The Thought Readers (9 page)

It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for the psyche. As I’m eating my morning oatmeal, I see the events and revelations of the prior day in a brand-new light. Even the adoption thing seems like something I can deal with.

I try to put myself in my moms’ shoes. Let’s say my friend Bert told me a strange secret. Let’s further suppose he asked me not to tell it to anyone, and then died. Surely that would count as sort of like someone’s dying wish. And as such, it would undoubtedly be hard to reveal the secret in those circumstances. Could that be part of the reason for my moms’ lack of communication?

Now that I’m more rested, I also realize another aspect of my new situation: I might have some family I’ve never met. Grandmothers and grandfathers I didn’t know existed. Maybe uncles and cousins. All of these new family members are probably out there in the mysterious Reader community. It’s too bad Eugene and Mira are not part of said community. If they were, I would have a way of getting introduced to other Readers. Maybe I’d even meet my extended family and learn more about my heritage.

Also, now that I’m not so stressed, knowledge of my newfound skills begins to excite me. I mean, think of the possibilities. It reminds me of middle school, when I first mastered the Quiet. I’d had a ton of fun sneaking into the girl’s locker room unnoticed, reading my first girlfriend’s diary, spying on hot older women . . . Now that I think about it, there was definitely a pattern to my early use of the Quiet.

All those things, however, pale in comparison to what Reading will let me do. It’s almost best that I only learned about it now, when I’m more mature and better able to use this power responsibly.

The choice for my first destination is easy.

Finishing breakfast, I get dressed. I grab a Blu-ray disk that I should’ve returned ages ago and go to the third floor of my building.

I only went out with Jenny a few times. She’s not in any way special among my ex-girlfriends, except for one thing—proximity. She lives in my building, which naturally makes her my first stop. Now what was I saying about being mature enough to handle this responsibly?

Stopping in front of her apartment door, I ring the doorbell.

Jenny opens the door. “Darren?” she says, looking at me. I’m tempted to deny it, to say that I’m not Darren, but figure she’s not in the mood for jokes.

“I found this movie I borrowed from you,” I say instead. “I wanted to give it back.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess. I’m just surprised to see you.” She doesn’t look just surprised, though—she looks angry. Or at least a little unnerved. Figuring there’s no time like the present, I phase into the Quiet.

There had been a slight buzzing in the hallways of my apartment building, something I only realize now because it’s gone. It’s interesting how we ignore constant noises like that. I started becoming more cognizant of just how much we don’t register about our surroundings when I first began phasing into the Quiet. So much happens around us that our conscious mind misses.

I touch Jenny’s forehead. Though I had been conflicted about touching women in the Quiet, I decide that this is different. Or that Reading is worth it. It’s easy to convince myself to let go of certain principles when they get in the way of something I really want.

I try to get into Coherence. It’s even easier this time. As soon as I’m in, I do the lightness bit in order to jump deeper into her thoughts—otherwise all I’ll see is her opening the door for me, which is boring.

* * *

We’re at a club, making out with a girlfriend in order to get attention from the guys. Though this is not where I, Darren, intended to end up, I’m content to stay for a little while. I try to absorb every moment. We dance and grind with Judy, but it’s all just for fun, a way to get attention. Eventually I, Darren, lose interest and try to go deeper.

We’re getting ready to meet with Darren again. We’re a little sad about our relationship with him. He used to be so hot—until he paid attention to us. At that point, his appeal dropped drastically. Why does that always happen to us?

No, we have to stop being our own worst critic. It could be Darren who’s the problem, not us. When we saw him at that party in the penthouse, he seemed so confident and cocky, exactly what turns us on. But then he didn’t ask us to go to his place that night, coming up with some lame coffee date instead. That’s on him. Unless of course we start worrying about being a slut. We wish one day the inner critic would just shut the fuck up.

We pick the outfit for this evening very carefully. The new bra and panties should go a long way. I, Darren, think I recognize what day this is, so I jump further, to the part of her life I actually came here to witness.

Darren is standing without his shirt in our bedroom. He’s in great shape. We hope we turn him on. As things progress, we worry a lot less about anything, instead focusing on what we’re feeling as we give in to the purely physical part of ourselves.

When the experience is over, I, Darren, jump out.

* * *

I’m back in the Quiet. Okay, yeah. I wanted to experience what sex is like for a girl. And what better way to do so than to find out what it would be like to have sex with
me
? Not to mention, I’m not entirely sure how I’d feel about experiencing sex as a girl with a guy who’s not me. There’s no way I’m sharing this with my therapist. She’d have a field day with it.

Both Coherence and moving about in people’s memories are getting easier for me already. This reminds me of when I first discovered being able to go into the Quiet.

Skills improve with experience. With the first few trips into the Quiet, it took being near death to activate the strange experience. A fall from a bike was only the first. There was also a fall off a roof into a sandbox, and a bunch of other stunts culminating in the time I fell into that manhole. Crazy, right? Who falls into a manhole? According to my moms, their childhood nickname for me was Taz, after the Tasmanian Devil from the cartoons. That’s how much trouble I used to get into. But at least it gave me practice when it came to near-death experiences.

Then it started happening under less dire circumstances, like the time I got into a fight with our school bully, John. I still hate that guy. I momentarily contemplate finding him, Reading his mind, and messing with him. I decide against it for now. I would need to locate the prick, and that’s too much of a bother at the moment.

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.

I, Darren, decide I’ve had enough and jump out.

* * *

I’m speechless, torn between empathy and glee.

I do feel bad for Jason. It’s painful to see legendary people like that fall. His disappointment is intense. His wife is getting him through it, though, and that’s encouraging. Maybe there is something to the whole marriage thing after all. And he’s probably wrong about his wife—I bet she understands what’s about to come down. She probably just knows the right things to say to her husband. On a slightly more positive side, I’m glad he wasn’t contemplating something insane, like blowing his brains out. I don’t know what I’d do in that case. Would I try to stop him? Probably I would, though how to start that conversation without seeming like a lunatic is beyond me.

Anyway, I can’t dwell on these depressing thoughts. Not when Jason’s tragedy can be my get-rich-ridiculously-quick scheme.

I phase out, and on an impulse, I take out my phone. Did I mention I love smartphones? Anyway, I bring up my trading app. The bank’s stock is the highest it’s been in the past four years. Clearly nobody has any idea what’s about to happen.

I have to act. I check on the price of put options. Those are basically contracts with someone assuring you they’ll buy from you at an agreed-upon price within a given time period. It turns out that an option to sell at a lower price than where the stock is right now is dirt-cheap. That’s because put options are like insurance, and in this case, people are betting the price will be steady or higher. I have thirty-two thousand dollars in cash in my trading account, and I use it all to buy the put options.

With some very conservative assumptions, if the stock drops even ten percent, I’ll still be able to make a lot, either by selling the options or exercising them. If the stock completely tanks, like that of the ‘too big to fail’ banks during the crisis, I might end up making a cool million from the money I just invested. And, of course, I’ll invest more of my money when I’m near a computer. There’s only so much you can do on the phone. I think I might even put all of my savings into this, though I have to be careful. The SEC might wonder about me if I go overboard. Also, what if I Read someone else and get an even better tip? My money would be locked up for a few weeks. Though, I have to admit, it’s hard to picture a better scenario.