The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(9)
“You’ll be as good as new when we get back to our bodies,” he says, sounding utterly unapologetic.
“Fuck you.” Even to my own ears, I sound like the sore loser in a schoolyard brawl.
“Here, lean on me as we walk out,” he says, offering me his hand. I make him wait a couple of minutes, standing there in a strange hand-extended pose. When the pain subsides a little, I take the proffered hand.
Barely able to walk, I make my way out of Haim’s sister’s house. As soon as I’m standing next to my frozen self, I grab my elbow to phase out.
Chapter 5
The world comes back to life, the pain instantly gone. The sudden lack of agony feels like pleasure for a moment. It overtakes me as we start our mad drive deeper into Brooklyn.
Immersed in that bizarre lack-of-agony bliss, I’m thankful yet again for this particular property of phasing out: the fact that leaving the Quiet undoes any physical damage you receive while inside. However, I now know there’s something irreparable that can happen to you in the Quiet.
Dying.
While I’m not yet sure how it works, I know Caleb was trying to kill that Pusher in the Quiet. His thoughts were clear on the matter—the Pusher was going to be erased from existence. Caleb had one-hundred-percent conviction of that.
I guess on some level I knew that death in the Quiet was a possibility, which is why I never tried to off myself there. A little cutting, sure, but I always avoided anything potentially fatal. I always had a feeling, an intuition, that if I died in the Quiet, it might spill over into reality.
“Am I getting the silent treatment the rest of the way?” Caleb says, pulling me from my morbid contemplation.
I realize that we’ve been driving in silence for a while. Caleb probably assumes I’m pissed about that below-the-belt hit of his. And I am, but it’s a tiny part of my concerns at the moment.
“I’m just thinking about what happened. Why we saw the specific memories we did,” I say, only half-lying.
“Someone told me once that you tend to find the memory your conscious—or sometimes subconscious—mind is dwelling on,” he explains. He shrugs, like he’s not sure whether that makes sense or not. “Seemed like a good enough explanation to me.”
It makes sense. Caleb asked me to seek out violent fighting memories, and I saw his training. I had been wondering what Readers do to Pushers, and I got that memory. Now I just need to make sure my Pusher connection stays hidden. Caleb clearly didn’t access that memory of mine, and I want to keep it that way. I’m more certain than ever that I don’t want Readers to know anything about my secret.
“So that’s why I saw all that violence in your head,” I say. It’s a calculated statement. I’m trying to cover up, since I just realized I could’ve given myself away by accessing that Pusher-related memory of his. If I can convince him that a Pusher being in the memory was just a coincidence and that violence was the real reason that moment in time popped up, he hopefully will never draw any other conclusion.
Caleb sighs at my statement. “That’s not the only reason. When you get into my head, violence is what you’ll find, no matter what your other interests are. There’s not much else in there. You won’t find two loving mommies, or puppies and rainbows.”
Though he’s trying to be sarcastic, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pity. He sounds almost wistful. Is this cold-blooded killer wishing he had happier memories?
“Darren,” he says as I ponder this. His tone is different now, harder to pin down. I’m not sure I like it. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”
My stomach twists. Does he know about my Pushing abilities after all?
“If Jacob asks you about Julia—which I don’t think he will—say you don’t know anything,” he says, and I expel a relieved breath. I now understand the tone. It’s worry, which sounds unnatural for Caleb. That’s two unexpected emotions in a row. Did our being in each other’s heads do something to him?
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound like it’s no big deal. “No problem. But why?”
“Since she’s recovering, I don’t see any need to worry her parents. Plus, she wouldn’t want her father to know she helped Mira and got shot,” he says curtly.
I get it now. It’s not just Julia who doesn’t want that. Caleb allowed his boss’s daughter to get shot. I get the sense his ass is grass if Jacob finds out the truth.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I say, possibly overacting a bit.
He doesn’t respond, and silence falls again as we continue riding.
As we leave all the other cars behind in the mad rush to the Reader community, I think some more about what just happened. In theory, I should have some seriously impressive fighting skills for the first time in my life. And I don’t mean simply being able to kick ass in a bar brawl either—what Haim did went way beyond kicking some dumb jock’s butt. It’s an exciting thought. If, by some misfortune, I get into a fight, I’ll be able to hold my own. In theory, at least.
Recognizing the view outside, I realize we’re passing by the canal—that small body of water on what Eugene called Sheepshead. We’re on Emmons Avenue, the street where those mobsters were shooting at Eugene and me just yesterday. We’re almost at the community, and I wonder again what Jacob wants.