The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(50)

“Well, we have one thing in common,” I say darkly. “When I get my hands around his neck, I’ll also forget about all the years we’ve known each other.”

“And this person, Thomas, he’s a Guide, like Hillary?” Bert looks uncomfortable with my newfound bloodlust.

“Yes, and about that.” I shift from one foot to another. “Let’s not tell him you know as much as you do. I trust him and all, but just in case, it’s best he doesn’t find out. For your sake.”

“Oh, right. Unlike you and Mira, they can’t read my mind,” he says excitedly. “So I can lie.”

“That’s right. My cover story is that I Guided you to do my bidding.”

“Yes, Master,” Bert says in his best Dracula’s-worshipful-servant voice.

My phone rings. It’s Sara. She’s here, so I explain where to meet us.

“I’m so glad she’s okay,” Sara says when Bert and I enter Lucy’s room. Sara’s face is nearly as pale as Lucy’s, and I see that her hands are trembling. “Can you please explain to me what happened?”

I phase into the Quiet.

Hesitantly, I walk over to Sara and enter her mind. The level of anxiety my mom is capable of is insane. If I were this worried, I’d be phasing into the Quiet every few seconds and be barely functional. I debate Guiding her to make her relax, but decide against it. I limit my Guiding to making sure Sara believes the same story as the one I concocted in Lucy’s mind.

I get out of Sara’s head and Read Lucy. She’s content in her sleep. I don’t experience pain or discomfort, but then again, a sleeping mind isn’t very helpful in gauging someone’s health.

I phase out.

“The knife slipped,” I say and tell Sara the story.

Bert is making eyes at me from behind Sara’s back. Eyes that say, “I can’t believe she’s buying it.”

When I’m done with the story, Sara launches into her interrogation. “How did you get here so fast? How was Florida? Where’s Mira—”

“She just opened her eyes,” Bert says, interrupting her barrage of questions.

Sara goes to Lucy and sits on the edge of her bed, lightly resting her hand on her shoulder. Lucy’s eyes focus on her wife. She looks surprisingly sharp, considering her ordeal.

“Hi,” she says hoarsely. “Where the hell am I?”

I explain what she’s already primed to believe. “When I told them ‘officer down,’ they went out of their way to help you,” I conclude.

“To think of all the ways I could’ve gotten hurt, and this happens on a day I’m off the job,” Lucy says humorlessly.

“Excuse me,” says a familiar voice through the crack in the door. “May we come in?”

“Please,” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “Mom, you remember my therapist, Dr. Jackson.”

“Please, call me Liz,” Liz says predictably. She hates it when I call her anything but that.

I still can’t believe she’s here. It looks as if Thomas brought her in as reinforcements. Or she might be here to hang with him; they are dating, after all.

“Hello, Liz,” Sara says, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

“Darren called me when your wife got hurt,” Liz says. “He was so distraught I thought I’d check in on things. He’s been a patient for years.”

“Of course,” Sara says. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“This is my boyfriend, Thomas,” Liz says, pulling Thomas inside the room.

Both Sara and Bert look at Thomas with fascination. Even Lucy looks over, though her expression is harder to read.

I wonder if they find the couple’s age difference odd. Liz looks like a hot teacher and Thomas like a student she seduced—only ten years later. I wonder what Sara would think if she knew that on top of everything else, Liz is Thomas’s shrink. Maybe she’s picturing me in Thomas’s shoes. That might be it. Maybe she’s wondering whether my therapist made moves on me when I was a teen. Which would’ve been awesome, by the way.

My thoughts are interrupted when Thomas pulls me into the Quiet.

“Are we bringing her in?” I nod toward Liz. “If so, we should probably use my Quiet session, since I have a long story for you.”

“You decide whom to trust,” Thomas says. “And I appreciate you thinking about my Reach.”

“It’s okay to bring her. Especially since I now know who the mystery Pusher is. And it’s not Liz.”

Thomas phases out, and I phase in and bring him in with me.

Thomas gives Liz a chaste peck on the neck to pull her into the Quiet.

I proceed to tell them a version of my story, leaving only one thing out—Kyle’s identity.

“Your poor mom,” Thomas says, looking at Lucy. His usually stern face is a shade warmer. “To be forced to kill her own partner? There’s nothing worse for a cop.”

“At least she doesn’t remember that,” Liz says. “You were right in that regard. Your other mother looks like she might lose it, by the way. I’d be happy to do a subtle relaxation session on her.”

“That’s how she always looks,” I say. “But will it make her feel better?” The idea sounds promising, though I feel guilty manipulating my mom’s emotions.