Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1)

by Killick, Jane

  “You did this to me!” Michael looked round his cell. The four, cold walls that enclosed him were a manifestation of everything his father had done to him. His genes were manipulated when he was barely an embryo, setting his fate before he was born.

  “It was Cooper who did this to you,” said Ransom.

  Michael shook his head. His emotions were getting the better of him, despite his efforts to keep them under control. “No. You’re the one. You made me like this. Then you realised you’d made a mistake, so you went inside my brain and took it away again. But that wasn’t enough for you, you had to wipe my memory too.”

  “Michael, that’s what I came here to talk to you about. We haven’t got long. Let me explain.”

  He stepped towards Michael with open arms, innocently offering himself. But Michael moved away, edging sideways along the wall. At the last minute, he remembered to use his perception. Ransom’s concern entered his mind, tinged with a little remorse. It made his offer of an explanation seem genuine, but Michael wasn’t ready to listen. Having his father’s feelings in his head unsettled him and he blocked them out again, building up his barriers and reinforcing them as much as he could.

  “Cooper’s offered me a job,” said Michael.

  “He wants to use you,” said Ransom.

  “And you don’t?” said Michael.

  “No.”

  Michael laughed to himself. An ironic laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Then perceive me.” That open arm gesture again. “If you perceive me, you’ll know I’m telling the truth. I didn’t foresee this. Mary – your mum – and I just wanted a baby. And we wanted the best for that baby. When we found out she couldn’t have children naturally, we were devastated. You’ve no idea what it’s like to see the woman you love break down in tears like that. After three devastating miscarriages, IVF was our only hope. The procedure took the best part of a year – a year, Michael – before she became pregnant. But we did it because we desperately wanted children – we wanted you. Yes, I made sure you inherited the gift of perception, but only because I wanted my child to have the same opportunities in life that I had.”

  “Wanted it so much that you cured me?”

  Ransom turned his eyes away from Michael and sighed. He sat down on the bed, his hunched shoulders and saggy body like a half-deflated balloon. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “Why did you do it?” said Michael.

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen what it’s like out there, but it’s virtually against the law to be a perceiver in this country. When they find out about you, they cure you. Or they keep you on a leash to do their bidding.”

  “You haven’t been cured,” said Michael.

  “I’m on Cooper’s leash,” said Ransom. “The government came sniffing when I set up the cure clinics. They found out about me, found out I’d employed perceivers like Rachel Page in key positions in my company. Threatened me, threatened them. I had no choice but to let them take control. But their biggest bargaining chip was you.”

  “Me?” said Michael.

  “Cooper knew you inherited my perception. He was going to conscript you and I couldn’t stop him. We thought – Rachel and I – if we cured you then he wouldn’t have that leverage anymore.”

  The facts, so bold and stark, took time to sink into his head. Michael backed away from his father, along the wall, until his knee hit the edge of the toilet bowl. He let his weight drop onto the toilet seat and he sat there, fully clothed, as he tried to match what Ransom was saying to what little memory he had.

  “When I found myself in the corridor of your office building, there was a woman calling my name,” said Michael. “Was that Page?”

  “Yes,” said Ransom.

  “What happened? What was Cooper doing there?”

  “You really don’t remember anything before then?” said Ransom.

  “No. It’s been driving me crazy,” said Michael. “I need to know.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t give you your memories back, but maybe I can show you mine.”

  Michael lifted his head and looked at his father. Interested.

  “If we let down our barriers and open our minds to each other.”

  “Is that possible?” said Michael.

  “Not for most perceivers. But for you … it might work. If you’ve matured enough since Rachel reversed the cure.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Sit next to me,” said Ransom.

  Michael hesitated. He’d told himself to keep his distance from Ransom, but this was his chance to understand. After a moment, he got off the toilet and sat down next to his father.

  “Let go of your nervousness, Michael. It impedes your ability.”

  He tried. He concentrated on his breathing, forced it to become slow and deep. It helped, a little.

  Ransom took his hands and held them in his lap. “Physical contact isn’t necessary, but it helps you to focus. Now, look into my eyes.”

  Michael did so. For the first time since Ransom entered his cell, he saw that his eyes were hazel with flecks of brown and yellow like rays of a sun eclipsed behind the black moons of his pupils.

  “Go deeper. Into my mind. See what I see.”

  Michael willed his consciousness to pass through Ransom’s pupils. Ransom’s emotions were on the surface: concern, worry, fear, uncertainty.

  “Concentrate,” came Ransom’s voice.

  Michael did. His mind swum past the emotions and emerged in a fog of images. Bright lights blurring from a canvas of black. Indistinct and dreamlike. Until he realised the lights represented something real. Yellow street lights, green traffic lights, red tail lights, white headlights. This was a memory. A memory of being in a car at night time …

  … driving through city traffic. A red double decker bus went by. It was London. The speedo edged over thirty miles per hour. A thought passed through his head that he must stick to the limit and the needle dropped below thirty. There was a steering wheel in front of him. He was driving in this memory.

  He looked to his left. Next to him in the passenger seat was a teenager, neatly dressed with combed brown hair. On his lap sat a battered rucksack. It took a moment for Michael to realise he was looking at himself. It was Ransom’s memory of both of them going somewhere in a car at night.

  There was an overwhelming sense of calm and normality inside Ransom’s head. So much so that it felt almost artificial. He explored the feelings and sensed, beneath them, a trace of anxiety that Ransom was trying to mask. As soon as it surfaced from the back of his mind, Ransom fought to subdue it. If Michael perceived it, Ransom thought, he could become suspicious.

  “This is the way to your office,” said the neater, remembered version of Michael.

  “Yes, just need to stop off there for a bit,” said Ransom, imbuing his words with a feeling of normality.

  “We won’t be late for our meeting with Mr Cooper?”

  The mention of his name sent a frisson through Ransom and – deliberately – he jerked the steering wheel to the right and swerved into the outside lane. The angry parp of a car horn made him shudder. A Land Rover behind flashed its headlights.

  Ransom was furious. “Bloody London traffic!”

  “Dad?”

  He ignored his son and pressed his foot on the accelerator. The car engine roared until the speedo hit forty. He seethed at the driver of the Land Rover, even though deep down he knew he had swerved into its path deliberately. Road rage was a strong emotion, strong enough – he hoped – to deflect Michael’s perceptions and stop him probing any further.

  The lights on the road outside blurred and the memory shifted …

  … They were in the lift at Ransom Incorporated. Watching the display count the number of floors as the mechanism propelled them higher and higher.

  Inside Ransom, anxiety was rising. “Damn, bloody lift,” he muttered to himself. He remembered all the times he’d cursed the fact that his office was on the top floor. It was another
mask. One that he was frightened Michael was starting to see through.

  “Dad?”

  The display reached 12. Relief. “Ah, here we are.”

  The lift doors opened to reveal the empty, darkened corridor near to his office. He stepped out. Michael followed.

  “Couldn’t you access whatever it is from your computer at home?”

  “I need to pick up some papers,” said Ransom, glad to be on the move. Focussing on striding towards his office.

  “Paper? Isn’t that a bit last century, Dad? You can store things electronically now, you know.”

  “Computers are insecure. Besides, they’ve been talking about the paperless office since the 1970s. If it hasn’t happened by now, it isn’t ever going to happen.”

  As Ransom opened the door to his empty assistant’s desk, he perceived Rachel’s presence. Unmistakable and uneasy, she had not made the effort to mask herself like he had. As he strode through the antechamber into his own, spacious office, he knew without question that she was there and waiting. And if he had perceived it, then so had Michael.

  “Is Rachel working late?” said Michael, as he followed him in.

  Ransom turned. Page was behind the door with a ball of cotton wool in one hand and hypodermic needle in the other …

  … The needle triggered a memory in Michael’s own mind. He remembered the hypodermic needle he’d stolen off the nurse’s desk and how Doctor Rachel Page had confronted him. The memories were too similar and he was becoming aware of the cell again.

  He forced reality from his head. He concentrated – first on his breathing, calming his body – then on his perception. He led himself back inside Ransom’s mind, back inside the memory …

  … The neater, remembered version of Michael turned to see Rachel Page standing behind the door. Ransom perceived a wave of confusion and fear from his son as Michael dropped his rucksack.

  “What’s going on?” said Michael. He backed away from Page.

  But Ransom was waiting. He grabbed both Michael’s arms from behind and felt his son’s surprise as he struggled.

  Page pushed Michael’s shirt sleeve up his arm. She wiped the inside of his elbow with the damp cotton wool and dropped it to the floor. Michael struggled harder. His body writhing as Ransom tried to hold him.

  “Brian!” said Page, her eyes appealing to him for help as she held onto the syringe.

  Ransom held Michael’s bare arm with all his strength to keep him still. Page grabbed Michael’s wrist and pulled it so his arm was out straight.

  “No! No! No!” screamed Michael. Betrayal and terror screamed in his mind.

  Page plunged the needle into his arm and injected.

  It was all over in a moment. Ransom released his grip and Michael pulled himself free. With such force, he stumbled backwards towards the office door.

  Page was behind him. She pushed the door shut.

  Ransom – no need to mask his feelings anymore – let out all of his sorrow and pain. Everything he had been holding back for days. He felt like a tyrant, an evil father who was about to do something unspeakable to his only son. Even though he knew it was necessary.

  Michael must have perceived it all because he stood before his father a mess of confusion. He clutched his exposed arm with the other hand at the point the needle had gone in. “You’re going to cure me?” he said.

  “It’s the only way,” said Ransom. “We’ll set you up with a new life, away from here, away from this mess. You’ll be a normal teenager.”

  “No!” Michael stumbled. Ransom perceived the cloudiness of the sedative taking effect. “I have friends here. I have plans. I’m going to …”

  He fell sideways; his legs too weak to hold him anymore. Page stepped forward and caught him before he hit the floor. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

  Ransom perceived a suggestion of her own regret as she propelled Michael to the wall and leant him up against it.

  Ransom approached.

  “Don’t do this,” said Michael, his speech slurred from the drug. “Don’t treat me like one of those kids you put through the clinics. You said perception was part of me. You said …”

  Michael started to slip down the wall. Page helped him sit on the carpet.

  Ransom squatted down to face him. “I’m sorry, Michael, I really am.” And he meant it.

  He lifted his hands and touched his index fingers to Michael’s temples.

  Realising he was about to witness – about to feel – his own mind being cured, Michael pulled out from the memory.

  He blinked open his eyes to see Ransom in front of him. His stomach spasmed like he was about to be sick. He tasted vomit at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down. It was a weird, nauseating reversal. From being Ransom looking at Michael one moment, to being himself looking at Ransom the next.

  Ransom let go of one of Michael’s hands and touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” said Michael, shaking his head. He didn’t really know if he was all right or not, but it didn’t matter because he needed to know more. “Take me back in.”

  “Are you sure?” said Ransom.

  “I have to know.”

  “Okay.” Ransom took Michael’s hand again. “I won’t take you through the cure procedure. That’s uncomfortable for me to remember, but I can show you the rest. Perceive me again.”

  Michael looked through Ransom’s eyes and into his mind …

  … He became aware of Ransom’s memory. He was sitting on the floor in front of the remembered version of Michael: his hair dishevelled from the struggle with one sleeve still rolled up. His head wavered from side to side under the touch of Ransom’s fingers.

  He was not deep in the memory. He watched, rather than felt, himself as Ransom with Page beside him while both of them were inside his – Michael’s – mind.

  In this memory, Ransom was aware that Michael was fighting the cure. Despite the sedative, Michael was not giving in. He shook free from Ransom’s hands and pushed him out of his head.

  The sudden force of expelling Ransom sent a lightning pain through Ransom which knocked him backwards. Everything went fuzzy and black as Ransom reeled from the shock.

  Michael was on his feet, the rucksack in his hand, wild confusion in his eyes.

  Rachel was beside him. Unsteady on her feet, but not so incapacitated as Ransom. She took a step towards Michael. He stepped away. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a knife. A kitchen knife with a wide blade of sharpened stainless steel. Ransom recognised it as part of their own set of kitchen knives at home.

  Michael pointed it at Page, making sure she kept her distance, then at Ransom, before he turned and ran.

  “Michael!” Page called after him.

  She turned to Ransom; aghast. All Ransom could do was clutch his head.

  A ringing pierced his ears. It was the telephone on his desk.

  Page was halfway to the door when she stopped.

  “Go after him!” urged Ransom.

  “I asked security to call if Cooper came into the building,” said Page.

  “Shit!” said Ransom to himself. A migraine was descending. He tried – and failed – to close his ears against the ringing telephone …

  The memory faded. Michael pulled himself out of Ransom’s mind and found himself, once again, sitting in the cell with Ransom holding his hands.

  The question he had held in his head for weeks had been answered. His memory loss, as he suspected, had been caused by the cure. He had been too strong, too resistant to it, that he broke free in the middle, damaging part of his brain as he pulled out. He must have made it down a couple of floors of the office building and into a corridor before he passed out.

  Michael leant back on the bed and Ransom’s fingers fell away. He looked up at his father’s face and saw, without having to perceive, the regret in his expression.

  “Can you forgive me?” said Ransom.

  “I don’t know,” said Michael.

&nb
sp; The background rumble of perceptions started to crowd into Michael’s mind. He had little strength left to block them out. Little strength to perceive what Ransom felt now.

  A knock on the cell door made him jump.

  “Five minutes!” bellowed the guard.

  Ransom wiped what might have been the start of a tear from his eye and sniffed to restore his composure. “I have to go,” he said. He looked round at the closed cell door as if to check no one was watching. He leant forward and whispered. “Don’t succumb to Bill Cooper. He’ll own you for the rest of your life. Hang on, Michael. I’m going to get you out of here, I promise.”

  The sounds of turning locks echoed through the cell. The door opened and revealed the guard.

  “You said five minutes,” said Ransom.

  “Time’s up,” said the guard.

  Ransom backed away towards the open door. He mouthed the words, ‘I promise’, and followed the guard out of the cell.

  As the door closed and keys turned in the locks, Michael reached out his mind to his father. His perceived his sorrow for a moment before he walked away and his mind merged with the myriad perceptions of others. He didn’t have the energy to block them out and they rang loud inside his head. In the moment before they overwhelmed him, he wondered if he had the capacity to forgive his father for what he had done to him. Michael wasn’t sure he had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MICHAEL STOOD and allowed the woman to handcuff him behind his back. He was led out of the cell where Cooper was waiting for him.

  “Got something to show you,” said Cooper.

  At the end of the cell block, Cooper swiped his card. Michael listened with his mind as he tapped the combination on the keypad. Cooper’s whispered thought, 5 … 9 … 2 … 0 filtered through. Michael smiled: 5, 9, 2, 0. He would remember.

  Cooper led them down the corridor that lay straight ahead. Through the double doors with a swipe and a combination, 3… 7… 8… 2, and to a continuation of magnolia walls.

  Only a few metres beyond that and he stopped beside a door on the left hand side of the corridor. A plaque screwed to the wood at eye level read, Briefing Room.