The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(14)

“Okay. Walk slowly to your body and touch it in such a way that I can clearly see it. Don’t Split, or I will shoot you.”

If ‘Split’ is what I think it is—as in phasing into the Quiet—then how would he be able to tell if I did do it? Though it seems unlikely, I decide not to push my luck. Not until I know the results of his tests.

“I’m ready,” I say, and demonstratively touch my frozen self on the forehead.





Chapter 6


The sounds are back. There are now only two of us.

He’s less intent on shooting me—so I know I didn’t just hallucinate our conversation.

As I watch, he reaches into a pocket under his white coat and takes out a phone. Then he snaps a picture of me and writes a text.

“You go first,” he says.

I walk into the apartment, the gun pressed to my back, and gape at my surroundings, struck by what I’m seeing.

The place is a mess.

I’m not the kind of guy who thinks it’s a girl’s job to keep a place neat. But after a certain point, I am the kind of guy who thinks, ‘what kind of slob is she?’ I’m not sexist, though. I think the guy with the gun to my back is just as responsible for this mess as she is. An episode of that show about hoarders could be filmed here.

Pulling me from my thoughts, the guy makes me go into a room on the left.

It appears to be some kind of makeshift lab—if the lab had a small explosion of wires, empty frozen meal boxes, and scattered papers, that is.

“Sit,” he says.

I comply.

He grabs a few cables off the floor, some kind of gizmo, and a laptop, all the while trying to keep the gun pointed at me. Whatever he’s setting up is ready in a few minutes.

I realize that the cable things are electrodes. Still holding the gun, he applies them to my temples and a bunch of other places all over my head. I must look like a medusa.

“Okay,” he tells me when it’s ready. “Split, and then come back.”

I’m still so much on edge that phasing into the Quiet is easy. Within an instant, I’m standing next to my frozen body, watching myself. I look ridiculous with all the electrodes.

I momentarily debate snooping through the apartment, but decide against it. Instead I phase back out, anxious to see what’s coming next.

The first thing I hear is his laptop beeping.

“Okay,” he says after a pause. “Right before you Split, you were at the very least showing an EEG consistent with a Reader.”

“I know this is a good thing, but you don’t sound too confident,” I say. As soon as I say it, I regret it. Reader is good. Why would I say anything that might instill doubt? But I can’t help it, because I also want to know more about myself. Getting answers was the whole crazy reason I came here in the first place—well, that, and to confirm I’m not alone.

He looks around the room, then finds a nook to put the gun in. I think this officially means he’s warmed up to me.

“I’ve only tested myself extensively, and have run preliminary tests on my sister,” he says, glancing at me again. “I have my father’s notes, but I’m not confident this is conclusive. Aside from that, I have no idea if Pushers would have the same EEG results.” He furrows his brows. “In fact, it’s quite likely they might.”

His trust is like a yo-yo. “Isn’t there a better test you can do?” I say before he reaches for the gun again.

“There is,” he says. “You can actually try to Read.”

I keep any witty responses related to reading books to myself. “Will you at least tell me what Readers and Pushers are?” I ask instead.

“I can’t believe you don’t know.” He squints at me suspiciously. “Haven’t your parents told you anything?”

“No,” I admit, frustrated. “I have no idea what you mean or what parents have to do with anything.” I hate not knowing things, did I mention that?

He stares at me for a few moments, then sighs and walks up to me. “My name is Eugene,” he says, extending his hand to me.

“Nice to meet you, Eugene.” I shake his hand, relieved by this rather-civilized turn of events.

“Listen to me, Darren.” His face softens a bit, his expression becoming almost kind. “If what you say is true, then I’ll help you.” He raises his hand to stop me from thanking him, which I was about to do. “But only if you turn out to be a Reader.”

I have never wished to be part of a clique so badly in my life.

“How?” I ask.

“I’ll teach you,” he says. “But if it fails, if you can’t Read, you have to promise to leave and never come back.”

Wow, so now the rules have changed in my favor. I won’t be killed, even if I’m this Pusher thing. Nice.

“We need to hurry,” he adds. “My sister’s on the way. If you’re a Pusher, she won’t care about your situation.”

“Why?” I ask. In the list of pros and cons as to whether or not I should date Mira, the cons are definitely in the lead.

“Because Pushers had our parents killed,” he says. The kind expression vanishes. “In front of her.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, horrified. I had no idea Mira had gone through something so awful. Whoever these Pushers are, I can’t blame her for hating them—not if they killed her family.