"Have you ever heard your name called as you fall asleep? It's not something that you'd forget. Just as you are right in the transition between waking and sleep, when that last thread of consciousness is fading, you hear your name, strong and clear, inside your mind, and you wake full start, wide awake, heart pounding, unable to fall back asleep again. That's them."
      "You hear an actual voice?" asked Dr. Franklin. "What does it sound like?"
      "It's a woman's voice. Confident, smooth, inviting, expressing a need. Not a physical need, but need of assistance."
      "And you are convinced that it isn't your imagination."
      "Absolutely, from what happened later."
      "What happened later?"
      "She tapered down the calls to a lower level that wouldn't wake me up, but leave me in a receptive state. I'm a sensitive, Doc. They started out calling to me as if I wasn't."
      "A sensitive?"
      "Yes. I'm an empath. And occasional telepath. Doctor, it's no big deal."
      "You've been this way long?"
      "As long as I remember. I was a chameleon. I fit in wherever I went. I was good at reading moods and slipping right in, knowing what to talk about and what not to talk about. I could get along with anyone. Even those considered by culture to be natural enemies. I had no trouble when I went into copy mode.
      "I didn't know about it until late high school and early college. That's when the telepathic events began occurring. Saying the same thing at the same time. Answering the phone before it rang. Little stuff that happened way too much to be coincidental. Answering before the questions were asked. Dreaming the same dreams with my bedmate, each in our own role. It was quite convincing. Most of the time, it was shutting things down so that I could hear myself think."
      "Did you have any of this verified?"
      "Of course not. I'm too busy most of the time to be a guinea pig, like now."
      "I'm sorry that you're being detained."
      "No, you're not. You're excited about my being here."
      "Very well. Back to the dreams."
      "No, let's get this settled first. It takes two to tango, and if you want my cooperation, you'll have to give me yours."
      "What do you suggest?"
      "Just hear me out, then I'll know if you are biased in my case."
      "Go ahead."
      "I'm here because I made a call to a certain law enforcement agency that I'm sure wishes to remain detached from the incident. The reason that I can't leave is that what I said was correct. In return for such unsought hospitality, I'm expected to perform in the same manner as before I made the call that got me here. I'm to be their prophet. They seem to assume that it will be repeated. I was deemed guilty and as punishment, I must compound my guilt. Does cooperating, assuming that they will ever contact me again, set me free? What if they decide not to send further, or the trauma of being detained renders me incapable of receiving further contact?
      "Sounds like a mess to me. And I'm not all that happy about it. I'm cross, I do not like the mood of this place, and the service desires much. Too much. This place stinks. I wish that I had never called. I should have let him get it, for all the thanks that I get. And they wonder why I'm not more cooperative. I can't see my friends. Can't even phone them. Who knows what they've been told, if anything at all."
      "You must understand the government's position."
      "I understand it all too well. I'm not a moron. I have eyes that many are not aware they possess. I know what they want. And if they keep treating me like this, they'll never get it. It's not a matter of how well they entreaty with me. I'll not stand for being detained in such a manner. This is not legal. At a point, this turned into kidnaping by statute. I am being denied my rights."
      "They're well within the scripture of law, I assure you."
      "I don't know why. It won't get them anything."
      "I'm here to find out why."
      "Yes, I know. And I know what you aren't telling me, as well. You really do carry a lot of skeletons around in your closet. I can hear the bones rattling around in there, Doc. I really don't think that I want to cooperate with you. Tell them to send around someone that I feel is halfway human and they will get a good deal further with me than all you deadminds that they've been throwing at me. Assuming that there is someone nice among their ranks. . . . Please, tell them to not to import anyone against their will. Good night, Doc."
      Sam shut his eyes and refused to answer any attention sent his way. He further inflamed the doctor by giving no responses in the form of body language, either. The psychiatrist left in a bad mood.
      He held an imaginary conversation with himself out loud, about thirty minutes after the doctor left, and he had company less than a minute later. He laughed at his new-found company, calling them gullible. They also left in a bad mood.
      He lay there motionless, on his side, for a while, then opened his mind for contact. She was there immediately.
      "Poor Sam. We didn't intend. . . ."
      "I know. The mistakes we make in innocence. When it comes down to it, the decision was mine, and mine alone. I knew that this might happen when I made the phone call. I'll cope easily with them. There is far too much uncertainty on their part. They can't force me or push me or hard sell me into cooperating. And until you give me another message to pass on to them, what can I do? I expect to be released and mollified before too very long. They listen. It just takes awhile to get their attention. I think that I did that."
      "Yes. They are debating the subject at the moment. If you want to get a rise out of them, tell the guard to relay the following message to Mr. Stevens. 'Your plan won't work, and neither will Mr. Billings. Just let me go, and if I hear from them, I'll let you know, if you don't tick me off further than you've done already.' Got that?"
      Sam stood, faced the security camera, and repeated what she told him. He added that he expected to be remunerated for the inconvenience at the rate of thirty dollars an hour for the time that they detained him.
      An hour later, he was released with a check for over two thousand dollars in his pocket and a smile on his face. He noted to add a tail to the list, when he spotted the two men following. He bought a pencil and pad of paper at a store. He wrote out a note to them. While walking down the street, he turned about, passed his tail on foot, and dropped the note in the open window of the car following him. He went into a doorway nearby and up the stairway. He moved from roof to roof and then down a elevator to a basement tunnel that connected into the large underground complex of the city. He walked until he reached the stairs that led up to a bank lobby. From there, he hailed a cab and rode home. He soon was in bed and catching up on his sleep.

      The tails were at his house, parked on the street, when he woke. He rose, cooked breakfast for three and took two paper plates of food out to them.
      "I can't stand being around people when they are hungry. If you're going to hang around, the least that you can do is to keep yourself fed."
      He placed the plates on the hood and returned inside his house. He dressed as he ate breakfast. He went out the back and over the fence into the neighbor's yard. Another short block down, he knocked on the door. His friend Larry answered from behind the screen.
      "Would you mind my hiding out for a hour or so? I'm being watched, and I'd like to know how long it takes them to figure that I'm missing."
      "Who is watching you?"
      "Some government snoops."
      "What did you do?"
      "I did them a favor, and they are too impressed. I made a phone call. That's all. Just a little warning, a favor."
      "The assassination attempt?"
      "Yeah, I heard something, and I told them. They've been all over me ever since. Won't leave me alone."
      "Yeah. Sure. Come on in. You're not going to. . . ."
      "You won't be dragged into it."
      "I appreciate it."
      "The least that I can do."
      They went into the house. "So where did you hear about the attempt?"
      "You're not going to believe it."
      "With you, I'd believe it. Someone tell you in a dream?"
      "Almost. You know that I believe in telepathy."
      "You've said so often enough."
      "I found a powerful transmitter, or should I say that she found me. She talks to me when I'm receptive. That isn't all that often. The government has me wound up like a clam."
      "Your mixing metaphors."
      "On purpose. It's how I feel."
      "Who is she?"
      "I don't know her name. But I like her. She's got a shy streak. Sweet. But she's very sharp and very sensitive to others. I'm her liaison, I guess. From what I gather in the flow, she's not alone in this. Of them, I'm not aware, but I feel that there's more than a handful. I trust her. She feels right to me."
      "You've never met her?"
      "No. But I feel that I'd recognize her if I saw her."
      "How does she talk?"
      "Friendly, open, warm. It's an honest feeling. There is simply no hesitancy in her at all. I don't see her deceiving me. It would feel different. You may fake what you think, but you don't fake what you feel, not successfully."
      "You're saying that this contact has to be honest?"
      "It doesn't have to be honest, but you'd never get away with it."
      "Yeah. What I meant. Wow. Is she sexy?"
      "Yeah, now that you mention it. But it doesn't come forward. She holds it in reserve and doesn't dwell on it."
      "Low key."
      "The focus is else where. After all, it's all mental."
      "Sounds wild to me."
      "Depends on the way that you look at life."
      "Oooooo, Mr. Cool."
      The phone rang and Larry reached over to answer it. He listened for a moment. "It's for you." He handed over the receiver.
      "Who is it?"
      "Friendly, open, and warm."
      He took the receiver. "Hello?"
      "Sam, they noticed you missing. They are in your house now. They were returning the plates. They are calling in on your phone."
      "And. . . .
      "Just thought that you'd like to know. After all, I'm the one that got you into this. I'm sorry about that."
      "I know. Let me go so that I can call them."
      "They will be a minute talking. I'll let you go when they hang up. Are you really interested in meeting me? I'm not exactly like you picture me. I'm not that pretty."
      "Eye of the beholder. What do you fear?"
      "I can't walk. I'm bound to a wheel chair."
      "So you have skinny legs. Lots of girls do. Any sensory deprivation?"
      "No. I can feel everything, but I can't walk. Congenital."
      "Yeah, I'd like to meet you. Tell me where and when."
      "Lunch at the Blue Eyes. They have a ramp and the service is good and the food is nice and the atmosphere is friendly. One fifteen. They are hanging up."
      The line went to dial tone and Sam dialed his house. They answered after eight rings.
      "Just put the dishes in the trash. You needn't worry about refrigerating the leftovers." He hung up before they had a chance to reply.
      "Well, Larry. I have a date. Blind date, in loose terms."
      "Vision impaired date."
      "There you have it. Contradiction in terms, actually. It should be a vision amplified date. You have a beer in the fridge? I do believe that you owe me a few."
      "Plenty. Take what you like."
      "One will do."

      Sam walked into the Blue Eyes Restaurant. He had to take a few moments to let his eyes adjust, and he took the time to find her mentally. By the time that he had his vision adjusted, he knew where to look. And she was just where he felt her to be, and he was surprised at how much more beautiful she was than he had expected. He made his way over to her.
      "Well, we meet at last."
      "Sit down, please. And try not to attract attention."
      "Of course. I must compliment you on your appearance. You lied to me. Maybe the only lie that you'll be able to get away with, because you believe it."
      "Thank you, Sam. I'm flattered by the image in your mind. It's not what I see in the mirror."
      "Just goes to show that we don't see ourselves as others see us, even when we know what they are seeing."
      "Touché." She smiled at him. "I am pleased to get to see you."
      "Have you ordered yet?"
      "No. I waited for you."
      "Surely you know my taste well enough."
      "I didn't wish to be presumptuous."
      "I hope that my frame of mind, while a guest of the government, didn't alter you perceptions of me."
      "Refined. I rather admire the way you stood up to them."
      "Just natural responses. I don't like being pushed by those who understand less than I do. Especially if they are so dominant."
      "You ran them in a few circles."
      "Yes. At least they haven't gotten to you."
      "I appreciate that. Truly. If there is anything that I can do for you, let me know. And I mean that. I am not alone in this. And the others appreciate your discretion. I can see that you are rather independent and that it takes a lot of pressure before you turn to others. You needn't be that way with us. Anything."
      "Well, I think that I'll hold on to my chips until I need to cash them in. I do appreciate the offer. And if you need something from me, let me know. You know better the full circumstances better than I do."
      "Your words are sweet, but they don't fully reflect your feelings. When I said anything, I meant anything." Her hand reached out to cover his, conveying to him the knowledge that he needn't hold back his feelings. "You are a strong man, Sam. We will treat you well. We don't expect you to be our martyr. Likewise, we do not wish to see you do without the things that you want."
      "There is one thing that I would like. A name that I could call you. Doesn't have to be your legal name. Something that you like and isn't well known to the public."
      "A code name. You could give me one."
      "Hmmm. Something ethereal. Heather?"
      "Sounds okay to me."
      "Shall we order? The waitress is eyeing us."
      "Sure."
      Sam signaled the waitress and they placed their order.
      "I appreciate your willingness to see me. I wish things were so that we could spend more time together. I'd hate for such pleasures to cause you any hardships, like getting caught."
      "Don't worry about that."
      "But I do."
      "Don't. I have ins with the government. And I can sense them coming before they arrive. They've never boxed me in. This isn't the first time that they've looked for me. And like I said, I'm not alone." She squeezed his hand to reassure him. "We can spend time together if you like. You needn't be shy about it, even if it is rather charming."
      "I don't want to be assumptive."
      "I know."
      "But we shouldn't get to the point that the government can put their hands on you. That is my biggest worry. I'd rather that they just deal with me."
      "I know. I can stay out of their way. It wouldn't be that difficult to see you, provided that you can slip away from them. I'd know when the coast is clear. I would like to spend some time alone with you. You feel very comfortable to me."
      Their food came and they spent the next ten minutes in silence while they ate. Though they were silent, much was shared mentally, and they grew even closer. Heather picked up thoughts from Sam's house, and warned him that his house was about to be searched. He went to the phone and called.
      "May I help you find something? No sense in your tearing up the place if I can point something out to you."
      "We were looking for a clue as to where you might be. Where are you?"
      "Having lunch with a friend, enjoying my privacy."
      "Yeah. Well, know that we've learned that there is a price on your head for foiling the assassination attempt. If you value your life, you'd let us take you into protective custody."
      "For more of the same brow beating? I'd almost rather take my chances elsewhere." He felt a mental nudge. "I'll consider it. Please don't mess up my house. I'll get in touch with you."
      "You're making a mistake."
      "I'll be the judge of that." He placed the receiver on the hook. When he returned to the table, Heather took his hand and led him up the stairs. She took him into a room and to a secret compartment. They went down the stairs and through a tunnel.
      "I just realized that you are walking. I thought that you couldn't."
      "There is someone assisting me. A telekineticist. You were spotted making the call. Come with me. We must hide you."
      They emerged into a commercial garage and climbed into a windowless van. She sat flush next to him, and the van sped away, making for a bumpy ride. They arrived at a house, which they entered from a closed connected garage. She led him into a darkened bedroom and left him there after a quick kiss. He lay on the bed and napped.
      Heather returned after an hour. She gave him a list and told him that it was a list of those involved with the assassination attempt and those involved in the contract out on him. She took him to the garage and they entered the van again. They traveled to a convenience store, and he used the pay phone to call the agents at his house. He read them the list three times, on their request. He then hung up when they asked him to read it again. Heather got him back into the van, and they drove off.
      Three cars drove up shortly after he was inside. The agents hopped out and combed the area. A man came out of the store and joined the driver in the front. They pulled out and drove off, unimpeded. The man came through the curtain.
      "Sam, this is Marshall. He's our teleporter. He rides safeguard on us when we run into trouble we can't handle in other ways. Last resort, because it's rather impressive to have someone disappear, and it's hard on Marshall to teleport people. Mostly we use him to send small items, like notes, maybe a tool, or a key. We've cured him of his habit of gathering valuable paper for his private collection. That's large enough already."
      "Marshall."
      "Sam." They shook hands as they turned the corner.
      "Is there anything valuable that you want from your house? I could fetch it for you."
      "No. Not really."
      "If you think of something, I'm the one to ask."
      "I'll keep that in mind. I take it that I won't be returning there."
      "No. It's too hot. We'd likely lose you big time, now. Maybe when it cools off."
      "Oh, well. Things were getting a bit boring at the old homestead. So where to?"
      "A safe house."
      "Yeah. Sounds logical."
      Sam was quiet for the rest of the ride, which lasted several hours.

      He went to bed not long after the end of the trip. They sensed that he wasn't in a mood for company, so they left him alone. Nonetheless, he felt Heather's watchful gaze upon his mind. He put up a cheerful front, but she knew that he somewhat distressed.
      Sleep came slowly, even after the tiring ride, and he let his mind wander where it would. When he finally began to slip away, he sensed a thread touching his mind. He had felt Heather often enough not to start at its presence. He just let it take hold of him.
      The presence started as a soft song, sung only in melody. It soothed his mind into relaxation. He drifted off to the almost lullaby, and began almost instantly to dream. It was instantly recognizable as a shared dream, as he had experienced years ago. He also felt Heather listening in on his dream. He found himself laughing in his dream.
      His dream took form with a young woman before him. She moved forward and gave him an electrifying kiss, then took his arm in hers and led him down a line of people, introducing each person by name. Sam, being poor at remembering names, was surprised to find that he remembered each name told to him. He felt a great importance in the introductions, even though they were conducted quite informally. When he finished with the whole group, he was led to a room with satin wallpaper and velvet pillows. The woman, who identified herself as Lisa, had him sit, and she began massaging his temples as she sang to him.
      With his eyes shut, he began to envision faces, starting with Heather. The knowledge that her name was Sylvia, along with a simple biography and list of her psychic powers, came to him with no real delineation from not knowing to knowing. Then there was Marshall, followed by more than forty others. He understood intrinsically that these were Heather's friends and associates. He realized that he was also among them as a part of the group. That made him feel very much at ease. "Dream speaker" was the title that came to mind. And those that he met were his contacts.
      Lisa ceased the massaging of his temples, but she continued to sing. Though he had never heard the music before, he found himself effortlessly singing harmony to her song. The music wove on, measure after measure, with spontaneous laughter threatening to interrupt the song. But they did manage to finish, and Lisa gave him a kiss. It sent a warmth through him, and he opened his eyes.
      Heather knelt on the bed next to him, a smile on her face. "Welcome."
      He sighed to find himself awake again. "You knew this before hand, did you not?"
      "Yes. Or say that I highly suspected it. I sensed a power in you and when I managed to get through to you for the first time as you were falling asleep, I was nearly certain. And when I heard you tell the psychiatrist that you used to share dreams with others, what little doubt I had then vanished. I sense that you are happy and willing to join us."
      "If you'll have me."
      "Try to get rid of us. We're not as easy to slip as the government."
      "Never thought that you were."
      "Back in the restaurant, you had a notion that you timidly refused to entertain, fearing to expose me to publicity. Do you still hold such firm reservations?"
      She melted into his arms.