There was a throbbing, pulsing ache in Ashley Maddox's head.  It pulsated in time with every syllable streaming out of Tommy Salinger's mouth, each calculated, piercing insult he hurled at the young couple another pin in Ashley's forehead.

"Reserved parking," Salinger spat.  "Can't you damn well read?  I swear to god, if I have to run this through my insurance, I'm going to strip you for all you're worth."

"Look pal," the man in front of him said carefully, "I already told you, it was just a nick.  You know, most folks would probably just drive off.  I'm trying to do the right thing here."

"Don't patronize me.  You yuppie twenty-somethings are all the same.  Heads down in your iphones, so fucking entitled you think the world owes you a pat on the back for having the good grace to get yourself born."

"Do you mind watching your language?"  the lady of the couple snapped back.  "Let's keep this civil, all right?"

Ashley massaged her temples and silently cursed herself for giving the young couple Salinger's phone number.  They'd just been so damn insistent, and when they came in to the front desk, sincerely upset, she'd relented and accessed the building directory for them.  The smart thing would've been to take their information, assure them she'd pass on the note that they'd dinged the priceless Mercedes in Cherry Estates' parking lot, and then casually toss the note into the goddamn garbage disposal the moment they turned their backs.

A hand from underneath her desk tapped against her leg.  A grubby face with a weeks' worth of stubble peeked out.  It cracked a filthy smile.  "Hey," said the merry runt.  "Just relax, all right?  Let him get it out of his system."

Ashley grimaced and nodded.  She and Pat, the building caretaker, had both dealt with Salinger's tantrums before.  She just wished that this particular occasion could occur outside of her lobby, far, far away from the concierge desk.

A short distance away, on one of the leather couches that lined the lobby, Mrs. Watts cleared her throat and tapped her umbrella.  Ashley shook her head and made a placating gesture, and Mrs. Watts rolled her eyes condescendingly.  The old woman was slowly driving Ashley nuts with her passive-aggressive behavior.  She could wait her turn.


The young man, meanwhile, was doing his best to extract himself and his sweetheart from the grips of the raving nutjob in front of them.  "Here's my card," he said.  "Maybe we should just talk more about this when you've cooled off, all right?"

Salinger turned the colour of a chili pepper.  "You can't possibly think that you're just going to walk out after this."

"That's exactly what we're doing.  Catherine?"

"Just a second," the young lady replied.

"Let's just go."

"No, we didn't get what we came in for."

"Just forget it."

"It'll only take a second.  I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?"  She turned to Ashley and politely held out her hand, while Salinger furiously contemplated all meanings of the word "rage."

"Ashley Maddox," the concierge firmly gripped Catherine's hand.  "You wanted directions?"

Salinger choked out a bitter laugh and threw his hands up in the air.  Catherine ignored him completely.  "Yes.  We're trying to get onto I-56."

"You're not far off, you just have to-"

"Excuse me, Ashley," Mrs. Watts interrupted.  "Is this going to take long?  I need to talk to you about my mail delivery for the next two weeks."

Ashley bit her lip and turned to the old lady with as much patience as she could muster.  "In a moment, Mrs. Watts."

"You see I'm going to be in the Azores for the next month, and I need to arrange for someone to pick up my mail."

"I understand that."

"If you just let it collect, they'll end up just throwing out the excess, you know."

"I know that."

Pat pulled himself up from under the concierge desk abruptly.  "All set back here, Ashley," he said.  "Tell you what, folks, maybe I can help you out while Ashley gives Mrs. Watts a hand.  I know the area just as well as she does."

Ashley nodded gratefully to Pat and went behind the desk to grab the mailbox file.  Pat puffed up his chest to make himself look as officious as possible and swaggered up to the couple with his most winning smile.  "So where are you guys headed?"

"Hanover," Catherine said.  "We want to make it there before it gets dark.  We've got a hostel reservation and they have a strict guideline about when you have to check in."

"Oh, well that shouldn't be a problem," Pat said.  "Can't be more'n- oh, well that's odd."  He cut himself off.  He was looking past the couple, outside.  "I was about to say you'll make it there in good time, but...I must've lost track of the time."

All eyes went to the huge, floor-ceiling windows on either side of the front door.  Outside, the light of the midday sun was rapidly diminishing.

"It's only 3:45," Ashley said.  She glanced at her watch, then up at the lobby clock.  Both timepieces agreed.  "Must be a storm moving in."

"Great," Salinger said.  "On top of everything else.  I'm moving my car into the covered lot, Ashley.  I don't want to see anyone calling the Parking Authority on me, all right?"  He smacked open the front door with a flat palm and stalked off into the approaching darkness.

"Too bad you didn't think of that in the first place," the young man muttered.

"Michael," Catherine hissed in a familiar talking-to-my-boyfriend voice.  Ashley smiled in spite of herself.  She'd put on that same voice herself many times talking to Geoff.  The thought of her man waiting at home with his home-made onion rings cheered her up somewhat.  Just had to deal with these people and she'd be headed home.

Mrs. Watts leaned over the concierge desk.  "So can you help me arrange a pickup?" She tapped her finger on the counter impatiently.

"Right," Ashley said.  "Why don't you sit down over there, Mrs. Watts?  I have to find your mailbox information first."  She made a show of busying herself with the paperwork.  Outside the lobby, they could all distantly hear the sound of Salinger starting his car.

Pat rubbed his jaw and said "Not sure if you want to be driving in the kind of storms we get along the stretch here.  Maybe you should find a place to stay in town."

Michael and Catherine looked uncertainly at each other, then back to Pat.  "We should probably just take our chances," Michael said.  "So how do we get out to Hanover?"

Pat made a show of hemming and hawing, his thumbs looped in his belt.  "Well, you could always-"

The remainder of his sentence was cut off by a clunk, followed by an ominous chopping off of the ever-present hum of the fluorescent lights, and the building was plunged into darkness.

Ashley slapped the binder onto the desk in front of her.  "Oh, you have to be kidding."

"Probably just a brownout," Pat assured her.  "Happens in this kind of weather."

"You don't have emergency lights in here?"  Michael asked.

"No sir.  This is an old building.  Old-style condominiums."

"It really is dark outside," Catherine said.  "Like, really dark."

Pat sniffed.  "Must be the whole block."

Ashley pulled out an emergency flashlight from the concierge desk and shone it onto her binder.  She'd be damned if some lousy storm was going to keep her from getting home at a reasonable hour.  The glow from the light illuminated the figures in the lobby and flickered after-images off the glass windows.

Catherine tentatively moved over to the closest window.  "Still, even with the power out, you'd think we could see some bits of daylight.  Or twilight, or whatever you call it."

"Cloud cover," Pat said dismissively.  He unclipped his own emergency light from his belt and passed the beam over the window Catherine was looking out.  Beyond the glass, the light couldn't seem to find a point of reference to land on.  It simply choked out no more than a foot beyond the building.

"Well," Michael said, "Looks like we might have to find a place around here after all, if the streetlights are on the fritz too.  Catherine?"

His companion didn't answer.  She was pressed up against the window now, her hands cupped around her eyes, squinting into the darkness.  "Catherine?"  Michael repeated.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking for that man," she replied.  "I heard him start his car, so I just want to make sure he's ok."

"Why wouldn't he be?"  Ashley muttered, more unnerved than she cared to admit.

"Well it's just...why can't we see his headlights?  Or any headlights, for that matter?  This place isn't far off the major roads."

Everyone was silent a moment.  Then Pat chuckled, "Maybe it was EMP, like you see in the sci-fi movies."

"What?"  Michael said.

"EMP.  Electro-magnetic pulse.  Knocks out electricity, or something.  Hell, don't you ever play Starcraft?"

Michael laughed.  Catherine tore herself away from the window and smacked him on the shoulder.  "This isn't funny.  I don't like this."

"What do you want me to do about it?"  He countered.

"I don't know.  Go outside and see if he's ok.  You hit his car, it's the least you can do."

Michael snorted.  "He doesn't want my help."

"Please, Michael."

Michael looked like he was prepared to argue, but shook his head and put his hand on the door.

"No!"  Ashley shouted.  Pat fumbled his flashlight and swore.

"What's the problem?"  Michael shot back.

Ashley was sweating.  What was her problem?  She had a headache, all right, and she was stressed, but why did she suddenly feel like screaming out loud?  She was terrified, and she had no idea why.  But then she remembered.  She remembered that there was something wrong, something noticeably off.  There were five people in the lobby including herself, and one of them had been quiet for a lot longer than she ever was.

"Mrs. Watts?"  Ashley called out, softly.

The room was silent.

"Are you all right?"

From somewhere near the leather bench there came the sound of hoarse breathing.  Haaah...haaah... then someone opened their mouth wide and let out a raspy exhalation... HEEEEEEEHHHHHH...

As if she hadn't heard the exchange, Catherine whispered, "Is it just me, or is it getting even darker...?"

(click here to continue...)