Flash

elevator cab slid shut behind her.
    Only a few of the fluorescent fixtures overhead stuttered to life. In its endless quest for privacy and confidentiality, the management of Pri-Con Self-Storage was obviously committed to maintaining low light levels.
    The floor-to-ceiling lockers were arranged in blocks separated by long, shadowy corridors. Olivia wished she had thought to bring along a flashlight. She would need one if she managed to get inside number four-ninety.
    She glanced at the number stenciled on a nearby door. Four-oh-one. Silas had said that Rollie's locker was somewhere in the rear.
    She started down the nearest corridor. The heels of her oxfords echoed strangely on the concrete floor.
    The fourth level of the facility seemed much larger from the inside than it had looked from outside the building. It also felt very empty. She heard nothing as she made her way deeper into the complex. As far as she could tell she was alone on this floor.
    She kept a wary eye out for rats.
    It was cold up here, too, she noticed. A chill went through her when she turned down another aisle and started toward the back wall of the building.
    She crossed three more intersections before she admitted to herself that what she really felt was a growing unease.
    She turned another corner and collided with a large wooden pallet mounted on casters. She yelped in surprise and stepped back very quickly.
    The platform truck was nearly as wide as the corridor between the lockers. It effectively blocked her path.
    She gripped the steel bar that had been installed at one end and pushed the heavy contraption into another aisle. The casters squeaked and groaned, but the platform moved fairly easily.
    When it was out of her way, she checked locker numbers again. Four-eight-seven. She was close.
    She found number four-ninety in the very last aisle. The padlock that secured the door looked surprisingly shiny, almost new.
    Olivia unzipped the pouch containing the keys and rummaged around inside for one that looked as if it might fit the lock.
    She was on her third try when a small scraping sound in the distance caused the hair on the nape of her neck to stand on end.
    The elevator door had just opened. Someone else was on the fourth floor. Olivia was suddenly, intensely aware of how very alone she was here at the back of the labyrinth.
    Her vivid imagination produced an image of the privacy-crazed Silas stalking female customers through the maze of lockers. He could murder dozens of people and conceal the bodies in their own lockers for years before anyone realized that something strange was going on at Pri-Con Self-Storage.
    Stop it
, Olivia told herself.
You're acting like an idiot
.
    At that moment the weak fluorescent lights overhead winked out. The fourth floor was plunged into unrelenting darkness.
    A jolt of fear shafted through Olivia.
    Her fingers froze on the padlock. She opened her mouth to call out. It was possible that someone, another attendant perhaps, had turned off the lights on the assumption that the fourth floor was deserted.
    But just as she started to shout that there was a paying customer in the last aisle, something made her pause.
    A soft, distant thud echoed from the other end of the room. It sounded remarkably like someone blundering into a locker wall.
    In that moment she knew for certain that whoever had turned off the lights had not gone back downstairs in the elevator. He was still here on the fourth floor.
    In the dark.
    With her.
    Olivia no longer tried to talk herself out of the panic that rose like nausea within her. She definitely had a right to be afraid now, she thought.
    She considered going back into assertive mode. Perhaps she could bluff her way out of this. The downside to that plan, she realized, was that, if she called out, she would give away her position. If Silas was playing some evil game, that was the last thing she wanted to do.
    On the other hand, if Silas was stalking her here in the darkness, he already had a good idea of her location. He worked here, after all. He knew exactly where locker four-ninety was located.
    She had to get out of this aisle. She had to put some distance between herself and locker four-ninety.
    Olivia realized she was gripping the padlock as if it were a talisman. With an effort of will she pried her icy fingers away from the cold metal.
    Flattening one palm against the nearest plywood wall, she prepared to use her sense of touch to guide her back toward the next