"Mrs. Watts?" Ashley called once more, in spite of her growing surety that the old lady was in no condition to answer.  If she remained in the lobby at all.

The throaty, raspy breathing that had answered Ashley's calls grated like a cement mixer full of nails.  Ashley took a step back, unconsciously, and reached under her desk for the pepper spray that was her only form of protection.  She tucked it into her pants pocket, her head throbbing a warning pulse against unseen danger.

"What in hell's going on?"  Pat, the caretaker, shone his flashlight around, trying to illuminate the outline of Mrs. Watts on the leather bench.  What the beam of light found instead was a hunched, animalistic figure, teeth bared in a hideous snarl.  The old crone was clawing at the air, eyes bloodshot and unblinking in the glow of Pat's flashlight.  She bunched herself into a ball of compressed sinew and flung herself at the runty caretaker.

Pat managed a half-terrified gurgle before Mrs. Watts tackled him to the floor.  His flashlight traced a small arc in the air, spinning end over end, throwing light all over, catching the horrified faces of the people in the lobby in a stop-motion trajectory of disbelief.  Mrs. Watts raked her nails across Pat's face, cutting a neat set of crimson lines into his forehead.  His hands frantically caught hold of the shrieking lady's arms and he bellowed in pain and fury.  "Get her off me!" he roared.

Michael and Catherine, the young couple standing by the windows, both froze up.  It was left to Ashley to grab hold of Mrs. Watts in a crude bear hug.  Ashley screamed out obscenities and hauled Mrs. Watts off of Pat, causing both of them to fall back into a pile of flailing limbs.

Ashley rolled away from the thrashing psychopath and tried to reach for the can of pepper spray in her pocket.  Her hand met teeth instead.  Mrs. Watts snapped her jaws shut on Ashley's palm, and blood flowed out around the edges of her lips.  Ashley was too shocked to even scream.

That was the impetus Michael and Catherine needed.  Each of them grabbed hold of the old woman and pulled two different ways.  Michael was gibbering incomprehensibly in a hopeless entreaty to Mrs. Watts, begging her to stop.  Catherine was sobbing even as she tugged away at the obscenity before her.  Even as they pulled, Mrs. Watts' teeth sunk into Ashley's palm even further.

The pain was blinding.  It overrode all sense of time, place, and meaning.  Even the goddamned headache, background noise to the insanity of the evening, was pushed back as Ashley's mind caved to the screaming nerves in her hand.

Then...crack.  Mrs. Watts' eyes rolled up in her head, and her jaw mercifully went slack.  Michael dropped his hold on her and fell back, panting.  Catherine collapsed to her knees beside Ashley, one hand on her mouth, the other to her stomach, as if she were about to vomit.

Pat stepped back in the illumination of his dropped flashlight, the old woman's cane in his hand.  Drops of blood fell from the curved handle to mesh with the growing stain on the back of Mrs' Watts' head.  Pat's face was set in a grim line, the fresh scratches on his scalp a fine extension to his expression.

Michael found his voice first, though it came out trembling and weak.  "Is...is she dead?"

Pat dispassionately knelt down and felt for a pulse.  "No," he said coldly.

"What the hell just happened?" Michael demanded.

Pat didn't answer him.  He looked over at Ashley.  "Are you all right?"

Ashley held her hand up, numbly.  "Does it look like I'm all right?"

Pat seemed to cast about for a witty retort, but gave up and pulled out a cloth instead.  "Here.  It's clean."

Ashley nodded and took the cloth.  It took her a few tries, but she was able to tightly wrap her aching palm in the rag.  At the very least, Mrs. Watts hadn't torn the skin, merely punctured it.  Ashley felt like snickering hysterically.  That's right, the psycho-bitch could have hurt me worse.

A digital beeping shook her back into reality.  Ashley looked over at Michael, who had his phone in hand.  His fingers found the buttons with difficulty.  "What are you doing?"  Ashley asked.

"Calling 911," he said.

"Oh," she replied, still dulled.

Catherine crept over to Michael and took his other hand as he held his phone to his ear.  She still looked pale, but she'd succeeded in keeping her breakfast down.  Pat stood up and gingerly felt his head, then inspected his fingers.  He winced at the result.

Michael abruptly swore and hurled his phone away.  "No signal," he snapped.  "Of course.  Right when you need it most."  He ran his fingers through his hair and took on a look of determination.  "I'm going for help."

Catherine grabbed at his jacket.  "I'm coming with you," she said.

"Just wait here.  I'll only be minute."

Catherine opened her mouth to argue, but Ashley cut in smoothly.  "It's okay, dear," Ashley said.  "Come on, let's sit over here."  Catherine looked uncertain, but did as Ashley said.  Pat nudged Mrs. Watts' still form with his boot and grunted, satisfied the old lady was out cold.

Michael nodded to the others and stepped out the door, into the blackness.

Pat watched him go, and said "I think-"

And Michael stepped back in.

Pat blinked.  "What are you playing at, son?"

Michael gaped at him like a fish.  "I must've got turned around."  He went out the door again.

And stepped back in again.

Michael looked like he might cry.  "What the hell's going on here?"

Pat brushed past him to stand by the door.  Ashley watched him worriedly.  "What are you doing, Pat?"

"Just give me a second."  Pat stood by the entrance and propped open the heavy metal door with his toe.  Carefully, he reached his hand out the door.

And it looped back in on itself.  Pat wiggled his fingers in his own face.  "That's interesting," he managed.

(click here to continue...)