Small pieces of wood on the carpet below look like a box of matches has been spilled. The edge of the light/dark demarcation glitters faintly from the glass on the floor, evidence of my grand entrance. Next time I’ll try the door, I think looking at the shattered glass and then further into the hall. The hall remains filled with shrieking although not like the tremendous roar that filled it moments before. An occasional ghost-like shape or face materializes for moments in the reflected light before disappearing in the darkness. Not a single one tries to enter into the light cast by the open door or enter into my momentary sanctuary. I walk over and ease the door closed, trying to diminish both the volume of noise and shut out the last few moments of my life – which quite literally almost became the last few moments of my life. “I’m here in the director’s office,” I say pressing down on the radio transmit button. “Was that gunfire we heard?” I hear Lynn respond.
