Chapter 10: Vene - Arriving

September 12^th 1993

What can you say about the gulf that exists between the world of the telepath and the merely human? If I sat next to you in a bar and somehow told you all about one fine day during Indian summer in the Sierras, if I used every nuance of expression at my disposal, you'd still never have access to my experience. If you'd never seen snow, you'd only be able to relate it to something you already knew. Nothing more.

The gulf is greater than that. Imagine, if you can, another entire world that exists in parallel with yours. Touching on your world at every point, but invisible and inaccessible to you.

The closest I can come to a comparison has already been used. It's like the difference between a two dimensional world and a three dimensional one. What's an insurmountable, understood, expected barrier, as real as a wall for you ... the separation that exists between minds ... is less than a silken veil to me.

Imagine then, the temptation, the desire, the demand ... to part that veil. And yet, the mere parting of it tears the veil forever.

What telepaths do is rape. The rape of the mind.

There's a darkness in the mind. There's a place no telepath ever goes. It's down deep, the utter bottom of where life occurs. Martine had warned me many times to stay away from the black pit that lives in the depths of every mind.

Telepaths lose themselves in that darkness, the veil, the barrier between you and I is lost, and their minds unravel. They forget to breathe.

If you and I were to share a beer and talk about this, I'd tell you that this dark place was the limbic system of the human brain. The limbic system is the vestigial remains of the reptile brain. It's a simple, reflexive, hard-wired system. Down in that darkness of the most primitive impulses lives the world of fear, arousal, aggression, dominance, submission, death.

When I went into Lynn's mind, that's where I went. Down into the darkness of unconscious thought. I could feel myself lose the distinction of the waking world, and then I was gone. I was strong and Lynn was weaker than me, it was that simple.

I could feel her resist me, fight and struggle against where I was headed, what I intended to do, but it was futile. I tore past every barrier she erected between herself and this penetration, and went down below where she could follow. Down below where she could even feel me.

What I did was simple, and it was also monstrous. I broke her will. I destroyed her capacity to resist me. How? I became her alpha male. I became the one male that smelled right, sounded right, was right. I became as a god for Lynn Harkness.

Sure, I did other programming, things for Vincent to find, strategies that might work, hidden traps in her mind, some obvious, some not. As I completed my work, I wondered if Vincent would just kill her, or if he'd try to reprogram her himself. I was betting on Vincent's ego.

It felt like a safe bet. Vincent flew around in a private helicopter and lived out of the top floor of one of the most exclusive hotels in Vegas. His lifestyle was as lavish as his size. I was betting that he'd go for Lynn.

On the morning of the 12^th, Lynn got into her little red Miata and headed out for Vegas like her ass was on fire. Inside Lynn's mind, I'd programmed her to believe that she knew my plans, knew how I was going to come after Vincent. She knew that she had to get to Vegas before me.

Late that afternoon, I said goodbye to Natalie and Angela by phone, briefly touching their minds to make sure that they would not follow me. They, regardless of the outcome, would remain in San Jose. If Vincent won, there was no doubt that he'd attack Claudio, and probably win. There was nowhere for them to run.

Martine and I shared a glass of wine that evening, looking out over San Francisco from the balcony of her loft. We made small talk, avoiding what would come the next morning. From the chill of the city we retreated indoors, arm in arm.

Standing on her Berber rug, under a Mondrian print and lit by tiny halogen lights, we kissed. I ran my fingers through her hair as her breath and lips warmed my mouth. Her hands traced my spine as we curled into each other.

I slowly unbuttoned her diaphanous white silk blouse, and she ran her hands under my shirt. Everything was slow, unhurried, careful. We took time to kiss again and again. I unbuttoned her bra from the front, and her sun-kissed breasts smiled at me. I kneeled and kissed them, slowly licking. She made tiny noises and ran a hand over my cheek.

"I love you, Martine." I said, looking up with tears in my eyes.

She smiled. "Shush now, Carter. Make love to me."

We made love late into the night. We touched and loved and fucked the way only telepaths can. I felt her and she felt me, and we fell into each other's minds. It was perfect.

Except.

Except, of course, I had to hold back. After all, she'd been turned, and could never be trusted again. But that was the way of things.

The morning dawned cool, and I made sure that Martine slept as I left. Marco and I caught the Greyhound in downtown San Jose. No one on board seemed to mind that I brought my dog. I made my way to the back of the bus, Marco laid his head in my lap, and I let myself drift away.

The bus ride was quiet, everyone aboard was well behaved, headed off to a better life once they got off. Except me, of course. Rocker wanna-be's, future porn stars, hard luck drunks ... between San Jose and Las Vegas, they all got on the bus and life changed. I mean, why the fuck not?

The 8:00 AM Greyhound left a few minutes late. We headed down through Gilroy, then across 152. Los Banos was next. 'The Toilets' — that's the joke from the locals. It's a 12 hour trip. Down highway 99, then cutting over to Tehachapi. The bus stops at a McDonalds in Mojave.