The young man lingered for a moment, then glanced around the room, gave Dana a small nod, and left. When he was gone, Dana repeated her question. “What is it you’re supposed to be?”
“I am a psychic. I’m a very good psychic; I’m very powerful. Corinda would say it’s a gift, and perhaps it is, but so far it has been mostly a pain in the ass. Pardon my language. Let’s call it a ‘quality’ instead. I’ve been like this since I was a boy and it has never gotten easier, never became second nature, never allowed me to fit in. I don’t have to be around people very long before they realize there is something not quite right about me. They’re correct. I’m not ‘right,’ by their definition. I am very different. Because other people react to my difference, I tend to retreat from them. When I was young, my parents took me to doctors and they, of course, dismissed any possibility that I possessed special abilities. Instead they diagnosed me as having ‘social phobia.’” He paused, then added, “It’s nothing new. Hippocrates once described it, and I quote, ‘his hat still in his eyes, he will neither see, nor be seen by his good will. He dare not come in company, for fear he should be misused, disgraced, overshoot himself in gesture or speeches, or be sick; he thinks every man observes him.’”
Dana said nothing, nor did she move away from the door.
“They thought I had this phobia, this social neurosis, because I withdrew from people, but they were quite wrong. I withdrew because I was not one of them. I could not relate to them, and after a while I didn’t want to. What I did want to do was find others with similar qualities. I spent a great deal of my life cultivating my own skills while also seeking out those of my kind.”
“Other psychics?” asked Dana.
Sunlight did not move from where he stood, and the candlelight flickered softly across his face, sculpting and emphasizing his subtle expressions. “Yes. Though even the word ‘psychic’ is imprecise. It may be that we will need to invent a better word for it, but I’ll leave that to linguists. For now I see the world in a kind of black and white. There is them, the ones who do not have these qualities, and there is us—we who do possess them.”
Dana nodded. She was still nervous being alone with him, but her trepidation was ebbing. Sunlight seemed very genuine and a little sad.
“Because we are few,” he continued, “and because there is so much misinformation and disinformation surrounding this topic, going all the way back to when they burned people with such qualities and called them witches, any meeting between people like us tends to be awkward.”
“Like us,” echoed Dana softly.
“Like us,” he said. “You have some real talent, Miss Scully.”
“Call me Dana.”
“Dana, then,” said Sunlight, nodding. “Your visions are not simple nightmares. You have to know that now, even if you don’t want it to be true.”
“I don’t,” she said emphatically. “I really don’t.”
“We are not given a choice,” he said, turning to stare at the candles. “We are who we are and we become what we must become.”
“What do you mean by that? Become what?”
“Darwin spoke of evolution of the species, but there is another kind of change. Metamorphosis. It is an evolution of the soul, of our very nature. We are born as one thing, but some of us—a rare few—tear out of the chrysalis of our own lives and emerge as something else. Rare, beautiful, powerful. We cease to be what we were and we become what we are meant to be.”
“I don’t…”
He turned back to her and said, “I can tell you when you first started having visions, and I don’t need to rely on psychic powers to do it. Shall I tell you? It was within a few months of starting puberty. Don’t blush; I’m not being crude. But think about it for a moment. The transformation from child to teenager involves a hugely powerful biochemical change. The body undergoes changes at every level. Physical, psychological, chemical, intellectual, emotional. Talents emerge, preferences change and become refined, personalities alter. We are never the same as teens as we are as little children. Don’t you agree?”
“I guess.”
“No,” he said, wagging his finger. “That is an imprecise answer. You agree or you don’t. Be certain, Dana. Don’t quibble or hide behind tricks of obfuscation.”
She nodded. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, either,” he said. “You came in here to learn, and this is a lesson. Never apologize for what you don’t know. There is no shame in that. Shame comes when you refuse to know or pretend not to know. That is deliberate ignorance, and it is loathsome.”
She actually started to apologize for apologizing, caught herself, and nodded.
“Most psychic gifts begin to emerge during adolescence,” he said. “For some—most, actually—these qualities are short-lived and end when puberty itself has run its course.”
“And what about the others?”
“We continue to transform.”
“Even you?”
“Oh,” he said in a soft, almost imperceptible voice, “especially me.”