That would have to wait. It was Wednesday already and I still hadn’t updated my entertainment sign for the weekend. First things first.

I dropped the piece of chalk back into the box and carried the updated slate board sign out to the sidewalk.

I had to squint; the sun was bright – even more so since I just emerged from a darkened pub. Wow! It’s beautiful out here!

I leaned back on my open door, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for a moment to feel the warm sunlight on my cheeks. Even the air

smelled better today.

Perhaps if I open late today I could enjoy this nice weather up on the rooftop with a good book in hand? Oh, that thought was very tempting.

Reasons to goof off were starting to outnumber my to-do list, but the responsible part of my conscious quickly snuffed that. No, I have a lot to do

inside. Better get at it… in a minute… the sun feels so nice…

My reluctant eyes instantly popped open when I heard the frantic sounds of women screaming. My vision was blurred by the bright sun and it

took my eyes a moment to adjust to the pandemonium headed straight for me.

That’s when I caught sight of him - what appeared to be Ryan Christensen - running full speed down the sidewalk. His body was on a direct

collision course with mine.

“Back door?” he asked in a panic as he almost knocked me to the ground. I stumbled backwards awkwardly into the open doorway, grabbing

the frame to keep myself from falling down.

“Door,” I quickly answered, my shaky hand pointed to the direction, but he was already running through the pub.

Instead of escaping through the kitchen door around the corner, he flew through the first door he saw.

“No, not that door!” I breathed out, tripping over my own feet as I followed him inside. It was too late; he disappeared through the door that led

up to my apartment.

“Damn it!” I cussed out loud.

A split second after he vanished from view, the front door flew open and smacked loudly into the wall. A small group of women barged in; behind

them were men with cameras, but oddly they stayed outside.

“Whoa, hold on there! Wait! Oh no, no!” The words were just spilling out of my mouth as I ran towards the door. Instinct told me I had to stop

them before they got too far into the bar. It was obvious that they were what he was running from.

“We saw him come in here,” one of the crazed looking women barked as she tried to press past me.

“No, he’s not in here - he ran out the back door,” I shrilled, blocking her advance with my arms. “If you run down the street you might catch him.” I

hoped my lie sounded convincing.

“You all have to get out of here. NOW! Don’t make me call the police!” I yelled as I herded them back to the door.

The instant they were out, I locked the door behind them and hit the light switch. Shit, what do I do? I started to panic. There was a large crowd of

photographers and people starting to pile up on the sidewalk. Many of them were already mashing their faces to the glass, trying to look in my

windows.

I moved as quickly as I could, sliding on my knees across the wooden bench seat at the first booth by the door. I felt like the hapless human, the

last survivor, who has to fend off the attacking zombies all by herself. My heart was pounding in my chest when I dropped the blinds down on their

intruding faces.

My thoughts spun in circles as I ran from window to window. I was so preoccupied with obscuring their view that I hadn’t even noticed where he

was.

I tried to replay the last sixty seconds over again in my mind. Was he still inside or did he manage to make it out of the building after all?

Did he slip out the back door when I was distracted?

Chapter 2 – Open Doors

I slowly cracked the door leading upstairs to my apartment, my eyes straining to see if I could spot him. There he was, sitting huddled up on the

top landing with his face buried in his arms. His hands were shaking ever so slightly.

I could see that his shirt had been ripped; part of his stomach was visible through the large, frayed tear. Oh my God! What happened to this

poor guy?

I felt a little more courageous since he was obviously in distress, so I opened the door wider and cleared my throat so he would know I was

standing there. I had no idea what to say.

“Sorry,” he pleaded, cautioning me with open hands. “I’m not some crazy maniac. Please, please don’t scream.”

“It’s fine… it’s fine. I know who you are,” I said in my softest voice, trying to calm him down. “Um, are you okay?”

“Not really,” he whispered. He was gasping for air, his hand covered his heart. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Sure,” I whispered back. “Take as long as you need.”

“Not the back door, I take it?” he barely uttered, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him.

“Ah, no. That’s the door to my apartment.”

I wanted to give him some privacy, so I started to back up out of the doorway.

“Are they down there?” His trembling fingers covered his eyes, his palms pressed into his cheeks.

I looked back up at him. “No. There’s no one here.” I had to take another deep breath; my heart was still pounding from the surge of adrenaline.

“I threw everyone out and I locked the door. All the blinds are down too - no one can see in. It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m, um, going to leave

you alone now.”

I quickly shut the door and returned to the bar to continue stocking the coolers with bottled beer. I needed to calm myself down. I needed a

distraction.

A few minutes later, the stairwell door creaked and I saw him glance around the wall to see if the bar was truly empty. This poor man looked

absolutely terrified.

Slowly he walked to the edge of the bar.

“Do you mind if I just sit here for a while?” Ryan was speaking so softly I almost couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah, sure. Please, have a seat,” I whispered, matching his tone. “Can I get you something to drink? Soda, or a beer… maybe even a shot or

two?”

He was holding his head in his hands, his elbows rested on the bar.

“Can I, um, have a beer?” he breathed out.

He looked shaken and in no condition to decide what kind of beer to drink, so I quickly grabbed a mug and tapped him a draft. He started to

fumble through his pockets; his hands were still trembling.

“That’s okay. Please, don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

“Are you sure?” he asked timidly. “You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s my pub. I’m the owner,” I said, shrugging slightly.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed on me. “Thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He pushed out a big, relieving sigh. A little smile appeared

on his lips.

“It’s no problem. Please, just sit and relax, and don’t worry, I promise I won’t bother you,” I said softly. I held up my hands briefly to let him know

that I’d be keeping my distance.

I grabbed another six-pack of beer out of the cardboard case and opened the cooler again. My nervousness caused me to almost drop the

pack, knocking over more bottles inside the cooler in the process. I had to lean far in to reach the bottles that had tipped over and out of the holder,

and for a moment I almost fell into the cooler myself.

I felt so uneasy by my careless fumbling, knowing that he must have just seen my feet come up off the floor, that I started to become flush.

Fortunately the cold temperature in the cooler counterbalanced the heat rising to my cheeks. Perhaps if I stay in here I won’t have to look at him?

Just then I heard a phone ring. I popped my head out of the cooler and felt my pocket for my cell phone, but it wasn’t mine that was ringing.