The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(32)

As I go on, Bert’s expression becomes harder and harder to read. If I had to pinpoint what he was feeling, I’d say it was something between awe and terror.

“I never wrote any of this down,” he mumbles softly. “And I never told anyone. No one.” He shakes his head. “But you could’ve learned about him from someone who went to school with him—”

“Seriously?” I say. “Your denial is getting weak, my friend.”

He rubs his nose. “Okay, but that personal stuff can be found out... somehow. What if I think of something completely random? You’d still know?”

“Go for it.”

He grabs a book off the shelf, turns his back to me, and opens the book to a random page. I see where he’s going with this and instantly phase out.

I approach frozen Bert from the front and follow his gaze. He’s looking at the top of page 188. I memorize the line and walk back to my body.

“Page 188,” I quickly say when the noise of the airport is back. “The line reads, ‘Korum wasn’t home at all, and she wondered where he—’”

“Shit,” Bert interrupts. “I haven’t even read the whole line yet... but that’s what it says.”

“I did the time-stopping thing and looked at the page while you were frozen,” I say. “I didn’t need to actually read your mind.”

In stunned silence, Bert returns the book. His hands are shaking.

I decide to do another demo, something that should cinch the deal. I admit I’m probably showing off at this point. I phase in again and approach my friend. The Guiding only takes a moment and when I’m done, I phase back out.

As per the instructions I imbedded in his mind, Bert, eyes glazed, takes out the pen and paper and writes, “Oh yeah, Bert, buddy, I can also make you do shit. Why did I just write this? Notice how the handwriting is yours?”

Bert’s eyes return to normal, and he reads the paper. Then he looks at me. Then at the paper. “Fucking f*ck,” he finally says. “You have to tell me everything.”

“Let’s walk over to Starbucks,” I say. “This might take a while.”





*





“Can we talk?” Bert says to Hillary when we get to the gate.

“I just told him everything, Aunty,” I say playfully. “So you guys have some catching up to do.”

Hillary gives me a seething look. It’s as if she wasn’t the one who okayed my bringing Bert up to speed. I’m guessing she’s mad that I didn’t let her talk to Bert first. Then she grabs Bert’s arm and begins dragging him away.

“Just remember I have to make this flight,” I remind them before they walk off. “With or without you guys, I’ll be on it. I can’t afford to wait till tomorrow.”

They don’t respond, already arguing as they walk. I’m sure they’ll be fine. I don’t need to get inside Bert’s mind to know Hillary can get away with pretty much anything as far as he’s concerned.

“Boarding is in twenty-five minutes,” Eugene yells at them.

“Wow,” I say. “Time flies when you’re breaking taboos.”

“Yeah,” Eugene says. “I have to say, this is really exciting. Did you tell him about my work?”

“How could I, when I don’t know much about it?”

“Well, since you bring it up—”

Eugene goes into detail about his work for about twenty minutes. Mira leaves as soon as he starts talking, giving me a ‘you deserve this’ kind of stare. She’s still clearly in a bad mood.

I won’t repeat much of what Eugene shared with me, because frankly, if he expected me to understand even half of it, he must think really highly of my background in neuroscience. However, there is one thing I do grasp when it comes up.

“You know,” I say, grabbing on to a familiar subject, “when it comes to stimulating a specific region of the brain, instead of implanting electrodes, something no sane person would let you do, you can use TMS—Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation—”

“I know what that is,” Eugene says. “The problem is that those machines are very pricey.”

“And getting someone to drill a hole in their head is cheap?”

“I was thinking of finding someone who already—”

“Listen,” I interrupt. “It just so happens that through work, I know of a company that’s about to make those things very affordable. And more importantly, better and more portable. So you know what? I’ll buy you one.”

He looks as if I just handed him the world. “I don’t know what to say.” I hope he doesn’t tear up, though it looks like he’s considering it. “An assistant and a TMS machine,” he says, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’m going to leapfrog years—no, decades—in my research.”

“Glad to be of help, buddy.” I don’t remind Eugene that Bert hasn’t agreed to help him yet. Knowing Bert, he probably will. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to swing by the restroom before we board.”

“Hurry up. We have mere minutes,” he says. “If you see my sister or the lovebirds, tell them to come back too.”

I walk briskly in the direction of the bathroom. He’s right. I need to hurry. Getting us these tickets was a feat only Bert could’ve managed, as airlines don’t usually hold five empty seats last minute. But through Bert’s computer magic, four people got bumped from this flight so we could get on. Bert kindly made sure that the family that was affected got a nice compensation from the airline. That’s Bert for you. He also made it clear that the 11:00 p.m. flight is the last one out today, which means I have to be on it, no matter what. If there’s a line in the bathroom, I’ll just have to hold it.