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it might accomplish, though the idea—the necessity—of protecting this woman was inescapable. From where this compulsion originated eluded him. Perhaps his subconscious had reacted to the word “Protect.” Or, more likely, a beautiful, young woman lay vulnerable and alone on the floor and he was the only one who could protect her.
    She stirred, then whimpered.  
    “Hey, there… You took quite a fall. How are you feeling now?”
    She reached her hand to the back of her head and rubbed the area that had contacted the floor, wincing. Her eyes flittered open, stealing a quick glance at James, and her lips curled into a groggy smile. She snuggled her head into his legs, getting comfortable.  
    James dared not move. Then he was on the floor struggling to breathe. The woman had managed to spin around, catapult upwards, and mid-swing, had kicked James square in the chest, propelling him a few feet backwards. She loomed over him.
    “And just what do you think you were doing?” the woman said. His diaphragm scuffled with his lungs.
    “Damn. Dammit! I…” James said, coughing. “…was trying to see if you were okay!”
    “Okay? I wouldn’t say I’m okay. But do that again, and a kick to the chest will be the last of your worries.”
    James made a deeply etched mental note to remain on this woman’s good side. He cautiously rose to his feet as the woman stared.
    “Listen—my name is James. I’m as confused as you are. Do you have any idea where we are?”
    “No clue. I was just running from someone and suddenly found myself getting a little too close to you.”
    Ugh—lousy first impression. His gut told him he needed to befriend this woman—that she was important. There’s something about this girl…I can’t put my finger on it.
    “I just found myself here as well, no more than a few minutes ago. It was like someone changed the channel on the television. My clothes were different, and there was a note in my pocket,” he said.
    The woman looked down at her outfit: she wore a pleated, blue-plaid skirt, with black, high-heeled loafers, high white stockings and a tucked-in, starchy, long-sleeve, white blouse—unbuttoned at the top. Given the right angle, someone would have a nice show of her breasts. She buttoned the blouse as high as it would allow.  
    “Oh, my—I look like a school girl!” she said to herself. James didn’t mind it.  
    The skirt contained two side pockets, into which she placed her hands and from one, retrieved her own note, keeping an eye on him all the while.
    “That can’t be a coincidence.” James said.
    “For all I know, you put this in my pocket,” she said, still staring at him.
    “I can’t prove that I didn’t. For all I know, you could have faked your crazy little entrance there after having just planted mine on me a few minutes before. I think we’re just going to have to try and trust each other for the time being.”  
    The woman didn’t respond, though her shoulders appeared to relax as she studied him.  
    “Let’s see what this says.” She unfolded the paper and peered down at the slip. It was no larger than a business card.
    “Well, are you going to tell me?” James said.
    “Oh, yes, sorry. It says ‘Restraint,’” she said. “What does yours say?”
    “Mine? It says ‘Protect,’ which has me clueless. None of this is adding up.”  
    “Well, that doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
    James tried to form a sentence—a mental blankness disrupted his attempt and melded into an awkward silence between them. He sought a place to look away from her until he could collect himself.
    “My name is James,” he tried again, looking back at the woman. “James Bixby.”
    She scrunched her lips, leaving James’ words in the air.
    “Oh—right. I’m Olivia,” she said as if her name was new to her. “Listen, pleasantries aside, we need to figure out where we are and find help.”
    “No arguments here. Where do you suggest—” he said, but