Okay, what will you use as a weapon? You have your new tote bag, (which, though soft on the outside, is pretty heavy with a phone, bottle of water, and iPad). Also, there is a wheelchair that has been left at the foot of the escalator.

You pick up the wheelchair.

The metal of the chair is light enough to swing but hard enough to hurt them. You send one sprawling into the now-moving tram and the other into the path of the crowd getting off the escalator. A few people seem to stumble over their own feet as they step on the goblin, but they--especially a woman in stilettos--injure him badly. Both lie there, bleeding yellow blood.


They're not dead, but both injuries look fatal.  Neither of them is going to be in any condition to chase you for the next three hours.

You board the tram, victorious one!

You hurry onto the tram just as the doors close.  


You aren't stupid--no way is this hell over with. But at least you're safe for now.


The tram slows at B Gate. Will any of them get on? You edge near the doors, ready to leap out, but none do, and the tram ambles onward.


A guy about your age, tall and skinny with a t-shirt advertising a Dropkick Murphys show from eight years ago gets on. He notices you.


Huh. Come to think of it, not many people have done that since you found the first postcard. You're no Megan Fox, but you are a reasonably attractive twenty-year-old girl, and you're used to a moderate amount of male perusal while in public. And yet, for the most part, people's eyes have been sliding past you all day. Only airport employees have acknowledged your existence. Weird.


And yet this guy sees you.


That's probably not good.


You edge a little closer to the doors. What if he's one of them? A normal college-age boy outside, a goblin inside? Maybe that's the next level of this--at first the monsters are easy to spot, and then they come in the form of fairly cute guys.


He walks up to you. "Hi."


This close he looks familiar. Familiar like a human I've seen before, or familiar like a goblin?


"I think we went to camp together."


His eyes are a yellow-striped green--what color were theirs? You can't remember. You were too panicked to notice.


"Guess not," he says. You must look pretty freaked out, because he starts backing away.


And then his face clicks into place. Triple R Ranch. Summer before fourth grade. His name is Dmitri, and the reason you still know that is that he was almost your first kiss. (Instead it was this loser named Jason in sixth grade. He told everyone you tasted like bubble gum--which doesn't seem that bad, but somehow he made it sound absolutely disgusting. What a prick.)


"Wait," you say. "Dmitri, right?"


"Yeah. You're Claire."


"Clara, actually. That's my real name." You like Claire better, but it was too hard to keep telling everyone to call you Claire. They kept forgetting, and finally you just gave up and went with it.


He asks where you're going, and you tell him. He says he's going to Philadelphia to spend Christmas with his dad--he's headed to the same terminal you are.


His eyes move over you, but not in a flirtatious way. "Are you okay?"


You look down. During the fight, one of the goblins apparently ripped your jeans from knee to ankle. Also you are sweating profusely. "It's been...a stressful trip," you finish lamely.


"How so?"


He seems to know there's a deeper meaning to that--which isn't itself strange, Dmitri has always been able to read people pretty well--but you can't shake the feeling that running into him is a little too coincidental. Should you trust him enough to tell him you're being stalked, or just politely brush him off?