Walter glanced up the long flight of stairs that led up to the third floor of the somewhat dilapidated apartment. His sleeping bag slung around his shoulder and free hand thrust into his blue trench coat pocket, he sighed and started the trek. As he advanced, part of him wished the elevator worked; he had to walk everywhere else and, while it kept him in shape, his legs hurt from the gradual mean of transportation. He realized he hated being broke.

"I guess it's worth it in the long run," He murmured to himself as he walked up the stairs at a leisurely pace, his strong legs keeping a steady tempo. "I mean, it's been a while since I've checked up on Mother," He glanced up as he said this, wondering what she was doing. Last time he visited her, which was over a month ago, some guy named Joseph was living there. That guy was nosy, Walter thought.

Always in everyone's business… Then again, he kinda had a right to be. He was a reporter, after all, why wouldn't he be able to be nosy?

"It's none of his business. He can get involved in everyone else's, but not mine," Walter said aloud somewhat defensively. His hands balled into tight fists slowly as he made his way up the long flight of rusty stairs. He growled quietly at the thought of some random guy spending more time with his own Mother than Walter himself. "What right does he have to do anything he does? No one ever runs these things by me," Walter said, sounding as if he had rights. Walter knew he didn't; he didn't live in the apartment, therefore, he couldn't complain about the inhabitants of the place. That frustrated Walter, causing him to almost spring up the stairs in anticipation. He almost dropped his sleeping bag, but held it tighter as he leapt up the stairs two or three at a time.

He reached his designated floor and panted slightly. He cleared his brow of sweat that plastered his dirty blond hair to his face as he started forward slowly. He passed by each door slowly, gazing them over with dull green eyes. 309, 308... He knew each one was either empty or housing a man, a woman, a couple, a family… A warming place to feel safe and secure. Walter furrowed his brow; why could everyone else feel this way except for him? His own Mother never talked to him and never opened up to him. Literally. And Walter knew why.

It's that Joseph. He's taking my Mother away from me.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Walter replied aloud as he continued down the long and rather narrow hallway. 306...

We should fix that.

303...

We should fix that.

302. Walter stopped just outside the off-white apartment door, head hung and glancing down at the ground. "How? How can I take care of him?" He leaned against the door of room 302 gently, making sure the door didn't move and acknowledge his arrival. He especially hoped not to make any noise to disturb the resident of room 207, a grouchy old man by the name of Richard Braintree. For some reason, whenever Walter visited, Richard would be near.

Richard Braintree had been living in the complex as long as Walter's been around. Every time Walter would take the taxing trip to visit Mother, the trip that took several hours, the trip that proved his faithfulness to room 302, this Richard guy would be in the apartment somewhere nearby, shouting at Walter. He would advance on the seven-year-old, hitting him, kicking him, spitting in his face. Walter looked at his feet from insecurity at the simple thought. However, he shook his head and regained his "doing business" stance. He was older now, probably taller than Richard. If Richard bothered him, Walter could defend himself.

"Yeah, right," Walter murmured out of the corner of his mouth. He stood outside in the warm hall, leaning on the door to Room 302, the door to Mother. He sighed softly, thinking about what to do next. He could knock, knocking was the most respectful way to do things. Walter was tired of being respectful. He could bang on the door. Then he'd upset Richard. That was a no. He was tired of Richard, too. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the door in frustration. He instead changed his stance to leaning against the door with his back. Slowly, feeling his coat catch on minor juts in the otherwise smooth wood, he sank to the floor. He took a familiar friend out of his pocket, the doll Eileen gave him so many years ago. He ran rough, callous fingers through the soft brown hair, his eyes glancing over the detailed features fondly. He looked up and over at the door that led to Room 303. A thought tugging at the corner of his mind knew that Eileen lived on the other side of that very room. He didn't know if she was home or not, but was too uneasy to check. He doubted she remembered him, though he remembered her all too well.

Unlike him, who seemed to get grimier and dirtier as he aged, she grew beautifully. Her green eyes, when they seemed like they couldn't get any larger or more graceful, fitted her heart-shaped face and her short brown hair fell in dark caramel strands. She was still shorter than him, or at least that's what he could tell from afar. Curves graced her body and everything she wore, she wore with a unique style that no one else could seem to imitate. Much better than that Cynthia girl, anyway. Walter frowned at thinking of her, remembering what she said to him that fateful and rather disappointing day. He clutched the doll tightly as he thought of the things she said to him. He didn't wonder where she went; he knew. She was still around here somewhere, lurking at the train station when she was bored or felt like criticizing everyone who happened to pass her.

He didn't have much time to think when he heard a door open slowly, creaking on old hinges. Walter jumped and matted himself against the wall, breathing increasing slightly. His dull green eyes darted around quickly, trying to determine what door opened. It wasn't the one he was leaning against, nor was it Richard's… Maybe it was-

"Who are you?" Asked a gentle, but firm voice that came from the other side of where Walter was looking. Walter's breath seemed to catch in his throat. Paralyzed, he slowly turned his head and looked up. He saw smooth skin, graceful curves that led up to a curious face. The almond-shaped green eyes looked down at Walter's frozen figure, surprise mingling with the curiosity that held her face last time the two have interacted. Eileen was standing there, peering down at him with vivid eyes while he looked up at her with petrified, rather murky green eyes. This scenario felt awfully familiar…

"I'm, er…" His voice faltered. His eyes were wide with shock and a sudden forgetfulness of everything he had felt or was feeling. "I, uh…" He stood quickly, shakily. She stood her ground, glancing up at him as he rose. He was at least a foot taller than her, but he felt so small, so inferior. He moved away from door 302 and stood in the middle of the hall awkwardly. "I'm-"

"What the hell is going on here?" Growled a rough voice from down the hall. Walter jumped again and looked over Eileen down the hall. Richard Braintree's head was poking out of from around the corner. Walter took a couple of steps back. "What the…" Richard breathed. Walter took a step back, never taking his eyes off Richard.

"You know him, Richard?" Eileen asked, turning her head to look at the aging man. She turned back to Walter, who was shrinking back like a dog afraid of its master.

"If he's the same kid that used to stalk this area, bothering everyone, then yeah I do," Richard replied, walking out of his room and towards Walter and Eileen. "Hey, you, punk," He addressed Walter roughly. "Your name's Walter right? The same Walter that ran around here thinking that Room 302 was your mother?" He pointed to Room 302. Eileen looked over at the door while Walter kept his eyes glued on Richard who, in turn, kept harsh eyes on Walter.

"What… Are you talking about?" Eileen turned to Richard slowly. "He thinks… What, now?"

"There was this little punk-ass who used to visit here, thinking Room 302 was his mother. Wouldn't piss off," Richard retorted, pointing to Walter as if accusing a person of a crime. Walter flinched naturally. What was he scared of? Less than five minutes ago, he was thinking how he could defend himself against him. That was before Eileen entered the picture. He didn't want to be violent in front of her, but also didn't like being bullied like this. "I used to beat the crap out of you for not going away!" Richard got louder. He seemed to be ignoring Eileen now, pushing past her not roughly, but almost going around a solid object. He took a step forward, Walter took an instinctive step back. "…If you don't get outta here, I'll beat you so hard-" He suddenly advanced, brandishing a fist dangerously. Walter didn't know quite how to react until he narrowly avoided getting slugged in the chest by Richard. He backed up quickly like a frightened horse. Richard swung again, Walter narrowly avoided again. Eileen was telling Richard to stop, but he wasn't listening. In less than ten seconds, Walter had turned and was running, his hands on his head. For good reason too, as Richard bent over in mid-run, took off one of his shoes, and chucked it at Walter, all the while shouting curses and angry remarks at him. The shoe hit the wall behind Walter as he turned and fled down the stairs, right where his head was before. Richard stopped his pursuit and huffed, bending over and catching his breath.

"What was that for, you brute?" Eileen approached Richard and smacked him on the back of the head. Richard ignored the hit and continued to recover his breath. "What harm was he doing, visiting his "mother" or no?"

"He was… Pissing me off." Richard replied heavily.

"Yeah, whatever. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He did look familiar, though…" Eileen said, looking contemplative as she stared after Walter down the hallway. "Go back to your room, old man. He's gone now; no need to beat the dead horse. Although it seemed like you've beaten that poor man more than you should've." Saying her last words to Richard, she turned and started to go back into her room when she saw something on the ground. She stopped and glanced down. She gasped, bent over, and picked up a small doll. It had silky brown hair and a small smile that adorned the pale face. "Is this…" She had a sudden flashback of seeing the doll as she gave it to a homeless teenager in Ashfield Central Station long, long ago. "That man…" She looked up and at the place where the staircase lead, eyes wide. She considered taking it into her room, but decided to leave it just outside her door, in case he came back for it. "Richard, don't touch this doll. Okay?" She said, trusting him. She placed the doll down on the floor, leaning it against the doorway. She walked into her room and closed the door, a small smile on her face.

Walter had run over five blocks away from the apartment complex before stopping and doubling over, out of breath. Tough talk, running like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Coward.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Walter said aloud. He straightened up slowly. "I'm sorry…" He reached into his pocket, expecting to pull out the doll. He felt nothing. Gasping, he quickly glanced down into his pocket, thrusting his hands into it and felt around.

He realized with a pang of fear that he left the doll outside Room 302.