The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(9)

Only one way to tell for sure. I reach out and touch her forehead.





*





We’re looking across the street. Our nephew is about to cross the road. He looks to his right, but doesn’t look to his left.

He’s never been a fan of basic safety, our nephew, we think as we see the limo steamrolling his way.

“The car,” we scream at him and wave. “Watch out!”

What’s the driver thinking? Is he stoned? We feel our blood pressure rising.

Our nephew waves at us and doesn’t notice the car that’s about to hit him. The limo attempts to stop. We hear that frightening sound of tires screeching against pavement, but it’s no good. The car hits our nephew.

He flies into the windshield, shattering the glass.

We exit our car, screaming.

A thin, balding man gets out of the limousine.

“You maniac,” we scream at him. “Are you drunk?”

“He c-came out of nowhere,” the man stutters. “I swear.”

“Shut up and help me get him in my car,” we say after examining the boy. Thank goodness he seems intact, with no visible broken bones. “I’ll take him to the hospital. He might have a concussion . . .”

I, Darren, disassociate. It’s interesting how she saw me, and how she confabulated a whole story about me in order to explain the events she was witnessing. Ironically, I agree with her fictional assessment. I was being an idiot. I didn’t check the road before crossing, though I usually do. If I were to blame something, I’d blame my prior trip into the Quiet. I’d crossed that road a moment earlier while in the Quiet, so when I phased out, I just kind of repeated the same action, almost on autopilot. I was laser-focused on the Honda and on picking up my friends and family. So in a way, it’s the fault of the monks and the Super Pusher.

Speaking of them, how long has it been since I got hit? Did everyone else get out okay?

Determined to find out, I exit my ‘aunt’s’ head.





*





As soon as I’m back in the Quiet, I phase out of it.

When the nauseating ride resumes, I say, “Stop the car, Aunty.”

“Oh, thank God you’re conscious,” the woman says. “I feared the worst.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I lie. I may not have broken bones, but I feel more than a little banged-up. “Now stop the car.”

“Are you crazy? The hospital is a block away.”

“I don’t have time to argue. Stop.”

Instead of stopping, she pushes the gas pedal. This make-believe aunt of mine is one stubborn lady.

I phase into the Quiet and Guide her to see things my way.

I then exit the car to check my surroundings. I have no clue where I am, but I spot a sign in the distance that says ‘Jamaica Hospital.’ I suppress the temptation to adjust my plans in order to swing by the hospital for a shot of morphine; I’ll just have to tough it out.

Proud of my restraint, I phase out.

The world returns to life and my ‘aunt’ makes a U-turn so suddenly that my urge to throw up multiplies a hundredfold.

I’m amazed that we didn’t get into another accident. I should’ve used more finesse with my Guiding. I really need to get my shit together. I won’t be of help to anyone with broken bones.

“Do you have any painkillers?” I ask while we’re stopped at a red light.

“There’s Motrin in the glove compartment.” She slams on the gas pedal, a stomach-churning maneuver she’s done at every light change.

I fish out the pills and dry-swallow a triple dose, hoping my stomach can handle it.

Then I close my eyes and slow my breathing—a ‘how not to throw up’ trick I learned from Lucy as a kid. After a few blocks, I feel more like myself, which is likely from the breathing exercise or from some placebo effect. I doubt Motrin works that quickly. And then the car’s brakes screech, and any semblance of normality is over.

“This is where it happened,” the woman says when I open my eyes. “Where that monster hit you.”

“Thank you, Aunty,” I say. “I’ll take it from here.”

She looks uncomfortable. My directive to ‘do as I say’ is clearly clashing with my equally convincing directive that we’re family. She’s rightfully hesitant to let her hurt nephew get behind the wheel. As I’m about to Guide her once more, I see the ‘do as I say’ instruction win out. She slowly unbuckles her seatbelt.

“Please take this,” I say, handing the woman all my cash—around four hundred bucks.

When she refuses to take it, I Guide her again. I know I’m totally abusing my power, but in this case, it’s for a good cause.

I then have her program her number in my phone. “I’ll call you to tell you when to get the car from Hertz.”

“Have a blessed day,” she says.

“Later, Aunty.” I close the car door.

Okay. What’s next?

I look at the dashboard clock and scrap my earlier idea of picking up my folks and friends. It took my ‘aunt’ fifteen minutes to drive here from the hospital, which means it’s been at least half an hour since I got hit by the limo. Everyone is probably long gone and on their way to Eugene’s lab.