They were in a waiting room.

Harsh white light spilled from the overhead panels, bleaching them both into ghostly imitations of their normal selves.

She was in her summer best, an off white sundress of light fabric. The long hem caught the warm breeze streaming from a door ajar.

Distant sirens swept through the room as casually as the smell of fresh pine and sea salt.

If not for the breeze she would have felt claustrophobic, what with being pent up in this tiny box with that man.

He was hunched over a magazine, but she didnt think he was reading it.

The magazine was up-side down, and he kept raising and lowering it, peering at her from over it's top.

This continued with the regularlity of the breeze, and he didn't seem to understand that she noticed, and was not pleased.

She'd been waiting for almost an hour, and still nobody had opened the other door and called her name. She was beginning to wonder if anyone was even here.

He'd only been there for half an hour, and every minute had bugged her. She wouldn't even have looked at him, except the motion caught her eye.

The one look of him that she'd gotten was enough.

Deeply tanned, thin with only a small hint of bulk. Flabs of skin poked out from under his shirt as if neglected from being tucked in.

He wore those cliche camoflage pants, complete with black combat boots. But instead of some kind of shirt or Army logo, he had wrapped himself in a gray sweatshirt four times too large. Maybe five.

But she didn't care about that so much as the smell. The moment the door opened, the fresh breeze was staunched by an intense odor. It was as if a small tribe of monkeys who had flung their feces at each other all day in total war.

It was a smell she wouldn't have wished on any opponent, no matter how much of a douchebag. Even the creepy guy who just joined the club to listen didnt deserve to stew in this man's bouquet of exoticly putrid stench.

Half an hour. She'd been waiting here half an hour and nobody had bothered to even tell them that it would take a few minutes longer. She had evening plans, and soon she would be forced to leave, or cancel minute. She'd probably just leave.

She hated that. Her word and her promise were the same, and they were her bond in the debate room.

If she didn't have her word, wasn't trustworthy, then how could she even reason with an opponent. Especially with the tournament coming up.

That thought was enough for her to decide. She was just about to stand up, had gathered up her bag, when the lights went out.

Immediately the man stood up. The renewed scent of decay and general unwash almost made her vomit on the spot.

Before she could recover and finally, finally begin giving the man a piece of her mind, he opened the door and walked out into the courtyard.

Oh yes, she remembered, something must be wrong.

The man had already walked out of the room, so she was content to watch him and what he discovered. He seemed intent, extremely intent, on discovering... something.

Vaguely, she considered this man might be an actual combat veteran, with all the skills and reactions that came with it.

The thought made her lean back into the shadowy shell of the waiting room, a magazine held up between her and whatever--whomever--was outside.

Voices, just out of sight. Two men starting a conversation.

From her angle she couldn't quite understand what they were saying. But the tone was clear. Irritation from one. Demanding from the other.

Second by second the voices increased in volume and aggression, until she could make out one. The demanding one.

"Let us the fuck out of here before I blow your fucking brains out."

Oh shit, she thought. The reply came almost before he finished.

"I can't, I don't have the key, and this place would be swarming in cops in seconds if I try to--"

BLAM.

"SHIT MAN." The voice practically squealed. "shit, shit shit. Don't shoot me. Lemme just call.."

BLAM.

The sound of something shattering, and this time a scream.

"No calls, open it."

"I can't." The voice was almost a whisper, but she had crept to the edge of the door to listen without realizing it. Even having recoiled twice, she was close enough to hear the man.

"Please. I didn't do anything to you, I'm just the janitor, I--"

BLAM.

This time she heard the scream of metal and something heavy clatter to the ground.

Her brain was going into overdrive. She heard--and smelled--in slow motion as the man walked back to the room. Slowly.

The moon had emerged from behind the office courtyard. As if rising in voyeur of the events unfolding. The doorway was clearly outlined in the beams of the nearly full moon.

A figure eclipsed the door and she was plunged back into darkness.

"It's ok," the figure said, "The door is open, we can leave."

A snubby pistol hung limply in his right hand. He was alone, and unburdened.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he reached out, again the scent of used rotten diaper filled the room and rolled over her in full force.

She opened her mouth to scream, inhaled, and gagged.

The impossibe scene replayed in her mind just before she vomited.

It was dry, she hadn't eaten most of the day.

She dry heaved a couple times before he was close enough to smother her in it.

He must not have been aware of his odor, because he again reached out a hand, as if rescuing her.

"It's ok. He's gone, nobody can hurt you."

"Butyou. but. you. you." She almost fainted. Overwhelmed.

She didn't know where she was. She was being cornered. Her life was in danger. She had to get out.

The hand touched her.

Slapping his arm aside with both hands, she made a dash for the door. Her slippered feet skidded forward on the tile as she launched herself past him.

She slipped once. Twice. Recklessly pushing over chairs and running headlong into the half-open door.

Barely catching the door at the last moment, she almost stopped to breathe the fresh air. Adrenaline pushed her forward and she was halfway across the courtyard before she heard him call out.

"Wait! It's ok. I just--"

The rest was cut off as she reached the spot where the conversation had happened.

The metal gate was open. On the other side, a bus sped past on the main street.

On the ground, a shattered and bloody cell phone, and open padlock.

She paused. No body. Then what....

She turned around. The man was in the doorway.

He seemed diminished somehow. He walked into the moonlight and she screamed for the second time.

His face was a mask of lacerations and bright blood. His empty hand gushed profusely onto the ground as he started shuffling towards her again.

"Will you just listen? It's ok. I took care of him. He's gone! He can't ever hurt us again. You understand right? You're different. You see what nobody else sees."

He was panting. And walking faster.

"It'll be ok. I'll protect you. They trained me for that you know? I'll provide, it's what I'm supposed to do. I can do that. I--"

She didn't hear the rest. Fear had rooted her, but as he rambled her feet grew wings.

She was halfway down the block before she paused for breath. She could still hear him calling.

She was running.

He must be too because his voice got closer, not farther.

She forced down panic. She'd seen this in debate so many times. An amateur losing the upperhand makes a break for it, shows their back. Their opponent turns predator and tears them apart. Verbally at least.

Panting, but afraid to slow, she forced herself to think. Where is my phone.

Back in the waiting room of course.

She realized she couldn't hear his voice anymore. She slowed, and ducked into an alley.

And waited.

For the second time that day she found herself suddenly waiting, and unwillingly focused on this man.

It pissed her off. This man had no right to chase her like this. He was obviously dangerous, but the why of it eluded her.

Yes he'd fired shots. But at whom?

Some part of her wanted to ignore the line of questioning, but she was the Vice President goddamit.

He wanted to protect her, he said.

She only hid a few moments, chewing these thoughts over, before deciding to peek out.

Nothing.

She started to cautiously backtrack. She'd only gotten two blocks away, and it was a straight shot down the street.

Poking her head out of the alley, she saw the man.

He wasn't close enough to startle her back into flight. In fact, he wasn't close at all. Almost a whole block away.

But he was close enough for her to see that he was crouched, head in his hands. Shaking.

Almost, she reached out. Instead she ducked back into the alley.

She steeled herself. Ready to have an honest to god conversation with this man. Talk to him instead of running in mindless fear. She clung to the fact that he hadn't been hostile, to her at least.

Taking a deep breath, she rounded the corner and began walking at speed. Afraid to let her willpower falter.

She was walking with enough purpose that it took her a moment to find him again.

He had moved.

He was standing on the edge of the road--face up towards the moon--as if basking in the light.

He just stood there.

She started to walk with more purpose, his inaction emboldening her.

She'd gone almost half a block and was forming her words, when he moved.

He raised his empty hand in a salute to the moon as it gazed down upon him.

Then raised his right hand, and collapsed.