The pull. He'd felt it before. When he'd died, the first time, he'd felt that pull. He'd talked about it once with Jack, only once and then they'd never mentioned it again. The pull to the darkness. The blackness. The nothingness. Heaven. Hell. Lies made up by people thinking they knew what was right. A strange feeling of Christian mythos that he'd even clung to when he was growing up, once upon a time. Now? He knew there was nothing there but the dark. He'd been lucky enough to escape it once, pulled back by a glove.

Now? The pull was a different one. Owen Harper stepped through the doors and into the lobby of the hotel. His hands were dug into the pockets of his black leather jacket and his eyes narrowed as he glared around the lobby. Not heaven. Not hell. Not the darkness.

"Where the bloody hell am I," he murmured softly to himself.

There was a hesitance in his step as he made his way up to the desk. That in and of itself was rare to anyone who would know him. He didn't do hesitant or scared. To anyone who saw him and really knew him, he was a cocky asshole before being anything else. Oh, he was a good doctor and very bright. He could also be a shit.

"What the hell is this place then, eh?"