Mind's Eye (6 page)

She tried to keep her expression neutral, but failed.

“I don’t need to be a mind reader to know you’re thinking something like,
that’s convenient
. I claim to be able to read minds and you just happen to be the one I can’t read. So I can’t prove it to you. But the fact that you’re the rare person I can’t read is
why
I’m in your office in the first place. I could tell that every other office was occupied. Since I couldn’t read you, I chose this one, thinking it was empty. I was just as surprised as you were when I barged in here.”

She opened her mouth to reply when he rushed ahead. “But I think I can still prove it to you. I have no idea how this ESP, or psionic power, or whatever you want to call it, works. But I think I can read you. But only when you’re formulating words in your mind and just on the cusp of speaking. I don’t know why. So do this. I’ll ask you a question, and you
think
the answer to me in words. Projecting them as firmly as you can. As if you’re speaking them—just don’t move your lips. Okay?”

She nodded.

“What is your name?”

She tilted her head and stared at him.

He grinned. As expected, he had heard her name clearly. “Megan,” he said triumphantly. “Megan Emerson.”

Her eyes widened, but then her shock seemed to fade and she glanced down at her desk, at a business card holder next to a picture of her and several girlfriends in parkas on a ski lift. The outermost business card of the stack was clearly visible, with her name prominently displayed.

“Yeah, I didn’t see the business cards when I asked the question, so yeah, I could have cheated on that one . . . Megan. So let’s try again. Think anything you want, but again, project it to me as though it were speech.”

“Okay, psycho, do I pretend your guess is right?”
she thought, words Hall picked up as clearly as though she had spoken them.
“Will humoring you keep me alive or get me killed?”

“You won’t have to pretend,” said Hall calmly. “Because my guess
will
be right. I may be crazy,” he added as an aside. “I can’t entirely rule it out. But no matter what, I have no interest in hurting you—whether you
humor
me or not,” he finished, raising his eyebrows.

Megan gasped. This time, an intrigued look spread over her face, and he guessed she was about to think at him again.
“That was uncanny,”
she thought.
“But maybe you’ve just
got some kind of psycho gift for reading body language. The question is, can you read my words when I project at you and you’re not prepared?”

“Apparently, yes,” he replied smoothly. “And I’m not just reading body language. Like I said, I can read everyone else’s words and thoughts and . . . everything . . . all of the time, projected or not. To be honest, it’s like having a hornet buzzing around your ear all the time.”

He paused. “I have no idea what makes you different.” He thought the words,
Do you have an unusually weak mind?
but decided not to voice them, since the question was a bit insulting.

Megan’s jaw dropped open. “Did you just think, ‘Do you have an unusually weak mind?’”

7

This time it was Hall’s turn to startle.

He could
send
words as well as receive? Or was it only just with her?

“I didn’t know I could send
until just now,”
he thought at her.
“Very, very cool
,
”
he added.
“Do you mind if I sit
?
”

“Not at all,” she said with a giddy smile. “Un-
fricking
-believable,” she added. “That came through loud and clear.”

She gestured to the one chair facing her as she sat behind her desk, surrounded by an expensive computer and two large monitors. The fear that had hung over her like a cloud since he had entered vanished, to be replaced by utter fascination.

“I take it my ridiculous story is becoming a little less ridiculous?”

“Yeah. Or your insanity is infectious,” she replied.

Hall laughed. The way things had been going, he hadn’t been sure if he would ever laugh again. “Do you get some kind of echo when I speak out loud?” he asked, serious once again. “Like a millisecond after each word starts it’s repeated again?”

She shook her head slowly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hall tilted his head in thought. This effect may have been slight, but it was also unmistakable. The fact that she wasn’t experiencing it meant that when he was speaking aloud, she couldn’t read his words. Only when he was concentrating on amplifying pure thought in her direction did her ability to receive his words kick in. Which wasn’t the case going the other direction. But since he was the epicenter of the effect, he wasn’t surprised it wasn’t symmetrical.

The vast majority of people he could read at all times—in fact, could not
stop
reading. As simply and thoroughly as if their minds were his own. They didn’t know they were being read, and they couldn’t read him.

As for this Megan, her thoughts were completely unreadable. But he could read
words
from her mind. As long as she was either speaking them out loud, or consciously broadcasting them to him. And
he
could transmit words to
her
as well, telepathically. But only when he amplified them somehow through pure thought, which didn’t happen forcefully enough for her to pick up when he was merely speaking.

He wondered what other categories of people might exist. Could he transmit words telepathically to
anyone
? Or was she special in this regard as well? If he stayed alive long enough, perhaps he’d find out.

“So you really did wake up in a dumpster a few hours ago, didn’t you?” said Megan.

Hall smiled sheepishly. “Believe me, it’s not something I’d make up. It wasn’t my proudest moment.” He paused, and then out of the blue added, “Do you have any food in here?”

She opened a drawer and removed a Kit Kat, handing it to him. He tore it open gratefully and devoured it in seconds.

“Not much of a meal,” she commented.

He smiled. “Well, when the last thing you’ve seen that resembled food was in a dumpster, this is heaven.”

Megan returned his smile. Even though they had discovered they could communicate telepathically, they had both fallen back into lifelong patterns of speaking aloud. “So you don’t have any idea who you are? None?”

“I think my name is Nick Hall. At least that’s what the guys trying to kill me think it is.” He paused. “I hesitate to bring this up, but there’s more.”

“More?”

“I seem to be able to access the Internet inside my brain, using my thoughts alone.” He explained to her how the visual and auditory aspect worked.

Megan shrugged. “Why not? Just as plausible as reading minds, I guess.
More
plausible, actually.”

“Hold on a few seconds,” said Hall. “I want to try something.”

He used his internal Internet connection to call up G-mail and establish an account. The username and password information he needed to fill text boxes was typed in magically as soon as he thought the words. “What’s your e-mail address?” he asked.

She told him.

“Check it now,” he said.

“Cassidy,” she said, addressing the Personal Digital Assistant, or PDA, function of her computer using the name she had given it. “Any new messages?”

“One new message from Nick Hall,” replied the soothing feminine voice.

“Read it.”

“Nice to meet you, Megan,”
said the PDA.
“Sorry for dragging you into this
.”

“Awesome,” said Hall excitedly. “Do me a favor and reply.”

This time she ignored her PDA and typed in the message herself. Seconds later Hall scanned the inbox to his new account and her reply was there.

Got any other tricks?
she had written

Hall read this back to her to confirm he had received it, and then, just to satisfy his curiosity, he went on her Facebook page. He found it instantly. He focused his thoughts on her name and Bakersfield, and quickly found her from among the twelve results Facebook returned.

Megan Emerson was twenty-seven and had been born in Keokuk, Iowa. She had graduated from UCLA, and now worked as a graphic designer. Hall may have been fighting for his life, and his psi ability was a nuisance as well as a blessing, but instant access to trillions of pages of information was intoxicating. He decided not to tell Megan he was scanning her public-access information on Facebook. He wouldn’t blame her for finding that a bit creepy.

“How’s your arm?” she asked, nodding toward his blood-soaked shirt. “We should probably get that looked at.”

He raised his eyebrows. “
We?
”

“Yes.
We
,” she repeated. “Maybe it’s the Florence Nightingale syndrome. Or maybe it’s just the joy of being alive when I was sure you were going to kill me. Or maybe meeting someone with ESP is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. But I want to help. You need to figure out who you are. Two minds are better than one. Even if one of them is, um, apparently so weak you can’t even read it.”

Hall winced. “It was a stupid hypothesis. You’re obviously very bright. I was just trying to figure out why you’re different. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I can’t tell you how appealing your offer is to me. How disorienting and terrible it is not to know who you are. It’s a state of aloneness that’s unimaginable. I don’t have any friends in the world, at least none that I’m aware of, and I don’t even have a sense of self to anchor me.” He sighed. “But as much as I would love your help, I have to refuse. Trust me when I say that my odds of living out the day aren’t all that great. I won’t put you in that kind of danger.”

Megan considered, and he could tell she was struggling with how much she wanted to persist. The most exciting and intriguing thing that ever happened to her was also the deadliest. In the end, it was obvious he was right, no matter how eager she was to help and become a part of the inexplicable phenomenon that was Nick Hall. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “You’re right.” She paused. “You may not know who you are, but at least you’re a decent man.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Well, taking me up on my offer would have been good for you. But you refused to put me in jeopardy.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t prove I’m a decent guy. Just that I’m not a raving psychopath. Believe me, no one being hunted like this would be willing to put an innocent bystander in the line of fire, just because she happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Megan laughed. “Yeah, who knew that the wrong place at the wrong time would be my own office during regular work hours.”

Hall liked her already, and her help really could prove invaluable in understanding what was going on. Two heads really were better than one. And even if not, the boost to his psychological well-being would be enormous. She could be the eye of the hurricane raging around him. She was already closer to him than anyone in the world—anyone he could remember, at least. And she shared his secret. Validated his sanity.

Leaving her now to face his predicament utterly alone seemed as daunting as willing his fingers to let go of a rope hanging hundreds of feet above jagged rocks. But he had to do it. The longer he stayed here, the more he endangered her.

And it occurred to him that holing up here might not have been a great idea, anyway. Even if the men after him couldn’t identify Radich’s car from the road, they could well be able to track its location.

“There is one thing you can do to help,” he said.

Megan studied him expectantly.

“Do you have a car?”

She nodded. “It’s parked in the back lot. A yellow Ford Taurus.”

“Would you mind if I borrowed it? The longer I stay here, the more dangerous. And they know the car I drove here in. But they won’t be looking for your Taurus. I just need to drive it somewhere else. Where I can go to ground for a while until the heat is off.”

“You sound like a bad crime drama on TV.”

“I
feel
like a bad crime drama on TV,” he replied.

Hall reached into his pocket and handed her two twenties from the money he had taken from Baldino. “This should cover cab fare to retrieve your car. I’ll send you an e-mail telling you where I left it, and where I left the keys.” He paused. “Any other exit out to your car other than the main lobby?”