Incredulously, she watched him lock the door and walk up the stairs.  Something was very, very wrong with this picture and she was at the center of it all.  Maybe he was going to snatch up the papers and they'd be on their way?  Then why lock the door?  She stood there, awkwardly but at least no longer standing in the dark, until he turned the corner at the top of the steps.<br/><br/>Then, she sat down.  One leg folded beneath her and her hands folded in her lap.  She stared around the room for something to do, every detail magnificent, but adding to her sense of forebode.  When he didn't come immediately down the stairs again, she adjusted on the sofa, legs unfolding and refolding in the opposite way.  This happened several more times before she grew antsy enough to stand up again and cross to the chair.<br/><br/>Falling into the chair, she stared up at the ceiling and waited, but not patiently.  A sigh echoed through the room.