"I can hear things the two of you can't."
We turn and face the professor.
"I keep hearing these.... things, and you both aren't really reacting, so I suppose it truly is confined to me. That is probably for the best."
"What do you hear?" The journalist asks.
He sighs.
"I can hear my children, crying. They keep calling my name. They won't stop. They've been dead for years, and they won't stop."
He covers his ears.
"I came here to get away from this, guide. I came here to get away from this."
The bus stops. The doors open. I grab the two of them and swiftly drag them out of the bus. The bus fades away as we step off. We are now on the side walk of the main street of the city.
Back on track.
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