“…So listen, Row,” Ben’s voice suddenly replaced the mechanical tick-ticking static of the hold button, “I gotta go have a second look at a crime scene, so I may not be around when you get here. If I’m back in time, you wanna grab lunch? I’ll buy.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Especially if it’s on you!”

“Good deal. I’ll catch ya’ then. Later.”

“Bye.”

I was just settling the phone back onto its base when my eyes fell across the message pad. At first, I dismissed the concentric circles and figure eights of blue ink gracing the page as simply the random scrawling of my unoccupied mind. It was only upon the second glance, as I was tearing the page from the backing in order to discard it, that something struck me as odd. More than just meaningless scratches, the curves and lines twisted around, traced and retraced, forming numbers.

2218.

An obscure remembrance in the back of my head told me that I had dreamt this number earlier this morning. I stared at it for a long moment, wondering at its significance, before discounting it as a bizarre coincidence and crumpling the page in my fist. As I dropped it in the wastebasket, a pair of flannel-covered arms hooked about my waist, and a soft, curvaceous body pressed against my back. Any remnant of the puzzling number left in my mind was immediately and thoroughly replaced by thoughts vastly different.

“Aye, who were you talking to this early in the morning, then?” Felicity’s sleepy voice murmured.

“Ben,” I answered, turning in her embrace and squeezing her gently. “I was just checking in to see if I was still supposed to give that lecture this morning…what with the snow and all.”

“What did he say?” she asked quietly.

Her warm breath tingled my skin as she nuzzled in closer, her soft lips roaming up my neck.

“Still on. It’s set up for ten. I guess I need to be there by nine-thirty or so.”