swing, going higher and higher until she finally jumped out, a giggling cannonball, and splashed into a pile of leaves. She would stand and sprint back to the swing to do it again. Sunlight reflected red highlights off her sandy colored curls. The smell of rich Sunday cooking filled the house. Freshly baked ham and an assortment of sides were lined out on the counter. The oven timer rang, and her mother pulled out the pecan pie to let it cool. Lexy would lean against her husband and feel him wrap his arms around her while resting his chin on her head. She could never see his face, and whenever she attempted to, the dream would end, so she stopped trying. This was enough.

Her father would go to the backdoor after giving her mom a quick kiss and stealing a cookie from the cooling rack. He called out to the boy and girl, and they dashed inside to eat.

“Mommy.” The boy would grab Lexy around the legs and squeeze.

She patted his head and told him to follow his sister and go wash up.

“Yes, Mom.” They would climb the step stool by the sink.

“This is perfect,” Lexy said.

“Yes, it is,” a deep voice said, from behind her.

She turned and her mouth was captured in a hard, passionate kiss.

This was perfect. And for these few moments, it was all hers.

* * *

The vibration of her phone against the nightstand woke Lexy. She stretched and her sleeve got caught on the metal band around her head, pulling it across her forehead. Cringing, she resisted the urge to rip off the band, and gently disengaged the fabric. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, hurried to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. A drop of blood dripped onto the white tile at her feet. She looked at her reflection and saw a rivulet of blood snaking from the cut just below her hairline.

After grabbing the band with both hands, she pressed the disengage buttons and slipped it away from her head. The moment it was free from her skin and hair, she clenched it and resisted the desire to break it.

It was regulated to keep a minimum of two at all times, but the spare was in a box in her closet. She couldn’t get to it without leaving the bathroom, and she couldn’t leave the bathroom without her band on. This was the only crystaled room in her apartment. She couldn’t afford to have any others done, and without the protection of the crystals or her inhibitor band, she would be at the mercy of any Psy pulses in the area. Even through the crystals she could sense the subtle vibrations and dim lights from the other people in the building. She couldn’t tell what they were doing, but she could get a sense of how many people there were and where they were.

After taking a cotton swab from the drawer, she cleaned the cut, then applied disinfectant and a liquid bandage. A regular bandage would only get caught on her band and cause it to sit awkwardly on her head. As she dabbed the cut, she noticed the green specks in her otherwise blue eyes and was transported back to the dream. She had her father’s eyes. That and her Psy power were all she had left of him. How she wished she could live a life like the one she dreamed. At one time, not that long ago, people did live like that. Her parents told her stories about their lives growing up, and at work she read similar stories from that time period. That was before the Storm.

After the Great Psy Storm of the early twenty-first century, everything changed. If you thought about touching someone, they felt it and the contact was as real as a physical touch. The Psy-sex industry exploded. You could be pleasured by thoughts and you didn’t need to have physical intercourse to feel it. STD’s dropped to nearly zero. Divorces skyrocketed. So did arrests. After all, pleasant thoughts weren’t the only things that could be shared. You could strangle a person with a thought. Some killers got creative, causing blood clots or slowly suffocating a person by gradually increasing pressure on the lungs. Society shattered into a debauchery-filled experience of exploration with no rules.

Then came the over-correct after people realized all Psy all the time wasn’t good. No one procreated or concentrated on work, and many people developed nervous disorders from a constant fear of being psychically violated or killed. So scientists developed inhibitor headbands to block the Psy pulse. While wearing a band, you couldn’t influence others or be influenced by them.

Due to fear of the brutal impulses carried out by many, all books and movies were stripped of violence. The news was forbidden from reporting anything violent. The theory was, if people didn’t see it, they wouldn’t think violent thoughts. But it didn’t work. It only meant the public was ignorant that the crime rate remained as high as before, so they felt safer and began living in a naive bubble. Detractors were arrested and removed before they could upset others. Free zones were established, where people could go to remove their bands. Society split into four factions—the Psy addicts, who lived in Psy dens and hardly ever wore the bands. Natripsyless, who never took the bands off. Recreational Psy users, who lived in-between those two extremes. And Prosers, who used their Psy abilities for professional purposes like massage or psychic surgery. Some people claimed there was a fifth group known as Pure Psys or Unchained, who’d learned to live band-less without becoming Psy addicts. No one knew if they existed.

Lexy fell into the Natripsyless group. She never removed her band in public, and rarely in private. There was another name for a Natripsyless—Psudes, or psychic prudes. With most sexual contact occurring psychically, it was common for most Natripsyless to be virgins, and psychic virgins were distrusted. It was viewed as unnatural.

A knock came at Lexy’s bedroom door.

“Are you ready?” her roommate, Kara, called.

“In a minute.” Lexy pulled on the closest work shirt and pants and stepped into her shoes.

After brushing her long brown hair in a handful of quick strokes, she replaced her band, wiped the blood from the floor, and then opened the door.

“It’s about time.” Kara tapped her toes, arms crossed as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. “We’re going to be late.”

“Since when do you care?” Lexy picked up her purse and followed Kara to the car. “You’re always late.”

“Not this month. I haven’t been late once in the past three weeks.”

“Ah.” Lexy settled into the passenger seat of Kara’s car.

Now she understood. Their employer, History Remembered, had incentive programs in place to encourage punctuality and high performance. If an employee was on time four weeks in a row, they would be rewarded with an extra Psy session. Everyone was allowed one session per day, and all staff was permitted to remove their inhibitor bands for thirty minutes prior to lunch or at the end of the workday. Employees from the HR department would send out pleasure thoughts to everyone during these periods. Nearly every company offered this incentive, believing that at least one psygasm a day led to healthier, happier people. It relieved tension and stress, fostered comradery between co-workers, and led to a decrease in absenteeism and tardiness.

History Remembered, a federally run, national document analysis and preservation company, was unique in that it offered extra sessions as a reward for achievement. The faster you completed your projects, the more you could earn. If you were an active participant in the state’s Healthy Living Initiative, which tracked exercise, steps walked in a day, calories consumed while away from work, dental hygiene habits, and other health-related decisions, you could earn one new session a month. Now, companies weren’t sought for how many vacation days you could earn. Instead, employees wanted to earn pleasure they could enjoy at the office. Many employees even voluntarily worked weekends at their regular rate instead of insisting on overtime pay, just to get more sessions. Of course, the heavy club-goers didn’t care. They could find a way to Psy-play no matter where they were.

Kara turned into the on-ramp lane and let the car take over driving. Their daily lesson began playing over the radio. Most main roads were wired to electronically control vehicles, supposedly to increase safety and decrease road rage. Cars were automatically re-routed around break-downs or flat tires, and you couldn’t get lost. Most side roads and driveways weren’t wired, but there was minimal driving required to get to one that was. Even for those with long commutes, few people drove more than a few minutes every day.

Kara flipped the radio from lesson to music. Every car had a handful of listening options. If you listened to at least one lesson every other day, you could earn more Healthy Living Points—HLPs. Listen to one or more lessons a day and you earned double points for the week. But the lessons were monotone and boring. Kara would only go so far for free psygasms. Lexy was relieved at that, since they had to carpool because only one parking spot was allowed at work for the both of them.

“How many sessions have you accrued now, anyway?” Kara flipped through the available three music stations and settled on one that played festive multicultural music from around the world.

“Ten, I think. Not sure. Maybe fifteen.”

“You should use one, or at least try and see if you can transfer any to me.” Kara grinned.

“I’d transfer all of them to you if I could. You know I don’t care about any of that.”

The sky was clear blue. Distant streaks of orange and red indicated the recent sunrise now hidden behind the mountains on the horizon. People in the surrounding cars stared straight forward, chatted with their car mates, or leaned back with their eyes closed. No one was looking at the horizon.

“I know,” Kara said. “I just don’t see why you sit out every day. It’s no big deal.”

“Not my thing. I’d rather spend the time getting extra work done.”

The car alarm beeped three times to signal their exit from the wired road. They came to a stop in line behind three other vehicles. Kara pressed the button to take back control over of the car and pulled out at the change of the light. Following the other cars, she drove into the parking garage and then pulled into their spot. Kara jogged up the steps to the building and hopped for joy when the time clock blinked green as she passed her card through. It blinked red if you were late or leaving early.

“Catch you at lunch.” Kara waved and strode down the hall, to her office.

Lexy shook her head and slid her own card through the time clock. Her light blinked red.

“Oh, well.”

She passed through the break room full of boisterous people discussing weekend plans and some television show from the previous night. They were all laughing, filling their coffee cups, and preparing for the day. Lexy went straight to her office without talking to anyone. The breakfast cart would come by soon, so she wasn’t worried about getting anything to drink right then.

After hovering her card in front of the door with her name, she heard the soft click of the lock releasing. Her office was dark and quiet, just the way she liked it. She hit the play button on her music player and the office was filled with classical music. She squirted a few drops of aromatherapy oil into her air purifier and dimmed the lights. The harsh white light from the other setting hurt her eyes when she tried to read. She was halfway into her third book of the morning when the breakfast cart came around.

Back in the days when Psy violence was common, many studies were done to determine what contributed to feelings of anger and depression. Improper food choices due to lack of healthy eating options was found to be a contributing factor. Therefore, many bad foods were banned, but the government still couldn’t control what a person ate at home. They couldn’t force people to eat enough of the required nutrients. At first, they tried requiring daily multi-vitamins, but it didn’t translate to a substantial change in happiness levels. So they came up with the workplace food initiative. Employers were provided with guidelines for healthy meal options for three meals a day. Workdays were extended to allot the time needed to eat those extra meals. People were then allowed to eat however they chose after work hours and on off-days, but they still weren’t allowed to purchase unhealthy food items, except in small quantities and for special occasions. Everyone was allowed three desert passes per year to redeem for the treat of his or her choice. You placed your request a month prior to redemption and the desert was delivered to your home on the day requested.

Just as Lexy was finishing her breakfast sandwich, she heard the bell ring, signaling for everyone to come to the break room. She sighed, wondering what it would be this time. The pile of paperwork on her desk stared back at her and there was still a lot of scanning left to do. She ejected and pocketed her memory card, then got up. The legs of her chair scraped across the floor as she pushed back. Once outside her office, she drifted behind the rest of the crowd.

“Attention, everyone,” one of the managers on her floor called.

She couldn’t remember his name. Jim or Tim, maybe. Something short.

“We have a birthday today. Everyone take off your bands for Natalie from accounting.

Everyone except Lexy removed their inhibitor bands and stared, smiling at the woman standing in the center of the room. Her breathing sped up. Her face became flushed. She stumbled into the seat beside her. Painted, manicured nails clung to the arm of the chair and she struggled to keep standing. Finally, she moaned and stopped shaking. Everyone put back on their bands back on and clapped and cheered.

Natalie beamed and held up a hand. “Thank you, everyone. That was great.”

The manager cut into a cake on the counter and began handing out thin slices to be passed around the room. That was one benefit of working in a large company. You were able to supplement your desert allotments with the occasional slice of birthday cake, though it was usually a health-conscious, low-fat version of some fruit or carrot cake. This one looked like a banana cake.

Lexy turned, ignoring the plate being held out for her, and went back to her office. The rest of the day went by without much incident. She spent her lunch hour swimming in the company pool. Eating in the cafeteria was always awkward after a birthday. Word inevitably got around that she hadn’t participated in the group psygasm again. Everyone would whisper comments and shoot her looks when she walked by.

A group-stimulated psygasm was a rare, coveted treat, unless you frequented some of the racier Psy dens, and it was considered rude not to contribute your pulse. But the negative responses lessened every year, since she refused her own birthday psygasms. People didn’t get as angry at her skipping out on their gift if she wasn’t accepting pulse back from them on her day. The resentment they once directed at her was mostly gone now, replaced by curiosity and confusion. She was weird and shy, but no one thought she was selfish.

The bell rang for the end of the workday. Thankful the day was over, Lexy sat back and stretched before heading down to the car, where she waited. Clicking through her watch, she checked her bank account balance, played a puzzle game, and counted the cracks in the brick wall in front of her. She checked her watch and looked out the car window again. Kara stumbled down the steps by the doorway and rushed to the car. She jumped into the driver’s side.

“Sorry.” She panted and was flushed. “I got an extra Psy session for finishing my work on the census transcriptions project.”

“Not a problem. Let’s just get home.”

The noise in the parking garage grew louder as more people filed out and got in their cars to leave.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Kara backed out and headed to the waiting ramp for the wired road, a dance mix playing on the radio. “We’re going out tonight.” She tapped her fingers along the steering wheel, in time to the music.

Lexy leaned her head against the window, which had been chilled from the blasting air conditioner. That combined with the muggy heat from outside caused the window to fog briefly. She reached up and drew a swirl with her finger. Then it disappeared.

“I really don’t feel like it.”

“You have to. We’re going to meet up with Ben, Trae, and Wendy at the concert hall.”

“I don’t even know them.”

Kara frequently went out with them to the clubs on weekends.

“Sure you do. We work with them every day.”

“You work with them every day. I work alone, and I don’t go to the Psy session lounge with the rest of you.”

Kara blinked and shook her head. “Well, you should, if for no other reason than to talk to other people every now and then. They’re great guys. You just need to give them a chance. Besides, the concert will be fun, and Ben said his friend Curtis is coming, and he’s bringing another male friend along.” She winked. “So there’ll be someone there for each of us.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have much luck with dating and I’m not into hookups.”

“All the more reason to come. You’ve got to learn to let go and relax, before you have a Psy-fit or something.” Kara took back control of the car.

Lexy stiffened. Being accused of emotional instability or a propensity for Psy violence was no easy threat. She didn’t think Kara meant anything by it, and she knew Kara wasn’t likely to turn her in, but it still wasn’t a good sign. Lexy tried to keep her head low and be as unobtrusive as possible, but maybe she wasn’t doing a good enough job of it. How long before someone else looked at her lack of participation and came to the same conclusion? She’d have to start doing a better job of acting normal and non-threatening.

“I’ll come.”