The Mind Readers, Book 1

by Lori Brighton

  Chapter 8

  I’d stayed out late, sitting in the park until eleven, knowing Grandma would be sleeping when I came home. Fortunately, she couldn’t read my thoughts while she slept. For hours my mind had warred with my heart. I wanted to go; I wanted to know what I could be. And I was so damn angry at my Grandma for keeping all of this from me. But I was afraid. Afraid to leave what I knew.

  I finally gave up and returned to our little cottage around midnight. But being home, out of the cold and dreary weather, offered no comfort. I paced my room, walking over the scuffed, wooden floorboards until the sky turned light and mysterious shadows morphed into furniture.

  I’d done what I could with my small domain; painted the walls a Caribbean blue, dreaming of warmer climates. But the floorboards creaked and the window leaked cold air reminding me of where I truly lived.

  I’d been content here and I couldn’t help but fight the tears at the thought of leaving. And I was leaving. I suppose I’d known that even before Lewis had left me in the café. But it wasn’t until three a.m., with the moon high, when I’d finally admitted the truth to myself; I couldn’t stay here any longer.

  As the moonlight began to fade, I flicked aside my white curtains to look out onto the quiet neighborhood where mostly old couples had retired. Gray dawn was giving way to yellow light. The sun just peeking over the horizon. The promise of a new day, a new beginning. Under the brilliant rays of the sun, the pavement sparkled with light, with hope. I’d showered and dressed, a suitcase packed since 4 a.m. Now, it was time to say goodbye to my life.

  There was only one young couple on our block; a married couple with a five year old girl. I watched as the man made his way down their front drive to his car, headed to work. A perfect, happy family. We could have had a life like that if…if what? If my father hadn’t been killed? If Mom hadn’t been a druggie? I didn’t even know where my father was buried. No one had bothered to tell me. The anger I’d been trying to keep at bay flared to life, giving me courage.

  Grandma had made me think I was a freak, alone in this world. Someone who should be ashamed. She hadn’t told me my father could read minds. Now I had the opportunity to learn more about my dad. Learn about who I was, but more importantly, who I could be. I knew if it were up to Grandma, I’d live here the rest of my life, hiding my true self. But I couldn’t take that any longer. It was time to live.

  The soft clatter of utensils against pans alerted me to Grandma’s presence. She was awake, which meant she probably already knew what I was planning. My heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t going to let me go without a fight.

  Time to leave. I reached for the Swiss Army Knife on my bedside table and slipped it into my pocket. The piece was old and worn from age, but, besides my sweatshirt, it was the only thing I owned that had once belonged to my father. Steeling my nerves, I pulled my suitcase into the hall, leaving it there. Wearing her long, gray robe, the same robe she’d worn since I could remember, Grandma stood at the stove frying eggs. She had her routine to do and nothing would stop her, not even me.

  She had to hear my thoughts; I couldn’t keep them to myself. Yet, she didn’t say a word when I settled at the kitchen table. Her silence made me nervous. She pushed the eggs onto a plate and placed them in front of me, avoiding my gaze. The same plates I’d used most of my life, beige with brown roses. How many meals had I had on these outdated dishes? My stomach revolted at the thought of eating. Instead, I took a glass of orange juice and drank deeply. But the acid only made it worse. I pushed the plate and glass away. What to tell her? How to explain? Then again, why even bother when she knew. And I could tell by her stiff movements that she knew.

  “You’re not leaving,” she finally said.

  I swallowed hard, my mind racing so fast I couldn’t grasp hold of an argument, but one thought remained clear, Grandma could read my mind. She knew what I was planning to do. She knew even before I said it.

  “And what if I want to see what they can offer?”

  She slammed the pan onto the stove, making me jump. Rarely did she lose control. “Damn it, do you have any idea what you’re getting involved with?”

  I surged from my chair, anger propelling me into action. “No! I don’t because you’ve never told me anything.”

  Still she didn’t face me. “You’ve never asked.”

  She wasn’t even going to deny these Mind Readers existed, wasn’t going to pretend they were dangerous. Which meant everything Lewis had told me was probably true. I released a harsh laugh. I’d asked her plenty of times about my ability. Maybe not recently. But I had years ago, before I’d given up that she would respond. “When I was a child I—”

  “You were too young then.”

  My fingers curled into the back of the chair. Her voice was calm again, as if she was in complete control and it made me furious. “Of course, you always have an excuse.” The same words she’d used on me whenever I got in trouble.

  Why didn’t you tell me my father was murdered by S.P.I.? I was so angry, I couldn’t say the words aloud.

  She was quiet for a moment, quiet and still. But I knew she’d heard. I’d surprised her. We’d never chatted via our mental voices before. “You didn’t need to know.”

  “He’s my father!”

  “He’s dead.” She spun around toward me. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and a bit wild looking. As scared as I was, I almost felt sorry for her. She was out of her element here. She sure as heck wasn’t expecting me to talk back.

  “He’s dead, gone,” she said in a softer voice. “There’s no use in rehashing the past.”

  The words killed me. Like a knife to the chest, they were actually painful. “I need to know the truth, to understand what I am, what I’m capable of. I’m tired of feeling like there’s something wrong with me.”

  She closed her eyes, showing her first signs of sympathy. “I’ve never said there’s something wrong with you.”

  “No, you just made me hide my ability, made me feel like I was a freak.”

  She opened her eyes, her gaze pleading. “Because of other people, not because of you!”

  I released a harsh laugh and paced across the small kitchen. My skin felt too tight, my heart racing to go somewhere…anywhere. “Yeah, explain that to a five year old who has been abandoned by her mother.”

  “Your mom was addicted to drugs, Cameron, you know that had nothing to do with you.”

  I paused. The truth hurt.

  So Grandma had no problem dishing the dirt on Mom, telling me her every dark secret and repeatedly reminding me, but wouldn’t even tell me where Dad was buried. “What about when I was little and you made us move away from Michigan?”

  “I was protecting you.”

  “I’d only told one person—”

  “And she told five others, including the cops who showed up—”

  “And you made me feel horrible! Like I couldn’t be trusted! We could have lied to them, brushed it off. They would have believed us.”

  “Like they believed my parents?”

  Wait, what? I froze, confused.

  “Everything I’ve done is because of what I’ve experienced. They tested me, Cameron, when the government found out what I could do, they took me away from my parents and kept me locked away. They tested me until I finally realized that if I pretended I couldn’t read minds, they’d release me. But it was too late, my parents were already dead. Killed in some freak accident.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, stunned she was finally telling me the truth. “But you can’t keep me locked away because of what happened to you.”

  We fell silent, both of us fighting our anger. She had the stubborn look to her gaze once more. I wanted to scream in frustration. Why couldn’t she understand? She’d made me feel like I was a freak. She’d kept the truth from me. She wouldn’t keep this from me too.

  She snorted, a sarcastic laugh. “So, what will you do? Rush out and help people like some damn superhero?�
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  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “That’s what got your father killed!”

  She’d stunned me into silence. Was she lying in some pathetic attempt to make me afraid? If so, it had the opposite effect. Lewis had been right, my father was a hero. He wasn’t a coward, like me. “And so I’m supposed to stay here, never say a word, let innocent people die?”

  “Better them than you.”

  I shook my head, ashamed of her. I didn’t want to feel guilty; I didn’t want to grow up afraid, like her. “I can’t stand by anymore and let horrible things happen to people I care about. Maybe you can, but I can’t.”

  She pressed her hands to her temples, her entire body trembling. She looked weak and pale under the brilliant light of the rising sun coming in through the small window above the sink. “You’re not some superhero, Cameron. A bullet can kill you as well as anyone.”

  “I know,” I said, softening my voice. “But I’m leaving, for me. Please understand that. You could come with.”

  She slammed her fists onto the tabletop. “You will not leave this house! Until you’re eighteen, I control you!”

  “Not anymore.” She wouldn’t understand. Not now, maybe never. “I have to, they’re coming for us.”

  The fury seemed to drain from her face along with any color. “What are you talking about?” Before I could answer, she turned toward the stove, obviously intent on ignoring me.

  “Lewis told me about S.P.I., whoever they are, using people like us.”

  She turned and pointed her spatula at me. “As long as we stay out of trouble, they’ll leave us alone.”

  I moved around the table. Everything felt oddly off balance. The tides had turned and Grandma wasn’t in control. She seemed to know less about S.P.I. than I did. “Will they? Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course.” She tossed a plate of bacon onto the table.

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  She looked directly at me, her hazel gaze hard. “We are safe, Cameron. Aaron is only causing trouble where there is none!”

  “You know Aaron?”

  “Of course I do. He talked your father into using his abilities when he shouldn’t have. They were going to save the world,” she said, her voice bitter.

  My determination wavered. Could I trust her? I should, shouldn’t I? She was my grandma after all. But she’d also kept the truth from me about my father and about what I could do. “Tell me you’ll teach me how to block my thoughts, how to…how to show people mental images. Tell me you’ll teach me everything you know.”

  “You don’t need to learn,” she insisted. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “Is that what you told my dad?”

  She went pale and I knew I’d gone too far. I hadn’t meant to say the words, I hadn’t meant to be so cruel.

  “How dare you,” she hissed.

  It was too late. I couldn’t take the words back. Unless I apologized, our tumultuous relationship would be over. My pride wouldn’t let me apologize because deep down, I did blame her for everything that had happened. I turned and on shaking legs made my way to the hall where I’d left my suitcase. And I told myself, as I moved through the kitchen, that I was doing this not only for me, but for her.

  “You are not leaving!” she screamed.

  My heart lurched. I didn’t dare look her in the eyes. I refused to respond because I knew I couldn’t. I was afraid she’d scare me into staying. It was five minutes until eight. If I was going to do it, I needed to leave now. I moved around her and made my way to the front door, my suitcase wheels whizzing over the hardwood floors.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma.” My voice caught as I fought the tears. “But I’m done hiding.”

  I pushed the front door wide, the hinges screeching, and stepped onto the stoop. I fully expected her to stop me. She didn’t. The cool morning air eased the sweat gathering between my shoulder blades.

  “You don’t think it’s insane to leave with a guy you barely know?”

  I paused for a moment as my grandmother’s words hit me. She was right, I knew that, but couldn’t seem to care. Lewis’s silver car was parked directly in front of our home; Lewis leaning against the door. He called to me, not mentally or verbally, but something pulled me toward him. The dark blue sweater he wore stretched across his broad shoulders. He’d come for me. My heart leapt with joy. He pushed away from the car, and when our gazes met, a wide smile spread across his handsome face. I rushed down the steps, my suitcase thumping after me. I didn’t stop until I was only a foot from him. Fisting my hands, I resisted the urge to throw my arms around his neck.

  “You’re coming,” he stated the obvious.

  “Yes.”

  Don’t go, Cameron, please. Grandma’s voice whispered through my mind. It was the first time she’d asked me for anything and for a moment I paused, her plea stinging.

  Indecision held me captive. Could I really leave and take the guilt? Could I stay? I’d die here, maybe not physically, but mentally and emotionally I’d die. Grandma had had her chance.

  “Cameron, are you ready?” Lewis asked, taking my bag.

  “Yes,” I whispered. Without looking back, I slid my hand into his.