It started when Oscar deleted the wrong file right before the deadline for submitting the sales tax figures to Corporate. Angela hated inefficiency and waste, even more so when the perpetrator was as insolent and unrepentant as Oscar Martinez. Worse, when she insisted that Oscar stay to clean up his mistake, he became surly and said he had a doctor's appointment he could not reschedule. That left her and Kevin to scramble to rebuild the spreadsheet and send it to Corporate by 6:00 PM. By the time Kevin (useless as he was) had shambled out, it was dark outside and Angela was alone in the office.

Putting on her coat, she was very aware of the shadows stealing in from the corners. She started to go into the bathroom before heading home, but when she pushed through the doors to the kitchen/bathroom area, she saw that the lights were completely out both there and in the Human Resources area beyond. For no reason at all, her heart began to beat faster. She decided she could wait until she was safe at home.

Locking up, the jingle of her keys echoed in the empty corridor outside Dunder-Mifflin. The lonely sound completely erased any lingering pride she felt at having an authorized key to the office. Waiting for the elevator, she found herself listening for the sounds of other people in the building – a distant murmur, a laugh, a footstep. She heard only the impersonal whine of machinery. As the elevator doors closed behind her, she felt the beginning of that suffocating, smothered feeling.

Deep breaths. Remember what the doctor said. Deep breaths. Relax.

Angela closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. There was nothing to worry about. There was no one lurking outside the door of the elevator, ready to pounce as soon as she stepped out. There was no one waiting around the bend in the corridor with an axe dripping with blood. No one had tampered with the elevator cables, dooming her to a long, shrieking fall to her death...

The elevator doors slid open suddenly and Angela let out a tiny shriek. She stood trembling, her eyes darting wildly, until the elevator doors began to slide shut again. Then she stuck her hand between the doors, and the bumpers tapped her wrist before sliding the doors open again. Gingerly she emerged into the corridor. Why did the building management insist on timers that turned off most of the hall lighting after 6:00? It was unsafe. She should complain to the building management.

Naturally, the parking lot was dark, cold and empty. The pink glare of the overhead lights only made it seem more lonely than it was. And of course, her car was parked on the far side. Angela was acutely aware of the click-click of her sensible heels on the asphalt.

Don't run. They'll chase you.

She forced herself to slow down. This was not a nightmare. It was not a horror movie. It was just a parking lot on a Tuesday night in Scranton. Don't get melodramatic. She heard her mother's dismissive tone echoed in her own head.

It took her forever to fumble her keys out of her purse. Her hand shook so badly she dropped them. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes, stinging and drawing tears. A car drove by slowly in the street -- too slowly, she thought. Her pulse quickened. When she finally got the door open and slid behind the wheel, her breath was coming in gasps.

Home. Have to get home. Safe at home.

She drove carefully through the dark streets. Image after image cascaded through her overheated imagination: a flat tire, a carjacker, a suicide jumping in front of her car, someone sideswiping her. Images that left her stranded in the dark, helpless. She tried to dismiss them from her mind, but it took more than will power.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...

Usually prayer soothed her, but now, creeping along streets slick with re-freezing snowmelt, the words sounded desperate and scared. She rolled to a stop at a red light. There were no other cars around; the streets looked ominous and deserted, as if waiting for a horde of zombies or monsters to surge around a corner and surround her little car. She tightened her grip on the wheel until her knuckles were white.

Suddenly a car slid to a stop beside hers. She heard the fuzzy boom of an over-amped bass, heard male laughter from the car. Don't look at them if they see you looking they'll look back and then they'll see you. If you don't look, they can't see you please please please turn green.

Finally the light turned green and the car beside hers squealed across the intersection with an arrogant screech. The car fishtailed on ice, slid into the oncoming lane, righted itself, and sped off. Angela crept across in its wake, body tense and poised to wrestle the car should the tires swerve. But the tires held firm (Dwight had personally advised her on their purchase) and she saw the turn to her street coming up. She whimpered with relief.

Someone had taken her parking spot, even though it had her apartment number on it and a RESERVED FOR TENANTS sign near it. She noted the license plate number and decided to talk to the manager in the morning. Right now, the last thing she wanted was a confrontation with anyone. Unfortunately, the only parking space was at the end of the row, and her walk back to her apartment was long and solitary. She felt as if eyes were watching her, eyes with an evil glint in them.

By the time she reached her apartment, her panic attack was in full bloom: shortness of breath, pounding heart, tingling hands, a blackness at the end of vision. Please God, just let me get inside. She unlocked the triple locks on her apartment and swung the door open.

Her apartment was dark. Why hadn't the timer turned the lights on? Had she forgotten it? Or was someone inside, waiting for her? Angela hesitated on the threshold, wondering if she should call the police.

A shape, drifting towards her out of the dark. She tensed for flight, then saw the tail...

"Sprinkles! Oh, it's you!"

Her cat greeted her with the customary yowl for food and attention.

Relief washed over her so strongly she felt her knees go weak. Angela stepped inside and reached for the light switch. The light flared on, and her familiar apartment greeted her: soft lemon yellow walls, gold upholstery, with touches of green. Tasteful, light, refreshing.

Sprinkles wound herself around Angela's ankles, threatening to trip her, but Angela didn't mind. She carefully locked the three locks on her front door, then put the safety chain on and flipped the interior deadbolt. Finally, she propped an iron bar against the door and fitted the other end into a socket Dwight had installed in her floor despite it being a violation of her tenant's agreement.

A quick tour of her apartment proved that there were no signs of entry. The covers of the central heating vents were solidly screwed down. No one was hiding under her bed or in her closet or pantry. All the kitchen knives were accounted for.

It didn't do any good. When she finally discarded her coat and hat and sat on her bed, her breathing was as ragged as if she'd run a mile. Nausea roiled her stomach. She knew that even if she could choke down one of her clonazepam tabs, she would not be able to keep it down. She'd been here before.

Angela closed her eyes and folded her hands together. Dear God, why did this keep happening to her? It didn't matter how many times she went over and over it with her minister, prayer just didn't work when these ... spells ... came over her. And the "therapists" her doctor insisted on just didn't understand her faith, her need for God. They kept talking about cognitive therapy and drugs.

None of them understand.

"MEOW!" Sprinkles demanded food. Angela got up and went into the kitchen, mechanically opening cans and feeding the cat. Putting the can in the trash, she cut her finger on the rim of the lid. The pain didn't bother her, but at the sight of the blood on her finger, she felt clammy sweat break out all over her.

There was really only one person who could help her. She needed a hero, someone who could make her feel safe. She took out her cell phone. Her hands shook so badly she had to dial his number twice.

He answered on the second ring. "Dwight K. Schrute," he said, his enunciation clipped and no-nonsense as ever.

"Oh, D! I..." She couldn't finish.

"Monkey? Is that you?"

"D! Please. I ... I'm so scared." She felt tears clogging her throat – tears of relief at hearing his voice and tears of panic.

Was that a sound at the door? She clutched the phone.

"Monkey, are you having another anxiety attack?" Dwight's voice sounded stern yet concerned. Her heart flooded with joy hearing him.

"Yes. I ... I tried praying--"

"Okay, calm down," Dwight said firmly. "First of all, are you sitting down?"

"No."

"Do so. Acknowledge when you have done so."

Angela walked into the living room and sat down on the edge of her yellow upholstered chair. "I'm sitting down."

"Okay," Dwight said. He sounded very practical. "We'll go through the same routine as last time. No deviations. You must follow my instructions. Is that clear? Acknowledge."

Her head was pounding. "I hear you," she said faintly.

"Very well. First, are all the locks on the door secure?"

"Yes."

"Tell me. In detail."

"The three outside locks are locked. The deadbolt is shot. I have the safety chain on. And the door is braced."

"Excellent!" Dwight sounded proud. "No one can break into your apartment through the door, which is the weakest point of entry. Now, how about your windows?"

"I checked them all. Each one is locked."

"Both window locks? On all windows? Even the ones I bought at the hardware store for you?"

"Yes, Dwight."

"Did you hang the garlic on the windows?"

Angela bit her lip. "Um. No. I--"

"Angela, I've told you before that you must protect yourself against all forces of evil."

"But I don't believe in vampires, D," she said weakly.

"It doesn't matter. Even the forces of evil you don't believe in can hurt you. Now, do you remember where I left you the strings of garlic?"

"Yes," she said in a subdued voice. "In the pantry, in a plastic bag." She went to the kitchen and rummaged in the back for the bag. "I have it."

"Hang it on every window, no matter how small," Dwight said.

She didn't want to let go of Dwight's reassuring voice, so she cradled the cell phone against her shoulder. She went from window to window, hanging the small strings of garlic on nails Dwight had driven into the frames. She felt silly at first, but as she hung the last string, she felt some of the tension at the back of her neck ease. "All done," she said.

"Excellent," Dwight said. "You have checked the vent covers like I told you?"

"Yes, Dwight."

"It's time to put the music on."

The pain behind her forehead was worse. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, Angela. That music is specially selected to enhance your feelings of courage and self-protection. Put it on."

Angela stood and walked over to her small stereo. The CD Dwight had made for her was still in the disc changer. She hit POWER and then PLAY, and in a moment the Star Wars trumpet fanfare boomed through her living room. She winced and turned down the volume. She put the phone back to her ear.

"Okay," she said.

"Yes, I hear it, Angela. Very good. Now, let's get to the next step: protection from chemical attack. Do you still have the plastic tarp and the duct tape I placed on the floor of your closet?"

"I don't think I need that, not right now," Angela said faintly.

"There's not enough to cover all your doors and windows anyway," he said. "You'll have to confine yourself to your bedroom. Use the duct tape to seal both windows and the door. No, wait. You'll need to leave the door free so you can come out and open the door for me."

Angela felt her tension vanish instantly, replaced with relief so intense it was like, well, that feeling she got in ... bed ... with Dwight. "You, you're coming over?"

"Of course I am, Monkey! I was on my way home from the dojo when I got this call. I made a U-turn and now I am almost back at the dojo. I wanted to get a naginata."

"A ... a what?"

"It's a pole with a curved blade at the end. Very useful against demonic attacks, when the demon attacking has longer arms. Oh, and Angela, make sure you have some salt handy when you open the door for me. I want you to throw it over the threshold the moment I step across, so that no evil forces can follow me in."

She was so relieved that he was coming over she didn't even argue with this nonsense. She felt her breath returning to normal, felt her heart rate subsiding. She took several deep breaths.

"Angela, I have to hang up now. Will you be all right for ten minutes?"

"Yes, Dwight," she said. "I ... thank you."

"It is my duty to protect you," Dwight said fiercely. "I will not fail!" He hung up.

Angela closed the cell phone, her hands losing that shaky feeling as she did so. Her stomach growled, and she realized she had not eaten since lunch. Now for the first time since leaving the office, she felt like eating. She remembered that she had a lasagna casserole frozen in her refrigerator. There might be time to heat it up by the time Dwight arrived; he generally didn't like her vegetarian cooking but he did like her lasagna. Yes, definitely she would cook him dinner. And afterwards, there would be other ... comforts.

Because her hero deserved it.