If looks could kill Nieman would have been dead many times over from the looks directed at him by the young man being led out of the room in handcuffs. It had been an interesting chase but in the end Nieman had had an advantage that the other didn't even suspect; in fact, virtually no one knew about his "edge".

"This isn't over. I'll be back for you. They can't hold me!", hissed the young hacker who called himself "Ghost-in-the-Machine". The burley police Sergeant in charge of "Ghost" ended his threats by pulling him out of the room.

Nieman sighed and rubbed his temple as he watched them leave. He couldn't wait to get out of here. The constant assault of raw emotion and violent thoughts was wearing him down. He didn't want a repeat of the cemetary; just thinking of it made him shudder, and yet some good had come of it. He'd met Father Fernando, his mentor and fellow telepath.

Seeking escape from the psychic barrage of the police station he let his mind slip back in time....

Nieman walked through the cemetary to the spot where Chuck's funeral was to be. He didn't speak to anyone and barely heard the priest as he conducted the service. He was too caught up in his own thoughts and questions. Soon the service was over and the funeral party dispersed and still Nieman stood staring at the grave. The gravediggers came and covered the grave, casting nervous glances at the silent man, soon they too finished and left.

Some 30 minutes later, Nieman finally moved. He walked to the headstone ad placed his hand upon it. "I'm sorry Chuck. I should have done something. I should have seen this coming.", Nieman whispered. He knelt and placed his hand on the grave itself, "I swear to you he won't get away with this. I swear it. Blausmen will pay.", he said.

He knelt this way for several minutes as the wind keened through the cemetery, then he stood and made his way out of the cemetery. He was almost to the gate when he felt his mind slipping, his sense of self disappearing under a flood of thoughts and emotions not his. He tried to block out the foreign thoughts but the harder he tried the worse it got. He had managed to make it out the gate before he slumped against a building no longer aware of anything but the thoughts and emotions overwhelmed him. For several minutes he stood there, then like a cut tree, slowly at first with gathering speed, he fell to the ground. He couldn't hold on any more. He didn't know who or where he was. All he knew was the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions of people around him. How long this lasted he didn't know, it seemed and eternity, then a voice. A calm, quiet voice in the storm; it knew his name and who he was. The voice guided him back to himself and helped him stop the flood.

When he became aware of his surroundings again he found himself kneeling in a fetal position next to a building. The next thing he noticed was a short Latino man, a priest.

"Get a hold of yourself and get up.", said the man.

"Who ... how ...", stammered Nieman.

"I'm Father Fernando. Now get up before you attract any more attention.", commanded the priest.

"How did you that?", asked Nieman as he shakily stood. "How did you make the voices stop?"

"Not here. Come with me.", and with that the priest walked away forceing Nieman to follow him. They walked to an apartment building not far from the cemetery and entered a small, spartan apartment. The priest took Nieman's coat without a word and pointed to a chair, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Nieman sank into the chair and looked around the apartment. There wasn't much to see. A small card table and four plain chairs made up the bulk of the furniture in the tiny livingroom. The only other item was a radio on the floor near the kitchen doorway.

"Here.", said the priest handing Nieman a cup of hot coca. "It'll help calm you."

"Thanks". Nieman sipped at the coca. The warmth was soothing.

The priest watched Nieman as he sipped his coca and finally said, "I'm a telepath, just like you. The only difference is that I've been a telepath for as long as I can remember. I heard you scream, that's how I found you."

"Scream?", asked Nieman.

The priest tapped his temple, "Mentally. It sounded like you had lost your very soul."

"I thought I had. I... it...", Nieman waved his hand vaguely as he sought the words.

"I know.", said Fernando. "It can be overwhelming, especially if you try to meet it head-on as you did. How you visualize the gift is very important. If you see it as as wall that you peek over then eventually something is going to come along and break the wall down."

Nieman nodded, "Then how do you see it?"

Fernando laughed, "I see my self as a crafty thief and everyone else as a castle. If I want to hear their thoughts I have to climb the castle walls and sneak inside."

"A thief.", laughed Nieman. "You? Now that's an image."

Fernando smiled. "It works. There are several other things you must be careful of also."

"What?"

"Never get drunk."

"Because it destroys your control?", asked Nieman.

"No", said Fernando, "because it makes you foolhardy. You'll think you can do anything and over reach yourself. There are things out there that can destroy your mind in a flash."

"Things? What kind of things?"

"Things that don't think like normal men. I've picked up on them a few times but I try my best to avoid them. They are best left alone. Their emotions are so strong that they can drag you along with them."

"I think I've felt what you mean."

"What did you feel?", he asked.

"Several times in the Black Squirrel I felt a great hunger and rage. No thoughts just the hunger and rage. I wondered what it would take to provoke that intensity. What do you think it is?"

"I don't know.", answered Fernando. "The thoughts and emotions aren't like normal human thoughts and emotions. They don't seem human at all." Fernando shuddered, "And I don't want to find out. They're best left alone. When you find them stay away."

Nieman nodded. "What else do I need to know?"

"There is quite a bit more but mostly control will come with time. However, I have found that red wine and orange juice help. I'm not sure why but they help to keep you from being overwhelmed as you were."

"Orange juice and red wine huh? Ok. OJ in the morning and some wine with dinner. I can handle that." Nieman said with a smile.

Fernando grinned, "No. At the same time. At least 2 glasses a day."

Nieman grimaced, "At the SAME time? Ugh. And I thought I had just found something nice about this ... this ..."

"Gift.", supplied Fernando.

"I'm not so sure it's a gift. So far it's brought nothing but grief."

"In time you'll learn to control it, then you'll see. It's a gift from our Father. Used properly it can help many people."

Nieman was stirred from his memories but a clerk dropping some papers in front of him and telling him to sign all the x'ed lines. After he'd signed in the indicated spots the detective in charge of the case told him he was free to go. As Nieman left the police station he caught a brief taste of the hunger Fernando had warned about. Unlike Fernando Nieman was intrigued rather than repulsed, this represented something new to learn, to know. He wasn't quite ready to tackle it yet but soon he'd be comfortable enough to track down this hunger and see who or what it belonged to.