I.
"Now, where did Henry go?" Cynthia Velasquez asked aloud.
She stood outside of the women's bathroom, unsure of where her dream lover had gone. But it was a dream, so his disappearance wasn't really that strange. After all, stranger things happen in dreams, right?
Cynthia wasn't so sure. Since she had met Henry, a creeping doubt had festered and continued to grow. Though rationally, Cynthia knew that she must be dreaming, something felt wrong and horribly real about her present situation. But how could it be real?
Cynthia had started off the day normally, intending to meet Abe and Mia at a swank coffee shop in Silent Hill. Not really wanting to deal with the traffic, Cynthia decided to take the subway train there, which was only a thirty minute trip. But as soon as she entered the subway, things took an odd turn.
The subway was strangely abandoned. During this time of day, it should have been bustling with people rushing to and from work and other appointments. Yet, the stairs were empty, the halls were empty, no one manned the token booths, and when she got to the subway train, they were standing still, completely empty.
She thought about simply going back up to the street and finding out what was going on. Maybe she missed something in the paper about repairs being done or some other circumstance that would contribute to the abandonment of the subway. Then she thought about it some more. She had been feeling a bit woozy all morning, like everything around her was cast in a slight fog and she was simply floating from her townhouse to the subway.
At first, it seemed to make sense. She hadn't even gotten out of bed. She was dreaming. Her appointment with Abe and Mia, the outfit she decided to wear, her trip to the subway station—all of it were simply products of her unconscious mind as she peacefully lay in her own bed. The more she thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make.
When she ran across Henry, it further solidified her belief that she was in a dream. Of all the people for her to run into, she happens upon a handsome man, innocently seductive and willing to play her hero. What were the chances of that happening in real life?
So Cynthia promised to make it worth his while if he helped her find the exit. Now, her hint of a sexual encounter with Henry wasn't exactly her normal behavior. She was sure that if Mia had heard how she had spoken to Henry, Mia would have told Cynthia that she was acting whorish.
It's just a dream. I might as well have some fun, Cynthia thought then later said to Henry. He agreed to help her, but didn't seem to desire the seductive payment Cynthia was willing to give.
After finding more empty hallways and several inexplicably locked doors, Cynthia was hit with a wave of nausea. She staggered with surprise and fright. It was a dream and people weren't supposed to get sick in dreams. Yet, Cynthia felt a strong urge to release whatever had upset her stomach.
Luckily, they were by some restrooms, so Cynthia dashed inside and found a decently clean toilet. Much to her horror, she threw up blood-tinged matter—oranges, browns, and greens thrown together in a melody of chaos. Cynthia hadn't eaten that morning and only had a sandwich from a deli down the street the evening before. Sure, there were a few adult beverages thrown in there, but no more than normal. Before she could ponder over it again, her stomach lurched, and she heaved again.
After two more bouts of heaving, Cynthia flushed the toilet and made her way to the sink. No mirrors. Great. She probably looked like hell now, and her little fantasy would be dashed to bits. But it was a dream, so she probably looked fine.
She turned on the water and rinsed out her mouth with a few handfuls of water. Cynthia scrunched her nose at the odd taste, but it was ten times better than the taste of vomit. But she shouldn't be able to taste anything because she was dreaming. It was all just a dream, yet everything seemed real, which began to scare her.
If all this was real, then what the hell had happened? How could she have been magically transported to an abandoned subway without knowing it? And the most important question of all, why?
Cynthia now stood outside the bathroom looking to the left and right, surprised that there was no sign of Henry anywhere. It was like he had disappeared along with the rest of the people that were supposed to be in the subway. But if he was there with her, then maybe he had been unwittingly led to the abandoned subway too.
She pushed all the thoughts out of her head. Everything was suddenly too weird to think about. And it didn't make any damn sense.
Cynthia decided to explore some more. She walked down another empty hallway, her only company the tap of her heels on the concrete floors. She had the distinct feeling that something dark was lurking somewhere nearby, waiting patiently to make its move. Cynthia thought she was alone, now that Henry had vanished. But what if there was something else?
She slowed her pace, sure that a growl had come from somewhere up ahead. Cynthia peered toward the end of the hallway, which turned sharply to the right. Immediately, the darkness made Cynthia think twice about advancing any farther. Then, there it was—another growl like a deep rumbling of an agitated hunter. And it was getting closer.
Cynthia stopped walking and stared as something inhuman emerged. Melting out of the shadows, a four-legged nightmare padded into the dim light. Cynthia brought her hand to her chest, the disbelief in what she was seeing threatening to stop her heart.
The closest thing Cynthia could relate the monstrosity to was a dog, yet it was no where near any dog she had ever seen or imagined. Mostly skinless with small patches of olive and sienna rotted skin, dangling snake-like tongue, deep holes for ears, eyes like ebony ovals, deadly fangs dripping with thick saliva, wet and exposed muscles—none of it could have been created by nature. The demon-dog moved in a jerky fashion, its muscles appearing to be in a continuous spasm. It was something spawned from Hell itself and now, its eyes settled on Cynthia.
Cynthia realized she had been holding her breath, but she was scared to exhale. When she did exhale, the demon-dog perked up and began to advance toward her.
Okay. It might be a monster, but maybe it's like a dog too. Just don't run, and it won't attack, Cynthia told herself. She took hesitant steps backwards, slow and deliberate. Sharp, quick movements would surely give the demon-dog the wrong idea and it might take her retreating movements as aggressive advances.
Cynthia managed to retreat about ten feet from the demon-dog, which plodded toward her carefully but kept its eyes locked on Cynthia. Then it stopped. Another growl rose from its throat, echoing throughout the hallway. Cynthia could clearly see the demon-dog's exposed muscles tense. In the next second, it bolted and ran straight at Cynthia.
Like the dog, Cynthia was on edge. The moment the demon-dog sprang forward, Cynthia spun on her heel and fled in the opposite direction.
The dog's claws clicked rapidly across the concrete, and its heavy pants drew closer to her. She didn't make the mistake of glancing over her shoulder—instead she kept her eyes forward, concentrating on running as fast as possible to escape being eaten alive.
The hallway turned sharply to the right and Cynthia timed her strides just right to make the turn without slowing down. The demon-dog tried to make the turn as well, but slammed into the opposite wall instead. Unfazed, the demon-dog focused on its prey and picked up speed in pursuit.
She made a sudden turn to the right into a doorway and slammed the door behind her. Cynthia hoped the closed door would give her a few seconds of lead time as she continued to run down yet another similar hallway. But the demon-dog simply leaped through the fragile door, leaving behind splinters of wood and a gaping hole.
Cynthia's lungs felt like they were going to explode. She tried to control her breathing, but the hard running, adrenaline, and fear constricted her lungs. Her throat was burning and her legs felt heavy, still she pumped her arms and tried to maintain some distance between her and the demon-dog.
Despite her best efforts, the tireless mongrel was closing the gap. Cynthia risked a quick peek behind her and saw it getting closer and closer. Cynthia looked back forward and saw she was coming close to a dead end.
No, it can't end like this. This is not how it's supposed to be!
She chanced one more glance and saw the dog gain a bit more speed then it became airborne, leaping right toward Cynthia's head.
Cynthia ducked as the demon-dog missed her head by inches. She watched in horror as it sailed over then winced as the dog hit the wall with a sickening crack. It hit the floor like a heavy sack of potatoes. Then everything was quiet again.
Cynthia stared only for a moment at the canine, hoping that it was out of commission. Not wanting to linger any longer, she glanced upward and spied a vent cover hanging by a single loose screw. Raising up on her toes, she easily reached the vent cover and with a single yank, pulled it completely off. She scurried into the vent shaft headfirst, praying the demon-dog didn't suddenly perk up, leap into the vent behind her, and devour her from the legs up.
The shaft was only fifteen feet long. Cynthia quickly came to another loose vent cover. She pushed it off and awkwardly lowered herself into the room below. Jumping down about two feet did nothing for her already aching feet, but she was glad to have escaped her pursuer.
The first thing Cynthia noticed was the writing scrawled in some kind of red paint.
Henry can't save you.
The note itself was menacing and threatening. Drops of fresh crimson rolled down the wall from each letter. Below the note, Cynthia saw a normal-looking phone set on top of a table next to a slew of tokens for the Lynch Line.
Though she expected the phone line to be dead, she lifted the receiver, and almost cheered when a phone rang on the other end. Someone on the other end picked it up, and somehow, Cynthia knew that it was Henry.
"Where'd you go?" Cynthia breathed into the phone. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Hurry...save me. If you need a token, there's one here." Cynthia wanted to hear Henry respond. She wanted to know that her hero was coming to take her away from this living nightmare.
But the phone went dead, devouring any hope she had of getting help.
II.
Michael trailed behind Heather and Trey, who followed Frank down the stairs and to the right. He led them to apartment 104, the one he had suggested that they stay in for the night. Frank chattered on about small inconsequential things, but Michael wasn't paying a bit of attention. His mind raced over various aspects of their current situation. At the same time, he attempted to formulate a plan of attack to investigate apartment 302 and how to enter the world of Silent Hill to find Christine.
So far, Michael was surprised that they had gone without incident since the gas station. They hadn't run into anyone even remotely resembling the strange man that had accosted both him and Heather. Then again, there were three floors of apartments. The odd man could have been lurking anywhere, secretly watching them and waiting until they weren't suspecting then sneak up behind them and slit their throats.
Again, Michael shook his head, trying to push out his pessimistic thoughts.
He decided to simply take everything one step at a time. And right now, they had to contend with getting situated for the night in this strange, new apartment.
Frank led the way through the door of 104, giving them a short tour of the two-bedroom apartment and commenting that it had the same floor plan as Henry's apartment. He showed them some of the niceties of the apartment—refrigerator, gas stove, heating and cooling unit, washer and dryer, large flat-screen television, DVD player, Playstation 2, stereo, and on and on. Michael swore that Frank was really trying to rent the apartment to them instead of letting them stay for one night.
Finally, frank finished his standard speech then told them that he lived next door in apartment 105 and to stop by if they needed anything. With that, Frank left them alone in the apartment.
Michael took a moment to look around. Honestly, besides being a little bleak, it was a nice apartment. Fully furnished with a view of a park from the windows in the living room and bedroom, spacious, and private—if Michael hadn't known that there was something evil brewing somewhere in the apartment building, he would have considered taking up residence in South Ashfield Heights.
Another factor that Michael liked was the overall serenity of the hallways. Michael noticed the lack of residents idly standing in the hallways, staring at the newbies. In fact, Eileen was the only other tenant Michael had seen. He caught a glimpse of the others from their windows when he was outside, but none of those people were anywhere to be seen on the inside.
With Frank gone, everyone seemed to relax a little.
"Well, that was too easy. Not only did we find the apartment, but we scored ourselves a free place to stay," Trey smiled. He flopped down on the couch and waved away a cloud of dust, before crossing his feet on the edge of the coffee table. "I thought he said this place was clean."
Michael ran his hand across the counter and found a layer of dust caked on it. "It doesn't look like anyone's been in here for at least a few months." He quickly inspected a high chair before taking a seat.
Heather gazed out of the window for a moment then turned to Michael and Trey. "I don't know if staying here is the smartest idea."
"Look if we're already here, it will be easier to sneak around. Plus, we'll have a reason to be here, so the other neighbors won't be so suspicious," Trey explained.
"I agree with Heather," Michael said. "If we know something strange is going on here, we shouldn't put ourselves right in the middle of it, especially because we really don't know what we're dealing with. But, if that guy we saw at the gas station has anything to do with what's happening here, it doesn't matter where we are. He'll find us. I don't necessarily like staying here for the night, but it's the best way we're going to find out what's going on with Henry and find Christine."
Heather didn't fully agree with his logic, but she at least understood where he was coming from. And for the most part, it made sense. But, just like with her father, she couldn't fully comprehend why anyone would opt to stay right in the middle of something horrific. Instead of moving across the country, Harry Mason decided to move right outside of Silent Hill. And for that matter, so did Cybil. Dumb.
And now, Heather was practically doing the same thing. Again, dumb.
They still didn't understand what Silent Hill was, but Heather did. She knew even better than her father. Yet, even this was beyond her understanding. And honestly, it frightened her.
"Since we're staying here, we should try to find a way to get into Henry's apartment," Heather offered as an idea. She figured that the sooner they find Henry, the sooner they could move on to finding Christine Mitchell.
"Agreed," Michael replied. "I think it's a bit strange though that Frank couldn't find the extra key."
Trey perked up. "Hey, didn't Frank say his last name was Sunderland?"
Michael nodded. "Yeah. I noticed that too. Like James Sunderland, the guy who reported the strange occurrences in Silent Hill, then was committed."
Heather frowned. Even more connections to Silent Hill. She could see a nearly invisible thread weaving everything together, like the spider slowly weaving a web to catch a fly. "Do you think they're related?" Heather asked, but she really didn't want to hear the answer.
"I'd rather not ask. I really don't trust him as it is. With that kind of connection to Silent Hill, he would be my number one choice for a cult fanatic," Michael replied.
Trey complimented the comment. "He does seem a little fishy. Actually, that girl, Henry's neighbor, seemed a bit off too."
"She seemed okay to me," Michael dismissed the notion of Eileen being mixed up in the situation. But on second thought, it was good to be a little wary of everyone, no matter how innocent or aloof they seemed. Michael then added, "I think it was your crossbow. You probably scared her. You're brandishing that thing like Conan's blade. You've got to keep it hidden or something."
Trey flashed his slightly goofy grin. "Look, just because I have a bigger weapon than you doesn't mean you have to be jealous, Mikey."
"Size doesn't matter. It's all about the way you work the weapon," Michael smoothly replied.
Heather rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "You guys can cut out all the macho double-speak you're throwing around. It's just lame."
"Well, sounds like you're back to normal," Trey muttered.
"Did you say something?" Heather asked.
"Nothing at all," Trey grinned.
Heather shook her head and fought back a smile. She didn't know how she could smile with some unnerving horror looming right on the edges of her consciousness, waiting to pounce on them at any given moment. Even with those thoughts, Heather simply wanted to enjoy her new friends even if it was for the last time.
As Michael's laugh died down, he spied a corner of a piece of paper sticking out from under the couch. The white paper contrasted starkly against the dark carpet, making Michael wonder why they didn't notice it before. Kneeling down, Michael carefully puller the letter from under the couch and slowly opened it.
"What's that?" Trey asked. He watched Michael read through the letter. As he got closer to the bottom, he frowned even harder, piquing Trey's interest with every passing second.
Michael looked at Heather and Trey. "I think we've got our first puzzle."
III.
Alas, behind closed doors
Even foul ghouls have insight
Just kneel, lay, march nightly
Or pray quietly, recounting songs
Talk under veils with Xenocrates,
Young zealot
Michael read through the passage one more time then gave up trying to decipher it. He passed it along to Trey and Heather, who stared at each other with perplexed expressions.
"It doesn't make any sense," Trey said. "I mean, is this really a clue or is it something that someone just randomly wrote in their diary?"
Heather replied, "If you're expecting these things to ever make sense, you're going to spend the rest of the night disappointed."
Michael took back the piece of paper and read through it again. Most of their other clues were much more direct, basically telling them how to find a key or open a locked door. But like Trey said, this seemed more like something from a hidden diary or journal.
"Trey's right," Michael finally said. "Most of our other clues have been a little less obscure. I mean, who is Xenocrates?"
"A Greek philosopher," Trey replied.
Michael was stunned. "How'd you know that? Wait a minute. Please don't tell me you learned it in class. I swear we did not go to the same school."
Trey smugly smiled. "Maybe you should have paid attention in Philosophy 310." "Well, at least you're slightly useful. When you actually use your brain, you resemble being smart," Heather couldn't pass on the opening for a well timed insult.
Trey brushed off Heather's comment. "Anyways, what would a Greek philosopher have to do with anything in this place?"
Michael shook his head in amusement then looked at each word one more time and realized why it had been written. And he was almost embarrassed to admit he didn't notice it before. "We're looking for the passage to make sense, but it's not going to. The message isn't in the whole thing, but in each word. Look at this."
Trey and Heather leaned over Michael's shoulder and read through the passage again.
After a few moments of reading, Trey said, "Still not following you, Mike."
Heather made a sound of surprise. "It's the alphabet. From beginning to end. An anagram of sorts."
Trey looked at again. "Hey, you're right."
Michael immediately stood and headed toward the bookcase next to the window in the living room. He scanned the shelves until he found a Merriam-Webster dictionary. The maroon cover was worn and the corners were slightly frayed. When Michael opened it, the pages were stiff and emitted an old musty smell, putting Michael in mind of a library. He flipped through it carefully and found another folded piece of paper stuck somewhere in the middle of the L's.
He put down the dictionary and turned to Heather and Trey, holding up the piece of paper. "Looks like we've got clue number two."
He quickly opened it as Trey and Heather surrounded him. Unlike the first clue, this one was much more direct, though it was obviously a page out of a personal journal.
I hid the key to room 302. That superintendent, the sneaky devil, rented that place out again. He knows what that room holds, but he'll never get rid of that old stinky box. It's all wrong, all of it. The key, I'll take it away. No one else will be made to open that door, especially that weird guy.
"I think they may be talking about the same guy we saw at the gas station," Heather offered. Michael nodded in agreement, assured that the strange man had a prominent role in what was happening.
I put it in a safe box inside the closet. There's no way Frank will figure out the code. Analyzing art never was his strong point.
The trio looked at one another. Without a word, they headed back to the bedroom. Trey threw open the French doors to the closet and spotted the safe box on the floor. He lifted it, surprised at the small size and light weight.
"Okay, so we've got the box, how do we get the code?" Trey asked.
Heather stared at a large picture centered above the bed. "The clue said something about it being somewhere in the picture." She studied the picture, which depicted a quaint park scene. She recognized it as a park in Silent Hill, but the name escaped her. Still, there was no indication of any numbers or anything being blatantly obvious.
"Figure it out?" Michael asked, studying the painting as well.
"I don't see anything that would—" Heather stopped abruptly. She looked across the middle of the painting from the left to the right and saw three distinct shapes that suddenly seemed blatantly obvious. A pentagon, a circle, and a triangle. But the three shapes weren't obvious in the slightest. They were camouflaged, taking the characteristics of whatever they were set against, like the grass, trees, and the statue in the middle of someone named Jennifer Carroll. "I see them—the three shapes. The code to the box."
"Huh?" Trey climbed on the bed and stared at the painting obnoxiously close. "There aren't any shapes in here."
"I can see them," Heather hesitantly said. Then a thought came to her. Maybe she could see them because of the attenuation with Silent Hill. Though they were an hour away from Silent Hill, the evil there must have somehow spread to South Ashfield. And certain things would only be visible to Heather or anyone else attuned with Silent Hill.
She gave Michael a glance. He tore his eyes from the picture and met Heather's gaze. The look in his eyes told her that he saw them too—his connection with Silent Hill hadn't been broken like he had initially thought.
Michael didn't say anything. A frigid chill racked him from head to foot. He quickly spun the three number dials on the box. Five, zero, and three. With a click, the box opened and a key labeled 302 sat at the bottom.
"Looks like we've got the key," Trey said as he leaped off the bed, still a little perturbed that he couldn't see the shapes. He wondered if Michael had seen them since Heather had only said she saw the shapes. She didn't say what she saw, yet Michael opened the box without a word. He figured that Michael would tell him just what was going on when he was ready.
"Now, we can get into Henry's apartment and find out exactly what's going on," Michael resolved. With that, the three of them headed out of apartment 104, determined to discover what lie behind the door of apartment 302.
Notes:
Cynthia's scene attempts to fill in the gap from when Henry and Cynthia become separated at the bathroom.
It has not ever been determined whether James and Frank are related. They do look similar and have the same uncommon last name.
The statue of Jennifer Carroll can be seen in Rosewater Park, which was an area James investigated in Silent Hill 2. What is not mentioned is that the resident of 104 received the painting from Henry, who spent some time in Silent Hill.
Michael displayed a disturbing connection to Silent Hill after he was traumatized by cult members at the college. He thought that his new found abilities had diminished after Samael was cast back into darkness, but this display shows that his attenuation to Silent Hill and its evil hasn't completely diminished.
Jammer69er: Now you know this wouldn't be a true horror story without people making some traditional horror movie mistakes (i.e. let's investigate the basement while the power's out—let's check out the haunted house at night when they could have easily gone during the day). And you hit the nail on the head. It's not going to end well. Glad you like the story so far and I hope this new chapter is to your liking.
Centurious: Thanks for the compliments! I hope to throw in some more disturbing scenes and some that are just downright scary.
Rodarian: The fact that it's a tainted version of Silent Hill is going to come into play in some future chapters as well. When I went back and played through the game, that's what came to my mind. And yes, as you see, Cynthia has been included in this chapter. They will be meeting with Richard Braintree in the next chapter. They will be seeing most of the residents of South Ashfield Heights before they are destined to their doomed fate.
DarknessinShadows: And once again, I've updated :)
Kyliemason: I'm going to do my best to keep the characters in tact from the last story. Yeah, Cybil did suffer a rough fate in Silent Hill. I hadn't realized it, but I guess "officially" Cybil is dead. Whatever. That's the glory of fan fiction, you can really take some liberties and do what you want. Glad you still love the first story and I hope you're enjoying this second one just as much.
Scheiberjoe: Yes, you will definitely see the other characters in this story. It is going to run parallel to Silent Hill 4, and I actually hope to fill in some gaps that Silent Hill 4 has. The scene with Cynthia is just the beginning.