This is the first Part of what I hope will become a multi chapter story. If there's interest in it. Give me feedback and let me know what you think, what you hope for. Enjoy.
*****
You're likely not to believe me, but I can read minds. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but sometime in my early 20s, I realized I knew what other people were thinking. I didn't find an artifact, I wasn't visited by aliens, to the best of my knowledge I'm not a mutant. I just remember every day, riding the London Underground, focusing on all of the people around me, trying my best to figure out what they were thinking. And then one day, it became clear.
To be honest, when it first happened I was terrified. I thought I was schizophrenic. I was riding a train to my place in the East End, standing near the door of a crowded train. And there was this guy, dressed reasonably well, jacket and tie, coming from work, standing in the other doorway.
His shirt had come untucked, and his tie had been loosened. He struck me as having had an interesting day, and I was trying my best to figure out where he had been and what he was doing when suddenly a foreign voice popped in my head. "Damn I hope I get it, I can't bear living with mum and dad much longer."
It was clear as any voice ever spoken aloud, and it wasn't like any of the internal dialogues that each of us have now and again. I was hearing voices! But almost as soon as that panic set in, I realized it was gone.
I sort of did an internal check, trying to make the voice reappear, but it wouldn't, at least not until I turned my attention back to the guy across from me. As soon as I focused in, more details became clear. He had been a bit of a fuck up in school, had problems finding work, lived with his parents, dad was a drunk. He had a girlfriend but she was getting antsy about his not having prospects. Today had been a promising job interview. He felt good about it, but he had felt good about jobs before.
The thoughts flooded my head and overwhelmed me, and when the train doors opened at the next stop I got off even though I was far from my destination. I fell back against the wall and covered my eyes with my hands. My heart was pounding. We all imagine what other people might be thinking, but this wasn't that. This other guy's thoughts had overtaken my own. It wasn't even like hearing someone speak. I could feel his anxiety, his frustration, his hope, all as my own. I was panicked, I'd lost it.
A woman in a TFL uniform approached me, "You doing okay?"
I looked up at her and nodded.
Now I could hear her thoughts, "He doesn't look too good. I hope he doesn't get sick or I'll be stuck cleaning up after him. Kinda cute though."
I shot upright almost slamming the back of my head against the wall. My eyes wide, I could hear her thoughts change from concern about my well-being to concern that I was dangerous. I realized I had to get it together, took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm just having a rough day. I'm okay."
She eyed me suspiciously, and I heard her doubts and felt her apprehension. Still I managed to collect myself, beginning to treat the experience akin to that of being high in public, which, I'm not too ashamed to say, I had done on several occasions.
I boarded the next train and thankfully it was empty enough for me to sit. I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing. That seemed to help. Despite being surrounded by people, no one else's thoughts invaded my mind.
When I finally fell through my front door, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, closing the door behind me, I leaned against it, like I was securing it from some coming invasion. My roommate, Mike, looked up at me and raising an eyebrow asked, "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, "I just had a rough ride home." I sank into the sofa and grabbed his beer and drank it.
"Hey, fuck off," he yelled, "Get your own, you lazy shit." He turned his head toward the television, but I could hear him continue a rant in his head about how entitled I thought I was.
I thought about telling Mike what had happened and asking him to help me test if I was crazy or empowered. Mike and I had been friends since grammar school, but I wasn't ready to open this up. If I had suddenly lost my mind, I'd rather keep that to myself. Still, it crossed my mind that I might be able to test it a different way.
"Hey Mike," I said, "Do we have a deck of cards?"
He looked at me confused, but nodded and told me where he thought they were. When I returned with the deck in hand, I shuffled them and explained, "I learned card trick today, I'd like to test it out."
He nodded lackluster agreement and his thoughts turned to thinking how dopey card tricks were, but he played along.
As I had him pick card after card, telling him to think clear thoughts of his card, I made up a routine of special shuffling to look like I was actually doing something with slight of hand. I got his card five times in a row. I was beginning to realize that I wasn't crazy, but had a new ability.
"Well," he said finally, "Fuck if I know how you're doing it. Show me." As he said this he added the thought to himself, "If he says 'a magician never reveals his secrets' I'm gonna punch him."
I smiled and said, "A magician never reveals his secrets." And true to his word, he immediately threw a punch, but I was ready for it. I slid to the side, took hold of his now extended arm and bent it behind his back as I forced him face first to the floor.
"Holy shit," he exclaimed as I let him up, "when did you become Chuck Norris?" I could feel his legitimate amazement at my movements.
It was then I realized that knowing what people were thinking had advantages beyond simply gaining information on the personal lives. If I knew what someone was thinking, could see their moves before they made them, I'd always be a step ahead, and being a step ahead meant being in control.
It didn't dawn on me that I might actually be able to control people's thoughts; that came later.
I smiled broadly and said, "I have cat-like reflexes, don't you know?" But he eyed me suspiciously. Something was happening, and even though he didn't quite know what, he knew something was different about me. Still he let it go.
"There's a party tonight, over in Whitechapel," he said, changing the subject, but I could hear his continued questioning.
"There's always a party in Whitechapel," I said, unimpressed.
"Seriously though," he insisted, "We need to go." I didn't need to read his mind to know why; Michelle was going to be there, a girl he fancied but never quite got on with. He searched for a reason for me to join him, "Lots of girls there, maybe Jess."
I laughed, "Her name is Jenna, and we're just friends." It was true. While she was cute, with her waifish build and pixie cut, I never really felt a sexual spark with her.
"Doesn't matter," he said confidently, "You need to get out more. A bloke your age needs more social interaction. You know what they say, 'all work and no play..." and such."
So we went to the party. I did need to get out more, but I was curious what my new ability might bring in a party setting. Although I was worried that being in a crowd I might be overwhelmed by the thoughts of others, I needed to see if and how well I could control it.
We arrived at a flat crowded with people our age the sound of dance music blaring. I wondered if the noise might bring the police, but I also knew this neighborhood well enough to know that probably everyone in the building was at the party.
I grabbed myself a drink, some kind of punch that was being passed around. It tasted god awful, but holding the cup calmed my nerves a bit. I had already heard stray thoughts here and there, but was doing my best to block them out. Now, with drink in hand, I could settle in a corner and try to focus in.
The music made it difficult, but even more so, I realized that most of the people at the party had sort of, I don't know, switched off their brains, I guess. I could sense people feeling good, feeling a bit of freedom, a bit of stress relief. I could even sense a bit of intoxication which, when I first stumbled onto it made me drunk myself. I worked hard to block it in order to regain some control.
Generally positive vibes at the party. Scanning the room was like scanning a radio dial, signals came in stronger and weaker as my attention switched focus. It was fascinating. And then I stumbled onto someone a bit more interesting.
A young woman, leaning against the far corner, appeared to be in an argument with herself.
"You always do this," I heard her admonish herself. "You go out and then you sit in the corner and get angry that no one ever comes over to say hi."
"Yes," I heard her own reply, "But other girls have guys approach them without having to go trawling the room. I'm attractive enough, aren't I?" Despite looking despondent staring into her own cup, I had to agree, she was definitely attractive. Slight build, with curly dark hair to her shoulders, a pale-ish angular face with dark rimmed glasses. She wore bright red lipstick and a grey plaid skirt with black tights that made her look a bit younger than she likely was.
"Look," her admonishing voice continue, "No one wants shag the mopey little girl in the corner. The vibes you put off say 'stay the fuck away, I'm a head case'"
Her voice of defense fell to a whisper in her own head, "If someone approached me, I'd show them how good of a shag a mopey girl could be."
Well, I'm not too ashamed to say I walked across the room and leaned against the wall next to her. I could hear her thoughts change to a bit of anxiety; she had been hoping someone would approach her, but now she wasn't so sure. I heard her think, "He's cute, just so long as he doesn't tell me to smile."
I leaned toward her, ostensibly to give my voice a chance of being heard over the music. "I'm Paul," I said, "And you look like the most interesting person here."
