The troubled ceiling fan had changed its pitch again. The sound of the rotator had risen three times already, and James ground his teeth as it climbed again. He closed his eyes, and in something like a prayer, wished that the problem, whatever the problem was, would just work itself out. Then, he returned his attention to the matter upon his desk.
Another problem, another issue, an annoyance, that he couldn’t ignore but couldn’t just fix. The numbers didn’t add up. It was his third time tallying it all up, and it always came up short. James could add one thing to another, that was his job, after all, and there was only one answer.
He glanced up at the fan.
“Oh! Be quiet!”
It was at that moment that there was a slight spark above. The lights went out, and before James had a chance to run, the metal blades descended in a deadly whirl upon his head.
