The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(45)

“Want some coffee?” We turn the coffeemaker on without waiting for an answer. Kyle is clearly preoccupied with the file.

“Please, take a seat,” Kyle says in a strange voice.

We sit down across from him at the table.

And then I, Darren, disassociate when I feel someone else entering Lucy’s mind.

It can’t be. It just can’t. The Pusher is inside Lucy’s mind, but that would mean...

Stunned, I let the memory unfold.

Relax, comes the first instruction. Forget what you’re doing. You will sit still until I leave. You can’t move, given your shock. Given your grief. When I talk to you, just listen, but don’t remember any of the words. Instead, I want you to realize how shitty life has gotten lately. How depressed you’ve been. How senseless everything is and how pointless. Let yourself remember what happened to Mark. Remember what happened to the baby. The guilt, the depression—it’s so overwhelming, and you can’t take it anymore. When you get the urge to slit your wrist, don’t fight it. Fill up a warm bath and do it there. Warm water improves blood flow. You will not feel any pain. Instead, you’ll relax and float like you’re riding a cloud.

I, Darren, let these horrendous instructions ring in my mind.

A few things the Pusher said don’t make sense, like the mention of my father, Mark. What does he have to do with anything? What did the Pusher mean by ‘let yourself remember’?

But that’s not what’s overwhelming me the most.

It’s the tone of voice in Lucy’s mind. It’s familiar to me. The instructions in Lucy’s head sound like the ones I heard inside the heads of the mobsters who’d kidnapped Mira. And also like the ones inside the head of the murderous nurse, the one who gave me a near-fatal overdose of morphine and tried to smother me with a pillow. All these Pushing instructions came from the same person.

A person whose real-life voice I know well because I’ve heard it throughout my life.

It’s Kyle—the closest person to a father I’ve ever had.

I still can’t accept it, so with masochistic determination, I allow the memory to continue.

In a stupor, we watch Kyle. We can’t move for some reason, but we don’t want to move either. We’re relaxed.

“I really am sorry about this,” Kyle says as he gathers our notes. “It’s such a shame.” He walks over to the fireplace, takes out a lighter, and burns the papers.

We don’t understand what he’s doing, but the relaxation we’re feeling is pleasant.

“I really wish you hadn’t dug into this Arkady business. It’s ancient history.” We look at Kyle and see an expression of deep sorrow on his face, like at the captain’s funeral. “Now that I know the little bastard I helped you raise is a f*cking Leacher, I can’t just make you forget the way I usually would. Your mind isn’t safe anymore. Not when Darren can just Leach the information straight out of it.”

None of it, except for the name of the mobster, makes sense to us. Through our haze of relaxation, we realize Kyle could be the one behind the cover-up. Then we promptly forget this thought.

“So if you need anyone to blame for me having to do this,” Kyle continues, “blame him. Blame Darren. But don’t worry. Your sacrifice won’t be in vain. He’ll come to your funeral, where I’ll finally rid the world of that blight.”

I, Darren, disassociate.

Kyle is right in more ways than he realizes. Back at the Coney Island Hospital, it was me who set my mom on the path to investigating the Arkady case by telling her about Mira’s parents. I also see how my Reading ability is what forced Kyle’s hand. It’s a horrible thought, one that nearly paralyzes me with guilt. With effort, I overcome it and instead focus on what really matters.

Kyle is the Pusher.

I have no doubt now. He was the one controlling Arkady and the one working with Jacob. He erased the memory of Jacob from Arkady’s mind. But that could also mean...

I decide to dig deeper in Lucy’s head. Much deeper.

“Lucy,” Mark says. “How are you still standing?”

“Seriously,” Kyle adds. “Five shots for someone your size is like ten for me or Mark.”

“What?” we say incredulously. “I can drink both of you pussies under the table.”

I, Darren, realize I’ve gone too far into the past. Given how young Kyle looks, this must be before Lucy even met Sara, back in the crazy days when the three of them—Mark, Kyle, and Lucy—kicked ass and took names in Organized Crime. Young Mark looks achingly familiar, like the reflection I see in the mirror every day. I try not to dwell on this. He’s my biological father, so it’s not that big of a surprise.

I should move toward the present in Lucy’s memories, but I can’t stop experiencing this. This is probably as close as I’ll ever get to having a drink with my father, the father I never knew. So I let the memory play out, watching them drink and joke without a care in the world.

“I’ll walk you home,” Kyle says to us eventually.

“I can do it,” Mark offers.

“You’ve been eyeing that blonde,” Kyle reminds him. “Why don’t you go say hi? I got this.”

Mark looks at the blonde, burps, and then shakily makes his way over to her table.

“I don’t need to be walked,” we argue. “I’m not drunk.”