After Morgan had left, Greta sat in his office, waiting for the remaining students to leave so she could lock up the building and drive home in her own car. With the office door open, she could watch the girls leave their dressing room and walk down the hallway to the outside door. Each time the outside door was opened, snow and frigid air blew in from the darkness outside. Greta shivered, dreading the cold drive home.

She swiveled restlessly in Morgan's desk chair, wondering what he did locked in this small, dimly lit office so much of the time. Why did he love this office so much? She got up and closed the office door and locked it, then sat back down, trying to put herself in Morgan's shoes.

She'd been sitting there a few minutes, starting to get claustrophobic, when she noticed that the grooves of the wall paneling in front of Morgan's desk didn't quite line up. On closer inspection, she discovered why. After a little probing with her fingers, she found herself sliding aside a section of paneling and looking through a window into the dance studio. What in God's name was this?

"Anybody here?" Patrick was shouting in the hallway outside. "Mom? Dad? Anybody? Anybody still here?" He rattled the office door, trying the knob.

Before Greta could pull herself together and answer, she saw Patrick through the window. He was still dressed in his dance clothing.

"Aren't we lucky!" Patrick said, looking around the deserted studio. "Looks like everybody else is gone and we're all alone. I'd better lock the front door."

He stepped out of the studio and Greta heard him pad down the hallway and lock the outside door of the dance school. Meanwhile, two girls walked into the studio, giggling as they pulled off their clothes and dropped them on the polished wood floor. Greta knew the girls couldn't see her, knew she was watching them through a two-way mirror, but she moved away from the window as if to hide herself as the girls looked her way.