The Mind Readers (30 page)

His lips lifted into a snarl,
those blue eyes flashing as cold as ice. “I said you were good, but I didn’t
say you were better than me.” Before I could even blink, sharp pain sliced
through my brain. I screamed out, arching my back, jerking against my bindings
like a worm on a hook.

“I told you it would go better
if you relaxed. I gave you a chance,” Aaron’s voice managed to weave its way
through my pain.

Frantically, I tried to imagine
those steel walls. But the images slipped away as quickly as they came. Gone,
like ghostly memories and I was left standing in darkness, the pain roaring
through my body like fire. The pain increased, twisting, slicing through my
mind like a corkscrew. The only thing connecting me to reality was the
awareness of my hot tears slipping down my cheeks.

“Enough,” I heard someone
demand, the strength in his voice giving me hope, hope that this would all
end…the pain…the suffering…

Then I heard no more and my hope
faded as quickly as it had come. Memories slipped through my mind, floating by
me like movies on a theater screen. My memories.

Me, crying as my mom dropped me off at Grandma’s.

Sleepless nights, too scared to close my eyes in an unfamiliar home.

The police coming to our home in Michigan because the neighbors thought
something was off with me and they’d heard the rumors.

All these memories flashed
quickly through my mind like Aaron had my brain on fast-forward. Suddenly, I
was standing at Lakeside and everything slowed. The colors became pristine. I
felt the cold autumn wind, smelled the scent of salt water, heard the horrified
shouts from the students around me.

My heart slammed wildly against
my chest. I was there, in that moment, reliving Savannah’s death. Slowly, I
turned and there was Lewis standing in the parking lot. The first time I’d seen
him. Lakeside disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

Lewis, at the front of the class, looking at me.

Lewis, walking with me down the hall as he hinted that he could read
minds.

Lewis. Lewis. Lewis.
 

And I knew Aaron had reached the
memories he needed. The memories he would steal. The memories that warmed my
heart at night. The memories that made me want to be here, alive, now.

“No!” I screamed, jerking
against my bindings. But even though I could have sworn my eyes were wide open,
I saw no one in the room, only my memories. “No, please!” He would take my
memories. He would take Lewis from me forever. “Please, Lewis!”

But no one came and my memories
kept shifting, slipping past me without my consent.
 

Lewis and me on the ferry coming over to the island.

Me looking out my bedroom window and seeing Caroline below.

Me being pulled from that drainage pipe.

And then it stopped. Just as
suddenly as the memories had come, they stopped. Everything went black.

I didn’t know where I was. I
didn’t understand. I couldn’t feel my body. For one long moment I merely stared
into that darkness, floating, waiting…too afraid and confused to move. I was
only a conscious mind in some dark reality. At the edges of that darkness, was
a thrumming pain threatening to flare to life.

“Please!” I cried out, my voice
hollow, echoing in the empty space that had somehow become my world.

Was I dead?

“Enough!” A deep voice growled,
shaking the very air around me.

I didn’t know if he was talking
to me and I didn’t care. It was an unfamiliar voice, but I grasped onto it
anyway, my lifeline, my way out of this nothingness. Suddenly, I felt heavy, as
if I was sinking…sinking into something thick, like quicksand. Warmth flooded
my body, starting at my toes and seeping upward, and with the warmth the ache
in my head flared to life. Vaguely I became aware of something wet trailing
from my nostrils to my lips and into my mouth. The metallic taste of blood
swept over my tongue. I grimaced, my stomach revolting.
 

“Open your eyes. Come on,
Sweetheart.”

I didn’t want to open my eyes. I
wanted to sink back into that darkness, sink away from the pain thumping
against the side of my head. Warm palms cupped my cheeks, anchoring me to
reality. The man was persistent. Slowly, I lifted my lashes. A face wavered
before me, a masculine face of hard planes and all I could think about was how
he’d look so much better without that dark beard over his cheeks and chin.

Worried gray eyes studied me.
“You’ll be all right,” the man insisted.

But I didn’t care. My mind was
spinning, my stomach clenched into a tight knot so I thought I’d be sick. Too
weak to speak, I closed my eyes again. I was vaguely aware of someone pulling
at my arms, then my legs. With nothing to hold me up, I slouched into a hard form.
Apparently my bones had disappeared. Muscled arms slipped under my legs and
around my back, pulling me close to a warm body.

“Cam, Cam, please, dear God,
please look at me.” It was a different voice calling to me. A male voice that
sent my heart racing for some odd reason.

I wanted to look at the speaker.
I wanted to look at whoever was calling to me. If it was the last thing I did,
I knew I needed to look at him. Slowly, I lifted my eyes. A concerned blue gaze
stared down at me. Someone familiar; this man slightly younger than the one
holding me. Someone I should know, but couldn’t place.
 

“Please Cameron, please talk to
me.”

But I couldn’t talk because
blood was seeping down my throat, and the taste was making me nauseous. My
stomach twisted. I felt cold, bitterly cold. Voices came in and out of focus.
Faces appeared hovering over me, shadows that came and went like the sun. Was I
dreaming? Maybe dying. Yes, probably dying.
 

“Take her,” someone said. “Take
her to her grandmother. Hurry.”

I was moving, floating, those
muscled arms still around me; warm, and comforting. A heart beat strong and
sure against the side of my arm. Someone was carrying me, someone human. No
Angel of Death. I tilted my head back and stared into the man’s gray gaze.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he
carried me through a door and into a hall. “Let go, Cameron. Just let go.”

And so I did.

I closed my eyes and let the
world fade to nothing.

Chapter 22

Six Months Later

The woman sitting at the table
across from me was thinking about having an affair with her Scuba instructor.

She was imagining his dark skin
glistening under the warm sun, his muscles flexing as he wrapped his arms
around her waist and lowered his mouth to hers. Or maybe, she thought, she’d
have an affair with the guy who cleaned her pool. Her husband was heading back
to the U.S.
for business and would never know.

I wanted to tell her it wouldn’t
work, that in those Desperate Housewife shows, they always suspected the pool guy.
Instead, I hid my grin by lowering my head and swiping down the counter where
I’d been serving fruity drinks, hotdogs and meat pies since eleven this
morning.

I wished she’d keep her R-rated
thoughts to herself. I really didn’t want to imagine her, her Scuba instructor,
or the Pool guy naked. But I guess she couldn’t help it. The thoughts seeped
from her mind like the warm breeze currently drifting in from the Caribbean Sea.

Their hopes, their dreams, their
nightmares…

What they thought about,
I
thought about.

Sometimes it really sucked to be
able to read minds.

With a sigh I focused on the ocean
not twenty feet from me. The soft roar of the waves was always calming. Sure,
our little café wasn’t exactly Five Star, but you couldn’t beat the view. Pink
and orange rays from the setting sun pierced the late afternoon clouds,
trailing pastel fingers across the waves. The telltale fins of dolphins crested
the water’s surface, always thrilling me like a kid on Christmas morning. And
you couldn’t beat the uniform, shorts and a tank top.

It was hard to believe that just
seven months ago I was freezing in Maine, forced to wake up every morning at
six and trudge to a school where I had to pretend to be normal. No more hiding.
No more pretending. This…this was freedom. And I wasn’t going to waste another
moment.
 

“Closing time.”

I pressed stop on the CD player,
putting an end to Bob Marley, for today at least. The evening was cool and
promising. I hopped over the counter, my bare feet sinking into the sand. Why
wear shoes when you lived on the beach?

“Anyone need a drink for the ride
home?”

The natives eating meat pies shook
their heads, their thoughts on sleep. With a wave, they stood from their wooden
benches, taking their pies with them, and made their way toward their bikes.
They were regulars who often stopped on their way home from work.
 

But Mrs. Miller, the woman who was
thinking of seducing the hired help, still sat at her small table, looking lost
and forlorn, almost like some cartoon orphan child. She was lonely. She didn’t
want to go home to an empty house, even if her house was a mansion. I felt bad
for her, but not bad enough to stick around and listen to her sob story.

Besides, today was my birthday.
Today I was eighteen. No way in heck I was working any longer then I had to.
Funny how a year could make such a difference in a person’s life. Gazing out at
the water, I pulled my dark hair from the ponytail I’d secured this morning,
massaging my scalp. Only a short time ago my need to please would have had me
walking over to Mrs. Miller and asking her if she was okay. Not now. Nope, when
you faced death things changed, big time.

“It’s so quiet here,” the woman
drawled in her southern accent.

I nodded noncommittally, not daring
to look her in the eyes. I wasn’t going to be sucked in by the puppy-dog gaze. Instead,
I welcomed the breeze ruffling my hair, focusing on the swaying palm trees. Of
course it was quiet. It was paradise. A paradise I’d craved after being in a
hospital for over a month. And don’t bother asking what was wrong with me, they
never did figure it out, the doctor saying some nonsense about how sometimes
people slipped into comas for no reason.

Whatever. It didn’t matter because
I wasn’t going to waste any more time hiding, or trying to please others. Those
months of illness had been a blessing. Grandma had apparently been thinking the
same thing. The moment I’d regained consciousness, she had packed our bags,
sold the house in Maine and we’d ended up here. I sure as heck wasn’t going to
complain.

I paused, listening to the sad cry
of a Gull. Still…there were times when I felt like I’d missed something…something
important. The doctors claimed a coma would do that to a person, make them feel
lost. But there were also times when I’d catch my Grandma watching me with this
odd combination of sadness and worry in her hazel gaze, as if she knew
something I didn’t.
 

“Guess I should head home,” Mrs.
Miller said in that sugary drawl.

She stood, slapped a huge straw hat
on her bleached blonde hair and sauntered toward her small, red convertible.
She wasn’t our typical customer, but she’d stopped by once and liked the place
because we seemed to know
exactly
what she wanted even before she said a word. Yep, to her, we were the perfect
little servants.

I gave her a wave as she drove
away, then swiped down the small benches and tables that seated our customers.
Our restaurant, if you could call it that, boasted three tables and a small
bar, all outside seating. Still, it was ours, Grandma and me, and we had plans
to expand eventually…when we weren’t busy sunbathing, snorkeling and collecting
shells.

“All done?” Grandma asked,
strolling out of the small abode where she’d been cooking. She hung her white
apron on the hook outside the door. It was hot work, but we could always take a
break and dip into the ocean for a quick swim. Really, my job couldn’t get any
better. I was even second guessing college. Why leave this paradise?

“Yep.” I picked up the few pieces
of trash that littered the white sand, stuffing them into the trash bag Grandma
had grabbed.

I’d been living with her since I
was five and my mind-reading ability had surfaced. Mom pretty much thought I
was a freak and shoved me into Grandma’s capable arms, the one person who
understood. Another freak. Yep, Grandma, too, could read minds which made it
hard for me to sneak out after curfew. Even though we had that ability in
common, it didn’t mean we got along. Until my illness, we’d rarely had a civil
conversation.

“I’m heading home now,” she said.

Home was a two bedroom cottage
across the street that hung heavy with white Jasmine, a fragrant flower I could
smell through my bedroom window at night.

“Okay, I’m almost done.”

She paused at the road, her short
dark hair wavering on the cool breeze. “Whose pink moped?”

I shrugged and made my way toward
her. It was a cute Vespa, a soft pink in color with a white helmet dangling
from the handlebar. I’d been admiring it earlier and even now couldn’t resist
running my fingers over the seat.
 

“Not sure. It’s been here awhile
though. Was here when I got in this morning.” I frowned, glancing at the beach
where palm trees swayed on the breeze. The ocean might look peaceful, but
underneath was a world of danger to unsuspecting victims. “Should we be
concerned?”

It had been known to happen that
tourists would go snorkeling and be taken out by the current, never to be seen
again.

Grandma grinned, a mischievous
sparkle in her eyes. She wasn’t like most Grandmas and looked younger than she
was. We spent many mornings hiking the island, exploring waterfalls and bays.
“Nah. I think I know who the owner is.”