Free Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1) by Jane Killick Page B

still in the sink, the bubbles from the washing up liquid no longer on the surface, just an orange goo floating in the water. A kettle on the side rumbled loudly as it boiled.
    “What are you doing?” he asked her.
    “Nothing.” Her eyes stayed focussed on the phone.
    “You’re always on that thing.”
    “Need to keep in touch with other perceivers.”
    “Why?”
    “I ask myself that sometimes.” She pressed a couple of buttons and held up the screen to him. “Some kid’s been told he can’t sit his exams because he might perceive the answers off other pupils.”
    Michael hadn’t time to see the screen before she’d whipped it away again, tapped another button, and flashed a different screen. “A girl wants to know if she should go to her cure clinic appointment. What the skank are we supposed to do?” She tossed the phone down on the worktop. It bounced to rest by the toaster.
    “What about your perceivers network?” said Michael.
    “We text and post and chat. Anytime someone suggests doing something, it all breaks down into stupid arguments. No one knows what to do.”
    The kettle shuddered to the boil.
    “Fancy a coffee?” said Jennifer.
    “Not for me,” said Michael.
    She grabbed a single mug from the draining board and took the coffee jar from the cupboard. Michael enjoyed watching her coffee routine. She seemed at home doing it.
    She shook a spoon from the draining board and unscrewed the coffee jar. She tipped the jar towards Michael so he saw the brown grains inside. “Sure?”
    “Don’t like the stuff,” said Michael. “Not tea neither. Even with three sugars. Bleh!”
    She took a spoonful of granules, dropped it in the mug with the clink of metal on china and poured water from the kettle. The coffee fizzed a little and sent a plume of its distinctive smell into the air. “I remember the first time I had coffee,” she said. “My dad used to drink it all the time. The smell would come wafting out of the kitchen. I kept asking to have some and he kept saying I was too young. When he finally caved in and made me a cup, it tasted horrible. Strong and bitter. But I drank it anyway. I wanted to be grown up, I suppose.”
    She stirred her drink and dropped the spoon into the sink, where it plopped into one of the pans and sunk to the bottom of the cold curry water.
    “I never heard you speak about your dad before,” said Michael.
    Jennifer sniffed, bringing herself out of her nostalgic haze. “Yeah, well … Dad wanted a normal little girl.”
    She picked up her mug, stuffed her phone into her pocket and made her way to the lounge. Michael followed and sat in the chair opposite her. “I … didn’t exactly tell Otis everything,” he said eventually.
    “I know,” said Jennifer.
    Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have to perceive me all the time?”
    “Sorry,” said Jennifer. “Your thoughts are loud, I can’t help it.”
    Michael composed himself. “The doctor at the clinic … she knew me.”
    “What do you mean, ‘knew you’?”
    “Knew my name. She hugged me! Said she was glad I was okay.”
    “Who was she? Did you ask her where you’re from and what happened to you?”
    “Didn’t get a chance. Her name was Doctor Page, that’s all I know.”
    “First name?”
    “No.”
    Jennifer frowned. She pulled out her phone and tapped her index finger across the screen. She nodded at the display. “Doctor Page, cure clinic – there you are.”
    She handed the device to Michael. She’d pulled up several reports. All fairly bland and uninformative. They were blogs from parents or patients who mentioned her in passing: “My son was treated by Doctor Page, a pleasant woman whose bedside manner … Doctor Page said my mum could hold my hand while she gave me the injection …” and so on.
    “I suppose it proves she works there,” said Michael, passing back Jennifer’s phone.
    She perused it a little longer. Frowned again. “Hmm. No biographical details. No photo. No first