Lucas was silent.

"Which is it-their thoughts or their emotions?"

Grudgingly, Lucas said, "Both."

"So you feel their fear and know their thoughts."

"The fear is stronger. More certain. If I get them at all, the thoughts are just whispers. Words, phrases. Mental static."

"Like a radio station moving in and out of range."

"Yeah. Like that."

"But it's the fear that first connects you to them."

Lucas nodded.

"The stronger the fear, the more intense the connection."

"Generally. People handle their fear in different ways. Some of them bury it, or hold it so tightly reined none of it can get out. Those I have trouble sensing."

"Is it the fear of being… lost?"

Meeting the federal agent's steady gaze, Lucas shrugged finally and said, "The fear of being alone. Of being caught, trapped. Helpless. Doomed. The fear of dying."

"And when they stop feeling that?"

Lucas didn't respond.

"It's because they're dead."

"Sometimes."

"Be honest."

"All right. Usually. Usually I stop sensing them because there's no fear to sense. No thoughts. No life." Just saying it made Lucas angry, and he didn't try to hide that.

"The way it is now. With Meredith Gilbert."

"I will find her."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

"In time?"

The question hung there in the air between the two men for a long, still moment, and then Lucas picked up his briefcase and took the two steps necessary to get to the door.

Bishop stepped aside, silent.

Lucas walked past him but turned back before he reached the top of the stairs. Abruptly, he said, "I'm sorry. I can't find her for you."

"For me? Meredith Gilbert is-"

"Not her. Miranda. I can't find Miranda for you."

Bishop's expression didn't change, but the scar twisting down his left cheek whitened so that it was more visible. "I didn't ask," he said after a momentary pause.