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explained, given
     a few reasonable possibilities. Months before, she had been mugged on her way home
     one night, and the resulting head injury had put her into a coma for sixteen days.
     She could have overheard information while in that coma, for instance, and—consciously,
     perhaps—forgotten where it had come from. That could explain her apparent foreknowledge
     of the early birth of a nurse’s baby, which had been her first recorded prediction.
     Some doctor with a suspicion of what could happen might have mentioned it within Sarah’s
     hearing. And though her prediction of a Chicago hotel fire that had killed forty people
     certainly seemed remarkable, Tucker had discovered that one of the men later arrested
     for arson had been treated for a minor traffic injury in the same Richmond hospital
     where Sarah had lain in a coma. It was a coincidence that bothered him.
    Other minor predictions she had made could—with some ingenuity—also be linked to her
     stay in the hospital. Tucker had utilized quite a bit of ingenuity, so he knew it
     could be done. He hadn’t yet been able to explain away her apparent foreknowledge
     of several murders apparently committed by a serial killer in California, but he was
     half-convinced he could, given enough time.
    All of which, of course, raised the question of why he had bothered to seek out Sarah
     Gallagher at all.
    “You want so badly to believe.” Her voice was quiet, her gaze direct as she turned
     to look at him.
    “Do I?” He wasn’t quite as unsettled, this time, by her perception—extrasensory or
     otherwise.
    Instead of directly answering that question, Sarah said, “I can’t perform for you,
     Tucker. I can’t go down that list of questions you have in your mind and answer them
     one by one as if it’s some final exam. I can’t convince you of something you need
     irrefutable proof to believe. That’s not the way this works.”
    “You mean it’s like believing in God?” His voice was carefully neutral. “It requires
     faith?”
    “What it requires is admitting the possible. Believing the evidence of your eyes and
     ears without trying to explain it all away. Accepting that you’ll never be able to
     cross every
t
and dot every
i
. And most of all, it requires a willingness to believe that science isn’t the ultimate
     authority. Just because something can’t be rationally explained on the basis of today’s
     science doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
    “That sounds like the party line,” Tucker said dryly, having heard the same sort of
     “answers” for years.
    She shook her head. “Look, I never believed in the paranormal, in psychics, myself.
     When I thought about it, which wasn’t often, I just assumed it was either a con of
     some kind or else coincidence—anything that could somehow be explained away. Not only
     was I a skeptic, I simply didn’t care; I had no interest in anything paranormal. It
     didn’t matter to me.”
    “Until you found yourself looking into the future.”
    Sarah tilted her head a bit to one side as she considered him and his flat statement.
     Then, with a touch of wry humor, she said, “Well, when you’re up to your ass in alligators,
     it’s a bit difficult to pretend you aren’t involved in the situation.”
    Tucker appreciated the humor, but what interested him most was a glint of something
     he thought he saw in her eyes. Slowly, he said, “So, are you involved in this? Or
     just along for the ride?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.” She turned abruptly back to the stove to check the stew
     and bread, then busied herself getting plates and bowls out of the cabinets above
     the counter and silverware from a drawer.
    “You know exactly what I mean, Sarah. Are you resigned to dying next month because
     you believe that’s your fate? Because you believe your destiny is—literally—written
     in stone? Or do you have the guts to use what you’ve seen to change your fate, to
     take control of