I felt the fear again, the cords of the elevator cable snapping one by one, faster now, the plunge beginning.
He was obviously afraid too.
“I don’t know how you know my name,” he said, “and maybe this is a mistake of some sort, but I still don’t know who you are, mister, or why you are here or what you want, but I want you out of my house right now!”
“Joe! It’s me, Alan Summers, your friend! What is this?”
“Joe? Who’s at the door?” a woman called from the next room. I knew the voice, of course. It belonged to Alice, Joe’s wife. I’d known her as long as I’d known Joe, eight or nine years. She was my one hope.
“Alice!” I yelled. “Alice, come here please.” She came, saw me, and stopped.
“Joe, who is this man? Some friend of yours?”
“I swear to God,” he said. “I’ve never seen him before
