The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(81)

I gather whatever mental reserves I have left, and without responding to Mimir, I choose one of the two remaining minds and fall into its memories like a brick into a lake.





*





Our stepbrother’s fist looks enormous as it slams into our nose.

The pain is jarring and we stand there, momentarily stunned by it. The world seems to slow down, as it often does when we’re in trouble.

“Is the little Puddy Tat going to cry?” he says in his ever-changing, squeaky thirteen-year-old voice.

His taunts are worse than the pain of his assaults, and they snap us back to attention.

“My name is Kate,” we want to scream but suppress the urge. Instead, we cup our nose with our small hands in the hope that he perceives it as a submissive gesture. We make heaving motions to make him think we’re crying, but in reality, we’re distracting him so we can scan the room for something to use against him. With a side glance, we notice he’s rubbing his fist.

Of course, we think scornfully. He’s never been in a fight against someone his size, or likely any size. All he’s good at is bullying an eight-year-old girl. Well, we intend to make this go very differently from how he imagined.

We spot what we’re looking for: a toy sword a few feet away. It’s made out of wood, and in our opinion, it’s something a boy his age should’ve outgrown.

We grab the glorified stick and swing it at his head.

He’s stunned when the stick connects with his face, but we don’t use the moment to gloat. This time, we aim the sword at his crotch.

I, Darren, disassociate. This is Kate, but Kate from a very, very long time ago. In my post-Assimilation fugue, I must’ve jumped back much further than I intended. That she was already frightening at such a young age is something I file under ‘deal with later.’ For now, I can’t waste even a second more, so I begin Guiding her:

You will stop killing monks and cops. You will instead focus on protecting Darren and assisting Eleanor . . .





*





I’m back in Level 2. The sensation of drowning has intensified. I don’t even recall exiting Kate’s mind, but I’m confident I gave her enough instructions that she won’t be a problem anymore.

One more person to go, and then I can get out of here.

And possibly lose my powers forever, a part of me thinks. The feeling of drowning grows even stronger.

James’s mind should provide some relief, I hope as I initiate the connection. Again, I enter the mind violently, like a bungee jumper whose rope has snapped.





*





Warm. Comforting. Safe.

I, Darren, am confused. I’m supposed to be in James’s mind, but James isn’t in his own mind. Only the faintest sensory perceptions exist. Did I jump to a time when James was comatose? Is that why his awareness is lacking conscious thought?

No, that theory wouldn’t explain all the weirdness. For starters, this darkness isn’t what I’d expect from a dream. This darkness is different, as though James has his eyes open while sitting in a dark cave, with only vague hints of starlight coming in from the outside.

Stranger still is the floating sensation. At first, it makes me wonder whether I’ve finally lost it and am currently back in Nirvana, where I feel like I’m floating in the dark. But no, Nirvana-floating is an illusion caused by not having a body. Here, James is truly floating; it’s just happening in a tight, dark place.

I allow his memory to overtake me.

Unlike the silence of Level 2, there are sounds here. Specifically, some kind of a steady thumping sound that comes in at regular intervals, and the tiny part of us that is James finds it very comforting.

Then I discover another parallel to Level 2: we’re not breathing.

After a few moments of trying to piece all of this together, it finally hits me.

When I thought I’d jumped too far into Kate’s mind, it was nothing compared to this.

James isn’t comatose.

He hasn’t been born yet.

I’m James so early in his life that he’s still in his mother’s womb.

This realization comes with little details I didn’t comprehend before, like the distant sound we really like, which must be his mother’s voice. Some more primitive senses are available to us, allowing us to taste the subtle flavor of curry in the amniotic fluid we just swallowed. His mom must’ve eaten Indian food. The comfortingly squishy feeling of pushing against the boundaries of our little world is what makes me realize how creepy this is. In fact, I’m not sure whether I should be in awe or creeped out, but I experience both in equal measures.

Suddenly, the Reading is interrupted.





*





I hear the sounds of the forest and the footsteps of my police entourage, and I smell greenery.

I’m back in the forest.

I must’ve finally run out of Depth and phased out. I’m running with my hand still clutching the phone, and my muscles are aching.

All this lasts for only a moment before the tip of my shoe catches on a root and I fall, my head slamming into a nearby tree.





Chapter 27





“Sir,” a voice with a southern accent says. “Are you all right?”