A Loner Mentalist Pt. 02

Mia looked to be considering his words carefully. He could feel the cogs turning in her head, even without using his power. "Where would I find these people, anyway," she asked.

Jack shrugged. "At the community college? At my college? I'll bring you over to every party I get invited to." He paused and wondered if his utter lack of popularity in middle school and high school would somehow translate into college, as well. "Uh, scratch that last, I'll tell you about every party I hear about and you can crash them and do your job. And there's also... I don't know, the mall, or wherever hot, young people with money to burn hang out. You'll figure it out. The club manager will tell you what kind of crowd they want for what event."

She poked at her slice of pie. "Sounds great, but how would I even get a job like that?"

"The guys at Alpha work security for every club in this city," he said with a smile. "I can get you an interview at any time." She rolled her eyes and sagged in her seat. "What is it?"

"I can't do this. I can't make it past an interview."

"Of course you can," he said. "You've got the looks. You can work the charm. You're going to get hired. It'll be exactly the same as school, you say what's cool and people agree. And the interview is a cinch, let me tell you. First of all, you'll come highly recommended, and secondly, they won't care at all about your history and education. They won't even ask about where you come from and such. All that matters to them is that their club is full with people who spend money there.

"They'll hand you a bunch of fliers and leave you to it. If you bring them customers, they'll keep you on. If you don't, you don't and they let you go, but it's no skin off their noses to give you a chance first. All you have to do to get the job is not act like a psycho during the interview." Mia looked to be carefully considering his words. "Or pass out in fear, or shart from nerves when you meet the manager."

She laughed at his sharting comment. Her fear seemed to be going away.

"I'm telling you, you can do it," he earnestly said. "I'll even practice job interviews with you. Now, eat your dessert! Your ice cream is melting."

After they finished their desserts, he settled the check, leaving a big tip for the waitress. He also tipped the attendant when he brought his car around. He drove Mia around the city for an hour more, showing her where everything was, before turning towards the freeway.

"It's almost six," she said, somewhat nervously. "Will we make it to the home before curfew?"

"Don't worry, we're there in less than forty minutes," he said.

When he drove close to the home, Mia insisted he park a few blocks away, so none of the other girls see her dropped off. "It would draw a target on my back," she said when he insisted on driving her up to the front door. He acquiesced and dropped her off where she indicated.

She rummaged through her school bag and then pulled out his phone. She gave it to him. "I spent almost all the minutes on it. Sorry."

"It's ok," he said and put the phone in his pocket. "Do you want to study tomorrow?"

"Uh, yeah, but later in the afternoon, ok? I've got cheerleading practice in the morning."

"Ok," Jack said. "I'll be here bright and early to pick you up for breakfast and drive you to school."

He drove off, leaving her staring after him. Every single piece of her life experience suggested that this was an elaborate setup and that he would drop her to fall flat on her ass as soon as she leaned on him.What choice do I have, she asked herself.What's my alternative? Prostitution? She shuddered and decided to commit to Jack's plan of action. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't... well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. She sighed and walked to the home.If nothing else, at least I got a great dinner out of it.

Jack drove home and all but skipped as he went inside. He now knew that his pot-fueled visions were true. He set events in motion to fulfill the obligation he had felt since being shown the buried treasure. He was free and eager to explore the limits of his power. He made more brownies and squirreled away a batch of special ones in his room.

Ever since he had started to train Spot with his power, questions came to him. They were serious questions about the nature and provenance of his power and he had had no way of answering them, so he had just ignored them. Now that he had clairvoyant abilities at will, he was going to finally get some answers. While he waited for his mother to go to sleep, he was nervous with anticipation, but he managed to decide in which order he would seek the answers he needed.

After she finally fell asleep, Jack ate the brownies and began his meditations. He took his time, slowly working out the nervous energy he had been accumulating over the past two days. His relaxed and calm state came at the same time as his high, so he jumped into the matter at hand. He thought about the source of his visions. As he concentrated on that question, he received a vision.

In the corner of his room was a cartoon dog, dressed in paint-covered overalls. It had a paintbrush taped to its tail. It drew the brush over a canvas on an easel with rapid flicks of its tail and then sat down to bark twice.

Jack understood the barks to be an invitation to walk to the front of the easel and see the finished image, so he did. He could only giggle as he saw a caricature of himself looking into a crystal ball. "How can I be the source of my visions, when I didn't know any of those things before I saw them in the visions?"

The cartoon dog gave three soft yips which Jack understood to mean to look deeper into the crystal ball. He bent down to put his nose next to the drawing of the ball and stared into the circle on the canvas. As he looked into the empty circle, he started to see the weave of the canvas itself. He felt like he was falling into the canvas and he didn't feel any fear. His consciousness kept accelerating towards the canvas and the fibers it was made of started to be visible. Jack understood them to represent the connections that linked all minds into the collective subconscious. The spaces between the fibers were starting to resemble TV screens. Lots and lots of TV screens.

Jack was lost in the sudden multitude of screens facing him. On each of them a memory was being replayed on a loop. Some of the memories were pleasant, some scary, some were faded, some vivid, but they were all significant and unique. There were no endless repeats of a daily commute to work, or school, with only tiny alterations between each version. Almost none of those memories were his, he realized. There were some, scattered here and there, but the overwhelming majority of the memories he was being shown belonged to other people.

All the images he was seeing were echoes of memories that people's minds had made. As he pulled back and tried to make sense of them all, he could see that for all of their specificity, they still had some commonality. The cartoon dog gave an explanatory whine and Jack understood. He was seeing only the recent, important memories of people who were living close to him.

"Wow," Jack whispered.

The dog softly growled, telling Jack that the mental energies of all the people on the Earth combined to create the aether, a veil that covered the planet and reflected their memories and thoughts back down at them. A very sensitive person, like Jack, could pick up on these nervous discharges and read them for what they were. Another soft growl informed Jack that there were limits to what he could do.

Memories echoed in the place they were originally made. The more meaningful they had been to their original owner, the longer they echoed through the aether and the greater the distance at which they could be picked up by a person like Jack. He was a little surprised to learn that his ability was limited by distance, but he nodded to himself in understanding.

The memory of the boy that buried the baseball cards was still lingering in the aether over his home town because they had meant the world to him back then. He had been called up to do his duty and he had been scared like never before. The cards were a vivid reminder of simpler times, when manliness was proved by owning the right set of them, not by picking up a rifle and fighting Nazis.

The dog couldn't give him an exact range for his power because it was dependent on how meaningful the memory was to its owner. Still, he informed Jack that if he had been in the next town over, he would not have been able to pick up on the memory and find the cards. Jack decided to view this limitation as a blessing in disguise. If he had been exposed to all the memories of everyone in the world at the same time, he'd find himself unable to view a single one of them. That is, if they didn't somehow burn out his mind. He shuddered at that thought, but quickly brought his emotions under control. He didn't want to have a bad trip.

Another growl from the dog informed Jack that he couldn't learn any skills from the aether. Skills were based on procedural memory and as such weren't broadcast into the aether by the mind that possessed them. He could learn particular facts about any vocation, but he could not gain proficiency in it. Not by just having visions of it.

Jack stood up straight. He understood the limits of his clairvoyant ability, even if he still wasn't a hundred percent convinced of this explanation of their source. He couldn't gain knowledge possessed and accessed by people who lived very far away from him, or who had died a long time ago. He could get around the distance limitation, however, by moving closer to them, or by visiting a place that they had also visited and in which they had thought deeply about what he wanted to know. A faint echo of the revisited memory would linger in the aether for a short time after they did that. Gaining the knowledge of people who had died over a century ago was well beyond his abilities, he now knew.

With the source and nature of his divinations addressed, Jack turned to the next most important question. Were there other mentalist in the world?

The dog wagged its tail and happily barked, informing Jack that there were thousands of mentalists in the world today, though they kept their existence and identities secret. Jack's spirits soared at the news. He wasn't alone! Guidance and fellowship was available to him, even in this matter. The dog's growl informed him that he couldn't learn a person's name from just accessing their memories. The name was such a basic part of a person's identity that it didn't get broadcast into the aether.

After Jack thought if he could learn a person's name from the memories of other people that knew them, the dog wagged its tail, indicating that he could. The names of other people were information that was broadcast into the aether, but a person only broadcast the names of people that they spent a lot of time interacting with. Jack would probably only be broadcasting the names of his three friends, Janice, Bert and maybe Mia. Everyone else was little more than background noise.

He checked his hypothesis. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that his mind was also broadcasting the deceased lieutenant's name into the aether. Jack White was long dead, but his sacrifice and teachings were always on Jack's mind, so he guessed it made sense. The revelation made him feel proud, like he was honoring the man's sacrifice by keeping his memory alive and resonating through the aether.

Jack thought about the identities and information of some benevolent mentalists in his area. He didn't expect the cartoon pooch to begin barking in fear.

Jack was being warned against looking for the identities of nearby mentalists by the cartoon dog, but he had spent too long muddling through on his own. He wanted to meet another mentalist. He needed to meet another mentalist. Jack persisted and the cartoon dog growled.

Jack understood the instruction and sat on his bed, in the lotus position. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He soon found himself in a dark theatre, all alone. A sense of dread began to creep up on him, but he disregarded it. He had explicitly said "benevolent mentalists" and he didn't think that they would turn out to be scary. There were over a dozen people lined up on the stage, though they, too, were shrouded in darkness. Suddenly, a stage light shone upon the man on the far right of the stage.

He was a middle aged guy in a tweed suit. He had a fancy, old-timey moustache and soul patch. He was bald with a comb-over of dark brown hair. He smiled warmly at Jack and said, "Hello! I am a mentalist. Who are you?"

Before Jack could respond to the vision in any way, a cloaked figure separated itself from the shadows it had been hiding in. It moved a loose sleeve over the smiling face of the mustachioed man, completely obscuring it for a moment. As soon as it was lifted from the man, Jack knew something had been stolen from the man. He could feel the loss resonate in the pit of his own stomach, as if it had been taken from him, as well. He stared at the man's face, but everything seemed to be in place, down to the last hair of his moustache. The cloaked figure blended back into the shadows on the stage, becoming utterly indistinguishable from them, once again.

"I am no longer a mentalist," said the middle-aged man in a flat voice. His eyes became lifeless and his face fell. Jack's flesh erupted in goose bumps and his insides knotted as he realized that the man's power had been taken from him. The despondent man's head lowered until his chin touched his chest and the spotlight moved off him.

It illuminated the next person in line, a vivacious, young blonde, who was quite easy on the eyes. "Hello," she cheerfully said, looking right at Jack. "I am a mentalist. Who are you?"

Jack wanted to shout out a warning, he wanted to tell her to beware, but he had no voice. The cloaked figure again seemed to materialize from the very shadows around the blonde as it lifted an arm, encased in a midnight blue sleeve, over her face. After the arm passed over her features, they changed into anguish and utter desperation. She cried a little as she said, "I am no longer a mentalist." Her face fell, her head lowered, and the spotlight moved to the next person in line.

Jack was hyperventilating and telling himself that this was just a bad trip, nothing else, but he knew, as surely as he knew anything, that this had truly happened. Someone, or something, had taken those mentalists' powers. Those people had been just like him, but now they no longer were. The memory of having that power and then losing it threatened to crush their spirits. He could feel it.

"Hello! I am a mentalist. Who are you?" Jack tried to warn the elderly black woman on the stage of the shadow, but he just couldn't. What he was being shown was over and done with, some time ago. The arm covered her face and transformed her from a kindly, wise grandma to a bitter, lost, old hag.

Jack kept chanting to himself that this was just a bad trip, but his denial was feeble. A Hispanic woman was next in line and he watched in horror as the midnight cloak's sleeve passed over her face. Just like with the first three, Jack could feel her loss and it was damaging his cool. He didn't know how much more of this horror show he could take. He could feel a massive freak out coming on. He grit his teeth and focused on the culprit of this atrocity, even as it continued to rob his fellow mentalists of their powers.

The cloaked figure resisted his every attempt to be identified. The cloak it was wearing was the color of darkness, a midnight blue that made it blend with the shadows perfectly. It couldn't be illuminated by the spotlight, or picked out against its background as it moved wherever it wished.

The cloaked figure was the perfect predator. It was indomitable. It struck as it wished. It couldn't be seen, or discovered. It had the perfect element of surprise on its side. It couldn't be tracked. It couldn't even be perceived by any means. All it would take for Jack's power to be taken from him was for the cloaked figure to notice him.

The method of the theft of power was also completely imperceptible for Jack, which made him start to panic in earnest. He had no idea how his power could be taken and this cloaked figure was taking it from experienced mentalists left and right. All Jack could see was that the process left the former mentalist physically intact, which wasn't much of a comfort to him at that moment.

The cloaked figure had almost reached the middle of the lineup. Jack was running out of breath as his chest tightened from witnessing the horror on the stage. He stopped chanting his useless denial of the tableau and tried desperately to think of something, anything at all. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't penetrate the shadowy cloak with his power, not even with pot in his system. His fear was paralyzing him. It seemed to him that his own power could be taken from him at any moment.

Out of pure desperation, an idea was born in Jack's mind. What if he, too, was imperceptible?

He focused all his attention on the cloaked figure, but this time, he didn't try to look past the shadowy cloak to see what was beneath. He focused on the cloak itself, desperate to perceive it and it alone. As he looked at the cloak, he began to see the individual strands it was made out of. They reminded him of the fibers that had made up the canvas with his caricature at the start of this vision quest. Only these fibers were the opposite of those. Whereas those had shed light on events, these cast obscuring shadows over memories and thoughts, protecting the wearer. Jack thought about how to weave a cloak for himself.

The image of a keyhole formed in Jack's mind. The cartoon dog wailed long and loud and Jack could hear him inside the theatre. Jack immediately understood the keyhole was a representation of the aether's entry point into his own mind. He instinctively tried to cover it up, or block it, but the dog yipped, admonishing his efforts. When Jack stopped, the dog emitted another long, sad wail and Jack heard his instructions loud and clear. He positioned himself on the other side of the keyhole and peeked into his own mind. He felt the keyhole transform into the face opening of the shadow cloak's hood. The cloak then flowed down his mental body to cover him from head to toe.

Jack sighed in relief and the spotlight flickered until it switched off, plunging him into darkness. He blinked his eyes open and cast his gaze all about. He was on his bed and the cartoon dog was nowhere to be seen. Jack heaved great, big breaths as his body caught up with the adrenaline rush from the vision. He didn't seem to be able to catch his breath, so he stumbled over to the window and threw it open, launching the upper half of his body over the sill. He desperately gulped the cooler, outside air. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears. He shook and wept.

He didn't know how long he hung there, but his heart kept refusing to settle down. Only the realization that he had lost track of his power snapped him out of his misery. He quickly retraced his mental steps and wrapped himself back up in the shadowy cloak. He was relieved to feel that keeping himself hidden wasn't all that difficult. As long as he kept his power focused on his own mind, he was like an engaged phone line, no one could get through.

It was much easier than reading a mind, since his was the only mind involved. Aside from the fact that he didn't need to establish common sensory inputs, or sympathetic emotions, there was no sliding into another mind, which was the most exhausting part of the whole thing. It also took far less of his mental energy and willpower to keep himself hidden than it did to direct and influence another's mind.