Oracle

 I watched the shadows of the trees swirl over the wooden walls. The moonlight gently rocked the leaves, casting dark shapes that lazily swam around the room. My breath steadily slipped out of my lips, silently pushed by my sinking chest.

Cal was fast asleep. Air silently filtered through his half-open mouth, while his body lay limply on the old mattress he was slumbering on. His limbs occasionally twitched in response to a dream, like a resting dog.

Icarus was awake like me. He lay with his back on the bed and his front open to the air. I could see the ghostly light pour in between the mountains of his face, flowing around his open eyes and his closed mouth.

We'd found this place a few hours ago. An abandoned or maybe just disused campground with cabins replaced by huge elevated structures, doubling as a room and a cover for the area below. The wooden rails and steps looked fairly decayed, but we'd deemed the place habitable, at least for tonight. The three of us had nestled into the same room; an upright wooden hexagon, with the two large faces made from sheets of netting. The slanted walls were lined with bunk beds, not particularly clean, yet acceptable.

We'd planned to just hole up there and plan, yet as soon as we lay down, the mood shifted. It was getting late, and all three of us were mentally exhausted from the day's fight. Cal was the first to submit to his fatigue, informing Icarus and I that it would be useless to talk until morning. At first I'd been slightly irritated at his laziness, but when I saw his form relax I suddenly began craving the same.

Our supplies were in the corner. Both of Cal and I's lethal guns, a small mound of food, a few empty cans, and my bullet making kit. The empty shells and containers of homemade tranquilizer were littered around the pile, with a stack of completed rounds leaning against a packet of chips. I'd been restocking our ammunition supply since we arrived here, using shoplifted chemicals, equipment, and bullet casings. I could still remember the shocked faces of each of the store owners when I casually announced my intention not to pay, showed them my gun, and walked out with the merchandise under my arm, alarms blaring in my ears.

I flicked my gaze toward Icarus again, and realized that he had turned to face me, his body relaxed but eyes bright.

"I want to talk to you about your visions." He wasn't exactly whispering, but his voice was soft and quiet. The words seemed to take a long time to reach my ears, tiptoeing across the silence.

"Okay."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you have them. You've made too many assumptions and guesses to be faking." I couldn't see his lips, and it seemed as if his voice was emanating straight from his eyes. "But what are they?"

"I don't know. I've never known."

"But aren't you curious? They could be hallucinations. You could have some sort of schizophrenia."

"I don't think I do."

"Then what are they? Magic isn't real, so there must be some legitimate explanation."

My mind chewed on his words. What were they? Was I sane? Why hadn't I tried to figure it out? They couldn't really be something harmful. I'd made it this far without any defects. I'd never had any significant mental health problems. If anything, the ability had been a huge asset. A miracle, defying science or reason. But those didn't exist.

I found an answer. "I don't really care right now. I can't really care right now. I'm a serial killer, a fugitive from the law, and a target of a huge criminal organization. I can't just walk into a hospital and ask for meds. I doubt they could ever diagnose it."

Icarus remained perfectly still, yet his voice became more urging. "Lena, you think you can see the future. You think you can read minds. You think you can watch people in different rooms do things while they're doing them. I'm not saying you can't, but that's a pretty huge thing. You didn't start it when you started all this, so why didn't you do anything about it when you were in college, or a kid?"