The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(35)

When we eventually make the jump, the feeling of free fall overwhelms us with its intensity. It’s everything we thought it would be, and more. Through it all, we don’t forget the most important thing—and after sixty seconds of bliss that seem like a millisecond, we pull the cord to open the parachute.

We’re already wondering what to do next. Maybe jump naked? Maybe under the influence of some substance?

The flight after the parachute opens gets boring, so I, Darren, seek something else.

We’re snowboarding this time . . .



*



I get out of Amy’s head eventually. Thanks to her, I’m able to cross off ninety percent of my bucket list. Through her eyes, I have surfed, bungee jumped, rock climbed, snowboarded, and even done BASE jumping with a wing suit.

I would never have done any of these things for real, particularly since yesterday I found out something that I’m still trying to wrap my head around: I can extend my subjective lifespan by just chilling in the Quiet. That means I have a lot more to lose than regular people.

I insist on paying for Amy’s lunch. It’s the least I can do to pay her back for the experiences I just gleaned through her eyes. I definitely got closer to understanding what drives her and other people like her to do these seemingly crazy things. Most of it was awesome—especially jumping out of that plane.

Of course, it wasn’t awesome enough for me to risk my life. But now, thanks to Reading, I won’t have to. I can just hang out with Amy again. I think I might be getting lunch with her more often now.

After I’m in the car again by myself, I, unbelievably, feel like I might’ve had enough Reading for today. I want to get together with my new Brooklyn friends a day early.

I text Eugene, and he excitedly invites me over.

Now the stupid car will finally come in handy.





Chapter 15


I park in front of Eugene and Mira’s building after an uneventful drive over. The spot is near a fire hydrant, but far enough away from it not to get a ticket. The nice thing about hydrant spots like this is that there’s no one in front of the car. This makes parallel parking, a skill I haven’t fully mastered, easier. No parking meters either, just a regular spot that’s only a problem during Monday morning street cleanings. Impressive. I guess one nice perk of Brooklyn is being able to park like this on the street.

I make my way over to the building entrance. A friendly old lady holds the door for me. Apparently I don’t look like a burglar to her, the way she just lets me walk right in. I’m glad, because this way I don’t have to play with the intercom again.

Before the door closes behind me, I get that feeling again.

Someone’s pulled me into the Quiet.

The door is frozen halfway between open and shut, the world is silent, and I’m standing next to frozen me and unfrozen Mira. I briefly wonder what part of my body she touched to get me to join her before I notice the wild look in her eyes and forget everything else.

“Mira, what’s going on?”

“There isn’t time,” she says, running to the stairs. “Follow me.”

I run after her, trying to make sense of it.

“They found me,” she says over her shoulder. “They found us.”

“Who found you?” I ask, finally catching up.

She doesn’t answer; instead she stops dead in her tracks. There are men standing like statues on the staircase heading up to the first floor.

Finally coming out of whatever shock she’s in, she goes through the pockets of a tall burly man wearing a leather jacket. Not finding whatever information she was looking for in his wallet, she touches his temple and appears to be concentrating in order to Read.

When she’s done, she takes a gun from the man’s inner pocket and shoots him. The sound of the shot, even with a silencer on the gun, nearly deafens me, and I put my hands up to my ears. She just keeps shooting, over and over. Then, when the gun begins to make clicking sounds, she uses the empty gun to beat the man’s face into a bloody pulp. I’ve never seen anyone as angry, as out of control, as she is. Tears of frustration well up in her eyes, but none fall.

“Mira,” I say gently. “You’re not going to kill him that way. He’ll still be alive when we phase out of the Quiet.”

She goes on with her grisly attack until the gun slips from her fingers. She turns to me, the tears falling now. She brushes them away impatiently, clearly embarrassed that I’ve seen her lose control like this. “I know that—trust me, I know. It doesn’t make a f*cking bit of difference, anything I do to them. But I needed that.” She takes a breath, pulling herself together. “And now we have to run.”

“Wait,” I say. “Can you please explain to me what’s going on?”

“These f*ckers’ friends just kidnapped me,” she says, pushing her way through the rest of the ‘dead’ man’s three companions.

“What? How?”

“They’re after Eugene,” she says, running even faster up the stairs. “They’re taking me hostage in case they don’t find him at home. They want to use me to smoke him out. Only, he is home.”

“What do they want with him?” I ask, confused. Eugene is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I just assumed this whole kidnaping business with Mira had something to do with her gambling adventures. The four men sure look like the same kind of guys as the one we ran into at the sushi restaurant yesterday. Why would they be after Eugene?