The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions Book 2)

by Dima Zales

  “I figured that much. In fact, I’ve been onto this little practice of yours for a while. But so you know, I actually appreciate it—the people you copy on those emails believe that you really are working your ass off, and it sets a good example for them. Along with mitigating the impression they have of you as a slacker. Although I guess that’s not the most important thing to talk about right now, given the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, I guess not,” I say. “Did you suspect about me?”

  “No. If I’d thought you were one of us, I would’ve brought you into our community a long time ago. Truth be told, I always thought you were one of the other guys. You’re so good at knowing things that I thought you were Leaching the information from the CEOs and other execs I asked you to talk to. Seems like I was wrong. Seems like you’ve come up with some ingenious ways to use the Mind Dimension.”

  “You thought I was a Leacher, and you still employed me?” I say, surprised. “I thought they were public enemy number one in Guide society.”

  “I’m not sure what Liz told you, but we’re not so dogmatic in this group.”

  “Right. She said that you guys are quite open-minded. But there’s a difference between being open-minded and hiring your enemy,” I say, genuinely puzzled.

  “Having Leachers investigate companies seems natural to me. They can cut through the bullshit and just read people’s minds. Direct and effective. Seems like good business to me,” he says, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “If I could ask someone for that skill in the job application, I would.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see a girl approaching us. She seems to have overheard the last thing Bill said, and instead of being shocked, she’s nodding approvingly. This whole thing is a huge contrast to Mira’s hatred for Pushers.

  “So you’re the new guy?” says the girl, handing me her tiny hand for a handshake. She’s extremely short and petite. I’d guess she’s under five feet, even with high heels.

  Bill graciously introduces us. “Hillary, it turns out that I have known Darren for a number of years. He was right under my nose, so to speak.”

  “It figures,” Hillary says, furrowing the eyebrows on her small face. “You’ve had one of us working at your hedge fund, and you didn’t even notice. People are just cogs in that financial machine of yours, aren’t they?”

  Bill sighs. “Please, Hillary, can we have one conversation without your Occupy-Wall-Street rhetoric?”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Hillary,” I say in an effort to change the subject. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an anthropologist. I’m also involved with a couple of charities,” she says, turning her attention from Bill to look up at me. Her big blue eyes twinkle, and with the yellow cocktail dress she’s wearing, she looks a bit like a doll.

  “Right, and she has nothing to do with the spread of veganism in New York,” Bill says. “Or with the bans on ape research.”

  Am I hearing what I’m hearing? Is Bill being playful? I never thought I would witness such a thing.

  “I make a difference for the better,” Hillary retorts. “I’m sorry that what I do is something someone like you wouldn’t be able to understand. Certainly, protecting the animals isn’t profitable. That’s your favorite word, isn’t it? Profit. Or is it bottom line?”

  “Bottom line is two words,” Bill corrects her, grinning at the annoyed expression on her face.

  He’s clearly pushing her buttons, and she’s falling for it. It’s a very odd exchange. If I didn’t know that Bill is happily married, I’d think he was flirting with Hillary. Flirting in a juvenile, pulling-the-girl’s-ponytail style. Something I learned early on they do not appreciate. And speaking of his wife, is she one of us? I wonder, but I don’t feel comfortable asking at the moment.

  Bill’s phone rings. He looks at it, then at us, and says, “I’m sorry—I have to take this.” And with that, he walks to a corner of the room to get some privacy.

  “So you guys don’t get along?” I ask Hillary as soon as Bill leaves.

  “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.” Hillary shrugs. “William is just William, bourgeoisie personified.”

  Politeness would dictate for me to say something affirmative about Bill’s inadequateness, but I don’t want to. In a lot of ways, I admire the guy. He’s on a very short list of people I’ve always looked up to and respected. In fact, seeing Bill at this party dispels all of my remaining doubts about the Guides. If he’s a Guide, that fact, more than any of Liz’s reassurances, tells me that they’re not all members of some evil cult. They’re just a group like any other, with good and bad types in the usual distribution—with the Pusher hunting me being on the scumbag end of the spectrum. Returning my attention to Hillary, I say, “Since I work for him in that hedge fund, what you say about him could easily be applied to me.”

  “Somehow, I doubt it. You don’t look like the type. Besides, you didn’t know your nature. Now that you do, you might change your profession to something more meaningful.” She gives me a hopeful smile.

  I think she means this as a compliment, so I don’t argue with her. I also wonder what I would do if money weren’t a variable at all. I went to work for Bill because I wanted to work the least and make the most money doing it, not out of some burning passion for stock picking. Would I become a detective like my mom, perhaps? I think I’d consider that, especially if the job weren’t so dangerous.

  “So, anyway, Darren, tell me about yourself,” Hillary says, bringing me out of my musings. Her earlier smile transfers to the corners of her eyes, and the last remnants of annoyance disappear from her face.

  I tell her a little bit about my life. I assume she’d be interested in my being adopted and discovering phasing into the Quiet on my own, so I focus on those things.

  As I tell the story, Hillary’s little face continues to be highly animated. Though petite girls aren’t my type—at least if Bert is to be believed—I think they have a unique cuteness about them. If I had a girlfriend like this, I’d mentally call her Nano, like that iPod Nano I had as a kid. Back then, as now, everything was becoming more and more portable, and a pocket-sized girlfriend like this is just the next logical step.

  Size aside, something about Hillary looks familiar to me. I can’t put my finger on it, though. I wonder how old she is. Twenty-four? Twenty-five? It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to ask. She could easily be older than she looks; it’s one of the benefits of being that size. As I focus on her features, I become certain that this is the first time we’ve met, and yet there’s something nagging at my brain.

  “So what was that thing Bill alluded to? The vegan thing?” I ask when I feel like I’ve shared enough of my life, and it’s only courteous to learn a bit about her.

  She grins. “Oh, he’s blaming me for the rise of vegetarianism and veganism in New York. He thinks that just because I’m a vegan, I go around nudging people to follow in my footsteps.”

  “Wow. I’m still not used to thinking this way. Can you actually do that? Guide a meat-eater to go vegan?” I ask, impressed by the very idea of it.

  “I can, and maybe I have strategically done that with the biggest trendsetters upon occasion,” she admits. “But my humble efforts are not the sole reason why things are moving in that direction in New York—and other places, for that matter. People are just becoming more aware of the impact of their diet on the environment, of animal suffering associated with it all, and, of course, the one that matters to them most: their health. With the spread of books such as The China Study—”

  “Hillary, we’re trying to make a good impression here, and your propaganda will not help in that goal. I have to borrow Darren, if you don’t mind,” Liz says, startling me by appearing right next to me seemingly out of nowhere.

  Hillary opens her mouth, looking like she’s about to object. Before she can say anything, however, Liz grabs me by the elbow and drags me to the other side of the room.

  Chapter 20

  “I didn’t need to be
saved. I was actually quite enjoying Hillary’s company,” I say to Liz as we walk away.

  “Oh, good,” Liz says with relief. “That girl can be insufferable. Still, I want you to meet Thomas right now. Then you’ll be able to go back and finish your conversation.”

  We approach a sharply dressed guy who’s about my height. He’s a bit broader in the shoulders than I am, which is something I don’t see often. He’s also muscular. Not steroid-big like Caleb, but he clearly works out regularly, like I try to do.

  “Thomas, I want you to meet Darren,” Liz says, giving the guy a thorough kiss on the lips. The kiss part is really odd. Didn’t she say earlier he was a patient of hers, like me? I catch myself before I get more bothered by it. It’s not like I’m jealous. Okay, fine, maybe a tiny bit jealous. Thinking that a woman like Liz was interested in me had been a pleasant fantasy—and helpful for my self-esteem.

  “It’s great to meet you, Darren.” Thomas shakes my hand with one of those excessively firm handshakes that I’m used to getting from men in finance.

  As we shake hands, I realize that he seems to be part Asian. What makes this stand out is the fact that everyone else in this room is white. And now that I think about it, all the Readers I’ve met were also white. I guess it makes sense when you consider both of the groups’ histories. After all, they—or we—began from a cult that did that whole selective breeding thing somewhere in Europe, according to what I’ve learned from Liz. Thomas’s origins must be a bit different. It proves what Liz told me: that this group of Guides will welcome you regardless of your lineage, so long as you are somehow a Guide. I wonder if this means they would be okay with whatever I am. I’m not going to risk them finding out, of course, but their attitude does give me hope.

  “Good to meet you too, Thomas,” I say, realizing I’m staring at the guy.

  He doesn’t seem bothered by my staring at all. He’s just standing there, looking at me, seemingly comfortable with the silence.

  “So Liz told me that somebody’s trying to kill you,” he says casually after a moment. “She said that this person is one of us, a Guide.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, that’s the case,” I say, almost defensively. The way he emphasized the word Guide made it sound like he was skeptical.

  “Can you tell me exactly what you told her?” he asks calmly. “Liz didn’t give me many details because of the doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Liz startles me by saying, and walks away. I was so lost in my thoughts that I’d almost forgotten she was still there. I note Thomas following the sway of her hips with a very non-doctor-patient look and file it away as curious, but unimportant for the moment.

  When he turns his attention back to me, I repeat the story I told Liz.

  As I go through it, Thomas asks me a bunch of pointed questions. He’s obviously familiar with the investigative process, perhaps from his Secret Service job. Had I not grown up telling lies to my mom Lucy, the detective, I might’ve been in trouble. As it is, I’m not sure if he completely believes me. My mom probably wouldn’t have. Unlike her, though, he doesn’t know my ‘tells.’ I hope.

  “I find it hard to believe one of us would do such a thing,” he says when I’m done explaining about the attempted killing. “But in any case, you did the right thing, getting a hotel room. I would also suggest ditching your phone and getting another one, and maybe getting out of town for a bit while I look into this.”

  “That’s a good idea about the phone, Thomas,” I say. “I should’ve thought of that. As far as getting out of town, my family is here, and so is my work. Where would I go?”

  He shrugs. “Take a vacation. Visit friends or relatives you haven’t seen in a while. Though, if you want to be completely safe, you should probably stay clear of your immediate family for the time being.”

  “I don’t think I like that plan,” I say, frowning. “I don’t want to stay in hiding forever.”

  “Well, if you had more information—”

  “I might be able to obtain it,” I say, starting to feel hopeful. “I can’t commit to anything, but if I did find out more, do you think you’d be able to help me deal with this person?” I know it’s a lot to ask, but I could really use someone like Thomas on my side.

  “Sure.” He hands me a business card. “Here’s my number. If you learn who this mystery Guide is, let me know immediately.”

  “I will, thanks,” I say, and put his details into my phone. By habit, I call his number, so that he has mine. When the call connects, he looks at his phone and grunts approvingly.

  “You know,” he says, looking back at me. “If this whole thing is true and you figure out who this Guide is, he or she will try even harder to get rid of you.”

  “I don’t think this person could be trying any harder,” I say, meaning it to be a joke, but Thomas responds with a stony expression.

  “The attempt on your life was very subtle,” he says. “Our ability, if misused, can be much more harmful. If someone tried to kill you without subtlety, every member of that hospital staff would’ve tried to go for your throat. It wouldn’t have been pretty.”

  I picture that with a shudder. He’s probably right. The Pusher was being subtle because he knew there were Readers around, and he was trying to keep his or her identity a secret. Had secrecy not been part of it, things might’ve gotten truly ugly. Then again, I can do what the Pusher can—and I’m reasonably certain the Pusher doesn’t know it.

  “Do you think there is a chance this Guide might be in this room?” I ask, because I have to at least pose the question. I don’t think it’s Thomas, since Liz appears to trust him, but the other people in this room are still unknown to me—Bill excluded, of course.

  “No, I doubt it,” Thomas says. “I know everyone here, and I don’t think any of them are capable of something like that. Not to mention, they would have no reason to be after you.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would have a reason to be after me?”

  I expect Thomas to say no, but he looks thoughtful instead.

  “Are both of your parents Guides?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I’m still learning about them, but probably not both of them.” This is as close as I dare get to the truth of my origins. “Why?”

  “Well,” he says slowly, “when I joined this group, I was warned about the Traditionalists. I was told they might go after me—which hasn’t happened. So if you’re not a pure Guide, they could be behind this. Though in your case, I’m not sure how they would know about your heritage.”

  “The Traditionalists?” I ask, confused. “Liz mentioned them before, but she didn’t give me much detail. Why would they want to come after you?”

  “They’re extremists who have some archaic attitudes about purity of blood, and they’re against marrying outside the Guide community, among other things,” he says with distaste. “In a way, they’re like those inbred Leachers. So you can see how I could be their target. You can tell I’m not ‘pure’ by just looking at my face.”

  “I see.” I have a growing conviction that I’m not going to be a fan of these Traditionalists, even if they’re not the ones trying to kill me.

  “I wish I could tell you more about them and why they might target you, but I know very little. Like you, I didn’t grow up with this stuff,” Thomas says, and I remember Liz mentioning that he was also adopted. Despite his stoic demeanor, he must see us as kindred souls, given that our stories are so similar.

  I want to hear about his background, but first, I need to find out more about these Traditionalists. “Is there anyone I could talk to about them?” I ask, and Thomas nods.

  “You can try talking to Hillary,” he says. “She knows more about this than most of us.”

  “All right, I will, thanks.” I wonder why the tiny girl knows about this, but that’s a topic I’ll broach with her.

  Thomas looks at me, falling back into his silent pattern, so I ask, “What did y
ou mean when you said you didn’t grow up with this stuff?” Since I’m not sure whether Liz meant to reveal his adopted status to me, I figure it’s best to pretend complete ignorance. I don’t want to get her in trouble.

  He hesitates for a moment, but then he says, “Like you, I was adopted. My parents didn’t tell me this until I was six years old.” As he says this, I catch a glimmer of some emotion behind his expressionless mask.

  “That’s amazing,” I say. “This is something we share. Well, almost. I guess the difference is that I always thought I had one biological parent, Sara. I assume you learned that both your parents were adoptive?”

  “Yes,” he says. “They told me a woman gave me to them. A woman they’d never met before or after the adoption. Someone whose identity I was never able to discover.”

  There seems to be a deep sadness to that part of the story. He clearly yearns to know more about his origins. I can relate, but I don’t want to share my version of this story. Not if I have to reveal the names of my parents. So instead I say, “What about your abilities? Did you, like me, discover what you can do on your own?”

  “Yes. It was during a car accident that I discovered that I was able to stop time—what everyone here calls Splitting into the Mind Dimension.”

  “For me, it was a bike accident,” I say, smiling. “And I called it the Quiet.”

  Thomas returns my smile. “Did you also Guide someone on your own?” he asks. “I called it Hypnotizing.”

  “No. The first time I was able to do that deliberately was today, when Liz decided to test me to see if I’m a Guide,” I say. “You discovered it on your own?”

  “Yeah, it happened during a fight. I got into a lot of those as a kid,” he says, his eyes getting a faraway, nostalgic look. “I stopped time to practice punching the bully I was fighting. As I was practice-hitting him in that mode, I also really willed him to trip. He was much bigger, and getting him on the ground was my only chance to walk away without some serious damage. Afterwards, he did trip. I, being a kid, wondered if that was because I’d willed it so hard. So the next time I got into a fight, I tried to repeat that trick. I did it during other fights until one day, I realized that I could do more than just make people fall over.”