snapped awake.
  It was still dark, but it felt close to morning. I turned slightly and the clock read 4:28.
  I wondered if Andrea was home and whether or not she heard anything. The neighbors sure must have; I can't wait to get those disapproving glares from Mrs Wyman upstairs.
  I wouldn't put it past her to call the DDP over it.
  That made me remember that the DDP had raided the rave and that Andrea had probably been picked up in a sweep again.
  Crap, I thought. There's probably a message on the machine.
  At that thought, I was suddenly more awake.
  I turned to see Myra sleeping with her back to me, the sheet just covering her breasts, her arm over the sheet and holding it in place.
  I slid out of the bed and found some sweatpants and put them on. I grabbed a tee-shirt and quietly tried to get out of the room, closing the door until it was only open a crack.
  I went to the bathroom first.
  Without turning on the light, I opened the medicine cabinet, found some aspirin and took four, then I made my way back to the living room.
  On the table next to the dirt farm in the bay window was the phone and the answering machine, the Ma Bell special.
  Andrea had sprung for it, because I could never have afforded a machine. It was sort of a status symbol to be able to afford one, so she had to have it. It was God-ugly, too. A big metal box, secured to the wall, with the telephone company logo stamped on it, and several stickers saying if you open it, break it, or look at it funny, American Telephone & Telegraph will come into your home and peal your skin off. But what can you expect from a monopoly?
  There was a flashing light on the front, a red number two that pulsed annoyingly. It even pulsed when there are no messages. A bright, big, fat zero over and over. Sometimes, if we were watching TV in the dark, we would have to throw a blanket over the thing it was so bright. It was like going to red-alert on a submarine.
  I took a step forward and almost stumbled against something on the floor.
  Myra's knapsack.
  I leaned down to examine it. In the dark, it looked old and very basic. Canvas with some ties that used press clips to keep the cinched up, but no zippers at all. I couldn't see any tags or logos for a maker.
  Old and neat, I thought.
  I moved it to the side, pushing it into the corner and the top came open as it rolled onto its side. A couple of books started to spill out and I tried to catch them and push them back into the bag.
  In the dark, I could make out: A Short History of the World, Early American History, and Annals of the Free Colorado States and History of the 21st Century.
  I almost stopped to look over the last one, but I felt extremely uncomfortable; that I was invading her privacy in some way. At the time, I figured it must be a work of fiction, anyway.
  Once I had the books back in the bag, I closed up the top and stood up.
  I stepped back over to the answering machine.
  I reach over and pushed down on the heavy button to rewind the tape and play the messages. The machine squealed as the tape ran backwards. I started to realize that it would probably sound pretty loud and started to reach for the volume slider when the first message came on.
  "Jack?!?" Andrea screamed, thumping music in the background, the whole thing sounded amazingly loud in the quiet apartment. I jammed my hand over the slider and the volume dropped sharply.
  "Jack? I have totally lost you again. Look, I have no idea where you've gotten to, so if you've gone home, I fucking sorry yet again, okay? Yell at me tomorrow and we'll be good. Love ya."
  There was a loud beep that I couldn't mute, letting me know the message was over and it played the second one.
  "Jack?" Andrea again, only now she sound calm or pissed. They were pretty much the same thing. "Jack you better fucking be there, because I already know the DDPigs didn't pick you up. Pick up the phone, Jack. I'm at fucking processing again, so get your ass down here and bail me out as soon as you get this. Jack? Pick up the fucking phone, Jack! It's... about 1:30 in the morning, so get down here."
  There was another voice in the background, "Time's up."
  "Get down here," she demanded one last time and the line went dead.
  The answering machine beeped and then double-beeped to let me know there were no more messages.
  I sighed and wondered about how I could get down there. DDP Processing was in Salem, which would mean taking a bus to downtown and then one out to Salem and a third over to Processing, although I could probably walk that last leg if I didn't care about how fast I got there.
  She'll probably be okay until the morning, I thought.
  I heard the floorboards creak behind me and turned.
  Myra was standing there with a shirt she had found, but otherwise apparently naked. Her strong legs looking even better coming out from under the tail of the shirt. Her hair was somewhat scattered on one side and there was still some sleep in her eyes.
  "Hey," I said quietly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
  She smiled softly, "It's okay. You're friend in trouble?"   "Yeah, the DDPigs picked up everyone at that rave, I guess."
  "DDpigs?"
  I gave her a funny look. I know I gave her a funny look, because it felt weird to have to explain it. "The Department of Domestic Protection?"
  Myra nodded, "Oh, yeah."
  "You should go back to sleep," I said, taking a step towards her.
  She smiled softly, almost sad, and looked around the room, like she was really taking it in for the first time. She stopped at the television and touched it at the top and ran her hand over it's length.
  "No," she said. "I should probably get going."
  "It's four-thirty in the morning," I said.
  Myra looked at me with that same sad smile and closed the few steps between us. She brought a hand up and touched my face, running it down the side of my cheek, like she had with the television.
  "This was nice," she said softly.
  "But...," I said.
  She smiled for real, showing some teeth and her eyes shifted around with that caught-guilty look.
  "But," she said, picking up my line. "I should be going. I have somewhere I really should be."
  "At four-thirty in the morning?" I said, as she stepped closer and her hands were around my waist.
  "Uh-huh," Myra murmured and kissed me gently this time.
  When she pulled back, I said, "Okay. Do I get your number?"   "My number?" She paused, "Oh, my number. No, I don't have a phone."
  "Oh," I said and felt the skepticism kick into full gear.
  She immediately picked up on my mood. "No, no. It's not like that at all. It's just that I won't be around much longer."
  I nodded, but I knew I was still giving off that vibe.
  Myra sighed. "Seriously, I was only passing through."
  "Okay," I said with a slight hint of irritation. There was nothing really I could do if she only wanted a one-nighter.
  Too bad, I though. I think we really connected. But I didn't say that, it would have come out all wrong, probably slightly hostile.
  I heard a car door slam outside. It was pretty loud too and it was followed by a second.
  Myra stood there with a sad expression, "I'm sorry."  
  Reflexively, I turned to the bay window, next to the phone, and pushed the curtain to the side. Down on the street, a beat up tan Chevy was parked across the street. A car I have never seen here before. It was also parked so that the front passenger tire was way up on the sidewalk and the rear end sticking out. There were two big guys standing in the street. They looked like they were wearing trench coats, and pointing a camera or something similar down the road. The street light was burnt out right there, so it was hard to really see from the second story what they were doing.
  I must have been at the window too long. Myra was beside me, her hand coming up to my arm.
  "What is is?"
  I shook my head, "Nothing, just some guys photographing the street in the dark. Weird."
  Myra leaned down and pushed the other side of the curtain away to look down on the street.
  "Oh fuck," she spit out.
  I snapped my head to her, "What?"
  "Shit, shit, shit!" she said and she bolted back to the bedroom, grabbing her shoes on the way.
  I could feel the adrenaline starting to pump into my system. I looked back down at the guys in the street, they were now facing my building, pointing the small box this way. I let go of the curtain and headed back to the bedroom. Myra was swearing under her breath and rapidly putting her clothes back on.
  "Never take a fucking break," she hissed as she pulled her shirt over her naked body.
  "What is it?" I said, her anxiety was infectious. I felt myself starting to feel the need to do something, like run. Then it turned slightly angry, "You're wanted by the DDPigs, aren't you?"
  "What? No," she said and pushed her shoes on. "But I think we do need to get out of here."
  "Me? I haven't really done anything, have I?"
  "Where's my bag?" she said, standing up and swinging her head around.
  "In the living room," I said, pointing my thumb towards it and added, "But they're not looking for me."
  She pushed by me and I followed.
  This girl that was so pretty, sexy and sweet was rapidly turning into something else.
  "You're a Soviet agent," I said as she vaulted into the living room.
  "A what?" she said as she picked up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. "We have to get out of here. Now!"
  "Again; we?"
  "Jack," she grabbed my arm and looked me dead in the eye. "They are not the police. And they will kill you and me without thinking, it's their job."
  "Some kind of black ops thing?" I asked and I started to feel really spooked. Even if she was a spy, she might be right. Even our government would probably shoot us both first and then worry about who knew what if she was working for the commie bloc.
  Myra had an expression of confusion all over her face. Finally she just spoke, "Is there another way out of here?"
  Almost as soon as she said it, there was glass breaking downstairs and the door that I was constantly trying to keep from squeaking was clearly being knocked down. Violently too.
  I jumped at the sound, "This way."
  And we were moving towards the back of the apartment. I grabbed my sneakers as we ran through the kitchen and the back door. A small flight of stairs that curved around a center axis. Myra was behind me as I bounded down the stairs, three at a time.
  At the bottom, the door to the ground apartment, one to the basement and another to driveway. I could hear the Garafanos stirring in their apartment. Sounded like someone was yelling to call the cops.
  I didn't stop and grabbed the door to outside and flung it open.
  I jumped down the short set of stairs and twisted around to the back yard and headed for a hole in the wooden fence beyond the swing-set. I turned to look back to make sure Myra was behind me and I saw one of the guys at the end of the driveway. He said nothing, but his arms seemed to come together and I could make out that he had a weapon of some kind.
  A small red light came on, a laser scope, I guessed.
  Only there was something wrong with it. It was bigger or brighter than I expected, the beam seemed thick.   
  As soon as I thought that, the beam of light rapidly grew in intensity and a long bolt of crimson zipped by me, cutting through the swing-set like it wasn't there. There was only a small crackling sound as a portion of the metal tubes that held up the main frame of the swing-set vanished and were now rimmed with a bright orange glow. It died out quickly leaving the impression of glowing rings floating in the air. Almost immediately the swing-set, now missing a vital support, twisted and lurched forward.
  "What the hell?!?" I said, slightly panicked.
  "Don't stop!" Myra shouted.
  Does it look like I was about to stop?