There was just this growing list of dead and vanished people whose only connection to one another was the fact that each was reputed to have some sort of psychic ability. And in most cases, even that connection was very nebulous for the simple reason that psychic ability was difficult, if not impossible, to prove.
Tucker was also just beginning to realize that, one way or another, he and Sarah were nearing journey’s end. September was all but over. Whatever Sarah had foreseen for herself, it seemed clear that the conclusion was due to take place sometime in October, possibly in the first few days of the month.
And in, apparently, a little town called Holcomb. A town where something had ended, or would end.
Sarah’s life?
Tucker rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers, vaguely conscious of the dull ache there. He felt damned helpless, and it wasn’t a feeling he was accustomed to. In most areas of his life, success was a frequent if not constant companion, but he had one very bad failure haunting him, and he was beginning to fear that Sarah would be another.
Why the hell did he always fail the women in his life?
The question was too painful, and he pushed it away. God knew there were plenty of other questions just as pressing. Like the question of what awaited them in Holcomb. A face-to-face confrontation with the other side? The ending Sarah had foreseen, her own death?
Tucker leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sarah. Too much depended on her. Too much weight lay across shoulders too frail and inexperienced to carry the burden. In the next room, she lay virtually unconscious, drained by the effort of holding her own with another psychic, and when she woke he would have to push her to do it again.
I’m sorry, Sarah. I thought I could keep you safe, that I could find out who’s behind this, but it’s beyond my ken. I’m not sure I can protect you anymore. I don’t even know how to help you. All I know how to do is watch…and wait…and push you toward some ending I’m terrified will be final…
The sound of the bedroom door opening brought his head up, and he looked at Sarah as she stood blinking drowsily in the doorway. For once, she had not put on a robe, and the white sleep shirt she wore made her look very small, very young, and almost ethereal.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head slightly and only then realized what had happened.
“Didn’t you call me?” Her eyes were no longer as dark as they had been, the pupils normal, and her voice was slowly losing the sleepiness.
“No.” He drew a breath. “But I was thinking about you.”
She frowned for a puzzled moment, and then her gaze slid away from his and she came a bit farther into the room to sit down on one end of the couch. “Oh. Then obviously, I was just…dreaming.”
“I don’t think so.”
She sat bolt upright, her fingers tangled but still in her lap, her head bent. “Don’t you?”
“No.”
Sarah shook her head just a little. “No. Neither do I. It’s getting even stronger. It doesn’t go…dormant…when I sleep anymore. I was asleep, not even dreaming, and…and I heard your voice very clearly. You said, ‘I’m sorry, Sarah.’ It woke me up.”
Tucker wanted to go to her but held himself still. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
She looked at him, expressionless, but didn’t allow him to change the focus. “I’m sorry this bothers you so much.”
“What?”
“This situation. Me. You aren’t responsible for me, Tucker. There’s no reason to feel guilty if…if I don’t make it.”
“You’re going to make it.”
She ignored that. “And I don’t mind that I make you uncomfortable. Really, I don’t. It’s unnerving for me to find your thoughts in my head; it must be horrible for you to find them there.”
“Sarah, you don’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve been…caught off guard more than once, but if I gave you the impression—”
“You keep forgetting.” Her smile was twisted. “You’re talking to a psychic, Tucker. You’ve been very good at—at guarding yourself these last days, but I know damned well that you’ve seen or sensed this alien thing in me. This thing that’s getting stronger and doesn’t sleep now.”
“There’s nothing alien in you. Unusual, sure. But your abilities are a part of you now, Sarah. We both know that.”
She shrugged. “If you say so. All I know is that I’ve made you uncomfortable. And will again. And I want you to know that I really don’t mind if you need to keep some distance between us. I even—” She broke off abruptly.
“Want me to,” he finished.
“Expect you to.” Her gaze was steady. “I don’t want my life or…or my soul on your conscience, Tucker. I don’t want you to believe you could have done more, or something different, to change what’s going to happen. I don’t want you to carry that burden.”