Here's ch. 2 for those interested, but then I'm going to stop, because I have a far more interesting story in progress that I actually know the ending to.

When George left the office building, the weather was still unfriendly. He frowned at it. "Go away." It thundered in reply.

He made his way slowly to his car. It was wedged between two handicap parking places, which was an odd place. It took George a few seconds before he realized which button to press to unlock his car. After sitting down and starting the engine, he put the car in reverse and floored the gas pedal, sending the car flying backward and hitting the Jeep behind him with a crunch. George turned a little and drove out of the parking lot as though nothing had happened.

It took fifteen minutes for him to get home, all through the rain. He pulled into his driveway and stopped, getting out of the car. Within seconds he was drenched. He walked up to his porch, dripping. He was about to ring the doorbell when he remembered he had a key. He did, after all, want to avoid Kate as long as possible.

George opened the door and walked into the foyer.

"George?"

He winced. There, sitting in the living room in the big chair was Kate, reading a book. "H-honey," he said with an attempt at joviality.

"You're home already?" said Kate. She snapped the book shut and clicked off the lamp beside her.

"Yeah," said George. "I mean. Don't...don't I always get home at this time...?"

"No."

"Oh, well, uh-"

"What is it?"

"What?"

"Something's wrong."

"What? I mean, no. No."

"Yes. Tell me. What happened at work?"

"Nothing. I mean...well, I sat at my desk. I answered a few calls..."

"What happened at work?"

"I...well, I accidentally went into Jared's cubicle...I mean-"

"WHAT DID YOU DO, GEORGE? DID YOU BREAK THE XEROX MACHINE AGAIN?"

"Not exactly, no."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" Kate was breathing like she had just run two and a half miles.

"I mean...I let it happen! But, like, it was the ballpoint pen, it did it!"

"GEORGE!"

"It's not my fault!"

"And why are you home early? Did he-did he send you home again, George? Again?"

"Well...something like that."

"Daddy."

"What do you mean, 'something like that'? Oh, no...George. You weren't...fired, were you?"

"I...uh...yes?"

"Daddy."

Kate burst into something of a roaring outrage that was quite terrifying to behold. "George! You worked there for ten years. Ten years, George!"

"Did I?" said George, a little dazed.

"Daddy."

"George, you were making money. I...I didn't have to have a job. And now what? Now what are we going to do?"

"Eat dinner?"

"No, George! I'll tell you what you'll-"

"Daddy."

George and Kate looked down at Anne standing there. "You're home, Daddy!" Anne smiled.

"Hey, honey," said George. "How was your day?"

"Good," said Anne. "Did you get fired?"

"I guess so."

"Well, I forgive you, Daddy." She hugged him.

George smiled. "Thanks."

Anne turned around and ran off to play. George looked at his wife.

"Well," sighed George, "I guess I better look for a new job." He grabbed a newspaper lying on the floor, sat down, and began scanning the inside.

Kate gave him a withering look and then stomped off to the kitchen, probably to make dinner.

George turned to the section of the newspaper that told him about job openings. "Hm...," he said. "Plumber? Kate, what's a plumber?"

"What?" called Kate from the kitchen.

"A-a plumber."

"What about it?"

"What is it?"

"You know. The person who fixes pipes."

"Oh, right." He paused. "Should I be one?"

"I don't think you can, George," said Kate sadly, entering the room. "I'm pretty sure you have to go to Plumbing School for that."

"No."

"Okay, well...No. Don't be a plumber."

"Why not?"

"Because they're supposed to be fat."

George looked down at his belly. "Oh." He consulted his news-paper again. "Aha! A lifeguard...that sounds important."

"It is," agreed Kate, "but you mostly just sit there and do nothing, getting no exercise, and getting fatter."

"But then I can be a plumber!" exclaimed George happily.

"No," said Kate sternly.

George scowled. He looked back down at the newspaper. "Well, what about this?" he said. "This looks like another business job. Well, I have experience in that. Think I should call, honey?"

"What kind of business is it?" asked Kate.

"I don't know," admitted George. "It just says, 'The best thing in which you could ever be involved.' That sounds convincing enough, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll call."

"You do that."

"What's the phone number again?" said George aloud. "Oh, I see. Eight-two-five seven-one-five-two." He said each number as he dialed. He tapped his foot while the phone rang.

"Hello?" came a friendly woman's voice through the phone.

"Hi."

"This is Take-I mean, Highman Programming, Inc.," the woman on the phone informed George. "How may I help you?"

"I'm calling about the job opening."

"Ah, yes," said the woman silkily. "I take it you're interested?"

"Yes," said George, somewhat nervously.

"And what was your name again?"

"Tully."

"And your first?"

"George," he said, wondering why the kind woman's voice was scaring him.

"All right," said the woman. "You have an appointment tomorrow afternoon at 3:14 p.m. The intersection of Hark Street and Brick Avenue. I advise you not to miss it. Good day." She hung up.

George stared blankly at the phone in his hand. Had he just made an arrangement for an interview?

"So what happened?" said Kate's voice from the kitchen. George could smell chicken pot pie.

"Uh...," said George, who was still a little dazed. "She said I have an appointment tomorrow."

"Oh, really?" Kate peeked into the room again.

"Yeah. You know, maybe we should all go. I mean, this is kind of important. I haven't been fired in ever."

"All right."

George was not really looking forward to this "appointment." He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a job interview. He'd worked at Bernburg's for a very long time. He had bought his first car while working there. He had met Kate during the time he was working there. Nothing special had ever happened precisely there, of course, but still.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he burned his fingers five times while eating the chicken pot pie. "Ouch!" he said. He didn't even have dreams about being chased by picnic food, as his sleeping time was consumed by random thoughts of failing to get this new job.

The next day he spent pacing, sitting down, jumping, pacing, ruffling his hair, and staring at the window. At lunchtime, 3:14 seemed dreadfully closer than ever...

"Wait! Kate...Anne...if we eat slowly, time will go slowly too..."

This proved to be false. By 2:50 and 48 seconds, George was sweating a lot. "WHY COULDN'T IT BE 3:30?" he burst out.

"They're probably testing your punctuality," said Kate wisely.

"Yeah...I was never good at things like apostrophes and commas," complained George angrily.

And then they were in the car.

"George, did you notice the dent in the back of the car?" said Kate.

"I did it," admitted Kate solemnly.

"KATE!"

"Just kidding."

And they drove on.

"Did they give you an address, honey?" asked Kate worriedly, as George drove around in what
seemed like an aimless manner.

"Nope. She only told me the intersection of...what was it? Brick and Hark."

"But, George!" said Kate contradictorily. "There's nothing over there! There's only abandoned barber shops and things."

"Apparently not," George pointed out.

"Well, how are you even supposed to know where to enter?"

"Don't know," said George.

At long last, after passing many tourists, they arrived at the seemingly desolate intersection, which seemed to have many rundown buildings that had long ago been vacated.

George unhooked his seatbelt. "Wait here in the car," he told them.

"George, you told us to come," said Kate.

"I changed my mind."

"Daddy!"

"No, just wait here." He got out of the car, closed the door behind him, and began to walk away.

There was nothing to indicate the premises of an important business. George desperately wished there was a sign that said "RIGHT THIS WAY, GEORGE! IN HERE!"

The two roads met in a kind of X, rather than a perfect ninety-degree cross. Hark Street wasn't straight anyway, but turned a lot like a wavy snake. The sidewalk that ran along Brick Ave was rather wide, and it had many (withering) trees and wooden benches, and also a fountain in front of what looked like an old French café. Exactly why this part of town was uninhabited was a mystery to George.

He stopped by one of the trees, leaning against it and staring around perplexedly. He glanced at his watch. Exactly 3:14. There was certainly nothing here.

Just then he felt his cell phone vibrate. Without thinking he grabbed it, flipped it open, and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Sit down on the park bench, George," said the familiar woman's voice.

"How did you get my cell phone number?" inquired George. "Only five people know it, you know-"

"Sit down, George."

George took a moment. "Why?" he asked. "And which bench anyway?"

"The one nearest. Just do it." And then he only heard a dial tone.

"What the hell?" was all George could think of saying.

But nevertheless, he sat on the wooden bench. As soon as he did, he felt a small rumble beneath his feet. "What the-?" The whole bench was shaking.

And then the sidewalk before him seemed to be sliding forward. The brick wall ahead seemed to open up, revealing only blackness. The cement itself was moving forward into this abyss, and the bench was going with it, taking George along.

Before George could get off, he was being taken down into the darkness, and whatever lay beyond.