I.
Michael McNeal prayed that they could find the other four keys with relative ease, which would give them enough time to race around the corner to Eileen's apartment, intercept Walter's plan, and stop the madness that was slowly devouring South Ashfield Heights. Hopefully.
But so far, the search hadn't gone quickly at all. Michael was sure that his impatience only made the minutes seem like hours, but feeling as though every second put them another step behind Walter Sullivan, Michael was almost insanely frantic with his search.
He had shoved his hand into the depths of the stained couch, his fingers brushing against unsavory textures. He tore into the few drawers that would open. He reached into the dark recesses where light failed to reach. But after a few minutes, Michael was empty-handed, frustrated, and upset.
Why does this have to be so damn complicated?
Michael sighed and calmed himself as he scanned the room again. He remembered the last time they were faced with a puzzle like this, but instead of keys, they were searching for coins. And they found one of the coins inside of a light.
He crossed the room to the kitchen, went straight for the light above the sink, and smiled as he spied a key haphazardly taped to the light. He gave a breath of relief as he grabbed a dirty knife off the counter and cut away the sticky strips. But luck was not on his side.
A slip of the knife cut the tape too fast and the key clattered into the sink. Michael tried to move quickly to catch it, but his hands seemed to pass right through the key as it bounced around in the sink then fell into the drain.
"Shit!" Michael cursed. He peered down the dark recess and found the key, which appeared to be within his reach. But he realized that it wasn't just a drain—the key had fallen into the garbage disposal. Michael sighed and rubbed his chin in agitation. Of all places for the stupid key to fall, it fell into the garbage disposal. And now, he would have to fish it out. As long as the garbage disposal didn't come on, he was good.
He reached for the switch and flipped it on to see if the disposal actually worked. The roar made Michael jump and he quickly flipped the switch back to the off position. The blades grinded to a halt, leaving the kitchen in an eerie silence. Irritated, but calm, he then peered into the drain and flipped it again. Spinning blades rotated insanely fast above the key.
Frowning, Michael tried to flip off the switch, but it was stuck. The blades kept churning, the roar of the disposal motor seeming deafening. Michael banged on the switch, but to no avail. Then suddenly, it stopped.
The silence of the apartment surprised Michael, and he immediately glanced about for anything that could possibly sneak up on him, but he was alone. And Trey was still in the back of the apartment.
He turned his attention back to the key, still sitting within reach in the dark hole. He could chance reaching his hand down to grab the key, but bad luck would have the garbage disposal turn back on and mangle his hand. Then he would bleed to death. The end.
Michael had an idea. He went for a drawer next to the stove and found a pair of tongs. They were slender enough to fit into the hold and grab the key, and sturdy enough not to break if the garbage disposal came back on. More wishful thinking.
Still, it was worth a shot.
Michael carefully slipped the tongs into the garbage disposal and maneuvered carefully. Slowly, he poked around until he felt the key. Squeezing the tongs, Michael grasped the key, but it slipped from his grasp and fell down again. Michael recovered quickly, pushing aside his frustration and grabbed the key more solidly this time. Slowly, he pulled it out of the drain and dropped it into his hand.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Michael slipped the key into his pocket. Two down. Two more to go.
II.
Christine Mitchell stared disbelievingly at Heather. She completely forgot about Dan being impaled to the ceiling, tortured and left for her to find. She forgot about the horrid monster that chased her through the hotel. And she forgot about the strange man and woman hot on her heels.
She felt her throat tighten and her breath catch. "Heather, I—I can't believe it's you. I didn't think I would ever see any of you again."
Heather found herself surprisingly caught up with emotion as well. She was not only overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment from finding Christine, but she was genuinely glad Christine had survived.
"We weren't sure whether we would find you," she explained. Heather kept her emotions in check though, still keeping her eyes and ears alert for anything strange. Walter was still lurking around somewhere, and she wasn't going to be taken by surprise. "But we should find Michael and Trey too. There's something wrong with this whole apartment building."
"I know. I—" she trailed off as Dan's face, contorted into an expression of pain, came back to her. "Someone was with me. And something killed him," the words rushed from her suddenly, catching her by surprise. "The evil in Silent Hill, it's here too, isn't it?"
Heather reluctantly nodded. "I don't know how just yet, but there's something different about this. Someone's causing this, using powers that they don't understand to create this warped existence. And whoever's controlling it, they're gaining more power and the evil is spreading."
"I thought this was all over. I don't understand."
Heather replied, "We're going to find out. And once we do we'll—"
"You'll what?" a strange, yet familiar voice interjected.
"It's you," Christine spat.
Heather turned around to find a gun pointed at her and Christine. Her gaze finally rested on the person holding the gun, and she sucked in a breath. "You're supposed to be dead. I saw Claudia kill you."
"Death. Such a trite concept given the circumstances, don't you think?" he smugly replied.
Christine took a daunting step forward, but their captor redirected the gun right at her chest. She stopped, but no form of fear took over her expression. "You followed me. You and the old woman. Why?"
He adjusted his glasses with his left hand, keeping the gun pointed at them with the other. "It wasn't about you. I figured that eventually you would lead me to Heather. Or should I say Alessa?"
"Don't call me that, Vincent," Heather spat.
"Whatever," Vincent nonchalantly shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. But I told your mother that I would bring you to here. And I won't take no for an answer."
Heather's face paled at the mention of her mother. "No. She's dead."
"Just like I'm dead, right?" Vincent replied. "Come now, Heather. You're dealing in a world where monsters roam rampant, everything transforms at the slightest inkling, and nothing is as it seems. Life and death are but two realms of existence. There are an infinite more, which have been made accessible by you. Take Christine for example. By all means, she should be dead, right? Yet, here she stands."
Christine dizzied at the mere thought of being somehow stuck between living and being dead. "You mean I'm—"
Vincent gave a snide chuckle. "Don't be so dramatic. You're still alive. Who knows for how long if you keep talking though." Vincent motioned with the gun. "Now move."
Heather and Christine fell in line with Vincent a good three feet behind them. They didn't have to turn around to know the gun was pointed in the middle of their back. And given what they both knew about Vincent, it wouldn't take much for him to fire.
"What are you trying to do, Vincent?" Heather chanced a glance over her should but kept moving down the hallway.
Christine noticed the hallway growing dimmer with each step, but she said nothing.
"What do you think I want? I want everything. With Claudia out of the way, Samael can be resurrected the right way, untainted by filthy souls. Claudia was a fool, and I can't give your mother much more credit than that, but at least she knows what she's doing."
"My mother doesn't know anything."
Vincent gave a snide sneer. "Sounds like you're still stuck on that resurrection thing from before. Don't worry. This time, everything will go according to plan."
"I won't cooperate."
"You're really not in a position to determine that, are you?"
Christine halted abruptly, snagging Vincent's and Heather's attention. That was when they a saw a shadow come to life.
Its lanky body slithered across the ceiling right towards Heather, Christine, and Vincent. Its faceless head jerked erratically at a different pace from the rest of its body. It was hard to focus on the creature, but there was no mistaking that there was something horribly wrong with its existence.
The arms and legs were elongated and wrapped in bandages, which dangled from various places on its body. Its skin was rotted and grey, splotchy and sparsely spread across its body, hanging off like the bandages in some places.
"What is that?" Vincent stuttered, unsure of what he was seeing.
"I told you. There are monsters roaming around. And this is one of them," Heather answered, but didn't take her eyes off the creature, which continued to approach. Suddenly, it was gone.
"Where did it go?" Christine panicked.
They heard a whimper behind them. And when they turned around, Christine's question was answered. The creature was behind Vincent, one of its elongated arms jutting from Vincent's chest. Red blood flowed down his shirt like a waterfall as Vincent began to convulse.
Christine screamed.
Like a destructive child with a toy, the creature began to tear Vincent apart bit by bit with his other hand. Vincent came apart easily, as if the creature were simply pinching off pieces of soft bread. His mouth opened as if he wanted to scream, yet no sound came out. There was only the wet sound of flesh being torn from a human body.
Heather figured that it would only be a few moments before the creature lost interest with Vincent and turned its attention to them. In one fluid motion, Heather grabbed Christine's arm and ushered her through a door into a random apartment. She slammed the door, threw the bolt switch and frantically glanced around the room.
"Help me move this in front of the door. Now!" Heather demanded as she positioned herself on the opposite side of a sturdy–looking bookcase. Numb, Christine simply followed Heather's orders, got on the other side of the bookcase, and rocked the piece of furniture back and forth until they had it in front of the door.
Christine was visibly shaken, but said nothing.
"We've got to find another way out of here," Heather said as she crossed the room.
Christine screamed again as the door splintered from the weight of something heavy banging from the other side.
Heather saw a sliding door, which lead out to a balcony. Not thinking twice about it, she ran to it, while calling out to Christine. Heather flipped the lock and yanked the door, but it didn't budge. Her knuckles whitened as she pulled harder. She was rewarded with the door moving only a few inches. Nowhere near enough to slip through.
Christine grabbed the handle as well and timed her pulls to Heather's. The door creaked open a few more inches then stopped.
They whipped around to see a slimy arm pierce through the door. It swung wildly, hoping that one of the girls would be foolish enough to fall into its grasp.
"We've got to get this door open," Heather shouted as she frantically looked around for something that would give her some kind of clue on how to get the door open.
Christine grabbed a rusted floor lamp. "Maybe we can use this to pry it open."
Heather followed Christine to the door, then watched as Christine worked the base through the slight opening. She then got behind the lamp and pushed all her weight into the makeshift crowbar. Heather joined her. Both girls grunted as the door finally gave in and began to creak open.
The front door finally broke as the creature leaped through. It scanned the room for a moment before spying the girls slipping out of the sliding door.
"Hurry! Shut it!" Heather commanded. They both grabbed it and slammed it as the creature ran right into the glass. It made a horrible sucking sound as it pulled back from the glass. With one hit, it cracked the paned glass.
"It's going to get through!" Christine gasped.
Heather spied the balcony of the apartment next door. It was then that she realized something was horribly wrong. They should be on the first floor of the building. And there shouldn't be a balcony. She looked down only to see a void of black below them. No ground. No parking lot. No grass. Nothing.
They were going to have to jump.
Heather climbed onto the railing and carefully stood, feeling unsteady and unsure whether this was a good idea or not. Behind her, the glass cracked then shattered as the monster clambered through. Christine's panicked breaths made Heather focus. She had to make it. And she had to do her best to save Christine in the process.
Heather took one last breath, and focusing all of the her strength, she leaped toward the other balcony. Time slowed down to a crawl as she flew through the air, and for a moment, Heather wasn't sure she was going to make it. The balcony looked much farther away now, and the darkness below seemed to be drawing her into it.
But when she crashed into the metal railing, Heather wrapped her arms around the bars, realizing her heart was beating nearly out of her chest. Mustering more strength she didn't think she had, Heather scrambled over the railing and quickly called back to Christine.
"You've got to jump!"
Without hesitation, Christine climbed on the railing of the opposite balcony, the same as Heather had just done. But before Christine could make the jump, the creature managed to wrap sticky fingers around her ankle.
Christine screamed. Again.
She twisted and fell, banging against the railing while dangling upside down. The creature grasped her ankle tightly. Then without much effort, it flung her upwards and over its head. Christine hit the balcony hard, racking her head on the railing.
Dizzied and panicked, Christine blinked hard and did her best to focused. The creature's hungry eyes were fixated on her as it moved towards her.
Then there were gunshots.
Heather aimed carefully and squeezed off two more rounds. They hit the intended target with a wet splat. The creature seemed unfazed as it leaned toward Christine.
"Christine, hold onto something!" Heather shouted as she aimed her shots at the bolts holding the balcony to the wall.
She shot the bolts closest to Christine, one at the top and one at the bottom and one more at the bottom closest to Heather. It took a few tries, and the creature was too close to Christine for comfort, but the creaking of the balcony told Heather she had hit her mark.
The balcony suddenly lurched because of the weight and swung downward, now supported by only one bolt. Christine tumbled backwards as the creature fell forward towards her. Christine recovered quickly, grabbed the railing and flipped herself backwards, her feet caught the creature in its midsection, and she flipped it over her head, sending it pummeling into the darkness. Christine fell too, but caught herself. Her feet were dangling right above the darkness and she could feel the sweat on her hands.
"Christine!" Heather called.
She said nothing in reply. Christine shifted her weight then crawled up the balcony like it was a ladder. She ignored the creaking and the idea that the entire balcony was going to fall at any moment. All she could concentrate on was getting to the top and making it across to Heather.
Her body was already aching and her arms were burning, but she continued to climb, steadying herself on the rickety balcony.
"Christine, be careful!" Heather called. Her eyes darted around the balcony, and she rejoiced as she spotted a rope and some work gloves. She slipped the gloves on, which were a few sizes too big, and unraveled the rope. "Here, grab onto this!" Carefully, Heather swung one end of the rope toward Christine as she steadied herself on the other end.
Just as Christine grabbed the rope, the balcony gave way with an ear piercing screech. Christine gasped as she suddenly began to fall. She desperately clung to the rope, slowing her decent, but now, she was dangling below the other balcony, only a few feet from the swirling shadows of the void.
"Hang on!" Heather grunted as she pulled back on the rope.
"Like I have a choice," Christine muttered. She really didn't feel like being swept away into another hellish nightmare. The one they were currently in was fine enough for her.
After only a minute or two, Christine and Heather both sat on the balcony, breathing hard. Christine's heart was still racing from her harrowing experience, while Heather, also shaken, was breathing hard from tugging Christine up.
"Are you okay?" Heather asked.
"I didn't know you cared," Christine smiled.
Heather suppressed a smile. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't get in the way later because of some injury or something like that. That's all."
Christine's smile grew broader. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. And it's good to see you again too. So where do we go from here?"
Heather cocked her head toward the balcony doors, slightly ajar, leading into darkness. "It looks like we don't have a choice now."
Heather stood and helped Christine to her feet, checked her gun, then started toward the door. "Let's go."
Christine followed her into the darkness, praying that they didn't run into any other monstrosities, but knowing that her prayers were in vain.
III.
Trey heard Michael only for a few moments before he entered the bedroom. The door closed behind him, effectively blocking out any sound from the front.
If I can't hear him, then he can't hear me, Trey grimly thought. But he had his crossbow and his wits. Plus the bedroom wasn't that big or that evil looking, so surely he would be relatively safe as he looked for the key. Still, Trey kept his crossbow ready. Just in case.
The bedroom would have been nice had it not been in a building teeming with evil. A queen-sized bed with an ugly comforter took up a good portion of the room. There was a nightstand next to it, a matching desk across from the foot of the bed, and a bureau on the other side of the bed. All of the furniture was made with some kind of wood, probably oak. A large closet with French doors was along the wall opposite the bureau.
It wasn't overly messy, but it looked lived in. Trey wondered where the resident was.
Moving to the desk, he moved some things around until he uncovered what looked like a journal. Trey flipped through the common-looking journal, only to find that most of the pages were blank or soiled so badly that he couldn't make anything out. However, he finally came to a clearly written entry near the back. He read it aloud.
"There's no escaping this damn apartment. And everything keeps getting worse. The blood, the headaches, and—there's something else. Something unnamable that is always at the edge of my vision, hiding in the deepest shadows, waiting for me to falter. But I won't give it the chance to kill me. No, I won't give it that satisfaction. I'll take my own life before I lose it to whatever it is. And the key to my precious lock. I'll put it in my pocket and as for the rest I..."
The rest of the page was smudged and completely unreadable.
Trey closed the journal, feeling a little creeped out. He couldn't believe that someone had actually left a journal and wrote that they were going to commit suicide. And just what was it that was stalking the writer? And more importantly, was it still lurking around the apartment? Trey pushed his questions aside, vowing to focus on getting out of the apartment before they shared the same fate. Or worse.
Feeling unnerved and tense, Trey placed the journal back on the table and scanned the room for some clue as to where the aforementioned key could have been hidden.
Well, if he put it in a pocket, the best place to look would be the closet, Trey deduced.
Just as Trey pulled on the doorknob, a stifled gasp escaped the closet. There was a sound of something heavy tumbling, then beating on the inside of the door. The commotion lasted only a few seconds then everything was still again.
He tried to swallow, but a lump in his throat almost made him choke. He thought about calling out to Michael, but then decided against it. There was nothing to be worried about. It was probably a shoe box that fell from a top shelf. Or some old golf clubs that happened to tip over. Despite his rationalizations, Trey knew that something irrational had just happened, and as such, he was right on the brink of something potentially dangerous and fatal.
He pointed his crossbow at the closet and stood silent for a moment. He waited for some other sign that something was in the closet, but everything was quiet and still. He nervously licked his lips and then started toward the closet.
Trey moved slowly and deliberately, ready to react at the slightest provocation. He reached for the closet door, still keeping his hand on his crossbow. He threw open the door, and stumbled backwards.
A figure dangled in the closet, eyes bulging and bloodshot, cast downward because of the unnatural angle his head was set in. A thin black cord cut into his neck, letting small streams of blood to trickle down his shirt.
It was the guy who wrote the diary. And key was in his pocket.
Trey didn't like the idea of frisking a dead person. Aside from being disrespectful, it was just plain creepy. Still, getting out of this place alive was higher priority than worrying about disrespecting the dead.
Trey's finger's brushed something cold. It was the key. He grabbed it and began to withdraw his hand from the coat pocket.
But almost too quickly, the once limp arm snapped to life, clenching cold, thin fingers around Trey's wrist. Trey sucked in a breath, willing himself not to cry out. His eyes shot from the hand to the face as its eyes rolled into the back of his head, exposing milky white ovals. The mouth stretched open and closed, mouthing something unintelligible and inaudible. Trey pulled back soundlessly, struggling to get a breath, but the grip was much too tight. A tingling in his hand told him that circulation had been cut off and it was going numb.
Trey used his crossbow as a melee weapon, repeatedly hitting the arm until the fingers loosened enough for him to pull away. Losing his balance for only a moment, Trey got his footing and dashed out of the room, never once looking back.
IV.
Eileen awoke to find a scream tearing from her throat. A cacophony of pure terror, it scared Eileen and made her scream even more. All she could see was the crazed Walter Sullivan attacking her. Over and over. His hideous face look up her entire vision and despite clenching her eyes closed, it was still there.
Suddenly, she was shaking. No, not quite. She felt a firm grip on her arms and a rhythmic rocking that jarred her from her nightmare. Eileen thought for a moment that Walter was finishing the job, tormenting her a bit more before the final bow.
But when she opened her eyes and focused, she was surprised by what she saw.
Kind, concerned eyes staring at her. A handsome, yet slightly drawn face, a day's worth of stubble framing his jaw. His mouth moved, but his words came out like he was underwater. Slowly, her senses came back to her and she could distinguish sounds then words.
"Hey, hey. I'm here. It's okay."
She tensed at first, but as she studied his face, Eileen began to remember. "Y—you? You're Henry from next door. What—what are you doing here?"
Henry smiled, glad that she recognized him. Then his face settled into a grim expression. "I don't," he searched for the right words but gave up. "I don't know where to start."
He considered keeping the entire situation from Eileen. He just wanted to get the both of them somewhere safe. Or at least get them anywhere but where they were.
Henry found himself in a seemingly abandoned clinic. But there was something not quite right about the interior of the building. The air was heavy and instead of the sanitary aroma, there was an unsavory stench in the air that reminded Henry of death. He quickly came to the conclusion that this must have been where Eileen was taken to after the incident. So all he had to do was find her.
It didn't take long. She was laying in a bed, restlessly turning back and forth, immersed in her own nightmare. Just as Henry was trapped in his.
Henry took a deep breath. "I was trapped in my apartment. Someone locked me inside and no one could hear me. Then I found a strange hole. Somehow, that hole took me places. And I met people. But those people died. There was nothing I could do to save them. And I couldn't save you either."
Eileen pulled herself into a sitting position. The pains and aches made her wince, but her eyes were alert and focused on Henry. "I don't understand. None of this makes sense. What's going on?"
"I can't answer any of that. I'm as lost as you. All I know is that someone named Walter Sullivan is responsible for some of this that's happening. And whatever he's done, he's tapped into some evil that's becoming stronger with every passing minute."
Eileen rubbed her arms. "Walter Sullivan. The crazed killer. He was the one. But I—I don't understand. Why me? Why did he attack me?"
Henry had come to a conclusion about the killings already, but he didn't feel it was right to share the gruesome details with Eileen. At least, not yet. He lowered his eyes to the floor, hoping Eileen didn't press him for the details. How could he tell her that she was supposed to be Walter's next victim in a killing spree?
"How did I get here?" Eileen abruptly asked.
Henry asked, "You don't remember? There was a small boy with you. I think maybe he called an ambulance. Do you recall anything before that?"
Eileen fell into thoughtful silence. "Well, I was getting ready for the party. Heather was going to come by."
"Wait, did you say Heather?"
Eileen nodded. "I met her and her friends earlier. They said they were looking for you."
Henry's heart skipped a beat. He thought that he had seen Heather before, but he assumed it was nothing more than a hallucination. So it really was Heather. And if she was with friends that would mean Michael and Trey were there too. Henry felt a glimmer of hope.
Though they were a few years younger than him, Henry, in a short amount of time, had come to respect and value their resilience though all of the madness caused by Silent Hill. Somehow, maybe it was sheer luck, but they were able to elude several dangerous situations. Henry felt much stronger and lucky when he was with them.
Eileen continued. "Anyways, I got dressed then...oh, god! He was there. That man. He—he tried to kill me. But that boy, he appeared suddenly and somehow, he protected me. I really can't explain it. Everything gets so fuzzy after that. Henry, what's happening?"
"I don't know," Henry replied. It wasn't a complete lie. "But that's what we're going to find out. Are you okay to walk?"
Eileen slipped out of the bed, steadying herself on Henry until a spell of dizziness and nausea had passed. She stood on her own, thankful that someone had bandaged up some of her serious cuts. But she still had full use of her arms and legs. And she felt as though she could move quickly if necessary.
"I think so," she replied after taking a few wobbly steps. "I'm just a little banged up, but I think I can make it. I won't stay here alone. Not while this weirdness is going on. Not while that man is still lurking around out there."
Henry stood as well. "I got here through a hole. So maybe, we can get back to the apartment building through that hole."
Henry gave Eileen a nod before heading out into the sinister hallways of the clinic, knowing that they would have some obstacles to face before they reached the hole or Heather and her friends.
Notes:
To those of you that saw the previous posting of this chapter (i.e. DigiSim), you'll know that I messed up with the posting and it was all kinds of jacked up (and I didn't do the preview thing before I posted...shame on me!). After I fumed, fueled by embarrassment and frustration, I got it all fixed. I know it's been a while, but I'm definitely still working on the story, just got a little sidetracked for a while. Let me know what you think!