The airport taxi pulls up outside Eichen House not far from the Deputy's cruiser. A lone figure pushes open the back door stepping out of the cab and slinging a duffle bag easily over his shoulder as the car drives away. For a few moments the figure doesn't move, simply stands there letting the sounds and smells wash over him taking a deep breath in and rolling his neck stretching out the kinks from his long journey.
He can feel it in his bones, Beacon Hills, a place you never truly leave; it's more than just a place though, it's something that gets inside of you, alters your DNA and carves its name into your very foundations. The fact that he now found himself standing in the parking lot outside a secure medical facility that was the stuff of Wes Craven's wet dreams was proof enough of this.
Here we go.
As pushes the hospital doors open and steps over the threshold a piercing scream fills the air enveloping his senses, heralding his arrival like a royal fanfare. He smiles at this thought, the King returning home, and he follows the powerful path of the siren song that draws him ever closer.