Strangers

and me. And it's been in us since that July night, like you said. However, you're not right about the method by which we acquired the gift. Like Dom said… in the middle of all the chaos, I sensed that biological contamination wasn't the right explanation. I haven't the foggiest notion what the answer is, but we can rule out that part of your theory."
        Now Dom understood why Brendan was in such good spirits in spite of the frightening exhibition in which they'd just participated. Though he professed to see no religious aspect to recent events, in his heart of hearts, the priest had retained hope that the miraculous cures and apparitional lights were of divine origin. He had been depressed by the dismayingly secular thought that the gift could have been bestowed on him not by his Lord but simply as the chance side-effect of an exotic infection, by the unwitting office of a mindless virus - and a man-made virus, as well. He was relieved to be able to dismiss that possibility. His high spirits and good humor, even amidst the destruction of the diner, arose from the fact that a divine Presence was once again, for Brendan, at least a viable - if still unlikely - explanation.
        Dom wished he, too, could find courage and strength in the notion that their troubles were part of a divine scheme. But at the moment, he believed only in danger and death, twin juggernauts that he sensed bearing down on him. The personality changes that had occurred in him during his move from Portland to Mountainview were laughably minor in comparison to the changes that had begun working in him tonight, with the discovery of this unwanted power. He almost felt as if the power was alive in him, a parasite that in time would eat away everything that had been Dominick Corvaisis and, having assumed his identity, would stalk the world in his body, masquerading as human.
        Crazy.
        Nevertheless, he was worried and scared.
        He looked at each of the others who were gathered around him. Some met his eyes for a moment, then quickly looked away, just as one might hesitate to meet the gaze of a dangerous - or intimidating - man. Others - most notably Jack Twist, Ernie, and Jorja - met his eyes forthrightly, but were incapable of concealing the uneasiness and even apprehension with which they now regarded him. Only Ginger and Brendan seemed to have suffered no change in their attitude toward him.
        "Well," Jack said, breaking the spell, "we should call it a night, I guess. We've got a lot to do tomorrow."
        "Tomorrow," Ginger said, "we'll have cleared up even more of these mysteries. We're making progress every day."
        "Tomorrow," Brendan said softly, happily, "will be a day of great revelation. I feel it somehow."
        Tomorrow, Dom thought, we might all be dead. Or wish we were.
        

        
        Colonel Leland Falkirk still had a splitting headache. With his new talent for introspection - acquired gradually since his involvement in the emotionally and intellectually shattering events of two summers ago - he was able to see that, on one level, he was actually glad that the aspirin had been ineffective. He thrived on the headache in the same way he thrived on other kinds of pain, drawing a perverse strength and energy from the relentless throbbing in his brow and temples.
        Lieutenant Horner had gone. Leland was alone once more in his temporary, windowless office beneath the testing grounds of Shenkfield, but he was no longer waiting for the call from Chicago. It had come soon after Horner departed, and the news had been all bad.
        The siege at Calvin Sharkle's house in Evanston, which had begun earlier today, was still under way, and that volatile situation would probably not be brought to an end within the next twelve hours. If possible, the colonel did not want to commit his men to another closure of I-80 and another quarantine of the Tranquility Motel until he could be certain the operation would not be compromised by revelations that Sharkle might make either to Illinois authorities or to the news media. Delay made Leland nervous, especially now that the witnesses at the motel were focused on Thunder Hill and were planning their moves beyond the reach of rifle microphones and infinity transmitters. He figured he could afford to wait, at most, one more day. However, if the dangerous standoff in Illinois was still under way by sunset tomorrow, he would give the order