What I did was not exactly how I imagined mind reading—not that mind reading is something I imagined much. The experience was like some kind of virtual reality, only more intense. It was like I was the pothead guy. I felt what he felt. Saw what he saw. I even had his memories, and they came and went as though they were mine.

But at the same time, I was also myself. An observer of sorts. I experienced two conflicted world views. On the one hand, I was Nick, feeling high, feeling numb, feeling dumb, but at the same time, I was myself, able to not lose my own consciousness. It was a strange merger.

I want to do it again—as soon as possible.

“Do you want tea?” Eugene asks, dragging me out of my thoughts, and I realize we somehow ended up at the kitchen table.

I look around the room. There are a bunch of beakers all over the place. Is he running some kind of chemistry experiment in here? A red stain on the counter, near an ampule with remains of that same red substance, matches the stain on Eugene’s white coat. At least it’s not blood, as I had originally thought.

“I will take your silence as a yes to tea.” Eugene chuckles. “I’m sorry,” he adds, joining me after setting the kettle on the stove. “The first time we Read is usually not as confusing as that. Nick’s intoxicated state must’ve been an odd addition to an already strange experience.”

“That’s an understatement,” I say, getting my bearings. “So how does this work?”

“Let’s begin at the beginning,” Eugene says. “Do you now know what a Reader is?”

“I guess. Someone who can do that?”

“Exactly.” Eugene smiles.

“And what is a Pusher?”

His smile vanishes. “What Pushers do is horrible. An abomination. A crime against human nature. They commit the ultimate rape.” His voice deepens, filling with disgust. “They mind-rape. They take away a person’s will.”

“You mean they can hypnotize someone?” I ask, trying to make sense of it.

“No, Darren.” He shakes his head. “Hypnosis is voluntary—if the whole thing exists at all. You can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do under hypnosis.” He stops at the sound of the kettle. “Pushers can make a person do anything they want,” he clarifies as he gets up.

I don’t know how to respond, so I just sit there, watching him pour us tea.

“I know it’s a lot to process,” Eugene says, placing the cup in front of me.

“You do have a gift for stating the obvious.”

“You said you came here to get answers. I promised I would provide them. What do you want to know?” he says, and my heart begins to pound with excitement as I realize I’m about to finally learn more about myself.

“How does it work?” I ask before he changes his mind and decides to test me some more. “Why can we phase into the Quiet?”

“Phase into the Quiet? Is that what you call Splitting?” He chuckles when I nod. “Well, prepare to be disappointed. No one knows for sure why we can do it. I have some theories about it, though. I’ll tell you my favorite one. How much do you know about quantum mechanics?”

“I’m no physicist, but I guess I know what a well-read layman should know.”

“That might be enough. I’m no physicist myself. Physics was my dad’s field, and really this is his theory. Have you ever heard of Hugh Everett III?”

“No.” I’ve never heard of the first two either, but I don’t say that to Eugene.

“It’s not important, as long as you’ve heard of the multiple universes interpretation of quantum mechanics.” He offers me sugar for my tea.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” I say, shaking my head to decline the sugar. Eugene sits across from me at the table, his gaze intent on mine. “It’s the alternative to the famous Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, right?”

“Yes. We’re on the right track. Now, do you actually understand the Copenhagen interpretation?”

“Not really. It deals with particles deciding where to be upon observation with only a probability of being in a specific place—introducing randomness into the whole thing. Or something along those lines. Isn’t it famous for no one understanding it?”

“Indeed. I doubt anyone really does. Even my dad didn’t, which is why he said it was all BS. He would point out how the whole Schrödinger’s cat paradox is the best example of the confusion.” As he talks, Eugene gets more and more into the conversation. He doesn’t touch his tea, completely immersed in the subject. “Schrödinger meant for the cat theory to illustrate the wrongness, or at least the weirdness of that interpretation, which is funny, given how famous the cat example became. Anyway, what’s important is that Everett said there is no randomness. Every place a particle can be, it is, but in different universes. His theory is that there is nothing special about observing particles, or cats—that the reality is Schrödinger’s cat is both alive and dead, a live cat in one universe and a dead one in another. No magic observation skills required. Do you follow?”

“Yes, I follow,” I say. Amazingly enough, I actually do. “I had to read up on this when we wanted to invest in a firm that was announcing advances in quantum computing.”

“Oh, good.” Eugene looks relieved. “That might expedite my explanation considerably. I was afraid I would have to explain the double-slit experiment and all that to you. You’ve also heard of the idea that brains might use quantum computing in some way?”

“I have,” I say, “but I’ve also read that it’s unlikely.”

“Because the temperatures are too high? And the effects are too short-lived?”

“Yeah. I think it was something along those lines.”

“Well, my dad believed in it regardless, and so do I. No one really knows for sure, wouldn’t you admit?” Eugene says.

I never really thought about it. It’s not something that was ever important to me. “I guess so,” I say slowly. “I read that there are definitely some quantum effects in the brain.”

“Exactly.” He takes a quick sip of tea and sets it aside again. I do the same. The tea is bitter and too hot, and I’m dying for Eugene to continue. “The unlikelihood that you mention is about whether consciousness is related to quantum effects. No one doubts that some kinds of quantum processes are going on in the brain. Since everything is made of subatomic particles, quantum effects happen everywhere. This theory just postulates that brains are leveraging these effects to their benefit. Kind of like plants do. Have you heard of that?”

“Yes, I have.” He’s talking about the quantum effects found in the process of photosynthesis. Mom—Sara—emailed me a bunch of articles about that. She’s very helpful that way—sending me articles on anything she thinks I might be interested in. Or anything she’s interested in, for that matter.

“Photosynthesis evolved over time because some creature achieved an advantage when using a quantum effect. In an analogous way, wouldn’t a creature able to do any kind of cool quantum calculations get a huge survival advantage?” he asks.

“It would,” I admit, fascinated.

“Good. So the theory is that what we can do is directly related to all this—that we find ourselves in another universe when we Split, and that a quantum event in our brains somehow makes us Split.” He looks more and more like a mad scientist when he’s excited, as he clearly is now.

“That’s a big leap,” I say doubtfully.

“Okay, then, let me go at it from another angle. Could brains have evolved an ability to do quick quantum computations? Say in cases of dire emergencies?”

“Yeah, I think that’s possible.” Evolution is something I know well, since Sara’s PhD thesis dealt with it. I’ve known how the whole process works since second grade.

“Well, then let’s assume, for the sake of this theory, that the brain has learned to leverage quantum effects for some specific purpose. And that as soon as the brain does that anywhere in nature, evolution will favor it. Even if the effect is tiny. As long as there’s some advantage, the evolutionary change will spread.”

“But that would mean many creatures, and all people, have the same ability we do,” I say. I wonder if I have someone else who doesn’t understand evolution on my hands.

“Right, exactly. You must’ve heard that some people in deeply stressful life-or-death situations experience time as though it’s slowing down. That some even report leaving their bodies in near-death experiences.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, what if that’s what it feels like for regular people to do this quantum computation, which is meant to save their lives or at least give their brains a chance to save them? You see, the theory asserts that this does happen and that all people have this ‘near-death’ quantum computation boost. All the anecdotal reports that mention strange things happening to people in dire circumstances confirm it. So far, the theory can be tied back to natural evolution.”

“Okay,” I say. “I think I follow thus far.”

“Good.” Eugene looks even more excited. “Now let’s suppose that a long time ago, someone noticed this peculiarity—noticed how soldiers talk about seeing their lives pass before their eyes, or how Valkyries decide on the battlefield who lives and who dies . . . That person could’ve decided to do something really crazy, like start a cult—a cult that led to a strange eugenics program, breeding people who had longer and stronger experiences of a similar nature.” He stands, tea forgotten, and begins to pace around the room as he talks. “Maybe they put them under stress to hear their stories. Then they might’ve had the ones with the most powerful experiences reproduce. Over a number of generations, that selective breeding could’ve produced people for whom this quantum computing under stress was much more pronounced—people who began to experience new things when that overly stressed state happened. Think about it, Darren.” He stops and looks at me. “What if we’re simply a branch of that line of humanity?”

This theory is unlike anything I expected to hear. It seems farfetched, but I have to admit it makes a weird sort of sense. There are parts that really fit my own experiences. Things that Eugene doesn’t even know—like the fact that the first time I phased into the Quiet was when I fell off my bike while somersaulting in the air. It was exactly like the out-of-body experience he described. An experience I quickly discovered I could repeat whenever I was stressed.

“Does this theory explain Reading?” I ask.

“Sort of,” he says. “The theory is that everyone’s minds Split into different universes under some conditions. As Readers, we can just stay in those universes for a longer period of time, and we’re able to take our whole consciousness with us.” He draws in a deep breath. “The next part is somewhat fuzzy, I have to admit. If you touch a normal person who’s unable to control the Split like we can, they’re unaware of anything happening. However, if you touch a Reader or a Pusher—another person like us—while in that other universe, they get pulled in with you. Their whole being joins you, just like I joined you when you touched my hand earlier today. When you touch someone ‘normal,’ they just get pulled in a little bit—on more of a subconscious level. Just enough for us to do the Reading. Afterwards, they have no recollection of it other than a vague sense of déjà vu or a feeling that they missed something, but even those cases are extremely rare.”

“Okay, now the theory sounds more wishy-washy,” I tell him.

“It’s the best I’ve got. My dad tried to study this question scientifically and paid the ultimate price.”

I stare at Eugene blankly, and he clarifies, “Pushers killed him for his research.”

“What? He was killed for trying to find these answers?” I can’t hide my shock.

“Pushers don’t like this process being studied,” Eugene says bitterly. “Being the cowards that they are, they’re afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of ‘normal’ people learning to do what we do,” Eugene says, and it’s clear that he’s not scared of that possibility.