Adam ran as fast as he could.

The underground parking lot entrance was about fifty feet away, close enough for him to get there if he hurried but far enough to cause him a sharp, stabbing pain on his left side.

More cardio, less sitting in front of the computer, okay? To his surprise, the woman in the blue Ford Ka driving up the ramp didn't look at him twice. Ah! The let-this-guy-be-someone-else's-problem kind of attitude, Adam thought, glad of his neighbors' apathy for once.

When the massive gate closed behind him, Adam stopped to both catch his breath and wait until his eyes adjusted to the blackness. He hated that suffocating underground cavern that some people had the balls to call a parking garage.

Why is it so dark?

There should be long tubular halogen light bulbs every few feet down there. In case those failed, the emergency lighting should have kicked in. "Venezuela ... land of oil, beauty queens, and assumptions," he said to himself, realizing what the problem was: Someone had stolen most of the light bulbs.

Adam moved between poorly parked cars and concrete pillars crawling with cockroaches as big as his thumb. His shoes slipped twice on motor oil stains on the floor. No worries, you're almost there. Regardless of what he kept telling himself, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was looking at him from the shadows. To him, darkness itself had grown eyes to stalk him, observing his every move.

The muggy air was still, and it smelled of gasoline and damp rags. Each time the lights flickered, Adam could have sworn that a rat darted from one parked car to the next. Eight more floors, he reminded himself to regain his calm as he crossed the narrow hallway that connected the buildings.

"Fuck!" He shouted, stepping in a puddle—the filthy water soaked through his sneaker and into his sock.

As hopelessness washed through him, Adam let out a long sigh before walking again. He never stopped cursing through his teeth as his wet sock squished inside his shoe with each step forward.

For years, Adam had been using a Wahl hair clipper to trim his hair into a buzz cut, not because he was going bald (like Dario joked), but because by giving himself a haircut, there was one less reason to leave his apartment. This meant that Adam didn't have a single hair on the back of his neck, but they would have stood on end if he did.

How was this possible? If he had headed to the elevator, why was he back at the gate? You're tired. Adam spun around and retraced his steps. That's all.

Once more, Adam was sure that there were eyes on him. He stretched his arms, hoping to catch his stalker. There was nothing but darkness. A trace of breeze brought with it the stench of something akin to rotten meat sprayed with a lot of floral fresheners.

"What is that?" Adam growled and buried his nose in the depth of his hand.

Like blazing white eyeballs, two headlights pierced the gloom before him. Adam shielded his face, squinting. "I'm sorry," he said, realizing that he was blocking the exit. The red Ford Explorer's engine roared, ready to speed off as the gate opened. "I'm getting out of the way." Adam shared a tired smile, limping to avoid putting weight on his wet shoe.

The wheels spun, screeching with smoke spiraling up into the air before the car shot forward. Astonished, Adam considered squeezing himself in between the nearest cars. Too narrow! He strode back, scared. For no reason, he thought of a joke his grandma used to tell, understanding it for the first time—Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side. Ha! THE other side. The great beyond! It was committing suicide.

"No, no, no!"

Adam jumped on the hood of a parked Jeep Wagoneer, barely dodging the car that tried to run him over. It came so close to hitting him that a gust of wind scraped against his feet, digging up the memory of his bloody Jack Russell terrier howling in agony after a speeding van had struck him.

With his heart whamming in his chest, Adam wanted to yell at the Ford Explorer, but fear strangled the words in his throat. Under the streetlights outside the parking garage, in the second it took that red car to disappear into the night, Adam saw something bizarre in the driver's outline: a formless appendix wriggling on his head.

Time lost all meaning as he stayed on the Wagoneer, bewildered. After a while, Adam decided to forget what he'd seen. His sole concern was to get back home. As soon as he stepped into the elevator, his finger pressed the button to the eighth floor.

Before tonight, Adam would have never imagined he'd be this happy to be inside of the 'Iron Maiden.'