I don't really know how long I continued to stare after<em>Paranoid Emo Lady</em>left - long enough to sear a neon-bright afterimage of the door onto my retinas, at least. To say that things were getting weird was a vast understatement.  I was ready to question my very sanity, but then, hadn't I<em>felt</em>her shirt under my fingers?  Then again, I'd<em>also</em>heard the ghostly echo of an old-school modem handshake, and I<em>know</em>I heard other voices...<br/><br/>Did I?  Maybe I just<em>thought</em>I heard them.<strong>Them</strong>.  That's what she'd said to me - warned me about<em>them</em>. But who were they?<br/><br/>Jesus christ.  I'm really losing it.  Next thing you know I'll be muttering about tinfoil hats and Area 51, and I won't have to worry about Mr. Case firing me because the nice men in scrubs will show up and fit me for my very own huggy jacket and make me feel all better. People will read about my breakdown online, the more opportunistic of them wondering when VRS will move to replace me. My alma mater will quietly remove the short bio and airbrushed portrait of me from the 'Notable Alumni' page...<br/><br/>That's it.  I need to call my old Faculty advisor and mentor.  Actually, that's selling Pegge - Dr. Pegge Larmett - a bit short.  While she<em>did</em>serve as a mentor and advisor for a while, she had since become a very supportive and wise friend.  In fact, I owe my current position with VRS to her.  She opened a lot of doors for me and gave me the encouragement I  needed to go for the VP position in the first place.  I suspect, rather strongly, she might have even pulled a string or two to land my CV in the right hands.  I couldn't afford to blow things now.  Maybe Pegge could offer a bit of sage advice on how to deal with my current predicament.<br/><br/>I fished my phone out of my pocket to call her.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Choice:<br/><br/>B.  Follow a morbid hunch and try to place a phone call to someone you know.