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concourse like a scared animal.  “What time is it?”
    “Quarter to six, ma’am.”
    “Oh God,” she snapped.  “I never meant to sleep that long.”
    The security guard nodded back to the airport workers behind him, as if to say, False alarm, folks.  There will be no bloodletting this morning.
    “Yes, ma’am.  This ticket was for last night.  These ladies behind me can help you re-schedule your flight,” the guard said instead, his eyes already scanning the adjacent waiting areas for other possible victims.
    “No, that’s okay.  I just need to orient myself first,” Maddy murmured in obvious confusion.  She started away then turned and took the ticket back from the guard as an afterthought.
    When she was sure that the guard was out of sight, she tossed the ticket in the nearest trash.  She had purchased the ticket to Dallas-Fort Worth with cash knowing that she would never actually board the plane, but thinking that using her own name might throw them off her trail.  Who knows?  Maybe it had actually bought her some time.
    She realized now only in retrospect that she had needed the ticket for that exchange with the security guard.  She had only really sought a public place to stay for the night and the airport was obviously the most convenient.
    Stepping to the nearest restroom wash basin, she set the bag on the floor securely beneath her feet and splashed several handfuls of cold water on her tired face.
    She silently chastised herself.  Focus!  Wake up!   Remember.  White Toyota.  Dent on left side of rear bumper.  Jazz Fest sticker on back windshield.  Jazz Fest.
    “How cool is that, right?”  She looked up suddenly in the mirror, realizing that she had said the last bit out loud.  In the last stall, she saw two dusty sneakers dangling below the door.  Snatching her bag off the floor, she rushed outside.
    Maddy lowered her head and marched onward.  She couldn’t afford to jump at shadows.  When the real threat appeared, she had to be prepared to react.  She must trust her instincts and push the fear aside.
    Fear equaled sloppy.  Sloppy equaled dead.

9
    Inside the busy confines of the Bush International air traffic control tower, men and women sat at rows of stations and advised hundreds of pilots in the skies above Houston, Texas.
    Carl Simmons removed his headset as Grant sat down at the board adjacent to his.  “Hey, Frederickson, I heard a rumor you were actually going on an honest-to-goodness vacation.  Is this true?”
    “Yeah, I’m afraid so,” Grant replied with an uncertain smile.
    “Man, I can’t remember the last time you even missed a day.”
    Grant swallowed awkwardly.  “Actually, it’s been about a year.”
    Half-listening, Carl rose from his seat and made a quick circular motion above his head.  As he did about ten controllers rose as well from their own stations.  They all turned to Grant, and in unison, clasped their hands together over their respective heads in a show of victory before returning to their seats.
    Grant stared in awed confusion and looked at Carl, who chuckled at his reaction.  “Yeah, I know.  Kinda sappy.  We just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate you around here, man.”
    Grant smiled at the faces around him and turned with embarrassment back to his station.  “Wow,” he whispered to himself.
    “Yeah, well, secretly we’re all jealous and hate you,” Carl snapped with the hint of a smirk, turning back to his own station.  “So, take your time off and don’t leave us holding the bag here for you too long.”

10
    When the Blank Men entered Bush International, Maddy sat in one of the automated inter-terminal trains that ran around the clock deep within the bowels of the airport.  She had only meant to ride it once around, but instead found herself there for most of the day falling into the deep meditative state that she had been practicing lately. In this way, she had actually been able to discover the level