Note: This week's chapter title was inspired by the trope on TV Tropes.

Chapter 10: Fire Forged

Henry remained very calm, which was not an easy thing to do in the forbidding Otherworld hallway. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, it's just that none of this is familiar at all."

"It's the Otherworld. Could that be why you don't recognize it?"

Walter looked doubtful, but he nodded. "It could be."

The Order had outdone itself with the macabre decorating. It seemed to reach extremes even for them, and Henry wondered if it usually looked more normal. The chapel seemed positively cheerful in comparison to this place, where skulls grinned everywhere, having been nailed into the walls every few feet. Bloodstains marked the floor in irregular streaks, as though bodies had been dragged through the passage. As soon as he took a few steps forward, a terrified shriek rang out from somewhere around them.

They both stopped dead.

"Did you hear that scream?" he asked, at the same time that Walter demanded, "Did you hear that laughter?"

They stared at each other.

Finally, Henry said, "That's not how people laugh."

"Whatever you heard, I didn't hear it." He gripped his hair. "It was the same laugh I heard back in the apartments…"

After a moment, they began to edge forward again, more cautiously. It seemed as though the flashlight was failing; the corridor seemed to get darker with each step they took. There was no sign of any monsters yet, but unidentifiable noises came at random, filling Henry's mind with all manner of horrible things.

Just as they were approaching the first corner, a woman's voice cried out, "No! Turn back!"

"Did you hear that?" Henry asked. He wondered if she was the same one whose scream he had heard earlier. The voice hadn't sounded quite right, but there was something familiar about it.

"Yes. I think we should listen."

"You do?" He looked over and was surprised to see how pale Walter was.

"That sounded like—if she's—I'm not going into another one of those rooms—seeing him was bad enough—I…" Apparently giving up entirely on forming a coherent sentence, Walter turned around and started walking back towards the chapel.

A little bewildered, Henry followed. Unless there was now another way through the subway, they'd have to go the other way, past the hospital. He was pleased enough to be getting out of the station, although it did seem as though they had gone through a lot to get this far to just leave. The thought that whatever waited ahead was enough to spook Walter Sullivan made him walk a little faster. Wasted time or not, leaving was a very good idea.

Unfortunately, when they returned to the door to the chapel, it was locked. Rattling the handle accomplished nothing, which was the same result as shooting at the lock and hitting the door with a steel pipe.

I think we're going to have to keep going, he thought, but he didn't want to be the one to say it out loud.

"We'll have to keep going," Walter said, turning away from the door. He looked as though he were going into another one of those states of forced calm. "Who was it that yelled, anyway?"

"It was probably a trick of the town, to scare us."

"It wasn't someone you knew?"

Something in the voice had been familiar, but he couldn't place it. Every time he tried, he felt a wave of panic, like he was back in his nightmares. So, he simply shook his head, "No." It couldn't have been. They were the only two in the town, after all.

"Those notes you found from Archbolt must be making me imagine things." He shook his head. "Let's go."

As they continued forward, Henry braced himself for a repeat of the screams and warnings, but none came. When they reached the corner, he slowed at the same time that Walter hesitated, and then they both rounded it at once.

A Scuttler jumped for them almost immediately, slicing at them with its legs. It was the only one, however, and a lone Scuttler, even one lying in ambush, couldn't stand up to both of them.

The hallway beyond was much the same as the one they had left, complete with skulls and blood. Halfway down it, however, a Specter separated from the shadow that had been hiding it. It glided forward, skin flying out behind it like some hideous cloak, and Henry felt his head start to hurt, just as though it really were one of the ghosts. The hallway suddenly seemed confining, and he knew he needed to escape. His thoughts were beginning to blur the way they had in the shrinking room, and as he struggled to keep a grip on past versus present, he darted forward to attack the Specter.

Walter grabbed him and pulled him back roughly, just as a gigantic blade came crashing down from the ceiling. The Specter was sliced in two, not even having enough time for a dying cry before its blood splattered.

That almost was me, Henry thought, staring at the gruesome mess. He realized he was shaking. "Thanks," he managed.

"It's the least I could do, after how many times I tried to kill you."

He managed a weak smile. "I guess we should keep going."

They continued at a much more cautious pace, although they encountered no further blades. Henry pulled out the revolver so that he could attack any monsters from a distance. He noticed that Walter had put away the pipe in favor of the handgun, having had the same sort of thought.

The passage so far lacked doors, being a single hallway that twisted and turned. After a while, the floor developed a slight slant, taking them deeper and deeper underground. The flashlight continued to help less and less, until it almost seemed as though the darkness was mocking them for trying to see through it. The walls also grew grimmer and grimmer; at times Henry caught a glimpse of something odd and swung the flashlight towards them to see messages written in blood. At first they were only vague statements of death, but the further they went, the more bizarre, if still confusing, the writing became.

The Executioner has come.

He knows no mercy, feels no pain; he built a world, a nightmare to gain.

Hate fills this lonely cell, and crime undoes a crime.

"Are they trying to tell us something?" Henry asked. "Does this have something to do with the password into the chapel?"

"Knowing who wrote the note you found the password on, I think it almost certainly was a final, mocking reference to Jimmy Stone. These, however…that doesn't make as much sense…"

Sinners' blood and vengeance's stand; darkness cut by darkness's hand.

The walls around the next corner were surprisingly clean, and Henry's attention was drawn to the statue that took up most of the center. He shone the light on it, and as they cautiously approached, he began to make out details. Of all things, it appeared to be a statue of a medieval knight, carved from a single piece of black rock. The only piece that was different was the dagger at the knight's hip, which was silver and gold, with a green gemstone in its hilt, and looked as though it might be real. An inscription on the blade read, "The fine line…" The knight was holding his stone sword in front of him, as though ready to attack. It looked completely out of place in the Otherworld, and Henry wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Was one of your victims a knight?" he finally asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive! I'm not that old!"

Henry stared at him for a moment, and then the bizarreness of the conversation hit him. He started laughing, and the more he laughed, the funnier everything seemed. Eventually he had to sit down at the base of the knight, wiping away the tears that were filling his eyes. Here he was, asking Walter Sullivan if he had ever killed a knight, as though it were the most natural question in the world. And he was asking it in the middle of a hellish hallway connected to the subway station of Silent Hill, no less. It was all just so insane.

The craziest part was that he would never be able to tell anyone. The only person who would have a chance of believing him was Eileen, and he couldn't tell her. He wondered if he'd be able to keep his story straight when she tried to ask him how his day went. He suspected he wouldn't. He foresaw another long future of nightmares ahead of him, but for some reason, that seemed very funny.

His life just seemed to be full of these awful twists of fate, once he thought about it. He threw a glance vaguely upwards. Someone up there hates me.

To his great embarrassment, his laughter almost broke completely into sobs. Oh, he hated this place. He hated this town. Yet he was trapped now, just as surely as he had been trapped three years ago, and the nightmare just kept getting worse. Nightmare…yes, it was like a nightmare, only one from which he couldn't wake up, because he wasn't sleeping.

"Henry…are you all right?"

He laughed. "No."

Walter squatted beside him. "I should have come alone. I'm really sorry, you know. For dragging you into this…and, well, for everything else."

He looked up, and was surprised to notice for the first time that that there really was deep, genuine guilt in Walter's eyes. He realized that, despite everything that had been happening, he had doubted his sincerity. He had believed in his quest to find his mother, but all of the other stuff about wanting redemption and forgiveness, he had assumed was somehow not quite real. In the moments when he almost forgot who he was, things were different, but then he remembered and the wariness returned. How could someone have been that crazy, that evil, and then just do a turnaround?

What do I know about what might happen to a person after death?

With a sigh, Henry got to his feet. He felt a little better. Nightmare world or not, at least he wasn't facing it alone. "We better keep going."

Walter got up as well and silently followed.

Once they had made it some distance from the knight, the bloody messages returned. The previous ones had been dried and cracking, but now they were fresher—still wet, still dripping onto the floor. These new writings were similar to the past ones, but they had certain differences in the way they were presented.

You made yourself an Executioner.

Know no mercy if you feel no pain; you created a world, but it's a nightmare you gained.

Only hate exists here now, and who were you to name their crimes?

After a while, Henry stopped shining the light on the messages. He was beginning to suspect they were talking about Walter, in some odd sense. At the very least, he felt they were intended to make him feel guilty, and from the look on his face, it was working a little too well.

Specters and Scuttlers haunted the hall, but they were easily taken down by a few well-aimed shots. Occasionally, a scream rang out, and Henry wondered if he had been right when he said the voices were only there to frighten them away.

Finally, the passage came to an end. The door at the end was thick and solid, but reassuringly free of disturbing messages. A green gemstone sat at the top, along with the written words, "…walked by any revenger."

"The knight," Henry said, pointing to the stone. "The dagger."

Walter, however, was staring at the door and didn't even seem to hear him. He was looking at it with an intensity that was downright disturbing.

"Is something wrong?" He waited what he considered a reasonable amount of time for an answer, and then finally said, "Err, I'll be back."

On his way back to the statue of the knight, Henry found himself wondering just how far underground they had gone. They were trying to get to the Wish House, after all, and it only now occurred to him that that might mean going under Toluca Lake. He shivered, slightly unnerved by the thought of all that water above him.

He knew it was somewhat irrational, the way these things bothered him. He had never been a particularly claustrophobic person in the past. Being trapped in Room 302, though, had done something to him. It seemed just too easy to think of these things, and imagine how easily everything could go wrong. A fear of being trapped was like the habit of checking the door every morning. It had become a part of him.

It occurred to him that he hadn't even realized he had become claustrophobic until this day. He wondered how many other changes had happened to him without his knowing.

Unbidden, Eileen's face came into his mind. Protectiveness of her had always seemed like a good thing, but had he ever taken it to extremes? He began to wish he had taken time to talk to her, to help her deal with the memories from three years ago, rather than trying to avoid talking about them at all costs.

Was it really her I was trying to protect, or is it me who is afraid of the past?

He sighed and tried to dismiss the thought, because he had reached the statue of the knight. He looked again at the dagger, seeing both the gem and the description that marked it as the brother to the door up ahead. He wasn't sure how it would help open the door, but by this point, he was beyond questioning such things. He reached out and pulled it free.

It came easily, but then the statue let out a groan, as though the knight were alive and protesting the theft. Although he would have expected that his taking of the dagger might affect that area, it was the top of the statue that began to crumble. From the helm down, the knight began to break into pieces, and as each fell, it also broke. More and more, the statue crumbled, until there was nothing left but a blanket of black dust on the floor.

"What the hell?" Henry whispered, staring at the empty space where the knight had stood. He hadn't been expecting that at all.

When he returned to the end of the passage, he found Walter just as he had left him, staring at the door. With a shrug, he stepped forward to see if there was any logical way to use the dagger. Above the doorknob, there was a slit that looked just the right size for the knife's blade.

"You still don't hear it, do you?"

He jumped.

"The laughter," Walter said. "You don't hear it."

"No… I don't." He glanced at the door uncertainly.

"Open the door."

Henry stuck the dagger into the opening and heard a click from inside. Bracing himself for the worst, he turned the knob and pulled the door open.

It looked like a normal room.

That in itself threw him for a moment. Of all things, he hadn't been expecting that. This place didn't even look like it was a part of the Otherworld. He stepped in cautiously, seeing no sign of anything dangerous. It was a small room, and he didn't really understand what it was doing there, of all places, but its existence was the strangest thing about it. There was a coat rack in one corner, with a red jacket hanging from it, a small end table containing a picture of what looked like a woman and her father, and a couch with a ragged, gray pillow on it. The door at the end of the room was fitted with a silver padlock, but he could see the glint of a key in the jacket's pocket.

He hurried over to the jacket and pulled out the key. That was certainly easy enough. When he went to the door, it fit, too. After unlocking the door, he stared at it for a moment. It was too easy, in fact. He had come to expect worse things than this from the town, and he couldn't imagine it was just giving them a break.

"Henry…"

He turned around quickly, alarmed by the distance in Walter's voice.

Walter was kneeling by the couch. He looked distraught. "Why did I do it, Henry? Why did I kill them?"

I wish he wouldn't keep asking me these questions I can't answer!

He approached him cautiously, not sure of what to say. "Well," he said, choosing his words carefully, "you thought it would let you be with your mother…"

"It wasn't just like a job, you know. I did terrible things…"

God, what can I possibly say to that?

Walter reached out to touch the pillow, which Henry now realized wasn't a pillow at all. It was a tiny, dead kitten. "Steve Garland was my fourth victim. He ran a pet shop, you know. There was no reason for me to kill the animals. Oh, they were making a horrible ruckus, but it only got louder when I started. I mean, I had Garland's heart; I could easily have just left. They were soft, and innocent, and I hated them for it. I killed them in terrible ways. They made such noises when they died. I…" He broke off and made a noise that might have been a sob. Scooping up the dead kitten carefully, he cradled it against his heart.

Now Henry really didn't know what to say. He felt very cold, and distinctly uncomfortable. He knew that Walter had been a murderer, and killing animals—even in torturous ways—was not the same as killing human beings. It had such brutality, though, saying something about the unfeeling hatred that had gone into the action, that it made his skin crawl. He wished he hadn't heard that confession.

Who else could he tell, though, really? Everything kept going back to that, didn't it? There were very few people in the world that could ever help Walter with these things, because so few knew the truth about him.

Walter was clinging to the kitten like it was all he had left, gently stroking the limp, thin body, and staring at it like he wanted to beg it for forgiveness. Henry realized he hadn't quite believed Walter was capable of the gentleness with which he was treating the dead kitten. It made it all the more difficult to watch.

"It's all right," he said. He considered how that sounded and admitted, "Okay, it's not all right. None of it was all right, and I think we both know that. It's in the past, though, and we have to come to terms with it. If you give up now, this will all have been for nothing."

Walter looked up at him. "What do you mean? I came here to find my mother."

"I think there's more to it than that."

He didn't say anything for a while. Finally, he carefully laid the kitten back on the couch. The way he arranged it, it might have only been sleeping. He stood up and stared down at it unhappily. Then he turned around.

"You…you really think there's a chance…for redemption…for me?"

Henry looked away for a second, and then he met his gaze, startled to be able to answer the question. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Walter's expression was unreadable, but he didn't look quite as lost as he had a minute ago. There was some degree of hope in his eyes.

"Come on," Henry said, walking over the door. "We've got to be almost out of here by now."

He opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and felt his stomach flip. The hallway was still Otherworldly, and it was very crowded. Scuttlers climbed over one another to get to the prey they had just noticed, skittering across the ground. Specters moved around them, as silent as ever, reaching out with bony hands. He didn't think they could fight them all, but he didn't like the chances of dodging them, either. At the other end of the hallway, he could see the next door.

"We're going to have to fight our way through," Walter said, pulling out his pipe.

At least he's got his confidence back.

They started forward cautiously, Henry readying the spade and gripping it tightly. The monsters had stopped their frantic movements and now were standing still—content, it seemed, to wait for the foolish humans to come to them.

The first line of Scuttlers charged. He swung the spade into the ones closest to him, noticing as he did so that some from the outer edges of the hallway were circling around to come at them from behind. He spun, hitting them quickly, then turned to concentrate on the new ones approaching. Spindly legs and bleeding bodies seemed to be everywhere. As they inched forward, he had the sudden, horrifying thought that they would soon be in a sea of Scuttlers.

We might drown in a sea of Scuttlers.

The idea of them closing over his head, lashing out with their sharp little legs, was almost more than he could bear. He increased the speed with which he swung the spade, praying he wouldn't run out of energy before they were through. Things seemed to be going in their favor; they were both slowly moving forward.

Then the Specters attacked.

Cold hands were digging into his skin before he knew what had happened. He yelled and threw the creature off, hitting it with the spade as a Scuttler jumped towards him. The two monster types worked well together as a team. The Specters were tough, not implacable, but not easily beaten down, and the Scuttlers had a terribly insectoid advantage in the strength of numbers.

He fought off the monsters trying to latch onto him and then came to a horrible realization. They were surrounded. The monsters had been spreading out, some fighting while others moved, and now there were just as many behind them as in front of them, and many on the other two sides as well.

He froze, seeing enemies coming from everywhere. This was it, wasn't it? He was going to die here, torn apart by these horrible creatures.

"Henry, go! I've got your back!" Walter pushed him forward and spun around.

With the reassuring presence of an ally at his back, Henry began fighting again. Back-to-back, they worked their way through the horde of monsters, sending Scuttlers and Specters alike to their dooms.

It was a far more defensible position to fight in, and the monsters held back slightly, not as sure of themselves now. With their enemies' backs no longer vulnerable, they couldn't keep throwing them off balance like before. Henry felt a surge of confidence as the monsters faltered. They might get out of this after all.

A trio of Specters moved forward, confronting him as one, and a wave of Scuttlers followed. It seemed that they were trying to overwhelm him. As he focus on hitting the Specters and knocking away the Scuttlers, one of the Specters slipped past his attacks and grabbed onto his shirt. Rather than trying to get at flesh, it pulled at him, and he saw that they were now trying to separate him and Walter.

Descend upon us each separately, will they?

He brought up his knee sharply, forcing it away. He almost lost his balance, but regained it in time to fend off his latest attackers. He looked up and was relieved to see that the door was nearby. He was tiring out.

Blood was everywhere, some from them, but most from the fallen monsters. The floor was becoming slippery, and the stench was heavy in the air. Henry started to feel slightly ill, and he had to consciously make the decision to keep swinging the spade. His theories about what the monsters would do to them if they failed helped to encourage his fighting spirit.

At last, he reached the door. His fingers closed around the doorknob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He turned it.

It wasn't locked. Gasping a sigh of relief and gratefulness, he pulled the door open and stumbled inside. Walter backed in behind him, crushing a final Scuttler with the pipe, and slammed the door shut on the remaining monsters. They could be heard on the other side, scrabbling to get through, but the door held.

The new room was empty, but surprisingly well lit. It had nothing in it except for three doors—the one they had just come through, and two others. The fourth wall was bleeding. As he watched, words began to appear.

Some were innocent
Some were guilty
But you were never their judge

Henry shook his head and looked away from that message. Surprisingly, given how far they had descended by this point, he could feel fresh air coming through the cracks in the door across from him.

"Let's get out of here," he said, starting for it.

"Wait." Walter was staring at the other door, which sat across from the bleeding words. "I can hear her in there. She's calling my name."

He gave him a flat stare. "What?"

"My mother! Of course, so many things began for me in the subway!"

"No. Think this through rationally." He took a deep breath. "The last time this happened, it was a trap. Why should it be any different this time?"

"I don't know. But what if it really is her? I can't just leave…"

Henry sighed and dug out some more handgun ammo to give him. He had to be running low. "I'm coming too, this time, though."

"Thanks."

Walter opened the third door and took a step inside. He reached behind him, as though to hold the door open, but it slammed shut.

Within seconds, it had faded, not leaving anything to indicate there was ever a door there. Stunned, Henry was once again left staring at a blank wall.