She didn't even know why she was bothering. All she knew was that she was afraid, more afraid than she had been in a very long time.

Ever since the dreams had started, Cheryl had found herself feeling more and more insecure. Having to remember what had happened to her, all the pain and hurt she had gone through as a teenager, was coming back to haunt her now. She'd honestly believed that it was over, that she'd managed to break free and start afresh. But now she knew better, especially after that phone call. It was still on Cheryl's mind, especially the way the voice had been so sharp, so firm. "South Ashfield Heights," it had said. What exactly did that mean? All Cheryl knew was that it had something to do with the town of Ashfield, specifically the south area, and that was why she was going there. She needed to settle this once and for all. If this was real, or if someone was playing a joke on her, then she needed to know about it. She sincerely hoped it was the latter, however.

Also, ever since the call, she'd been feeling even more insecure than usual. It was always like someone was watching her every move or something like that. Cheryl wondered if she was going crazy, or if she was right. Either way, she was going to find out. Her life, the life she had fought so hard to rebuild, was falling apart right in front of her.

And Scott still hadn't called.

Infact, Cheryl hadn't seen him since their argument. But that had been three days ago. Now that she thought about it, Cheryl wondered if the strange phone call could be connected with his disappearance. The thought scared her more than anything. If something had happened to him.. oh God, she didn't even want to think about that.

It had been a long drive. Cheryl had debated taking the subway, but with everything that was happening she guessed she just felt safer driving to Ashfield herself. Now that she was here, she was admittedly scared. If anything had happened to Scott, then would never be able to forgive herself. That she'd gotten him mixed up in all of this was unforgivable. He didn't even deserve to be a part of this mess.

Confused as to where she was supposed to go next, Cheryl spotted someone on the sidewalk and pulled over beside them. "Excuse me!" she called, and the young man turned and grinned stupidly at her.

"What's up, babe?" he asked, walking over to her.

Cheryl sighed impatiently, "Listen, I'm trying to find South Ashfield Heights. What is it, exactly? Some kind of company?"

The boy fell quiet. "Uh, sorry, but I.."

Cheryl was about to say thanks anyway and leave, but then the boy clicked his fingers as if she'd suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right! You mean that old apartment building, right?"

"Uh, I guess so," Cheryl replied to this.

The kid shrugged, "Well, that place got knocked down a few years back. Somethin' funny happened there, or somethin'.. anyway, someone ended up dead, and that's all I know."

Cheryl frowned. So someone had died there. Great, that made her feel a lot more positive.

"Thanks," she said gratefully to him, and then she went on her way again. So the place, the apartment building, had been knocked down. If that was so, then why had the voice specifically said 'South Ashfield Heights'? It could have just told her to go to South Ashfield. But why that apartment building? If something bad had happened there that had resulted in someone's death, then what did it have to do with her?

Nevertheless, she was going to have to try and find out what had gone on there. Cheryl made a right at the end of the road. She could feel her eyelids drooping from lack of sleep. It was true, she hadn't been getting a lot of sleep since the dreams had started, but that was nothing compared to the amount of sleep she was getting now. For the last few days since Scott's disappearance, Cheryl had only been getting two to four hours of sleep a night. Before the dreams had started to occur, she would sometimes sleep for up to twelve hours on her days off. Scott would often playfully say that she was lazy, and Cheryl would just laugh and roll her eyes at him.

But he wasn't here now. Cheryl's grip tightened on the steering wheel as she carried on down the road. She missed him so much, and yet she knew that something was wrong, that he would surely have called her to at least tell her that he was leaving her. He wouldn't have just left without a word. It wasn't like him, and that was what was worrying Cheryl so much.

Though her thoughts didn't stray from Scott, Cheryl suddenly caught sight of a building site. Her eyes narrowed as she passed by, and the thought suddenly occurred to her: Maybe this was once South Ashfield Heights?

Without hesitation, Cheryl's foot slammed onto the break and the car came to a sudden halt. "Not the greatest driver in the world.." she muttered to herself, knowing how true that was. After opening the car door, Cheryl stepped out into the blinding sunlight. It was a nice day, yet she could still feel a chilly breeze, and she shuddered.

"Need some help, lady?"

Cheryl was about to turn and offer a retort to whomever had spoken, but to her surprise she saw that it was just one of the builders, presumably on his lunch break. A tall, dark and muscular young man was striding towards her. Though Cheryl knew she was meant to be concentrating on the task at hand, a part of her couldn't help but stare as he walked over to her. She finally came to her senses.

"Maybe," she said, approaching him, "I was just wondering whether this place used to be an apartment building? Called South Ashfield Heights?"

"Sure did," the man said, "But that was a couple o' years ago now. Just only been decided that it was gonna be transformed into a casino."

"A casino?" Cheryl repeated sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

The man shrugged, "Don't ask me about it. All I know is its bein' made into a casino. We only just started work here a couple of weeks ago, anyway."

"So they demolished it, and then nothing else was built here for two whole years?" Cheryl asked incredulously, wondering how that was possible. It was a large lot; Cheryl would have thought that someone would have done something with it before now. Then she remembered what that kid had said. "Did someone die here? In the apartment building, I mean."

At her words, the man fell silent for a moment. "Yeah, a woman. Don't know her name, though. See, there was some weird shit goin' on in that apartment building. Some guy went missin' six months prior to the woman's death, but they never found the poor guy. They still think their deaths were connected or somethin'."

"Connected?" Cheryl started, "but what if the man isn't dead?"

The man scoffed at this, "Yeah, right. He ain't been seen by anyone in years. I think it's safe ta' assume that he's gone, don't you?"

Though he was probably right, something about the entire thing bugged Cheryl. By the sounds of it, something strange had happened here. Now Cheryl understood why whoever had been on the phone had told her to come here. Maybe what had happened had something to do with her?

"Did you know anyone in the building?" Cheryl inquired, extremely curious now, "Like, anyone that worked there?"

The man suddenly looked suspicious. "You're not some reporter, are ya?"

"No way," Cheryl said, "So, do you?"

He looked like he was trying to remember. "Well, a friend o' mine used to live there, but only for a couple o' months. Still, I do remember this one guy. I'd see 'im sometimes when I came to see Vinny. He was a real weirdo, kept hangin' around the ground floor, always lookin' like he was up to somethin'. Vin was in 108, but this guy.. I'd always seem him hangin' around near Vin's room. At first, I thought nothin' of it, but after I came over a few more times I started gettin' suspicious, y'know? Anyways, this guy seemed like a real nut job. I think he was stalkin' this woman who lived just down the hall from Vin. Dunno much else about him, but all I know is that he was a real suspicious character." He paused, and added: "Mike. I think his name was Mike.."

The man trailed off, looking thoughtful. Cheryl nodded, "Mike? So, you don't know his last name, or where I can find him?"

To her disappointment, the man shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Like I said, it was years ago, an' I only saw him about four or five times. You could try lookin' up the super, though. I haven't heard about him for a long while, but it's worth a shot. His name is Frank Sunderland."

Cheryl rolled her eyes. Why couldn't he have just told her that before, instead of spinning her a story about some weirdo who had lived in the apartment building? Well, at least he'd given her a name. Frank Sunderland.

"D'you know where he lives?" she asked, and to her surprise the builder appeared to know something.

"No," he said, and Cheryl's heart sank, "but I know someone who does. His sister, Lydia. She lives uptown on Brooklyn Street, just north of St. Jerome's Hospital. Uh.. it was number five, I think."

Cheryl nodded, extremely grateful for this, "Thank you so much. You've been a great help, believe me."

"No problem," the man said casually, "If you uh, need anymore info, you know where to find me. I'm Pete, by the way."

Cheryl felt herself blush as he gave her a winning smile. Then she wanted to kick herself for doing this. Scott was still missing, and she needed to find him. "Thanks, Pete," Cheryl said quickly, and left without another word.

Well, at least she had a lead. Cheryl walked back to her car, and stole a glance at Pete as she went to open the door. Then, she got inside, and with some hesitation made her way over to Brooklyn Street.

000

It wasn't a long drive, and it didn't take Cheryl long to find the right house. As she approached the front door, extending her arm to knock, she stopped, suddenly afraid. That feeling was back again, the one that made her feel like every move she made was being observed by some unseen force. She was still thinking about the call, and also about Scott, wishing that he would at least contact her. She'd tried to deny that his disappearance had something to do with what was happening, but the more she did this the more she began to realise that maybe it did after all. The thought of him getting hurt scared her immensely, but she had to keep focused.

Trying to shake the feeling off, she rapped three times on the door and waited for an answer. Something in the window caught her eye, but as her eyes snapped across to see what it was, the door opened suddenly.

A thin old woman stood before her. She looked terrible, and that was an understatement. She was pale and tired looking, and Cheryl guessed that she was either a junkie or alcoholic, or even both, judging from her features. Cheryl recounted her days at school when she'd often gone to lectures with a junkie called Jasper Gein, who had always shown up to lectures looking tired and pale. He'd always sat there, unable to concentrate, shaking violently like he couldn't wait to have his next fix. Cheryl had actually been afraid of him and seeing him like that every day had been enough to put her off drink and drugs for life.

But this woman here, she was something else. She actually looked worse than Jasper. She might have been younger than she looked, but it was hard to tell. Her hair was grey and greasy, and there was a strong stench of smoke that made Cheryl's head swim.

"What do you want?" she barked, and Cheryl could smell the strong stench of alcohol on her breath. "Who are you?"

"I need to talk to you," Cheryl said, taking a step back, "My name is Cheryl Mason. Are you Lydia Sunderland?"

Lydia's nose twitched. "I don't know you. Should I?"

"No," Cheryl said quickly, "I was told that you lived here and.. I need to ask you some questions about your brother, Frank Sunderland."

Upon the mention of Frank, Lydia's eyes widened and she suddenly ushered Cheryl into the house, slamming the door behind them. She immediately turned on Cheryl. "What is it that you want? Why do you come here asking me about Frank?"

"It's about South Ashfield Heights," Cheryl started, feeling exasperated. She was beginning to get the feeling that she wasn't going to get a lot of information out of this old woman. "Your brother was the superintendent there, right?"

Lydia was silent for a moment, and then she nodded, "Yes, that's true. The day they knocked that place down was the day that Frank.." she heaved a sigh and led Cheryl into the next room, "Come on, sit down. This better be important, though. It is important, right?"

"Yes, yes," Cheryl said quickly, slightly afraid, "Miss Sunderland, d'you know why they knocked down South Ashfield Heights?"

Lydia snorted, "Yes, I do. And it wasn't a moment too soon, if you ask me. That place.. I just can't believe Frank continued to live and work there, even after everything that happened. He just refused to leave. That place.. it was his home. He was devastated when they forced him out."

"What happened?" Cheryl asked, and Lydia shuddered.

"There was something wrong with that apartment building," she said in a hushed tone, "Even today, nobody can fathom how it happened. I'm still not sure myself, but I know it had something to do with a killing spree.."

"Killing spree?" Cheryl croaked, suddenly wishing she was somewhere else.

"Yeah," Lydia muttered, "It all started in the summer of '94. I can still remember seeing that first news bulletin.. apparently not only killed the guy, but had also carved numbers into his chest.."

Cheryl was not enjoying this conversation, but she still had to listen. "Did they ever find..?" she started, and was cut off by Lydia.

"Well, not at first," she said, "it took them a while to finally catch up with him. Walter Sullivan was his name. He went to prison of course, but then.." she sighed, "then he killed himself. They all thought it was over, but.."

Cheryl just stared. "But it wasn't?" she said hoarsely, after a long pause.

"It was far from over," Lydia said softly, "For a few years, nothing happened. Then, more bodies started turning up. Everyone assumed it was some idiot copycat, but I know the truth. I saw him."

"You saw him?" Cheryl started apprehensively, "You mean.. he wasn't really dead?"

Lydia laughed, "Nobody knows. Maybe he is dead, and maybe they were all killed by a ghost or something. It's not a logical explanation, but it's the only explanation that anyone has for what's happened right now."

Hearing this made Cheryl's blood run cold. The call.. it had definitely been a man's voice, that was for sure. But no.. it couldn't be. He couldn't have led her here, could he? But why? What did she have to do with any of this?

The question is, what does Alessa have to do with any of this?

"I heard that someone died at South Ashfield Heights," Cheryl said finally, though she couldn't stop thinking about Walter Sullivan. What if he was out there somewhere? What if he was waiting for her?

Lydia nodded affirmative, "That's true. A woman, by the name of Eileen Galvin. Frank was quite upset by her death. I met her once, too. Nice girl." She glanced absently around the room, "I don't know why you've come here to inquire about that place, but I've told you everything I know."

"Okay," Cheryl nodded, "What about Frank? Where can I find him?"

Lydia just laughed again. "Frank? He's been dead a year on Friday. Couldn't deal with losing his business."

The fact that Lydia said this with little compassion made Cheryl all the more eager to leave. "Well.. thank you. I mean, thanks for helping me out. I'll go now."

"You're welcome," Lydia said darkly, "but I don't know why a young girl like you would want to know anything about Walter Sullivan?"

Cheryl stopped trying to force a smile and grimaced at the other woman. "Thanks for your time, Miss Sunderland." She then left without another word, and the other woman didn't even show her to the door. Nevertheless, it felt good to be out of there, and yet Cheryl knew more than she had when she'd first arrived there.

"That's for sure," she said to herself, wondering what could possibly connect her to the killer named Walter Sullivan.