I could see all around me in every direction at once, or so it seemed, but I was not only invisible but somehow not-solid. Not seeing my own legs or feet below me, it was hard to feel… grounded.

The room I was in appeared to be a hotel suite, set up for a photo shoot. I could see what looked like some kind of list in a frame attached to the wall some distance away. But what was on that list? How was I gonna get over there without any legs or feet?

Whoa. Just like that, I was there, by the list. I could still see in every direction, but my perspective had changed. With some difficulty I could direct most of my attention to the checking out the list withoug losing awareness of what was going on in other directions.

The list showed reservations for use of the suite I was in, with dates, times, and names. It said that the room was reserved later that afternoon for “E. Baxter photoshoot.” E Baxter? Esther Baxter? I’d have to check that out, once I figured out how I was gonna manage…

I managed to figure out that the mental process of moving around hadn’t changed much, there was just no physical element to it. I just kind of propelled myself over to the suite’s front door when I wanted to go in that direction, but… how was I gonna get out? In frustration more than anything else, I pictured myself pushing the door open with visible hands, like what would have been normal just the day before, and not only did the door slowly swing away from me, but I could feel it, like I really was physically pushing it open!

Not actually expecting to feel the door in my “hands,” I released my hold on the door, watching it swing back towards me. But how did I make it move? And how was I able to feel it? With no answers and no way of knowing how to get any answers, I just pictured what I had just seen, the door swinging open with no visible help. And just like that, it happened again. The door swung away from me, but this time it really was by itself. I didn’t feel a thing.

But how? I had to figure this out before I left the room.

I turned my attention back to the reservation list, letting the door swing closed once again. The list was attached to a clipboard, resting in a frame attached to the wall. I pictured my hands lifting the clipboard from the frame, and saw it rise without visible help, though it was at least twenty feet away. I put it back, then pictured it floating out of the frame by itself, and again it rose from the frame, this time without any sense that my hands were on it.

So… I could move things, or will them to move. Cool.

Looking around the room, or at least turning my attention to other things around this room, I saw

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“Well,” replied Sheila, “Jackson, the mailroom supervisor, said that when he had to send him a package, the courier had to deliver it to an office here in town. Apparently, something’s going on out there that he or somebody doesn’t want people to see.” Momentarily a nervous-looking young man turned away from the window where he’d been steadily keeping vigil.

“Anything yet, Tom?” Sheila asked him.

“No, nothing yet.” He sighed. “What’s the big deal, anyway? If Ted wants to have a meeting, he could have done a teleconference like he’s done before.”

“Well,” Sheila replied, “maybe he’s gotten wind of the recent grumbling around here and decided to make a change.”

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In the photo was the one of the new girl’s featured costumes, a figure-hugging flesh-colored two-piece outfit that looked from a distance like a bodysuit, but… there was no one in it. It appeared to be floating in space. The bottom of the t-shirt was rolled up, and there was no midriff showing through. Neither were there any hands at the end of the long-sleeved top, or anything sticking up out of the neckhole.

So she likes to play with Photoshop, he thought. Interesting. He was studying the details of the photo when he heard a sound from over by the door. He turned, afraid that the new girl had caught him snooping around her stuff. But there was no one there.

There was something happening, though. The dressing room door was slowly closing. His gaze darted around the scene, looking for something that would explain the door’s movement, since he didn’t feel any draft. But when the door closed, he saw with his own eyes that the doorknob lock turned, locking him in. Even the security bar put itself in place, so no one would be able to enter the room, even with a key, unless someone inside opened it for them.

He heard a click. Over in the corner, a boombox began to play…

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