Chapter Three

DEAN MITCHELL WAS TWO years older than me, a senior, and on his way out of high school. He was All State in baseball, had straight A’s, he was the current senior class president, and the subject on just about every girl’s mind throughout the entire school.

Trust me, I knew.

I never expected in a million years to be calling him my brother, but after his parents took me in, he gained what was left of my dangling thread of trust. He’s the only one I had enough confidence in to share my secret, and although he didn’t fully agree with my business, he let it slide on the account that I provided clients with just the facts.

“How’d you sleep last night?” he asked, knowing full well my insomniac tendencies.

I made a pinching motion with my fingers as we walked together down the hallway. “I was this close, man.”

“Did you try that technique I found online?” he asked.

Dean had made it his mission to help find some sort of a cure for me. The latest remedy was something called Roman Room Mnemonics, a mind-conditioning technique that preserves memory and thought but can also toss out unwanted items—sort of like the trash bin on a computer. For it to work, a person had to capture the unwanted memory, thought, or whatever, and seal it away. The mental cleanup was supposed to bring a sense of peace and calm to the mind. I think those silent monks you hear about use it. And it would have worked just fine, but I dealt with something that fought back.

Another trick Dean suggested was to plug my nose and drink a glass of room-temperature milk just before bed. I hadn’t tried that one yet and wasn’t about to.

“It didn’t work,” I said, “although there is something else new.”

Dean’s expression changed from curious to concerned. I went on. “It was a nosebleed, I think.”

Dean shook his head firmly and said, “Nolan, that sounds serious. Maybe it’s time you got some professional help—you know, went to a doctor or something.”

“No way,” I returned, trying to keep my voice down. “How would I explain myself?”

I mimicked being in a doctor’s office. “Yeah, Doc, I can read people’s minds, and I hear strange voices that keep me awake at night.”

Dean arched an eyebrow and gave me a reassuring smile. I didn’t even have to read his mind to know what he was thinking. About a month ago, Dean had convinced me to give up mind reading for a week. I did, but the ominous voices continued at night and I think I got even less sleep than usual.

“I tried that already, remember? And it didn’t work.”

A bell sounded in the hallway.

“Well, keep trying that containing idea, and I’ll keep looking for new stuff.”

We bumped fists and parted ways.