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Chapter One

Brandon's cell phone rings for the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes as sweat drips down his dark brown face. I glance at the phone, then back at him as he bites his bottom lip in concentration. The place is empty except for our manager and us two suckers stuck with the last job of the afternoon–a full tire replacement on a car that came in two minutes before close.

"You know," I tell him as he gently rocks the tire off the car we're working on, "I can do this on my own. You can totally hit the road and no one will be the wiser."

He frowns and wipes his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve. "I've got to–" he starts.

"Anniversaries only come around once a year…tires will still be here in the morning."

Brandon has to be the most conscientious man in the state of Nevada. He's been tasked to train me and train me he will, even if it pisses off his poor wife. He grunts in response as the phone rings again.

"Look, you've seen my work, you know I have the experience, plus you've done the hard part. Think of it as your gradual release of me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Gradual release?"

I nod, "It's a teacher term–I do, We do, You do. "I do"–you showed me how to do the job for two weeks. Then for the past few weeks we've been doing the "we do" where we work together. Now it's time for me to do the "you do" part. I do it on my own and as a bonus, we keep your wife from killing you when you don't show up on time for the anniversary dinner she's been planning."

He snorts and shakes his head. "Okay, Miss Teacher, if you're sure."

I move in position next to the car as he backs off. "I'm sure I don't want you pissy tomorrow when Tracy makes you sleep on the couch."

He wipes off his hands with a rag and grabs his phone off the metal tool chest nearby.

"Hello?" I hear him say as he walks away to grab his things from the employee break room.

The door clicks behind him and at last, I'm alone in the silence. There is very little I miss from my days teaching elementary school, but the feeling of shutting my classroom door at the end of a long day and just sitting in silence is definitely something I wish I could replicate now. Standing alone in the huge bay as the sun sets is as close as it gets these days. Not that I'm complaining. I wouldn't set foot in a public school again if my life depended on it.

"See you tomorrow, Araceli!" Brandon yells from the door as he heads out. I wave and continue, trying to move quickly so Adrian, the youngest of the managers, isn"t stuck here all night waiting for me to close.

I've got three tires on and am rolling over the fourth when I hear it–a man's voice from the far corner of the bay.

"Brandon, that better not be you! I told you I've got this!"

The voice stops.

I wait for footsteps to approach, but nothing.

This franchise of the Low Cost Tire Company is in a pretty decent neighborhood. It's not likely there's someone trying to rob the place–but you never know–criminals aren't exactly known for their intelligence and reasoning skills. Quietly, I grab a tire iron and slowly make my way across the bay, moving from tool chest to tool chest.

Unfortunately, even my slow, careful steps give me away. I can't stop the clunk of the ugly non-skid shoes I have to wear when I'm working in the bay. It is supernaturally loud as each step announces my movement to whoever is hiding in the corner.

I "clear" the areas behind each tool chest, finding nothing suspicious behind any of them. I move closer and closer to my target–a stack of tires in the far corner. Should I call out again? Or is that something only stupid people who die at the beginning of horror movies do? I'm inches away from the tires before stopping and realizing how stupid I truly am–why didn't I run for Adrian when I was closer to the retail side of the room?

We could have locked the bay door and called the police. But now maybe we're all going to die because I thought I'd be a badass and investigate myself. I stand, staring at the stack of tires indecisively.

Move forward?

Run for the door?

Call out a fake friendly hello?

Turns out, this isn't a choice I get to make.

From behind the tires sounds a deep sigh. Silently, like a shadow made solid, a figure steps out. It's shaped like a man–but it's not a man who has ever set foot on this world. The figure would be handsome if it was human, but in this form, it's terrifying. Its "skin" is the darkest black I've ever seen and gleams in the bay"s light like an oil slick. It's wearing no clothes that I can discern, but nothing inappropriate seems to hang out in the breeze, either. Golden eyes blink at me as the tire iron falls with a clatter from my hands.

The oil-slick man stares at me for a long moment and then his mouth moves. It's a language of some sort, but nothing like anything I've ever heard. He clears his throat and his mouth moves again like a badly dubbed foreign film.

He smiles as the words form on his lips.

"Greetings Earthling."

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