Burke tried again: "Pasiphae, tell me about your son, the Minotaur."
Nothing.
"About Minos, Pasiphae. About Ariadne."
Blank, staring eyes.
Burke paused, considered. Then, leaning close, he whispered, "The thing, Pasiphae; the mind-thing. The creature that comes into your brain—"
Without warning, Pasiphae screamed. Then, before Burke could stop her, she was on her feet and darting past him—fleeing like a woman possessed down a long corridor.
Burke raced after her.
Then, just when he thought that he would catch her, she came up short; whirled on him, eyes suddenly wild and wide. "You! Are you one of them?"
"One of them—?"
"No, you're not! You don't make my head hurt like they did! They always hurt. Always ... always...."