Oh, God, what now? I tried so hard to outrun it; I tried everything I knew to keep the dark away, but what match was I for this voice, this force, this female Mesmer that stole my conscious mind and bent it to her will?

I began to pace. My mind was filled with possibil­ities, ways to divert Her, things to do to keep Her influence from me. I couldn’t go to work. The dark­ness filled that answering service. I couldn’t stay home, for it was dark, and I’d slept the day away. I couldn’t go out, I couldn’t stay in, the world began to close in on me. I felt helpless in the face of Her power, helpless, hopeless, tiny, lost . . .

I know, I thought. The Yacht Club.

Yes! The Yacht Club. There was light there, and people, and conversation. That’s what I need, that’s exactly what I need. She wouldn’t dare . . .

She wouldn’t dare.

It was eight o’clock.

I showered and changed and made ready.

I was still deeply troubled, and quite anxious, as I walked along the streets toward the club. I could hear club activity from more than a block away, and could see muted lights coming through the high warehouse windows, but She was on my mind. She and Boyd and that strange, strange experience of seeing him, or recognizing his essence, being so close as to almost smell him, for that one instant. And then, instead of letting me ponder the situation, She captured my attention for four hours. She’d left me alone for months, now, months. And now, all of a sudden, four hours gone. I was truly afraid.

I knocked hard enough on the Yacht Club door to hurt my knuckles. When the door opened, however, I forgot all that had been troubling me. The room was transformed with the warming auras of the people inside. It was like a vast informal cocktail party.

People stood drinking at the wall bar, talking in small groups, or sitting alone. Clusters congregated at the living-­room sets, or stood about, munching snacks, eating sandwiches, drinking beer, sodas, cof­fee. It really looked like a club—actually, it looked more like a Christmas party—not like a bar at all.

A tall gentleman who introduced himself as Kent offered to take my coat, so I peeled it off, then took the brown towel from my shoulders and slipped it down one sleeve. He hung my coat on a long, brass rack behind the door. He questioned me as to my member­ship status, and when I told him I was Cap’s guest, he smiled in apparent recognition and escorted me to the back, where Cap was tending bar.