The Thought Readers Page 12

  “I couldn’t find any confirmation that these men are the same people who killed Mom and Dad,” he says.

  “That’s not the thing to focus on right now,” I respond. “We have to get you out of this first. Then we have to rescue Mira.”

  “Sorry, you’re right.” He shakes his head like he’s disgusted with himself. “There’s no time to think about revenge—not that I’m in a position to do anything to them right now anyway. I’m not good at thinking under pressure.”

  “It’s fine. But we have to be careful,” I tell him, remembering what I just saw. “Their driver knows what you look like.”

  “I got that much out of Boris,” he says, pointing at the short stocky guy in the tracksuit whose mind Eugene just Read. I internally chuckle, realizing the reason Big Boris needs the ‘Big’ distinction. He’s the second Boris in the group.

  “Walk with me,” I say. “I want to show you where I’m parked.”

  As I lead Eugene to my car, I ask, “Is there a back exit from your building somewhere?”

  “Not that I know of,” he says, scratching his head as we stop in front of my parked car.

  “How about a way to the roof?”

  “That’s through the sixth floor,” he says, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “I think I can get there if I need to.”

  “Okay. Hopefully you won’t have to. First, we need to try for the main door. They’re walking up the stairs. It will take them time to get to your floor. I have an idea—follow me,” I tell Eugene and head back to the building.

  I run up the stairs, pushing the mobsters out of my way. Eugene follows. I pull the elevator door on the second floor. It’s locked. I run to the third floor and do the same thing, getting the same result. The door on the fourth floor opens. So far, so good. I keep running, checking near the elevator doors on every floor until we get to the top, on the sixth.

  “Okay, Eugene. Here’s my plan: they think your elevator is broken. That gives you a good chance. As soon as I phase out and you’re in the real world, press the elevator button. Since the elevator’s on the fourth floor, it should get to you in plenty of time. No one is by the elevator on any of the other floors, so there’s little risk of any slowdowns.”

  “Got it, Darren.” He smiles for the first time since I’ve seen him today. “You know, I could’ve come up with this plan on my own. You’re basically telling me to take the elevator down and walk out.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am. Also, pull up your hoodie and try to hunch as you walk out. Go straight to the car. That’s where I’ll be waiting, keeping it running,” I say. This sounds doable, but I wouldn’t want to be in Eugene’s shoes right now. “If something goes wrong, run for the roof and text me. I’ll phase into the Quiet and come talk to you. Can you phase in every few seconds and walk down to check on the bad guys’ progress?”

  “Yes,” he says. “Since I’ll only be spending a small fraction of my available time in each instance, I should be able to re-enter the Mind Dimension without waiting a long time in-between. Thank you.”

  “Thank me when this is over,” I say and begin to walk down the stairs again. He continues to follow me.

  “Darren,” he says when we reach my frozen body in the lobby. “If something happens to me, promise you’ll help Mira.”

  “I promise,” I say. I have no idea how I’ll do that, but it occurs to me that the last thing Mira made me promise was that I would save him if she didn’t make it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having a sibling after all, the way these two look out for each other.

  “Don’t look guilty as you get out of the building,” he says, looking in the direction where Sergey, the driver, is waiting for his comrades.

  “Same to you,” I say. “See you in a few minutes.”

  We shake hands.

  I take a breath and touch my frozen self on the forehead. The sounds of the world come back.

  Chapter 16

  I do my best to avoid looking suspicious, in case Sergey is watching me from the car. I pat my pockets, take out the car keys, and confidently walk back. The image I’m trying to project is: silly me, I forgot something in the car. I might not win an Oscar for my acting, but hopefully the performance will be enough to keep us off the Russians’ radar.

  As soon as I’m in the car, the first thing I do is fish out the pen I used to sign the receipt for this car rental and the receipt itself. On the back, I write the address and phone number I kept in my head.

  Then I start the car.

  I’ve never been this antsy. I stare at the car’s digital clock, but it seems to have stopped. It feels like half an hour has passed when a single digit on the clock advances one minute.

  The plan initially seemed simple enough—just wait for Eugene. I didn’t expect the suspense to be this torturous. I take a deep breath and mentally count to thirty. It doesn’t work.

  There is something I can do, though, so I phase into the Quiet.

  I’m in the backseat of the car. My frozen self is in the front. I’ve always wondered how the body I get in the Quiet decides where to show up. Of course, there is Eugene’s mention of this possibly not being a real body. That still doesn’t answer it completely. Whatever I inhabit now, who decided it should appear in the backseat? How did it get there? Why not show up, say, outside the car?

  I open the door and get out. Now that he can’t see me staring, I can get a better look at Sergey. He seems to be bored, so I assume I didn’t raise his suspicions. Good. I also note the car he’s driving is actually pretty nice—a Mercedes, no less. Apparently crime does pay.

  I walk into the building. The goons are now approaching the second floor. It’s scary how close they’re getting to Eugene.

  I run all the way up to the fifth floor.

  Thankfully, I see Eugene opening the elevator door. This is it. The plan is working.

  I go back to the car and phase out.

  The noises are back, and the digital clock in the car is supposed to work normally; only it’s still crawling. I wonder if using the Quiet messes with your time perception. I mean, how long can a few minutes last?

  After what seems like another half hour of worry, but really is only three minutes according to the clock, I phase into the Quiet again. Eugene is still not out of the stupid elevator on the second floor.

  I go back, phase out, wait ten seconds, and go back in. I repeat this a couple of times until I see the elevator door open. Yes! Finally.

  Since I’m here anyway, I walk up to check on the mobsters. They’re between the fourth and fifth floors. Satisfied, I go back to the car to phase out again.

  Another few seconds, and I can’t take it anymore. I phase into the Quiet yet again. Eugene is walking to the door in the lobby. His hoodie is pulled up all the way. His hunching is terribly fake, but as long as he doesn’t look like himself, we should be out of this mess in a few seconds. I go back to the car and get out of the Quiet again, only to return a few seconds later.

  Eugene is walking toward me. Sergey, the driver, is looking at him with too much concentration. Oh, no. I walk up to the car and touch Sergey’s temple.

  * * *

  We’re looking at a strange guy who just left the building in a very suspicious manner. He’s trying to hide his face, so we can’t see it, but we think he could be the target. Since we know we’re here on Arkady’s orders, we have to cover our ass. We take out our phone and text Big Boris about seeing something suspicious. Now it can’t be said that we fucked up.

  * * *

  Done Reading the driver, I run back to the car and phase out. I swivel the steering wheel. My foot is on the gas. I shift the gear in the drive position. Then I phase into the Quiet again.

  Eugene is a few steps away from the car. I walk up to him and touch his wrist. A moment later, another Eugene stands next to me, this one fully animated.

  “I made it,” he says on a big exhale, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

  “No. We’re far from ou
t of this. Sergey, the driver, just recognized you.”

  “Fuck. What do we do?”

  “You’ll jump into the car, and as soon as you close the door, I’ll step on the gas. Buckle up as soon as you can—it might be a bumpy ride.”

  “Thank you again, Darren,” he starts saying, and I wave dismissively.

  “As I said before, thank me once we’re out of this.” Hurrying back to the car, I take a deep breath and phase out of the Quiet.

  The next few actions happen in a blur. Eugene runs to the door and jumps into the car. As he closes the door, I stomp on the gas pedal, and we’re at the first intersection in seconds.

  As we pass the next intersection, I realize that I have no idea where I’m going, but it doesn’t matter as long as it’s away from that building. On a whim, I decide to keep going straight, and pump the gas again.

  I’m going fifty miles per hour when I see the next light turning red a few feet away.

  I’m forced to phase into the Quiet. This time, it’s particularly eerie. I’ve never done this in a moving car before. The sounds of the engine, which was working overtime to get us moving faster, are gone. That’s strange enough, but what’s weirder is that the car itself is standing still. Everything in my brain tells me it should at least move a few extra feet according to the law of inertia, but it doesn’t. It’s as still as a rock.

  I realize I should’ve done this phasing business at the last intersection. Or even the one before that. It’s too late now, though, so I might as well get on with it.

  This gives me a chance to check for any pursuers. I walk out of the car and look inside. Through the front window, I see expressions of sheer horror on both my own and Eugene’s faces. I walk to Eugene’s side and reach into the window. Touching his neck makes Eugene’s Quiet incarnation show up in the back seat.

  “Darren, what the fuck are you doing? You can’t Split like this, in the middle of a car chase.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for starters, when you get back, you increase the chance that you’ll lose control of the car.”

  “We’ll have to chance it—I’ll be careful,” I promise. “I had to do it because there was a red light at that intersection.”

  “Shit,” Eugene says, following my gaze. Though here in the Quiet the light is actually dead, he doesn’t doubt my powers of observation. And I’m sure he finally understands: the red light means we’ll need to stop, and stopping is not a good idea when you’ve got a car full of very bad Russian dudes on your tail.

  “Let’s split up,” I say. “I’ll check out this intersection, and you go back and check on our new Russian friends.”

  “Okay,” he says, turning around and running back toward his building.

  I walk more leisurely to the intersection. Eugene has more distance to cover, and I want to give him a head start.

  When I’m standing under the traffic light, I turn left and observe the road.

  The closest car is about half a block away. I walk toward it. It’s a small car, but that doesn’t fill me with confidence. Small or not, if it T-bones us, it will hurt.

  I open the car door. The speedometer is unreadable—another example of defunct electronics in the Quiet.

  I Read the driver. Through his eyes, I learn that he’s going thirty miles per hour. I also learn that he’s late and is about to speed up. It’s unclear what the final speed will be, but I believe he’s about to give a noticeable push on the gas.

  I make some quick estimates and decide that this guy will prevent me from turning right or going forward. I’ll have to at least slow down at the intersection and make sure his car passes.

  On the plus side, the car behind this one is a block away. Since I still have a little time while Eugene does his recon, I run to that car and learn its speed as well. It’s also going thirty, but its driver isn’t in a rush. He’s the type of safe driver who slows down a little before getting to an intersection—which is rare, but admirable.

  I walk back to my rental and spot Eugene running back. I have to say, I’m impressed with his speed.

  “It’s not good, Darren,” he says when I’m within hearing distance. “They’re in the lobby already, and Sergey’s ready to pursue us.”

  “Damn it,” I say, resisting the temptation to kick the car in frustration. “I have bad news, too. We have to actually stop on that light. At least to let this one reckless asshole through.”

  “Okay, but after that, if the path is clear, we need to go,” he says urgently. “I Read them some more. They indeed have orders to kill me—and for running and causing them a headache, Big Boris has decided to make it slow if he gets the chance.”

  “Then it sounds like we don’t really have a choice,” I say, trying not to wonder what Big Boris would do with me. I’m not on the hit list, but I bet to him it would be guilt by association with equally dire consequences. “There’s another car after the one that’s the problem, but I think I can make it. Just tell me, should I turn right here or go straight? Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

  As I ask the last question, I realize that I should’ve brought it up much sooner.

  “There’s one place we can go,” Eugene says. “Mira and I aren’t welcome there. It’s the community where Readers in Brooklyn live. It’s a long shot, but I can’t think of anyone else who could help. They’re located on Sheepshead.”

  “And Sheepshead is where, exactly?” I’m forced to ask. My Brooklyn geography isn’t very strong. All I know is the Brooklyn Bridge and, as of recently, Mira and Eugene’s apartment.

  “Go straight for a bit, then turn left on Avenue Y. It will be a wider street that we’ll approach after a few more blocks. Once on it, we go straight, then right on Ocean Avenue. Straight from there until you hit the canal, after that you have to turn left . . .”

  “All I got is that I’m going straight for now. Give me a heads up a block before we get where I need to turn.”

  “Okay,” he says. “We should Split again shortly and see where they are at that point.”

  “Good plan,” I say and approach the car.

  “Careful,” he reminds me.

  I take a few breaths and prepare for getting back into driving. I even get into the car in the back, hoping it reduces the disorientation I might get somehow. I touch the back of my head, and the next moment I’m in the driver’s seat of the car, my foot instinctively moving from the gas to the brake.

  The braking is sudden, and my sushi lunch threatens to come back up. As soon as the car with the guy in a rush passes, I slam the gas again and go on red. The car behind the one that we let through is approaching, but we clear the intersection safely.

  We get lucky on the next couple of streets—the lights are green. It’s a miracle that we haven’t killed a pedestrian. In Manhattan, we would’ve definitely killed someone by now. People there jaywalk left and right.

  “Avenue Y is next,” Eugene reminds me, though I actually saw this one coming—courtesy of alphabetically ordered street names. We just flew by W, and this one is X.

  “It’s yellow,” I say, looking ahead. “It’ll be red by the time we get there.”

  “Let’s repeat what we did last time,” he suggests, and I immediately agree.

  I phase into the Quiet and pull Eugene in with me. We split up the same way we did the last time.

  As I reach Avenue Y, I see that we’re about to have a big problem.

  There are too many cars here to safely repeat our earlier maneuver.

  I Read the minds of the drivers who’ll be closest to the intersection by the time we arrive. It seems like no one is in a rush, or plans to speed. But it doesn’t matter—we still won’t make it.

  “They’re already approaching Avenue T,” Eugene says when he gets back.

  That means they’re five blocks away.

  “How fast are they going?”

  “They’re insane—pushing a hundred miles an hour. You saw the Mercedes they’re driving.”

>   Our luck is just getting worse. My piece-of-shit rental would be pushing its limits if I tried going that fast, even if I was willing to risk it—which I’m not.

  “Can we afford to wait for the light to change?” I ask.

  “Not according to my calculations. We have to run the red light, and we have to turn right on the next street. We need to get off this main street so they can’t easily catch up with us. It’s my mistake. I should’ve had you turn and zigzag the streets earlier.”

  “I guess we’ll need to phase out regularly and time the turn just right,” I say doubtfully. It sounds like we don’t have a choice.

  The next minute is probably the most nerve-wracking of my life.

  I phase in every second, check the intersection, and come back to the car. Over and over. It’s hard to drive when you come back, and it’s impossible to calculate this whole thing exactly. Still, I think—and Eugene verifies—that I can make the turn if I slow down just a tiny bit to let the Honda closest to us pass by.

  The phasing out makes this process play out slowly, like a frame-by-frame sequence in a one-second-long movie stunt.

  The Honda gently kisses our back bumper. Brakes screech all around us. I phase into the Quiet to learn what the other drivers will do in reaction to the chaos about to take place. Meanwhile, I also learn what they think of my maneuver, me, and all my ancestors. Out of the Quiet, they express their frustration with a deafening orchestra of honking. That cacophony of car horns and swearing is followed by a loud bang.

  The Beemer we just cut off ended up getting rear-ended by an old station wagon. I feel a mixture of guilt and glee. Though no one is visibly hurt, the accident is my fault. On the flip side, however, this might actually slow down our pursuers.

  I push the gas and turn the wheel to the right, getting off Avenue Y as Eugene recommended.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” he says. “Now we need to go a roundabout way, and Split to check on our tail.”

  On Avenue Z, I turn again, and we reach Ocean Avenue uneventfully. The only issue is that we’re unable to find our pursuers in the Quiet. At least, not by looking a few blocks behind. We take it as a good sign. We must have lost them.