Sarah was rudely awakened by an imperious knocking at her door.

"Urgh. Who could that be?" she mumbled, still not fully awake, as she rolled over to check her bedside clock. The discovery of the time was sobering enough to wake her up some. "Four in the morning?! What kind of idiot comes around knocking on people's doors in the pouring rain at four in the morning?"

Sarah rolled over again and buried her head beneath her pillow, determined to go back to sleep. But the knocking persisted, and Sarah got the feeling, from the commanding, impatient tone of the knock, that whoever was outside her door would stand there all night if they had to.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Sarah grumbled, rolling over again, severely tangling the sheets around her legs, and threw the switch for her bedside light. Nothing happened. Sarah flicked the switch up and down a few times, but got nothing. Either the bulb had burnt out, or her power was out, which seemed more likely in the current thunderstorm.

Mumbling curses against the electrical board, thunderstorms, and electricity in general, Sarah slunk slowly across her darkened room to the closet, on the door handle of which hung her robe. She banged her shins three times walking over there in the dark, each time letting loose with an obscenity. She'd never really conquered her childhood habit of keeping pretty trinkets and things lying around (although God knows she'd tried after that run-in with the Magwitch), and so, she had more than one little low table or dresser artistically placed right where she was likely to bang into it in the dark. Every time she cracked her shins, the object on which she'd injured herself would rattle ominously, and Sarah would have to hope that nothing had fallen off and been broken. Throughout all of this, the knocking persisted, and Sarah suddenly felt very much inclined to leave whoever it was outside until a decent hour, knocking away in the rain, unnoticed.

But what if it's – she thought, then brushed the thought away. Alex wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box, Sarah was forced to admit, but even he wasn't so dumb as to come knocking so late – or early, depending on how you looked at it. Besides, he was so vain that he wouldn't risk getting his hair wet. And, of course, Alex had a key. He wouldn't be wasting time knocking.

Sarah paused for a moment to wonder why she was even bothering to see someone so vain and stupid. Since she'd always been after a fairy-tale prince, she supposed she'd only gotten what she deserved. But sometimes, she wondered if she really wanted him at all, really wanted to marry him and chain herself to him until death did them part. Not to mention, she'd have to sell her house. It was a tiny old place, full of bad insulation and wiring (Sarah cursed the electrical board again), but it had a certain charm that made Sarah loathe to part with it.

But that was beside the point. There was no reason for Alex to be knocking on her door. And Jamie, though she'd gotten herself into a few scrapes in the past, had been walking the straight and narrow for a few years now. It seemed unlikely that she'd be the one knocking.

So, thought Sarah as she tied the belt on her robe, that leaves Toby. And for his sake, I hope it isn't.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the hall as Sarah opened her door, wondering what could have happened to bring Toby to her door this early in the morning. She knew high school kids were notorious for partying (although she'd never really experienced it herself); hopefully he'd come here as some sort of precaution or something. She'd rather have Toby knocking at her door because the designated driver had forgotten he was designated or something like that than have Toby puking – or worse, hurt – on her doorstep.

Wait. Toby has a key, doesn't he?

Despite the darkness, Sarah hurried down the stairs, wincing every time she missed one. If someone was having to knock – no, that couldn't be. Toby had probably forgotten his key, that was all. She had to admit, it was quite like him.

The knocking had become louder and more impatient, with a side order of irritated, by the time she actually got to the door. Sarah consoled herself and steadied her nerves by thinking, If it was bad, they would be desperate, not just pissed off.

"All right, I'm coming, I'm coming," Sarah shouted over the pounding on her door and the sudden roll of thunder. She stopped to retie her belt, which had come undone during her slip-slide down the stairs, undid the deadbolt, and opened the door.

A sudden flash of lightning traced, in light and shadow, the last face she'd been expecting to see.

"May I come in?" asked Irene.