CHAPTER FOUR
This short story is derived from a scene deleted from my book, A Mind Reader’s Christmas. Even if you haven’t read that book, it’s okay to read this story.
However, be warned that this scene gives away something that happens at the end of Democracy’s Thief. In other words: Spoiler Alert!
This story takes place in 2032. Eric and Viviana are vacationing in snowy Vermont with their ten-year-old daughter, Cosmina. She—and here comes the spoiler part—is able to compel people to do her bidding but doesn’t realize it!
Some other things you need to know (or remember) from other Eric Beckman books:
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While on vacation, I continued working with our ten-year-old daughter, Cosmina, helping her improve her mind-reading skills. But on a December morning, while Cosmina was visiting a friend, I had a training session for Viviana. That’s right, a training session for my not-a-mind-reader wife.
I had to prepare her for the upcoming apocalypse. That is, for the day when our strange and wonderful daughter realized she could project her thoughts and compel people to do whatever she told them to do.
My ability to turn down the gain of my mind reading also works to block incoming mind control. That is, if I tamp down my inlet ports, so to speak, I am safe from being influenced. So, come the day that Cosmina realized her awesome power, she wouldn’t be able to control me.
But she would be able to control Viviana.
I felt guilty about having these thoughts about my daughter. Cosmina was a loving and caring child, but power corrupts, right? Would Cosmina be able to resist making her mom let her stay out late with a guy who had nothing but bad intentions? Would she compel Viviana to take her to the mall? Buy her a pony?
What were the chances I’d be able to teach a normal person—a Muggle, you might say—to resist an influx of thoughts? Hard to know. To find out, I needed to influence Viviana through mind control and teach her to resist it. And to do that, I needed to tire myself out.
I hated cross-country skiing. Downhill? Fun. Cross-country? Not so much. It was like jogging with long, inconvenient things fastened to your feet and hands. Viviana, however, was a pro at the sport. It was popular in Romania, and she’d started skiing in preschool.
We rented our skis at Ye Olde Sports Shoppe, in Newburn, Vermont. Viviana chose traditional skis and picked out the right glide and kick waxes. She convinced the proprietor to let her apply them herself, using the shop’s vise and other equipment.
I, on the other hand, went with modern, accelerometer-equipped skis. Each ski knew if it was traveling forward or backward. If the latter, micro flaps under the ski would drop down. The owner demonstrated by holding a ski above my head, parallel to the ground. He’d shift it backward, and hundreds of the little flaps, like fish scales, opened up. “You can even go up a steep hill with no backsliding.” Nice, right? Perfect for a newbie like me.
The trail we chose wound its way up Horse Mountain, with two robot-groomed tracks side by side. We set off, Viviana wearing a purple jumpsuit that accentuated her curves. She soon got frustrated with my ineptitude and slowness. Sometimes she’d zip ahead, do some kind of graceful kick turn, and come back to give me encouragement.
The sky was a deep blue I’d only seen at higher elevations. A gusty wind moaned through the pines. Sometimes we had to raise our voices to talk.
Being a good and moral spouse, I’d used my mind control on her only once before. At her request. She’d wanted to understand this weird thing her freak of a husband could do, so we had set off on a long run in Yosemite National Park.
I remembered that day clearly: After three-and-a-half hours of elevated heart rate, my power had zapped on, along with its weird headache. It’s weird because the pain is somehow outside of my head, like a beach-ball-sized donut.
We’d been far from the Yosemite crowds, and I’d said, “Okay, it’s time. What do you want me to make you do?”
She whispered in my ear and I nodded. Her suggestion was exactly what I had in mind.
Like a god, I pointed to her and commanded, “You will now make passionate, uninhibited love to me.”
It was the best sex we ever had, despite my headache. When we finished, we had to collect our running clothes scattered around a wide area of the pine-needled forest floor. I never did find my underwear.
“Did you see a family of hikers go by?” I’d asked her.
“You mean while we were—?”
“Right.”
She’d smiled. “Didn’t notice.”
It was a fond memory.
Bringing my thoughts back to our Vermont skiing expedition, I realized I’d have to find something else to command her to do. Making love naked in the snow on a sub-zero, windy day? Brr. I have to admit, the idea kind of turned me on, but the point of the session was to see whether she could learn to resist my mind-control.
I eventually got into the rhythm of the skiing, aping Viviana’s smooth movements. Maybe this was better than jogging—we flew along, the hiss of the skis on the snow audible between gusts. We crossed a ridge and a vista of far mountains opened up on one side. “We’ll have to do this again with Cosmina,” I yelled.
After a few hours, my scalp tingled. “It won’t be long now. Let’s find a deserted spot.”
We followed a small path to a flat area of exposed bedrock and took off our skis. I ran in place. Any second … zap! The pain rocked me from the outside—it’s hard to describe.
I’d decided to keep things simple. Sit on that rock, I commanded. I didn’t say it out loud, and she—hey wait a second!
Viviana sat. I had never realized it before. Because I didn’t have to speak my command out loud, it meant that in a sense, she was reading my mind.
Stand up. I directed the thought to her. Viviana stood up so quickly, her feet almost left the ground.
“How did you know I told you to stand up?” I was running in place to keep my power going. Tough to do with a migraine-intensity headache.
She frowned, “You told me to, yes? I don’t understand.”
“But I didn’t say it out loud.”
“Yes, you did say—”
Can you hear me now?
“Yes, of course. Don’t need to yell.”
I’d known, of course, that mind reading and mind control were somehow related, but hadn’t really appreciated that the controlee was hearing my thoughts. Maybe, since the recipients had never experienced mind reading, they felt compelled to follow the commands they experienced in their head. Like obeying one’s own thoughts. Was I oversimplifying?
“Viviana, you are hearing my thoughts. Watch my lips.” Sit down again.
She sat.
“Did my lips move?”
She squinted and cocked her head. <Is so strange.>
“Answer m—”
“Lips did not move.”
Next, I would try to get her to not obey my command. It would be dangerous. Some past events had suggested that mind readers who resisted mind control could develop some serious neurological consequences. Like a memory wipe. Perhaps this whole exercise was too risky.
“Viviana, I’m going to command you to stand up again—no, not yet—and I want to you consider that you are just hearing the words in your head. You don’t have to obey the thoughts, just listen to them, observe them. I’m not saying to resist. Just realize that maybe you don’t need to obey them. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Stand up.”
She looked off into space and seemed confused. Had I gone too far—risked her sanity?
She stood up, but slowly and after a delay. So, maybe I could teach her to resist thoughts. Resist the command to buy a pony. At that point, I had second thoughts. The risk of damage to her mind was too great. I decided to stop and give more thought to the risks versus the benefits.
A funny smile spread across Viviana’s face.
“What?” I said.
She came over and whispered in my ear.
Turns out making love in the snow isn’t unpleasant after all.