Wesley picks at the armrest of his chair. He had just finished his story for Dr. Matthews. He keeps his head down so the doctor wouldn't see him trying to fight back the tears.

"What happened after that?" Dr. Matthews finally asks.

"I woke up in a hospital, I think it was a week later," Wesley says, "My parents were by my bed. My mom was in hysterics. She told me about all the surgeries that I had and how the burn on my leg had gotten infected and there had been a point where they thought they were going to have to amputate my leg."

"So did you tell them?"

"I couldn't at first, I was still very weak and the doctors told my parents that they weren't allowed to question me until I recovered."

"How did they react?"

"They were silent for a long time, but then my mom started crying and my dad looked at me with disappointment. They called the police in and I had to repeat my story to them."

"Had the police already investigated the area?"

"Yeah, they found Carla and Danny's bodies, but they never found Staci's. They wanted to know if I knew what happened. I told them that they would never find a body because the Creeper took her."

"They didn't believe you?"

"Of course not," Wesley answers, "They were the ones that told my parents it was best if they put me in the loony bin until I was ready to tell the truth."

"What did they have to say about your injuries? How did they expect you to explain those?"

"Beats me," Wesley says, "I tried to show them the marks the Creepalien's claws left on my arm, but they didn't seem to care."

Dr. Matthews appears to hesitate. "May I see them?"

Wesley meets the doctor's eyes. He doesn't move for the longest time, more out of shock of the question than anything else. Finally, he reaches for the sleeve of his hospital uniform and lifts it up slowly. He hadn't looked at any of his scars since he was brought here; every time he did, he would be tormented by even more vicious nightmares. He almost forgot what they looked like, almost. He watches Dr. Matthew's eyes as he stares at the four, long gouges in Wesley's arm. A strange flicker passes across his eyes, before he smiles sympathetically. Wesley quickly covers the mark and looks down.

Dr. Matthews sits in silence for a while before clearing his throat. "What about Staci? Do you think there was any chance she survived?"

Wesley shakes his head. "No way. She's been dead for a long time now."

Dr. Matthews starts jotting down on a pad of paper. "Tell me, Wesley," he says as he writes, "Why do you think you were targeted in the way you were? What did the 'Creepalien' see in you that made it so drawn to you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Wesley asks.

Dr. Matthews sighs and gives a shrug. "Wesley, I'm trying to help you get better. Perhaps if you thought about everything from different standpoints, you might figure out the truth."

Wesley cracks a small grin. "I knew it. You don't believe me. You're just like the others—"

"I believe you need help, and I want to be the one to help you. Think about it, why would the 'Creepalien' come after you."

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea—"

"I said I don't fucking know!" Wesley shouts.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Matthews says, calm despite Wesley's outburst, "I'm just trying to help."

"You can't help me, there's nothing anyone can do for me."

Dr. Matthews stares at Wesley intently before sighing. "Alright, I think that's enough for today, you can go back to your room now."

Wesley gets to his feet and marches out of the room, aware of the doctor scribbling away energetically on the pad.

~That night~

Maggie sits hunched over the front desk, engrossed in her paperwork, but she lifts her head when she hears the sound of approaching footsteps. She smiles kindly. Her eyes drift over to the round clock face that sits near her desk; five minutes to eight. Five minutes until visiting hours were over.

"Hello," the woman says when she approaches the desk.

"Can I help you?" Maggie asks.

"I'm looking for a boy named Wesley. Is he still here?"

"Yes he is, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to see him," the woman says.

"Cutting it kind of late for visiting hours, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry, but this was the only time I could come," the woman responds.

Maggie smiles gently. "He's not really taking visitors right now."

"Please, I'm a family friend."

Maggie squints. "What's your name?"

"It's Heather."

"Look, I really would like to help you, I would, but only immediate family are allowed to see him right now."

Heather's eyes narrow and Maggie suddenly feels a great sense of dread. "I need to see Wesley, now."

Maggie's mouth gapes. The woman doesn't raise her voice, but the anger is clear in her words. "Well, Heather, normally I wouldn't allow it, but please, follow me."

The odd sense of dread immediately evaporates as Heather smiles and follows Maggie down to the end the hallway. Maggie stops in front of the very last door and presses a button by the door handle. A loud buzzer sounds.

"Just buzz me when you're ready to leave, okay?"

"Thank you," Heather says.

Maggie opens the door and Heather steps inside. The door shuts behind her, giving out another buzz. Wesley is lying on his stomach on his bed. He doesn't look up.

"Hello," Heather says.

"Who are you?" Wesley asks without looking up.

"My name is Heather."

"What do you want?" Wesley asks his pillow.

Heather doesn't reply, but a small grin begins to creep up her lips. When Wesley realizes she isn't answering he glances up.

"I wanted to come and tell you that you're not crazy," Heather says when Wesley's gaze locks with hers.

Wesley's eyes grow curious. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the Creepalien, silly."

"You believe me?" Wesley asks, skeptical.

Heather's smile widens.

"Did you see it? How'd you get away?"

Heather only continues to smile.

"Are you going to answer me or not?"

Heather moves closer then, the smile never wavering from her lips. "How do you like Dr. Matthews? Your new doctor?"

"What?" Wesley asks, taken aback by the question.

"You never wondered why you got a new doctor?"

"I figured they thought a younger doctor would be able to relate to me better. Dr. Thomson was kind of an old stiff anyway," Wesley found himself answering. He is completely terrified at this point; there's something off about the woman standing before him.

Heather's smile widens. "So, do you like Dr. Matthews?"

"What's it to you?" Wesley asks.

"Because my brother wants to know if he can pass off as a doctor," Heather answers.

"What? Dr. Matthews is your brother? Does he know why Dr. Thomson quit?"

"We both do. I killed him."

Wesley's eyes widen. He knew then why he got such a horrible feeling from this woman; she seemed to radiate evil. "You what?"

"There weren't supposed to be any survivors," Heather says, "But imagine my surprise when I overhear some doctor speaking of a delusional patient who believes he was attacked by the Creepalien."

"But—"

Heather keeps talking, "I captured that doctor and got him to tell me everything. It's amazing how the rule of doctor-patient confidentiality doesn't apply when one's life is thrown into the mix. Once I knew everything, well, there was no need to keep him around so I had him killed."

Wesley can only stare at Heather. She speaks of killing like it's a completely normal thing! Dread suddenly fills him as his mind forms a possible outcome for her being here. "Are you going to kill me too?" he asks in a soft voice.

Heather's smile erupts into a full, dark grin. She pulls a sharp dagger from a holster on her hip, holding it daintily between her two index fingers. "Yes, like I said, there aren't supposed to be any survivors."

"So why did your brother come in the first place? If the end result was to just kill me?"

"Dr. Thomson couldn't seem to tell us if Staci had somehow survived or not, he said that you weren't clear about it. We had to get the information from you in case we had to go on another hunt after your sister. We found out that they had already hired a Dr. Matthews to you. Luckily, David was able to take Dr. Matthews' place, he looked similar enough, and then it was just a matter of making you tell us what happened. Once my brother was certain that there was no chance anyone but yourself survived, I put my part of the plan into action."

She fingers the tip of the blade, a small grin on her face. Wesley glances at the nurse's button by his bed. He could get there in time, before she could do anything. Heather catches him eyeing the button and her grin widens.

"That's not going to help you," she says. She does nothing to stop him as he scrambles back and begins pounding on the button. No one comes.

"Why are you doing this? Don't you think it'll look suspicious from a police stand-point?" Wesley asks, desperate to buy himself time.

"We've thought it out, we've had dealings with the police before and are quite good at predicting how they'll see a situation. As it is, they already think that it was just a group of armed goons who killed your friends and sister, they just don't have the proof yet. When they find you, they're going to think that the goons were afraid you'd eventually reclaim your senses and tell the police who really attacked you. So they came here and had you murdered, in order to cover for themselves. And, if need be, my brother can pretend to be Dr. Matthews again and say all the right things that will make the police believe that you were starting to make progress and there was a chance you could turn in the goons."

Wesley is truly terrified now, there is no way he can get out of this. His gaze moves to the knife and he becomes transfixed by his reflection in the blade. As Heather draws closer, he backs up until his back hits the wall. Realizing he has no room to maneuver away, he closes his eyes and raises his arms in a vain attempt to protect himself.

"Help!" he screams.

His scream turns into a chocked gasp as Heather shoots forward with startling speed and drives the dagger into the soft spot just below his rips. Wesley tries screaming again, but all he can manage is a watery gurgle as blood fills his mouth. He clutches at Heather as his legs grow numb. He looks into her eyes and can see his pained expression reflecting in them. He is appalled to see that her eyes seem to glow brighter as she watches him suffer. Heather smirks and leans in closer to Wesley, her cheek brushing against his.

"I'm doing you a favor, you know," she whispers into his ear, "If the Creepalien ever caught you he'd have taken his sweet time, drawing out your anguish for his enjoyment."

She thrusts the knife in deeper, jamming it up further underneath his rips and twisting it sharply. Wesley gives a final gasp before the life leaves his eyes. Heather's grin widens and she pulls the knife free, letting Wesley's body fall. She wipes the knife on the bed sheets, staining them red, before turning and walking to the door. She hits the buzzer and the door opens for her a second later.

As she steps back out into the hallway, she casts her gaze down at Maggie's body. "Good work," she says.

The alien standing over the body hisses, blood dripping down its chin.

"Let's go home."