The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(47)

“Welcome,” he says, smiling. After he gives us a kiss on the cheek, he looks thoughtful. “Why didn’t Kyle come with you? I thought this was like a little department reunion.”

“He had something else going on,” we say.

“What about Sara?” Mark asks. “We could’ve made this into a double date instead.”

“Darren is very cranky today,” we say. “He has an ear infection.”

“Margie will be so disappointed that he couldn’t make it. Looks like it’s just us again.”

“Looks like,” we say.

After a moment’s hesitation, he says, “Look, Lucy. I haven’t seen Kyle at all since I left the department. He wasn’t at my wedding. He never returns my calls. Do you know what happened? Did I do something?”

“I don’t know,” we say honestly. And then something triggers a directive in our mind. “Let’s talk about this later,” we say, the words predetermined. “Can I use the restroom?”

“Sure,” Mark says, looking confused. “It’s through the kitchen.”

At this point, it’s more correct to say that only I, Darren, am experiencing this. Lucy isn’t present in her own mind. Not in the regular sense of the word. She’s more like a robot in a Lucy shell.

We enter the kitchen, with Mark walking a few feet ahead of us. We see Margret, Mark’s wife. Her back is to us, and the smell of fried garlic combined with the sizzle of oil tells us that she’s cooking.

Before Margret can turn to say hello, we take out the gun with a quick, practiced motion and fire at the back of her head, watching as it explodes and her body falls to the floor.

Mark spins around to face us. There’s no trace of confusion or surprise on his face, only horror. Somehow he knows what’s happening.

As we fire the next shot, he starts twisting to the side, as though he has some supernatural insight into the bullet’s path. But he’s not fast enough.

His limp body falls on the floor a few feet from his wife’s.

We methodically approach and wipe Mark’s lips. He kissed our cheek after saying hello and might’ve left some DNA. Then we carefully back away. We were instructed to make sure no blood gets on our shoes or clothes.

Still on autopilot, we leave the house, drive to the bridge, and dispose of the gun. Then we drive back. As soon as we park in Mark’s driveway, our mind goes clear, and Lucy is back.

We ring the doorbell. No one responds. We notice the door is unlocked. We open the door a sliver and yell, “Mark! Your door is open.”

No one answers.

We let ourselves in.

Something isn’t right, our inner detective screams.

That’s when we smell it: the familiar, metallic stench of death. We’re beyond horrified.

And then we see the bodies.

Our friends—the parents of our child—are dead.

Rage and grief mingle together in a poisonous cocktail as the enormity of the loss begins to dawn on us. Yet some cool part of our mind reminds us that this is a crime scene.

Pushing aside our emotions, we examine everything as thoroughly as humanly possible.

No break-in. No evidence of any kind.

How did the shooter do this?

We call it in. We use an ‘officer down’ code, which always gets the EMTs and the police to the scene faster.

“This will be the most important case of your career,” we tell the coroner on the phone in a shaking voice. “I want some answers, and I want them yesterday.”

I, Darren, disassociate.

So this is why Lucy had such a hard time solving my parents’ murder. She went about it the usual way, looking for a regular suspect. How could she fathom a crime where she was the killer? A crime Kyle committed with Lucy as the murder weapon?

She never stood a chance. And neither did my biological parents.

And then it hits me.

I saw my parents get shot. Margret was clearly caught off-guard, but Mark must’ve phased into the Quiet at the sound of the gunshot. That’s why he looked like he knew what was happening. He might’ve even Read Lucy’s mind and learned that she was being controlled by a Pusher. Of course, that knowledge wouldn’t have helped him. It was too late by then. Margret was already dead, and Lucy was aiming the gun at my dad and pulling the trigger. He tried to twist to the side to save himself, but even a Reader is not fast enough to avoid a bullet at close range.

My dad had to know that—which means that he had to know he was also about to die.

I think I’m too emotionally numb at this point to fully comprehend the horror of it. Either that, or something else is distracting me at the moment, an emotion that doesn’t leave room for grief.

An emotion that’s overtaking my mind like a hurricane.

Rage.

Kyle messed with Lucy’s mind. He raped her. Then he made her give up her baby. He had her kill my parents, and he made Lucy try to kill herself.

The fury that fills me is indescribable.

Kyle will die.

I will kill him.

I will enjoy killing him.

I never knew I was capable of wanting to kill someone so much. Even if he’d tried to kill me, I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt him this badly. I’d want to do something to protect myself, sure, but it wouldn’t feel like this. Not even close.

For what Kyle did to my mom, I want to tear him into little pieces.