Authors: Dima Zales
The Enlightened
The Enlightened
Mind Dimensions: Book 3
Dima Zales
♠
Mozaika Publications
♠
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Copyright
© 2014
Dima Zales
All rights reserved.
Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.
Edited by Elizabeth from
https://arrowheadediting.wordpress.com
Cover by Najla Qamber Designs
e-ISBN: 9781631420474
Print ISBN: 9781631420559
Description
Kidnapped. Consciousness expanded. And that was just the start of my day.
I always thought I was a nice enough guy. The kind who’d never want to commit murder.
Turns out I simply lacked incentive.
Some crimes can never be forgiven.
Chapter 1
“I
can’t believe how much life sucks without the Quiet. The last two weeks have been a total nightmare,” I say to Mira as I put a final layer of sunblock on her long, perfect legs. The warm Florida sun is shining on my back, its relaxing effect mingling with the pleasant buzz from my piña colada
.
“Yes, horrible.” She snorts lazily. “We Russians had it wrong by sending all those people to Siberia as punishment. We should’ve sent them to South Beach instead.”
I look around at the blue ocean and the beautiful girls, the hottest among them sitting right next to me. Maybe she’s right to be sarcastic. Maybe things aren’t so bad after all.
“You know what I mean. Your company and the locale are what make it bearable,” I say, the details of all our wining, dining, chilling at the beach, and, most notably, our sleeping together—daily—flashing before my eyes. “But I just don’t like the feeling that I’m not in control of my destiny.”
“You want illusions, is that it? You’re old enough to know we’re never in control of anything,” she says, raising the sunglasses off her nose. “Your best bet is to enjoy things when life brings you something good, and tough it out as best you can when it brings you the usual shit storm.”
I know better than to argue against her bleak philosophy. We’ve had a version of this conversation before. If I keep it up, she’ll remind me that most Readers spend the majority of their time unable to phase into the Quiet due to their shallow Depth, and that most people can’t do it at all. She might then call me ungrateful and/or spoiled. Of course, keeping quiet doesn’t mean I agree with her. Even as a kid, when Sara used the ‘there are people starving somewhere’ argument to make me feel guilty, it would never work.
So instead of doing the same dance, I try to strategically change the subject. “Are you hungry? I’ll walk over to the bar and get us something.”
“Sure,” she says in a warmer tone. She’s gracefully accepting my defeat. “Get me one of those cheese quesadillas. I’ll be in the water when you come back.”
I watch her walk down the beach, toward the ocean. The sight of Mira in a tiny bikini lifts my mood.
Okay, so maybe I’ve exaggerated my situation. Our efforts to spend all the cash that Jacob had in his briefcase—the briefcase that Mira had the presence of mind to appropriate while escaping a gunfight—had been pretty fun. That is, until I made a whopping two mil on the bank stock I shorted thanks to my fortuitous Read of Jason Spades, the bank’s CEO. What I saw in his mind that time in the gym played out even better than I’d expected; the government actually had to bail the bank out, and the stock hit rock bottom, enabling me to cash in on my trades. The downside of being a multimillionaire
,
though, is that it takes some fun out of our frivolous spending—or at least, it does for me.
Once Mira is out of sight, I get up, brush the sand off my legs, and head for the Tiki bar. As I approach the bar, I’m reminded of another mitigating factor for these hellish weeks: my best friend Bert and my aunt Hillary are sitting at the bar, together, sipping fruity umbrella drinks. Bert arrived in town four days ago, while Hillary flew in at the end of last week.
“No, I’m not talking about black holes,” Bert is telling her. “
This
Singularity is a point in history when the speed of technological advancements will go through the roof. It might be brought on by artificial intelligence or trans-humans—people who merge with technology. The AI, or the enhanced humans, will quickly learn how to build a more intelligent next generation, and that generation will do the same, and the generation after that, which will create a chain reaction of sorts. It’ll be an intelligence explosion, beyond which we can’t predict what will happen. And this is where it’s a little bit like the singularity of physics.”
“And these alleged technological Luddites are trying to prevent this Armageddon scenario?” Hillary asks, apparently fascinated.
“Yes. Except it’s only an Armageddon scenario in their shortsighted worldview. In mine, if you were so determined to use a term from Scripture to describe it, the singularity is more like the Rapture—a hugely positive event where all the world’s problems, such as death, might get resolved. But yes, that’s what I think they’re trying to prevent. That and any change in general.”
“Hello,” I say, interrupting Bert’s favorite conspiracy theory.
“Oh, Darren.” Hillary grins at me. “Bert was just telling me this really fascinating story.”
She actually means it, which reminds me why Bert will be in my debt for the rest of his life. When they both arrived in Miami, I introduced them without any matchmaking ideas in mind. I was thinking that my aunt and my best friend should know each other. It would’ve never occurred to me, not in a million years, that Hillary would actually
like
Bert. The reverse is not a surprise; my aunt is very cute, in the way that all small things are cute, like puppies and kittens. Then again, her size might be what gave Bert the boldness to approach her in
that
way; she’s that super-rare girl who looks small next to him. Bert’s so-called courting of Hillary has been a huge source of entertainment during these dark times. That she said yes to dating him is an event as close to a miracle as I’ll ever witness, and thus the debt. I am totally taking credit for this. He asked to be hooked up with a girl, and I started a chain of events that ended with Bert getting the woman of his dreams—cause and (accidental) effect.
“I’m just here to get some food,” I say to stop Bert from launching into his conspiracy spiel.
“Okay, but at some point we should definitely discuss it,” Hillary says with a small pout. “The idea of some very
traditional
people killing scientists because they don’t want progress is very interesting.”
Now she has my attention. Does she mean to say that either the Traditionalists of the Guide community or the Purists of the Reader community have something to do with Bert’s Luddite conspiracy theory about the killings of scientists? No, can’t be. It’s more plausible that she’s had too much of Bert’s Kool-Aid. Yep, that would explain a lot.
Still, I say, “It does sound like we should chat. But now isn’t the best time.”
“In that case”—Bert smirks—“I take it you’re also too busy to hear about my progress with the USB drive you gave me.”
Bastard. This is blackmail at its finest. “I guess I could find a
little
time in my super-busy schedule to hear about
that
,” I say, waving at the bartender—who ignores me in favor of a hot blonde.
“Well, that would get us back on the same topic,” Bert says triumphantly, “because the first three names on the list you gave me belong to prominent scientists.”
Oh shit. Sounds like these things might actually be connected. This will also complicate the story, or more precisely, the lack of an explanation I gave Bert regarding this drive. I can’t exactly tell him that Jacob, a Purist Reader, wanted the Russian mob to kill these people, can I? That’s a serious question. The only person who gave me the whole ‘don’t tell regular people about us’ speech was Jacob—not someone to be posthumously trusted.
For a moment, Hillary looks as though she’s concentrating.
Bert looks confused before saying, “We’ll talk about that later. What I really wanted to ask you was whether you and Mira wanted to go on a double date tonight. There’s this raw vegan place Hillary found on Yelp.”
Okay, that is weird. I’m convinced Hillary just Guided him—though in this context, it’s perhaps more accurate to say she Pushed him—and she did it to change the topic. The irony is that, unbeknownst to Bert, he’s in the middle of the biggest conspiracy theory of all. His new love interest can
literally
make him do anything she wants. He’s living the ‘my girlfriend can control my mind’ conspiracy, which even a tinfoil hat can’t prevent. Hillary wasn’t subtle about it either. Bert asking to go to a vegan restaurant? I had a hard time convincing the guy to try sushi, and that’s yummy raw fish. He’s a meat-and-potatoes guy to the core. Or maybe she included that little touch to make it clear to
me
that she had Guided him? Her willingness to Guide him makes it even stranger that she didn’t stop him from nerding out just a moment ago. If I weren’t Inert—incapable of entering the Quiet after dying there—I probably would have. This convinces me that despite all logic, she really enjoys hearing Bert’s conspiracy theories.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll ask her,” I say, wondering what Mira would think of this vegan food idea. Though she gets along with Hillary surprisingly well, all things considered, vegan food might be a problem for her. Mira is definitely a carnivore. If she were an animal, she’d be a panther—unlike Hillary, who’d be a hamster.
Finally getting the bartender’s attention, I place our food order.
“Please come back in fifteen minutes, sir,” the bartender says.
“Okay, guys. Mira’s waiting for me in the ocean,” I say. “I’ll be back in a few to get the food.”
I walk toward the ocean, looking forward to a swim. For the thousandth time, I try to phase into the Quiet. The fear of it failing is what I use as a catalyst, only I hit the usual mental brick wall.
Halfway to the water, I notice something strange: a big man wearing military-style clothing, on a beach. Startled, I look at him more closely
...
and my heart rate jumps.
I recognize the man.
It’s Caleb, who’s clearly looking for me. As soon as his eyes lock onto mine, his gaze sharpens, and he heads my way.
In a green blur, he cuts through the remaining distance between us.
Panicking, I turn around, intent on running the hell away, but he’s already next to me. Before I can take a step, I feel the cold barrel of his gun pressed against my naked ribs.
“We’re taking a walk, kid,” he says harshly. “Don’t make a sound.”
“What’s this about?” I try to keep my voice even despite the fear spreading through my veins. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“Shut up and keep walking,” he says, shepherding me away from the ocean.
We walk in silence down the stretch of beach that belongs to our hotel and exit onto the street, heading toward
Collins Avenue.
My bare feet hurt from the hot asphalt, but I’m too worried about my situation to focus on the pain.
After a couple of minutes, we approach a red Honda that’s parked by the sidewalk. “Get in.” Caleb jabs the gun into my side.
“Let me at least grab some clothes,” I say, realizing I’m about to take a drive dressed in nothing but swim trunks.
Instead of answering me, Caleb pulls out a syringe, and before I get the chance to scream, he jams it into my upper arm.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I manage to say, my speech slurring, and then I’m out.
Chapter 2
I
’m aware of movement. I’m in a car, and it’s driving very fast. That’s all I’m feeling. I can’t see for some reason, and I’m not sure how I got here—wherever ‘here’ is. I’m also freezing. Then it slowly comes back to me.
Caleb drugged me. This is his car. Where is he taking me? What the hell is going on?
I’m overflowing with adrenaline at this point, and even though I know it’s futile, I try phasing into the Quiet.
When it works, I’m so surprised I can’t believe it’s real. But it must be. I’m in the backseat. The car is no longer moving. The roar of the engine is gone, and I’m not cold anymore. Frozen Caleb is sitting in the driver’s seat. Next to him I see a black bag covering my frozen self’s head. That explains why I couldn’t see. I find it interesting that the bag did not join me in the Quiet. Clothes usually do, but I guess whatever it is that decides ‘what to bring’ into the Quiet decided that the bag wasn’t part of my clothes. Good call, and another small piece of evidence in support of Eugene’s theory that all this Quiet stuff is really something that just happens in our heads.
So after all the time I spent worrying about it, I’m finally back in the Quiet. However, I can’t enjoy it. Not without knowing what the hell Caleb has gotten me into.
Opening the door, I leave the car. I’m no longer cold, though I wish I were wearing more than swim trunks. I look in the back of the car. In Brooklyn, Caleb’s Hummer had all sorts of guns and knives in the back. This car, which I’m guessing is a rental, has nothing of the kind. Disappointed, I look around.
We’re in the middle of a highway going through what looks like a forest. A dense wall of trees stretches for miles on either side of the road. There’s no way for me to tell where we are. It certainly doesn’t look like Miami.
I try walking into the forest, but after a few scratches and splinters, I decide that aimlessly hiking through the hostile woodland is a dumb idea, especially as a means to figuring out where Caleb is taking me. Wandering down the road proves just as pointless. Despite walking for miles, I find no sign of our current location.