The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(34)
In fact, there is some poetic justice in getting inside the head of your therapist. It could be a lot of fun feeding her insights about herself that I glean from her mind. But most importantly, I can find out what’s behind this strange reaction—as well as maybe settle the whole ‘does she want me’ debate once and for all.
I approach Liz and look for a place to touch her. Though I have phased into the Quiet in her presence many times before, I’ve never used the opportunity to do anything inappropriate, like touching her very temping cleavage area—and yes, I was tempted. I’ve never tried to analyze why I exercised this restraint. It just didn’t feel right to do something like that. Not with a person whom I told about myself doing exactly this to girls at school back in the day—actions she told me not to worry about because they were just mild delusions, a slightly exaggerated version of a normal pubescent boy’s fantasy.
I end up going for a light touch on her neck with the tips of my index and middle fingers. It’s the sort of gesture I have seen doctors make when trying to get someone’s pulse.
As my fingers touch her skin, I instantly pull my hand away, my heart rate picking up.
A second version of Liz is standing in the room, watching me pull my hand away from her frozen double. As the avalanche of confused thoughts hits me, some part of me is happy her neck was the part of her body I opted for. Otherwise, this would be not just the biggest surprise of my life, but also incredibly awkward.
“Thank you,” Liz says, smiling. “I was about to do this to you myself. I now have very little doubt that you are sane . . . and probably one of us.”
Chapter 16
I’m so stunned that I find myself in that rare situation where I have nothing to say. I just look at her—the woman I thought I’d known all this time.
As it turns out, I didn’t know her at all.
As moments pass, I begin to digest the severity of this deception. I recall all the conversations where I described the Quiet, and she acted like a shrink listening to a delusional patient. All the therapy meant to get me to stop imagining something that she clearly had always known was real. In a way, the anger I begin to feel is akin to the way I felt when I thought Sara had been a Reader but never told me—and sent me to a shrink, to boot. This is the shrink I eventually ended up with, and Liz’s deception is worse than Sara’s would’ve been had my mom turned out to be a Reader. Liz actually pretended to be fixing a problem she knew full well I didn’t have.
“I know you must be confused and upset,” she says, obviously reading my expression. “Before you make a final judgment, please allow me to explain.”
I try to get my emotions under control. It’s difficult. I have had a Reader in my life, all this time, and she allowed me to think I was crazy. When I feel like I won’t shout obscenities at her, I say, “Why did you wait for years to reveal to me I wasn’t the only one?”
She flinches for a second. I guess she’s not used to my voice being so icy.
“I had many reasons for this deception, and my choices were pretty limited,” she says, looking at me. “In the beginning, there was a chance that you might’ve been a rare, truly delusional case. This has happened before. Also, you were young enough when we met that you could’ve been making things up for attention. When you showed off your power to me, by knowing things in my books, I knew that you were sane and that you could do what you said. But you still could’ve been a Leacher—which would’ve been a big problem. You still might be, though I doubt it. I just didn’t know what to do, so I waited. When you just told me about the way you protected your new friend, I was about to take things to the next level—”
“A Leacher? What are you talking about?” I stare at her, my head spinning.
“Before I say any more, I have to test you to be sure. I know you essentially admitted that you Guided someone, but I still have to do this.”
“I did what?” I give her a confused look.
“You have to do the test first. I will not speak another word until after the test. Follow me,” she says and walks out of the room.
I follow. What choice do I have? At least this time I’m not at gunpoint during the testing.
“Her,” she says, pointing at the waiting room receptionist. “Make her walk into my office and say, ‘Sorry, we’re out of doughnuts.’”
Have you ever had a car accident? You know that feeling just before the accident, when you slam on the breaks with all your might? A situation where all you want to do is hit the pause button on the world? This is what I feel like right now.
I had been convinced that she was a fellow Reader, which would by itself have been odd. But now I begin to understand the enormity of this situation.
“What do you mean?” I say, wanting to hear it.
“Oh, come on, Darren. You’re smarter than this. I think you know what to do,” she says, smiling. “And you know what I’m talking about, even if you’re not familiar with the terminology.”
“Since it’s a test, I want to be sure,” I say. “What exactly do you want me to do with her?”
“Okay then. Do what you did to that man you mentioned. The one you Guided to do something that caused him harm in order to defend your new girlfriend. You had your hands on him after you ‘stopped time,’ didn’t you? You willed him to do something, and then you saw that he actually did it? That’s what you feel guilty about, isn’t it? Just do that again—only this time no one will be hurt, and Camilla will just walk into the office and say that silly phrase. That’s all. Then I can be sure that you’re one of us.” Liz’s voice takes on the same gentle tone as when she gives me all sorts of mundane advice.