Books were Vincent's kindest friends. Stable, full of knowledge, these are the things that any friend of his should have. These were the things that Vincent would look for day in and day out. These were the things he would search for, making it no surprise that at any given time he would be found in a library. This day, despite the many changes in décor and amount of blood visible at any time, was no different.
That madness of Claudia's has been eating away at her brain in the same way acid would eat at her skin and confusion has at her soul. Although she was not of the same mind as he was anymore, Vincent had to stop her and to cease his own confusion and yearning he had turned to books. Perhaps they could do the same for her. Vincent strolled through the stacks of withering, dusty tomes. He could not-absolutely cold not-make himself rush through books as though he were a greedy child. Each book had to be savored and knowledge was best absorbed when it was given time enough to thoroughly picked apart every sentence and every word and let his mind swirl with all the worst and best possible meanings.
Vincent had at one point had a large comfortable chair stashed away in every library in the state, including the church library, small as that was, however Claudia's recent rather tasteless redecorating had left him with no place to sit. It seemed chairs were obsolete in her paradise.
Rather, they were obsolete in her Hell, it was impossible to say. All the more reason for him to lightly pace back and forth under the caressing watchfulness of every piece of script he had in turn caressed with his mind and eyes and books that patiently awaited their turn with an even tempered longing. He didn't hear the door open nor did he hear it softly close. Soundless were any foot falls on the floor. No sound at all was necessary, he was of mind, not of sound. No thing, be it a child playing nosily, or the vocal melody of shrieks of pain that Claudia's mind had wrought upon the town, could disturb him. Nothing could take him away from a book.
Be that as it may, it didn't take long for him to notice that he was not alone in the library any longer. The words on tarot cards in front of him slowly warped in meaning, from knowledge into inutterable nonsense. The book seemed to curl in on itself and whimper like a kicked dog as the prickling on the back of his neck grew stronger. Slowly he put the book down, reluctant to leave it alone and to leave himself only half informed. The words blurred together as the pages fell together without division. Well, no matter, he'd read it from the start again later.
His calm facade remained unbroken despite the increasing anxiousness. Why, oh why, in Her name was he anxious about whom or what ever was behind him? His pacing ceased as he hear a footstep that only might have only been echoing off the floor of his mind. Surely it was not one of Claudia's creations, he had had experience with them, unfortunately, and they would have attacked him by now. He stood stiffly, hackles raised and ears on high alert. Surely he was not afraid of that little girl, Heather. She was no more a bit of this monstrosity than he was. Why, oh Why, why was he afri- "Hello, Vincent." The voice was high and nasal; it brought him back to his childhood and the way his old glasses pinched his nose making him sound like he had swallowed helium.
Go, you're not welcome here. Oh, but I am. In fact, I'm essential. Vincent's flesh crawled as his head started to dully ache. No, you're not! You're nothing more than a parasite! A Worm! Oh, no Vincent. No no no no nooo. I'm more than that! Vincent was buckling now. His hands gripped his head as it threatened to explode from under some invisible pressure. His eyes fluttered open and closed like a short circuiting traffic light. His jaw tried to break free of his control swinging wildly as he struggled to keep his mouth closed with waning success. He weakly gave out attack with all the strength he could muster. No you don't exist! You don't exist! I got rid of you! Hehahahahaha, now Vincent, how can you get rid of yourself? Vincent collapsed without feeling his knees hit the floor.
The ringing dial tone was the first thing that brought him back to himself. The bleeding ceiling was the next thing he knew. Unsurprisingly above him on the ceiling there lay a body pinned up there by scissors skinned up to the neck with Vincent's own face on its twitching, groaning, grinning head. He had long since stopped being afraid of these things, of these illusions of hers. He left the phone drop from his hand with a clatter. He stared back up at the disgusting sight above him. He would have liked to let go of any trace of his suave demeanor and beat the thing until it lay as a pile of mush at his feet. Its grin taunted him as it jerked and cried its tears of blood just out of his reach.
The phantasm suddenly stopped twitching and stared directly into Vincent's glare. Blood dripped from its eye, through its broken glasses and landed on the unbroken pair directly below with a soft plink. Slowly its mouth moved and Vincent's unwillingly moved in time. Only one voice rang out through Vincent's lips. A voice he had never wanted to hear again. "Happy Birthday, Hooaryoo. Happy Birthday to you."
Seeing as how we never discovered who the voice on the phone belonged to and Vincent seemed a little bit too right in the head I put the pieces together and let the plot bunny have it's way.
Silent hill is not mine.