I sat back down on the bed and slipped my pants on as she fumbled around in the drawers. I found my shirt the same time I saw the round panel of stained glass above the stairs, the scenes now fully lit. At the top was a young woman in a ruffled blue dress standing in a crowd of people at what looked like a formal dance. To the right, a middle-aged man with a brown beard and round spectacles held up a brass syringe as if to purge it of air bubbles. It looked like the same one she used now. At the bottom, a woman with long red hair sat atop a white horse in the middle of a barren desert landscape. The next panel showed who I assumed was Graciela Cruz. She was portrayed in front of the doors of this church. In the center was a round panel of blue tinted glass.

"I think I would like to go with you tonight. What is the name of this place?" she asked.

"It's called the Necropolis."

"I think I read about that place in 'LA Weekly'. It's in an old movie theater, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Sounds like fun. What time do we go?"

"We'll need to leave about ten thirty."

"I'll be ready. You can have Antonio and the car today to get whatever you need for our departure tomorrow."

Antonio drove past the burned out warehouse on the way to the Hotel. The grey outside walls still stood but were scorched black above each open window. Daylight shined through the second story windows where the roof should have been. It was a complete loss.

The dingy outside of the Ohio Hotel looked dismal. The large front bay window was covered with a thin film of grime that made it look cloudy in the sunlight. The strong stench of urine and garbage crept out from the alley.

Four new transients sat on the couches and chairs watching a gossip show as I walked in. Two of the four men playing cards smiled at me and looked at my white bandaged foot as I limped toward the stairs. The familiar dirty brown paint on the walls of the hallway welcomed me as I approached my door. I hesitated as I put my hand on the doorknob and a funny feeling came over me, like I might open the door and see myself still sitting inside, still mired in the mental squalor that this place embodied, still ignorant of the truth.