She was sitting at the table. And then she wasn't. 

Her knees were touching her nose, and it felt like loops of fire were burning at her ankles and her wrists. She was being jostled, it was very dark, and she could hear the muffled sound of the wind and the road. She could smell oil and a hint of exhaust fumes lacing the cool air, and the her cheek rested upon scratchy carpeting. She could feel herself pushed forward as whatever it was she was in, a car trunk probably, slowed, then stopped. There was  a muffled conversation in front of her, then the vehicle shifted as its occupants got out.

There was the sound of three doors slamming shut, a muffled crunch of footsteps, then light and cold air washed over her as the trunk lid rose. 

"Time to dance, chica," said a heavily spanish accented voice as rough hands pulled her from the trunk. 

So it had all been a dream after all, albeit from being knocked unconscious instead of drugged. As hard as it was for her to believe, Jeff had set her up. Sam didn't know whether to be pissed or devastated. She had thought he was better than his father but if her current situation was any indication she'd been nothing but a fool. Now she had to figure out how to stay alive. It was too bad she didn't have powers as in her dream. If she did she could call down a lightning bolt to strike her captors.

As it stood she'd have to find a more mundane method to free herself. As she was pulled from the trunk, she kicked out with both feet. The angle was bad and she hadn't had a chance to brace herself but she hoped it would be enough.

The men cried out as she flopped like a landed trout, and simply let her fall. She struck the ground hard, on her side. She knew she'd be bruised on her left shoulder and hip, but at least she'd kept her head from hitting the asphalt of whatever back lot they were in. It was cool out, dark. There were three men, none of whom she recognized. One was tall, thin, and black. Two were short, roughly five five or so, and dark complected. Cuban or some sort of hispanic mix. They all stepped back from her and simply watched. With her hands and wrists bound the way they were, there wasn't a lot she could do aside from roll under the car, which was a large sedan of some sort. She could smell the exhaust fumes, heavy and cloying, and see light glinting off little shards of glass lying on the lot. 

"You gonna give us trouble little girl," the black man asked calmly. 

"Did you expect me to make things easy for you?" Sam replied testing her bonds. This was bad, very bad, and she knew it but she wouldn't go out without a fight. It wasn't much in the scheme of things but it was all she could do.

Maybe she could stall them long enough for someone to show up. It was unlikely but it was the only hope she had. "I have super powers you know. I can control the weather."

"No shit," the black man said, reaching into his jacket pocket and removing a handgun. Beretta, her mind supplied her in a most irritating manner. He pulled back the mechanism, jacketing a round and pointing it at her head. "And I got a fifteen inch dick and can fuck like a twenty year old." He shook his head. "Ain't that a..." 

KA-THOOOM!

There was a light brighter than the sun, cool white and sharp. Shadows leapt out and across the lot,  long and dark, sharp edged with silver. The noise that followed was amazing, a sound so loud it was beyond sound; a force that actually shoved Samantha away from the spot that the black man had been standing on and half underneath the car. The other two men screamed, both falling back and away, landing heavily on their backs, hands pawing at their eyes. 

And then the light was gone, and the noise was echoing out and across and away, rolling like ripples in still waters from the glowing pool of bubbling asphalt that had been her assailant just seconds ago. 

"Holy shit! What the fuck was that?" Sam cried out unthinking. Had a lightning bolt really just hit the guy about to kill her? This shit was just too weird. She had to get out of there and figure out what the hell was going on. Once again she tested her bonds hoping whoever had tied them didn't know what they were doing.

They did know what they were doing, even if they were muling like kittens not ten feet away. Samantha saw the shiny metal of handcuffs at her ankles, and felt the same at her wrists.  Above her, the sound of the cars exhaust was chuff-chuffing away, and before her the two men were getting to their feet, cursing their inability to either see or hear in voices that were loud and full of fear and anger. One had drawn a gun, some piece of junk no doubt bought at a pawn shop, and had it pointed down at the ground. The other, the darker of the two, was calling out now. "Javed? Will? Javed? I can't see!"  The man with the gun stepped on the glowing patch of asphalt and yipped like a puppy, then shot at the ground several times. His shoe was smoking, the rubber on the bottom gone gummy from the heated tar of the road. 

The gunman yelled something in Spanish and emptied his weapon at the ground, the other man had stopped, head tilted towards the noise of the gunfire as though he couldn't quite make out what it was despite it being less than a dozen feet away. Bullets ricocheted madly. 

Sam really didn't want to kill the other two men unless she was given no choice. Not sure if either of them could hear her she did her best to roll to the other side of the car putting it between her and any more gunfire. "Drop your weapons." She called out in her best commanding voice. 

She found that rolling was out of the question, the car was just too close to the ground. She did a sort of wriggle-scoot, and was able to push herself out from under the vehicle on the drivers side, scraping her knuckles in the process. She couldn't seen the men anymore from her prone position, just their feet. The gunman was dry firing now, and swearing loudly in Spanish. That would be Javed or Will then. The other man had stopped moving. 

"Hello! Something happened!" he yelled. "We're at the lot, but I think Will is dead. I can't hear you or see anything, cause of the power line. It electrocuted him man! Just gone! Javed might be dead too, and maybe the bitch is too. I can't see man. You got to send somebody ok? Ok, I'm hanging up." 

Samantha could see that they were behind a large factory or plant of some kind, dark and shut down. The place looked like it hadn't been operational for years. It was a cloudless night, the moon shone down, lighting the area well enough for her to note the road that lead out of the place, the still running car, and a couple of large square buildings off too her left, windows boarded and doors closed. The mass of catwalks, huge drums and containers, processing belts and pipes of the plant was directly in front of her, the main entrance maybe twenty feet away. It might as well have been on the moon, trussed up as she was. 

"Javed man, can you hear me, are you alive," called the stationary pair of shoes. The vehicle rocked a bit as Javed slid down the side of the car, sitting now against it and weeping, still rambling on in Spanish. The cars headlights were off, but she could hear a radio inside playing some sort of pop tune.

Sam almost laughed in spite of her desperate situation. To think she really thought she had called lighting down to attack her captors when it had only been a downed power line. Nothing more than a coincidence. A hight unlikely coincidence but coincidence just the same and it wasn't going to help her get out of the mess she was in.

She needed to get the key to the cuffs binding her if she was going to have any chance and that meant trying to take advantage of her captors confusion. How she was going to do it she didn't know but she had to try. Struggling into a sitting position Sam slowly scooted across the asphalt until she could see around the car.

It took her nearly a minute of painful, careful wriggling to get in a position where she could see around the car. As she'd moved, she'd hear a steady stream of angry then scared then angry Spanish flowing from the seated man, Javed. The other man hadn't moved, he'd just stood there in the same spot. Samantha had paused briefly in her journey, making sure that she was careful to avoid the still smoking, charred spot where electricity had taken the life of Will. Oddly, there was no power line visible. No cables, nothing. Just a starlike, spiked scorch mark on the steaming asphalt. The air reeked of tar and ozone. 

At last, in position, she darted her head around, took a look, then pulled her head back. 

Javed, the man on the ground, had his empty gun clenched in one fist, the barrel pointed skyward as he heeled at his eyes with his hands. She saw something dark and wet on his ear. The other man was standing close, a few feet away, head cocked, a gun out but also pointed skyward. It appeared as though he was listening intently for her. His eyes were streaming tears, and from what she could tell he wasn't focused on anything in particular. 

Sam leaned against the car for a moment trying to figure out what to do. The absence of a power line wasn't lost on her but to believe what it might mean was just crazy. Though at this point she was desperate enough to consider anything even if it was crazy. What the hell, it can't make things any worse. Sam closed her eyes and thought of another lightning bolt.

There was something,  some sort of feeling of pressure, of forces beneath the ground and in the sky shifting, aligning. And then it came again.

KA-THOOM!

A twin-forked bolt of death that froze her attackers for just a moment where they were, rimmed with energy that then focused inward and wiped them form the world. The car slid away, engine dying, side scorched as electrical power flared along its side. Samantha was stopped up and hurled backwards as well, sliding a dozen feet across the parking lot, rolling, feeling the bite of the tiny bits of broken beer bottles and shards of metal that littered the ground. The sound was like God swatting a fly. 

The darkness returned, save for two new patches of bubbling asphalt. Sam's hair was standing on end, and her world reeked of ozone. 

Sam sat in stunned silence for a good minute before she was able to think again. As impossible as it seemed she really had called a lightning bolt not just once but twice. It was something she was going to have to give a lot of thought too. That was if she could figure out how to get herself free. The immediate threat of death was gone but now she was faced with how she was going to free herself. If she had thought it was going to really work she might have thought twice about the second lightning bolt. Now she was stuck here, handcuffs binding both wrist and ankles, and she had probably just vaporized the keys.

She carefully wriggled her way back to the car and using it to brace herself carefully got to her feet. It wasn't easy and she almost toppled over more than once but finally she was standing. Working the handle to the door was harder but she finally managed to get it open and let herself fall into the seat. It was a long shot but maybe one of them had left the keys or their phone in the car.

Katy Perry's tune "Last Friday Night" chirped in cheery tones from the cars speakers, but no phones or keys were to be found. The car was an older Caddy: very roomy, but it had seen some use. Samantha's knuckles stung from where she'd scraped them on the parking lot asphalt, and she would occasionally hiss in pain as one of her numerous other scratches and cuts would rub against the car seat. It had to be near three in the morning, based on the moons position overhead, but she found she wasn't at all tired. Bruised, battered and scratched, yes. But not tired. An advertisement for mattresses that had prices so low she'd think she was dreaming accompanied her thoughts, the Caddy's headlight shone steadily on a weatherbeaten brick wall. 

Sam kicked out at the car door in frustration then let herself collapse on the seat. This shit was just too weird. Had she really just killed three people with lightning? and if so, how had she done it? Even if she allowed herself to believe she had called it, lightning just wasn't powerful enough to vaporize someone and given where she lived she knew a bit about lightning. Florida wasn't called the lightning capital of the states for no reason. And how was she going to live with herself after this? It was true her captors were going to kill her but she had never even had to fire her gun in the line of duty much less ever killed someone before.

And if she really had called down lightning did that mean the rest of this crazy night had been real as well? And if it was, what did that mean for her? She couldn't even free herself so how was she supposed to make the world a better place?

The game! Of course! That could be the answer. Each of the players was supposed to have an avatar they could call on for help. Maybe she could call on hers to get her out of this. It would speak volumes about her incompetence to have to make the call this early in the game but Sam saw little choice in the matter."

Feeling a bit foolish and not even sure if she were doing it properly, she said out loud, "Um, avatar, if you're listening, I could really use some help here."

The passenger door of the caddy opened, and a girl of about 8 years of age climbed into the seat. She had long black hair, which fell in ringlets just past her shoulders. Her face was a little chubby, a little grubby, and she wore a set of stained denim overalls over a pink and white striped long-sleeved knit shirt. Unlaced and dusty Chucks, blue Sam thought, covered the childs feet. She heaved the door closed with a grunt of effort, then turned eyes as dark and warm as melted chocolate on Samantha. 

"This is some fucked up shit, right here." she said, matter-of-factly. 

Sam's mind reeled and she wondered if things could get any stranger. "So, um . . . are you my, um . . . avatar?" She felt foolish for even asking the question but nothing else came to mind. Sam had about hit her limit of strangeness for one night.

"No. I live here in the abandoned mineral plant with several other Dickensian youths. It's a hardscrabble life, but we get by relying on the bonds of friendship and lots of moxie" the girl replied, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes we sing about finding a better life and loving parents and little puppies named Scraps." She shook her head and regarded Sam more closely. "Why in God's name did you blow up the guys with the keys?" she said, pointing first at the handcuffs on Sam's wrists, then the ones on her ankles. The devices opened with a clicking sound, then fell away. 

"Because I, um, didn't believe I could really do it." Sam answered. "And they were going to kill me and I wasn't in a position to do much else." She nodded at the cuffs rubbing her wrists gingerly.

"So turning the first guy into a grease spot on the concrete didn't cinch it for you? You had to go and whack the other two just to, what... prove a point?" The little girl rubbed at her nose. "You weren't hugged enough as a child, were you?" 

"The one guy called someone saying the first guy was killed by a power line. It seemed more plausible than me being able to call lighting. Besides, what would you have done? They were going to kill me and I couldn't think of anything weather could do to get me out of those cuffs." Same felt silly for explaining herself to a child but it was no stranger than anything else that had happened that night and the child had freed her.

The little girl looked out the windshield of the car, her face tilted up as she searched the sky. "Power line? Seriously?" She rubbed at her nose again. "You need to start paying attention if you're going to win this thing. "You could have pinned them to the wall with wind, then froze them in place with ice. You could have just rolled them around on the ground over and over till they begged for mercy." She spread open her hands. "Am I right?" 

Sam felt the blood rush to her face as she realized her avatar was right. There were plenty of things she could have done if she had thought about it. It would have required Sam believing what was happening but there had been other things she could have done and she wasn't sure she would have done things any different given the same circumstances. It wasn't every day you were snatched out of your lover's apartment, dropped in an apocalyptic future, then transported who knew how to a room with four other people, told you had wondrous power and were part of some elaborate game, then dumped, handcuffed in the trunk of a car with three man ready to kill you and no explanation of how you got there. Yep, she should have paid more attention and given things more thought.

"What did you need, anyway? Aside from a rescue... I was watching Dora the Explorer reruns on Nick at Night and you totally made me miss the best part." 

"What I need is for someone to tell me what the fuck is going on for real and not a bunch of crazy stories that don't make any sense."

"Oh cry me a fucking river, boo hoo hoo," snapped the little girl, who pointed at the necklace around Samantha's neck. "You took the Gift, so the Power was explained. It had to be, or you wouldn't be here right now. You just flash-fried three morons, so you know it aint no story." She shook her head, the mass of curls on her head flowing back and forth. "You're supposed to be some hard-ass, tough as nails cop. Not a whiny little girl." 

The little girl glared at her, then her eyes narrowed. "Unless that  douche Randerawl twisted it. What did he say?"

"If you call making this all seem like a fucked up dream, yeah, it was explained all right." Sam proceeded to tell the little girl exactly what happened and what they were all told.

"He's such an asshole," the little girl sighed after listening to Samantha's tale. "He probably showed you what happens if his guy wins. We can't lie when we explain the scenario to the icons, but we can offer up possible outcomes." She nibbled on her thumbnail as she considered what she'd been told. "Obviously, there's been no nuclear war," she finally said, waiving a small hand vaguely at the world beyond the windshield. "I can't see the other icons, just like ass-monkey can't see you anymore. Once the game begins, we get seriously locked down." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, thinking furiously. "So you have the Power, it can't be taken away by any of us. You use it to make the world what you will, either a happy smiley land where everyone gets along and sings kumbaya, or a glowing slag heap. It's up to you in the end."

"You can work with the other icons or against them, again: up to you. And once the future is set and settled, the game is over and one of us gets to start the new reality once the old one runs it's course." She twirled a finger in the air "Endless majesty of creation, blah blah blah." 

"Got it?"

"Not really but it seems like I don't have a choice in things. At least you're not a creepy as that Randerawl person. He was as sleazy as his Icon." Sam's mind was working furiously. It seemed as if she was caught up in this whether she liked the idea or not, no matter how crazy it all sounded. "What did happen to me? I mean here. How did I end up in that trunk?"

"Is that the question you want an answer to?" the little girl asked. "I'm not a fairy godmother. More like a genie, like in Aladdin. You get three wishes, and that's it." Her brown eyes still held annoyance. "And stow the 'I don't have a choice' crap, and grow up. You can alter the weather on a global level. There's nations that would kill for that, so you're hardly a victim here." 

Samantha's eyes got wide. She could alter weather on a global scale? The possibilities filled her mind. The recent floods in Australia where so many people had lost their lives and property. The drought in Texas that had caused such a hardship. She could do something about those. She had become a cop hoping to make the world a better place but had lost most of her optimism over the years as she saw criminal after criminal get away with their crimes. Or worse yet, seeing other cops plant evidence to ensure a conviction because they were positive someone was guilty only to discover later on they had made a mistake. Sam had just about given up any hope of truly making a difference and now she was being presented with the perfect opportunity. The possibilities seemed endless.

"No." She said slowly. "That isn't my question. I think I just needed something to prove this was all real. I don't have any questions at the moment."

The little girl rolled her eyes and heaved open the passenger door. "Ok. Well, I'm going back home then. I don't want this kid's parents to freak out if they walk in and find her missing." The girl stood in the dim glow cast by the dashboard and the weak dome light of the caddie and regarded Samantha critically. "The handcuffs were a freebie - I'm pretty sure I can justify that. But don't expect this kind of help if things get tight for free, alright? It's not that I wouldn't want to, but I have to go by the rules. Even douche-a-saurus has to go by the rules." A light breeze ruffled the child's dark hair. 

Sam nodded. "I get it. We have to do this on our own." Sam hesitated a moment. "And thanks for the help. I know this is all real now and I'll tell you up front. I'm not worried about winning or losing this game of yours. I've got the ability now to make the world a better place and that's what I'm going to do."

The child nodded. Then heaved the door closed, and was gone. 

Sam sat behind the wheel for a few minutes just thinking. A lot had happened to her in the last few, hours? She wasn't even sure how much time had passed since she was in Jeff's apartment. It could be days later for all she knew. She was going to have to find a phone and call in to the precinct.

But what was she going to tell them? That she had deliberately broken her cover and told Jeff who she was and nearly got herself killed over it? At the minimum there would be an investigation and she would most likely lose her job. She would have to keep her part in Jeff finding out a secret.

Sam started the car and pulled out, looking for the exit out to the road. She would think about what she was going to tell her superiors while she drove. Now, she needed to get out of here before her captors back up arrived, call this in, and find out what the hell day it was.

She pulled the vehicle out of the parking lot and found herself on a barely one lane flat top road. Left or right, left or right. She went right, and barely a quarter mile later found herself at the intersection of Williams, the road she was on, and residential dead end called Bethune Drive. She could see the cul de sac at the end, so she kept on along Williams, passing some sort of rec center on her right until and then a few more houses. The next intersection was E Fowler, and bingo!, she knew where she was. To the east of the city, just on the outskirts. As she breathed a huge sigh of relief at no longer being lost, the radio informed her that it was going to be 60 degrees on today, and that was mighty fine for Christmas Day in Tampa Bay. 

Sam pulled into a convenience store parking lot and turned off the car. The lot was dark, the store shut down for the night. There was a police sub-station not far from here, she could drive there and report in but what was she going to tell them. She couldn't tell them the truth that was for sure. At best they would think she was having some sort of breakdown. No, the truth wouldn't do at all. She sat in the parking lot for a few minutes more going over her story in her mind and then drove to the police hub.

Inside she identified herself and asked to see the officer in charge. When the young man behind the desk asked what happened to her and if she was alright, she only told him her cover had been blown and she was lucky to even be there. What she was going to tell the officer in charge she still didn't know. The truth was out of the question, she hardly believed it herself. Whatever she told him it would have to explain her battered state.

The officer in charge, a Sergeant Wildman, looked like he was near to retirement and didn't have a humorous bone in his body, his disapproval of her plain on his face as soon as he caught sight of her. She had dealt with officers like him before. He was part of the old school who still believed women shouldn't be on the force. Men like him were rarer these days than they had been in the past but the prejudice was still out there. It was just her luck he would be one she would have to tell her story to first.

"What happened?" He asked as soon as she had identified herself.

"That's the thing, I'm not entirely sure." Sam answered. Any way she went about it her story was not going to make any sense so she had decided to tell as much of the truth as she dared without them thinking she'd gone nuts. Or worse yet, sticking her in some lab somewhere to figure out how she was able to incinerate people just by thinking it. "About a week ago the guy I was supposed to get close to, Jeff Targenson," the sergeant raised his eyebrows having recognized the name, "and I had a fight. He told me we were through and he never wanted to see me again." Sam felt a brief pang of regret before remembering he tried to have her killed.

"This afternoon he called me and told me he wanted to meet me for dinner. I hoped I could salvage things and agreed. When I got there someone knocked me out." This was where she was going to have to start getting creative.

"After that things are a bit fuzzy. I know I came to in the trunk of a car. I kicked out at them when they tried to get me out and they let me fall to the ground. I must have blacked out again or something because the next thing I know I'm laying on the ground and my captors are no where in sight."

"Why would they just leave you there?" Sergeant Wildman interrupted.

"I have no idea. None of it makes any damn sense but that's what happened." Sam wished she could convince herself that's what had really happened. Even now the sound of the lightning strikes filled her ears. She regretted what she'd done to those men and wished should could undo it. Even if it had been self defense, there had to have been another way.

"So how did you get here?" Wildman asked.

"The keys were in the car so I took it. I didn't think it would be a good idea to wait for them to come back." Sam answered.

"And how many of them were there?"

"Three, I think. I'm not sure." Sam wondered how many more questions he was going to have before she could get cleaned up and get some sleep.

Wildman leaned back in his chair, and Sam could see the buttons on his uniform shirt straining as the fabric was pulled taught across his ample belly. "So you had a fight with your mark, went over to his place to make up and you got knocked out." Wildman began ticking her story off on his fingers, starting with his index finger. "You show up at his place, and you get knocked out." His middle finger raised. "You wake up on the back of a car, an unidentified number of assailants pull you from the vehicle and you struggle, they drop you, and you're knocked out again." The sergeants ring finger was now raised. "You wake up and the assailants are gone, but the car is there with the keys in it, so you drive yourself here." Pinky extended now, all the fingers of his hand raised towards the ceiling. "And that's what happened? That's what you want to report?" 

He believed none of this. She knew it, and he knew she knew. He just looked at her, face slack, but bright eyes full of knowing. "Oh, and you came here instead of going to your captain because...?" He let the question hang there like a fish gone belly up in an aquarium. 

"I came here because a, I didn't have a phone to call my captain, and b, this substation was closest to where it happened and I hoped to get people out there before too much time had passed." Sam figured her best defense was to go on the offense. "And yeah, I know how the story sounds. Would you rather me report the dream I had while I was unconscious?" 

"Uh huh," he huffed. He leaned back in his chair, hinges creaking (it was an ancient wooden thing, probably around since the fifties), and regarded her. "The dream you had when you were unconscious which time? Wait, let me guess: this dream of yours will explain the utter lack of evidence we're going to find when we go  out there, right?" He leaned forward and grabbed the handset of his phone, jabbed at the buttons. "Sanchez! Get in here!" 

The handset clattered back into place and he leaned back again, lacing his hands across his belly. 

"If there really had been a nuclear holocaust then I guess my dream would explain things if you can't find any evidence but I find it unlikely there won't be something there." Sam replied. "I don't know what you think I have to gain by making this all up."

He blinked. 

"Nuclear Holocaust?" 

Sam suppressed a sigh, "That's what I dreamed. That there had been a nuclear war. Since that obviously never happened there should be some evidence."

"So you dreamt this when?", asked the sergeant. 

This time Same did sigh and was glad she had stuck to the truth. Even if she had edited out the more unbelievable parts. "Before I woke up in the trunk."

 The door to his office opened, and a dark-skinned female police officer strode in. She looked to be a mixture of Latino and African-American, and wore the uniform well. Sam couldn't but help notice the creases on her pants could probably have been used to cut bread. 

"What's up, sergeant?" She asked, her gaze sweeping across Sam. 

"Need you to check out something for me," he replied, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. He tore the sheet from a notebook and handed it over. "Check the area for signs of a disturbance. Our comrade from the 45th here was the victim of a kidnapping, says this is where she woke up, blacked out, woke up again, blah blah blah." 

Sanchez took the document and gave Sam a curious look. "You got it," she said after taking in the address. 

"How many guys was it again?" Asked Wildman. 

Sam shook her head. "I think there were three. I was kind of fuzzy at that point."

"She's kind of fuzzy," Wildman said to Sanchez. The uniformed officer frowned and looked from her sergeant to Sam and back again. 

"Three assailants?" Sanchez asked, removing  a pen from her breast pocket and clicking it open. "Weapons? Description?" 

Sam described them the best she could.

"Ok, I'll get dispatch on it," Sanchez said. 

Wildman's phone buzzed and he picked up. "Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah?" He grunted and leaned back, looking at Samantha with irritation. "Yeah. Got it." He leaned forward and hung up, nodding at Sanchez. "Get on it." 

Sanchez left, briefly letting in a dull wave of sound from the outside as the office door opened and closed. Busy busy bees. "Your captain backs you up on this, so there's that." He grunted, shaking his head. "Your story sounds like bullshit, detective. Grade A bullshit, and you know it and I know it. But we'll see what sticks and what don't I guess. Don't leave the station till we hear  back from the patrol officers, but other than that you got the run of the place." 

"Got it." Sam answered. She stood and went to the door. "You'll let me know what they find? I'm kind of curious where those guys went and why they just left me there." She said over her shoulder.

If the words, "Yeah, me too," could land her in an interrogation room, Samantha knew she'd be strapped to a chair with the recorders running, with Wildman smiling at her like a Saint from across the table, his eyes full of handcuffs. But they couldn't, so she closed the door behind her and went back out into the general noise and low-level chaos that was a police substation at 3 am. 

(ooc: what now, o lightning lass?)