Silent Hill 3: The Fourth Wall (Aftermath)
Author's Note
Warning: Character endings ahead! This is an experimental closure story for Silent Hill 3: The Fourth Wall, or Heather's Worst Day Ever. If you haven't read it, I would recommend that you do so before reading this. It won't make too much sense otherwise, and it contains spoilers.
I.
Claudia Wolf shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. She was kicking herself, figuratively. Had been all morning. Alessa had not yet awoken for the next run, and Claudia had been on edge as she sidled back into character. She scrounged about in her pockets for some loose change, producing only a small ball of lint. Her weird cultish attire was back. Claudia herself, was back. She glided her pale fingers along the top of the payphone box. Success! A quarter? No, a strange coin. It would have to do. She shoved it into the slot and dialed the only number she knew by heart. The call was answered, and she listened to his religious droning for a time. She hadn't said a thing yet. He paused finally, allowing her to get a word in edgewise.
"Father, listen!"
"Yes!"
"No, it is not!"
"Can we..."
"Y-you do?"
Tears glistened in her eyes as she choked back a sob. "I love you too, Father!" she cried, and then slammed the phone back on the hook before he changed his mind.
Leonard Wolf knew his place. It was God's decision that he fight, and die, by the hands of the deceiving heretic, forevermore. Protector of the seal! The piece of junk sugar cookie of Metatron. And Claudia would happily birth a god. For the salvation of all mankind. Or more likely, so her dear sister would have a final boss to fight. Claudia wandered back to the elevator hallway, her long black skirt swaying lightly, her bare feet padding quietly on the floor, and tears of happiness streaming down her pallid cheeks.
II.
Henry Townshend lay motionless on his bed, waiting for his player to return. A bottle of lukewarm chocolate milk held in his right hand, a sealed nutrition drink grasped in the left. No, not anymore. It had fallen to the floor. Henry lifted his empty hand and wiped the back of it across his tear-stained cheek. The phone on his nightstand was off the hook. Someone had been trying to reach him. Cynthia, he supposed. She knew his number somehow. One of his game's many plot holes, and stranger still, that she should call him for help while she still meandered down on the sidewalk outside. He was in no mood to talk to her, or anyone for that matter.
Heather... he thought wistfully.
Her iron resolve, her overpowered weapon collection, her striking inability to start her own maps. The way she understood him unlike anyone else. The oddest feelings swelled up inside of him! But Henry was an innocent, repressed Silent Hill character.
I would have given her all the flower bouquets in the world. He held his breath to hold back a sob.
"Henry!" cried a shrill female voice.
Eileen, he thought. How would he explain himself to her? He had been tainted forever. Henry had been...
...an escort mission.
He wiped his eyes dry on his shirt sleeve, and rubbed his nose, and went to try to open the front door. It was chained up as always, and the view from the peephole only showed the wall of bloody handprints. Where had her voice come from? He looked around, noticing that the furniture beside his loveseat had been moved. Or had it always been there? Had he brought it with him when he moved into this apartment? His story was always changing. This could have been prevented with better quality assurance.
Henry sniffled and tried to compose himself while his hand touched down on the corner of the heavy wooden stand and pushed it aside with the smallest effort. Henry was a strapping young lad, who made light of such a task.
"There you are," the voice said. "Henry... we can stop pretending we can't see and talk through this hole you're always creeping on me with."
Henry was stunned. Up until now he'd always assumed his room was stuck in a parallel dimension of some sort. But that was probably only a silly theory he'd read on a strange forum somewhere. He guessed it might have still held true, but Eileen could see him. Hear him.
"Eileen...?" His voice was so soft and mellowed-out, she'd barely heard him.
"We need to talk," she said timidly. "I... I have to tell you something... about Walter..."
Henry sat down next to the ice-picked hole in the wall. His knees drawn up to his chin, and his arms wrapped tightly around. They talked at length (Eileen doing most of the talking), and it was decided that ultimately it was only emotional cheating, and that in the end, they were both about even.
III.
James Sunderland was sprawled out on the floor of the Blue Creek Apartment hallway, right where the Holy Mother had safely deposited him. All of his items were back now, including his beloved chainsaw. James was also waiting for his player to return, but he had neither the energy nor the desire to tell anyone why he hadn't budged an inch in the past four hours. His gaze was fixed upward at the dilapidated ceiling, his own tears long since dried. The Red Pyramid Thing had bent and poked him in the chest three or four times (to no avail). Laura had kicked him in his side and stepped on his hand (with nothing to show for it). Even Eddie had paid him a visit, asking if he'd like to join him over at Pete's for some cardboard pizza, courtesy of the Old Gods. James had silently waved off the invitation. Angela was a no show, but that was okay by him. She'd always been a bit self-centered in the first place, and prone to flying off the handle at any given moment. Much like himself, and much like Mary used to whenever he tried to bring her flowers. Ahh... Mary... Mary!? No... it was only Maria. She'd stood over him with a hand pasted on her hip, sighed and scoffed and examined her manicured nails for an hour before giving up.
The Holy Mother Herself had forgiven his sin. Mary Shepherd-Sunderland was in heaven, and James Sunderland was at peace.
IV.
Harry Mason had been reduced to a sobbing mess on the floor, tucked up into a fetal position. But only temporarily. Douglas and Henry had thrown open the nameless door, tossing the hero of Silent Hill back into his own game, where he found himself exactly where he'd left off before the summoning.
Harry was a changed man.
Determined, and with a new goal set in his mind, Harry pulled himself together and up off the floor. Henry had helpfully picked up his hunting rifle for him, and stuffed it back into one of his pockets on the way out. He'd forgotten all about it after throwing it to the ground in a fit of despair. Harry held the gun under his right arm while he jammed the Disk of Ouroboros into its place. The final puzzle piece in Alessa's, no, Heather's, no, Cheryl's... Cherlesser's(?) bedroom door. He had no time, no patience to deal with waiting for his player to come back. Frankly, he was astonished they had left their game on and unpaused while the main character had disappeared into a summoned portal. The least he could do was finish their game for them.
"Come along! Come along!" the apparition of Dahlia said, as she and little Alessa appeared before his eyes in a vision. He skipped the cutscene and quickly made his way down the staircase.
Dahlia, Alessa's wheelchair-bound badly burned self, and her Flauros-trapped self were waiting there. Cybil was also present, ready to be knocked uselessly to the side. Cybil was about as useless as her Silent Hill 3 counterpart, Douglas, but much more of a liability due to her tendency to become parasitized. Harry would not hold this against her. A Good+ ending would suit him well.
Dahlia turned and said, "There you are, for God's sake! Do you know how long we've been waiting here?"
"I'm in no mood," was Harry's reply. Stone-faced, yet still tear-stained.
Cybil stood with her mouth agape. Had Harry been crying? His eyes were a bit red. "Harry...?" she asked.
"No mood," he repeated, slamming the last round into his rifle. "Just send the god out."
Dr. Michael Kaufmann appeared out of Nowhere. Literally. That's where he'd come from. "I've got the Aglaophotis here," he said gruffly. "Everybody ready?"
"Sure," Alessa said, fusing her two selves into the Mother of God in a brilliant flash of light.
"You're supposed to shoot me," Dahlia reminded Kaufmann.
He sighed at first, but he did smirk a little bit after shooting her. Dahlia fell over as she cackled away. They'd already screwed up and missed all of their lines, so they might as well have some fun with it. Kaufmann reeled back, sending the sriracha-looking anti-demon sauce towards the Mother of God. It sailed through the air in slow-mo.
"Aaaahh!" she cried. The winged demon god had been birthed, and it emerged from her back.
Stone-faced as ever, Harry Mason took aim and shot at the hovering god, and dodged its orange-tinted bursts of lightning with his agile movements. He shot, reloaded, and shot again, missing on occasion. Dahlia, Kaufmann, Cybil, and a premature bloodied Lisa watched quietly from the sidelines.
The final boss was defeated, crying one last long roar, and Alessa reappeared to present the newborn reincarnation.
Harry suddenly found himself overcome with emotion. He was on the verge of tears again, but after a moment, he managed to regain control. He cradled the bundled-up infant against his chest warmly, kissed her tiny forehead, and hugged her close. When he could finally speak again, he turned to the others.
"This is my daughter," he told them. "And she is going to grow up to be a badass."
V.
Vincent woke up abruptly in the Green Ridge Mental Health Clinic of the Normal (for now) Hilltop Center. Hungover to high hell and back, he grumbled to himself as he sat at the usual desk, his head still planted firmly upon it. His head hurt. Everything hurt. And he had to take a piss like nobody's business. Wasn't pain supposed to disappear with the new game? Vincent alone was being punished for his traitorous slaying of the angels (but only for this round).
"And I would've gotten away with it too..." he muttered, cutting short the cliché dialogue. He got up to find a bathroom that wasn't broken locked, and soon returned to the desk with a key-free can of soda.
God, how would he be able to look her in the eye while he delivered his lines? He should have known that Heather as the Mother of God would be a total buzzkill.
Vincent fell back down into the chair and popped open his drink. He took a long swig, turned, and vomited into a trash can.
VI.
Douglas Cartland stood in a shadowy corner of the Mall, waiting for Heather to wake up so they could get on with the next game. He was feeling good about himself for the first time since... well, ever. For Douglas was an unsung hero. It suited him just fine. He wasn't about to go around tooting his own horn, that's for sure. He settled right back into his inept Hanged Man role comfortably, and should the need ever arise again, he would be ready.
Anything for you, Heather, he thought. Anything at all.
VII.
Heather Mason stirred lightly in her sleep on the wooden table inside of the Happy Burger, a smile creeping its way over her lips. She was dreaming about the Nightmare World again, and the monsters that would soon await her there. A wonderful place, where she felt right at home.
Temporarily transforming into an all-powerful ancient god had been pretty boss, of course. But way too overpowered. She much preferred her arsenal of deadly weapons. Heather was always up for a challenge.
THE END