In A Glass Darkly 

Gabby Marshfield took off her glasses, laid them on the desktop and rubbed the bridge of her sore nose. Pulling her chair closer to the desk, she gazed in stunned silence at the computer screen before her and shook her head. None of this made any sense.

She startled, hearing a faint noise and then several more. After-hours at Conley Medical Clinic was an eerily silent time on the best of days, but now Gabby’s heart thumped wildly, hearing the state of the art building creak and groan as if it were a thousand years old. The janitorial staff never came until midnight, and at 7:14 P.M., she felt sure she was alone. Nobody else ever stayed late. But still, the place gave her the creeps when it shifted and moaned.

Suddenly alert, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hall outside her office door. She hurriedly clicked off her computer monitor and grabbed up a handful of papers to read.

A precipitous knock on the door sent her already pounding heart into a frenzy of wild hoof beats hammering in her ears. Paul Hanover opened the door, stuck his head in, and said awkwardly, “I thought I was alone in the building. What are you doing here so late?”

The man was definitely a stunner. Even after a full day at work, not a spot or wrinkle sullied his sparkling white lab coat, nor did a single hair stand out of place. With fair skin, thick graying, blue-black wavy hair and eyes framed by lashes to die for, he was a dead ringer for Mel Gibson, only huskier. But—his exquisite good looks aside, he epitomized caring, and most important of all, he had been there for Gabby during the past, most awful year of her life. She couldn’t help but like the guy. If only he could be satisfied with just being her friend.

With a self-conscious smile, she brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. “Oh, just catching up on the reams of paperwork on my desk. It was beginning to look like a toxic landfill. Couldn’t find a thing. Now that’s when I know it’s bad.” Shut your mouth.

She bit her lip and tightly folded her hands, as if that would keep the anxious words from tumbling from her big mouth. Involuntarily, her eyes opened wide, and Paul laughed.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that, right?” His merry gaze met hers.

Kid, at age forty-eight. Right.

He strode into the office, took two steps to her side and softly laid his hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly under his touch, and he frowned.

“Say, what’s with you, all of a sudden?”

“Oh, nothing. Just heard one too many groaning sounds from this state-of-the-art building of yours. Makes a girl’s hair stand on end sometimes.”

Good cover; now shut up.

He ruffled her hair.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Cut it out, will you? I have enough trouble looking decent without you building a bird’s nest in my coif.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t like my touch, all of a sudden? What’s that about? Huh?”

She gave him an apologetic glance. “Listen, Paul. It’s nothing personal, honestly. I’m just feeling jumpy for some reason. I probably need a shower and a caffeine-free night of mindless television before I sleep. Does that make sense?”

He studied her rather intently for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever you say. You know you can knock off anytime, right?”

“I will. I’m nearly through here.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

With a twinkle in his eye and a quick wave of his hand, he turned and left, the door cringing closed in his wake.   

She finally exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath for a long time. She stretched her tense shoulders and moved her head from side to side. At this rate, she would be putting the new wing on her chiropractor’s office in no time.

She’d only stayed late to audit the books. A spot check always reassured her mind that no one who should have been billed had fallen through the accounting cracks.

Dare I look at the screen again while he’s around? She shook her head, turned on the monitor and book-marked the page, so she could return to it later. On second thought, she stood, locked the door, brought up the screen and printed it out.

Icy fingers of fear nipped at her heart as she studied it. The printer seemed to take forever before finally grinding to a cacophonous halt. Were sounds amplified during moments of terror?