Mad Powers (Tapped In) by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page A

eyes. “Veronica was SVR. I was doing my job. You were blinded, Harland, from seeing the truth.”
    Harland’s smile remained. It was his eyes that conveyed the true hatred he was feeling. I was in his thoughts—thoughts that were reeling, spinning in circles, always returning to a singular driving hub—getting revenge. He was replaying the events of the previous night. It was Jill’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lips quivering—then gasping for breath—her final—last—desperate—breath.
    As I had done so easily with Russell, in our run-in at Denny’s, and with Benny, at Motel 6, I tried to transmit my own thoughts into his: I will enjoy snapping your neck, asshole . But my emotions, my hatred for Harland was so all encompassing I was unable to synchronize to his mind. I needed to get my raging hatred under control—but that seemed unlikely at this point. I was definitely at a disadvantage until I brought some measure of detachment into my thoughts.
    I sat down in the driver’s seat and watched him move around the front of the vehicle, gun still pointed at my head. He opened the passenger-side door and climbed in.
    Now, sitting close to Harland, I noticed his breath was foul. The pallor of his skin was pasty and perspiration was beaded on his brow. He looked like death warmed-over. His left hand was bandaged, with a yellow and green discharge seeping through the gauze.
    Harland, seeing my interest in his hand, smiled. “Fucking snakes.”
    I nodded. “What have you been doing with yourself, Harland?”
    “You mean after you shot my wife in the heart? Well … I left the Agency. Went independent. Which has given me time to look for you. So I could make you suffer. Destroy your life, as you have destroyed mine. But you want to know the best part?”
    “Sure, what’s the best part?”
    “There are others who want you. Others, who are just as hell-bent on finding you as I am; people willing to pay me handsomely for apprehending you. Imagine my delight at the prospect of being paid to nab you.”
    “I’m glad things have worked out for you. So now what? Kill me? Finally get revenge?”
    Harland smiled as if he was in on some kind of inside joke. I’ve learned over the last few days in observing other people’s thoughts, mind reading , that it isn’t a complete brain dump. Their older cognitive memories aren’t mine to peruse, like files saved on a computer hard drive. I am able to read someone’s thoughts, but usually only when those thoughts first screen across his mind. Sometimes I also pickup on stray, or errant, images—those evoking strong emotions, which may relate to something else entirely. Such insights, collectively, allow me to piece together a better understanding. So, when Harland’s mind flashed to his current employer, someone named Dwight, I realized Harland had mixed feelings, more than a little fear, when it came to the guy. And there was something else. I wasn’t the only one he’d been contracted to apprehend. Memories were continuing to seep into my consciousness.
    Pippa walks away from me. I hear the sound of her laughing at something, and then she looks back over her shoulder at me. A strand of hair catches at the corner of her perfect mouth. She turns and continues to walk backward, away from me, still laughing. Playful. I take all of her in at once: her long legs—legs that have stopped traffic. She’s saying something to me and, just like that, her expression changes—what is that expression? That face she’s making? It’s a wonderful mixture of competing emotions … innocence and sultriness … confidence and insecurity. She’s beckoning me now; gesturing me to follow her into the bedroom.
    When Harland speaks, the sudden vision, my own memory of Pippa, fades like wisps of a cloud. And with the sound of his voice I know Harland will stop at nothing to kill her—he’ll kill her as I’m forced to watch.
    Harland gestured to the street ahead. “Drive,