Read The Liminal People for Free Online Page A

“Hello?” I ask for Yasmine. They don’t know who I’m talking about. I ask who I’m talking to. A bloke on a street phone is what he says. Can’t be more than seventeen years old. His voice just cracked. What city I ask. “London, yaw tosser.” He hangs up. I wonder if she’s moved from the apartment.
    The last time I saw Yasmine was seven years ago. I had been working for Nordeen for a year and a half, mostly watching and using my passport as a shield for the young men who were becoming less afraid of me and more like friends. Suleiman was the number two. Everyone knew it. I was the voice box. I held Nordeen’s opinions but had no final say on actions. When drama jumped off in Rome, in Segovia, in Prague, I stood up and fired back just like the rest of the crew, more afraid of the boss than the bullets passing overhead. I’d been around guns for a while, and while no expert, I knew how to shoot and run at the same time. That was a passable enough skill amongst the razor-necks. But it was also evident the boss and I had a special connection.
    Not using my powers was disconcerting. At first it was like being sighted but refusing to see. I felt retarded, simple, delayed. I asked Nordeen why he’d made me promise.
    â€œYou and the thing inside of you must figure out who is the boss. Just because it keeps you alive does not mean you are in control. Think back to your trek across the original lands. Your skin darker, better to absorb the sun, your feet more calloused to protect from burs and thorns. Your scent even changed, causing confusion amongst the beasts. But which of these changes did you dictate? When you heal, are you conscious of what you are doing or is it more instinct?”
    â€œInstinct,” I said quickly. “All the more reason to develop skill, yes?”
    â€œI agree.” He smiled that ruthless smile again. “I didn’t say not to use your power.”
    It was true. He had only told me no more healing. Took me about a month and another bullshit crossfire over bullshit, not even work, in Manchester with a bunch of Australians for me to get it. Two razors hit on the wrong women in the wrong bar and the wrong Aussies caught wind of it. Bar fight. On instinct my bones went denser as my muscles snaked stealthily around them, enabling me to catch a brawler’s fist in my open hand. The boss’s prohibition still rang in my mind, along with our recent conversation. I held the Aussie’s arm tight, and for the first time I thought about what else I could do to a flesh and bone aside from healing. In a second I dissolved every tendon in his arm by redirecting his stomach acids. The Aussie fell like a brick. I felt like I’d spit on a cross or pissed on a Koran. Imagine thinking in reverse, or breathing backward. I made a body do what it shouldn’t. The Aussie’s scream alone broke up the rest of the fight. I felt his vocal cords straining as he made a sound that should never come from a human throat. I did it with a touch. And so I ran.
    Bar fight be damned. I’d realized my potential for destruction to the human body. I did it on instinct, the same way I healed. I was a freak, and so I went to the only woman who had ever properly named me. I took the van we’d all driven up in and sprinted down to London where I hoped she still lived. In the three-hour drive, I had time to actually think about what I’d done. It was the first time I’d used my power to hurt. Even when I beat my brother, I did it with my fists alone. But with this new development, I felt closer to him than I ever had before. Closer to him, and to Nordeen. His twisted smile beamed out from an inky blackness in my mind. He knew this would happen. He saw the pain and discomfort not using my powers caused. His little suggestions were enough to get me thinking in the wrong direction. I’d fulfilled his bent desires and prophecies, and now my spirit