So for lack of a better title, here is my answer to the challenge. I have a love/hate relationship with blackouts. I hate the surprise of darkness, yet I love walking around with a candle. Go figure. Ghost stories scare the hell outta me too, yet I'm drawn to them. 'Tis a mystery...

The Dark

Brendan Dean dragged himself up remembered steps. The heat outside was stifling, and he knew there would be a sauna in the place of his cozy apartment. As he climbed, he began to wonder why it was so dark. Lights out again? A neighbor ventured out of his apartment to notify him of the ten-block blackout. The northwestern grid. This included – Stop! Turn your brain off for one second, Brendan! It was late now, and the only relief from the heat would be an open window next to his bed.

Nice. Sleep!

Fumbling for his keys, he finally slid the right one in on the third try. His vision had doubled for a moment; lack of sleep could be hazardous sometimes. He wasn't exactly sure why he has lost so much sleep lately, but with a couple days off, maybe he could reclaim what was lost. Maybe. The heat wouldn't help at all, nor would the blackout. Adapt, Agent Dean.

When he stepped in, Brendan was sad to know he was right about the sauna. Stripping off his rumpled suit jacket, he tossed it over a chair he knew to be fifteen paces from the door, and four paces from where he stood. He wandered over to the windows that had little light coming in through the blinds. A step to the left, there's a table. Pulling open the blinds, he saw distant light in the sky towards downtown.

Normally, the darkness didn't bother him. But combined with the heat, Brendan felt like the walls were closing in. He moved in the direction of the kitchen. The kitchen is twenty paces from the door, and the counter is twelve paces from here. The barstool was pulled out ten inches from the counter.

For most people, blackouts meant stumbling around in the dark looking for candles and flashlights. For Brendan, it was an exercise in memory. Instead of straining to see in the dark, he closed his eyes and concentrated on maneuvering around obstacles and furniture. The cupboard holding glasses is two doors left of the sink. Opening the cabinet, he extracted a large glass. The water wasn't cold, but it was cool enough to soothe his parched throat.

There was a knock at the door; Brendan nearly jumped out of his skin. The increasing darkness pressed in on him, making him more uncomfortable. Quietly, he placed the glass on the counter. He sincerely hoped it wasn't Mrs. Mankin from 3B. She would talk his ear off when all he wanted was sleep. At the same time, he'd welcome the right company. As he shuffled to the door, he heard someone whisper sotto voce: "I'm not Mrs. Mankin."

Freya.

Smiling, he opened the door. The faintest outline of a smile could be seen in the near-dark. "Thought you were visiting your sister," he said, strangely relieved she was standing there.

"The restaurant is included in the blackout. So she decided we'd do it tomorrow." A loud rustling of a bag sounded as he closed the door. "Cold beverage?"

"Oh, you are a Godsend!" Taking the proffered bottle after a few tries, he took a long drink. "Okay. I'm going to direct you to the couch." He rattled off the number of paces from the door. "The bathroom is thirty paces to the left."

"Don't tell me you've memorized the layout of your apartment." She really wanted to see his face. Chances are, the expression would have been a cross between amused and apprehensive.

"Not really. I just remember where I left everything this morning." :Which reminds me, those files. I put them on my desk. I'll work on them–:

"You aren't working on anything, Agent Dean," Freya said sternly.

:Telepaths!: "I'll go crazy if I don't get some work done."

"Hello? Brendan? It's your day off! Sleep in, goodness sakes! Do a crossword, go for a walk, do something that's not work."

:Sleep in? I'm lucky if I get an hour...: "Fine. I'll just... Well, I haven't done a crossword in a while."

Freya reached out with her hand in his direction. "Sit down. Even though I can't see you, you're making me nervous." The couch shifted slightly under his weight. "Not just a crossword. The crossword."

Brendan remembered the last time he did a New York Times crossword. Twenty-three minutes was his record time. He sighed and took another drink.

The telepath stopped listening to his thoughts when they became a flurry of words and pictures. "Jeez, Brendan! Could ya crank it down a notch? No wonder you can't sleep."

Almost immediately, his thoughts stilled. "What?" He had used her voice like a tether, drawing his mind out of the tizzy. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." :It's so hot in here!:

At that, Freya rose. "Well, I'm gonna go. You should drink another one of those, and keep hydrated, okay?" She reached out and touched his spiky head. His hair was plastered to his scalp, save the spikes on the top of his head. "You feelin' all right?" She tried not to sound too concerned; Brendan would flee to the dark recesses of his mind when people got too close.

"I'm fine, just hot. Think I'll take a quick shower and go to bed." :Don't leave. Ah, dammit!:

Freya smiled at his slip. "Tell ya what. Mister Brodsky sent me home with a pastrami sandwich and fruit salad for you. Apparently, Sophia caught sight of you yesterday. So in order to avoid trouble, mily moy, Lev said to eat all of it."

A slight chuckle came from below. "Only if you'll join me." :I'm just feeling a bit uneasy right now. Be fine soon.:

"Promise?"

"I'm just a little jittery. I dunno. A little on edge I guess." :Thanks.:

Freya dropped down next to him again. "Well, I'm starving. Let's eat Sophia's famous fruit salad before it gets warm."

An hour later, they sat with their feet on the table. Brendan had found a candle, and they watched it burn playing games that didn't require a board. Right now, they were guessing movie lines.

"Wait, wait! I've got one. 'People? I ain't people!'"

"First of all, Agent Dean. I find it disturbing you can mimic Jean Hagen's voice so well. Second... Singin' in the Rain? You don't strike me as a musicals type."

He laughed genuinely. "My mother's favorite movie. I can't even say for sure how many times I've seen it." Sighing wistfully, Brendan looked at her. "And how do you know it was Singin' in the Rain?"

"Why? Just because I was locked away in a loony bin does not mean we didn't have fine movie choices. That one was a favorite.

:I didn't mean it like that–:

Freya held up a hand. "Stop stalling, Brendan. You have yet to guess one of mine."

Brendan laughed again. "I was a Savage Steve Holland fan, okay? Not John Hughes. Don't mock me–"

The lamp next to them suddenly turned on. The blackout was over. Looking at each other, Brendan smiled. He reached over and turned off the light. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Better Off Dead? Classic!"

"'Two dollars! I want my two dollars!'"

Mrs. Mankin thought about reporting the loud laughter spilling from the open window next door. At least the poor boy had company. And a girl to boot.

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The End!