Michael stood up.

He felt exhausted. He stared at the morgue's door for a while until turning around, noticing that he was back in the basement's corridor. Black plastic was gone; so were the creatures. Michael had no intentions of spending any more time in the basement, so he walked to the elevator, stepped inside and pressed the first floor button. Slowly, he made his way back to the lobby – it was dark outside, but still raining: veins of water were running across the window panes. Michael sat down on one of the brown benches and listened to the rain's humming; it was actually rather enjoyable (or at least would have been if the situation was different).

On the opposite side of the lobby, a brown-red double door was left partially open. Michael looked lazily around, wondering how long he would have to keep going. He sighed, stood up and walked past the reception – something was left on the counter, in the very same spot where Michael had picked up the key card. It was a yellow cassette with an empty label sticker. Michael didn't want to hear the contents, yet he assumed there was no other choice (for whatever reason). Therefore, he took out the player and set the cartridge inside. A dialogue appeared – it was between Beth and himself:

"...mmh? Mike?"

"Sorry...tried to be quiet."

"Can't you sleep?"

"Think I drank too much coffee."

"…"

"It's fine...I'll go for a quick walk. You just wait there...and rest that cute butt of yours."

"...Mike, are you worried?"

"Hm? About what?"

"…"

"...about her?"

"Yeah, and all of us...her, you and me. You think about this a lot, right? I know you have trouble falling asleep."

"...of course. I don't...don't know what it's like to have a family. But I want to know."

"She'll be a daddy's girl...you'll see. Once she bothers coming out."

"…"

Nothing but static anymore. Michael removed the cassette and stared at it for a while. Eventually, he returned it on the counter and walked through the door. Behind it was another corridor, which ran past the hospital's parking lot. Michael looked through the several windows along his walk, trying to spot any signs of life outside the building – there were some cars left on the lot, but nothing else.

The corridor led to a dim, descending staircase, and Michael followed. Stairs stopped at a doorway – behind it was a large open space, whose looks puzzled Michael greatly: there were red, orange and blue chairs lined in the middle, accompanied by some rectangular pillars. Walls were divided in two: their lower halves covered in blue and white tiles, while upper halves revealed plain concrete. Some vending machines were standing here and there, emitting stark, electric glow. Large ceiling lamps were turned on, providing adequate visibility (yet they couldn't do better than that – as if they were used at low power). At the very end of the hall, there was a wide ascending staircase, divided in two by a metallic railing.

On the opposite side from the doorway, the floor collapsed – Michael walked at the edge, and saw railway tracks at the bottom. From this Michael deduced, that he had arrived in a subway station – indeed, the tracks continued through the hall and disappeared in a pitch-black tunnel. On Michael's left was the opposite mouth of said tunnel, yet it was blocked by trees and other forms of vegetation– as if forest had manifested there. Small insects were circling around the plants; various colourful scents lingered in the air.

Michael inspected this phenomenon closer – there seemed to be even more trees further in the tunnel, sealing it completely. The sight surely was puzzling, yet Michael couldn't be surprised – not after what he had already seen. He turned around and started following the tracks. There was a row of cement pillars next to them, and apparently, another subway station was located on the other side. Two plastic-coated plates hanged from the ceiling, with some titles imprinted on them: Darrington Avenue and Llevellyn Street. Michael's expression became grim, as he understood the meaning of his environment.

Bulky sound emerged – Michael turned around, and saw a figure walking behind the pillars. Turned out Barber was roaming on the tracks, making his clumsy way towards Michael.

"...God, it's...you see that? I'm no biologist, but those trees shouldn't be here...I think I saw a snake."

Barber's tone was entirely different now – actually, his whole presence had become somewhat careless. He climbed on the platform, sweeping his filthy shirt – his leather vest was gone.

"What have you done?" Michael asked abruptly. Barber looked at him, seemingly wondering how to answer such question.

"After couple of days the pressure comes back...like wax filling holes, until I can't breathe. Only one way out and I'll take it. But there's time...a lot of time. All I can do now is wait."

Michael stared at the floor – Barber turned towards him.

"What about you, Michael? You too are still here, so...maybe you should ask that question from yourself."

Michael rubbed his forehead and took a couple steps around the platform. Eventually, he let out a blunt comment:

"I should kill you."

Barber kept staring at him – he sighed, but didn't react in any way Michael had expected. Long seconds passed, until he started talking:

"Hmh. You know what? I tried that once. Couldn't do it though...too scared to die. That flying sack of shit you saw? It told me to do it – more than once. Kept whispering to my ears. Sounded like...a mosquito; this high-pitched whining."

Michael took out the gun and raised it towards Barber.

"Heh. Right...so you shoot me...and then what? Will it redeem you? If you do this, it undoes something? Don't be pathetic."

Barber turned around. He stared at the opposite station.

"This...what do you think this is, Michael? I deserve to die, hm? But none of this is about what I – or you – deserve. It's about what we are."

Michael pulled the trigger; bullet entered Barber's head below his left ear. Instinctively, he placed both hands on the wound while falling on the tracks. He tasted blood right before losing consciousness – red pool formed underneath him. Michael lowered the gun and turned around without even looking at the corpse. He sat on one of the orange chairs, caressing the ring on his finger. Time kept passing, until Michael had no idea how long he had been sitting there.

Michael heard a soft voice:

"You killed him."

A young boy was standing on the platform – maybe about 10 years old. He had thick brown hair, blue T-shirt and a bit too oversized jeans. Michael and the boy stared at each other in more or less mutual confusion, until a distant yell broke the situation: a man appeared from the staircase, walking frantically towards the boy – it was Brian. He kneeled in front of the kid and started talking with strong tone:

"I told you to wait, didn't I?"

The boy looked a bit ashamed. Brian glanced at Michael – his sight and presence had regained their unnerving sharpness.

"Leo, this is Michael. He is a friend. I'll talk with him for a moment...and while I'm doing so, I want you to sit on this chair and wait for a moment. Don't go anywhere, you understand?"

The boy nodded and jumped on the bench. Brian gave him a small, colourful object – some kind of toy, it seemed. Then he walked to Michael, and took a look at the rails – he saw Barber's body, yet the sight didn't phase him too much.

"That's him..." Brian said slowly.

"What happened?" he asked. Michael decided to be blunt:

"He was...a killer. I had to shoot him."

Brian went quiet – he seemed to accept the simple explanation. Or alternatively, he just didn't really care.

"You found your boy" Michael said and looked at the kid, who was inspecting a little toy robot.

"I did...thank God for that. But I still don't know where Marcus is. You haven't seen him?"

"...no, I haven't."

"I'll find him. Then we can leave."

Brian's clothes were stained; his face contained several lacerations. It seemed he had faced some personal problems as well.

"So...did you find your wife?" Brian asked. Michael leaned against the chair's back and kept staring at the row of cement pillars.

"She is dead" Michael said.

Brian went quiet. He sat on one of the neighbouring chairs and looked at Leo, smiling faintly.

"I have met many people...who had to experience loss. And more than once, I was the one bringing the news. So if you want to talk..." Brian said. Michael took the offer:

"She killed herself."

Brian changed his position, but stayed quiet.

"I remember this station" Michael added. "We took the same train after work...we would come here and walk home."

Michael took a short pause.

"Beth actually proposed me in the train. Like it was nothing; she just asked. That's how we got married."

Brian nodded. For a long time they both remained quiet – every now and then Brian looked at Leo, making sure he was still sitting on the bench.

"I am sorry, Michael...I'll tell you what I have told to others: things will get better. You don't believe me – of course not. And even so, change can't be helped. With change, the darkest moments will eventually pass."

Michael kept caressing the ring; he didn't know what to say. Brian continued:

"When I lost my boys, I thought everything was over – that nothing would ever matter anymore. Stories don't always have a happy ending, but that depends on where you place the ending, right? Let the story continue for a bit longer, no matter what."

Brian looked at Leo again – Michael remained quiet.

"Michael, I think we have to go...we still have to find Marcus. Would you like to join us? We could all leave this place together."

Michael kept staring at the cement pillars.

"...I hope you find him" he said with lifeless tone.

"I will...so, that's about it. Maybe we meet again, sometime – in happier circumstances."

Brian stood up and walked to the boy.

"Okay, Leo. Ready to go?"

Brian and the kid walked to the staircase, soon disappearing beyond Michael's sight. He kept sitting there, wondering what to do next – chasing after dead people didn't seem worthwhile anymore. Eventually a quiet idea came to his mind: he took out the photograph found from the diner, and inspected it closer – the boy in the picture didn't have brown hair, but yellow.

Michael almost fell asleep – but not quite. He decided to walk around, just to have something to do. He approached the wide staircase, yet following Brian felt like waste of time. There was a small door crammed next to the tunnel's mouth, yet it was only for maintenance – surely it would be locked. Michael checked the handle, and to his mild surprise, the door opened. He stepped into a small storage – emphasis on small: tiny room containing nothing but a shelf filled with dusty boxes. There was an equally small doorway in the opposite wall, with narrow, rusty set of metallic stairs. They spiralled upwards; perhaps to another storage. Nevertheless, Michael got mildly interested, so he decided to take the stairs.

Turned out the spiral just kept going – Michael started feeling claustrophobic. The shaft was pitch-black; every metallic step echoed almost painfully across it. After 200 steps or so, he finally reached the end – another tiny storage with another box-filled shelf. Next to it, a small wooden door, which was left open. Michael got confused; he felt dizzy. Hadn't he been the room before? He leaned against the shelf as sharp headache appeared, only to disappear in the next moment. Michael stepped through the door, realizing he was back at the bar. Then again, he did feel like never leaving it – past events were once again blurry.

Michael turned around, realizing that there was no other doorway in the storage – the spiralling staircase was gone. In addition, night had suddenly turned into dawn: dim, faintly reddish light entered the bar through windows; it was raining outside. Michael walked in front of the closest window and stared at the pools of rain water. The two vehicles in the parking spot were covered by white tarpaulins.

Michael's phone vibrated – a short message appeared on the screen:

I found her Mike

motel room 6

love, B