In the tradition of Coma and The Andromeda Strain comes the ultimate biological terror... A Depriver is someone who, for reasons still under scientific investigation, possesses and employs a defense mechanism that can drastically incapacitate other human beings. They are prohibited by law from touching anyone due to the inherent adverse effects of their touch. Some people, unfortunately, don't know they're Deprivers. Therefore, a brush with someone on a bus could have life-threatening consequences. If you have come into direct physical contact with a person suffering from this syndrome, you can be deprived of sight, sound, touch, taste, smell, memory, pain, balance, or sense of direction...indefinitely. The Touch documents over twenty cases of Deprivers Syndrome outbreaks which will keep you in suspense until the final shocking page. THE PENITENT Linda K. Wright When Gerald Williams called and asked me to meet him at the El Station at 48th and Market at three in the morning, I didn't give it much thought. I'm a city newspaper reporter and I'm used to getting calls in the middle of the night. I don't sleep well, anyway. The meeting was in the heart of what they call a rough area, but I'd grown up in one equally rough. You had your share of people who helped you and you had your share of assholes. What neighborhood doesn't? They also said it was where people went to score drugs big-time. I'd had what people call a "substance abuse" problem and, truth be told, the neighborhood in which I was meeting Gerald wasn't either the best or the cheapest place to score. "They" really should check their facts. But, if I met Gerald, I'd find out what had happened to Donna Kate. Donna Kate Williams had reigned as the lead dancer for years with New York's Alvin Ailey Dance Company. She'd taken over from the legendary Judith Jamison and given Black teens -- male and female -- another role model. When she wasn't touring the world with the company, she was speaking before civic associations, classes in high schools, everywhere, providing the message that people should pursue their dreams, regardless of the obstacles. After Donna Kate retired, she'd come back to Philly, her hometown, and founded her own modem dance studio. She wanted to teach the next generation of dance stars and preach the gospel of getting what you wanted. This woman who had achieved her own dream and earned everyone's acclaim for doing so, had recently disappeared from public view, amid a huge scandal involving the death of her protégé. She'd been lambasted by the press, the girl's parents, and the community that had so worshiped her. For several months, she had refused to talk to anybody. Now her husband, who had gone into seclusion with her, had resurfaced. He said Donna Kate wanted to talk to me, and warned me not to tell anyone about the meeting. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. That didn't mean I didn't leave some word in my tiny apartment, in case I didn't return. I had to make sure people could trust me -- up to the point where I could trust them. I met Gerald at the El stop. The last time I'd seen him had been at some ritzy charity ball, this Black man poured into a tuxedo, looking really fine. But now he looked haggard; some of the polish was off. He didn't take the hand I offered. "Thanks for coming," he said, his voice still wonderfully deep. He looked around, watchfully. "If you'll get inside, we'll be on our way." He waved toward the dark car almost hidden in the shadows of the El Station. I got inside. He didn't even open the car door for me. He waited till I'd fastened my seat belt and drove off. I gave him a minute, then started asking questions, but he told me I should wait and talk to Donna Kate. Had Donna Kate pushed her protégé -- Lisa was her name -- too hard? That was the question everyone was asking. It had been rumored that Lisa had started to slip in her performances before she'd died . Had she started taking drugs? Did Donna Kate know something about it? Donna Kate had never gone in for drugs herself (not that anyone knew), but she was part of that artistic world. They did whatever it took to sustain their artistic reigns. It wouldn't be the first time a star had tried to manipulate a protégé. I had my information from the press reports and the investigating I'd done on my own. But I also had Beverly, the twelve-year-old I'd adopted as a Little Sister. Having helped to raise my own four younger brothers and sisters, I couldn't seem to get away from raising somebody. Beverly's foster parents had enrolled her in Donna Kate's Dance Studio to help curb some of her anger. Beverly had loved it. Every time she and I had gotten together, she couldn't wait to tell me about all the new steps she'd learned and how excited everyone was for Lisa. If Lisa made it, they could, too. After Lisa's death, with the resulting publicity over unanswered questions, the Studio had shut down. Beverly became very quiet. Lis