A/N: Thank you all so much for the favs/follows/reviews. I really appreciate each one, and I'm so happy people are enjoying this! From now on, I'll be writing some of the chapters from Murphy's perspective, this is one of them. Also, sorry it's short, but I thought I'd write a mini-chapter to make up for such a delay on chapter 5. Hope you enjoy it!
Murphy knew exactly why he was helping Sewell, and it wasn't entirely out of sympathy for the man; it was for himself. His life had spiralled out of control the day he'd vowed revenge against Napier; he'd made his choices and they had been wrong. He could blame a whole lot on Sewell, but the decisions had been entirely his own to make, and really, that was what it all came down to.
So from now on, he planned to make much better decisions. He'd seen for himself what revenge could do to a person, and if his own experience hadn't been conviction enough, all Murphy had to do was recount the night Anne had paid him a visit and gone into explicit detail about everything that had happened the night she'd fed Sewell to the wolves.
She had gotten payback for her father that night, but it had come with a price; she had a haunted look about her these days, and an anger at the world that made her lash out. Murphy didn't think she had anyone in her life to reel her in, to tell her that everything would be all right, and that time would heal her pain. He had tried to be that person, but his heart just hadn't been in it. Every time he looked at her, he saw something monstrous; time had yet to heal his own anguish at her hands.
Murphy wanted, more than anything, to be a man his son would have been proud to call 'daddy'. He wanted to be the type of man Frank had been. Anne wasn't in the right state to follow in her father's footsteps, but Murphy liked to think that he was strong enough, clear enough to take her place. It took a lot of patience to see through such dedication, but it was something Murphy was gaining day by day. Helping Sewell would be his biggest test, and yet considering the way the man was limping almost helplessly (ha) by his side, Murphy felt that his pity was going to go a long way in breaking down the years of pent-up anger.
Murphy was willing to help Sewell out of the town, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be obstacles to overcome. Silent Hill had a habit of snatching people up into its web; Murphy had come to learn this during his stay in the town. He'd seen people come, and some of them had managed to leave. But not all of them. He had come to appreciate what the town had shown him; he had learned a lot about himself when he'd crashed here, and despite his relief to leave, he had soon found himself wandering back. Now that the town was done with him, it was actually quite welcoming. Almost like home.
"Jesus Christ," came Sewell's voice, "how far away is this damn car of yours?"
Murphy looked to his left, his eyes falling first to his own hand still cupping Sewell's elbow in support. Then he looked up, and he almost jumped back in shock when he saw the state of the man's face. It was, well... a mess. There were fresh bruises all over it, having seemingly blossomed out of nowhere; his dark eyes looked puffier than they had done back at the apartment, the left one looked especially black and swollen and Murphy wondered if he could even see out of it. Across his nose a deep gash ran horizontal before tapering out in the middle of a gaunt cheek. Then there were his lips, an almost inviting rouge and thick at each corner. It looked as though somebody had given the man a beating and neither of them had noticed it happening.
"You listenin'?" asked Sewell impatiently, his voice course and thick. Murphy saw that new bruises had bloomed across his neck too, all the way around the column of his throat. The pattern looked almost identical to a hand-print. He reached out, unable to contain his sudden curiosity, and slipped his fingers across the tender flesh, exploring each bruise with a delicate, ghost-like touch. Sewell jerked back in surprise, but he said nothing, even as his eyes widened and Murphy continued to run his hand along the spatter of deep rouge and midnight blue.
It struck Murphy then, as he curled his fingers loosely around Sewell's windpipe, that the man was going out on a limb by trusting him; this fact warmed him pleasantly in the pits of his stomach, and he recalled the night his hands had ventured lower and the sounds Sewell had made, and the heat intensified. He withdrew his hand before he acted out any further, and watched Sewell's eyes flutter before hardening as a scowl formed across his battered face.
"The fuck was that about?" he asked, his words lacking the bite Murphy was sure he probably wanted to display.
"Nothing." said Murphy, and then, "The car's up at the gas station. It'll take us about ten minutes." He moved on ahead, gaining several feet before stopping when he noticed that the only footfalls he heard were his own. When he turned back, he found Sewell staring at him with an expression on his face that Murphy couldn't place.
"Did you want to?" he asked, and this time there was an edge to his voice. A tremble laced between his words that Murphy had only ever heard when the man was about to lose his composure.
For a moment, Murphy just stared right back at him. Then he shrugged and shook his head, indicating that he had absolutely no idea what Sewell was talking about.
Sewell's face darkened. "Kill me." he hissed. "Did you want to, just then?"
Murphy frowned; he wasn't sure how many more times he'd have the patience for this line of conversation. He thought everything had been cleared up well enough the night he'd paid Sewell a visit. Clearly not. The guy was either stupid or paranoid, Murphy was guessing it was the latter.
"If I'd have wanted to kill you, I would have done it when you were unconscious." he answered honestly. "I already told you last time that I'm done with that path. As far as I'm concerned, the slate's clean."
He thought about telling Sewell how his injuries had gotten inexplicably worse, but for a reason he couldn't quite grasp, he found himself unable to do so. Just like he's been unable to tell him how he'd really come across him in the town. It felt somehow wrong, as if the timing just wasn't right at all. Murphy suspected he'd be telling Sewell a lot of things in due time, as soon as Silent Hill opened his mind up a little.
"Why should I believe you?" That tremble in his voice was waning.
"I honestly don't care if you do or don't," said Murphy with a frown. "and I'm not gonna stand here and explain myself again. I've already told you that I'm moving on with my life, that includes moving past you and what you did. If that's not enough, I'll hand you the keys to my car and you can see just how far you get by yourself." With that, Murphy turned and started to walk.
At first there was only the sound of his own sneakers scuffing against the cement, but then another pair of feet cautiously followed, the gait uneven and heavy. Sewell's limp was getting worse.
Murphy slowed to a crawl and waited. When Sewell was back at his side, he slipped his hand around to the man's lower back, ignoring the grumbled protest and muttered "I'm not a fuckin' cripple." he received for his efforts.