Chapter 2.

I awoke to a pale brown light seeping through the windows on the ceiling, accompanied by the soft patter of rain. I sat up and swung my feet over the edge of the bed and stretched my stiff arms and legs in an attempt to relieve the pain brought on by a night's sleep on an unfamiliar mattress. Now that it was light, it was much easier to see the layers of dust and dirt collecting on all surfaces in the room. Everything had become a mottled gray color, only a ghostly reminder of the vivid blues and purples that used to fill this room.

I stood, picked up my backpack and crossed to the door. I made my way back down to the main level and began to look around. The whole place was trashed. It was quite obvious that the building had been occupied by several different vagrants at some point, though likely not at the same time. I cautiously made my way across the cluttered floor of the kitchen, through to the main hallway and out the front door.

The city looked excessively dismal, even during the day. The dark gray buildings jutted up from the sidewalk like crooked teeth, contrasting harshly with the pallid white sky. It just wasn't the same. Even the bright green exterior of Art's Shoe Store had lost its luster. I pulled the brim of my hat lower to shield my face from the gently falling rain and took a left down the street. There was no telling what I would find out here in the streets.

I began to aimlessly wander the deserted streets. I had no idea where to even begin my search. All I had to go on was a small pink journal, and there weren't even any kinds of clues in it. It was all written long before Hillwood fell into the shadows. I kicked an empty beer can and it skittered noisily across the cold sidewalk, stopping abruptly at the base of a wooden fence. I glanced up from the sidewalk to see what was beyond the fence.

"Gerald Field..." I whispered to myself, "Maybe there's at least something here."

In the days of my youth, Gerald Field had been an exciting place where we would all gather and play baseball, kickball or whatever sport we felt like playing. By the time I came back to it, though, it was covered once more in trash and forgotten appliances. The site was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. I walked up to a broken washing machine that sat where home plate used to be. It was dented and covered in mud, grease and... There, on the bottom corner...

"Is that...? Bl-"

"Well, I'll be damned. Will you look who's come back from the far reaches of the known world?"

I'd recognize that slow, measured drawl anywhere. I turned around to find myself face to face with someone I'd never expected to see again. Last time I saw him, he'd been holding a baseball bat. This time, however, he was carrying a length of metal pipe with what seemed to be nails stuck through it. It was dripping with a thick, oily substance tinted a bright crimson.

"I thought you were gone for good, Arnold. I hate that you had to come back to the city with it like this."

"Always a pleasure, Stinky," I said.

I knew I would have to choose my words carefully. Here I was, cornered in Gerald Field with no way to protect myself and Stinky standing between me and the road clutching a lead pipe coated in blood. There was no way to know what his intentions might be. It always was hard to tell with Stinky.

"You know, Arnold, you really shouldn't have come back to Hillwood. I reckon it's a bit more dangerous than the last time you were here."

"Yeah, Stinky. I noticed things were a bit different."

It didn't seem that he wished to harm me, though his weapon was a bit unnerving. I took a step towards him slowly, prepared to leap out of harms way should he become volatile.

"So, Stinky... Care to tell me what's going on here? I know I've been gone for a while, but..."

I wasn't entirely sure what words to use. No shit, things had changed. This wasn't the city I'd grown up in at all. The bright colors that had once painted the buildings were now blended together into a monochromatic landscape that left a bitter taste in my mouth and a feeling of deep despair in my heart. Seeing the bloody weapon Stinky carried scared me even more. It reminded me that some of the people I once knew could be dead by now, and quite likely at the hands of someone they had once called a friend.

"Hmm... Well, I'm not quite sure where to begin," droned Stinky, bringing up his free hand to scratch his head through his fine brown hair. Even after all these years, he hadn't changed it. He was still the same old Stinky, at least in appearance. "I think it may be better to discuss these things somewhere safer. This is dangerous territory, and it'd be best if we got out of here."

Stinky motioned for me to follow him and turned to walk out of Gerald Field. His long, thin legs took giant strides that carried him quickly down the street, almost to the point that I had to struggle to keep up. I wasn't sure if I would even be safe where he was taking me, but he had given me no reason not to trust him at this point. Stinky seemed harmless enough, but until I actually had a chance to speak with him, there was no way to know for certain.

We followed a chaotic, circling route through back alleys and around various buildings for what seemed like hours. It all looked the same now – not like back then. Everything was so unique. I knew every secret path and every shortcut. I could get from one end of the neighborhood to the other in a matter of minutes. With Hillwood's ruined state, however, it would have been nearly impossible for me to navigate it on my own.

Finally, Stinky stopped and crouched low behind a dumpster, allowing only enough of his head to protrude to see what was on the other side. He waved his hand, signaling for me to do the same. He turned around and looked me dead in the eyes. I could see that he'd been through a lot of hard times in the past ten years. This was not the same Stinky I'd known. He'd grown tired and weary from living in Hillwood, but what had caused his hardships, I still did not know.

"We're almost there. It's just on the other side of this street. Stay close," he instructed.

We stood up and began to slowly make our way across the street, out in the open for the first time since I'd begun following Stinky. I looked forward to see where exactly it was Stinky was leading me. The realization hit me like a crate of cinder blocks.

"Mighty Pete!" I quietly reveled.

It had been years since I visited this tree. It had been since before I moved away, maybe as far back as middle school. I was amazed that it still stood, taller and mightier than ever. The tree house remained in its branches, the rope ladder still swinging close to the trunk. The ladder had obviously been replaced since the last time I had used it, however. The rope was too fresh to be the original ladder. We approached the tree and began to climb the ladder. Who or what awaited me inside the tree house? As Stinky lifted the hatch and climbed inside, I was greeted by a strange odor. It was sort of a mixture between alcohol, smoke and iron. Not knowing what would happen next, I hoisted myself through the dark opening and into the fort.