Chapter 5

Seth Anderson exited the computer science building located on the sprawling University of Wisconsin campus. He started up Charter Street, then turned east onto University Avenue. The campus, situated in the heart of Madison and bordered on one side by Lake Mendota, intermingled itself amongst other business and residential buildings, blurring the boundary between city and campus.

It was one in the morning, and he was exhausted, but also extremely excited. He'd been working on his research project all day, and he'd finally devised a way to dramatically speed up his detection algorithm. Now, all he had to do was work out the details and implement his idea.

Cars sped by him, highlighting him with their headlights as he strolled along, but he barely noticed them as the details of his idea raced through his head. He tightened his jacket around him, keeping out the crisp, night air.

Occasionally, a group of students would pass by heading to their dormitory, to the nearby bars, or a house party. After all, it was Thursday night, and for college students, that was the night to celebrate. As he continued on his way, he passed Chadbourne Hall, then the Elvehjem Museum of Art.

He wanted to get home quickly and write down his ideas before he forgot them. He quickened his pace a little, and upon reaching Lake Street, he turned left, heading north a short distance, before crossing onto State Street.

Although it was after one in the morning, State Street was bustling with college students. State Street, more pedestrian mall than street, was the center of activity for students, not to mention the city as well. The street, capped at one end by the State Capitol and the Memorial Library at the other, consisted mostly of bars, coffeehouses, restaurants, retail shops, and apartments.

As he walked down the sidewalk, he shifted his backpack from his left to his right shoulder. Seth loved living on this street; it was so alive and full of energy. When he would return home and people would still be milling about, working late never bothered him.

He passed by The Shack, a watering hole with a couple of dartboards and a pool table. A large picture window in front allowed him to sneak a peek at the patrons. It looked like a fun crowd. If he hadn't been so tired, he would've stopped for a beer.

Next to The Shack, and a little more crowded, was another bar, The Red Zone. The university, as well as the entire state, was big on its football program, and obviously, the owner had taken the name from the football term.

He walked by a couple of shops, not the large chain retailers, but mom-and-pop stores. While weaving around the slower pedestrians, he continued past a little independent bookstore, a jewelry store, an Indian restaurant, and a Blockbuster Video.

The street was an interesting mix of businesses. Most were local, but over the years, chains like Blockbuster had started to work their way in. He hoped the trend would not continue, since the local businesses gave the street its distinctive charm.

He shifted his backpack back to his left shoulder. He crossed a side street, continuing in the direction of the state capitol, and reached the block where his walk-up apartment was located.

The entire street consisted of two-story buildings, with businesses at street level and apartments on the second floor. Since the buildings were older-historical might be the more appropriate term-students inhabited most of them. His apartment was directly above The Writer's Tablet, a coffeehouse, which a local writer had started several years ago after the previous business had gone under.

He liked The Writer's Table, spending countless hours there working on his thesis. It stayed open until two in the morning, and students constantly kept it filled. This night was no exception.

An unobtrusive door, pushed back slightly and situated between The Writer's Tablet and a small retail outlet, aptly named The Closet, led up to his apartment. Four apartments-his was apartment #2-occupied the building.

The apartment mailboxes were located just outside the building entrance, and before entering, he opened his. There was nothing inside, except some junk mail consisting of an advertisement for a pizza joint called Sal's and another for Blockbuster.

He opened the outer door and walked into the stairwell, dimly lit by a low-watt incandescent light bulb affixed to the wall on the right. He began ascending the steep stairs, the old wood creaking with each step. The dirty walls, once ashen, hadn't been painted in years.

As he climbed the stairs, he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. It had been a cool April evening, and he was glad he'd worn it. He reached the landing and walked several steps down the hall to his door.

His apartment was on the right. He fumbled with his keys for a second and then unlocked his door. As he entered, he slid his backpack off his shoulder, tossing it across the room and onto the couch in one smooth motion, just as he'd done so many times before. Then, he closed the door behind him.

Second-hand furniture, fitting for his life as a graduate student, decorated his meager apartment. He reached for the light switch and gave it a flick. Nothing happened. He flicked it again, and again, but nothing.

"Damn it!" he swore. His light must've burned out.

He started to cross the dark room. He would turn on the kitchen light. He'd only taken a couple of steps, when he heard broken glass cracking under his feet. He looked down at the glass and then up at the ceiling, where the light bulb should've been, but wasn't.

"What the hell?" he said, and then he heard it. Glass, again, being crushed under someone's foot, but he hadn't moved. He started to turn, but it was too late. He felt a heavy object crashing onto his head, he saw a brief flash of white stars, and then everything went black.