You extend your hand to meet his, when you find yourself looking down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. Traina is at the other end. You shit in your pants.

 Then you hear a familiar voice singing in the background. At first, the song is impossible to make out, but then you hear "Happy birthday, Mr. President." Who's voice is that?

 Before you ponder that question for too long, the shotgun comes into view again. You decide on a change of plans. Shaking, you walk down the front steps. You look at the car parked in front of Traina's house on the way out. It's the Lexus.

 Instantly the voice singing "Happy birthday, Mr. President," the car, and your former-potential-significant-other, all click.

 You look back mournfully over your shoulder. You see the lone, dark figure of Traina standing in his doorway, with a hideous white light pouring through the doorway behind him. A smile cracks across his face. It's odd, but for once he looks genuinely happy. You hear him utter one word-- "Checkmate"-- and then a stream of maniacal laughter.