Over at the docks in Brahams, at the newly opened fireworks factory, the fire dies down with walls and ceilings crumbling. Police officers secure the area while a newscast films the entire process. One officer just arrives at the scene, glimpsing the camera eyeing him as he steps out, but ignores it and meets another officer.
"I was informed we already have suspects?"
"Hey, Inspectin' Thomas Gucci. Yes, of course we do." A young officer points towards two cars containing three men.
"Great. Have them put up for questioning. I'll handle the rest." Thomas turns and walks away until pausing, hand at chin and contemplating before quietly asking, "There's no...dead bodies, are there?"
"No, sir. No casualties."
He almost breathes a sigh of relief and continues on his way. The massive factory is charred, nearly collapsing, but it would survive.
Up to the docks and to the highway are filled with police officers surrounding the area. While surveying the scene, a woman weeping comes forward.
"Are you Inspector Gucci? Oh, my god...you're the one that solved my sister's case. Thank you so much. I've always wanted to thank you, but I'm just visiting. Didn't have the time then." She shakes his hands.
"I'm sorry, but you are...?" Thomas asks.
"Oh! How silly of me. I'm Mrs. Jackson, my sister's was Miss Stori. She was murdered...dismembered..." She wipes her nose, her green eyes glistening. She flips her red hair away from her wet face.
"I'm sorry. Excuse me. It just meant so much to me that you found her killer. You're a hero."
"I'm not a hero." He says, fidgeting with his leather gloves. "But your welcome, I'm sure you got along well with your sister."
The woman's face turns to surprise. "No, not at all. We never talked for over a year. But I still loved her. That's what family is, you know? I still loved her even when we hated each other."
Thomas is quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say. Behind her the workers are busy clearing the area, he is reminded of his job once the woman turns to leave. He stutters a few words but nothing really comes out, she had already left. Once collecting himself, Thomas Gucci resumes his job with a prolonged sigh. All he was grateful for was that there was no body count today.
It's early, but Christopher Da Silva has been up for hours, waiting impatiently, not even bothering to change into new clothes or fix himself up. In all the rooms are sheet coverered furnitures and boxes piled near the doorway, one propped open with papers inside.
Christopher Da Silva leans against the cold counter, he has his cold coffee and an old newspaper next to him; stained, wrinkled and weeks old; the front page news shows a picture of a missing family who disappeared near Silent Hill. This was just the many common stories that hasn't had much media attention over the past couple of years. His newest hobby as a writer has given him that much to go on.
Though his cup is full, Chris never takes a sip, instead he fiddles with his wedding ring, checking out the window and watching it constantly. The hand of the watch ticks away. That's it, he thought, I'm not wasting another minute waiting for those lazy movers. He takes a coat, walking out he enters his car and drives out of town into the next city of Brahams.
A few hours later, Chris arrives in the city and parks in front of a police station. He rushes in and immediately demands, "Where's Inspector Thomas Gucci?"
"Good morning, Chris. Here to bug the man again?" A bald man behind the desk laughs, his beard covering his mouth. "I'm sorry but he's busy today."
Chris leans on the counter. "Can I just speak with him? It won't be long."
The officer looks up and strokes his beard, looking at him thoughtfully before brightening up. "Hey, uh, didn't you join that group in town? It's good that you're finally getting some support since your family died."
"They didn't die. They're missing. There's a difference." Chris shoots him a cold glare.
"But why Braham's? Doesn't it take hours to drive here?" The man says, apparently ignorant of Chris's feelings.
"Where is Gucci?" Impatience nags him, quickly scanning the area when he spots that officer across the room.
Da Silva storms across the room and within earshot of Thomas Gucci. Thomas acts preoccupied with some papers and looking longingly outside.
"Excuse me, but about my wife's case-" Chris stands firmly in the middle of bustling officers.
Thomas glances annoyingly at the bald man at the desk who shrugs his shoulders before resuming back to work.
"You're not allowed back here, mister." An officer calls out and makes her way to Da Silva.
Thomas takes this opportunity as Chris's attention is turned elsewhere, all he wants is his well-deserved freedom away from that husband.
"Excuse me, Gucci!" Chris tumbles but balances himself. stopping the officer at the doors, Behind them is the morning light of the grey day. When Thomas accepts his failed escape, he smiles at Christopher, as if just noticing him. "Oh, good morning, Da Silva. A bit early for today, isn't it?"
"Listen, it's been months. Months!" Chris says frustrated. "And you haven't found a single shred of evidence about what happened in that accident. Where is my wife and child?!" Chris bellows furiously, but maintaining his posture.
"We've looked in and around Silent Hill, sent out missing posters, and all the towns are in alert. My guys have done their very best, Da Silva. What do you propose we do next?"
For a moment, Chris is at a loss for words, not knowing just exactly what else the police could possibly do for him at this point, so long after the case first started. To the surprise of him, Thomas gently places a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly.
"I heard you joined a support group? That's good. It's a step forward."
"I'm only checking it out for now. It's been highly recommended back home." Chris says loudly.
"Yeah," Thomas says dismissively. "It's incredibly convenient for you now, isn't it? Now you can pop in here on the way to the building, and maybe even have a little surprise visit to Silent Hill."
"Whatever. I have your number." He pushes the doors open, saying the words with a threatening tone. Brahams was mere hours from his hometown where he could easily access his home and Silent Hill. Even in the same city as the officer, though, Chris guessed that he would never have a chance to accidently come across Inspector Gucci conveniently.
Thomas makes sure he gets into his car, the man whose case he was supposed to be working on, the Da Silva missing case from Silent Hill. Christopher had power and money, causing problems for the police with threats if they discontinued the case. Now they had some kind of agreement but even then with some difficulties.
The next thing he knew, Chris is sitting on a folding chair in a circle with other men, all taking turns talking about what they were feeling and going through. Obviously, it was very emotional, some expressing denial and a sense of how unreal it all was.
"And you, what about you Christopher?" A woman asks, pen and paper in hand.
He looks around the room to see everybody staring at him, waiting for him to say something. He wasn't like them. He knew his family wasn't dead. They were kidnapped. That had to be it.
"I feel like killing myself." He unexpectedly mumbles.
Some men coughs while others listen empathetically through their own experiences.
"You feel like committing suicide?" The woman asks, eyebrows raised.
He rolls his head back. "Well...no. I guess not." He shifts and fiddles with his wedding ring. "The moment I met Rose, I knew I had to marry her. I knew I wouldn't love any other woman. Ever since her parents passed, I wanted to protect her..." A long pause ensues, his throat tightening and eyes burning. The only problem was that Chris didn't save Rose in the end. Instead he let her go with their daughter alone where they had their accident. He couldn't even have a proper burial for them without the bodies.
"And...?" The woman waves her pen, motioning for him to continue.
"Goddammit! What the hell do you want me to say? That I miss them? That I know nothing will ever be the same again?"
"Chris-" She holds up her hands calmly.
"No! What's wrong with you people? She could be held hostage right now and all anybody could say is to just let it go!" He violently kicks his chair, face contorted in anger, his steps out quickly disappearing as he leaves a troubled group of widowers behind.
Outside, he slams open the door, tripping on the uneven floor and falling against the wall. His breaths are heavy and his head hot. As he tries to unlock his car door, the keys jingle, the morning sun glaring in his face, every truck, car and motorcycle roaring pass him as if he was nothing. He only came as an excuse to visit the city to check up on Gucci. As if that would have changed anything. He knew what everybody was thinking, that he was the one that sent his family running away, vanishing without a trace.
Within a week Chris settles on a hasty decision which led him to abandon his house and take up a temporary one until the case was solved and Rose returns. His daughter, Sharon, too. he rented a small house in Brahams and moved all his personal belongings and took only what he could easily pack away. He left everything else behind in his old home. What's left of that extravagant house was ghostly furnitures and locked bedroom doors where not an item was touched.
Yawning and collapsing onto the sofa, Chris examines this new alien world; an unsettlingly large kitchen and living room but a comfortably sized bedroom; walls were completely bare but a single framed painting of a very famous figure; with flowing hair and hands clasp together. On a large box -acting as the coffee table- sits a brand new laptop, nestled under is piles of paper.
After half an hour of silent failure just staring at the blank screen, he is unable to continue his novel,
He flips open his cellphone. No messages. Not even his friends called, but most of all Rose. As long as he kept it, he was sure she'd call again that she was fine and returning home. As long as that hope held up, he would never get rid of that cellphone. But moving was useless as everywhere he looked was no different from home: same kind of city environment, women of all ages resembling Rose Da Silva, and Officer Gucci's futile efforts still proven useless.
Chris flings on his jacket and heads out to the night of the city to escape.
.