Killfile Read Online Free Page B

Sloan appeared. Gaines’s fear wasn’t for himself. It was for the old man. He didn’t really believe in my talent, but he wanted to protect Sloan just in case he was wrong.
    When Sloan and I left, his fear was a bright spark in his head, because now he believes. But Sloan ordered him to stay, so he stayed.
    â€œI’ve had worse job interviews,” I say.
    â€œIt didn’t appear to be very pleasant for Keith or David either.”
    â€œI didn’t tell them to attack me.”
    â€œNo, no, I don’t blame you for defending yourself. I’m mainly curious how you were able to do that.”
    â€œHave you ever heard of the Kadaitcha?”
    He shakes his head. I finish another chunk of steak, then continue. “In some Australian aboriginal tribes, they have a guy who is sort of a cross between a witch doctor and a hit man. That’s the Kadaitcha. He’s responsible for the tribe’s magic, and for enforcing the tribe’s laws. There are only a few things a member of the tribe can do to be sentenced to death, but if that happens, then the Kadaitcha carries out the sentence.”
    Sloan waits patiently for me to get to the point.
    â€œHere’s the thing. He doesn’t use anything like what we’d consider a weapon. Instead, he carries a sharpened bone. Sometimes from an animal. Usually from a human. A little longer than a pencil. And he points it at the offender. According to the tribe’s beliefs, the Kadaitchasends a spirit out of the pointing bone—like a spear of thought—into the other person. A couple of days later, a week at the most, the offender drops dead. He believes so completely in the spirit and the power of the bone that he actually loses the will to live. He convinces himself that he’s dying. What I do, it’s a lot like that.”
    â€œBut nobody in that room believed you had that ability.”
    â€œThat’s what makes me different. I don’t need anyone else to believe in me. I can implant the memory of a trauma directly. Your security men were in pain. They were experiencing a physical reality, based on what their minds were telling them.”
    â€œSo did you break my bodyguards?”
    â€œThey’ll be fine,” I tell him. “It’s like any other bad memory. It passes with time.”
    â€œAnd there are no permanent effects?”
    â€œHopefully just a strong aversion to picking a fight with me in the future.”
    He considers that for a moment. “You’re fairly open about all of this, considering we only just met.”
    â€œIt’s only a trade secret if someone else can do it.” What I don’t tell him is what that little trick costs me. I can put the idea of a broken leg or a stab wound into another person, but their response echoes in my head as well—so I always get a percentage of the pain I inflict on anyone else.
    â€œBut where does it come from?” Sloan says. He really wants to understand. There’s a lot of the true scientist in him. He wants to know.
    â€œPsychosomatic implant, delivered through quantum entanglement of consciousness,” I say.
    And then I restrain a laugh, because for the first time, I detect a hint of confusion in Sloan’s brilliant mind. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” he asks.
    I shrug and smile. “Hell if I know. It’s a term I heard someone useonce when he was talking about me. It was his theory. I’m not sure I can explain it.”
    Sloan frowns, just a little. “You don’t have any idea why you can do what you do. And you’re satisfied to leave it at that? You’ve never looked any further?”
    After the Vegas act, this is what everyone wants. They want an answer. They want to know why. And I can’t help them. I grappled with the question for years, wondered what made me different, what set me apart from everyone else. Until I decided it didn’t