Maybe I'm the same kind of psycho sicko myself, like all those ones I see in my visions. One day I'll snap, go on a little spree of my own... naw, tha... thought's just too morbid. By the time I'm paying attention again, someone's pushing me to the ground. Large, firm hands. A man's hands. Familiar hands. Not to me, obviously, but to her. I know this routine. Usually its the umpteenth asshole boyfriend, but no - these aren't some dumbass teenager's hands, not even those of some shithead college. "Here, here!" he said with a grin.I grabbed the notes that I had been working with and a pencil, and headed into the hallway to the nearest conference room. Of course, it was in use. As was the one down the hall from it. I kept walking, hoping that Mo was following me until I found an unoccupied room. I opened the door and slid the "occupied" schedule on the door to indicate that I had the room for the next two hours. I looked down the hallway, and Mo was about 300 feet away, walking toward. More

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