"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. So is a lot."

-Alexander Pope

Seven

By now, the staff at the Pearl Creek Diner knew the man who always wore a black pea coat. He showed up every morning at seven to have breakfast and read the local newspaper. This had been going on for almost a year now and the routine did not deviate the slightest. Same time, same pea coat; even the same order. He would get two eggs and a sausage patty on an English muffin, and enough coffee to drink an entire pot by himself. After a while, the waitresses would just leave the pot on the table for him.

Despite knowing his morning ritual, there was very little else that anyone knew about him. He didn't speak much, but was polite. He always said please and thank you, but did not engage in further conversation. Jeannie, a young, single mother who had started working just a few months back, tried to make small talk with him. The man wasn't nasty about it, but with short answers and no follow-up, it was clear that he wished to be left alone.

So, they let him be to his coffee and paper, even though everyone in town knew that it wasn't interesting enough to be read every day. Heck, it was only eight pages and covered several small towns in the surrounding area. The past few days told a different story though, with the deaths of two students at Clearview University. There was an unfortunate mixture of real news and puff pieces however, with a lot of speculation as to what caused their deaths but not too much solid information to tie them together. The first girl appeared to be a suicide, while the boy looked to be the victim of a mugging gone wrong. It was still surprising, given the lack of serious crimes in recent history; indeed, the most serious threats to the area were burglaries and vandalisms. The recent events put everyone on edge, and several priests and preachers were already calling for the end of days.

Theresa Dixon, or Mother Theresa as she was known around town, had been working at the Pearl Creek Diner for over thirty years. Not only was she a saint of a woman, like her namesake, but she figurately was a second mother to a lot of residents around town, especially the younger kitchen and wait staff. In a town where if you stayed past five years, you usually stayed for the rest of your life, Theresa was one of the last people to live through the string of killings almost fifty years ago. She was just a teenager, and a lot of her memory about that time was spotty at best, but she could always recall the fear that swept through the community. Eight people had been killed in the span of six months, including the entire Glover family, which consisted of a mother, father and two little girls. One thing that she did regret was not remembering their first names. The chilling conclusion of that case was that there was none. The murders just stopped, and nobody was apprehended.

The only thing that gave Theresa some peace regarding the matter was the thought that the killer was most likely long dead now. She just hoped that these recent deaths on the campus weren't the start of another spree. One thing she did know, is that they're certainly not a sign of the apocalypse. That was just ridiculous.

Like most of the days, Theresa was the waitress for the man in the black pea coat today. She hadn't seen him walk in, but there he was, nose in the paper that was held open across his lap. She carefully carried over his pot of coffee with a quilted pot holder to place it upon. The man looked up from his paper as Theresa put the pot down on the holder, and gave him a warm smile.

"The usual for you today, hun?" Theresa asked.

"Yes ma'am," the man responded with a small nod and slight smile, "thank you."

"You got it." Theresa replied and scurried away to put in the order. The man looked back down at the paper intently. There was an article about the new drug Pure that had been making the rounds in the area, and whether it had anything to do with the deaths of the two students. The man suppressed a smile as he read over the article, which was more opinionated outrage than it was fact. Much like the author, people were frightened and calling for the police to crack down on anyone who even looked like they might take drugs. There were quotes from elderly citizens about all the sinners and how there was never anything like this in the old days. The consensus opinion was that this was big city crime and it had no place in smaller, farm communities. Another quoted person even said that the townspeople should ban together and insist that Clearview University be shut down, and that the students should be displaced from the area.

People were panicking, and the worst of it hadn't started yet. The man knew what was to come, which is why he considered it a great feat that he didn't crack a smile while reading. The reason he stayed in the area was to make sure that certain events unfolded. That was his job; his purpose that the elders back home had given him. A pecking order existed where he came from, and he considered himself to be the good soldier. Not only did he follow orders, but he honestly believed in what he was doing, something he knew not everyone could freely admit.

The man folded up the newspaper and placed it next to him on his seat. He poured himself the first cup of coffee, and took a big sip. He ignored the condiments on the table, not needing any sugar or creamer. He grew up on black coffee and was accustomed to the taste. Where he was raised, everything was plain and simple; there were no frills in their way of life, nothing that could be construed as a temptation from the outside world. After being a part of that outside world, he found that they were much like the Amish, with the main exception being that they still believed in necessary technologies, such as electricity. Still, he needed to act the part; like he belonged in this world that godless ones have created for themselves. It meant being kind to them, and not express any opinions other than stock answers. War was bad, the weather was crazy, and around this area, people were good, simple folks.

Theresa came back with his breakfast sandwich. The first thing that the man noticed was that one of the fried eggs was lopsided on his sandwich. He lifted the muffin top up and lightly jabbed at the egg to make everything symmetrical before he took the first bite. The second thing he noticed was that Theresa had been watching him the entire time, and what he was doing was probably seen as abnormal. By most circumstances it was, but in his mind, it was harmonious.

The man offered Theresa a chuckle. "A doctor once said it was obsessive compulsive disorder," the man started, "but my mother said I just liked everything in its place. She knew me my whole life, so I tend to believe her."

The comment due a smile from Theresa, who seemed to be taken aback by what could be classified as a sudden outburst from her customer. She seemed at ease though and eager to engage. No doubt she would tell the entire staff that she had broken through to the regular that had been the cause of much speculation.

"Well they say that mothers know best," Theresa proclaimed, "it's something I've certainly been trying to instill in my children all their lives."

The man took a bite of his sandwich as she spoke. Another one of his habits, which was noted by the staff, was that he wiped his mouth with a napkin after each bite, and used a different napkin each time. His regimented ways led them to believe that maybe he was a military man. This time was no exception, as he wiped the edges of his mouth after swallowing his food.

"How many children do you have?" the man asked.

"Two sons," Theresa responded, and began to dig into her pockets. The man watched as she proudly showed off a picture of two men, possibly in their thirties, dressed casually in jeans and button-down shirts. He nodded after a few seconds, giving enough time to where he could pretend that he really looked at the pictures like he was interested.

"Good looking guys," the man said, offering a smile, "any children of their own?"

"Yes, the older one, Sean, he has two girls and a boy. My younger one, Darren, he just got married a few months back, so I'm expecting they'll have a little one someday soon." Theresa stated. She smiled the entire time, clearly proud of her children and the families that they've made for themselves. The man smiled back, but only to keep up appearances. He didn't know how much longer he'd be coming here for, but didn't want to chance being kicked out of his breakfast spot. He took a sip of coffee, exhaling and leaning back his seat.

"You have a little…" Theresa motioned above her upper lip.

The man took the hint, and brought a new napkin up to wipe the hairs above his upper lip. His thick beard may have been the real reason for wiping after every bite, so that he didn't have little food bits stuck there for hours. He crumpled the napkin and placed it next to the other crumpled one beside his food plate.

"Thank you," the man stated, "you may have saved me some future embarrassment."

"Oh it's no problem," Theresa responded, waving it off with her left hand. She looked up after hearing the door open, and saw an elderly couple that she recognized come in. Theresa thought of greeting them, but another waitress did the job for her, so she focused back on her customer. She didn't know when the next opportunity to speak with this fascinating character would be, so she wanted to take advantage while she could.

"My name is Theresa, by the way, but you already knew that," she stated while motioning to her name tag. She extended her hand to him, "and you are?"

"Horace Fuller." He responded, extending his own hand and firmly shaking hers, taking care not to grasp too hard. "It's nice to meet you Theresa. I wanted to ask, are you familiar with the town of Silent Hill?"

Passing the time was the hardest part for Horace. Back home, life was simpler but there was always so much to do. He owned a hardware store and worked there all day and every day they were open, which was Monday through Saturday. Sundays were reserved for worship, and working with the members of his church; especially on projects that put his carpentry skills to use. He wasn't born in Silent Hill, having arrived almost thirty years ago, when he was in his teens. Despite being old enough that he should remember life before, whenever he tried, all he saw was a haze of smoke in his mind. He didn't remember his parents, their names, or the town where he was born, nor did he remember how he got to the town. The only reason he knew that he wasn't born there, was because some of the unfriendly members liked to remind him that they still considered him an outsider. In their eyes, he would never be a pure soul.

He knew that was the reason for his current assignment. Nothing in regards to his work made him a likely candidate. However, Father had told him that he was one of the only people that he trusted, and that maybe his past life's instincts would kick in to blend in with society. It wasn't too hard though because he mostly kept to himself. The conversation he had with his waitress earlier that morning was one of the few he had in the past couple of years. That didn't count the conversations that he had every other Friday, nor the one that he would have today, a good nine days ahead of schedule.

The meeting was set to take place just outside of Willamette, a town which in parts reminded him of home. The style of the buildings, the old time feel that it had were reminiscent of what he was familiar with. Of course, the town's population was vastly different, with the college students and staff living in and around the area, plus the poor that inhabited the fringes of the town. It was dirty, and the less time he spent around the town, the better he felt. For someone that had seen a lot over the course of his life, it was telling that this place made him uncomfortable. That was a big part in why he scheduled these meetings just outside of town, at an abandoned gas station that had been long forgotten.

He pulled over on the side of the road, just a quarter of a mile down from the gas station. There was a setup of fallen tree limbs and branches that he used to conceal his car. This was done so that his contact never saw his car, and couldn't write down a license plate or follow Horace after the fact. It's why Horace always got there at least an hour before his contact, and why he didn't leave until the contact did. The walk wasn't too bad, although he was used to making the trek during early morning hours, not in total darkness. Horace strolled confidently the whole time. There were no animals other than deer around these parts, and nobody would be waiting to sneak up on him, that he was sure of.

It was getting colder around this time of year, but he was more comfortable in the cold than the heat. Leaves were falling, half gone from the trees now, his feet shuffling them around as he walked and occasionally kicked up a few. The gas station was in the distance, and despite being desolate, there was a streetlamp perfectly positioned to illuminate the building. He already could make out the graffiti that covered almost half of the exterior. The most prominent amongst it being the word 'AKIRA' in thick, bright red lettering. He didn't know who or what that was, but he guessed that this would be their biggest moment of infamy in life.

He reached the gas station after a brisk walk and went through the back door. Usually there were empty liquor bottles and other garbage left behind from vagrants, but since he had been here so recently, the place was about as pristine as it would get. Since he had about an hour to wait, he reached into his coat pocket and procured a worn looking, brown leather bound book. He walked around the old counter and stepped into the small office to remain out of view.

"I didn't hear a car pull up."

The voice caught him off guard, but he didn't react with surprise. He merely shifted his eyes to the corner where it came from and placed the book back where he kept it. This was truly a day of firsts, as it was the first time he was called to meet ahead of schedule, and the first time he was not the one waiting.

William rose from the folding chair he'd been sitting on and craned his neck to look through the doorway that Horace just walked through.

"Where exactly do you come from, anyway?" William asked as he looked back at Horace and retreated to where he was sitting. He remained standing though, opting to lean against the wall with his arms folded.

Horace walked a few steps forward and sat at the edge of the old desk. He spent a few seconds sizing up William. They didn't speak to one another outside of their two week standing appointments, nor did they speak to each other back home. Horace had seen William throughout the years, and thought him to be precocious when he was younger. As he grew up, it was clear that William was charismatic and kids his own age seemed to naturally flock to him. It was also clear to Horace that this fact was not lost on Will, and he used his natural gifts to often get himself out of trouble. It was one of the reasons that Will was selected and the main reason that Horace didn't completely trust him.

"Why did you call me?" Horace asked, avoiding Will's original question. "Contact outside of the normal time window is dangerous. I'm hoping the reason is good."

"The police came to my house. I thought that was a good reason." Will responded frankly.

Horace froze for a few moments, then slowly nodded his head, casting his eyes to the ground.

"Your antics catching up to you?" Horace asked while taking out a pack of cigarettes. He only smoked when he was stressed, so a pack would last him a few months.

It was also the first time he had cause to smoke in front of Will, who fixated on the event unfolding before him. His eyes followed the cigarette that was plucked from the pack, then watched as Horace reached in and took out a book of matches. Of course, he used matches and not a lighter, Will thought to himself. Horace was amongst the members of town who preferred to live simply, using as little technology as possible. Will suddenly remembered the question Horace asked him, or accused him rather.

"Antics?" Will asked suspiciously. "I do pretty well to keep a low profile. Unless, you've heard different?"

"No, I've just heard about what goes on at these colleges." Horace replied quickly, then scoffed. "Higher learning...so why did the police show up?"

Will took a moment to gauge Horace's response. It was true that he kept a low profile as far as not getting in trouble, but he did have a bit of a reputation around campus. What started as strictly business burned away over time, and he learned how to enjoy himself while not compromising anything. With a little bit of research and people watching, he learned how to influence people, especially the girls around campus. It was the main reason he was popular with his housemates and their friends; the second reason being his liberal spending habits. His house was paid for by his benefactors, so he had disposable income with which he could do whatever he wanted. If everyone was having fun, there were very few questions about his obsession with privacy, such as why he kept his bedroom door locked.

"Two students died, both violently," Will responded, "the guy was seen at my house the night before. There were a lot of people, I didn't remember him."

Horace took a drag from his cigarette, keeping his eyes on Will the entire time. Will wondered if this is what a child who was trouble felt like when his dad found out. He did his best to match Horace's gaze. The man wasn't his father, even though he was supposed to look after him. That was in the beginning, and Will was no longer a teenager.

"Yes I've heard of the deaths. Were there any questions about our product?" Horace asked.

"Casually," Will said after taking a beat, "but there was no indication that I had anything to do with it. They're not used to kids dying around here so they need something to blame."

"And what does casually mean?" Horace asked before taking another drag from the cigarette.

"It means," Will began, shifting weight in his stance, "that they know about the drinking that goes on already, so I got out in front of any questions that might have had to do with drugs. I said that we don't allow it in our house."

Horace nodded, taking one more drag from the cigarette before dropping it on the floor and stamping it out.

"So, they didn't mention anything about drugs, but you felt the need to tell them that it doesn't go on in the house, possibly putting the thought in their head that wasn't there already. Is that summation accurate?"

The way that Horace posed the last question was not unlike someone who would talk with a lesser intelligent being. Will knew enough about the man that he already thought Will to be a lazy, dumb kid, but he thought that Horace may have had a point. Pure was possibly mentioned because Will tried to get ahead and say that there weren't any drugs being used in the house. It's not like they found a whole bunch of Pure near either Andrew Gall or Nicole Baldwin's bodies. Had he put an unintentional spotlight on himself?

He remained confident though, because the detective probably would have grilled him more if he thought that Will had anything to do with either the deaths or the drug. A small community like Willamette that wasn't used to what they called 'big city problems', there was most likely a lot of pressure to close out his case as quick as possible. Will cleared his throat and said, "I'm certain that I'm not under suspicion. They probably would have combed through the whole house if I was. The reason I called is that, even though they don't suspect anything regarding Pure, I thought it was best if we slow down distribution for a brief while. Only until…"

"Distribution will continue at its regular pace," Horace interjected while turning around and starting to walk out the door, "but thank you for your reassurance. I'll see you next Friday."

Being cut off like that agitated Will. He began walking towards Horace, only for Horace to stop in the doorway, which caused Will to stop walking.

"Do not follow me out." Horace threatened, raising his voice for the first time during their conversation. He was usually even tempered, so this surprised Will. Their whole interaction tonight was off, although this was the most the two had talked to each other at any one time. "You have one job to do, and from what I understand, you have a pretty easy and comfortable life because of it. Don't start being sloppy now, not after we've come this far."
Horace turned back around and walked out of the room. Only when he got to the exit did he speak again.

"People die sometimes, Will. Your college and town will both start to calm down again. I'm sure they were unrelated."

Horace knew the truth of the matter, but there was still much that Will needed to be kept in the dark about. All the children, even the grown ones, were better off not knowing the full story, and what was to come soon. Besides, it would be easier for him to deny anything once more people started dying.