The squeaking wheels of the janitor's cart rolling down the nearly vacant hallway grab Alex's attention as he shoves the last few fries down his throat.

"Good morning," says the forty-something year old man with his head down. The sleeves of his uniform rolled halfway up, stopping just shy of the scattered pinhole-like scars on his forearm. The janitor gently tugs downward on his sleeves, trying to hide the regrets of his past as he continues down the hallway, taking a left and disappearing behind the closing elevator doors.

"Morning," Clemmons responds, taking a few quick steps to get in front of Alex.

"That guy was weird, huh?" Alex asks, while trying to trip Clemmons.

"Just a tad," he responds, throwing his palm against the wall to catch his balance.

Alex opens the door to his mother's room. She's lying so very still, so peaceful. The tubes and wires weaving around her body like snakes, each connecting and biting on a different part of her skin. She looks so helpless, so emotionless.

"They must have moved her out of recovery while we were gone," Clemmons says, as the door slowly swings shut behind him.

"I wonder what she's dreaming about," Alex wonders. He grabs his mother's hand and squeezes. "I love you, Mom."

"Probably dreaming about you, and your father Nate. I know she really love..."

Clemmons stops abruptly. He quickly slides his way next to Blake's bed, swiping a single rose from her nightstand.

"Mistakes were made. I'm sorry.

Love, J"

inscribed in black pen on a small, yellow-tainted piece of notebook paper, laying underneath the crimson flower.

"What is that?" Alex asks. "Who put that there?"

"STAY HERE!" Clemmons darts across the room, throwing the door open as he races down the hall.

"NURSE?! ANYBODY?! HELLO?!" He shouts. His voice echoes, bouncing off the walls. The baritone rasp orders the attention of nearby patients and staff.

"Sir? What is it?"

"What's going on?"

Several voices colliding in the chaos, their curiosity flooding through their tones. A few nurses approach with concerned looks on their faces. The same nurse from earlier places her hand on the base of Clemmons' shoulder.

"Sir? What's going on? Is Mrs. McLaren okay?" her previously contagious smile, now stolen by fear and confusion.

"Has anyone else been here to see her?" Clemmons asks with a stern grimace. "We found this laying on the table beside her bed."

The nurse slowly grabs the wrinkled paper and silently reads the note to herself.

"The only people in her room, have been you and the boy, and staff members," she responds, handing the paper back to Clemmons. "We've been prepping for a shift change so maintenance has been making rounds, cleaning rooms and taking out the trash. They just finished up right before you got back. You sure Blake's son didn't put it there?"

Clemmons crumples the paper in his hand and stares down the hall, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

"No, the boy didn't leave a rose on his dying mother's bedside with a note that says "Love, J! His name is Alex and he's just as confused as I am."

"Who's Jay?" the nurse asks, confused.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Clemmons snaps at the nurse. "But someone has been in that room, and I need to know WHO."

"Just the staff. Do I need to call security for you?"

Angry, Clemmons takes a few more deep breaths as he looks around the hospital.

"No," he responds, just before sprinting down the hallway toward the elevators.

Alex watches from the doorway to Blake's room, shaking. The high-pitched beeps from the machines in her room fade out as Alex flashes back to the janitor they passed on the way back.

The elevator doors open, and Clemmons frantically searches every room, closet and on-call room he sees. No sign of the mysterious, middle aged man from before. Door after door, he opens them, quickly panning each one, just to repeat the process over again on the next floor. He finds his way to the stairs and heads down, skipping three steps at a time with his long strides.

Floor Five.

Floor Four.

Floor Three. He opens the tan colored door to the neurology wing and starts his determined, hapless search again. Clemmons stops at another janitor's closet, an exact replica of the seven he tried before.

The door's locked. He jiggles the handle, trying to force it open. Looking around for a moment, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he waits for a doctor, talking on the phone, to pass. Clemmons takes a few steps back, kneels down, and silently charges the wooden door, just a few inches to the right of the deadbolt.

The door whips open a few inches before pushing back toward Clemmons. He pops his head around the edge and sees a man, stripped down to his boxers, slumped against the door.

Clemmons slowly pushes the door open just enough to let himself inside the closet.

"Help! We need some help in here!" Clemmons demands, leaning over to check the pulse of the unconscious man.

Two nurses and a doctor quickly enter the enclosed room, shuffling their way passed brooms and cleaning supplies.

"He's still alive. Someone knocked him out with this," Clemmons pulls a syringe from the man's bruised, swollen neck and stands up to leave the room.

"We need a crash cart over here, now!" one of the nurses instructs as Clemmons makes his way down the stairs, continuing his vindictive search.

The peach colored sky is reflecting off the thin blanket of ice cast across the parking lot from an early morning shower, the occasional raindrop still sprinkling down onto Clemmons arms. He pans the area with eyes, scanning the hundreds of vehicles scattered across the parking lot. Nothing.

Struggling to pull out his cellphone to call Alex, it slips from his hand. Just as he bends over to pick it up, he notices a shimmer of metal on the ground, caught on a stick poking up from the remains of a dying bush.

It's an ID Badge. "Maintenance Staff" printed across the top in red letters. The picture, resembling the man he found in the vacant closet upstairs. Clemmons stands up, flipping the badge over, he looks around the parking lot once more, slides the badge into his pocket, and dials Alex on his phone.

---

Grunts and moans fill the room. The pungent smell of rusted metal and stale wood fills his nose. The beam of his flashlight muffled by the dirt floating around him, kicked up by the force of his body hitting the ground. Parrish comes to his feet. Crouched, he pans the dark, damp room.

"We're coming down sir! Are you alright?" asks Garrett, as he slings his rope down the narrow hole.

"Yeah, I'm find. Just a couple bruises. Nothing I haven't got from your mom before Garrett." Parrish jokes.

The echoes of laughter from the team above him force a quick laugh from Parrish.

One by one, the tactical dressed soldiers make their way down the hole. Derrick Tomley is the last one down. Choking on dust, he folds his arm across his nose, using his jacket to filter the musty air.

"Nunez, I need you to stay up top and keep an eye on things. Make sure we don't get any unwanted company." Tomley demands, removing the radio away from his mouth.

"Which way Boss?" Garrett asks, looking at Tomley and Parrish for direction.

Each man turns on his flashlight, quickly panning the room for some insight on where to go next.

"Garrett, Michaels, Turner, you're with me," Parrish commands. "Menendez, Walsh, you're with Tomley."

The two small teams split up. Parrish guides his men to the left, while Tomley orders his down a corridor to the right.

"I guess this used to be an old mining shaft. That is, until the government bought it to use for their top secret experiments." Michaels exclaims while knocking down a cobweb with the barrel of his gun. "What exactly is it that we're looking for anyway?" he continues.

"I'm not sure," Parrish responds. "But I'm sure we'll know as soon as we see it."

"I bet we aren't going to find shit except old mining equipment, and actual shit, from animals." Michaels jokes.

Turner lets out a sarcastic laugh.

"What? You don't think there are animals down here? Trying to stay warm from that shitshow of a storm outside?" Michaels snaps back with an attitude.

"Maybe. But I doubt they could survive down here. I think we're the only living things that's been down here for quite a while." Turner responds, picking up the skeleton of a rat-like creature, immediately tossing it against the dirt packed wall, the bones clang together like an out of tune xylophone.