The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions Book 2) (21 page)

Sam grunts and yells out in response, “Mira, stop him, and you and your brother will be welcomed with open arms in our community! This man is being controlled by a powerful Pusher. I need your help. Jacob needs your help. Shoot him! Now!”

“It’s you I’m going to kill first, not him,” Mira hisses, her aim unwavering. “And Jacob—I’m going to make him suffer.” And with that, she squeezes the trigger.

At the deafening gunshot blast, Sam rapidly twists his body, and it’s Arkady’s head that explodes into little pieces instead of his own.

As I watch all this, I continue running.

Mira, unfazed by her miss, shoots at Sam. To my horror, Sam does the rolling thing he did in the Quiet. Only he does it even faster, avoiding Mira’s bullet with uncanny precision. He seems to have started moving before Mira even squeezed the trigger. And then I understand: he can phase into the Quiet. He must be using that ability to anticipate Mira’s movements.

Mira begins to back away toward me, still shooting in Sam’s direction. Sam rolls again and stabs one of the Russians who are holding Jacob. There is a loud scream as his knife connects with the gangster’s shoulder.

“Stop it, you insane Leacher! Stop or you’ll be killed,” the injured man screams, letting go of Jacob to clutch at his shoulder. Ignoring his words, Sam stabs the man again, this time in the heart.

“Okay, fine,” the guy rasps out, blood bubbling up on his lips as he falls to the ground. “You leave us no choice.”

That’s Hillary talking, I remind myself again.

“Darren, move to the right!” yells a chorus of civilians who are lying on the ground around me. My aunt again. “Now!”

Without thinking, I jump to the right and immediately hear a gunshot. Glancing back, I see Thomas standing a dozen yards away with a rifle in his hands. When I turn back to the scene ahead, I see Sam falling, with the top of his head blown into pieces.

“Now, you fucking stay down, Leacher,” the other Russian who was holding Jacob says. I can’t believe it’s Hillary again. She sounds utterly cold. I guess if anyone could drive my pacifist aunt to bloodlust, Sam was the guy.

And then I realize she’s not gloating at Sam being shot. She’s talking to Jacob. He’s managed to free himself from the Russian’s hold and is reaching for the knife Sam dropped when he died.

“Mira, you’re in Thomas’s way,” the Russian says. “Move, so he can take the shot.”

I raise my own gun, but this time I’m somewhat reluctant to pull the trigger. If this were Sam, I would’ve shot him without a second thought. But this is Jacob. He knew my father. He can give me answers about my family.

Instead of moving as Hillary commanded, Mira is also raising her gun. She’s apparently determined to kill Jacob on her own.

Taking aim, she squeezes the trigger.

Instead of a bang, there is a quiet click. Jacob is still standing there, unharmed.

Her gun is out of bullets.

Jacob blinks. He looks almost surprised to still be alive. Then he looks at the knife in his hand and, grabbing it by the blade, raises it over his shoulder.

I’m gripped by a horrible sense of déjà vu. He’s raising the knife for a throw at Mira—just like Sam did in the Quiet.

This can’t be happening again.

I won’t let it.

Without thinking even a second longer, I shoot. The knife is still in Jacob’s hand, so I fire again and again. Mindlessly. Furiously.

I don’t stop squeezing the trigger until I’m out of bullets.

As the haze of rage clears from my mind, I see that the knife is no longer in Jacob’s hand. It’s on the ground, and so is the man himself, his chest covered with blood.

Numb, I stand there and stare at the man I killed, one thought foremost in my mind.

Mira is okay. That’s all that matters.

“Let’s go, Darren,” the people lying around me chant in Hillary-Guided chorus. “It’s time to go.”

Shaking off my stupor, I begin to head back, only to realize that Mira is not with me. Instead of following me, she’s walking to where Jacob’s body is lying. Reaching him, she starts going through his pockets. Then she picks up another gun off the ground and shoots Jacob in the head.

I wonder if that means my own shots didn’t kill him—and then I wonder why I care either way. He was about to kill Mira. How could I not shoot?

Her grisly task accomplished, Mira picks up the briefcase Jacob had been holding earlier—the one that flew open in the Quiet but is still intact here—and walks toward me.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, her face pale and resolute.

I look at her without comprehension.

“It’s over,” she says gently. “Now we go.” And looping her arm through mine, she starts pulling me away.

As we walk, the enormity of what just occurred dawns on me. Arkady, Sam, Jacob, the other Russian mobsters—they’re all dead, and we were nearly killed ourselves. To say that I’m pushing the limits of my ability to cope with seeing Mira nearly die would be a massive understatement.

Lost in thought, I let her steer me toward Thomas, who’s standing there waiting for us. Eugene is limping our way as well, looking extremely relieved to see Mira and everyone else intact.

“Good work,” Thomas says to me as we approach. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t take my own shot. She was in the way.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, feeling incredibly drained.

“You,” Thomas says, looking at Mira and shaking his head. “You’re the most reckless woman I’ve ever met.”

She doesn’t respond. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks subdued. Serene, almost.

Thomas’s black van, now with a broken bumper, is waiting by the curb as we head back to the road. Some guy I’ve never met is sitting behind the wheel.

“I don’t know how to drive,” Hillary explains from the back seat. “So I had this guy bring the car over.”

“Thanks,” Thomas says. “He can go now.”

“Thank you, Robert,” Hillary says to the driver. “Your car is where you left it. You can go.”

The guy gets out and starts walking away, a blank look on his face.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Hillary motions for us to get in. “It’s over. Now let’s get out of here.”

Her words prompt everyone into action. Thomas gets behind the wheel, and we all get inside.

I look back as we drive away and see people still running away from Brooklyn Bridge.

As we drive uptown, I realize that I need to pull myself together. The drained feeling is overwhelming.

“I killed someone again,” I finally say, speaking to no one in particular. “I really didn’t want to.”

“Don’t feel bad about that,” Mira says. “That fucker killed our parents. And possibly your parents, too. Besides, you just shot him. I’m the one who actually killed him.”

So Jacob wasn’t dead when Mira got there.

“I don’t know if that helps,” I say. “I knew him, you know. That makes it different, somehow.”

“You should talk to Liz once everything settles down,” Thomas recommends. “She can help.”

Yes, talk to my therapist. That would be a good start. But I need something else right now. Something more immediate.

I need some information and some time to think things through.

“Can someone please tell me who the hell those men were?” Thomas inquires. “The people we just killed. What the hell was all that about
?
They were some of yours, obviously . . . Some Leachers, weren’t they?”

“They were
Readers
,” I say, emphasizing the proper term. I don’t like double standards, and if Hillary and Thomas want to be called Guides rather than Pushers, they should return the favor. “The big bodyguard type you shot was one of their top security personnel, and the older, less-threatening-looking one that I killed—or Mira killed—was Jacob, that community’s leader.”

“Okay. But we came to get one of us—a rogue Guide,” Thomas says patiently. “What happened? How did you guys get it so wrong?”

“Darren, do you want to play the detective?” Mira suggests. “Your guess is going to be as good as mine.”

“Well,” I say slowly, trying to think through the fog still filling my mind, “it sounds like Jacob killed your family because of your father’s research. Because Jacob was a Purist, the research your father was doing might’ve been unacceptable to him.” That’s the only thing that makes sense to me, at least.

“What’s a Purist, and what is this research?” Thomas asks.

“Purists sound a lot like the Reader version of Traditionalists,” I explain, amazed to be the one who has the answers for once.

“And my brother’s research is none of Pushers’ business,” Mira says before her brother can start going into an explanation.

“But what about the Guide we went to see in the first place?” Hillary says, confused. “You’re saying there was no such Guide?”

“No,” I say. “That’s the weird part. Mira found signs of a Guide when she researched her parents’ murder. And she wasn’t the only one. I saw signs of a Guide when we were rescuing Mira the other day, and again when that nurse tried to kill me. That means that unequivocally, there’s one involved. Maybe he was working with Jacob?”

“Working together?” Hillary says. “I doubt our Traditionalists would even talk to a Reader, let alone work with one.”

“Same for our Purists,” Eugene says.

“Be that as it may, evidence seems to suggest otherwise,” I say. “In Arkady’s mind, I saw the Pusher erasing Arkady’s memories of Jacob sanctioning some hits. That would only make sense if they were working as a team.”

“If they did team up, it would be a hypocrisy of unbelievable proportions,” Hillary says. “Traditionalists are the very people who hate Readers the most, and I’m guessing the same applies to their Purist brethren.”

“Purists hate you people with an almost religious fervor,” Eugene confirms. “Working with a Pusher would be like making a deal with the devil for them.”

“Maybe these two joined forces to fight an even bigger devil,” I speculate. “A temporary alliance, perhaps? I mean, we saw today how powerful a team of Readers and Guides can be. Maybe they united for some common cause . . . like to kill
me
—the abomination.”

“I don’t know about that. After all, you didn’t exist to them until recently,” Eugene says. “Unless their union goes way back to your parents’ time—which is possible, I suppose. But getting rid of my father’s—and now my—research is a more likely motivation.”

“So you mean I’m not done.” Mira sounds more weary than angry. “You think there’s another person, a Guide, who had something to do with our parents’ death.”

“I think I speak for everyone when I say you can call
that
person a Pusher, Mira,” I say. “But my intuition tells me that Jacob is the one to blame for your parents’ death. After all, he was the one who ordered the hit on them.”

“You’re more than done, Mirochka,” Eugene chimes in. “You killed the people directly responsible for it. It’s time to move on. Start to live your life again.”

“He’s right,” I say. “Let Guides deal with that Traditionalist Pusher problem. Let
me
deal with it. Maybe it’s as simple as ratting out this Pusher to his fellow Traditionalists. They might not approve of his allegiances. What do you think, Hillary?”

“That could work. Let me think about that,” Hillary says pensively.

Mira just sits there quietly, her expression unreadable. I guess she has a lot to mull over. I sure hope she decides that her revenge is officially over. I want that for her. I want her to go to college and become a nurse working with babies, regardless of how uncharacteristic of her that plan seems.

What I don’t say is that my own quest for revenge is definitely not over. Jacob and the Pusher knew about me somehow. They knew even before I was born. I’m certain of it. They must be the reason my parents went into hiding—the reason why they gave me to Sara and Lucy to raise.

It can’t be a coincidence that right after I saw Jacob, I was shot at by his pet mobsters. Nor is it a coincidence that a half hour after that, the Pusher found me in the hospital and tried to kill me. One must have told the other about me. Jacob must’ve noticed that I look like my father and told the Pusher about it. It might also explain the OB-GYN records that Bert mentioned disappearing. Maybe this is the first time my parents’ murderers realized my parents had a child. My birth mother’s medical records could’ve helped them verify that.

“Darren, we should talk more about this,” Thomas says, breaking into my thoughts. “As soon as the dust settles a bit.”

“Sure,” I say.

“There’s one more thing,” Mira says, reaching into her pocket. “Something that might help you, Darren. I found this.”

She’s holding a small black object in her outstretched hand.

“That’s the flash drive Jacob brought,” I say, understanding why she went through the dead man’s pockets before she shot him.

“Yes. Except it’s encrypted, remember?” Mira says.

“What’s supposed to be on there?” Thomas asks.

“A list of targets the mob was supposed to kill for Jacob, and a list of witnesses that Arkady needed eliminated, I think,” I say. “You know, with hindsight, I can see how a Reader could have an easier time getting a list of witnesses like that compared to a Guide.”

“Indeed. With hindsight, a lot of things become obvious,” Hillary says. “The trick is to see them beforehand.”

“Give me the drive, and I’ll get some people in the Service to try to crack it,” Thomas offers.

“I’ll give it to Darren,” Mira says. “Whatever he decides to do with it is fine with me.”

“I’ll send you a copy,” I say to Thomas. “But I have a friend who’ll likely crack this thing faster than any of your experts.”

The problem will be explaining to Bert why I’m having him crack this code. It might be tricky, but I’m sure I’ll manage it.

“Okay, so now let’s talk about what happened,” Thomas says, looking at Hillary in the mirror. “Are we now fugitives from the law? How bad was it down there on the bridge?”

“Not too bad,” my aunt says, sounding tired. “No one will remember any of us being there, for starters.”

“That’s good,” Thomas says approvingly. “What about evidence? Did we leave any DNA on the scene?”

“I just twisted my ankle,” Eugene says. “So no blood.”

“Everyone else?” Thomas asks.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Not a scratch.”

“Same here,” Mira echoes.

“And obviously, I never left the car in the real world,” Hillary says. “Only in the Mind Dimension.”

“Good. We might not go to jail after all.” Thomas looks relieved. “Now give me your guns. I’ll properly dispose of them.”

We all place our guns in the back next to the rest of Thomas’s artillery stash.

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on the police investigation,” Thomas says when we’re done. “It might have to wait until I regain my abilities, but if needed, I’ll clean things up. Which brings me to the next bit of business. We all need to disappear for a while. Particularly those of us who are Inert.”

“Disappear?” Eugene says nervously.

“Yes, get out of town,” Thomas clarifies.

That’s it, I realize. This is exactly what I need. A vacation. Some rest. Some time without being shot at.

“How do you guys feel about Miami?” I say, my mood lifting a little. “I sure could use some time in the sun, with an umbrella drink in my hand.”

“I can’t leave for a few days,” Hillary says, “and Florida is far from my favorite place, but I might join you there in a bit.”

“I’ll pass. Liz and I will want to do our own getaway,” Thomas says. “But Miami for all of you will work out perfectly. This way, you can tell your friends and family the truth—that you’re taking a vacation. Darren, if you need help convincing your boss, Hillary and I can talk to him.”

“No, it’ll be fine. Bill knows that awesome resources like me can sometimes do strange things like this. He won’t mind,” I say dismissively. Then, turning toward Mira, I say, “What do you think? Will you join me? It’ll be my treat, too.”

“Oh, you forget.” The tiniest of smiles appears on Mira’s otherwise somber face. “I’m not broke anymore. It actually might be me taking you on vacation, not the other way around.”

“What are you talking about?” Eugene gives his sister a puzzled look. “We
are
broke.”

“This briefcase,” she says, pointing at her feet. “It’s filled with cash.”

“Be careful with that.” Thomas frowns, looking at Mira in the mirror. “That money can be traced to you if someone knows what he’s doing.”

“So we have a challenge, it seems. We’ll need to spend all the money in Miami,” Mira says. “And spend it as quickly as possible.”

“I’m sure we can manage,” I say drily. “We’ll just have to drink a lot of champagne and get all-day spa treatments.”

“The horror,” Mira says, her smile widening. “I see a lot of expensive shoes in my future. All that time I’ll have to waste shopping. Such a drag.”

“If push comes to shove, you two can also go gambling,” Eugene adds, getting into the spirit of it. “The money you win will be clean.”

“That’s a good way to launder money,” Thomas says, chuckling. “Using a cash business like that.”

“And it’s only fitting,” Hillary says, looking at me and Mira. “Given how these two met for the first time.”

I take out my phone and do a little online searching.

“How’s tomorrow for a flight?” I say. “Is that too soon?”

Mira shrugs. “Works for me.”

“Sure,” Eugene says. “But can we stop by our old apartment?”

“No,” Mira and I say in unison.

“We don’t know if Arkady ordered someone to watch the place and wait for you,” I explain.

“Fine,” Eugene says sadly. “Maybe some of that cash can go toward some new lab equipment.”

“Maybe,” Mira says. “Do they have stores that sell that type of stuff for cash?”

“I don’t know.” Eugene perks up a bit. “I’ll have to look into it.”

“I’m booking the tickets now,” I say and begin navigating the airline’s website.

“Okay, great,” Thomas says. “That takes care of that. Now I need to know where to take everyone.”

“Well, I see that you’ve been driving toward my place,” Hillary says.

“Yeah, I assumed—”

“Good call,” Hillary says, interrupting Thomas. “You assumed correctly. I’m going home.”

“I’d like to go back to the hotel. Pick up a few things and talk to—” Eugene starts saying and stops abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Zhenya,” Mira says softly. “You can’t talk to her.”

I look back and see Eugene’s face turn pale.

He just connected the dots.

Without Reading, I can tell what Eugene is thinking right now. He was part of an operation that resulted in the death of Jacob—Julia’s father. Whatever she is to him, it might be over now. He certainly can’t see her any time soon. I have to say, I feel really sorry for him. Hell, I feel sorry for Julia also. She didn’t seem to be best pals with her father, but I’m sure she’ll be hurt when she learns what happened.

“If I may offer a piece of advice,” Thomas says. “The three of you should get a brand-new hotel for the night.”

We take his suggestion and use the remainder of the way to Hillary’s place to decide on the hotel. We choose a nondescript one near the JFK airport. The logic is that a longer drive today will make our lives easier tomorrow when we fly out in the morning.

“Bye, Darren,” Hillary says when the car stops. “Get in touch if you really meant it when you invited me to Miami.”

“Of course I meant it,” I say. “Join me when you can.”

Blowing me an air kiss, Hillary leaves.

Thomas waits until she walks into her high-rise condo building and then starts driving.

The atmosphere in the car is that of complete exhaustion. It seems all of us have been through so much that we need to digest things in silence. I myself am so drained, I can’t even think. Instead, I try to make my mind go blank and do the breathing meditation Sara taught me.

A meditation that I now realize she must’ve learned from my father, her colleague Mark Robinson.

As my breathing slows, I feel my eyes getting heavy, and I close them for a moment.

* * *

“Darren, wake up, we’re here.” Eugene’s voice penetrates my drowsiness, and I realize I must’ve dozed off.

“I don’t think we’ll hear from each other for a while,” Thomas says, clearing his throat as I unbuckle my seatbelt. “But when things settle down, I’d love to hang out with you.”

“Sounds like a plan, Thomas,” I say, opening the door. “Thanks for all you did for us today. I owe you.”