"Daniel can take care of himself. It's just that . . . we had a bit of a disagreement last year. I haven't really spoken to him much since. We play nice when Mom is around, but-" Aaron cuts off abruptly. The voice on the other end of his phone is deep. I only catch a few scattered words, but it's abundantly clear that the man is angry.

Aaron's jaw clenches and unclenches a few times as he waits for a moment to jump in. "I don't need you to do anything in an official capacity. Just listen. Two minutes, that's all I'm asking."

". . . reason why I . . . ?"

"Because Mom would want you to! Because it has to do with Molly. I'd ask Sam to help, but his best friend got shot today, so he's kind of preoccupied. And, listen . . . I didn't tell Tay this, because I don't want to get her hopes up or for her to go talking to Mom about it. But this isn't only about Molly. I think it's tied to Dad, too."

There's a small explosion on the other end, and the few words I pick up are NSFW. Aaron's expression hardens and his voice is flat when he responds. "If you actually think I'd stoop low enough to bring Dad into this if I didn't believe it was true, then go ahead and hang up the phone. Because I've got nothing more to say to you, man."

For about five seconds, we simply sit there. I can't hear anyone speaking on the other end, but Daniel must say something, because Aaron's shoulders relax. "Thank you. He'll meet you in front of the school near the group house . . . Weller Road Elementary."

"This isn't a solution," I tell Aaron after he hangs up. "We miss curfew and we're screwed. They'll probably split us up again. Not a big deal for me. I'll be eighteen in two months. But Deo's got three whole years left in the system."

"Sam has friends who can fix things with the people at your group home. They'll say you and Deo were witnesses to a crime. He may not have been at Dr. Kelsey's office today, but attempting to sideswipe pedestrians with a van is a crime and he witnessed that, right?"

The best-case scenario is that Marietta will hear witness to a crime as hanging out with criminals. More likely, she'll interpret it as committed a crime. But there's probably little point going into that, when there are plenty of other things I need to ask Aaron.

"While you were on the phone, it occurred to me-well, actually, it occurred to Molly-that we're missing a big piece of the puzzle here. We get why Lucas might not want the murder case reopened, and why he might target Porter to prevent that. But why would Lucas-or this Graham Cregg guy-believe I have information that might help Porter?"

Aaron looks a bit uncomfortable. "Porter told pretty much every cop in the DC area that a teenage con artist was claiming to be in contact with his granddaughter's spirit."

"So what? Even people who've seen proof have a tough time accepting that I actually communicate with dead people. Why wouldn't they just assume I'm crazy?"

"But what if Porter's request landed in front of someone who was already watching you? Or, maybe not you specifically, but watching for people like you. Like me. People with psychic gifts."

For a moment, I just stare at him. "Oh . . . I see. Professor Xavier has spies on the police force who are planning to round up all of us mutants for his institute?"

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Hear me out, okay? What do you know about your parents?"

Asking me more questions isn't exactly the same as hearing him out. I don't know if it's the question itself or the prospect of having to rehash all of that for the second time in a matter of hours. Maybe it's just the fact that this has been one bitch of a day. Either way, his question annoys me. I kind of want to reach across the coffee table and smack him.

"Wasn't all that in my file?"

"I haven't seen your file. All I know is what Porter told Sam. That you'd been in a bunch of different foster homes. That you were stalking him, claiming you could channel Molly. Porter didn't believe you, obviously, but Sam and I warned him he shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"Why? Because your grandfather gets hunches and you have some sort of psychic abilities, do you automatically believe everything? Someone walks in your door saying she can torch the place using her mind, do you accept it as fact? Demons, vampires, werewolves? Sounds like a good idea for a TV show. Your partner is named Sam-are you sure your name isn't Dean?"

"Funny," he says, although he doesn't really look amused. "For the record, I've never seen any of those creatures. I doubt they exist. There are, however, plenty of psychopaths capable of mimicking any monster you can dream up. I've also never met anyone with pyrokinetic powers, or any sort of telekinesis, but I'm pretty sure my dad knew some when he was in the military."

"Really?"

"Yes. The government has been researching psionic abilities for decades, Anna. Did you ever hear of something called MK-ULTRA, run by the CIA?"

"The name rings a bell." I do a quick scan through my files from Bruno, the homeless guy who was a patient of Kelsey's. He never met a conspiracy theory that he didn't embrace with his entire heart and soul. Aliens, mind control, the Illuminati, you name it. Bruno spent a lot of time on the computers at the public library, combing through conspiracy theory sites and posting his own strange combo versions. I keep most of his memories in their own separate compartment, because I don't trust anything that Bruno "knew" until I fact-check it. "LSD, right? Government experiments with drugs to see what other powers the mind might have?"

"Yeah," Aaron says. "It continued through the midseventies, when a Senate committee closed it down. Or rather, they made it look that way. The efforts shifted over to a military program, called the Stargate Project."

"Why did they call it Stargate?"

"No clue. This was way before the TV series or even the movie. Anyway, the people involved lay low over at Fort Meade for fifteen, twenty years. Then in 1995, the CIA gets involved again. They conduct an investigation and close down the entire program, claiming it never yielded practical results. Except . . . I don't buy it."

"Why not?"

"A lot of reasons. For one thing, if you were the CIA and you wanted to cover up the fact that some program was getting results, what would be the best way to do it?"

I give him an I've-got-nothing look.

"You'd shut down the program. Say it was a waste of taxpayer money."

"Maybe . . ." He's actually starting to sound a little like Bruno.

Aaron stares out the window for a few moments. "I think my dad was in it."

He spends the next few minutes giving me an abbreviated version of his family history. How his dad, Cole Quinn, joined the Army fresh out of high school, then decided to take this civilian job over at Fort Meade. Sam wasn't too keen about his son taking the job. Part of it was a hunch, but the program also had some odd rules. Participants were under very restrictive security-they spent most of their time on post and couldn't get married or start a family.

Cole Quinn took the position despite his dad's objections. Said he wasn't planning on settling down for a few years anyway, and the money was really good. A few years later, though, one of Cole's colleagues, a guy named Ayers, went postal and killed a middle-aged couple down near Fredericksburg, then turned the gun on himself. The police wrote it off as random-the house was right off the interstate and there was no apparent connection between Ayers and the couple.

Only Cole Quinn knew better. He'd covered for Ayers on more than one occasion when the guy went down to Fredericksburg to visit his girlfriend and their son. She was former military, too, and they'd decided she and the kid should live with her parents for a few years until Ayers finished up his contract. That way, they'd have a nice nest egg built up. The plan was going well until Ayers shows up waving an assault rifle, screaming that the sun is bleeding. He'd have killed his girlfriend and the little boy, too, if she hadn't escaped with her son out the back.

"Based on some things Dad told Sam," Aaron says, "we think they were doing some sort of medical experiments. That's what caused Ayers to snap. The girlfriend contacted my dad a couple of days later, scared to death."

"Did he help her?"

"He did. And eventually fell into the same trap Ayers did." Aaron laughs. "Okay . . . that came out all wrong. I'm definitely not saying my mom was a trap."

"Your mom? So . . . that baby was Daniel? Your half brother?"

"Yeah. My mom and Daniel moved down to Richmond. Finished up school. When my dad quit the job at Meade, he joined us in Richmond . . . because Taylor and I were along for the ride at that point. Any program that wants to keep people in their twenties from having babies had better prevent it by medical means, because they'll find a way around any sort of contract."

Which is exactly what Aaron's parents did. They waited until about six months after the contract expired, then Cole joined the rest of the family down in Richmond. Eventually, they married, and Cole Quinn adopted all three kids, even though Taylor and Aaron were biologically his. When Aaron was about five, they moved back to Maryland so his dad could attend the DC police academy, and once he joined the force, they settled into normal happy family life out in the suburbs.

"Except," Aaron says, "Dad was always a little . . . erratic. Any time Taylor or I would do or say something that was . . . you know . . . abnormal? He'd lose it. He'd always apologize, but it never failed to set him off. Anyway, a couple of months before my sixteenth birthday, Dad started spending a lot of time at the library, and he'd come home with these stacks of computer printouts. Old newspapers, mostly. There was one about a congressional hearing. Claimed he was researching a cold case, but Mom wasn't buying it. They argued, and Dad stormed out. Said too many people had been hurt and he couldn't let Cregg start it up again."

"Start what up?"

"I'm still not positive. But three days after that argument, Dad, Taylor, and I were coming back from one of her soccer games. When we passed a car parked at the entrance to our street, I got one of the clearest vibes I've ever had. Whoever was in that car wanted my dad dead."

"Did they believe you? When you told them?"

"They . . . tried? I mean, no one said I was crazy. Even Daniel. Sam and I drove around the neighborhood, looking for the car. Couldn't find it, and after a couple of days, Dad goes back to work. Can't stay home forever, just 'cause your kid has a premonition. Two days later, he's checking out a stalled vehicle. The truck driver said Dad turned away from the car, looked straight at him, and stepped into the path of his truck. There was another witness who said the same thing, so . . . clear-cut suicide. The kicker, though? Taylor found a picture of the crime scene about a year ago. The stalled car was the same one I saw in my premonition. Mom says that's all it was, that I was tapping into the fact that a similar car would be at the scene when Dad died."

His eyes are red, like he's on the verge of tears. "But that's not how it works. I don't get visions. I don't see things before they happen. I hear someone planning to hurt or kill somebody. Even if the person they're thinking of hurting is themselves. I heard it from Mom half a dozen times in the year after Dad died. Even heard it from Taylor once. We lost Dad in 2015, and ten months later, Molly was gone, too. It was one bitch of a year. But I never got a suicide vibe from my dad. He visualized hurting Cregg plenty of times but never himself."

Aaron clearly believes what he's saying. But who'd want to admit his Dad committed suicide? That's an even worse kind of abandonment.

Which I guess brings us back to the question he asked me. "So, you think you have this whole spidey sense thing because of some job your father took before you were born? And that's why you're wondering about my parents?"

"Yes and yes. Listen, there are people everywhere with little glimmers of psychic ability. They never miss the bus, because they just know somehow which morning it'll show up five minutes early. They instinctively swerve seconds before a collision that might otherwise have killed them. Or they sense something is wrong with somebody they love hundreds of miles away. It's not common, but those people do exist. The thing is, I know of three, and that's not counting you and me, who have something that goes well beyond a little glimmer. One is Taylor. The other two also had a parent who worked either at Meade or at Fort Bragg down in North Carolina, which was connected to Stargate, as well. So, yeah-when Porter showed up saying some teenage girl claimed she was in touch with Molly's ghost, it did occur to me and Sam that there might be a connection."

I shake my head. "If there is, I wouldn't know. Someone left me in the food court at Laurel Mall. Security noticed an unattended toddler clutching a teddy bear in one hand and an empty Orange Julius cup in the other. Kelsey tried hypnosis, which has worked pretty well on me for . . . other things. All she got was fuzzy recollections about a beach and a woman with blonde hair. All I know about myself before that was on the note pinned to my dress: name, date of birth, and the very helpful information that I was possessed."

Aaron is silent for a few seconds. "That's . . . seriously messed up."

I've related these details to maybe a dozen people over the years, usually leaving out the bit about being possessed. By the end, most people have the same look of pity on their faces that Aaron is wearing right now, and I do understand. I'd probably look the same way if someone told me that story.

But it still bugs me a little, because I've heard much worse.

Deo always wears long sleeves, even in the summer, because he's got burn scars on his left arm from when he was a baby. They're not from an accident. Anyone can see they're cigarette burns. And someone gave him those scars before he could even walk. Before he could even tell anyone who hurt him.

That's my own personal definition of seriously messed up.

But that's Deo's secret, and I don't share it.

"Compared to some of the stories I've heard, I got off pretty light, Aaron. Claiming I was possessed was a little uncalled for, but they had good reason for believing it. And while they abandoned me, there's no evidence I'd been mistreated or deprived. No scars. Not every kid gets off that easy."

"Well, sure. I didn't mean . . ." Aaron sighs, then waits a moment before starting over. "Listen, I've seen a few nightmare cases myself in the past few years. But not all scars on the outside, right?" He holds my gaze. "I only meant it can't have been easy for you, being bounced around to different homes so many times. Without a family."

Molly sends a wave of smugness and something else I can't quite identify.

See. I told you he was a nice guy. I mean, really. Just look at him. Aaron would never hurt anyone.

I give Molly a firm shove backward.

"It's not so bad. Deo's my family. Kelsey, too."

I do consider Kelsey family, even though I can't say for certain she feels the same way. She has to maintain a professional distance, and I know she has her own family. Her husband died in a car accident years ago, but she has kids and grandkids nearby, and she used to spend weekends with her older sister on the Chesapeake Bay before the sister passed away last spring. But for me, the test of family is whether someone is really there when you need them. Even if it means going above and beyond, and maybe breaking the rules. Kelsey has come through time and again for both me and Deo. So she's family to me, regardless of whether the reverse is true.

"Speaking of Kelsey, I need to call her. Except I have no idea what to tell her."

As I pull out my phone, Aaron walks over to the messenger bag he stashed next to my backpack when we came in from the car. "You could just say you and Deo are in protective custody. Because of what happened to Porter. It's true. Sort of."

I don't respond, but I can't help thinking this is where I usually end up-hanging out with my old buddy, Selective Truth. "Could work. Better than anything else I can come up with. What are you looking for?"

He types something on his tablet. "Something for you to check out when you're done talking to Kelsey. Might answer your questions about the Stargate Project. I need to call Sam. See if he has any more news about Porter, and check in on some work-related items. You want more coffee?"

"Sure."

When I reach Kelsey, she's not happy that I can't give her more details. She's a pretty smart cookie, and she's spent enough time poking around inside my head to know when I'm hiding something. But near the end of the conversation, she backs off, possibly realizing that it might be better if she knows less, rather than more.

"As long as you're sure the two of you will be safe. You are someplace safe, aren't you, Anna?"

I glance over at Aaron, who's walked back into the kitchen as he talks to Sam. Between Molly's memories and my own take, I'm able to keep my voice confident. "Yes. We'll be safe."

"You'd better be," she says. "And call me tomorrow to check in, okay? Because I'm going to be worried until I know everything's back to normal."

I hang up without even mentioning my concerns that this situation will get us bounced from Bart House. Back when Emily MacAlister was hanging out in my head, anytime I was worried about something, she'd say, Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. That's apparently Bible speak for don't go borrowing tomorrow's troubles when you've got enough on your plate as it is, and I think my plate is overflowing already.

Aaron is still in the kitchen. Molly presses forward, straining to hear what they're saying, but I guess they've already discussed Porter and have moved on to other business, so I grab the tablet from the couch next to me. It's a YouTube video of a Nightline episode from 1995. Ted Koppel's face is instantly familiar, since Emily watched his show every night while working on her crossword puzzles.

Koppel first talks to a guy who swears his team was instrumental in helping to find a hostage being held in the Middle East through something called remote viewing. A few scientists chat back and forth about whether the program's successes are simply due to chance, then there's a panel with three men in suits. One is a former head of the CIA, Robert Gates. The others all claim to have worked in some capacity with the Stargate Project during the previous two decades. They seem to have a fundamental difference of opinion on whether psychics were of any use as spies, but all three concur that any future investigations should be handled outside the government.

Aaron is sitting across from me, reading e-mails or something, when I look up.

"So," I begin, "if what you think is true, all three guys in that last segment are lying through their teeth."

He nods. "Covering their tracks."

Would you ask him about Pa? I heard him talking in the kitchen, but you were on the phone with Kelsey, and- I feel Aaron watching me, so I push Molly away.

In a minute.

"You were talking to Molly, weren't you? Your eyes get sort of . . . unfocused."

"Yeah," I snap, embarrassed. "I've seen myself on video. It makes me look stupid, but there's not much I can do about it."

"Hey. I didn't think you looked stupid. More like you were lost in a daydream. Sorry if I interrupted."

"No, it's okay. Molly just wanted me to ask about Porter."

"He's fine. He came out of surgery about an hour ago. Sam says he's stable and alert."

"That's good news!"

"I know. Sam was with him until about ten minutes ago, and Ella will stay overnight to help out."

I wrinkle my nose instinctively when I get Molly's memory of Aunt Ella.

Help out, my ass. Push Pa around and make everybody miserable is more like it.

Aaron laughs. "Okay, if I ever had any doubt that Molly's in there somewhere, your expression just erased it. Ella isn't her favorite person."

Ella isn't anybody's favorite person, except maybe her own. If she'd kept some of her opinions to herself maybe Mama wouldn't- Chill, okay?

I feel a little guilty as I push Molly to the back again. I'm not trying to be insensitive, but carrying on a normal conversation while an extra person's ranting inside your skull isn't easy.

I want to ask Aaron more about how he thinks this Graham Cregg fits into the picture, but something outside the window catches his eye. He goes to pull the curtain aside. The parking area looks pretty much the same as before, except it's twilight now. And there's a pale-purple Jeep parked at the curb.

"Damn it, Tay!"

He doesn't explain further, just opens the front door.

At first glance, I think the girl is younger than Deo, but when she turns toward me I see that she's about my age. She's short, five one, maybe less. The green sweater she's wearing is so long her skirt barely peeks out at the bottom. Her face is heart-shaped, framed by a dark-auburn asymmetrical pixie cut. She looks like a cross between Peter Pan and Tinker Bell.

I get a surge of emotion from Molly that's nearly as strong as when she saw her grandfather.

"What are you doing here?" Aaron asks. "I told Daniel-"

"Well, hello, Aaron!" Taylor's voice is rich with sarcasm. "It's wonderful to see you, too, big bro."