Henry's palms stung from the marks of his fingernails digging into them, but he didn't mind…it helped bring him back to reality. He could feel James still sitting quietly next to him.

For a long minute, he lay there, as it all receded and he was left behind, empty.

"Don't tell me that I needed that," he said after a while.

"I know I did, when it was me," James replied. "It gets better."

"Yeah. But that's going to take time. Who knows how long."

"You have all the time you need now."

"Yeah."

Henry sat back up and leaned against the pole. James didn't talk, didn't pry, didn't even acknowledge his presence, just drank his beer and stared off into space. For which Henry was very grateful as he struggled to collect himself.

"Come on," James said, struggling to his feet. "I've got this round."

James plopped back down on his bar stool. Henry watched him produce two more beers just like before, then pulled himself to his feet and dropped back onto his stool. He felt physically drained, but not tired at all.

"There's something you haven't explained yet," he said.

"And what would that be?"

"Why you're here."

"It's a long story."

"Like you said, I've got time."

A second later, a second shot glass appeared, filled with a golden-brown liquid. James picked it up and bolted it down without hesitation.

"Good whisky. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. My turn to buy, anyway," Henry said with a smile.

James stared at the empty glass for a moment.

"I..."

Henry waited while James looked absently around the small bar, searching. In the dark, he could see the multicolored light of the neon signs reflected by his companion's pale eyes.

"...I'm a sinner, Mr. Townshend. We all are, one way or another. Nobody's spotless by the time they reach our age. We both know that. But what I did was unforgivable."

"It couldn't have been that bad, James," Henry said lamely.

"Oh, yes it could."

"Come on, man. You seem like a good guy. What…"

"Henry, I killed my wife."

The silence was as thick as the darkness at the back of the stage.

"So yes, it could have been that bad," James said quietly. "I killed my Mary, who I loved more than life itself. At least, I thought I did."

So that's it.

"But...why?"

"Mary was sick, Henry. Very sick. She was dying…so slowly...wasting away. She was miserable...I told myself that she didn't want to live this way, that she wanted to die. And maybe she said it once or twice, but I knew better. The truth was, I was tired of it all. I hated her for changing, for not being the Mary I married any more, for dying on me. I was a selfish bastard back then, Henry. I was afraid to go see her. I spent as much time feeling sorry for myself as I did worrying about her." James put his elbows on the bar and ran his fingers through his hair. "I was a real sonuvabitch."

"That's understandable," Henry said. "You were under a lot of strain."

James just shook his head. "Not enough for that. She didn't deserve it. And she never deserved to die like that. One day I kissed her on the forehead, and smiled at her, and stroked her hair, and took her pillow and..."

James' gaze shifted to the neon "Paradise" sign on the wall to their left. His eyes reflected the lights back, but without life.

"I didn't remember that. I didn't remember any of it. Next thing I knew, I was in a rest stop just outside of Silent Hill, thinking that Mary had been dead for three years and that I'd just gotten a letter from her, telling me to meet her there. So, dumb delusional me heads into town, and I end up facing hordes of monsters with a two-by-four with a few nails in it while searching for my wife who I think has been dead for three years but is still sending me letters. I didn't even care if it made sense at the time, I wanted her back so much...

"The town wreaked its vengeance on me, and on other people too. I met Angela there, in the cemetery. Poor Angela…she was one fucked-up kid. I found out later that she'd been molested by her father and had killed him, and ended up there because of her guilt. Her mother told her that it was her fault. What her father did to her. Can you believe that? What kind of mother would do something like that? Of course, I can't really claim any moral high ground there… Eddie was there too. He was overweight and convinced that everybody was laughing at him. He had gone apeshit with a revolver on anybody who he thought was making fun of him. He shot a dog so that he could watch it die horribly.

"They both died there...I ended up killing Eddie, since I was next on his list. I remember so clearly, sitting there next to him in that meat locker, watching steam rise from the blood as it ran out of him, as it sank in that I had killed a human. Heh. I had no idea that it wasn't the first time...Angela gave in, ultimately. It ate her alive. I came damn near to doing the same thing.

"Maria was the worst. She looked just like Mary, but dressed differently, wore her hair differently...and was much more...provocative. She tormented me...made me want her so much -- God, in my mind it had been three years since Mary died, and longer since she'd...I wasn't thinking straight when Maria was around. She made me doubt everything.

"And then she died, and I couldn't save her. Just when I'd given up and accepted it, my total uselessness in the face of death, she was there in front of me again. She reached out and touched my face, Henry. I can still feel it after all this time. So close yet behind bars...by the time I got to her, she was dead. Again. By the time I got to the hotel, I didn't know up from down, left from right, dead from alive...I didn't care what happened to me. I just hoped that somehow, somewhere I would find Mary.

"And then I found out what really happened...and I understood. The town had called me there to punish me for what I'd done. The whole Godforsaken place was designed to torture me with hope and desire and pain. And the worst...the worst was at the end, when I thought I'd finally found her, and it was just Maria telling me that I was never going to have my Mary again..."

Henry sat silently.

"So," James said after a long pause. "Still think it can't be that bad?"

"No," Henry said. "Jesus, James, I...I'm sorry." He put his hand on James' shoulder. James smiled gratefully through his pain written on his face.

"After all this time, it still gets me like this. Part of the punishment. I'm sure it always will. But I welcome it. It's mine. It's what I deserve."

Henry shook his head. "How did you get out of there?"

"This place," James replied. "I had to kill...Maria, or she was going to kill me. That took a long time, but at the end, she lay there, strapped into her metal torture frame, calling my name...I put one last bullet into her, and the world turned white. When I woke up, I was sitting here with Harry. He explained everything…everything he could. After we were done talking, I was in the graveyard again, with Laura. Did I mention Laura? She's a little girl who Mary knew in the hospital. We got the hell out of town and never came back. At least, Laura didn't...but I come back here."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Silence.

"I don't know what to say."

"It's OK. That's what Heather said, too."

Silence, awkward and long. Henry knew that James knew what was coming, but that didn't make it any easier.

"I have some questions I have to ask. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," James replied. He snapped his fingers, and more beer appeared, along with a large bowl of pretzels, and a small jar of brown mustard.

"First of all...uh, how did you know that I like pretzels with mustard?"

"Educated guess," James grinned.

"And how did you know...about everything?"

"That's one of the funny things about how all of this works," James said, waving his hand around the room. "We always know when someone new is coming, because we see it happen. We saw what happened to you, Henry. Everything."

"Uh...everything?"

"Yeah. Don't worry. No weirder than anything else we've seen. Who're we going to tell, anyway?"

Henry laughed. "No kidding. Damn. When I was stuck in my room for all those days, one of the few things that made it bearable was knowing that at least nobody else could see what I was up to. If they couldn't hear me screaming for help at the top of my lungs, they couldn't see me crawling around in my boxers scrounging for food under the sink."

"You didn't do anything too bad. Although the whole bottle of vodka on the third day..."

"Yeah, that was too much. And I was out of pretzels by then. My stomach let me know the next morning. The hard way. I guess you saw that too."

"Yeah," James laughed. "That's how I knew about the pretzels. If I were you, I'd have been hitting the bottle pretty heavily too by then. Had a hard time keeping out of it afterwards myself. Still am. But yeah, we saw what happened to you. For what it's worth, you did a damn fine job."

"Not good enough," Henry muttered.

"You can't do that to yourself."

Henry shook his head.

"You couldn't have helped her, you know. You did everything you could."

"It wasn't enough. That's what mattered."

"No. You're still alive and Walter's gone. That's what matters."

Henry's mouth was a hard line.

"There's something else, Henry."

"…Yeah, there is."

"Nothing leaves this room, you know."

"Yeah."

Silence. Henry stared intently at his beer.

"There was always…something else going on. I didn't realize it for a while. But I could feel it. There was something in the air. Even in my apartment. In the way that he…" Henry shook his head. "Ugh. No. I can't…do this."

"It's OK. There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, I didn't mean…I mean, yeah, I know, but no, I didn't mean that. I…I didn't even realize just what it was until right before the end. He cornered me in that kids' bedroom downstairs and got way too close, right in my face, and…"

Another shot glass, full, appeared on the bar. Bolted down and upended in a flash.

"…then I knew. Just what it would mean to be his Receiver."

"But he didn't…"

"No, he didn't. Somehow, I knew that he wouldn't. That he wouldn't do anything until it suited his purposes. The way that he looked at me, and talked to me…I knew that he wouldn't have done that."

"But you still didn't want it."

Henry smiled sadly into his beer. "That's just it, James," he said. "I…I don't know if I did or not. I've never swung that way, never, but this was…different. But it wasn't even the usual thing, you know." He laughed. "Clear as mud, huh."

"Don't worry about it."

"It was weird, him and me…almost symbiotic. He couldn't complete the 21 Sacraments without me, and I couldn't get out of that hell without him. Each of us knew that the other knew that, and we ended up in this weird dance around each other. He needed me, more than he was aware of, and he didn't really understand what for…It was like he wanted someone, anyone, anyhow, and I was as close as he was going to get. He was lonely."

Henry sat quietly.

"And so was I. I hadn't felt wanted like that in forever. I guess I got it all mixed up together like he did. It shook me up pretty badly."

"Let me tell you something, Henry," James said. "When I was in Silent Hill, I saw monsters unlike those that Harry saw, and those that Heather saw. They were almost all humans, but deformed. Women, I think, but not like any I'd ever seen. Some had their heads and bodies bound up and only their legs were free. Others had no heads or bodies, just another pair of legs like mannequin parts put together. Long, slender, naked, feminine legs, everywhere around me. And I saw Pyramid Head...doing things to them."

"Things?"

"Yeah. Things. Those kinds of things. Things that I could never imagine myself doing to anybody. Freaked me out. The first time, I hid in a closet – heh, gotta love the symbolism there – and shot at him until he left. And then there was Maria…"

Silence.

"You see, Henry? It had been three years since Mary had died, and months more since she'd fallen ill, and a while before that since we'd last…or at least, I thought it had. To be blunt, I hadn't in a long, long time, Henry, and somehow this place knew that. May I ask you a personal question?"

Henry shrugged. "Shoot."

"Um…how long…"

"Heh. Yeah, that's personal. A while, I'm not sure exactly. But a while. Not for lack of interest. More a lack of opportunity."

"See? That explains it, right? We're guys. Doesn't matter how self-controlled we are. We're programmed this way. And it was used against us. How are you feeling now?"

Henry felt heat in his cheeks. Well, he had had a lot to drink. Yeah. That must be it. And nothing left this room, right?

So he says. Can you trust him?

If this is all a dream, then no harm done. And if it's real, then…yes, I think I can. Hell, he knows everything else already, what's this compared to that?

"What the hell. Dammit, James, I'm..."

"Yeah. Anything that moves, yet?"

"No, not yet, but the idea seems less ridiculous than it used to."

"Good. You'll be fine." James took another slug of beer. Henry stared at him open-mouthed.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Means you're coming out of it. That isolation. The reason for it is gone."

"Yeah. And my previous dating history has been so successful."

James laughed. "Henry, to be frank, you're a good-looking guy. You've got the tall-dark-handsome-mysterious thing going. You'll have no problems if you just get off your ass and get out once in a while."

Henry smiled. He realized that he was rather drunk, and he didn't really care. About much of anything. Including whether this was all getting way too personal. He rolled his eyes at James and raised an eyebrow.

"And what about you, golden boy? How have you been dealing?"

"I've been...dealing," James replied. "It's been rough. I still don't completely trust myself there. Probably never will again. But I've been seeing a wonderful woman who's far too understanding. I told her everything, and she's still there. I feel so guilty about putting her through all of this. She's far too good for me. Even helps Laura with…well, girl things, you know."

Henry nodded. "You need to stop feeling guilty. About her, anyway."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Before you screw things up with her."

"Yeah." James laughed harshly. "Once is enough for anybody. You know, I never realized how damn hard dating was before."

"Yeah. It's enough to make you want to lock your door and never go out…well, not me…" He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

James guffawed at that. "Somehow, I don't think that you're ever going to use that little chain lock on your door again."

"Damn right."

"Hey, look at us. Two guys sitting at a bar getting drunk and talking about relationships and feelings. We're such girls," James grinned.

Henry laughed. "Yeah. Fine with me."

"Me too."

"God," Henry said. "I hadn't even thought about it, but who could I have talked to about all of this? Anyone who hasn't been through it would think I was batshit crazy. I'd end up in a mental ward for life."

"Harry had that problem," James said. "For a long time, before I showed up here. He had to live with it by himself. He couldn't even tell his little girl, who was the cause of it all."

"Poor bastard," Henry said.

"Yeah. I was the first person he could talk to about it. At least we all have each other now."

"Why are we here, anyway? I know the who and the what, and the where..."

"A very good question," James replied. "How did you get here?"

"Last thing I remember was…the radio was on in my room, and the news reporter was telling me about the bodies in the woods. And Eileen. I think I passed out then. Then, I was here."

James nodded. "I don't know how we get here any more than you do. I go to sleep, and sometimes I end up here. But I get the feeling that we're brought here to help each other out. If things go as they usually do, you'll be seeing the others soon enough."

"The...others?"

"Yeah."

"But...it's just me, you and Heather now, right? Harry's dead."

James studied his beer. "Like you said, you know the who, the what, the where, and now maybe the why and the how. But you don't know..."

"...the when."

James nodded.

"How old do I look, Henry?"

Henry peered.

"Maybe...a year or two older than me. Not over thirty."

"I'm twenty-nine. Here, anyway. Henry, I went to Silent Hill over ten years ago. In the real world, I'm staring forty in the face. But when I'm here, I'm the same age I was then. Same for Heather. She looks seventeen when she comes here, but in real life she's almost old enough to drink. More than that, depending how you count the years. And Harry..."

"Harry's dead."

"Yes. He's been dead for years. But when he's here, he's in his early thirties, not a speck of gray in his hair. Same guy who drove his red Jeep into Silent Hill with half of the soul of the Mother of God asleep in his passenger seat."

"Must have been tough for Heather, to see her father like that after..."

"Yeah, it was," James said. "When she first joined us, he and I decided that he wouldn't show up here for a while, to give her time to get adjusted to the whole thing. But she took it OK when he did, and now she loves spending time here with him."

A tiny kindness, perhaps, but meaningful.

"In case you're interested, when you come back, you'll always look just as you do now, no matter what. And so will we. Even after we're all long dead."

Henry digested this for a while.

"Immortality."

"Of a sort."

"Will we ever meet...out there?"

"God, I hope not," James said, draining the last of his beer. "Don't get me wrong. You're a great guy. I deserved what I got, but you didn't, not in any way. But it would be a bad idea for us to meet outside of this place. I'm...I'm barely holding it together out there. Laura is what keeps me going. She's about to go to college, Henry," he said softly. "Full scholarship. She's brilliant. She's everything to me, all I have left. We've made it this far, I have no idea how. But...it could be very bad."

We have to keep this here. Keep it here so that it doesn't ever get out into our real lives.

Henry nodded. "Yeah. I can see that."

"But we do meet here. I'm not sure how it works, but I think that it's whenever we need to. When Heather needs to see her father, or when I have a...bad day, somehow we always end up here."

"Silent Hill Anonymous. We need bumper stickers."

James laughed. "Kinda. Except not anonymous."

"But still in Silent Hill."

"Yeah. I guess it will never completely let go. I don't know if this place is even really in Silent Hill any more," he said, surveying the room. "But it's here for us."

"At least it brings us together. We need that."

"Yes, we do. Next time you come here, maybe they'll be here too. You'll like them. Harry's the strong, quiet type, like an older brother. Heather's a real character. You'll get along with them just fine."

"I'm looking forward to it. So why is it only you here now?"

"We figured that I'd be the best person to explain it all to you," James replied. "It was Heather's turn, but what you've been through is more like mine than to hers, and there are some things that we thought you'd be more comfortable discussing with me."

"So…if there is another one…"

"Then you're up. Unless one of us is better suited to the task."

"Seems reasonable."

"It's worked so far. God willing, none of us will ever have to again. But it seems likely that we will."

"The cult's gone. Joseph told me, in his notes…but what was it he said? 'I'm sure the spirit of it is still alive.' As long as it's there…"

"Then this can keep happening, over and over. Damn place calls people in and turns them inside out."

"Yeah."

James drained the last of his beer. "Excuse me, but nature calls," he said, standing up. "Be right back." Henry was left alone with his thoughts.

Whoa, Henry. James was right. This is just what you needed. You're feeling much better already. So is this all a dream? Another dream? Is it all in your head?

Perhaps. You'll probably never know. Not unless you run into one of them, which would be a bad idea, like James said. You could be making all of this up. You could still be lying on that floor, half-dead and out of your mind.

Does it really matter? It's helping. Even if it's just some big complex dream, it's helping. I have to do something, anything to get past this.

It's too soon. Too fresh.

Then, it's time to stop it in its tracks before it consumes you. It's going to take a long time. But this is helping. And if it isn't all just a dream, then you owe it to them and to the next guy to pull yourself together and get on with your life.

I suppose. Still would be nice to know if it's real. Remember, you're the one who writes entire books in your sleep and can't remember them when you wake up. You're very good at creating universes in your REM cycles.

Which sucks. But I have a feeling that I'm going to remember this one.

James' walk was rather unsteady as he made his way back to the bar. "Think of any more questions while I was gone?"

"No. But if I do…"

"You'll know where to find us," James said. "We're here when you need us."

"Thanks," Henry said simply.

"So, you're a photographer, right?" James said. "I never had an eye for that sort of thing. I'm a numbers kind of guy. What's it like?"

"What do you mean, what's it like?"

"Well, I guess you spend your time going to gorgeous places and taking pictures of mountains and things, right?"

Henry laughed. "I wish. I do work for local papers and magazines. Pays the bills and little else. But it does feel good to find a pleasing image where you just thought that there was an old building, that sort of thing. To make something out of nothing."

"I liked the pictures in your apartment that you took. Good stuff. There's something special there."

"Thanks. Silent Hill brought that out in them. Who knows, maybe one of these days I'll go back and shoot some more."

"Or maybe not."

"Yeah. Or maybe not."

Henry awoke to a bright fall morning and the taste of Berber carpet in his mouth. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was...flat on his stomach in front of his TV. The radio was playing some sort of generic jazz-with-lots-of-sax music. Several seconds later, he remembered why he was on the floor in his front room. He pulled himself to his feet, and yanked the nearest window open. The fresh, cool breeze swept in, and the clean air made him dizzy. He dropped into the chair by the window.

His place looked normal again. Same boring old plain-white door, with only the one chain-bolt instead of Walter's array of chains and locks and loops. The TV was silent, and the clock ticked out its regular rhythm. The furniture was all as before…except for…

He crossed the room to the cabinet by the couch. The wall behind it was smooth and unblemished. He ran his hand over it to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, but his fingertips touched nothing but smooth wall. Startled, he turned to look down the hallway. The hall extended past where he'd smashed through the wall, and now it seemed that he had two more rooms in his apartment.

It's all gone. It really is over.

Henry pushed the cabinet back into place and straightened the pictures on top. His own beaming face stared back at him, once from each picture.

James is right. That is me. A lifetime ago. I … I'd forgotten.

A familiar sound echoed through the room, accompanied by a familiar sensation. For the first time in days, Henry was hungry. The fridge was empty of course, and he didn't have the nerve to open any of the cans on the counter, so he'd have to find something to eat.

The sound of people came through the window. People laughing, talking, yelling. The traffic sounded moderate, neither heavy nor quiet. Henry knew without looking at the clock that it was around 11:00.

The Fuseli should be opening for lunch right around now…

Showering for the first time in days did even more to restore Henry's spirits, and he put on his favorite shirt and jeans.

I'm not going to feel guilty about it now. Not going to think about what might have been. Later, maybe. But not now.

As he turned to leave, something caught his eye. A book lay on the floor by his bookshelf. Funny…nothing was out of place on the shelf…

He picked up the book. It was a yellowed old hardcover novel. Inscribed inside the front cover in spiky writing was a note.

Some light reading for you. I think you'll appreciate it more than most.

James

Henry closed the book and turned it to look at its spine. Red letters on black.

The Town Awaits

Harry Morris

Henry smiled to himself, and slipped the book into his pocket.