Finn Shawn Colvin

Age: 27

Height:   5'10"
Weight:   135 lbs.

Hair:     Brown
Eyes:     Hazel

Finn was born in the South ... down in Alabama.  She spent her first few 
years in Huntsville, and was childhood friends with Walt Shindell.  But 
her father worked for IBM (as in I've Been Moved), and before she was 
10 she had moved to Rockville, Maryland, and then up to Burlington, 
Vermont, where she spent the rest of her years before going on the 
road.

Finn had a grandmother on her mother's side who was "a bit fey," as her 
mother would say (her mother's side being the full Irish part of the 
family).  She could see things, and spoke in a heavy Gaelic accent.  She 
lived with them as far as Finn could remember, and often spoke about 
how Finn had taken after their side of the family for certain, with her 
"feelin' for people" and her "allus bein' a step ahead o'trouble."  Finn 
was very close to Gramma Killoran, up until her death five years ago.

About a year ago, Finn ran into Walter when she was doing a show in 
Saugus, Massachusetts.  It was a pretty seedy place, and the 
atmosphere was none too good.  When someone in the front of the 
bar/restaurant made a derogatory comment about her, she lost control 
(rare for her, even with her Irish heritage) and punched the guy out.  
Walt came to her rescue before things turned any more serious, and 
they spent the rest of the night talking about what they had been doing 
for the last 15 years or so.  Then they ended up spending the rest of the 
morning in bed.  Finn left early the next morning, leaving Walt a brief 
note apologizing for her departure.  Mornings after were never her 
strong point.  She hasn't seen him since.

Finn spends most of her time touring New England, performing her 
songs at small clubs and coffee houses.  She's just cut a deal with a 
small record company to make a CD/tape of her songs.  She currently 
lives in Worcester, Mass., and has a regular monthly gig at a local 
coffee house in the basement of a church, the John Henry Hammer 
Coffee House. [where I first saw Shawn Colvin, the folk/female singer I'm 
stealing the name, and some of the style, for Finn from <just like B'aeyr 
stole Richard Shindell from another folk singer> <G>.]

Here is the song for Finn, and for the game.  I am planning on making a 
tape of all the songs that I will use (provided I have them on CD), and 
can send you a copy if you want.  I don't know if you like folk music, or 
female artists who aren't really folk (like Suzanne Vega now, or Mary-
Chapin Carpenter <who is more country than folk>), but the offer stands.


"These city streets are closing in on me,
 my hometown isn't what it used to be.
 Plants closing without warning,
 got no good reason to get up in the morning.

 'Well it's nobody's fault, business is slow.'
 That's all the boss said, then he let me go.
 Twenty-five years I greased his wheels,
 now I'm out on the street, begging my meals.

 Is there room for me in the master plan?
 Is there room for me in such a wealthy land?
 I'm not a bum, I'm a hard-working family man.
 Make room for me, make room for me."


"With a tank full of gas and a car full of kids,
 I'm leaving my home and a husband on the skids.
 Breaking up our family's breaking my heart,
 but I gotta get away if I'm ever gonna get a brand new start.

 I'll take one more stab at the American dream,
 for myself and my children, and maybe for him.
 If he can pull it together, I'll meet him halfway,
 but tonight I need a safe place for my children to stay.

 Is there room for me in the master plan?
 Is there room for me in such a wealthy land?
 What happens to me can happen to any woman or man.
 Make room for me, make room for me."


"Daddy hits the bottle, then he hits on me.
 I try to tell Momma, she says that could never be.
 Well, secrets and liquor go hand-in-hand,
 I never have friends over after school, they wouldn't understand.

 I just can't stop wondering, is it something I did?
 It's more than I can handle, I'm just a kid
 So I'm gonna run away, run as far as I can go,
 looking for the kind of love they couldn't show.

 Is there room for me in the master plan?
 Is there room for me in such a wealthy land?
 I know the other side of life like I know the back of my hand.
 Make room for me, make room for me."


"Well it can happen to anybody, and it might be me,
 that gets handed a hardship that no one can see.
 It's never expected and we're never prepared,
 but isn't there enough for everyone to have a share?

 So I try to remember, it's me on the street,
 it's not some hapless stranger whose fate I can never meet,
 it's me on the corner, it's me in the bar.
 How can some be left behind when some go so far?

 Is there room for me in the master plan?
 Is there room for me in such a wealthy land?
 I know the other side of life like I know the back of my hand,
 what happens to me can happen to any woman or man,
 I'm not a bum, I'm a hard-working family man,
 make room for me, make room." **

** Song copyright Susie Burke/Madrina Music BMI

<><><><><>

[GM]

You just got home from one of your little mini-tours, just a few gigs in a 
couple of nearby states, and after making a few phone calls to the 
people you most urgently needed to let know you're back, you collapsed 
on your bed and promptly fell asleep. It was a good trip; you were well-
received, even at a redneck joint where they clearly hadn't been 
expecting some "hippy folk singer". Fuming at these labels, and at the 
idiot who told you this would be a 'great place' for you to play, you 
nonetheless plunged ahead gamely, and to your surprise and relief, the 
crowd mellowed out and really seemed to enjoy your music.

You should be in a generally good mood, especially since the hot, humid 
weather lately has been bringing frequent late evening thunderstorms, 
which help you sleep better. But your sleep lately has been disturbed by 
the oddest dreams. You can't seem to remember much of them when 
you wake up; you think in one, you were talking to Gramma Killoran, and 
you were thoroughly depressed when you woke up, once you shook off 
enough sleep to realize that it had only been a dream. You've also been 
dreaming about Walt lately. A lot. This bothers you, because while now 
and then, you thought it would be nice to get in touch with him again, 
you rather suspect he may be a little miffed at the way you left last time. 
Not to mention, he drives a truck all over the country, no telling where he 
is right now.

Just before you left on this tour, you had the strangest and most vivid 
one yet. It was vivid at the time, anyways. All you remember of it now is 
that it involved Walt, at an airport.

And now you're having another one, and it's the strangest one yet 
because you're-

Mad at the SYSTEM, Babylon, yeah mon, gonna show dem f***ers. Jus' 
wait...

You're sitting in a plush airplane seat, by the window. Apparently the first 
class section.

First class all de way, dat's right, I was dirt before, but I talk to de little 
machine and it gives me all dis money and suddenly I am somebody, 
yeah, not a poor black man dat all de tourists tink is real cute if we 
playin' our Calypso music for them, but if one of dem kills my wife an' 
little girl 'cause he drunk, but he a rich white man from de States, oh no, 
dat Noooo problem, de nice lawyer fix everything

Overhead, the Captain is announcing that you may now unfasten your 
seat belts if you wish...

Yeah, he can drive his car right OVER US, de Man can do dat, just like 
he drive his whole empire over our people, and we go right under de 
wheels

You're wearing a nice silk shirt and an expensive tie, which seems 
incongruous with the thick mane of dreadlocks hanging around your 
shoulders..

Don' know why all of a sudden de machines, dey talk to me an' I 
understand dem, de machines dat de White Man put all over de island, 
dat he use to run his empire, de machines dat he use to kill anyone who 
get in his way, but suddenly, oh my! I can make dose electronic doors 
open and close, I can make computers turn on and off, I can drive my 
boss crazy because his electricity go off in his office all de time, what a 
laugh!

And I can make de machines in Kingston, de ones at all de banks where 
de white people go to get money, I can make de machines give ME 
money!

Wit' money, I am not a poor black man anymore, oh no, I a rich n***er 
now, what you tink of dat, Mister Man?

You see, Mister Man, up there two rows ahead of me, ordering a Double 
Marguerita from de pretty white b**** who wouldn't never smile at me like 
dis if I was back at home, wit' dirt on my hands and face 'cause I used to 
be poor, you see, all of a sudden I could talk to de machines, and I was 
going to take Laideah and Sybilee out of dat shack we lived in, I was 
going to finally give dem a GOOD life, what dey deserved....

and you ran dem over and kept driving, you F*****!

"Are you all right, Sir?" The stewardess seems to notice something is 
bothering you. "Is everything all right?"

"Everyt'ing fine, I just have a belly-ache, dat's all." Yeah, smile for de 
nice white lady.

"Oh, well, I can get you some antacids if you'd like." She's polite and 
cheerful, it's her job to be.

"S'okay, just how about a Scotch, kay?"

Yeah, I can order what I want. Hey Mister Man, when I found out you 
were gettin' to go back to your home an' family after killing mine, you 
know what I did?

I got some money from de machines, an I bought me a ticket to Miami. 
An' another one home dat same day. Den I bought me another ticket to 
Miami, round trip again. First class all the way, naturally! While you were 
settlin' all de troublesome little details wit' your court case, and packing 
to go back home from your "business trip", I was riding back and forth on 
airplanes just like dis one.....learning how de controls work.

You see, I can reach out right now, and feel the wing flaps, and de 
landing gear and de engines, but you know what's even better den dat, 
Mister White Man? I can feel de computer up dere at de front where dey 
control dis big metal bird. All dose trips, dese last few days, I gave de 
passengers a little bit of "turbulence", and we had a couple of bumpy 
landings, 'cause I was learning how to make de plane go where *I* want 
it to go.

You don't recognize me, do you, Mister Man? Even though I was right dere
in court, screaming at you, 'cause you killed my wife and daughter, but I
was a poor n***er den, yeah, an' your lawyer say's tings like "no proof"
an' "fine for reckless driving", yeah, an *I* get threatened with jail 
'cause I am making a disturbance. No, you don't recognize me now 
'cause I'm wearing expensive White Man clothes, and you wouldn't 
expect a poor n***er to be riding here wit' you in First Class wit' all de 
nice white women, would you? No, I got some money and a nice suit, so 
now I am somebody, dat's how tings work in Babylon.

I was listenin' to you talk to YOUR wife and daughter, Mister Man, cause 
de telephones, dey talk to me too, and I can make dem do what I want, 
like let me hear what you saying when you call from your hotel. So isn't 
dat sweet, dey are going to be dere at de airport to greet you. What is 
your sweet little daughter's name? Oh yes, Bea. Little Bea is going to 
wave to her Daddy from de terminal.

Guess what, Mister Man? We are going to land a lot closer to de 
terminal dan you tink....


Overhead, the Captain speaks again: "Good morning, and I'd like to 
thank you all for flying on Caribbean Airlines. We'll be landing at Logan 
International Airport in just over seven hours..."

And you wake up.

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn sat up with a start, her eyes wide with fright and panic.  The sound 
of her heavy breathing was the only noise in the apartment for a long 
time, until her cat finally miaowed at her from where he slept at the foot 
of the bed.  Finn reached out to him, and gathered the tawny lump of fur 
into her arms.

"There, there, Cinnaman ... I'm alright ..."

Just the stroking of the cat seemed to help calm her nerves.  After a 
moment, Finn began to reach for the phone, then stopped.

** what the hell was I thinking? **

She had started to reach for the phone to call Gramma.  Out of habit, 
really, even though the woman had been dead for some years, Finn had 
always called her when she had an odd dream.

** that's all it was, right ... a dream **

Somehow, she had a hard time convincing herself of that.  She set the 
cat back down on the bed, ignoring his half-protests.  One of her songs 
started to float through her head, and as always, it was annoyingly hard 
to get rid of once it started.

* I'm a fly on a plane, I'm buzzing all around
  Got on in Houston, oh no I'm San Antonio bound
  I'm not riding in coach, I think I'll fly first class
  Zip zip - I'm on the head of a banker
  Zip zip - I'm on the rim of her glass
  My oh my, I'm a fly, taking a free ride on a plane *

Finn walked to the kitchen barefoot and poured herself a glass of water. 
She tried to drive the song out of her head, but when she did, the 
remnants of the dream ** premonition? ** kept coming back.

"That's silly ... premonitions are *feelings*, not that.  Not what I just
had.  Not the *dream* I just had."

She spoke quitely aloud, as she often did when alone.  Taking the glass 
of water with her, Finn returned to her bedroom and sat back in her bed. 
Cinnaman ** silly name for a cat anyway ... my sister should have 
*known* it was male before she called him - it - Cinnamon ** had 
sprawled out over most of the middle of the bed, as usual.  She pushed 
him aside so that her legs could stretch out, but sleep was not coming.  
As usual, it seemed, lately.

* When I get to San Antone I'm gonna make a lot of new fly friends,
  When I tell them that I am from Houston, their eyes will bug out and
     they'll say "Come again?
  Don't tell us no Texas tall tales - how did you get here?" "I said, I
     flew."
  Well those San Antone flies will say "Man alive, I've got immense 
     respect for you..." *

A full half-hour passed before Finn realized that she wasn't getting back 
to sleep that night.  Her dream had been more than that ... more than 
even the bizarre ones she'd had lately involving Gramma Killoran, or 
even the ones with Walt.  It had really *felt* like she was that man, that 
black man, sitting in the airplane's seat.  She heard his thoughts, 
understood his anger, and half-sympathized with him.  But it couldn't be 
possible, she kept telling herself.  Gramma Killoran would have an 
answer, of course. Something odd and bizarre, but logical and true, if 
you understood her very unusual view of the world.

** Okay Finn, then how would Gramma Killoran take this dream?  
Premonition? Whatever? **

She spent the next hour on that puzzle.  Her grandmother's odd thought 
patterns were clearest to Finn out of anyone in the family, but that wasn't 
saying much.  And after the hour, she wasn't any closer to 
understanding what had happened, but she knew ... oh yes, she knew ... 
exactly what her grandmother would tell her to do.  She could almost 
hear the old woman's voice in her head.

*"You gotta at least check on the plane, Finn-darlin'.  What if something 
happens, and you didna do anything?  Shure as shootin', you'll be feeling
guilty fer the rest of your life.  If'n you make the effort, there won't 
be none who will hold it against ya.  An' if'n there are some who would, 
you just tell them to come talkin' ta me ... I'll straighten their arses
out!"*

A smile finally played across Finn's face as she recalled her Gramma 
when she was in her Irish-mode.  The smile made the worry lines and 
creases of her face smooth a bit, easing her cares away for the moment.  
She shook her head to rid it of those thoughts, and settled herself 
deeper into the bed. She'd call later, when she woke up.

* I'm a fly on a plane
  And I've got a lot of dreams
  I never counted on a rolled-up
  In-flight magazzzz-THWAP! *

Finn sat straight up in bed, sudden realization hitting her.

"He's going to crash the plane into the terminal!"

Somehow, she had ignored that very important point in her dream.  Until 
that very moment.  Frantically, one hand flew to the phone, and the other 
to her phone book.  Even if it wasn't happening today, she had to try and 
find out. Before it *was* too late.


Her eyes scanned for Caribbean Airlines, and then she dialed the 
number once it was located.

"Hello?  Can you tell me what times you have flights arriving from the 
Caribbean to Logan Airport today?"


** Song copyright Christine Lavin

<><><><><>

[GM]

The airline clerk says "We have a flight from Kingston coming in at 
Logan at 12:35 this afternoon."

<><><><><>

Finn:

[hmm...suppose I should have had Finn look at the clock to determine 
the time. <grin>  Can you let me know what time it is?]

"12:35?" Finn echoed, a slight worry making her voice that much higher, 
and that much more rapid.  "Are there any other flights due in today?"

** Jeez, Finn!  Get a grip!  It's not like this is real ... right? **

Her inner voice sounded more like it wanted to be convinced than 
agreed with.  She ignored it, and realized that she would probably have 
a little more time with which to decide what to do.  Unless there was a 
time differential.

"Can you tell me what time that flight left the Caribbean?  And what time 
all flights leave there to arrive here?"

It couldn't have been a premonition ... she'd heard his *thoughts*.  It had 
to have been something that was going on right then ... if it was real.

<><><><><>

[GM]

It is 5:48 AM, Finn's time.

 "That flight just took off within the last half hour," says the clerk. "The 
only other flight we have from the Caribbean coming into Logan today is 
Flight 612 from Puerto Rico, and it's not due until almost midnight- it's 
scheduled departure from San Juan is 3:14 PM."

<><><><><>

Finn:

"Umm...thanks.  Can you tell me what gate it will be arriving at?"

After that information is given, Finn sat up in bed, debating what to do.

** It wasn't a premonition then ... it was happening as I dreamed.  It
*felt* too real ... it *was* more than a dream. **

She got up and dressed, and turned on the early morning news.  There 
wasn't any way she'd be getting back to sleep now, so she may as well 
get up.

** Dare I tell the police I think a plane is going to crash?  They'll 
probably laugh me off as some sort of crank.  I wonder if I could say that 
there was a bomb at the airport, or on the plane?  They'd have to land it 
early, wouldn't they?  The terminal would be safe ...

 ... but not necessarily those on the plane.  Damn!  Why did I have to 
have this dream! **

Without much thought, Finn made herself breakfast.  A bowl of Corn 
Pops, slightly stale, and toast with currant jam.  And of course, tea.  
Never coffee, always tea.  It was a good thing that her sister was around 
to check on the cat, otherwise she wouldn't have had any fresh milk for 
her cereal.

** Damnit mister!  Why'd you pick *my* dreams to invade? **

She watched the morning news without really hearing much of it.  It was 
the same old same old.  A part of her mind was trying to figure out if the 
bomb scare would work, and how to make it work the best.  But it had to 
be a last resort.  Many people would panic and that wouldn't be good if it 
was too late.  And if it was too early, they might find out it was fake. 
But it was a silly plan anyway ... a desperate plan.

A plan for a crazy person, which it half-sounded like she was.

The cereal was gone, the toast had only crumbs left, and the tea had 
just finished steeping when Finn picked up her phone and dialed 
information for the Boston Police.

** I can't believe I'm doing this ... I can't believe I'm doing this **

After getting the number, she dialed it and waited.

"Hello?  Yes, I know this is going to sound very strange, but I just had an 
odd dream that a plane was going to crash at Logan this morning, and I 
wanted to report it."

** now *that* was really bright!  Why not just *say* you're insane? **

She willed her inner voice quiet, and waited to hear the response on the 
line.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Gate 30," says the Caribbean Airlines operator.

After you call the police and give them your story, there's a pause, and 
then the police operator, sounding more than a little dubious, says "A 
dream. Uh huh. Anything specific, like which plane? If this is a stunt, you 
can forget it. The Boston PD doesn't hire psychics." You can hear the 
sneer at the other end.

On TV, the morning show fades from the usual fluff dialogue between 
the cohosts to recaps of yesterday's news. You see images of an 
airplane crashing into the ground, moving in a very odd, sideways 
manner. You can't hear the audio, since you turned it down to talk on the 
phone, but the caption at the bottom says "Kennedy Airport, New York."

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn just nodded along with the operator's sneer, as if agreeing with the 
voice, even though the operator couldn't see her.

"Yes, it's Caribbean Flight ... " Finn paused, realizing she never got the 
flight number.  "Umm, it's the one that's going to be landing today at 
12:35, arriving from Kingston.  They're going to have some sort of 
technical problem..."

Finn trailed off, her eyes catching the news report on the television and 
widening.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" she whispered fervently, not realizing that 
she still had the phone up to her mouth.  She cranked the volume up 
enough so that she could catch the words as well as the images, then 
noticed that she still had the phone in her hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry!  No, I'm not a psychic, and I'm not looking for a job.  I
just wanted to report this, because I *know* it's going to happen today.
Now, I'm pretty positive you're not going to do anything about it, but it's 
helping me and my conscience to let you know this ahead of time.  
When that plane hits the terminal today, instead of landing and taxing to 
Gate 30, then you'll realize that I'm not insane."

** Yeah, right ... this operator probably won't tell anyone about this. **

"Look," Finn continued, still half-listening to the report on the TV.  "Is 
there any other agency I can call to report this?  The FBI?  The airport 
itself?  I'm just trying to save innocent lives with this, not anything
else.  And I realize that there is probably nothing you could even do, but I
feel better just reporting it, okay?  Fine.  Thanks for your time."

Finn practically slammed the phone down, and then began to 
concentrate in earnest on the TV report.  Maybe what she had seen was 
something similar to what had happened at Kennedy, and it was only a 
dream.

She hoped.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The police operator hesitates, then in a *somewhat* more civil tone 
asks, "Can I have your name please? We take anonymous tips about 
planes crashing a little more seriously when they aren't so- anonymous. 
If you don't want to identify yourself, I will report your...warning, to the 
airport authorities....but you're right, there's not a whole lot we can do 
based on someone calling in and telling us they had a *dream* that a 
plane is going to crash."

[whether you give it or not-]

The film clip shows a plane actually *floating* through the air, before 
smashing into the ground and bursting into flames. There also seems to 
be a hurricane or a tornado sweeping across the airport, as windows 
shatter, vehicles flip and roll, and even a couple of outbuildings get 
smashed.

But according to the dialogue, it's no storm- the camera zooms in on 
what appears to be a child, a little girl in a dainty pink dress, *floating*
in the air amidst the maelstrom of destruction.

"As has become the usual pattern in these metahuman incidents, the 
government is refusing to give details about the agents involved, but has 
confirmed this time that special agents of the Justice Department were 
on hand when the being known as 'Legion' attacked the government 
airfield. The plane is believed to have been transporting the body of the 
deadly superhuman known as 'Lucretia' from New York to somewhere 
out of state, but why Legion chose to attack the flight is unknown at this 
time. The government has denied that 'Lucretia' was actually still alive, 
despite her apparent death at the end of a bloody battle in a New York 
City hotel that was filmed live and broadcast nationwide two nights ago-" 
[the picture changes to footage of a half-naked woman with a mohawk 
being blasted back into a wall, as automatic gunfire roars around her, 
and you see bits of blood and flesh splattering off of her before they cut 
the clip]

The news announcer continues to talk about mad, impossible events 
around the world; a werewolf stalking the Southwest, a superhuman in 
Budapest freezing people to death, someone who can electrocute with a 
touch killing people in India, and similar horror stories.

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn chuckled into the phone when the operater became *slightly* more
civil.

"Sorry ... my name is Finn Colvin, and I live in Worcester.  My number is
508-757-1244."

********

[hmm...so no chance of seeing Walt at the airport, eh? <happy grin>]

Finn watched the newsclip, her hazel eyes widening slightly, mouth slack
in shock.  She wasn't on the road all *that* long ... how the heck did she
miss this?  Paladin she'd seen ... who hadn't?  She'd even been toying
with working up a song about him, one of her humorous ones.  Or adding a
line or changing one on one of her other songs, but she hadn't had the
time or the right inspiration yet.

** remember finn ... you saw walt at an airport ... **

** I *dreamt* I saw Walt at the airport ... it wasn't the same. **

** oh no? **

She had no answer to that, and just let it slide, the fingers of one hand
tapping a rhythmic beat on the back of the handset to her phone.

** Justice Department?  Well, maybe it was worth a call ... **

Finn once more reached for the phone, and dialed information in DC, asking
for the main number.  She doubted they had a hotline for tips on dreams of
planes crashing, but maybe the operator could direct her call to the right
person.

And then maybe, maybe, the crushing weight of this guilt would let her get
on with the rest of the day.

** yah, right ... *NOTHING* is going to go right today until after 12:35
p.m. finn ... just accept it. **

Maybe a day trip to Boston was a good idea?  It was only a half-hour, more
depending on how far gone the traffic was, especially with the Central
Artery being built.  It didn't directly affect coming in on I-90, but
people trying to avoid coming in from the south often went west in their
approach.

** I could take in the sights, and maybe even go up to the Hancock
Building, take a look at the city from up there ... **

** and watch the freakin' plane crash right into the terminal, just like
you saw, right? **

** better than sitting here on my ass all day, getting more and more
panicked as each moment ticked by. **

Once more however, she dialed the phone, waiting for another operator to
answer and listen to her inane, *insane* story.  But maybe this time, they
could get one of their "superhumans" to do something about it ... *if*
they believed her.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Nope, they don't close in on Walt enough for Finn to recognize him. <g>]

* * * * *

"All right, Ms. Colvin, I will notify the airport authorities of your
warning. Like I said though, unless you have any specific information, we
really can't act on a dream." {Flake! But funny, she does sound very
serious, and not at all like a flake....}

[!?!]

Going through the phone banks at the Justice Department is an effort 
and a half- the few times you get hold of someone who sounds like they 
might have a clue, and the ability to do something for you, naturally they 
switch you to someone else.

You're noticing something very odd, though; you're starting to get details 
about the people you're talking to on the other end.

"One moment please..." {she's bored and hates this job but at least she's 
employed, not like her lazy brother- [you know that she's black and 24 
years old and she thinks her boyfriend is about to ask her to marry him, 
but she's not sure if she wants to, and she's going to go to Subways for 
lunch today]}

{-dammit every time I sit down to finish typing this memo some other idiot 
calls-[he's been passed over for a promotion *again*, and with the latest 
cutbucks, he's really starting to feel it's time to look for a private
sector job- he's in his third marriage and he's going bald]} "Bruener, Info
desk" <exasperated tone>

{yeah, Betty, lean forward just a *little* bit more... [he's an incorrigible 
sexist and office lothario- when he was 17 he date-raped the girl he took 
to the prom, but they didn't think of it like that back then, and lately
he's been feeling a little guilty, he considers himself a good Christian,
and he voted for Clinton]} "Exactly how is this airplane being threatened,
ma'am, by a bomb or something?" <distracted tone of voice>

And finally, as you get shunted from one desk to another, feeling your 
sanity threatened each time, you eventually get,

"Special Agent DeSilva, how can I help you?" {what did I do to get stuck 
on the "psychic hotline" answering desk, every flake and her 
grandmother thinks her neighbor is a superhuman, and I also have to 
deal with crap about aliens stealing their dreams and their next-door 
neighbor being a Russian mole [she's ambitious but frustrated, recruited 
from the "black box" division of the FBI because of her background in 
paranormal research, which suddenly they're taking seriously NOW, but 
the good old boys still treat her like a flake just because she believed in 
psionic abilities even *before* they started making the 6 O'clock news...]}

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn blinked at the Boston Metro operator's last comment, and was just
about to reply to the rude comment when it suddenly occurred to her that
the comment *wasn't* spoken.  She had heard it, but not in her ear.

Within her mind.

** what the hell is going on?!?!?! **

She quickly replaced the receiver and stared at it as if it was a living
beast.  It was a long moment before she reached for it again, and could
summon the strength ** resolve? guts? ** to dial the Justice Department.

While moving from person to person, Finn made herself another cup of tea.
1It looked like this was going to take a while, and she needed the
caffeine.

When it happened again, this time with *more* details, more effects, Finn
gripped the phone until her knuckles were white.  Each time she repeated
what she wanted to report to each new person on the other end of the
phone, snippets of their lives flickered through her mind, revealing in
detail their current thoughts ... and something about their *lives* ...
what they looked like, what they felt, what they were *seeing* ... she had
to hold even tighter to her mind, clamping down on it as if it were the
phone in her hand.  Somehow she managed to sound calm and rational as she
spoke, but with each new person it became more and more difficult.

The tea had grown cold in its mug by the time she was transferred to
Special Agent DeSilva, but Finn didn't notice.

"Hello Special Agent DaSilva ... my name is Finn Colvin, and I'm calling
to warn you of a plane crash that's going to happen early this afternoon.
I want to let you know that I'm not a 'flake', nor 'her grandmother' ** oh
god I can't believe I just said that **, just a concerned citizen who
doesn't want to see one of Logan's main international terminals destroyed,
not to mention the people in the plane and the terminal."

Finn chuckled, realizing how insane this sounded.  It came out as *almost*
a hysterical giggle, but she managed to smother it with a cough.

"Look, you just *have* to believe me.  This is going to sound crazy, but I
had this dream last night, but it wasn't only a dream.  I was inside this
guy's head, listening to his thoughts, and when I woke up, I realized that
he's going to make the plane crash into the terminal at Boston's Logan
Airport.  I've never had a dream like this before, and it's very well
possible that it's *not* going to happen, but on the outside chance that
it might, I was hoping that you all could have some of your ... agents ...
there to stop him from crashing the plane.  It's a Caribbean Airlines
flight, and it's supposed to land at 12:35 today."

Finn's hand had slowly relaxed from its deathgrip on the phone, and blood
began to circulate once more in her fingers.

"Okay, now tell me you'll do everything you can to follow this up, and
thank me for the warning, and tell me I'm crazy, just like everyone else."

She waited, wondering what this woman would say ... and wondering what she
was thinking, without really realizing it.

<><><><><>

[GM]

DeSilva is startled, and you know she's heard lots of people calling in 
with dreams, she used to pursue lots of leads from "dream tips" while in 
the FBI, and 99% of them were a waste of time, frauds or the act of 
people desperate for attention, or just people a little odd who genuinely 
believed they had some sort of talent....but just a few times, one of those 
"flakes" would turn up something that couldn't be obtained by anything 
*but* a psychic flash, and so they called her an oddball, but she believed 
the real thing was out there-

-and you sound a little like the couple of genuine calls she ever got, 
weirded out and hesitant but fairly rational, still, she's skeptical, she
has to be...

"I'm not going to tell you you're crazy, Ms. Colvin," she says in a calm 
voice that betrays none of the rapid assessment going on in her head. 
"But I am going to ask for more specific information. Can you tell me 
*everything*, in as much detail as possible, that you remember from this 
dream?" //If you're for real, you'll have lots of specific and apparently 
irrelevant details but not necessarily connected- a fake, a good one, has 
a coherent story, but vague enough that anyone who did a little research 
could devise one that sounds plausible for that particular flight..//

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn chuckled, and it had a slightly high note to it, but she grabbed her
cold cup of tea and took a large swallow.

"Oh!" she spit out as if she had just tasted the 2nd worst thing in the
world, having realized only too late that the tea was cold.  She *hated*
cold tea ... especially when she was expecting it to be hot.

"I'm sorry, my tea got cold while I was being transferred around from desk
to desk, and I wasn't expecting it."

She got up and put the kettle on once more, dumping the cold tea out and
putting a fresh bag in.

"Okay, you want details?  Fine.  Here's my dream, lock, stock, and
barrel."

Finn took a calming breath, a deep breath, then plunged in.

"There's a guy on the plane.  He's ... he's got some powers, like Paladin.
Only *not* like Paladin ... he can control machines.  He started with
little things first, ATM machines, computers, cars.  He's now moved up to
airplanes.  You see, there's this man on the plane that he wants to kill,
because this man ... this *white* man ... killed his wife and child, and
got away with a reckless endangerment fine.  Well, this guy wasn't going
to sit still for that, so he decided he'd get a little revenge.

"He's been practicing, Special Agent DaSilva.  He knows exactly how to
make the plane crash.  Right into the terminal at Logan airport, where
this guy's wife and child are going to be waiting for him.  He knows that
you see, because he heard it on the phone lines."

Finn turned off the stove and poured the water into her cup, then returned
to her seat at the small table.  She took a deep breath, hoping that the
agent would hold off any more questions for just a few more seconds.  She
had to tell her, she *had* to ...

"I know all of this because I was inside his head.  It's like I *was* him,
wearing the expensive clothes he bought so he could fly first class, and
with dreadlocks, and my skin was black.  I could feel his emotions, see
what he saw, hear what he was thinking."

She paused, biting her lip.  ** do it do it do it now! **

"Like I can hear your thoughts now."

Finn paused, waiting for that to sink in, for the woman to tell her she
was crazy and hang up, or to panic and hang up, or to do anything but
listen to her and agree with her.

** Gramma ... oh please help me ... I'm going crazy ... **

<><><><><>

[GM]

You sense DeSilva's excitement growing as you relate your story, catch 
an increasing suspicion that you're for real...then alarm, when you claim 
you can read her mind.

Very carefully, she says "You can hear my thoughts, right now?" //Long 
range telepathy, by telephone?//

"Can you tell me exactly what I'm thinking about, right now?" She's 
picking up a coffee cup, on her desk, a dark blue one with white block 
printing on the side; 'Don't ask me; I just work here'. She's concentrating 
on the coffee cup.

<><><><><>

Finn:

"Yes, I can hear your thoughts," Finn sounded scared, frightened of what
she could do, was doing.  Half of her wanted to hang up the phone and
forget everything, but the other half was convinced it wouldn't go away by
ignoring it.  Paladin and Deathstorm were all too vivid in her mind, as
well as Pulsar's first broadcast, and the other reports from around the
world.

If something like that was happening to her, she'd need all the help she
could get.

"You're thinking about your coffee cup, that says 'Don't ask me; I just
work here' on the side of it.  A few seconds ago, you were thinking about
long range telepathy by the telephone, and wondering if it was possible."

Finn shored herself up and spoke as plainly as she could, as honestly as
she could.  She didn't know what was happening, but she hoped this woman
would, and would be able to help her.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Holy S***!" Her thoughts echo her words, as she almost drops the 
coffee cup.

After a moment, during which Agent DeSilva's thoughts are rapid, faster 
than you can follow, she says "Ms. Colvin, we need your help to get this 
plane down safely. I'm going to notify our agency immediately, and see 
what we can do about it- but I also want to send someone to bring you 
here- to the airport actually. We may need your ability to tap into this 
guy's thoughts." There's no question now that she believes you, and 
she's trying to hide the thought that your powers may prove to be 
extremely valuable to her organization, and recruiting you would be an 
excellent mark on her record.

<><><><><>

Finn:

"I can hear that, Agent DaSilva," Finn said in a disappointed tone.  "If
all you're concerned about is moving up in the agency, I *can* call
another one."

It was just a ploy ... Finn knew that was more of a side-thought than a
real motivating factor, a feather in her cap, so to speak.

"Look Agent DaSilva ... I'm in Worcester.  Logan's less than an hour away,
if the traffic isn't too bad.  I don't see any real need to bring me down
to DC, unless you're going to try to land the plane there.  He just might
bring it down at Dulles instead, or whatever other airport you want him to
land at.

"And I never spoke to him like I am to you.  I was ... " she searched for
the right word for a second, "like a rider, a passenger in his mind.  Only
one he didn't know about....I hope.  I don't even know if I could read his
thoughts again ... it happened when I was asleep, like a dream."

Finn's attempts to stall the agent were earnest and sounded so, but to
herself she knew she meant them only half-heartedly.

As long as the people on the plane, and in whatever airport the plane
landed in, were safe, Finn would be happy.  Of course, in order to do
that, she needed to be involved.  A thin sliver of cold sliced down her
spine, as she suddenly realized all the implications of what she had just
done, just said.  Well, maybe not *all* of the implications ... some of
them were unknown to everyone.

Oh god ... it was like that book she read, a long time ago.  People
developed ... what was it called? ... psionic powers.  Metapsychic powers.
Like some comic or novel, she could read minds and have prophetic dreams.

** Gramma Killoran ... was this what you were like?  You always were a bit
odd ... were you psychic too?  I wish you were here to help me through
this.  But since you're not, I'll have to go with the next best help. **

Finn chuckled at that.  She never, in all her years as a folk **bleah!**
singer, she never imagined she woudl have to turn to the *government* for
help.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You sense startled irritation from the federal agent. "You've made your 
point," she says sharply. You can already see how telepathy can be as 
much a curse as a blessing.

"I'm sorry, I *meant* I want to send agents to Worcester to bring you to 
Logan. I'm going to be there too, quickly. I don't know if you have any 
other powers that can help...but if you can tap into this guy's thoughts 
again, you can help us counter his plans. We could tell the pilot to just 
announce engine problems and land elsewhere, IF that will cause this 
man to wait, but he might decide he'll settle for just getting this other 
passenger, and crash the plane anyways. Anything besides that will 
require neutralizing him somehow, and we'll need to know if he's aware 
of what's going on before he gets taken out. If he can control the plane 
like you say, who knows what kind of damage he can do in a panic?"

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn bit her lip, but cut down on a smile as the agent answered her
sharply.  She knew this could get really annoying really fast ... who knew
what secret thoughts lurked in everyone's mind ... ?

A deep voice answered her in her mind, and she almost chuckled in that
semi-hysterical tone as she heard it.

** ONLY THE SHADOW KNOWS **

** oh great, I'm gonna get a superhero name now **

Finn shrugged to the agent, then realized that the woman couldn't see her
gesture.  "There are an awful lot of ifs in what you're saying.  But look,
I understand.  But I don't want to *be* at Logan.  What if I can't read
his thoughts?  What if I can't stop him?  What if no one can?  I'm sorry,
but that's a little too close blast radius.

"How about if I go to the top of the Prudential Building?  You can see a
lot from up there, and I should be safe.  Provided he doesn't catch on to
me and decide to crash the plane there, of course," Finn finished wryly, a
heavy sigh escaping her lips.  She drained the last of her tea.

"Look, can you get me out of Logan safely, if this thing falls through?  I
don't want to be runway pizza, if you catch my meaning.  If you can do
that, I'll meet your agents at Logan myself.  Look for the 5-foot, 10-inch
telepath, with the short brown hair and the hazel eyes.  I'll be wearing a
grey Tori Amos long-sleeved t-shirt, and black jeans. [unless it's summer
... I forget which season we're in.  If that's the case, she'll be in a
black Suzanne Vega t-shirt and blue jeans.]  I'll be by the Caribbean
airlines ticket counter."

Finn wasn't about to argue with the agent about this.  She'd made up her
mind, and that was what she was going to do.  If they didn't like it, they
could try and get to her before she left ... which she considered
unlikely.

After she finished with Special Agent DaSilva, Finn rinsed out her teacup,
grabbed a bagel from the refrigerator, and got dressed.  She considered
taking her guitar along, but thought her notebook might be better.  Maybe
she could use the stress of waiting to work on a new song or two, or
polish up some old ones.  Grabbing her blue knapsack and throwing the
notebook and some pencils in it, she headed out for her 1972 blue Plymouth
Duster, and began the drive toward Boston.

<><><><><>

[GM]

DeSilva says "If it looks like the plane is coming down hard, we'll be 
evacuating the entire airport, not just you. Don't worry, nobody's going to 
stand there and wait for the plane to crash."

Along the ride to Boston, you try clamping down sharply on your new 
awareness, before it drives you insane. You're picking up things 
*everywhere*, not just from people. Images from the past, present and 
future keep flitting through your mind. And an awful lot of it seems to be 
negative.

**The man in the car behind you is named George Brenwood. He's got a 
ketchup stain on his tie from the eggs he had for breakfast this morning, 
and he's looking forward to getting to work early this morning because 
his beautiful young administrative assistant will be there, and they'll 
have a quickie in his office. His wife has no idea.

**The car ahead of you had a collision with a green Buick three years 
ago, and the driver and passenger were killed. The current owner only 
knows he bought it cheap at a used car lot. He's going to have a fatal 
collision next month.

**A police car speeds past you, on the way to answer a domestic 
violence call. You know the officers will arrive to find a man and woman 
fighting viciously, their young children crying as they watch. The officer 
driving the car took a bullet in a domestic dispute last year, and *hates* 
answering these calls.

**Your own car's fan belt is about to wear out; it will break in about three 
days.

Glimmers of thought radiate all around you, a mostly incoherent jumble 
of emotions and ideas and impressions, now and then words getting 
through, sometimes even a complete phrase, but whenever you 
concentrate on a single person too long, their thoughts suddenly break 
through as if you suddenly filtered out the static on a radio to find a 
station coming in loud and clear;

**hate this traffic why can't they build more f***ing roads?**

**told that kid if he leaves the seat pushed forward too far again I'm 
gonna**

**thirteen hundred people and what the**

**kill the sonavabitch sweartoGod I'm gonna kill him if he EVER goes 
near her again** (that one sends a chill through you, as you sense a 
murderous fury untempered by any human compassion- you suspect this 
is what a psychotic mind 'feels' like)

**brightred warm Mommy seatuncomfortable playwithduckytoy** (the 
thoughts are simple, follow one another non-sequentially, and each one 
is forgotten as soon as the next one starts; after a moment, you realize 
you're tapping into the mind of a baby!)

With an effort, you can shut *most* of the thoughts out, but little things 
still keep springing to mind; a brief flash of a nine-car pileup that 
happened on the exact spot you're driving over, four years ago, the 
realization that the man standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to 
change is a drug dealer who has skipped out on his parole and is 
wanted by the police in California, and- strangest of all, and it almost 
makes you spin off the road- you suddenly see a band of Indians, 
hunting for deer in the forest, where you're now driving. How long has 
been since what is now Boston was wooded coastland? Centuries...

You're starting to wish you'd never gotten out of bed this morning, and 
not for the first time today. Then yet another scene intrudes on you, but 
sharply, with a clarity unmatched since your dream, last night;

{Fire everywhere, cars on fire and exploding as their gas tanks ignite, 
buildings on fire, the street melting around a homeless man whose 
deranged thoughts are perceptible to you, but you see only chaotic 
images of insects, he's totally crazy, thinks the world has been taken 
over by insects, everyone is an insect and they're trying to eat him and 
lay their eggs in him and he has to kill them all before they turn him into 
a host for their larva, besides, he knows the secret of life and it's been 
years since he's had a good New York Steak- his thoughts are jumbled, 
shattered, insane, filtered through a haze of insanity.

But he's flaming; fire is leaping from his fingertips, and bursting from his 
eyes, radiating all around him, somehow he's keeping it from burning 
him or most of his clothes, though some of his tattered, filthy garments 
are ablaze, but he doesn't seem to notice. Wasps are buzzing overhead, 
calling to him, laughing at him, telling him they're going to hold him down 
and force their stingers into him and lay eggs in his soft, white flesh, 
they giggle and buzz hysterically, he hurls a fireball straight up ["This is 
Skywatch-3, we see him- Christ! He just tossed a fireball at us we're 
evading we're evading S***!" the young helicopter pilot sweats as he 
banks sharply and evades the crackling ball of fire that hisses past the 
chopper] then he sees the worst one of all, a huge, bloated black widow 
spider, except in his mind, the image is one that looks to you more like a 
cross between a spider, a queen bee, and a Lovecraftian nightmare, it's 
scuttling up the street towards him, moist and slick and dripping ooze 
and bubbling as it speaks to him seductively and tells him it loves him 
and wants him, but he knows it's the Queen of Hell and it's going to bite 
his head off...he points both hands, fingers spread out, and an inferno 
roars away from him, a wall of fire that rolls down the street for fifty 
yards, melting asphalt and setting cars on fire as it goes, and bathing 
the Queen of Hell in a blazing firestorm-

//Omigod! I must be crazy I can't believe I did this! Aaahhhhhhhhh!// 
thinks the Queen of Hell, who's actually a young woman that wanted to 
stop this destruction and thought, strangely, that she'd try to stop this 
human flamethrower by herself. But you don't sense her death agony, in 
fact, you sense no pain from her at all, but shock, as she realizes that all 
her clothes have been incinerated and her feet are sinking into the 
melting street, but she is unharmed....

Cars honk at you, and with a start, you bring yourself back to your own 
situation; you're sitting in front of a green light, holding up the cars 
behind you. Several blocks away, you can hear the howl of sirens, and 
you see several helicopters hovering overhead.

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn gripped tightly to the steering wheel all during the long **at least,
it seems that way now** drive to Boston.  She fought bravely against the
thoughts and images flickering through her mind, her stubbornness once
again proving its merit.

Though she now reconsidered Agent DaSilva's offer of an escort.  Too late,
of course.

The fact that the thoughts were negative ... except of course, for the
baby ... struck Finn as odd, but important.  There was something about her
ability that seemed to pick up only on the downside **of course, singers
rarely sing about the happy stuff** of life, and she filed that away for
future consideration.  She couldn't afford to be more distracted than she
already was.  And thinking about the negative thoughts might make her hear
more.

The fiery homeless man caused Finn's jaw to fall slack.  The vision was
surreal.  To see inside a person's mind once more, what they are seeing -
what the *insane* are seeing - overwhelmed her.  When she was asleep, it
was one thing, it could be dismissed as a dream **for a time**.

And then she saw the woman, standing there unhurt by the fire that swept
over her.  She wanted to shout, in surprise, joy, and warning.  But the
intrusion of horns blasted her back into herself, and she stepped hard on
the accelerator.

**damnit ... i can't do anything, i can't ...**

She was already turning to follow the direction of the sirens.

**i'm just gonna get blasted like that woman, only i probably won't
survive!  get a grip, finn ... you can't help ...**

Only a few more blocks away, and she already thought she could feel the
heat.

**there's time, damnit ... the plane isn't gonna land for a long while
yet.  I have to try and help ... **

Finn worried slightly.  That she didn't feel the woman dying was one
thing.  But what if she did?  **what if someone dies nearby because of
this man?  you gonna be able to shut that out, miss telepath?  Who Knows
What Evil and all ... whatcha gonna do?**

** find out what I can do. Maybe I can talk to the guy, and I don't even
have to be seen.  see if this telepathy works both ways, like in the
movies and books. **

Finn got as close to the scene as she could, and watched for a time,
trying to determine what was going on.  She tried to stay out of sight as
best she could, not wanting to make herself a target for the homeless
firestarter.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You abruptly turn the corner, heading towards the scene of the battle 
that you can still see in your mind. Trying to shake the insane images of 
horrible, buzzing insects that contaminate the deranged man's thoughts, 
you see that the young woman *her name is Lisa, she's stark naked 
because the flames incinerated her clothes, she hasn't really noticed 
yet* is leaping towards the man, trying to kick him, she's so in shock she 
hasn't realized yet how insane her actions are, or that she's alive when 
she should be a smoking cinder- she's a superhuman too, but her 
conscious mind hasn't absorbed that yet.

Just ahead, police are blocking off the street and waving you to go 
around.

<><><><><>

Finn:

Finn pulled the car over, not caring if she was double-parking at this
point.  Grabbing her purse, she practically leapt out of the car and
headed toward the police.

"I've got to get through ... I know what's going on, and I can help!"

**yeah right ,,, you know, but help?  Sweet Mary, what kind of help are
you gonna give, girl?**

Finn went into pleading mode, something she rarely used, at least
seriously.  "Please, I know the girl who's there, she's ... she's ... got
powers, and her name is Lisa, and she doesn't know what the guy can do,
what she's up against.  She needs my help, please!"

If that didn't work, Finn quickly scanned the area, looking for alternate
routes to where the naked Lisa bravely **stupidly?** went up against the
insane firethrower.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The policeman agrees with surprising suddenness. "OK, sure, come on!" 
He immediately leads you around the corner as if he was your 
personally-appointed tour guide.

You get a glimpse of a woman hovering in the air, half a block away, 
emergency vehicles screeching to a halt at both ends of the street, a 
flaming man all the way at the other end, facing a fire truck which has 
just rolled to a stop in front of him.

The woman, naked, is running through the air (!) at the flaming derelict, 
just as he bathes the fire truck in flames. She reaches him a second 
later, brings him to the ground in a flying tackle-

**<PAIN! AGONY!>**

*The man hits the ground like a bundle of kindling wood, and with horror 
you realize his back snapped like a twig when the woman hit him, she 
doesn't even realize she hit him so hard-

Panicking and screaming, the homeless man unleashes his full power-

A fireball erupts where the two superhumans hit the ground together, 
expanding in an instant to consume much of the street, blindingly hot, 
leaving glowing spots obscuring your vision, and an instant later, a 
WHOOSH! of hot air almost blasts you off your feet, you feel heat wash 
across you, almost blistering your skin, your hair whips around your face 
and you suck in your breath and feel hot air scorch your throat. The cop 
ahead of you covers his face and staggers back a step, then throws you 
to the ground, trying to shield you with his body. The roar of flames is 
louder than the sirens all around you, and you feel pain all up and down 
the street, no one but Lisa was at ground zero, but the fireball extended 
as far as some of the shops that line the street, and people ran 
desperately away from the storefronts as the fireball blossomed and 
flames rolled towards them, but some were caught in the blast of 
superheated air and 

*burning burning burning omigod*

some people are scorched, some singed, two of the firemen on the 
wrong side of the truck, facing the fireball, were crisped so quickly they 
didn't have a chance to feel it, but you sense a sudden horrible void 
where a moment ago there were two living, aware minds, and the other 
firemen, they were the closest ones, are on fire, even as the truck 
shielded them from the worst of the blast-

The entire street is ablaze, and at the center of the holocaust, the 
homeless man with a broken back continues to radiate heat like a 
miniature atom bomb, and the girl, Lisa, holds on, dazed, not even 
aware of what's going on except that she's engulfed in flames and the 
ground is melting away beneath them.

<><><><><>

Finn:

**well that was f***in' smart, wasn't it!**

Finn cringed beneath the officer's weight, cursing herself and her
stupidity.  More than the physical pain, she felt the emotional, mental
pain from all those around her ... around the *area*, and she just wanted
to curl up into a little ball and make it all go away.

The demanding presences of the two ... paranormals ... kept her from lying
there in self-pity.  Scared out of her mind, she still felt she had to
try, had to do *something*.

Weakly, then with more force, she pushed the officer covering her off, and
struggled to stand.  The motions bring forth all the pain that the blast
had done, and she felt her face with hot, sore fingers.  A cursory eye
check of her body and the officer's body, to make certain they were
unharmed **physically, at least**, and then she took a step toward Lisa
and the dangerous derelict.

Only a step, because then she saw the waves of heat eminating from the
blacktop, one hundred times worse than any Worcester street on a one
hundred degree day.

**i can't get out there, it's too hot!**

Indecision warred within her, and she clung to the only thing she knew.
Holding back her mind from feeling the pain of those in agony around her,
she concentrated on Lisa and the man, reaching out to them, tapping their
minds consciously, knowingly ... and this time, trying to speak *to* them,
rather than just listening.  **these things usually work both ways in
books and movies, right?**

She reached for the homeless man's name first, hoping that somewhere
within him, it was still remembered.

** Lisa ... are you okay?  You've broken his back, but I can't get close
enough to help you, the street is too hot. **

She thought of herself standing there, at the other end of the street,
projecting a calm, comforting presence.  She felt only half of that,
somewhere deep inside of her the hysteria was buried.  But Finn was
determined to try, and stubborn enough to keep going, even if failure
loomed in her face.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Reaching into the man's mind, you see a jumbled, chaotic soup of 
deranged images and half-remembered experiences, reality mixed with 
hallucinations, facts blended inextricably with delusions.

You do pick a name out, though; he calls himself Jack.

[Continued in "Holocaust in Boston"]