Bless the Child

Disclaimer: I have just discovered that when you are bored, struggling with story ideas, you end up playing your old games, which in this case, happened to be Silent Hill 4. (Also Silent Hill 3 and Origins). I have come up with an idea that seemed interesting enough to make into a fanfiction. I have fancied Walter Sullivan's character and could never get a good fanfiction going with him. Until I caught on to his terrible back story. I felt so bad for him, being treated like a dog. This is for Walter, man! (P.S. I don't own any Silent Hill characters made my the original artists).

"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off."

— Stephen King (Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay)

"Go then, there are other worlds than these."

— Stephen King (The Gunslinger)

By: VampireQueenAkasha

"She was younger than me back then... She looked so happy holding her mother's hand..."

-Walter Sullivan (Silent Hill 4)

Chapter Ten: Dead Man's Birthday

South Ashfield

Walter had no idea how long he had been asleep, or even more, where.

It had been a long, endless week dodging police and many others. Valtiel had cleverly helped him elude most of humanity during the day, but when night fell, Walter had to go about it himself. Valtiel saw no need when most humans were asleep at such hours. Walter didn't mind it too much. Sometimes, the silence was better for him anyway; it allowed for him to collect his thoughts on the next victim for Mother's birth.

Today seemed particularly different, though. When he woke, he was in the subway, lying on a bench. Not very many people were there too, so it must have been nightfall or close to it. He was getting hungry too.

Walter stood up and cracked his neck, gathering his sleeping bag and pillow into a large duffel bag before he slung it over his shoulder and walked up a flight of stairs. But he stopped at the sight of Torch and Scotts standing at the very top, discussing the murderer and the events that Walter had transpired the past two months. He contemplated going the long way around, but that would seem too suspicious so he calmly walked up where they stood, pretending like nothing was wrong.

" ... Look, the bastard's in this town and I'm going to find him!" Torch spat, not noticing Walter just yet, "I swear to Christ, this asshole's going to know what the devil is when I get through with him!" And then, almost unexpectedly, Torch looked straight at Walter. "Hey! Move it along dust head! Go sleep it off somewhere else!"

Walter smiled and pretended to look absolutely pathetic. "Sorry, sir ... "

As he started to go, he could hear Torch cursing at Scott's about the situation some more and even so, about him. "Goddamn creatures of the night, they never learn ... "

Walter was glad to be out of their way for now. In the meantime, he began to search around the streets for open restaurants to get something to eat. He stopped at a Chinese shop and ordered some takeout. Being on a limited budget was hard for him, but he knew how to spend wisely.

When he took his box of rice and chow - mien to the park, Valtiel was staying at an unusual distance today. Walter didn't bother questioning him either as he used two fingers to shovel the noodles and rice into his mouth. He did not notice a man watching him from across the street with a weird, thoughtful look on his face. It suggested that he was looking for trouble or knew who Walter was. Maybe even both. He walked over to where Walter sat and suddenly shoved him to the grass with a shout.

"I KNEW it was you, you sick freak!" the man shouted. "You're FUCKING DEAD!"

Walter tasted dirt and grass and he spat them from his lips, scrambling to turn and face his attacker. The man did the job for him, grabbing Walter by the throat and rolling him onto his back. It was a man he had never seen before, but the eyes and the facial structure. The resemblance. It was uncanny.

Miriam and Billy Locane's father.

His eyes burned with anguish and despair all at once of a father who had lost his spawn, a vengeful parental figure with no thoughts other than revenge and death. Those darkened eyes...they were flaring bonfires of near madness. "I saw you running off last night, fucker!" he screamed, delivering a right hook to Walter's nose, stamping out his next words, "You killed my children! You. Piece. Of. Fucking. SHIT!"

Walter's head rang with pain and he tasted blood flowing down his mouth and chin. He knew that his nose was possibly broken in the barrage of fists. Where was his master? Why was he letting him suffer like this? Was it a means to teach him something that he had yet to learn? Maybe there was something to be had for the vengeful. Suddenly, just as those thoughts left him, he could feel the icy cold embrace of Valtiel's arms reaching into his darkest of darks ...

His soul.

The Locane man was stunned as Walter started laughing wildly. He snarled and shook him by the throat. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he shouted, "Stop laughing! I SAID STOP FUCKING LAUGHING!"

Walter grabbed his upper jaw and with surprisingly sudden strength, began to pry the Locane father from him, standing up. "When it comes to pain, my friend," he whispered, "It's best to give than to receive." He removed a knife from his coat pocket.

The Locane man's eyes widened in shock and he swung up his fist, punching Walter in the face over and over again to free himself, but the psychotic man would not budge, he just continued to grin as he was buffeted by the blows. The whimpering man wasn't too sure what he was dealing with right now, but when he looked up, that was when he saw Valtiel, looming over Walter's shadow. No, he WAS Walter's shadow.

The Locane father's eyes grew wide and he uttered a scream, but Walter's hand came down with the knife, directly into his skull. With a shuddering sigh, Walter plunged the knife into his head over and over, blood gushing and splattering his coat. Walter stared at the dead man that slumped into the grass before his lips tightened with a fury only akin to pure evil. With a snarl, he began to stab the man again and again into his bloodied flesh, despite that he was already dead.

"Freak? Freak? Who's the freak?" he hissed, his voice high and insane, "Who's the dead freak now?"

After a moment of venting his fury, Walter stopped long enough to tilt his head to one side and study the bloody carcass at his feet. "Tch. Aww ... look at you ... What a mess ... " He straightened up and walked away, leaving the dead man in a pool of his own guts and blood.

Much later, Torch and Scotts were investigating the dead body of the fallen Locane man with several forensic scientists going to work gathering fingerprints and evidence. It had taken them nearly four hours before they finally discovered the dead body. It was an embarrassing moment for them all.

"I don't believe this," Torch growled, staring at the covered body, "This guy's been cutting out hearts and killin' folks in a circle and now all of a sudden, be breaks this shit out on us?" He shook his head angrily. "What the hell went on?"

Joseph was bent down beside the body and he stood up. "Well, perhaps this wasn't a planned kill, officer Torch," he explained, "Maybe this man knew one of the victims and went out for blood." He gestured to the Chinese food scattered across the grass. "He must have jumped the killer while he had his guard down; he wouldn't have expected it." Joseph began to gesture to every area of struggle and blood where the fight had taken place, "This man came at him and began beating on him. But our killer takes a knife to him and ends it."

The two detectives frowned at each other.

"Hey! Chief Torch!" a forensics doctor called, from across the park, "We have a call from a gentleman who says a suspicious looking man just entered an apartment building on the west side of South Ashfield!"

Scotts looked at Torch expectantly. "Think this could be our guy?"

The larger man smirked nastily and straightened up. "I got a feeling it just might be!" He turned to go, but the forensic's doctor stopped him.

"Can we send it downtown?" he asked, gesturing to the body.

Torch threw a look of exasperation at Scotts before he pointed angrily. "What the hell are you asking me for? Tag it and move it! Christ ... "

The detectives and officers quickly hurried for their vehicles and drove off, following the lead of Torch and Scott's squad car. The vehicles behind them started to flash their sirens, but Torch picked up his CB radio and spoke into it, exasperatedly.

"Hey! Keep those sirens off, boys!" he snapped, "If he hears us coming, we'll lose him!"

The sirens quickly shut off. Torch rolled his eyes skeptically at their naivety. "Christ, like dealing with new meat in Dallas all over again ... "

Scotts couldn't resist his amused laughter.

Meanwhile

Eric Walsh had always been a nice guy in South Ashfield. He payed his dues to the church, helped his friends when they were in need and even owned his own bar. It was his birthday today too and many of his more common customers had given him cards, bought fancy liquor for him and even baked small treats. Eric was happy with his life; he had almost everything he had ever wanted. All that was needed was a wife, really. And then, his life would truly be complete. He was a man of great happiness and joy.

A perfect way for Walter to take it from him.

"Eric!"

The bartender looked up as a man came rushing inside the bar. It was all but nearly empty now with only two or three men sitting at tables, talking and eating from bowls of peanuts. The football game was playing; the source of their attentions.

But the man who rushed in was a man that Eric had never seen before. He was dressed in a dampened raincoat which meant that it had started to rain outside. His mouth was covered over by a thick, purple scarf. His hair was untidy and brown in lumpy curls and his eyes dark blue. Eric was suspicious by the fact that he knew his name.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I just came to tell you that the pet store guy was killed," the man said, worriedly, "Just be careful when you head home. The killer's still out there."

Eric looked surprised and made an effort to hide this. After all, he didn't know this man and for all that he DID know, he could very well be the murderer that he spoke of. "Alright, thanks for the heads up, buddy ... "

The man smiled and nodded before he turned and ran back out of the bar. As soon as he walked to the parking lot, there was a large black car parked there and the door opened, revealing Dahlia sitting there inside with a devious smile on her face.

"Leonard, how did it go?"

The man smirked and removed the scarf, revealing the aged features of Leonard Wolf. He smiled broadly at Dahlia and inhaled, clearing his nostrils. "Walter knows who must be next," he told her, "Now all he has to do is complete this portion of his test and then ... no one will stop him."

Dahlia chuckled at that.

Later on that evening, Eric was walking home with his eyes constantly focused to the dark corners of the damp streets and shadows. As he entered his apartment building, he did not take notice to a shape that moved eerily in his apartment, passing the window. So he continued toward his apartment, unaware of the potential threat that no doubt lingered. His hand started to reach for his keys and to unlock the door, but he stopped.

Something wasn't right.

He could sense it; there was something wrong about him being there. A small alarm that went off in his head as he entered his dark apartment room. The windows were open and fluttering the curtains, small raindrops pelting his hardwood floor. Eric noticed a muddy trail of footprints that led from the window into his kitchen. There was a faint glow coming from there as well, but every light in the house was off. He slowly, cautiously wrapped his fingers around a baseball bat leaning against his wall and moved toward the kitchen.

There was a small freshly baked cake sitting at the table, candles glowing brightly with tiny flames. The wax was already melting into the icing and Eric noticed his name written into it. But the most disturbing part was the man sitting there in front of it in a blue jacket with his head hung, hiding his face behind his hair.

"You!" Eric whispered, "You get on out of here! Get out of my house!"

Walter smiled and lifted his head slowly, elegantly. His eyes were an unholy red. Eric furrowed his brow. "Who...?" he began.

"Happy Birthday." Walter said, kindly. And with that, he removed his handgun from his coat and shot Eric point blank in the stomach.

Eric was too stunned by the action to scream. His eyes widened in his head and he finally collapsed to the floor, moaning and clutching his bleeding wound. Walter slowly stood up and walked over to the groaning, dying man and smiled down at him, tilting his head to one side as if he were a cat studying a mouse beneath his feet. Eric sucked in repetitive painful cries through his gushing lips and he rolled, trying to reach for his discarded bat that had fallen to the floor.

Walter calmly nudged it out of his reach with the toe of his foot and bent down to Eric. "Pl - Please ... " Eric moaned, "Don't ... "

"No. I won't." Walter told him, smiling calmly, "I won't kill you, Mr. Walsh. I'll just be taking your heart."

He removed a large knife and Eric's scream pierced the night.

Outside, police cruisers were pulling up and officers rushed out with weapons and clubs, ready for a fight that they were sure to get. Torch removed a megaphone and brought it to his lips. "Alright, we know you're in there!" he shouted, into it, "Come on out! We have the place surrounded, asshole! You have nowhere to run!"

The front doors of the apartment suddenly opened and Walter stepped out, his jacket soaked with blood and a knife tightly clenched in hand. The officers quickly trained their weapons onto him and he smiled, that same red in his eyes. His hands slowly moved upwards.

"Oh? But I have nowhere to run, gentleman." he told them.

He didn't even put up a fight as he was caught by both arms and shoved to the ground.