Baptism

Insomnia had plagued Julia Walton for a very, very long time.

Statistically, this made sense: Julia had heard once that women are 40% more likely to suffer insomnia than men. Julia often referred to this as "cosmic bullshit", as she was wont to call things that she found unchangeable and unfair, but Julia was not the type to actually complain. She faced her sleep disorder with meditation and tea. Usually with music. The occasional book.

This night among the many years of restless nights, however, could not be dealt with the same way.

Julia's Pontiac had the tendency to squeal whenever she made sharp turns. She made sure to follow roads where these were absolutely necessary. When this wasn't the case, she went down the country roads and would find fields to spin around in. Normally, these squeals would be a minor annoyance. Instead, Julia used them as a signal to scream.

These were throaty, hard screams. Sounds she wasn't used to hearing, coming from her own mouth.

But they weren't constant. The tears were.

In a way, she was almost proud of the fact that her blurry eyes were capable of handling something as complex as driving. There seemed to be no shortage of tears, after all. But her hands were steady, and her foot was a brick.

Perhaps doing donuts at one in the morning wasn't the best thing to do, but Julia couldn't stand doing fuck-all either. Besides. Out on her lonesome, this couldn't hurt anyone else.

Not a soul.

She wasn't too sure how long she had been at it like this, continuously crying and continually screaming. When exactly had she burst out of bed, mascara running down her cheeks, and slammed the door behind her as the engine roared to life? Eleven? Twelve?

It didn't really matter. The clock still said 1:00, in those blocky green squares. It was enough.

No. No it wasn't. But she needed to stop while she could.

The car idled quietly by the side of the road. Julia took her hands off the wheel for the first time since she had entered the car and realized with dull surprise that her grip had imprinted heavily into the leather. She didn't dare look in the rearview mirror, for fear of seeing just how insane she must look.

Slowly, she let the tension drain out of her fingers, and folded them neatly in her lap. She was still sobbing, but the need to scream was at least gone.

This was just a moment's rest. Really, she couldn't stall this long. She'd run through most of her gas tank. If she was going to get home, she needed a refill.

Hopefully there'd be a self-serving station. Julia wouldn't want anyone to see her.

But where in fuck's name was she?

Her phone, unfortunately, had finally delivered on its promise of dying. Julia felt the dark urge to throw the useless piece of shit through her window and resisted.

She couldn't be too far from Brahms. Most of her driving was in circles. Tight ones, at that.

Then again, she did remember passing by a road sign emblazoned with a 21. She had to be on the County Road that led to Silent Hill.

Silent Hill was more or less a piece of shit town that Julia generally avoided. Still, there had to be a gas station at least nearby.

Silent Hill was, what, thirteen to fifteen miles from home? She had to be about halfway there. If she went at 30, she'd probably be there in a quarter hour.

If she went at 60, she could cut that in half.

Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Julia shifted into drive and stomped down on the gas pedal. She would get this business over with. Then she'd drive back home, stumble through the door, collapse on her floor, and cry some more. And she'd write it all away by saying she would have been awake anyway.

Julia had spent seven minutes driving in total silence and at breakneck speeds. Barely anybody used these roads. She hadn't seen a single person. Just pavement, and the woods, and the reservoir.

She was still crying. It was softer now. Gentle.

Didn't stop her from wishing she would spin out and crash into a tree.

With the fog that was rolling in, this was becoming more and more feasible. Julia knew she should slow down. In fact, town was incredibly close. There really was no reason to speed anymore.

But fuck it.

In the back of her mind, Julia was beginning to remember something the kids at school used to say about Silent Hill. Whispers in the back of the classroom. Hushed, rather serious conversations, now that she thought about it. It was always about things their parents had said. The one she remembered most, if she could, was something about a cop.

The radio clock clicked to 1:08.

About someone who went missing.

The steady influx of fog creeping in from the forest had quickly become too thick to even see through. Julia flipped on her high beams. Habit held over emotion, apparently.

Why did that even matter? Kids thrived for gossip and rumors and bullshitting each other. She had other things to think about. Other things to destroy herself over.

The smooth road of the highway gave way to bumps and potholes. Julia nearly shot out of her seat. For some reason, she actually had been wearing her seatbelt the whole time. What a pity.

Maximum density had been reached. The fog was encompassing practically her entire field of vision. If the road curved, Julia knew for a fact she would shoot off the side and into a ravine, if not a tree. Her foot didn't leave the pedal.

A dull ache pulsed in her chest.

This was it.

This wasn't fatalistic, mournful, pitiful bullshit. She was going to drive as fast as she could and wait for the first thing she hit to kill her. If she went fast enough, she wouldn't even have to worry about somehow surviving and spending the rest of her life explaining the darkest parts of her mind to nosy shrinks.

Julia Walton was going to kill herself. End of story. She'd been dicking around for a few hours, driving like a maniac, but she'd finally accomplish what she'd really set out to do the entire time.

Maybe the classroom memory was a last-minute attempt to divert the situation. Make her forget, make her doubt. But it hadn't distracted her. And now she would be able to finish this business.

As the speedometer tipped over 80, Julia began to smile slightly. She was crying hard again.

This was what she deserved.

This was what needed to be done.

There was nothing left to see beyond the fog. Perhaps that was odd. Julia just saw it as an indication that she was going to finally, finally, do the right thing. No more sleepless nights. No more bullshit.

As her left hand slipped down to unfasten her seatbelt, Julia finally ventured a glance at her rearview mirror. The last thing she would see before dying would be her own revolting face, smiling at last.

She hadn't been expecting the pair of bloodshot eyes peeking over her shoulder, staring intently through the reflection.

Julia froze.

The car did not.

Julia could never know what she hit. Her last thought, before the world turned black, was that of detached bewilderment.

Rachel?