Pulse by Patrick Carman

she might need if a Drifter jumped out of her closet. But there was no one; the room and the house that surrounded it were empty.
    You moved me? Faith thought as she returned to the comfort of the bed and tried to piece everything together. There was something calming about pulling the blanket up close, like it might magically serve as a shield against the dangerous world outside. She was clearly out of her mind. She’d taken something—Wade, he’d given her something without her consent. That had to be what was causing the twisted dream in which she was trapped. Whatever strange things had occurred last night, they were still happening now. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d written those words in her sleep and moved the pencil. She was hallucinating; that was the answer. It was the only answer.
    But Faith couldn’t shake the thought that she’d wanted the pencil and the note card, wished she could hold them, and thought she’d heard the pencil rolling toward her for an instant. She shut her eyes tightly and tried to forget, but the words kept coming in waves.
    You moved me. You moved me. You moved me!
     
    Faith had only sat in the chair she was in one other time. What she was about to have done was going to hurt, she knew. Maybe, down deep, that was why she was going to do it; but she told herself that wasn’t true. She only did this on very special, very sad occasions. She knew the tattoo would help. It would hurt a lot, and that would drain some of the pain out of her. It would give her a reminder so she’d never forget. It would be the beginning of the loneliness going away, and a beginning meant there could be an end waiting somewhere off in the distance.
    “You sure this is what you want?” the artist asked. Her arms were covered in tattoos, brightly colored and beautiful. Vines of tattooed green ivy ran up the sides of her neck, crawling onto her cheeks and disappearing into her long hair.
    “Yeah, just don’t make it very big. My parents will kill me if they find out.”
    “I know all about parents, kiddo. No problem there. But this is going to hurt more than the last time. You really went off on this thing.”
    Her name was Glory, at least that was what she called herself, and she was fairly mesmerized by the drawing Faith had made. The lines were aggressive and cruel, but they added up to a severe beauty Glory half wished she could have tattooed on her own skin. The thick, muddy lines would be hell to pay for Faith. Glory had seen grown men cry laying down that kind of ink.
    “Same place, other side,” Faith said as she nodded her resolve to have it done. “Put it up as high as you can, like two inches wide, so it’s hidden.”
    Glory nodded and took out her Tablet. Faith held her own Tablet, and the transaction began; first the drawing was transferred from Tablet to Tablet, then the Coin to pay for the procedure. It made a large dent in her account, and Faith rolled onto her side in the chair, closing her eyes as Glory prepared the needles and ink.
    “Totally black, like last time?” Glory asked, wishing she could put down some color.
    “Yeah, black as you can make it.”
    Glory shook her head almost imperceptibly. She’d learned to push down her feelings at times like this, but seeing this damaged creature curled up on the long chair like a baby brought back some bad memories. Faith pulled her long blond hair into a fist and tucked it under her neck like a pillow. It was thick and just a little bit wavy, and long enough to cover up what Glory was about to do.
    Faith felt the sting of the needle touching the tender skin at her hairline but didn’t move. She absorbed it like a sponge and settled in for the long haul. She curled harder into a ball, touching the other side of her neck where another tattoo lay hidden.
    “You know,” Glory said over the electric hum of the tools she used. “We go together like salt and pepper, you and me. Faith and Glory. Like we were fated to find