The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(15)
“Okay, Darren—if that’s even your name.” Mira stands up on tiptoe to look at me over Eugene’s shoulder. “If you agree to submit to my brother’s test, I’ll listen to what you came here to say. And I might not shoot you afterwards.”
“Sure,” I say readily. “I’ll take the test; I have nothing to hide.”
That’s pretty much the truth. With only one small caveat I don’t mention: Eugene is wrong on many points when it comes to this whole plan. First, I actually do know a quite a bit about these kinds of tests. I’m one of those people who did the research into how to beat them. The theory of it isn’t actually specific to the test being given, since they all relate to biorhythms. Regardless of what Eugene changed about his test, I’m sure it still works on the same principles. Principles that can be taken advantage of—if I choose to do so.
“Okay, great,” Eugene says. “I’ll get ready. You leave the Mind Dimension and come back here to our apartment.” He walks into his bedroom—I assume to reach his frozen body and phase out. And hopefully put on some pants.
Mira lingers for a moment and gives me a hard-to-define look. “You better pass,” she says, and without giving me a chance to respond, goes into her own bedroom.
Chapter 7
In a strange stupor, I make my way back to my body on the bench and phase out.
The world comes alive, and I consider making a run for it rather than going back. If Eugene messes up his science, I could be in real trouble. Plus, from what I know of lie detection, it’s not even an exact science. It’s actually part scam, often meant to scare guilty people into confessing things they’re trying to hide. That’s the biggest secret I learned while researching this.
A polygraph test is certainly not something I’d trust with my life.
I would make a run for it, but I want Mira to stop looking at me the way she has been, like I’m some kind of a monster. Like I had something to do with her parents getting killed. Also, there is that practical matter—the reason I came here in the first place. This second element is what decides it for me.
I cross the road again, only in the real world this time.
Eugene buzzes me in and opens the door. He’s now dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and he informs me that the equipment is set up.
I try to make myself as comfortable as I can while he hooks me up to his laptop. I must look even more ridiculous than during the Reader test he gave me the other day. I have electrodes attached all over my head, presumably to measure my brain waves. I have a heartbeat monitor on my finger and a device that looks like a rubber band around my chest. I assume the latter is for detecting increased respiration. Another gadget seems to measure skin conductance—the measure of how sweaty you get. Finally, there are a few cables with purposes I don’t understand. These make me nervous. I hope they’re not meant to administer electric shock or something; that’s what comes to my mind when I look at them.
Through all the setup, Eugene seems as excited as a kid at a birthday party.
After making what seems like a thousand adjustments, he finally seems satisfied. “I’m done,” he yells, looking at the door.
Mira enters the room—carrying a gun, of course. She’s swapped her PJs for skinny jeans and a low-cut tank top, a casual outfit for her. I can’t believe I have the bandwidth to think hot about someone who wants to shoot me, but that’s exactly what comes to mind when I look at Mira.
As she stares at me, her serious expression alters, and I see tiny crinkles form in the corners of her eyes. Great. She’s amused at how ridiculous I look. I probably would be too, if I were in her shoes. I don’t mind being mocked in this case; I’d sooner she laugh than point that gun at me. Maybe I should get myself a jester’s hat so she doesn’t feel the constant urge to shoot me.
She puts the gun down and sits crossed-legged on the floor, settling herself on top of a bunch of papers, cables, and other random stuff Eugene has lying around. I make sure not to look down her low-cut tank top—despite the fact that it would be possible. From what I’ve read, arousal can be misinterpreted as a sign of lying with these tests.
“Okay, Darren, what’s two plus two?” Eugene asks.
Don’t ask me why I bothered to learn how to beat the polygraph exam. Let’s just say if my investing activities ever led to my having to take one, I wanted to be ready. Anyway, I know what this inane question is about. Eugene is establishing a baseline. His readings of my answers to the obviously true statements will later be compared to readings after I answer more important questions. So, if I wanted to cheat, I could make myself nervous as I answer this question. That wouldn’t be difficult for someone like me, who’s spent most of his life making himself nervous in order to phase into the Quiet.
But I decide against trying to cheat, also known as using countermeasures. First, I don’t really have anything to hide, so why bother? Second, as unlikely as it sounds, Eugene could be right. The fact that he’s using his own version of the test might mean there’s some physical reaction he’s monitoring that I might not have under control—some new principle I haven’t read about. If that’s the case, he may think I’m messing with the test. And messing with these tests is as good an indicator as any that you’re hiding something. In our case, that’s the last thing I want Mira to think. The whole point of this is to gain her trust.