I was about to take my seat when I heard a faint rustle behind me. Probably another breeze, but what I thought was rats! I pulled my chair closer to the stairs. I would be much too close to the audience there to be really scary, but on the other hand rats!

“Tori.” A voice as soft as an angel's was calling my name.

Spinning around, I demanded, “Who's there?” There was no answer. Had I imagined it?

Then again, it came. “Tori.”

Was it the ghost of the maiden on the lower floor? Of course it was she, I realized. She'd ridden up with me on the elevator and knew my name. She must have tried to call me earlier when I was in Macmillan's office, and become worried when I didn't answer. I leaned over the low banister and called out softly, “I'm here. What do you want?”

The girl's voice floated up the stairwell. “I didn't call you.”

As I started to straighten up, a sound behind me caused me to look over my shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of a nun, standing in the shadows. “Hi,” I said. “Please tell me you're here to take my place. This attic is freaking me out.”

Instead of answering my greeting, she moved forward as though propelled by a demon. Before I could turn all the way around, I saw the quivering of white angel wings as something hit me hard in the middle of my back. My stomach hit the railing, and I grabbed hold of it with both hands to keep myself from tumbling over. The cracking noise the banister made as it broke away from the floor was the loudest and most terrifying thing I'd ever heard.

Still clutching the part of the railing that had separated from the rest of the staircase, I fell forward. Directly in front of me were two crossed iron bracing rods that spanned the stairwell, and added support to the circular staircase. I landed on top of them with a painful thud that threatened to dislodge my internal organs, felt myself start to slip, let go of the broken railing, and grabbed hold of one of the two braces. I lay there, face down, spread-eagled on the iron bars, looking down at the floor four storys below me. Afraid to move, I called out, “Help me.” But only a squeak came out of my mouth.

“Holy jeez!” The maiden from the third floor leaned out over the railing and looked up at me. “Don't let go!”

“I'll try not to.” The nun's habit I wore weighed about fifty pounds. How long before its weight dragged me down?

The staircase shook as she ran down the stairs, and I tightened my grip on the iron rod and shut my eyes.

After what seemed like a couple of hours, I heard and felt her running back up the stairs followed by a thundering herd of would-be rescuers.

“Try to look at us,” a woman said, “and not down.”

I lifted my head an inch, opened my eyes, and saw a row of Halloween masks staring down at me. “Help,” I whimpered.

“The fire department's coming,” a man said.

“What are they going to do?”

“Get her down with a ladder? How the hell do I know?”

“I'm slipping,” I cried. “I can't hold on much longer.”

“Someone get a net.” I recognized Helga's authoritative voice.

“Like where?”

There was no answer.

A man dropped down on the floor so his face was almost level with mine. All I could see through the balusters was a red clown nose and one eye.

“Tori, listen carefully. You are going to have to work your way back to the other side of the stairwell where the railing is broken. When you get there, I'll be able to pull you to safety.”

“I don't know how…”

“Start by turning around. I'll tell you exactly what to do. Keep holding on with your right hand and with your left hand, reach out and grab the bar on your left.”

“I don't think…”

“Good. Don't think. Just do as I say. It's not far. You can do it.”

I groped with my left arm, trying not to look down and afraid to move my head to look for the bar. And at last, my fingers touched the cold metal bar and closed around it.

“Now, reach out with your right leg till you feel it lying on the next bar.”

I did as he directed. The incongruous thought popped into my mind that I must look like someone playing Twister.

Calmly, he directed my movements, until I had completely turned my body around.

I heard footsteps, and the masks appeared on the side of the staircase where the bannister had broken away.

“Now, all you have to do is hold tight and try to wiggle your body slowly toward me,” the man said. “Straddle the bar. That's good. Move one hand, hold tight with it, then move the other.”

I said a quick prayer and tried to do what he had told me, but before I could work up the courage to loosen one hand's grip, the weight of my heavy skirt pulled me off balance. I was suspended beneath the bar then, hanging on with both hands and feet. Someone screamed. It might have been me.

“You're okay,” the man called. “Try sliding one hand, just an inch, then the other. Good! Do it again. One inch at a time.”

The arm I'd broken last month throbbed with pain. “Hurts… don't think I can…” I felt my fingers slip about a millimeter.

Then an angel's voice called out softly, “Tori. Think of your special place. Go there now, Tori. Go to your special place, and you'll be safe.”

I was on a beach, overlooking the turquoise and lavender waters of the China Sea.

“Close your eyes and turn your face to the sun, Tori. It will give you strength.”

I looked up, seeing nothing, feeling the warmth seep through my skin, my shoulders, my hands, my fingers.

“Now slide. One hand. Slide. The other. You are strong, Tori. Slide. Slide. You are getting close to your special place. Slide. Slide. Good. Slide. Slide. Good.”

Encouraged by the voice, I concentrated on my movements. Slide one hand, then the other. Slide one hand, then the other. Over and over, an inch at a time, until someone firmly grasped my left wrist.

“I've got you,” the man said, “but don't let go of the bar.”

“Don't worry,” I gasped. I'd returned to reality from my special place, and I knew I could still fall, that the danger was still there, but the touch of the stranger's hand was reassuring. Two strong hands firmly gripped my other wrist.

“We've got you,” the man said. “On the count of three, let go and we'll pull you up.”

Before I could protest, I heard him count, “One, two, three… and up.”

I was roughly jerked upward, and my chest hit the floor, causing pain to bounce through to my spine. I felt hands reaching for me, tugging on my arms, my waist, my skirt, my legs, and then they dragged me to safety.

Then my ordeal was over, and I lay facedown on the carpet, in a jumbled, quaking heap.

Someone stroked my back, and I whimpered.

“You're safe now,” said the voice of the man who had rescued me.

“Tori, it's me, Moonbeam. Can you sit up?”

Now I knew whose soft voice had sent me to the security of my special place. And still my fingers clutched at the carpet pile. “No. Can't. Don't want to.”

Strong hands helped me to a sitting position. I knew somehow that they were the same strong hands that had kept me from falling, and I clung to them as if I still depended on them for my life. “Thank you,” I murmured. “I can't say it enough. Thank you, thank you, thank…”

The man laughed, and I suddenly realized the circus clown who had saved me was Woody Woodruff, the man who, up till now, I'd thought was the most disgusting scumbag I'd ever met.

Moonbeam, in a pink ballerina costume, touched my face. “You're all right,” she said, and her hypnotic voice calmed me.

“How did this happen?” Helga Van Brackle, quite a sight in a low-cut Scarlett O'Hara gown, stood with arms akimbo glaring down at me.

“I was pushed.”

Murmurs of surprise and disbelief whirled across the landing.

“It's true. I heard someone call my name. I thought it was the girl on the floor below me, so I leaned over to see what she wanted. And that's when I was pushed.”