A/N: Before you begin reading, understand that this is a prequel to another Silent Hill story of mine. While it can be read by itself, certain plot elements will take for granted that you HAVE read the story, so this is a fair warning.
SILENT HILL: Prelude to a Crappy Plotline; Episode One
With the wind in his dark chocolate hair and a cigarette in his hand, Frank Sunderland could not have been happier that crisp, autumn morning. Before him was his dream, a dream that had been realized three years earlier, but even still, it was a work-in-progress for him. It was a young building, full of spirit. A fresh coat of paint had made it seem just like it had been completed yesterday, and it was like that for Frank. How time flew.
But as much as Frank loved admiring what he considered his lovechild—for Frank had never fallen in love and did not plan to, so it was the closest thing—he still had business to attend to. And today that business had taken the form of the short, bald man standing to his right.
"Mr. Sunderland," he said nervously, his smile faltering, "are we all clear? Is my leasing of Room 204 official?"
Frank took one last drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. As he blew out a stream of smoke from his lips he reached into one of his black jacket's pocket and brought out a crumpled-up piece of paper. He unfolded it, removed a pen from his other pocket, and held them out to the mousy man.
"Yep," he replied, "all you have to do now is sign. The room will be yours for three months."
The mousy man hesitantly scribbled his signature onto the wrinkled sheet of paper and Frank masterfully folded it in half, defined the crease, and then slipped it back into his jacket. He produced a pack of half-empty cigarettes and then took one out and lit it. During this process he caught himself and looked up the mousy man as he held his lighter up to the tip of the cigarette. "Want one?"
"Huh? Oh, n-no, I don't smoke."
"Smart," Frank commented as he lit the thing and took a drag. The man's beady little eyes swiveled around in their sockets and he rubbed the back of his bald head.
"Thank you for this, Mr. Sunderland. This is quite a wonderful opportunity for me. I'll start inviting the children over soon."
"Glad to be able to help," Frank said as he placed the cancer stick between two of his teeth.
The man nodded uncertainly and cocked any eyebrow at what he saw Frank doing. "That's bad for your teeth, Mr. Sunderland. The chewing of it, I mean."
"I know," he said, and gave one affectionate last glance at South Ashfield Heights before heading for his baby-blue, roughed-up car that was parked by the side of the street.
"Where are you going?" the man asked him as he jumped into the driver seat and took another drag.
"I'm going to pick up my assistant!" Frank said and then started up the car and rode off. The mousy man watched him go before turning back to the apartments.
---
"Well, miss, it seems we're going to have to change out your entire toilet system," James "Jimmy" Stone said as he straightened up and drew a small notepad from his pack. As he began writing on it with a black pen the woman he was speaking to went around the toilet and nearly pinned him against the restroom wall.
"You're not leaving yet, are you?" she asked him timidly as he squirmed away from her and continued to jot down notes. He wiped his brow, sending raven bangs to the left. "I haven't even had the chance to offer you some lemonade, and I baked some cookies when I heard you were coming-,"
"No, I'm not leaving yet, ma'am," James told her quickly. "We still have to negotiate the price of this visit and the total cost of all the equipment we have to purchase to make the repairs. It'll be quite costly, I imagine. That's what I'm trying to calculate here. If it turns out to be too much than you can handle we can work out some sort of agreement. You being a single woman, I mean."
"Oh, don't remind me!" she cried melodramatically while clinging to him. "It's so difficult to find a man's man, you know, someone who'll watch over and protect you and whisper sweet-somethings into your ear…"
James removed himself from her grip and smiled at her coolly. "I'm happily married, ma'am; sorry to disappoint you."
The woman sighed. "…Why are the cutes ones always taken…?" She glanced at the toilet and rolled her eyes. "I purposely busted it to call you out. I'll fix it. Do you, by any chance, know of any other plumbers?"
"We're not exactly plumbers, ma'am. Sunderland and Stone's performs a variety of tasks, whether they be plumbing or repairing your refrigerator, or-,"
"Jim! You in here?" bellowed a loud voice from the hallway. James stepped out of the restroom and beckoned for the owner of the voice to come forward.
"Great timing, Frank. It was a false alarm."
"You serious?" Frank peeked into the restroom and shrugged. "Oh well, no big deal. I wish you would've told me you were coming, though. I went right to your apartment!"
"I did tell you, but you were too drunk last night to remember, I guess."
Frank chuckled and slapped James on the back. "You crack me up, James!" He then turned his attention to the woman. "Well, ma'am, if there's nothing to be done here, we'll be on our way!"
As they departed, the woman ran after them screaming, "Don't go, please! I'm so lonely!"
---
"So, Jim, anything else that I need to hear about?" Frank asked as he lit another cigarette. James sighed disgustedly and swatted it out of Frank's hand, and the older man watched in surprise as it landed in a man's afro nearby. His hair immediately caught on fire and he darted past them, fanning at his hair in futile.
"Hey, look, it's Flaming Afro Man!" cheered a girl across the street, and soon a mob had begun to chase the poor man. James half-shrugged nonchalantly.
"You need to stop smoking those things, Frank," James told him sternly. "They'll be the death of you one day."
Frank laughed. "Actually Jim, sometimes I think you'll be the death of me! You're always nagging at me so much that I might just go insane!"
James shoved his hands into his coat pockets and gazed at the sidewalk thoughtfully. "…Don't say that, Frank. It's not funny at all."
Frank shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder lightly. "You just need to lighten up, Jim! You can't be so straight-laced!"
"Well if I'm not, who will be? Not you, for certain." He folded his arms and then bent his head upwards. "There is something, though. We got a call from out-of-town. Hear of Silent Hill?"
"That quiet, little resort town? Yeah, I've heard of it."
"We got a call from an antique shop there to do some work. Our client didn't specify exactly what type of work, though…"
Frank thought this over, and then nodded. "Why not? I've never been there before, and supposedly it's pretty nice."
"Are you sure, Frank? This sounds a bit fishy to me. I don't want to leave Margaret-,"
"Margaret'll be fine," Frank reassured as he climbed into his vehicle. "Now come on and let's get going."
---
The Stones had been married for two years and resided in a dandy little condominium building somewhere in North Ashfield that had a nice, warm, welcoming feel to it. Contrary to what Frank believed, South Ashfield Heights did not share this feeling. It was a cold building, and it would only become colder in the next few decades.
"I still don't understand why you won't just move over to the 'Heights," Frank said as he peered out of the den window at the parking lot below. Some guy was struggling to take out a gigantic lawn gnome from his backseat.
"I don't feel like explaining," James replied as he shut his suitcase and locked it. "Besides, I really don't see why you're so obsessed with the damn place." While he said this Margaret Stone, who was beautiful with long, shining blonde golden hair and plump with the baby of James, handed Frank his cup of coffee on a saucer. He nodded a "Thank you" and took a sip.
"I don't expect you to understand, Jim, but the 'Heights have been my dream since I was a kid. It's what I live for, and some day I hope to pass it on to someone I can trust. It's more than just an apartment building. It's my legacy."
"But Frank, the 'Heights aren't going to be there forever. You've got to have something else to look forward to in life, I'm serious. I mean, what if someone buys the property from you, or it burns to the ground? What are you going to do then? In a few years you're going to be in your forties, and you're just going to be satisfied with yourself? You're not going to look for something new to achieve?"
The older man stared into the deep, black liquid that was his coffee. "…I don't know, Jim," he said solemnly, and Margaret looked at her husband from behind the kitchen area counter.
"Don't be so hard on him, Jimmy. Respect his feelings, really," she chastised him, and he sighed.
"I do, really I do… No, I'm sorry, Frank. What I said was out-of-line."
"Nah, I know you're just looking out for me, Jim, and I appreciate it." There was silence in the room, aside from Margaret's sudden, cheery humming as she wiped the counter surface with a rag. Frank grinned when he acknowledged her. "You're looking very nice today, Margie, you and the little Stone. When he's going to be joining us?"
"Oh, one of these days," she answered gleefully, but her smile turned sour. "That's why I really don't want Jimmy to be leaving, even if it is for only a few days at the most…"
James folded a shirt and tucked it neatly between two others in his second, smaller suitcase. "I'll be fine, I assure you, Margaret. What could possibly happen in a little tourist town? Besides, we'll be coming back as soon as possible."
"Yes, and I'll be watching out for him, too!" Frank stated happily, and they all laughed, even James. These were the good times that would pain Frank to remember.
---
"I'm worried about you, Jimmy," Margaret told her husband that night as they sat on the edge of their bed, side-by-side. On the comforter were images of different colored geese and ducks, and James never fancied it all that much. His white night-shirt hung loose around his somewhat small frame and in the shadows cast by the lamp he appeared menacing. He squeezed his wife's hand and offered her a small smile.
"I'm all right, really, I am. I wouldn't hide anything from you if something was wrong, do you hear me?" She nodded and leaned against his shoulder, stifling what was probably a sob.
"You've just seemed so… distant these past few weeks. Is something bothering you? Anything at all?"
James fixed his gaze on the checkerboard-tiled floor and responded quietly, "There is, actually, something that's been on my mind for awhile now."
"What is it, then, Jimmy? Tell me, please."
"I…" He caressed her cheek gently and continued, "I don't think I can support us. You and the baby. I don't think I can serve you like you deserve to be served. In fact, I really think you deserve better, Margaret. Look at me, working at a worthless job with one of the only friends I have these days. It's pathetic.
"I've always wanted a family, a beautiful family who I could protect and cherish until I died, but now… now I don't think I'm up to it. Now that I have that beautiful family I always wanted…"
She held a finger to his lips and leaned closer to him. "Don't say another word, Jimmy. I married you because I love you, and I wouldn't share this life with any other man for the world. We'll work at it together, because we're a team, just like you and Frank are your own team when you're out there, against the world. But I think the most important question we have to ask ourselves is "When do we attack?"."
James smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Thank you, Margaret, for everything."
---
"What's all this stuff, Jim?" Frank asked as he looked over the assortment of bags and cases that were stuffed in the trunk of his car in the parking lot of the condominium building.
James peeked over his shoulder and answered, "This all our equipment, Frank. We can't leave home without it." Frank shrugged and slammed the trunk door down and went on to check the few suitcases that were in the backseat. James looked back at his wife who was standing in the doorway. "We'll be back by the end of the week, Margaret, at the max. I'll call everyday. I promise."
"I know, I know," she said. "I just wish you didn't have to go. A few days can feel like an eternity."
"You're right about that," he said, and went to kiss her. Frank watched them expressionlessly as he lit another cigarette. Something about this didn't feel right to him, either, he decided, but a job was a job. They had to check this out. But the fact that another town got wind of their small, local business sounded fishy to him. This was the first time they'd be heading out of Ashfield to do work.
"We're burning daylight, Jim, and we aren't getting it back," he said and James glanced back at him before kissing his wife one last time. Then he ran down to the car and slid into the passenger seat. Frank waved his goodbye—which was, unfortunately, truly going to be goodbye—and then climbed into the driver seat. He revved the engine and they were gone.
Margaret stood there for a bit before closing the door and going back to her room. As she got to her apartment she clutched her stomach. "Oh! You kicked…" She grinned and rubbed it gently. "I wonder what we should name you. Maybe Frank would have a suggestion…"
---
Neither Frank nor James had ever visited the town of Silent Hill before, and so they drove around for a bit after getting there. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and the town was rather lively. Children were busy frolicking over at the Lakeside Amusement Park, and couples were busy at Rosewater Park. The Silent Hill Historical Society was a museum located near Toluca Lake, and the two took a look there for a few minutes. While there James saw a painting in particular that ran chills down his spine. It was called 'Misty Days: Remains of the Judgment', and Frank studied it for a moment but didn't show much.
After that they rode around some more and came across Green Lion Antique Shop, which James pointed out was the store they had been contacted by. "Hmm, doesn't seem all that shabby, but I don't get what an antique shop would want with us."
"I don't know, but we didn't come all this way on a joy trip. I'll check in and see if anyone's here. You can go gas the car up and pick me up in about half an hour."
"You sure, Jim?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine. It's too late to work and I just want to handle the negotiations. I'll get it done pretty quickly." He left the car and adjusted his dark denim jacket. Frank nodded and drove away in the direction where he hoped there was a gas station. James drew a breath and entered the antique shop.
It was devoid of any workers, as far as he saw. The light was on, and the entrance door was unlocked. He looked behind the sales counter and saw nothing aside from a few stray pieces of ancient jewelry. In fact, the store was actually rather messy, and many items were strewn about without any proper place.
"Anyone here?" James called, but he was hesitant to proceed any deeper in the building. 'Maybe they are closed for the day, but why would-,' His train of thought was cut off when he spotted a medallion of some sort resting on a shelf on the wall. It stood apart from all the other junk surrounding it, and he moved closer to get a better look. It was a large, silver circular slab with some type of design etched into its surface. For some reason it allured James, and as he was about to take it into his hands a door opened from behind him and a woman strode out.
He spun around instantly, the medallion still clutched in his hand. Its chain dangled from in-between his fingers and gleamed in the sunlight that came in through the window. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, and James saw that her clothing was radically different from what he saw most of the citizens wearing around here. She was buried under a number of differing colored shawls and underneath them was a dress of some type of deep-shaded mauve.
"Uh, yes, ma'am," he said, "I am James Stone of Sunderland and-,"
"…Stone's," she finished. "Yes, I thought it was you who had come." Her eyes wandered over him and found the medallion in his hand. "Ah, you have quite a good eye."
He looked down at the medallion in his hand and brought it up to view. "Yes, I meant to ask what exactly this was."
"Oh, I'm not entirely sure myself," she said. "An elderly man just walked in one day and left with us. He said it was related to the angel, Metatron."
"Metatron?" James looked at the medallion again and the woman smiled deceptively.
"You can take it, if you'd like. You came all the way out here to work, and I have to praise such determination and dedication. Tomorrow we can go over the details of our agreement, Mr. Stone."
He reluctantly nodded but handed her back the medallion. "I suppose it would better suit the job if we talked it over once we get some rest, but I can't accept this. It wouldn't be right."
"No, I insist," the woman said, and placed it in his hand. "Think of it as a token of my gratitude. I live by myself, you see, and getting quality help is so hard these days. I really am grateful that you took the time to come all this way. Please, take it."
James looked at it again and sighed. "Alright, then. Thank you."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Stone," she said and then extended a hand. "Dahlia Gillespie, the owner of this humble establishment."
James shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Gillespie. By the way, would it be alright with you if I surveyed your shop? I'd like to know the layout at least."
"Of course, right this way." She gestured toward the door she had come through and he followed her.
---
Frank filled the gas tank up at a place called Texxon Gas and after that he drove around some more and saw a little place named Café Mist. He stopped here for a coffee, and he decided to pick one up for James as well.
The café's interior was small as well, and there were only several people who needed caffeine that late that day. As he made his way to the front counter, a woman turned to leave with a bag in her hand which seemed to contain some pastries and most likely two coffee cups. Frank barely saw her face when she tripped towards him, the bag flying out of her hand. He caught it expertly with his left hand and then caught her by the waist with his right, masterfully presenting the bag to her.
A man sipping his drink at a corner-table muttered, "Show off."
The woman, who had no idea of what had happened, merely stared at him with a gleam in her eyes. Frank cleared his throat and set her straight on her feet as he gave her the bag. "You nearly had a fall there, miss," he said, and she looked down at the bag.
"…Thank you, sir." They remained like that for some moments, and Frank saw how beautiful she was. She had striking blue eyes, and her brown hair—nearly black it was, and much darker than his own—curled gracefully down to her shoulders. Her black coat was long and buttoned and cut at her calves. She rushed past him and out of the door, and Frank stared as she disappeared.
"That Miriam's a sweet girl, sir," said the clerk behind the counter. "I hope you're not too upset with her."
"I'm not upset," Frank replied as he walked up to the register. "An accident's an accident."
---
"We'll be coming by at around nine o' clock tomorrow morning," James told Dahlia as he left the antique shop. Frank was waiting outside, standing by the car and smoking. In the driver's seat sat a lump of a brown bag, which was no doubt the coffee and a cake.
Dahlia appraised him as she met them outside. "You really shouldn't be smoking, Mr. Sunderland." He didn't like her at all, for one thing. She was pretty creepy. And who was she to tell him what to do and what not to do?
"Thanks for the advice, lady," he said rudely, "but I think I'll trust my doctor's opinion rather than yours." He was about to flick the cigarette away and a part of him wanted to burn that damn shop to the ground. He flicked it anyway, as subtly as he could, but Dahlia caught it in her hand with reflexes much quicker than would be expected of her.
"You should dispose of it properly, Mr. Sunderland."
"Right." He snatched it from her and threw it into the street, where it was run over by a passing car. James glanced at them and pulled Frank towards the car.
"We'll see you tomorrow morning, Miss Gillespie. Don't worry about your piping; we'll make it as good as new."
"Thank you, Mr. Stone."
They got into the vehicle and went on their way. A robed fellow approached Dahlia from behind. "Would you like us to take care of them, Mother?"
"Only the idiot one. He seems dangerous. Leave Stone alive."
"Ah, wonderful. He should be easy prey."
"I agree. Now go."
---
"What was your problem back there, Frank?" James inquired as the sun began to set. Frank averted his eyes from his assistant's and sighed.
"I'm sorry, Jim, it's just that I've been edgy ever since I picked up our coffee." James removed his cappuccino's straw from his lips and sighed.
"She's our client, Frank, like it or not. She's rather nice, actually."
"Not from what I saw of her. Did you get a good look at her eyes?" Frank shivered. "There was something wrong with that place, I swear. Maybe we should just leave tomorrow morning…"
"What? Frank, we didn't come all this way for nothing. The sooner we get the job done, the sooner we can leave, so we can be gone by late noon tomorrow, I'm sure."
They were quiet for awhile until Frank saw the medallion hanging around James' neck. "Jim," he said, keeping his eyes on the road, "what's that?"
James glanced at the medallion and held it up in the dying light of the sun. "That Gillespie woman gave it to me for free."
"Are you serious? You should get rid of it. It could have some type of hoodoo curse on it or something. That lady was a witch or something; did you see the way she dressed? She's a witch!"
"Frank, what the hell's crawled up your anus?"
The older man sighed. "I don't know, Jim. I guess I am being a bit paranoid…"
"Frank." He looked at James who nodded at the side-view mirror. Frank looked at the rear-view mirror for a better look.
"How many are there, Jim?" he asked in a hushed voice. James held up four fingers. "Four, not bad."
James cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. "Frank, they're riding bicycles."
"Bicycles?"
"Yeah… no, wait, tricycles."
They had been cruising at a steady twenty-miles-per-hour, and now two of the four riders covered their rear while the other two flanked them. They were all roved in black, and Frank thought of that Miriam girl for a moment. But only for a moment.
"Jim, take the wheel," Frank ordered, his tone growing suddenly grave. He hopped over to the passenger seat as James slid into the driver's. Fast as lightning, Frank undid the glove compartment and a large revolver was in his right hand. It was mostly dark now, the sun having set and only leaving a thin line of pink on the horizon. Frank thumbed the revolver and squeezed the trigger.
The man who had been covering the right of the car's rear was blown away, his tricycle skidding on the asphalt. His body landed a little ways from it, bloody and dead.
"Nice shot, Frank!" Jim praised, and the man nodded thankfully as he readied the gun for a second shot. The man to their immediate right removed a small pistol from his robe.
"They're armed!" he shouted, and Frank aimed the barrel at him. He shot but the man strayed back, just barely avoiding the bullet. He fired twice, but James expertly swerved the car to the right, knocking one of the men away and giving enough space so that the two bullets harmlessly hit the side door.
"My new paint job!" Frank exclaimed as the man was about to fire again. "You'll pay for that one!" He pulled the trigger and the man's hand dissolved, and the pistol was lost. He fell out of the tricycle, cradling his bleeding stump of a hand as Frank trained the revolver on the last of their attackers.
"No, don't! Please! I have a daugh-,"
He was treated with a cold obliteration.
James stopped the car some ways ahead and got out as Frank did. "I wonder who they were? Thieves, or-,"
"Servants," Frank said, and James gasped.
"You're not serious Frank. Do you really believe Gillespie is the one behind this?"
"What's so unbelievable about it? She was the only one to see us go."
"But Frank, why would she do it?"
"Who knows? Now come on, if she did send them after us one of those guys I left alive. No doubt he'll report back to her. Now let's get out of here." He placed the revolver back into the glove compartment and got behind the steering wheel. James sighed, took one last look back at the carnage, and then slipped into the passenger's side.
---
Dahlia Gillespie was drinking some nice, warm tea when the robed man who had been assigned with disposing of Frank Sunderland stumbled in to the antique shop. He fell against the counter and Dahlia walked around it and faced him. "Well? Is he dead?"
"No. He pulled out a mighty weapon against us, similar to the ones Gast collects. His skill was godly."
"…I see. What of the others?"
"Everyone else was torn asunder by his tool of destruction. Even Stern, whose daughter was born just a week ago."
"Stern is watching over us from Heaven with God, of course," Dahlia said. "He showed his devotion to God by fighting with you this day, and his family shall know of his courage."
"…I know, Mother, but what about this man? He could very well become a problem if not taken care of."
"I'm aware of that. Go clean and yourself up. I will alert Father Wolf about this in the meantime."
The man nodded and got to his feet before exiting the store. Dahlia moved back behind the counter and grabbed her cup of tea. "How interesting. Mr. Frank Sunderland, was it? Hmm…"
END EPISODE ONE
DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Silent Hill' or any related material. 'Silent Hill' is owned by Konami and I make no profit off of this work whatsoever.