South Ashfield Heights looked absolutely normal from the outside. There was no sign of the blood and the rust and the monsters...and no Walter. Eileen felt a little deflated. What had she been expecting...a bloody, rusty, gore-covered shell? Maybe.

Normal, that is, except for the mob of reporters milling around the front door. As Henry pulled into the lot, they ran toward the truck and surrounded it like a swarm of bees.

"There they are!"

"Eileen! Over here!"

"Were you really going to be one of Sullivan's sacrifices?"

"Are the numbers still on your back? Can we see them?"

She shrank toward Henry, who put an arm around her and pulled her forward.

"Let us through, please," he said loudly, pushing them both through the crowd.

"Henry! What was it like, that other dimension or whatever it was?"

"All that time, you really didn't know his body was behind the wall?"

"Tell us about the monsters!"

He ignored them, and they made it to the door.

...And it looks just as normal from the inside, she thought. She stopped short of the stairs. Henry nearly ran into her from behind.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just that..."

"I know," he said. "It's weird."

She nodded.

"Miss Galvin? Mr. Townshend?"

A tall man in a long, dark coat was approaching. Eileen shrank back.

"It's OK," Henry whispered. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Ah. Sorry," the man said, and removed his coat. "Henry told us all about him...I should have remembered." He extended his hand. "I'm Detective John Orosco. I just have a few questions for you."

"Is this really necessary?" Henry asked. "Eileen's been through a lot. We just want to get our things and get out of this place."

"I understand, and I'm sorry, but it is necessary," the detective replied. He smiled at Eileen. "Henry has spent the last few hours telling us what happened to you two and to the rest of Walter's victims. We just need to hear a few things from you, and then you're both free to go."

"It's OK, Henry," she said. "He's got to do his job."

Henry turned to her and nodded. "Detective, I'd like to stay with her, if that's allowed."

"That's fine, Mr. Townshend."

He led them down the hall to Frank Sunderland's apartment. They sat in chairs in the super's front room. A slight hint of the stench from the old box with its grotesque contents still lingered, Eileen thought...or was it her imagination?

She felt as if she couldn't trust her own senses any more.

"Do you need anything, Miss Galvin?" Detective Orosco asked, nodding toward a younger officer standing at the door.

"No, I'm fine," Eileen replied. "I'd just like to get this over with, if that's OK."

"OK. Let's start at the beginning."

"Can I ask you something first?"

"Of course, Miss Galvin."

"Call me Eileen."

Detective Orosco smiled. "All right, Eileen."

"All of this...this must sound pretty crazy to you," she said. "The monsters, the ghosts, the weird holes...but, you're acting like this is just some robbery or something." She leaned back in her chair, and looked at the detective critically. "I want you to know that we're telling the truth. I don't know if you believe it, but it's really what happened."

"Don't worry, Eileen," he replied. "I actually do believe what I'm hearing."

"Pardon my asking...but why? It must sound pretty farfetched."

Detective Orosco smiled reassuringly. "That's why I'm here. They call me in when weird things happen, and I get called a lot, especially to...other towns around here." It was his turn to sit back in his chair. "I have a personal interest in the paranormal. Years ago, my father died and my sister ran away. We never saw her again. Nobody ever found out what happened to her. But we found out where she'd gone...strange things happen there, Eileen, very strange things. They're undeniable. What Henry has told us agrees with other information we have about the Sullivan case and other related events, so, strange or not, things fit in. That's why we want to talk to you, to fill in a few holes."

Eileen nodded. "Thanks. I had to ask."

"No problem. Are you ready to start?"

"Yes."

"OK. When did you first suspect something was wrong with Room 302?"

Eileen took a breath, then began. "I hadn't seen Henry for a few days, but I didn't think that something was seriously wrong until I was walking down the hallway yesterday."

"What aroused your suspicions?"

"I had picked up a few things from the grocery store before getting ready for a party, and I dropped the bag in the hallway outside Room 302. As I was cleaning up the mess, I passed by Henry's door and heard some strange noises..."

She glanced at Henry, who was staring at her intently...protectively. He wants to make sure I'm alright, she realized. It's going to be OK.

"Eileen?"

Eileen turned back to the detective. "Sorry," she said. She sat up in her chair. "I asked Frank Sunderland about Room 302, and he told me the strangest things..."

Half an hour later, Henry and Eileen walked up the stairs to the third floor.

"Thank God that's over," she said, as they walked down the silent hallway. They had passed police on their way up, but none were in their hallway just then. "I didn't expect them to believe me, but Detective Orosco seems to."

"I doubt that they're going to come up with a better explanation," he replied.

Eileen unlocked the door to her apartment, and they entered it. The dark smears of her blood were still on the floor and walls, and she could see footsteps both large and small through it. The police...the EMTs...Henry's? Walter's? Little Walter's? So much had happened in her room, a lifetime ago...

Suddenly, she felt tired. Her head swam, and she wobbled. Henry steered her toward a chair by the window, and cleared a small package from it before helping her into it. He opened the window, and a fresh afternoon breeze blew in.

"Are you OK? Do you need to lie down?"

"No. I'll be fine. Thanks."

"I have to go get those boxes," Henry said. "Are you OK for a moment?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I'll go get started."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just want to get out of here." She stood up, walked back to her bedroom, pulled her suitcase out from under the bed, and started packing her clothes.

A few hours later, her things were packed and in the back of Henry's truck. They stood in Eileen's apartment as she looked around one last time.

"Too bad," she said. "I liked it here. At least, until yesterday."

They exited the apartment, then walked next door.

Henry showed her in, and her eyes grew very wide.

"No wonder you couldn't get out," she said, as her fingers traced the chains hanging loose just inside the door. "If only we had heard you..."

"I don't think you could have," he said. "Walter made sure of that."

She walked further into the room. The apartment was bare. Henry wasn't kidding, she thought...his stack of boxes seemed very small. Several pictures in frames leaned against the stack. She turned to look down the hallway.

"You don't want to go in there," he said, but she was already striding down the hall. She bent to enter the hole. He moved quickly to her side and caught her arm.

She started and hit her head against the top of the hole. "Ow!"

"Sorry."

Eileen stood back up and rubbed her head. "What was that for?"

Henry's look was serious. "Walter...he's in there. Or he was...I don't know if he is now."

At that moment, the smell from the room reached her nostrils. She gagged.

"Ugh...," she said, looking at him questioningly. He nodded.

"Well, I'm going in anyway. He put us through enough...I want to see the bastard's face. His real face."

Henry followed her through the hole.

"He's back."

"Dead, at least. What the hell..."

"I'll tell you about it later."

"Thanks."

They left the little room. Henry opened the bathroom door. Eileen put her head in.

"Is that the hole?"

"Yeah."

He was silent for a beat. When he spoke, his voice was low.

"The first one. Before I found you in the hospital, I went through all those places and saw more of his...sacraments...die. After I got back the last time, the hole was blocked up."

Henry opened the door to his bedroom and Eileen followed him in. The bed was stripped and the walls were bare.

"When I came back through the holes, I woke up here. At first, after...I went through the subway, I thought it was all just a really bad dream...but then I heard the ambulance sirens and realized it wasn't..." He took a short, ragged breath. "Each one...I saw them die...and I woke up here..."

He glanced around the room with a dazed look. She put her hand on his shoulder. He breathed deeply and met her gaze, and she saw the struggle for control in his eyes as he turned to the door.

They went back down the hallway.

"What the..." she said, looking at the hole in the wall by his kitchen.

"Uh, nothing," he said, and opened the door to the laundry room.

"This is the second hole," he said. "When I left you, I came back through this. Those four placards, there...I found one in each place I went the first time through, one for each time he killed somebody. They opened it. I could hear sobbing and crying through the hole...sometimes I thought it might be you."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"I'm so sorry," she finally said.

"It's OK," he said.

Time passed.

"I see what you meant about the laundry," she said. "Shot to hell."

"Yeah," he said. "My lucky shirt was in that load."

"Guess you'll need a new lucky shirt."

He smiled his small smile at her. "You're wearing it."