The room was dim. A single leaded glass window on the wall behind her was the only source of light. She was in what was once an office. Seven empty desks were lined up in front of her. The computers, phones, and chairs were all gone, but their tops were littered with pens and manila folders. Two offices stood quietly to her right. Liza peered toward the back of the office and saw a bunch of doors. Stacks of banker’s boxes lined several walls. A sofa that was missing its cushions sat to her left. The space felt eerie and abandoned.
Liza thought she heard the faint sound of Bruce’s sneakers marching down the hallway’s wood floor. The light flowing under the door was interrupted by a pair of feet. A pang of panic shot through her. Shit! As she raced toward the back of the office, she wondered how she always managed to get herself into these situations. Really, she knew the answer. The ridiculous lengths that she went to in order to avoid conflict and drama sometimes only created more of both. Focus, she told herself, there would be plenty of time for pointless self-examination after she escaped.
The doors led to a kitchen, a conference room, and a foreboding brick staircase. She heard a thump behind her. Liza turned, expecting to see Bruce. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or horrified. It was one of the campus security guards. These guys usually came in one of two varieties: overzealous, wannabe cop or the kind that looked like a security guard should be chasing them down. This guy was no taller than Liza, but his neck was thicker than his head. He was partially crouched as if he was about to dive tackle Liza. A wannabe. Lovely. She took off down the foreboding staircase.