Prisoners of Mistake
WARNINGXX: This Fic contains some violence and or neglect against children and other human beings if this will disturb you at all DON'T FUCKING READ IT! I don't want to hear your bitching.
DISCLAIMERXX: I do NOT own anything from The Silent Hill franchise. So again I say PLEASE KONAMI DON'T EAT ME!
Behind the privately owned orphanage Wish house lays the gigantic stone tower with a water tower on the top of its 10 stories of dank resonating horror. It was not always so but it is now. The swirling mists rose up trying to swallow the tower and make it go away. But there was an evil that seemed it would never recede.
The tower had once been fully staffed and fully operational. Now it's just Walter and the children that lie in the decaying morbid infrastructure. Walter had occasional visits from the police with warrants due to the piercing wails that escaped into the black night. But nothing else dared to enter those macabre corners in the darkest pit in Silent Hill. Even maggots crawled away from that place. On this visit however, there was only one car that pulled up, and it belonged to detective Andrew J. Sloan. The visit was short with only a heated argument and hasty accusations. The detective left with nothing new but an unsettled mind. Not a single child told him of the atrocities that he knew had happened to them for fear of the red room. The cops, well just detective Andrew Sloan, left with a bunch of shit cooked up by some 8 year olds about how they're treated well and fed three hot meals a day and loved and nurtured by their provider.
SLOAN
As Sloan drove away from the tower he rubbed his temples in disgust trying to wipe away those small emaciated faces. He drove through the serpentine road shut off from the rest of the world by an entangled mesh of tress strangled by moss. All the way Sloan couldn't help but shed some tears for those children. They were trapped with a mad man whom the detective thought was behind the string of grizzly murders and a few other foul crimes.
The recent murder of Billy and Miriam Locane and William Gregory the police had uncovered five other heinous murders. The only connections are the violence and brutality and approximate location. All of these crimes were sinister in nature. The victims were good members of the community. It was after Gregory was found dead at his workshop in Ashfield that Sloan saw a man in a long gray coat with dreadlocked hair, brown being replaced slowly with a dull gray, walking from the scene with a slight limp that may have been from a struggle with a certain dead watch dealer. This man, he found out, was Walter Sullivan.
WALTER
Filled with rage Walter burst from his observation room to the cells where he kept the children. Walter detested visits from the proper authority. He went to cell A13 and pulled open the door, ready to murder violently a child to ease his anger, to find the cell completely empty. But he did hear another boy crying in the room adjacent to A13. Walked calmly to A14 and unlocked the door. The boy looked into Walters face and whispered the words, "please don't" in hopes to escape his torture and execution. Walter would hear none of this. All that mattered to him was his rage needed to be let out, and on the bright side one less bowl of gruel to serve. He ripped the boy out of his bed and dragged him by the hair the whole way down to the red room. He got into the elevator and slammed his palm on B2. It was a long ride because the elevator was old and hadn't been used in some time. 3 minutes later they were there.
The red room wasn't necessarily painted red so much as the blood that spurted from the severed veins of his victims. These victims were not part of the ritual. It was just a hobby of his. Almost everything in the room was either caked with dried gore or rust. The red room used to be the towers medical room. It was used for all things from check up to autopsies. Now this boy would be a live autopsy. And it was for nothing more than to lighten Walters's mood.
He strapped the boy to the blood stained metal table once used by actual doctors for actual procedures. Now it's only use is for acts of sadism by a deranged monster. It had many puncture marks and some nails deeply imbedded in the metal. The straps were made of strong hardened leather. This child had no chance in hell. He squirmed and wriggled like a fading fly stuck to the paper. The boy thought, what have I done God? I'm sorry, please stop him. I won't be bad anymore. I promise. Walter started to play with a buzz saw and finger some jagged rusty scalpels.
"So what's your name little boy?" Walter asked amused by the squirmy little ump.
"My name's William Mister Sullivan. Why are you doing this to me?" He asked in a loud voice between sobs.
"You whine too much," he said and walked up to William with a large scalpel in hand. "I've killed a Billy before. Little Billy Locane. Mmmmmmm. Have you heard about them? The Locane murders that is? Oh well. I don't care. So what would you like for Christmas little Billy?" he asked as he ran the scalpel along his face gently as to not cut but make him shiver and wince with the anticipation of the abominations to come.
"My name is WILLIAM! I'm not Billy! You're a monster!" The boy cried trying to lash out at his captor. This only made Walter laugh.
SLOAN
Andrew was driving east on Katz street and then turned right onto neely street. He was headed to Bar Neely's to get a cold drink to ease the pains of the day. Old man Neely knew how to treat a customer.
He asked Sloan, "Why the long face Andy?"
"Works just gettin' to me Charlie. That's all."
"Well what can I do ya' for Andy?" the bartender asked cheerfully.
"Uuuuhhhhh. I'll take a whiskey sour." Andrew replied
"You got it pal!"
Charles Neely had owned and operated that bar for as long as Andrew could remember. He'd had a lot of fond memories here. He had gotten drunk here on his 18th birthday. Mister Neely had stayed open late just so he and his buddies could party. He and Charles had quite a history together. He was like a father to Sloan. Mister Neely was a stout fellow about 5 foot four inches tall. And came in at about 215 pounds, most of which was distributed around the gut. He was a happy man, married to a loving wife and had two kids both attending college. Sloan had been drinking steadily for a good thirty minutes before he told the barkeep why he was down.
"Work is just… It's just too much. I'm on the Walter Sullivan case," as Sloan said this Neely's brow furrowed. Nobody in Silent Hill liked to talk about Sullivan. Everyone knew stories. Like how he stole children in the night, or how he's the son of the devil, some even said he ate the children at that orphanage. Who knows it could be true. Sullivan was always seen ducking into alleys with that mutt of his. He continued, "I mean. We suspect him for the seven local murders, and." As he said this he hushed his tone. "We think he's murdering the children from that Wish House we shut down. No one was ever found. No watchers no children… NOTHING!"
"Quiet down Sloan. Just settle. What do you plan to do about Walter? Huh? He's clouded by all these damn wives tales. It'll look like a freakin' witch hunt." Charles said after looking around the room to check the surrounding people. They were nothing but the normal drunks who hung out there.
"You think I don't know? I just need a shred of evidence to check that fuckin' basement! I know that's where he keeps everything. God this guys a fucking freak. I hope he dies in a God forsaken cell." As Sloan said this he pulled out a pack of Jacks and lit up. He inhaled and instantly he seemed to relax a bit more. "Okay Charlie you know the deal. I didn't tell you anything. And I'll uhhh. Pick up the tab later in the week. If that's would be ok I'd really appreciate it."
"Yeah sure that's fine. And Sloan," he paused, "maybe you should uhh… Go around the red tape and look at that basement. I think you'll find what you're looking for.
WALTER
Walter pulled his arm back swiftly and pushed forward with an almost inhuman power and made a gash on the same face he had been caressing. Blood trickled out of the wound freshly opened and flowed down his soft skin. It pooled momentarily at the bottom of his face and then dropped to join previous dabs like it on the examining room table. Walter knew this would just be the beginning. He had many plans for this boy. Ironic his name is Billy though.
Walter made his way to the little metal stand usually used by hospitals to hold medical instruments such as the ones Walter used. He had added some other implements to induce terror and pain. These improve devices included a buzz saw of the small variety, a hammer and a box of long nails, a ice pick and a scratch awl. Leaning up against the shelved table/tray was an old wooden baseball bat. It was small, for children. You couldn't get a good two handed grip but a nice one handed swing would shatter little bones easily.
Walter stroked the hammer like the knee of an old lover, gently and lovingly. He pulled the tray table closer to the boy. He made sure William could see every single device. Billy had just stopped his crying before Walter had brought over his ghastly display. The tears began to leak anew. He tried to escape. Frantic at the thought of death.
"So Billy, I know that you've wanted a puppy," he said hiding something in his hands behind him, and continued, "But this will have to do instead!" Walter shouted as he brought the hammer from behind his back. He pulled out a sleek new nail from its box. Billy was wrought with dread and was spastically shaking. Walter stretched his hand out to meet and steady the young boys. Walter was a large man and effortlessly succeeded in the task of securing the boys hand and pressing it to the table.
"Hush my little boy. It won't be long now," Walter said in a soothing voice.
"Why did mommy leave me there?" Billy asked, clearly in shock of some sort.
Billy like all the other children in the bowels of that tower were from Wish House before it was abandoned and left to rot. He was dumped by his mother, a teen who knew she couldn't be good for the child but loathed the thought of abortion. She left it in the only orphanage that didn't ask questions.
Walter ignored this question for he too had been left at Wish House by an uncaring mother. He lined up a nail on the hand of the child and raised his hand high as if he were Thorr ready to smite the wicked. But as in most cases these days, the wicked do all the smiting. He charged his hand down with ungodly speed and drove the nail into his hand. He repeated the wretched process three times more. Steady sooth spike. Steady sooth spike. Steady sooth spike. And then, for poor William Sentoro, all went black. Unfortunately he hadn't died. He had just merely passed out due the excruciating pain of crucifixion. Walter then played around with some electric wires and a car battery he found in the closet and made the boys limp body spark back to consciousness. Then, he walked to the far wall where there was an outlet he plugged in the buzz saw and revved it up. William didn't have a chance to scream. Before he became fully aware of his situation there was a saw slashing through his sternum crunching his bones and tearing his muscle. Blood was splashing Walter in the face and just about everything else in the room had just become wet and those few spots that weren't covered now were. Walter then used his mighty saw to shred apart the corpse of little William. He tossed the still warm parts down a shoot to the dogs below. The sounds of a macabre feast ensued. Crunching, gnawing, and scraping noises cam from down below.
Authors note Im sorry if that fucked up your day. I told you it was disturbing. You should have taken heed! Review it now!
