Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

There was a long silence, and then Bishop said very carefully, "So I have ... no secrets at all from the team, that's what you're telling me?"

"Really a bitch working with psychics," Tony murmured. "I told you before, boss. Being such a strong receiver apparently makes you an equally strong transmitter. If you and Miranda ever come

to an understanding, you ought to ask her to teach you how to develop one of those shields. Hers works just dandy."

"I need a drink," Bishop said.

Tony tried hard not to smile. "If it makes you feel any better, we're all pretty exposed to each other. I mean, jeez, one of us gets a hangnail, somebody else is bound to know about it."

"It doesn't make me feel better. And if you tell me you knew that, I swear to God, Tony, I'll shoot you."

"It never crossed my mind. Or my radar, as the case may be."

"Just shut up," Bishop said.

Alex stared at Miranda. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that a ghost can — can possess a living person?"

"If its spirit is stronger than the living person's, its will to live greater, it can overwhelm, control. I guess you could say possess."

"Is this just an assumption, or—"

"Oh, it's happened. The problem is that medical science can't recognize it for what it is. So if a medium cracks up, well. . . they were crazy to begin with, weren't they? Psychotic maybe or schizophrenic. Or just plain nuts."

"But how can you be so sure that isn't the truth?"

"Because I'm a touch telepath." She drew a breath. "When I was about twenty-one, I was dating a psych student. He knew I was psychic and considered it just another sense, a tool I could use. And he could use. He was working in a psychiatric hospital, and he'd become fascinated by three of the patients there. Two of them were long-term, one was recent, but all had been diagnosed as dangerously schizophrenic — so dangerously that medication couldn't touch it. And all had a history of reporting clairvoyant and mediumistic experiences. It was the only other thing they had in common. He had a theory that the experiences were tied in with the schizophrenia, even dreamed that he might have discovered I the cause of the condition."

"So what happened?" Alex asked.

"Well, there was no scientifically valid way to test his theory, but he really wanted to know if he was right. And I admit, I was curious myself. So he got me in there one night, secretly. I was just supposed to touch the patients — who were under restraints — and tell him what I got from them."

"What did you get?"

Miranda rubbed the nape of her neck. "I don't ever want to go through that again. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I touched these poor people — two women and a man — and I actually felt the other beings inside them."

"Maybe it was split personalities or—"

"No. I can't explain it in any way you'd really understand, but I knew, I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that each of those people carried within them a distinct and separate other soul." She shook her head. "The sheer energy of two spirits fighting to occupy the same body was . . . incredible. No wonder their poor brains were literally misfiring."

Alex was wide-eyed. "You realize how farfetched all this sounds, don't you?"

"Of course I do. It's one of the reasons I've been keeping it to myself all these years."

"But since I asked?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Since you asked."

He brooded for a moment, trying to decide how much of this he really believed. "What about the agents? If all of you are psychic, can you read each other?"

She chose the simplest answer. "I don't know. I've sort of had my shields up since they got here."

"Because of Bishop?"

"More or less."

"Now that I know what happened eight years ago, I can't say that I blame you," Alex said.

Miranda hesitated, then heard herself say, "I don't want you to have the wrong impression about that, Alex. However . . . personally betrayed I might have felt, the truth is that Bishop was doing everything in his power to stop one of the most vicious killers in recent history."

"And that included sacrificing your family?"

"He thought he could protect them. He was wrong. No one could have protected them."

"Are you saying you forgive him?"

Again, Miranda chose her words with care, not quite sure if it was for Bishop's sake — or her own. "I'm saying that I can understand a little better now what he was up against, and why he made the choices he made. I don't agree with those choices, obviously. But hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty. If I had been in his position back then . . . maybe I would have made the same choices."

"And betrayed a lover?" Alex shook his head. "I don't think so."

Miranda didn't know what to say to that, so it was fortunate that her phone buzzed just then. She answered it, listened for a minute, then said thank you and hung up.

"Snow's started?" Alex guessed.

"Yeah. Listen, before it gets much worse I'm going to go home for a little while. I want to make sure Mrs. Task got out okay, then maybe take a shower and change before I come back."

"You don't have to come back tonight; your Jeep can make it easily even if the roads are lousy tomorrow."

"I know, but I'd rather be here. Besides, Bonnie is staying at the clinic with Seth and his parents, so there's no good reason for me to stay home."

"A little rest?" Alex suggested.

"I'm fine. Don't fuss, Alex."

He didn't push it. He walked with her as far as the bullpen, then went to his desk while she gave the deputy on duty at the reception desk a few instructions.

Alex had plenty to do. He'd had the librarian make copies of dozens of pages of classified ads, per his conversation with Tony Harte; now he needed to read every ad in search of those a teenage runaway might have responded to.

"Hold down the fort, Alex," Miranda called as she headed out.

"I will. And you be careful."

"Yeah, yeah." She sent him a casual salute and left the building.

It was normally a ten-minute drive home, but that night it took Miranda almost twenty, more because she was observing her surroundings than because of the scant dusting of snow on the roads. She was glad to see that very few people were out; Liz's coffeeshop was still serving, from the looks of it, but there were only three cars parked out front and Miranda doubted anyone would linger much longer.

Other downtown merchants had closed shop, with the exception of the video store and a twenty-four-hour service station, both fairly busy as customers stocked up on gas and tapes.

Four Sheriff's Department cruisers were out patrolling, and she listened to her deputies' radio chatter without interrupting. Judging from their tones as much as the words, they were keyed-up but not dangerously so.

It reminded her of just how long and eventful the day had been, and as she pulled into her driveway, she felt a wave of sheer exhaustion sweep over her. She was running on reserves and didn't know how long those reserves would last.

Long enough. It had to be long enough.

She didn't think it would be much longer. There had to be one more victim, she knew that. Five in all killed on her watch, and the last one unexpected in some way.

That death would mark the beginning of the end.

She unlocked the front door and went into the house. A cheerful message on the answering machine in the front hall told Miranda that Mrs. Task had made it home safely and that there was a big bowl of pasta salad and chicken in the fridge, and freshly baked bread in the bin.

It sounded great, Miranda decided as she walked into the living room and shrugged out of her jacket. As far as she remembered, lunch had been her last meal today. She removed her shoulder harness and hung it over the back of a chair. There were a couple of lamps burning, but it wasn't until she turned on another one that she saw the Ouija board on the coffee table.