"Mike! Open the door, my hands are full."

"Who is it?" I don't recognize the voice.

I look around in a near panic which blossoms to full panic when I see that my power has just gone out. What's going on?

"C'mon, I got rugala and coffee. Open up."

"Whose there?" I sound frightened, well, because I am.

Silence.

More silence. Even the street is quiet I look out the blinds, my back against the wall like that Malcolm X poster I've seen all too often. It's empty. Not a warm body in sight, even the trees seem to be attempting to remain out of sight.

"I'm coming in," the voice offers.

A key is inserted and rustles in the lock. It doesn't sound like it fits, but the deadbolt slides back nonetheless. Okay, I'm officially shitting my pants. The knob turns B-movie slow as I gape at the door.

"You can't come in!" I shout like toddler defending his pillow fort.

But he does and he doesn't even have my rugala, the bastard. But he does have a gun and serious secret agent shades. I don't actually piss myself, and count it as a small victory.

"Why didn't you open the door, Mike." How does he know my name.

He isn't pointing his glock at me and I'm sure he realizes he doesn't have to. I'm not going anywhere.

"You ready?" He asks me, as if we were going to a Yankees game.

"...No."

"Funny."

He gives me one of those head nods, meaning 'let's go.' And I do. I couldn't tell you why except to say that I was scared. Very scared.