She took her fingers off the keys and held one hand out to him. "How's your bullshit detector?"
Bishop hesitated for only an instant before taking her hand. They stared at each other, her green eyes calm and his silvery ones penetrating, searching.
He sucked in a breath suddenly, and his face whitened. "My God."
Faith drew her hand gently from his. "Isn't it strange," she whispered.
Bishop seemed not to know what to say at first, but finally asked, "Does Kane know?"
"I think ... he wonders. I think he's sensed something. But who could know such a thing? Who could even imagine it to be possible?"
"It's a second chance," Bishop said. "How many of us are granted that?"
She shook her head. "It isn't that simple and you know it."
"It should be that simple."
"Really? And how would you feel? Put yourself in his place. He's getting ready to bury her, Bishop. He's spent weeks grieving, letting go of her because he thought he had to. What am I supposed to say to him now? Never mind?"
Bishop looked at her curiously. "Her?"
Faith's smile twisted. "Put yourself in my place. Do you really think anything — anybody could ever be the same again? Could ever be what they were before?"
"No. I suppose not."
In the silence of the apartment, they both heard the distant sound of the shower starting, and Bishop said, "I think it would be best if I made myself scarce for a while. I'll go back down to the station, see if there's anything I can do to help Richardson."
"Coward," Faith said with a stab at humor.
Bishop smiled, but his eyes were grave. "It might be ... best ... to wait awhile, you know. Give it some time, allow both of you to adjust."
"No," Faith said. "Not after last night. This time, we have to be honest with each other."
Bishop didn't ask any more questions. He reached over to touch her hand, then said, "I'll be around."
"I know. Thanks."
He got as far as the door before she said his name quietly, and he paused to look back at her. Faith touched an ivory key softly, but she was looking at him. "You'll be going back to Tennessee, too?"
"Yes. Pretty soon, I think. After the first of the year. What will I find there?" he asked slowly.
"Evil. And something else, something you've been searching for for a long time." Bishop took a quickstep toward her, then pulled himself up short. In a very controlled voice, he said, "I don't suppose you can tell me how it all turns out?"
"No," she said, lying. "Just be careful, Bishop."
He was motionless for a moment, then nodded abruptly and left without another word. Faith stared at the door a long time after he'd gone, then got up to freshen her coffee. What was the use of knowing what was going to happen before it did?
Fate seemed to have a stranglehold on events; no matter what she'd done in the past to try to avert tragedy or even disappointment, it always seemed to happen just the way she'd seen it.
"Be very careful, Bishop," she whispered.
When Kane came into the living room a few minutes later, she was sitting on the couch watching a news program on television detailing the exciting events of the previous night.
"I made some lousy coffee," she said, offering him a faint smile.
He leaned over the back of the couch, sliding his fingers into her hair and drawing her to him for a kiss. The kiss held hunger, and something else, and when she could, despite what she'd told Bishop, Faith involuntarily said, "Tomorrow is soon enough, isn't it?"
Kane stroked her cheek, then came around the couch to sit in the chair across from her. "Soon enough for what?"
"To say whatever it is you feel you have to say."
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's between us, Faith. I don't want anything between us."
She braced herself. "What's between us?"
"This guilt."
Faith knew, but asked anyway. "Guilt?"
"Guilt. Because Dinah's been gone not even two months. And I'm in love with you." Now that the moment had come, she wondered how on earth she could tell him. How she could convince him when even a part of her still didn't believe it. But she had to try.
It sounded so simple in her mind, so incredible when she said the words aloud. "Dinah isn't gone. She's here. She's me."
Kane didn't move, didn't seem surprised. But he said, "How is that possible?"
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The human will is ... a remarkable thing. Dinah wanted to survive, wanted it very badly. But her body ... wouldn't survive. She knew that. She had known for a long time it was going to happen. And she knew something else, something Dr. Burnett told her just hours before they grabbed her. That ... Faith ... hadn't really survived that crash. That only the barest flicker of brain activity could be recorded, just enough to keep the body breathing, the heart beating. A living shell without a mind or a soul."
Kane said unevenly, "But two separate women ... You can't expect me to believe..."
"You already believe. You feel it's true even if everything you've been taught about life and death and the soul insists it can't be possible."
"How? How is it possible?"
She shook her head. "I don't know how. I know there was a ... connection between Dinah and Faith before the crash, a closeness that was immediate and powerful. I know that each of them was psychic to a degree and in different ways." She shook her head again. "Maybe that had something to do with it. I don't know how. I only know that it happened."
"You speak of Dinah and Faith as if ... as if you're neither of them."
She thought of her words to Bishop, and conjured a smile. "In a way, I'm ... the third point of the triangle, created when the other two touched. I woke up without a memory, and for a while I was caught between the two people I had been, neither one nor the other but with shadowy recollections and half-conscious mannerisms and muscle memories. I could even play the piano. For a while."
Kane glanced at the piano and remembered her sitting on the bench looking lost and bewildered. Still, he blinked, "This is so ... unbelievable. How do you know it isn't what you believed all along, a psychic connection? That it isn't as simple as you remembered things that Dinah said to you while you were in the coma?"
Softly, she said, "Dinah sat by the bed and talked to an empty shell, Kane. There was nobody there to hear, nobody to remember what she said."
Unable to be still a moment longer, Kane rose and began moving around the room. He knew she watched him with grave green eyes. How could she claim... How could she believe...
"Faith..." He stopped, looked at her.
Understanding, she said, "I've gotten used to the name. We've all gotten used to the name."
In a raw voice, he said, "I saw her body. I see it torn and mangled every time I close my eyes. I have to plan a memorial service so everybody who knew her can say goodbye."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Kane walked to the window and stood staring out.
"I told you I'd say what I had to, even if it wasn't what you wanted to hear." She closed her eyes. Yes.
"I can't... I don't know how to accept this, Faith. I don't know if I can."
She wanted to tell him it was all right, that she would wait until he came to terms with it all. Wanted to tell him again that she loved him, had always loved him. But she hurt too much and her throat was too tight to allow her to say anything at all. Her purse was on a chair near the door. It was all she needed, really; most of the clothing she had here didn't fit the way or another. And she was starting over anyway.
She picked up her purse, and she walked out. Kane heard the door close quietly. Without turning, he said to the empty apartment, "But I don't want you to go."