Dawn was not happy. Eve had posted the empty rooms in her apartment as vacancies on a room-for-rent website without even asking her about it, and there had been people calling and emailing with questions all day. She'd ignored all of the calls, letting her voicemail pick up their messages, and she hadn't responded to the emails, but she knew that she'd have to get back to those people eventually or Eve would get on her case about it. Her sister had also been calling daily to check and see if any of the résumés she had helped Dawn send out had solicited interviews. Dawn had had to tell her each time that "No, nobody wants me." Everything was just frustrating. And she hadn't seen Daniel in ages; instead, she'd been having horrible nightmares and didn't want to sleep at night. Consequently, she was tired during the day and trying to keep herself awake at night. The whole cycle was agonizing, but she didn't know what to do! Why was everything working against her, all of a sudden? Dawn lived solely for joy, yet joy was ambivalent and only found her when it felt inclined. She had never understood why people didn't behave in the ways they were supposed to. Daniel—didn't he know he was supposed to find her? To affirm her conviction that he was placed in such close proximity in order to discover her? And what about Eve? Where was the loving, supportive sister who was supposed to assist her in achieving her dreams? Eve had never supported her; she'd always found things to nag about, and she'd hidden her carping under the guise of concern. Well, Dawn was wise to her sibling. She could see right through her! Oh, something was so wrong with the world when people didn't even behave appropriately. Dawn knew that she couldn't control people, but what she didn't understand was why human beings couldn't read one another as easily as she wanted them to be able to. It was her belief that if one tried hard enough, one could mentally project one's hopes and desires into the mind of another; she'd tried it numerous times, but the end results had only been headaches. In her existence, however, she'd so easily understood that unspoken words and tacit sympathies could be easily transferred with a glance or a thought, so long as willpower fueled the charge. But the subjects of her experiments had to be willing to accept such signals, she supposed, and maybe they hadn't been. No! Daniel, perfection itself, would be willing . . . with him, it was probably more that he didn't even know the way Dawn felt, and if he wasn't prepared to receive her intimations, how on earth could he know to be willing?

Ugh, it was all so confusing. Dawn had been moping for what felt like forever. It might not have felt so long except for the fact that she couldn't seem to get any sleep without dreaming about someone getting shot, and each time she had the dream, she'd awake in a sweat, frightened that the illusions had been reality and that someone had been hurt. The dreams themselves would not have been so bad; what was unbearable was the initial shock of believing upon waking that something horrible had been done and the subsequent intense feeling of grief she experienced. She'd be all alone in the apartment with no one to talk to, and she'd sit for ages just sweating and worrying.

It struck her suddenly that a roommate might actually be a good thing.

Dawn took the time to listen to her voicemails and actually read her emails and wrote down the numbers and names of the seven people who had called or messaged about renting rooms. She dreaded calling them back; she detested talking on the phone. Phone-phobia—that was what she had. Talking on the phone stressed her out, because she couldn't read someone's emotions without making eye contact or seeing body language. However, she would have to call in order to set up any sort of showings (emails were so slow), and she certainly wasn't going to call her sister to help out. As annoyed as she was with Eve, she knew her sister was right—she couldn't afford this stupid apartment much longer.

Scanning the list she'd made, Dawn decided to narrow it down; otherwise, she might be spending all evening on the phone. She quickly eliminated those who, for whatever reason, didn't sit well with her. She wouldn't call anyone named Mindy or Tracy, and she crossed off one Amber whose voice had sounded a bit too perky for her. Someone else had asked whether she would permit three cats, so Dawn scratched that person off pretty fast, and then she also deleted a Susan and Brett (there was no way she wanted a couple living with her—think of the awkward moments!). And Tony, who had emailed her, had to go as well; Dawn didn't really want to live with a guy. That had left one person: someone named Adrian. This Adrian, who had sent her a message, had sounded semi-normal via email—intelligent and composed, with a good vocabulary—entirely non-threatening; in fact, her message had been almost soothing as Dawn had read it. Perhaps this woman was worth responding to. Taking a deep breath, Dawn sat herself down at the kitchen table and dialed Adrian's number.

"Hello?" came an obviously male voice on the other end. It sounded complacent, but Dawn was disconcerted.

"Oh, hi. My name is Dawn. I'm trying to get a hold of Adrian. She called me about looking for a room, as I'm trying to find a roommate."

"This is Adrian."

Dawn started. For some reason, it had not crossed her mind that Adrian was a male's as well as a female's name. She had just assumed the person was a woman. Hesitantly, she replied, "Oh. I—I'm sorry. I—"

"Is something wrong with the room?" he interrupted.

A strange submissiveness crept into Dawn. Before she really knew what she was saying, she realized she was replying, "No! No . . . nothing's wrong. I . . . just thought I'd return your call. Is there some time you'd like to come by and see the place?"

"Are you at home?"

"Yes."

"I'm in the neighborhood now. I can be there within a quarter of an hour."

She took mental note of the accent in his voice; it was strange and unfamiliar. His words had startled her. She mulled them over for a moment, then replied grudgingly, "That's fine. Just buzz when you get here. It's Carroll—Dawn Carroll. I'm number fifty-three. You'll see the name on the buzzer."

"I will see you soon, Dawn."

Dawn hung up with a deep feeling of resentment. She did not want this person in her apartment. She'd had absolutely no idea that Adrian was a male, but when she'd heard his voice, for some reason she'd been incapable of making up some excuse (or even telling him the truth—that she didn't want a guy for a roommate). Now, she had to go meet this guy and show him around her place alone, by herself. The thought really creeped her out, but what was done was done. Assuring herself that she would give him a tour and then never answer her phone or email if he called to accept the offer, she spent a few minutes cleaning up (though she hardly understood why, as she didn't want this man living with her, anyhow). Her place was a bit messy, considering she'd spent the last few days holed up inside of it. There were clothes and dishes scattered randomly, magazines and a blanket on the floor in front of the television. She made quick work of the mess and within fifteen minutes, just as he'd asseverated, Adrian was at the buzzer. Dawn answered, then asked the man to wait a moment. She locked her apartment door and took the elevator down to the lobby, as her apartment was on the fifth floor. Upon nearing the building entrance, Dawn felt her breath catch and her heart beat quickly. She wondered what in the world this person would look like and whether he'd be a weirdo or not.

The moment Dawn reached the door and spotted Adrian through the glass panes, she was struck with a powerful, instantaneous fear. A fear that she had known only in her nightmares. There, staring at her as if knowing immediately who she was and what her soul looked like, was a tall black man. There was some foreignness about him, as if he surely weren't from anywhere recognizable. The man wore a tan colored trench coat, though the weather was warm; his boots were tall and laced up high, like heavy hiking boots. There was something of a wanderer about him, something nomadic. Not just in the way he dressed, but in his mannerisms. His eyes were like glass shards, piercing her as she forced her way through the suddenly-heavy air to the door in spite of herself. The closer Dawn got to Adrian, the more she sensed his presence suddenly dominating the atmosphere. And when she opened the lobby entrance, some intense aura entered the building along with the man. He was so strange, and so imposing . . . and he emanated an emptiness, something Dawn had never felt, something that was resonating inside of her, like the absence of sound inside a skull, or the negative space between the past and the present. It was the most bizarre, disturbing thing she had ever sensed. This man, whoever he might be, was . . . was inhuman. Or subhuman. Or something superhuman, somehow beyond and different what she and all others were . . . and yet, his form resembled that of a human. No, Dawn couldn't understand

"Hi," she reluctantly stated after opening the door. "I'm Dawn." Her words almost caught in her throat. She was surprised at how smoothly they came out.

"I am pleased to meet you," responded Adrian, not taking his eyes from hers, entirely calm in demeanor.

Dawn forced a smile. "Come in. We'll have to take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and then you're welcome to look around." She let the man in and shut the lobby door behind him. As they made their way to the lift, she continued in order to fill the silence with some sound. "I had two roommates—sisters—until a few months ago. They had to move back home because their mom got sick. Anyway, I was kind of enjoying having the place to myself but finally realized I can't really afford to be here on my own. I have the lease through the end of the summer and need help to afford it." Why was she rambling? She knew there was no way she wanted him to like the place. She'd just let him have a look and tell her he needed to think about it (people always had to think about big decisions like apartments and cars and jobs, whether they knew they were going to accept them or not), and then she'd never respond to his calls or messages again. That would be that. Right now, she guessed she was talking more to distract herself than to convince him that renting with her was a deal.

The elevator reached its floor and the two got off. Down the hall they went. It was a quiet, carpeted hallway, and noises from other rooms were almost nonexistent. Dawn rarely heard sounds from her neighbors, though she wished they were present now. She actually didn't know who any of them even were though she'd been living there well over a year. When they reached her door, she unlocked it and walked in first, letting Adrian follow her inside. She continued to prattle, and being in the apartment now offered a variety of trivial topics of conversation. Going on about hardwood floors, the old heater, a bay window, the lack of an eat-in kitchen, and whatever else she could think of, Dawn successfully diverted her mind from focusing on how frightened this man made her. He was not threatening in the sense that she feared he'd attack her or become predatory—his foreboding lay somewhere more subtle, in his manner, the way the very air seemed to move out of his way. This man was not really a man at all, and this thought, hardly surfacing beneath those Dawn was forcing to clutter over it in her brain, touched some primeval chord at the very base of herself. Oddly, she found that she had a sudden desire to call Al, but she felt paralyzed to take any action. At long last, when it was all over (and she hardly knew what she'd been going on about for the last fifteen minutes), Dawn led him back to the front door. Once there, she knew that she could not walk this man to the elevator let alone down the stairs to the lobby. Even though she sensed she should not give any stranger the opportunity to wander the building, her legs and stomach and running-out-of-conversation brain would not allow her to even leave the apartment with him.

"I won't be able to walk you down," she heard herself saying. "You know how to let yourself out; just go down the same way we came up. I'll look forward to you calling or emailing if you decide you are interested in the room, and—"

"I'll take it," he said, standing in the way of the door.

His words stunned her—truncated her comment and abruptly halted her racing mind. "Well, I—I don't know what to—I—the rooms are a package deal," she blabbered. "I can only rent one if you know someone that can pay for the other." It was absolutely ludicrous, and she knew it, but it was all she could think to say.

"I'll pay for both. Two rooms would be most useful to me."

Dawn was dumbfounded. What could she say to deter this man? She couldn't put a finger on what exactly caused her to distrust him; he wasn't saying or doing anything specifically to give her cause for alarm. His mannerisms, dress, and general appearance were not those of some criminal. He didn't look like a predator—the type Dawn would envision creeping through her window or slinking out of an alley in the middle of some sordid night. Nothing but his brusqueness could rightfully give her any reason to dislike him, yet in spite of this, she knew that something about him was just off. "You'll have to . . . to talk to my landlord. We'll have to see if she could put you in the lease. Do you want me to get back to you about it?"

"Can't we take care of that now? I believe she is in her office. I saw her when I entered the lobby."

Dawn was beginning to grow impatient. Her lack of words frustrated her. Where was someone like Al—some confident, candid person—when she needed him? "Do you really want the rooms? I mean . . . you—you don't even know me. I mean I . . . I just don't know if . . . if this is the right fit—for you, I mean."

Adrian looked her squarely in the eyes. Dawn's heart began to slow down as his dark, black eyes enfolded her; everything but his eyes blurred to fuzzy shadows; her peripheral vision vanished. She could feel her beating heart relaxing behind her ribs the longer he stared at her. And for some reason, even though she was skeptical and flustered and a little bit frightened, she became convinced that this was what had to be done, that there was nothing she could do to interrupt the events of fate. In fact, she began to feel that maybe she should be the one to move out so that he could have all three rooms and the entire apartment to himself.

"No," he said as if in answer to her thoughts. A smile crept onto his face, filling the dark space surrounding the two of them, incongruous with his sharp, austere features. He slowly took her face in his hands and said as if speaking to a child, "You do not need to move. You do no harm to stay, and no harm will come to you so long as I am here."

That was that. Dawn had no choice in this matter. With a strange sensation of intermingling trepidation and comfort, she took Adrian out of the apartment and downstairs into the lobby. If nothing else, she thought to herself, Eve will be glad to know I've accomplished something.