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knows, do one?” Janeece grinned. “Quit worrying, Neva. You couldn’t get me out of here with a keg of dynamite. Oh, well. I’ve got to get to the dry cleaners before it closes. Guess I’d better stop at the liquor store, too. I’m out of white Zinfandel, and we’ve got to have a farewell drink. Promise you won’t leave before I get back.”
    I promised. She collected her coat and purse and hauled Neva off the arm of the futon. We all left together, Neva to check on the decorating downstairs, Janeece to her weekly run to the cleaners, and me back down to the catacombs.
    There were no sounds from the laundry room this time. Nothing unsavory had ever happened down here as far as I knew, but the thought of being alone made me twitchy. I returned to the storage unit, taped a new box together, and set about filling it with the flotsam from Janeece’s.
    It was like a print version of This Is Your Life. Baby pictures, report cards, school photos, family snapshots, tons of them. For the second time today, I wrestled with a bout of envy, and regret that I would never have a cache of memories like this. I’d been orphaned at five when my parents had been killed, victims of arson. The conflagration had eliminated any keepsakes my parents might have collected. I was left with the clothes I was wearing and a few wisps of memories of them. The new family I’d discovered recently made up for a lot, but not entirely. Fighting a pale blue funk, I dug into Janeece’s box.
    I don’t know how long I sat there completely enthralled by the young Janeece, thin as a number two pencil, all arms, legs, and teeth. I didn’t read the letters but I’d glanced my way through at least half the box and dozens and dozens of old snapshots and fading Polaroids when I became aware that something had changed down here. It was harder to see. In fact, outside the open door of the cubicle was nothing but pure darkness, the fifteen-watt bulb above my head too weak to throw light beyond the confines of this space. The hall light must have burned out.
    I dropped the photo I’d been holding and got up, stiff from being in one position so long. Maglite illuminating my path to the door, I looked out. The entire corridor was pitch black, no light outside the laundry room, no fluorescent glow from its interior or thump-thump from the dryers. Goose bumps rose on my arms, nudged from under my skin by a seismic muscle spasm.
    Then I heard it. A sound, just barely audible, not quite a footfall so much as the crunch of grit on concrete from somewhere along the darkened hallway. No doubt about it. I was not alone.

3
    STEPPING BACK INTO THE CUBICLE, I REACHED up and turned the light off, wincing at how loud the chain sounded as it moved in the lamp housing. Dreading the result, I doused the Maglite. Darkness seemed to swallow me whole, and in an instant, I was five again, waiting for the monsters that lurked in unlit rooms. Breathing deeply, I gave myself a good talking to. I was an adult, with damned near nine years of experience as a cop. If I was in trouble, it was up to me to get out of it.
    It came again, a scrape, a soft squeak somewhere near the elevator and stairwell just beyond it. Definitely someone there trying unsuccessfully not to give themselves away.
    My pulse rate had tripled, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it could be detected from the other end of the hall. I had a decision to make: stay or go. Neither option was particularly appealing. I’d be vulnerable either way. If I left I’d be approaching whoever was out there in the dark. But remaining here left me little protection. I couldn’t just pull the door closed; Janeece’s shoe rack held it open. If I tried to hide, the wardrobe bags might camouflage the top two-thirds of me, but I’d be visible from midcalf on down. Besides, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t cave under my weight. The bottom line, however, was