"Guess not. And I also guess you're stuck at the hospital until the storm's over."
"There are worse places to be snowbound."
"If you say so. Just for the record, the cots here are so uncomfortable, I'm actually missing my bed at the Bluebird Lodge. And you know how I feel about that bed."
"Things could be a lot worse."
"Oh, yeah? How?"
"The generator could go. And then you'd be cold and in the dark. It's all a matter of perspective, Tony."
"Yeah, I guess." He glanced at the small TV, which was currently showing a South American beauty pageant whenever the satellite signal could get through the whiteout, and grinned.
"I promised Miranda we'd report in as soon as we finished the post, so make sure she sees it ASAP," Sharon said.
"Anything we didn't already know?" Tony asked, making an effort to be professional while keeping one eye on the swimsuit competition.
"Not really."
"Then I won't disturb her just now."
"Why? Is something going on?"
"Well, let's put it this way. Bishop is in her office, the door is closed — and his transmitter is working at full strength."
"Tension?"
"Oh, boy. He prowled around in here for more than an hour, until it became obvious that Miranda was not coming out of her office. I don't know what's going on, what it was about Liz Hallowell's murder that made Miranda close herself off again, but he's flat-out determined to fix the problem."
"Some problems," Sharon noted, "can't be fixed."
"Don't try to tell Bishop that. I ventured a mild warning, and he nearly took my head off." Tony sighed, and began looking over the faxed autopsy report. "It's probably a good thing that we're all stuck inside until the storm passes. With nothing much else to do, at least they can get things sorted out between them."
"You mean they can try."
"Yeah. They can try."
"You son of a bitch." Miranda spoke quietly.
"Maybe. But I'm right, at least about this." There was no triumph in his voice, just certainty. "Christ, Miranda, you think I don't know you never would have let me get so close again if it wasn't true?"
She looked at the cup in her hand as if it were something alien to her understanding, then frowned and set it on the window ledge. "I always said you were a bright guy."
As badly as he wanted to, Bishop didn't move toward her. "You know something is going to happen, don't you? To one of us. It's what you saw in the beginning, the vision you've managed to hide from me. That's why you closed the link." He forced himself to let go of the edge of the desk, absently flexing his stiff fingers. "But which one of us are you trying to protect, Miranda? You? Or me?"
"A very bright guy," she murmured. Her face was still, those startling blue eyes fixed on him unwaveringly.
"What did you see? Tell me."
"You tell me something, Bishop. When you finally caught up with Lewis Harrison, was it the vision we both saw?"
He nodded. "A few minor details were different, but otherwise yes."
"Yeah, I thought so. No matter what we do or try to do, no matter how we try to change the outcome, it almost never works."
"What do you mean?"
"Our own actions create the future, even if we're given a glimpse ahead of time. You saw yourself catching up to Harrison, and you made it happen. I saw us become lovers again, and in trying to shut you out to stop it from happening, I created the very situation I was trying to avoid."
"You risked your life to try to shut me out." He had to say it.
"No. I told you I could handle the energy buildup."
"We both know it wasn't as simple as that. You could have destroyed yourself, Miranda. If that desperate spirit hadn't taken the decision out of your hands by attacking you, how long would you have let it go on? The pain, shutting off your extra senses, losing all your defenses. Sooner or later it could have killed you — or caused you to be killed."
Miranda shook her head slightly, more in resistance than disagreement, but she didn't protest aloud.
"Was it worth that to you?" It was something else he had to say, to ask. "Would you have rather died than let me get close again?"
"When it started ... I thought so."
Bishop thought he probably deserved the jolt of pain he felt, but that didn't make it any easier to take. "I see."
Her smile was rueful. "I was angry, Bishop, even after all those years. Not because of what happened with my family. Bonnie was right, I never really blamed you for that. You were doing your job, doing everything in your power to stop a vicious killer. But I did blame you for ... leaving me alone to cope with the aftermath."
"Miranda — "
"Oh, I know. I was the one who left in a physical sense. But I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't already drawn away."
"I felt guilty as hell, first about going behind your back to Kara and then about what happened to her and your parents."
"And you didn't want to feel my pain and guilt added to your own. I knew that. But it didn't help. You closed yourself off from me just when I needed you most."
Bishop wanted to tell her he was sorry. But what words were there to apologize for turning away from the woman he loved and allowing her to suffer alone and rebuild her life without his help or comfort? What possible words could he offer now?
Miranda didn't appear to expect any, and went on in a matter-of-fact tone. "So, yes, I would have done just about anything to shut you out when you came back into my life. Even though I knew it was inevitable we'd be lovers again."
She drew a breath and let it out slowly. "I saw a series of events culminating in something else I wanted to avoid, but it's all happening. Every action I take, every choice and decision I make, just brings me closer to that future I saw. It's unavoidable."
"What future, Miranda? What did you see?"
"What's the use of knowing? You can't change it."
"Goddammit, tell me."
She left the window finally, crossing the space between them to stand almost between his knees. She lifted her hands and touched him, and with that contact the door that had shut him out quietly opened. "I die," Miranda said steadily. "I'm the killer's final victim."
As it turned out, the roaring storm made the little girls too jittery to be much interested in games, so Bonnie and Seth made a quick trip to the clinic's video library and returned with several tapes. It took only a few minutes to get the girls settled with snacks and the video they had chosen.
Under his breath, Seth murmured, "We don't have to sit and watch this, do we? I hate it when Bambi's mother — "
Bonnie made a hasty gesture to silence him, then drew him away from the two absorbed girls to the small seating area near the door. "I'd rather not leave them alone with the storm so wild," she said, "but we don't have to watch the movie."
"In that case, I'm glad we got the games. What do you feel like?" He bent down to sort through the boxes stacked on the coffee table. "Trivial Pursuit? Clue? I don't think we want Candyland, but what about Mah-Jongg? Or here's one with chess and checkers and — Hey. I must have grabbed this one by mistake when I went in to put it back on the shelf."
Bonnie stared at the Ouija board in his hand. "Did you?"
"I guess so."
"Seth ... do you mind taking it back to the storage room?"
He looked at her gravely. "I wasn't going to suggest—"
"I know. I'd just feel more . . . comfortable if that board was somewhere else."
"But—"
"It's a doorway, Seth. I just don't want to be even unconsciously tempted to open it again, that's all."
"Would you be? Tempted, I mean."
"Yes. Because if that was Lynet we reached before, she might be able to tell us who her killer was. That answer would be worth opening the door — if I was sure I could control it afterward. But I'm not sure. I don't have enough experience to be sure."