Oliver Rainsford, was almost at the end of his journey; he could feel it, almost there, one more day: San Francisco. New life. New start on the West Coast. The journey had been interesting to say the least - from Tennessee to Seattle (which didn't work out) and from there to San Francisco by a more scenic route. The wandering was almost up - but right now he really needed a rest.

The motel he found at the southern edge of Sacramento fit the bill. Small and quiet, off the beaten track, it was. Unusually, it was fairly well maintained by an elderly couple who were quite chatty. When he finally prized the key to his room from their grasp, he was more than ready to just crash on the bed with the early evening light mottled through the net curtains.

Sleep found him till late at night where ruddy lamps cast the parking lot in a sinister light. What woke him? Not the sound of distant cars growling along the road. Not the sound of late TV, thickly muffled through the walls. No... there it was again - the clatter and bang; the thud and wet mumblings from an entwined couple struggling to find their room before shared lust overwhelmed them. Somewhat annoyed, Oliver struggled to the window... and just stared.

Damn she is hungry tonight! The painfully thin woman with the unkempt mop of dark hair was all over the guy, he saw. She was already pawing at the collar of shirt. Desperation hung over them like a cloud: the woman a pale skinned waif; the man bloated with age, slick curls hanging lank from a high receding forehead. The pair fell over, against the window, slid down to the floor. A scrabbling pause and giggles. When the woman stood up she seemed to look straight at Oliver through the opaque glass and the deep shadows: she smiled. Then she all but dragged her man to their room. Next door - oh God!

No matter how hard he tried; no matter how he buried his head under pillow and blanket; he could not drown out their racket!Mostly from him, obviously. From the woman came the occasional wet gurgle. It was just too much...

Fully awake and pissed off, he hammered on their door. Judging by the lights, their noise had woken others as well. "Having fun are we? Keep it the fuck down!" he yelled with far more malice than he had intended. Sleep depravation could do that to you, he mused.

Silence.

He drew back slightly.

The door opened wide and there she stood - shameless and lascivious, ghastly pale and ruby lipped. He wanted to turn away, he really did. He didn't get the chance.

"More," was all she breathed. More to herself than to him. Surprisingly strong arms clamped on him and pulled him beyond the threshold. The door was slammed shut with a carelessly powerful swipe of her raggedy arm.

He fought and battled, threw her off and clawed at the walls, but it was of little use.

When Fringe clamped down on her prey, it was all over.