The Enlightened (Mind Dimensions #3)(62)

He throws a punch at my head, and I instinctively block it with my right elbow while using the left to hit Kyle in the jaw. My counter hit connects with his face, but I’m too overwhelmed with pain to rejoice. Having a shot-up right arm is not optimal for hand-to-hand combat.

Kyle recovers from my hit much too quickly and reaches for his vest. That’s where the knife is, I remember in an instant.

Instead of hitting him, I use Kyle’s momentary distraction to note the location of his fallen gun. The gun is right under my feet, but if Kyle gets that knife out, the gun may as well be a light year away.

It’s time to do something reckless.

I consciously execute a move I’ve only experienced in someone’s memories. I think it’s called a round kick. It’s a move kickboxers regularly execute, but financial analysts not so much. The biggest danger is that I’ll lose my balance.

My execution is perfect.

My foot connects with the side of Kyle’s head with a loud smack.

I don’t even lose my balance, and mentally thank Caleb for all his training.

Kyle is stunned. I capitalize on this with an uppercut, choosing to strike out with my uninjured left arm this time.

The result reminds me of what boxers often look like after a knockout blow. Kyle looks like he’s about to fall. His eyes glaze over, and he almost looks drunk.

It’s now or never. I bend over, reaching for his gun, but as I do, I remember something.

Feigning a loss like this is Kyle’s signature move. He would beat me with this trick at least six out of ten times when we used to play Mortal Kombat or other fighting games—back when I was a kid and thought he was my uncle.

If that’s what he’s doing, I know I’m f*cked. But at this point, I’m committed to picking up that gun, so I just do it.

Once I have the gun in my hand, I straighten and see that my fear was justified. Just like in all those virtual matches of the past, I fell for his ploy, but this time, the fight is real. Kyle is holding the knife by the blade and has his hand positioned for a throw.

Only he’s not releasing the knife for some reason.

Is the bastard toying with me? Is he waiting for me to raise my gun by an inch, giving me hope, before he offs me?

“Don’t,” Kyle says.

Is he trying to talk to me? This makes no sense.

Then I notice he’s not looking at me, but at something beside me. This could be a trick to distract me, but I don’t see the point.

Things begin to fall into place when I see a red laser pointer dot on his forehead. Holding my breath, I follow his gaze.

The relief I feel is overwhelming. It’s Thomas. He has a gun pointed right at Kyle’s head. My friend must’ve limped his way here while I was keeping Kyle busy. That trip must’ve hurt like hell.

“Don’t do it, Thomas,” Kyle says. “Don’t shoot. There’s something important I have to tell you.”

The look of disdain on Thomas’s usually inexpressive face is all the answer he needs to give. His right index finger tightens around the trigger.

“I’m your father, Thomas,” Kyle shouts. “You’re about to shoot your own father.”

The look of disdain vanishes from Thomas’s face. It’s replaced by one of utter confusion, the same look that must be adorning my face as well.

I so badly need some extra time to think that I feel that near-phasing-out feeling again. I’m breathing so fast I wonder if I’m hyperventilating. It reminds me of the Bellows Breath exercise Hillary taught me, only I’m not doing it on purpose.

I need to digest what Kyle just said, but time is the one thing I don’t have.

If Kyle is lying to confuse Thomas, he succeeded.

I begin raising my gun, but it’s too late. Before it’s raised even a foot, Kyle capitalizes on the confusion he created and throws the knife at me.

Instead of pain, though, something very strange happens—something I experienced a long time ago, back when I was a kid.

I’m in what my kid-self would think of as the about-to-die mode, though now I have a better term for it.

I’m about to phase in.

And, like all those years ago, the transition is not instant.

Given how close I am to Kyle, the knife should’ve reached me before I even had the chance to think, but instead, I have enough time to watch the knife as it flies toward me at a millimeter per second. It’s going to rotate in the air, I realize with wonder. The whole thing reminds me of watching one of those high-speed-camera movie clips that show you things in slow motion.

I use this time to think.

About how Thomas is half-Asian and my mom Lucy is Asian. About how Thomas, like me, was adopted. About the rape I witnessed in Lucy’s mind. About the baby she was forced to give up—Kyle’s baby.

Can it be?

Now that I think about it, some of Thomas’s mannerisms are a lot like Lucy’s. They even share the same stony expression.

Could Thomas and I be related? Could we be stepbrothers of sorts?

As I watch the knife penetrate my shirt, I realize it could be true. Kyle might be telling the truth.

As the knife pierces the top layer of skin, I focus on the horror of what’s about to happen. Once this thing reaches my heart, I’ll die in the Quiet and become Inert again. I’ll be vulnerable right when I need my power most. Not to mention that with my mom in the hospital as she is, I can’t run away to another vacation spot and hide. Nor do I want to hide. I’m through with hiding.