"How long did he stay?" the Woman with the Shaved Head asked incredulously. The Listener thought for a moment before replying. "He's not sure. Three, perhaps four years." "And when he came back?" When he came back, it was like nothing had changed. Actually, there was no "like" about it. Nothing had changed, period. No time had passed. It was as though three or four years of his life had suddenly been given back to him, with all his memories of that time intact. True, the memories -- for the most part, anyway -- weren't much. He'd gone to sleep one night in his own bed and woke up the next morning just outside the Door. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, just that he was lying next to a doorway set improbably on a beach somewhere in what looked like the South Pacific. It was large and circular at the top, like anything you would find at a middle-class Chinese restaurant. He liked Chinese restaurants. Maybe this was someone’s way of making him feel… comfortable? On the other side, everything looked like a continuation of the beach… and yet, at the same time, it didn’t. It was almost like a painted backdrop of his beach. Maybe it was the color of the light. Maybe it was the way the shadows weren’t quite the same. But it wasn’t part of his beach; that was for certain. At first he wanted to go through the Door to see what it was, but something inside said "No. Dont do that." Somehow he knew that if he did go through the Door, he'd never be able to come back. He didnt know how he knew this, just that he did. He also knew -- somehow -- that he was supposed to guard the Door. From what he wasnt sure, but that was his job. For a month, he stood next to it, waiting for... something. At night, while he slept, trays of food were left for him, trays that came from the Other Side, as he began to call it. Other things appeared: clothing, shelter, even the odd sleepover guest, none of whom ever spoke and simply disappeared at dawn. They always came at night, always while he slept. At one point, he woke to find a large man smiling down on him. “Hello,” the man said. “We just wanted to let you know you’re doing a good job. Keep up the good work.” Then the man walked away from the Door and disappeared into the lush green forest. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that he didnt know how to respond, and yet, again, somehow he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He'd been there for about six months when a woman appeared on the beach, walking toward him. Dressed in an immaculate white business suit, she carried a small black leather valise. She stopped in front of him and opened the case, as though it were some annoyingly simple task she just wanted done and over. He looked inside: there was nothing inside the case. "Is it all right?" she asked with a bit of impatience. He nodded. "Thanks," she snapped, then walked briskly through the Door and disappeared into the illusionary beach. Curious, he cautiously approached the Door and stuck his head through ----- --- and pulled it back almost immediately. The view was... he'd never seen anything quite like... there were no words to... and he was never doing that again. "What did he see?" the Woman with the Shaved Head asked. "He didnt say. He couldnt, you see. There apparently werent words to describe it." "But was it good? Bad? Terrifically dull and ordinary? Surely he should have been able to tell you that much." The Listener shook his head. "He couldnt." "Were there other visitors?" "A few, every three or four months. They stopped, opened empty briefcases, passed through and disappeared into... whatever was on the other side. And then one morning he was back in his own bed." "What do you think he saw?" The Listener shrugged.