The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(33)

Eventually, getting into the Quiet would happen when I did something as insignificant as watch a good horror movie. Progressively I got to where I am today, where any slight worry or nervousness can be harnessed for phasing in. I wonder what the path was like for Eugene and Mira. I’ll have to remember to ask them.

Thinking of those two makes me wonder if I should stop messing around and go see them. No, I decide. Not yet. Not until I have some more Reading fun.

I look at Jenny. She’s clutching the door, like she wants to close it as soon as possible. I feel a pang of guilt, and I phase out.

“Sorry if I intruded,” I say. “I guess I should’ve left this by the door. I just figured, since we agreed to stay friends, it would be a good idea to bring this to you.”

“Yeah, sure,” she says. It doesn’t take Reading to know she didn’t actually want us to be friends when she said that. “It was nice of you to bring this back, and I’m glad you didn’t just leave it by the door like some stranger.”

“Okay, thanks. Sorry I bugged you. I’ll see you around,” I say. It’s awkward, but I don’t regret this. Jenny looks like she knows she’s missing something, but since I’m sure there’s no way she’ll ever guess what just happened, I don’t worry about it.

The door closes, and I’m ready for a drive around the city.

On a whim, I decide to go to the gym. There are plenty of people I can Read there. Plus, it would be nice to get a workout. I exercise mostly out of vanity, but at the same time, I do like to hear how good exercise is for your mind as well as your body. More bang for the buck.

Instead of my usual Tribeca location, I go to the Wall Street branch—I have a car, after all, so I figure I may as well use it. The Wall Street gym is classier.

By the time I get there, which isn’t far, I curse the car idea. I would have gotten here much faster on foot, considering the traffic and the time it takes to find a parking spot. That’s Manhattan for you. It’s got some minuses.

I walk through the big revolving glass doors. This gym in general, and this location specifically, is very high end. Its membership price is ridiculous, but hey, I can afford it. It’s nice and clean, which is a huge bonus for me. I might be a little OCD when it comes to cleanliness.

I wonder if it would make sense to exercise in the Quiet anymore. I used to do it on occasion when I was in a rush, but that was before I knew you don’t age in there. Now that I know about the aging thing, it seems logical that muscles wouldn’t grow bigger from any exercise performed in the Quiet. And growing muscles is really the only reason I do this.

Still, I’m not one hundred percent sure that it would be useless to exercise in the Quiet in general. Certainly some skills stay with you. Just the other week, when I was convinced to play my first game of golf, I practiced in the Quiet so my game would be more impressive to my coworkers. The practice definitely helped, meaning some kind of muscle memory was retained. Another question for Eugene, I guess.

For now, I opt for a real-world workout.

I’m doing chest presses when I see a familiar face. We have a lot of celebrities at this gym, so I try to recall who this is. Then it hits me. Can that really be who I think it is? It’s possible—his bank’s headquarters are near here. If he did go to a gym open to the public, this would be the one he’d go to.

To make sure I’m right, I approach him.

“Excuse me, can you please spot me?” I ask, pointing at the bench I’m using.

“Sure,” he says. “Do you need a lift?”

“I got it,” I say, and I do. That’s him. Jason Spades, the CEO. The man is a hero to us at the fund. His is the only bank that weathered the shit storm that befell most others—and he got a lot of the credit for it. From what I heard, his fame is well deserved.

“Thanks,” I tell him when I’m done with my set.

He walks away, and on a whim, I phase into the Quiet. It’s particularly easy in the gym—the heart is already racing, which to the brain must not be far from being frightened or otherwise excited.

It’s very odd to see people holding heavy weights suspended in midair, though. It seems like their hands should fail any second.

I walk up to Jason Spades and touch his temple. It’s time to flex my Reading muscles some more. I have to work on the meditation to get into the Coherence state for a moment. Next, I picture myself light as a feather. I’m hoping to enter his mind further than what seems to happen by default.



*



“Go to the gym today, take a day off, and do some gardening. You can’t beat yourself up like this,” our wife tells us at the breakfast table. “This kind of stress will give you a heart attack.”

“You don’t understand, babe. It’s going to be the worst quarter results in the company history. Back in the day, CEOs jumped out of windows over this sort of thing,” we say. We are grateful for her support, but we can’t help feeling that she just doesn’t get it. The enormity of it. Everything we’ve worked for is going to be ruined. No weekends, no vacations, endless sleepless nights—all for nothing.

We also think about the other thing, the thing we haven’t even mentioned to her. How a trader was taking unauthorized risks and lost a big chunk of the bank’s money. We’re going to be held responsible by the investors for that, too. Combined with the quarter results, we’ll look like an idiot—just like the rest of the bank CEOs. This is not the legacy we’d been hoping for.