The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(44)

She’s in critical condition, one nurse’s mind reveals. She’ll need a blood transfusion.

From another nurse’s mind, I learn they have the blood they’ll need. Good. For a moment, I wondered whether my blood type is a match for Lucy. If it weren’t, there would have been a record number of volunteers lining up to donate. I make a mental oath to learn what my blood type actually is, as well as the blood types of the people closest to me.

This is when the doctor slams through the doors. Concern edging toward terror is evident on his face. I’m clearly getting better and better at this Guiding thing. Maybe too good.

I get inside the doctor’s mind to calm him.

Take a breath, I Guide him. And do your thing.





Chapter 16





I watch them work their magic.

I’ve always been squeamish. When I’d see surgery on TV, I’d look away, cringing. That’s not how this goes. I watch every bloody detail, unable to look away. I’m afraid that if I look away, or even so much as blink, something irreversible will happen. Irrationally, I feel as if my gaze alone is keeping Lucy alive.

The clock tells me the whole thing takes twenty minutes, but I feel as though I’ve been watching this macabre dance for days.

“She’ll be fine,” Dr. Jaint tells me when he’s done. “She just needs to rest. Let’s take her to Room 3 in Intensive Care. We need this room for other patients.” He sounds apologetic.

“No problem,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Take her there, and I’ll follow.”

On our way, I make the first phone call. “Mom, drop whatever you’re doing, and come to the Staten Island University Hospital,” I say and placate her as best as I can, ignoring her million questions. I finish with: “Everything is okay—she’s fine—but you need to get here now.”

The dreaded conversation with Sara over with, I call Mira. I couldn’t go into freak-out mode with my ‘easy to give a heart attack to’ mom. I had to be strong for her. With Mira, I can let some of my tension out. But to my disappointment, my call goes to her voicemail. She must be in the air.

“Mira, call me as soon as you can,” I say. “This is urgent.”

As a poor alternative to speaking with Mira, I sit down in Room 3 next to Mom’s bed and focus on my breathing, trying to calm my overactive nerves.

I look at Lucy as I breathe. She’s still deathly pale, but her breathing seems more even.

After a minute, I start thinking more rationally. How could this have happened? There’s no way Lucy would ever commit suicide. I recall my earlier thought about potential Pusher interference, and I know that I need to find out for sure.

If someone attempted to murder my mom, that person will pay dearly.

I phase in. The hum of the hospital is gone. I walk up to Lucy and place my hand on her forehead. It’s easier to calm my mental turmoil now that I know she’s going to be okay.

When I get inside her head, I make sure my Reading begins with what happened an hour ago...





Chapter 17





“Sorry to leave you with this messy kitchen to clean up,” Sara says to us, smiling. “I’ll clean up after dinner.”

“No worries, hon,” we say. “You have to run. I understand.”

“You’re the best.” She gives us a peck on the cheek and noisily descends the stairs to the first floor.

We feel one of those quiet moments of joy and contemplation, moments when we marvel at how lucky we are when it comes to familial bliss.

We hear the door bang shut but don’t hear Sara lock it. The little happy moment almost fades. She forgot to lock the door—again. Our wife, the absentminded professor. Stoically, we climb down and lock the door.

With that done, it takes us a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. Then we take out the files from the nearby cardboard box and spread them out on the kitchen table.

The now-dead Russian mobster, Arkady, f*cked up when he killed the Tsiolkovsky family. The explosives he used were traceable, which is how we solved the case. Granted, we looked up the explosives data in a newer database than the one that existed when the crime was originally committed. But still. The case wasn’t worked properly because of the false impression that this was a mob-on-mob hit. Who provided the misinformation? And why? The only explanation that fits is that someone on the inside was covering something up.

It was a form of torture to put this aside when Darren requested it yesterday. Now that he’s about to stop by and explain whatever the problem is, there’s no harm in being ready to resume the investigation, seeing how we’re itching to do so. So far, we just hinted at our discoveries to Kyle, the only person in Organized Crime we know we can trust.

We’re distracted from our thoughts by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. We get up and look out the window. Think of the devil.

“Hi, Kyle,” we say, opening the door. “What brings you here?”

“Hi, Lucy,” he says. “Sorry. I couldn’t wait till later to learn about that case you mentioned.”

“That’s funny. I was just reviewing my notes on it.”

We make our way to the second floor. Kyle sits down at the table and looks at the printouts we made and the papers covered with notes.