The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(16)

I watch, confused, as Eugene just stands there, holding the guy’s forehead. He looks so still that he begins to remind me of his frozen self.

Then he starts moving again. His hand is not on the guy’s head anymore.

“Okay,” he says, pointing at the guy. “Now you do the same thing. Place your hand on his skin.”

I walk up to the guy and comply. His forehead is clammy, which is kind of disgusting.

“Okay, now close your eyes and get into that same Coherence state,” Eugene instructs.

I close my eyes and start doing the meditation. And then it happens.



*



I’m so f*cking stoned. That was some good shit Peter sold me. I’ve gotta get some more.

I feel great, but at the same time a part of myself wonders—why the hell did I smoke pot? My hedge fund does random urine tests on occasion. What if I get tested?

And then it hits me: I am not stoned. We are stoned. I, Darren, am not. But I, Nick, am.

We are Nick right now.

We are listening to “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd, which is also how we feel.

I, Darren, tried pot before. I didn’t like it nearly as much as I, Nick, like it right now.

We get a craving, but we’re too lazy to get anything to eat.

The doorbell rings.

Wow.

Can that be a delivery? We don’t recall ordering, but ordering something—pizza or Chinese—sounds like a great idea right about now. We reach for the phone when the doorbell rings again.

Oh yeah, the door.

Who’s at the door? we wonder again, with a pang of paranoia this time.

I, Darren, finally get it: it’s Eugene and me ringing the doorbell.

We get up, walk to the door, and open it after fumbling with the locks.

We’re looking at Eugene, Mira’s older brother, and some other dude, who I, Darren, recognize as myself. We wonder what the deal is.



*



Suddenly, I’m standing in the corridor, my hand no longer on Nick’s forehead. I stare at Eugene, my mouth gaping and heart racing at the realization of what I just did.

“Eugene, did you want me to get inside this pothead’s mind?” I manage to ask. “Is Reading ‘Mind Reading’?”

Eugene smiles at me, then walks to his frozen self and touches his own temple, bringing us out of the Quiet. Then he makes some bullshit excuse to confused Nick for ringing the doorbell, and we walk back to Eugene’s apartment.

“Tell me everything you just experienced,” he says as soon as the door closes behind us.

I tell him. As I go on, his smile widens. He must’ve seen the same thing when he touched the guy. From his reaction, I guess this means I can Read, and since this apparently removes any suspicions he had about me, I also assume that Pushers can’t Read. I think I’m starting to figure out at least a few pieces of the mystery.

This was the test—and incredibly, I passed.





Chapter 7


What I did was not exactly how I imagined mind reading—not that mind reading is something I imagined much. The experience was like some kind of virtual reality, only more intense. It was like I was the pothead guy. I felt what he felt. Saw what he saw. I even had his memories, and they came and went as though they were mine.

But at the same time, I was also myself. An observer of sorts. I experienced two conflicted world views. On the one hand, I was Nick, feeling high, feeling numb, feeling dumb, but at the same time, I was myself, able to not lose my own consciousness. It was a strange merger.

I want to do it again—as soon as possible.

“Do you want tea?” Eugene asks, dragging me out of my thoughts, and I realize we somehow ended up at the kitchen table.

I look around the room. There are a bunch of beakers all over the place. Is he running some kind of chemistry experiment in here? A red stain on the counter, near an ampule with remains of that same red substance, matches the stain on Eugene’s white coat. At least it’s not blood, as I had originally thought.

“I will take your silence as a yes to tea.” Eugene chuckles. “I’m sorry,” he adds, joining me after setting the kettle on the stove. “The first time we Read is usually not as confusing as that. Nick’s intoxicated state must’ve been an odd addition to an already strange experience.”

“That’s an understatement,” I say, getting my bearings. “So how does this work?”

“Let’s begin at the beginning,” Eugene says. “Do you now know what a Reader is?”

“I guess. Someone who can do that?”

“Exactly.” Eugene smiles.

“And what is a Pusher?”

His smile vanishes. “What Pushers do is horrible. An abomination. A crime against human nature. They commit the ultimate rape.” His voice deepens, filling with disgust. “They mind-rape. They take away a person’s will.”

“You mean they can hypnotize someone?” I ask, trying to make sense of it.

“No, Darren.” He shakes his head. “Hypnosis is voluntary—if the whole thing exists at all. You can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do under hypnosis.” He stops at the sound of the kettle. “Pushers can make a person do anything they want,” he clarifies as he gets up.