“So those are the voices I should listen to? The ones whispering that what must be—is?”
Sober now, Mason nodded. “Those are the truest voices, Sarah. It’s why you—we—hear them the clearest.”
“Then I can change nothing I foresee?”
He hesitated, those bright blue eyes searching her face. Then he shrugged almost offhandedly. “There is a difference between prediction and prophecy. When you see what is fated to happen, it will. No matter what you or anyone does to try and change it. That is prophecy. But you may also see a possible outcome in a given situation, and that may be influenced by the actions and choices of yourself and those around you. That is prediction.”
“How can I tell the difference?”
“With practice. They feel different.”
Sarah didn’t appear to find that response inadequate; she merely nodded and changed the subject. Abruptly. “So which is of the greatest value—prediction or prophecy?”
For the first time, Mason seemed caught off guard. “I—don’t understand, Sarah.”
“Of course you do.” Sarah smiled. “It’s a simple question. With a very simple answer. Why are my abilities important, Neil? Because I can make predictions? Or prophecies?”
His smile was gone and his eyes were not nearly so bright. But he replied readily enough. “Each has its own sort of value.”
“Ah. And they have a use for both?”
Mason leaned back in his chair suddenly, and Tucker had the distinct feeling it was because he needed to put distance between himself and Sarah. And there was, now, something wary in his eyes.
“They? Who are you talking about, Sarah?”
“The other side.” Her voice was casual, almost indifferent.
“Other side? You talk as if there’s a battle going on.”
“Isn’t there? Isn’t it very simply a battle—between good and evil?”
Mason frowned. “Nothing is simple. And nothing is purely good, or purely bad.”
“I think some things are simple. Some truths.”
“For instance?” He was a bit impatient now.
“For instance, the truth that children abducted from their families is an evil thing. Wouldn’t you agree with that?”
“I suppose so.”
“And the truth that anything done to protect them—anything at all—is a good thing.”
Slowly, Mason said, “There are always limits.”
“In protecting children? I don’t think so.”
“Life always gives us limits,” he insisted. “We can only do…so much. Be responsible for so much.”
“So where do we draw the line?” She looked at Mason with an unblinking intensity that disturbed Tucker, and he was standing several feet away; he could only imagine how fierce those too-dark eyes appeared to Mason. But the older man didn’t flinch or look away from her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, when do we decide we’ve done enough? When we’ve saved one child? Two? All of them? When we’ve defeated the people who take them?”
“Shouldn’t we leave that to the police?” he suggested. “They’re the best equipped to deal with…crimes.”
“Not crimes against humanity.”
Mason smiled. “Is that what we’re talking about?”
“Oh, I’d say so. Children abducted, disappearing never to return. Adults killed—or supposedly killed. Because what they can do is important to someone. So they’re taken away from their homes and families, from the people who love them. From their lives.”
“Taken? Taken where?”
“You tell me.”
“I?” He laughed quietly. “How would I know?”
“Because you were taken. Once.” Her head tilted to one side in that listening posture. “A long time ago, I think.”
Tucker felt his fingers close over the gun at the small of his back before he was even aware of moving. But he remained still, gripping the pistol but not drawing it. His eyes never left Mason’s slowly whitening face.
Mason drew a breath as if he needed one, then said lightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sarah.”
“Yes, you do. What is it they want you to do to me, Neil? Why are you trying so hard to crawl inside my head?”
Tucker glanced at her quickly, realizing for the first time that something else had been going on far beneath—or above—the level of his own awareness. Something deadly. Sarah’s face was as pale as Mason’s and held the taut look of someone concentrating intensely. Or someone in pain.
“I only want to help you, Sarah,” Mason said softly.
“You want to help them. You have to help them.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Them. The other side.”
“There is no mysterious enemy, Sarah. Do you hear me? No battle. Just your imagination. Your fears. Your inexperience.”
“Stop it,” Tucker said.
Neither of them looked at him.
In a gentle tone, Mason said, “I can help you. I can teach you how to use your abilities, how to protect yourself.”
“I’m protecting myself now.” Her voice was strained but steady.
“But look what it’s taking out of you. I can show you a better way, Sarah. I can make it less painful for you.”