Alicia spouted business cliches with such earnestness that I had to wonder if she'd been living under a rock for 2o years. How could anyone in the year 2014 call for a paradigm shift or blame something on a perfect storm without a measure of irony at the sheer overuse of the terms? Then she stood up and announced it was time to think out of the box. I rubbed my forehead like I was really thinking hard so she wouldn't see me roll my eyes.

Privacy screen in place, I fired up the laptop to watch some funny cat videos and daydream about starting my own business. The meeting droned on around me and I vaguely heard someone say something about squaring a circle. I had no idea what that meant.

I did have a great idea for a new business watching the news about the day-after-Thanksgiving retail sales. Professional line-waiting. It's an untapped niche of the service industry. Thousands of people want to score $79 flat-screen televisions and tablets but they don't want to wait in line outside the Best Buy for four days. I'd hire the homeless and the otherwise unemployed to secure places in line. Then, on the day of the sale, my savvy customer could simply swoop in to take their place and get the great pricing without all the hassle.

I had just come up with the slogan We Wait For You when Alicia's voice cut through the fantasy.

"The upshot here is that on a go-forward basis we need to right-size this department," she said.

The phrase "right-size" got my attention because every business school flunkie knows that when managers say right-size they mean it's time to fire some people. I shut the laptop screen without even watching the video kitten get out of the cardboard box, as Alicia demanded everyone stand up. I got to my feet, exchanging confused glances with the cubicle warriors around me, then watched as Alicia's assistant wheeled two chairs out of the conference room. Were we going to have meetings where everyone had to stand now, like those Silicon Valley companies do? I'd just read a story on the Huffington Post about how making people stand during meetings encouraged creativity or teamwork or fewer restroom breaks.

Alicia swiped at her smart phone. "Everyone remember the rules for musical chairs?"

Concerned looks bounced around the room. Was she serious?

The dance track "What Does the Fox Say" inexplicably blared from the tiny speaker on her phone and she bounced her head in rhythm. "When the music stops, find a chair. If you find a chair, you keep your job. If you're left standing, well, sayonara and we wish you well."

There was barely time to be stunned or protest because my colleagues starting marching around the conference room table, hands grazing chair backs in the hopes that continued contact would bring an advantage.

The music stopped just as the singer was about to answer the song's titular question. Alicia grinned as eight adults in business casual bumped hips and settled rumps into chairs. Me? I was left standing, along with Ruben from marketing. He looked like he was going to cry.

"I know this seems tough," Alicia said. "But remember, in Chinese, the word crisis also means opportunity. Or something like that. One door shuts, another one opens."

Ruben turned on his heel and walked out. Nine sets of eyes shifted to me.

"I see it as a win-win," I said. "Let me know if you want me to wait in line for you at the Apple store. I'll give you the discounted rate."

 

The police helicopter’s spotlight bounced through layers of Southern California dust on my windshield to illuminate the Chevy's dashboard. Hip-hop music nearly masked the scream of the police sirens behind me. I counted two news stations circling the orange-streaked evening sky above me. High-speed chase alerts were breaking news in this town, and mine could be spectacular, if I wasn’t careful.

You see, that night there was a full moon. With the sun dropping fast, my skin was already starting to prickle and burn. Griffith Park was the nearest wilderness LA had to offer, and I needed to get there fast, before the hairs started popping out and my transformation was underway. I punched the gas at the freeway exit and took the turn into the park on two wheels. 

A shiver pulsed through my body as my muscles expanded to split my khakis at the seams. I screeched into the deserted parking lot near the merry-go-round, five seconds ahead of three black-and-whites and a K9 unit. I kicked the door open with one foot-turning-paw, and my running shoe popped off like a billiard ball bouncing off of a pool table bumper. I heard car doors opening, and someone shouting “Stop and put your hands up!” but my wolf brain had already taken over. I threw my head back and howled at the moon before leaping into the scrubby hillside, shoes no longer needed.

The power went out and with it every electrical form of entertainment that kept Anna and Jackson and their babysitter Makenna occupied.

Makenna didn’t like the way the darkness turned the potted plants into monsters or the way it amplified the old house's unfamiliar creaks. But she worked so hard to convince her parents that she was responsible enough to babysit at the ripe old age of 13, so no way was she going to let on that she was scared by a little power outage.

Rubbing the stone of courage on her charm bracelet, Makenna forced a big smile. “I've got a fun idea! Let’s play spooky dooky,” she said. “It’s like hide and seek, but in the dark with a flashlight.”

“Do we get flashlights?” Anna asked.

“Only the seeker gets the flashlight. Now you two hide while I count to ten, and I’ll come find you.”

“Will you close your eyes?” Jackson said.

“You don’t have to close your eyes in the dark!” she said, giving him a little tickle.

Something about the darkness made her hearing more acute. She could hear Anna’s heavier steps on the staircase, and Jackson’s on the wood floor of dining room. In the kitchen, the plastic flap of the dog door slapped back and forth.

"Cookie, come here." She wanted the labrador's company; the big dog made her feel safer. But she didn't hear the sound of nails on the kitchen linoleum. Just a heavy thump.

Maybe Cookie was lying down for a nap.

She started counting in a loud voice.

“10, 9, 8...” 

It was so quiet in the house, without cartoons or video games or the hum of the refrigerator or whoosh of the air conditioner. It made Makenna’s thoughts so loud. And had she always breathed so fast?

“7, 6, 5...” She paused, waiting to hear the dog’s nails on the kitchen linoleum. Instead there was a heavy thump. Maybe Cookie was laying down for a nap. 

“4, 3, 2...” 

“1,” she called out. “Here I come!” Jackson giggled. 

Makenna turned the flashlight on and walked to the kitchen, looking for Cookie. She swung the beam of light across the kitchen floor.

A pair of men’s brown boots shone in the quivering beam of the flashlight. Her breathing get heavier, like she was hyperventilating. The kitchen floor felt like it was covered in glue, holding her flip-flops in place. Goosebumps appeared on her arms despite the warmth of the night.

With shaking hand, she scanned the light beam up on dark jeans, a black zip-up sweatshirt, and a face shadowed by a hood. In his hand was an empty cloth sack. 

She lost her grip on the flashlight. Its light bounced violently around the room until it hit the floor and rolled toward him.

"I'll find the children for you," he said, picking up the flashlight.

She waved at me today. The girl in the straw hat and red skirt stood on the roof of the abandoned Tolliver lace factory. She looked like Audrey Hepburn going a garden party instead of the usual street kid looking for a place to squat. She saw me staring at her from my apartment window for the third day in a row, and she smiled and waved.

That mute invitation was all I needed. So I went, through a hole in a wire fence, down a dark path and through a door wrenched from its hinges, into the factory's crumbling shell.

Maybe the girl was a writer like me, trying to do an investigative piece on living in a crack den. Or maybe she was a Tolliver, coming to pay her respects to the family's ruin and dreaming of the day she could bring it back to life. Maybe she was my soulmate.

At the top of two flights of stairs was a cavernous room, sun streaming onto dirty walls from a hole in the roof. It smelled like mold and decay. Fast food wrappers, mismatched shoes, faded magazines and broken glass littered the floor. Paws and claws of invisible animals scratched at the cement, away from me, thankfully, not toward me.

She was curled up like a kitten on a dirty blanket, the straw hat on the floor beside her. I sat down next to her and her eyes fluttered open. She had delicate, pretty features and long black lashes framing brown eyes.

"You came," she said. "Like a knight in shining armor."

My chest puffed out with pride, just as I felt the cool blade of a knife against my neck.

"Give us your wallet and your phone," a male voice behind me said.

Her anime eyes narrowed into calculating slits as she put her hand out. I must have looked confused, because she laughed and said, "What did you think was going to happen?"