Silent Hill: The Manipulated Dead
by Elliot Bowers
"Evening Falls"
music and vocals by Enya
Chapter 13—So You Say
Some time the next morning, Heather and Cheryl were ready for this day. They already did some exercising—having to get up extra early for that—showered themselves after that, did the teeth-brushing thing. Why exercise? No way were they ever going to be caught weak and slow if any creature resembling something less-than-normal showed up. Now both were dressed in fresh clothes, though the same kind of outfit: close-fitting blue jeans and a sleeveless top that left just a bit of their midriffs bare. They thought of the warm weather and contemplated shorts, decided otherwise. Shorts would be nice, but the decided shortness of those shorts would probably no be taken well by the conservatively dressed teachers at their high school: garments that left legs bare to the point that some of the butt was exposed… No, that would definitely not be a good idea.
Though they somehow had a full night's sleep, the girls did not feel as if everything was quite alright. Something was getting to be wrong. That something probably came from living in a house with crazy parents willing to drug their own daughters and send them to crazy doctors. Rich parents they were, but they were still crazy. Now they would have to go downstairs to face those crazy parents. The girls would also have to remember to not drink any more soda from those people.
They put their purses in their backpacks, grabbed up the backpacks and left their room—traveling the second-story hall of this huge house before getting to the stairs. Both girls heard an unfamiliar voice coming from downstairs, talking to someone. This made them stop. Whoa, wait a sec… What's that, I wonder, thought Cheryl. Is someone here?
Then came the stupid sound of a typical commercial. Oh, it's just a radio, responded Heather. Must be a pretty pricey one to sound so realistic, though. They resumed their downward progress on this staircase—quite a grand staircase. This brought them to the sizable, carpeted living room. At some point last night, the parent-figures must have gotten up from their catatonic state to go to bed. Now the living room was the same way as it always was. It was as if nothing happened last night. Both the sofa and armchair were in place, the coffee table and everything where it normally was, and the same was true for the gun-case in the corner. "And now for the morning news," came from behind the kitchen door.
Heather carefully pushed open the door to the kitchen, saw nothing but the kitchen: There was the center counter-top setup with pots and pans hanging on the rack above, with the refrigerator to the far right and cooking ranges to the left, a long counter-top against the far wall near the door. The radio had been set atop a counter-top.
Said the news announcer on the radio, "There is nothing new about this morning's news. In addition to the usual wave of bloody murders and random violence, word came in of an awful massacre in the seemingly typical suburb of Sunset Meadows. Police know who the Hell did it, but they say nothing."
Both girls stared at the radio. Thought Cheryl, News-guys aren't supposed to talk like that! He's supposed to sound all professional and stuff. Since when do news-people talk like they're taking everything personally?
Continued the voice on the radio, "And the massacre was especially horrific. Multiple shotgun blasts to both the front and back made for the death of the citizen. Yet the murderer did not stop there! No less than sixty-three small-caliber bullets, presumably from a small fully automatic weapon, riddled the corpse of the innocent victim. Police say both the automatic gunfire and the shotgun trauma must have been induced from close range as shell-casings and shotgun cartridges were found close to the corpse.
"For those of you who lack the vocabulary or education to understand what the Hell I just said, that means the bloody murderer stood right next to the victim while shooting away. The murderer was close enough to watch the blood splatter after the blasts, close enough to smell the fear and death of the victimThey must have stood there and listened to the victim's final gasps of breath. It is wholesale slaughter of innocent beings that are not well understood by outsiders. In other news, a substitute teacher in New Jersey was suspected of carrying corpses in a large green…"
Cheryl looked to Heather, dark blue eyes wide open. Murder victim? That thing wasn't even a person! Not even an animal, she thought. You'd think people would be glad that a monster is dead.
Or maybe it's us they want dead, thought Heather. They're drugging us up. At school, they're trying to knock us down. What about those monsters? It's like, those things just appear out of nowhere. Nobody else seems to notice. Maybe they're not noticing the monsters on purpose.
Cheryl looked at Heather, still so much like looking at a mirror version of herself—except in different clothes. This must be what having a twin sister was like. Having someone so close and trustworthy was good in times like this. Funny, even in her previous lives, she never remembered having a real sister…other than some adopted cult members.
She then thought, In the reality you came from, you went back to Silent Hill with Douglass, right? Remember how Douglass saw some kinds of monsters differently from how you saw them? Well, maybe some people in this reality don't see all the monsters as really being monsters. But you know what? Screw 'em. Those monsters want us dead. We'll just be sure to make them dead first. She crossed bare arms. I'm getting cereal.
And me, the milk, responded Heather. Amidst the rant of news-chatter of the radio atop the hard and shiny kitchen surface, the girls were walking around this kitchen in getting the necessary things for eating cereal with milk. At some points, the radio began to hiss-s-s over with waves of soft-static noise. Every time the radio did that, it made both the girls hesitate. They knew what radio-static sometimes meant. Yet the radio-static always went away—leaving clear chatter.
Heather paused. Huh… Every so often, I get a kick out of something in this place. This world even has different brand-names for cereal. She was holding one such box of breakfast product--a strange box with a strange name. What kind of stuff is "Nosh Bargles?" Sounds too much like "boogers." Ew. Never mind that stuff. How about some "Hilltop Space-Ranch Flakes?"
Yeah, and what kind of freaky stuff would that be? Well, whatever, thought back Cheryl. At least they've got cow's milk in the fridge. I almost expected 'em to have dog-milk or something. You never know with this world. Then again, their version of cows could be five hundred-pound blue insects that spurt milk or something, or something with extra legs.
Grotesque thoughts aside, they were nevertheless easily able to obtain everything wanted for a passably complete breakfast. It was those extra memories helping them out, memories of living in this reality allowing them to walk around this kitchen as if they had lived here their entire lives: a feeling of déjà vu being there all the while. Except it was not their lives—not really. They were just visiting.
Or they hoped that they were just visiting. There were traces of doubt at the backs of their minds, hints and distant echoes of worrisome thoughts that the girls never quite specifically mediated upon. What if this was it? What if they never figured out how the Hell they were going to get back? Those thoughts were ones that made for slight traces of sadness. Just the thought of being in this reality was pretty sad and a little crazy.
This life wasn't even theirs. One minute, they were just living their lives. The next, they're attacked by some cult-freaks and end up in this place that looked an awful lot like their world—except with some things that were wrong. But before they were here, whose life was it? What happened to those other twin-girls whose life they replaced? Or who would want to live this life at all? And what the Hell was up with that monster named Frank, that entity in the bunny suit and silvery death-mask?
They should be happy. The parent-figures were crazy rich. This was an especially big-old house in a swanky suburban neighborhood. And since the parents were crazy rich, the girls always had money from their own stock-portfolios, more in a trust fund… This should be better than living in a gritty old apartment-building in a no-name loser-city and working seven days a week at a tiresome job just because they didn't have all the normal legal paperwork that normal people obtained when they were born in normal hospitals. Well, that's what happens when a person is reincarnated due to the actions of a cult that had doings with alternate universes. Just because they should be happy did not mean that they were happy.
They were starting to miss that little apartment in the city, thinking about it as they ate. Heather and Cheryl already had bowls of breakfast on the counter-top and cold milk within reach. They sat atop those wooden stools when darker thoughts began to take hold. Dark thoughts, painful thoughts, they welled up from the backs of their minds to the forefront. These were thoughts of troubles now.
Not their lives, they were still thinking. Maybe no life was worth living right now. It would be pretty easy to find some sleeping pills or something that wouldn't hurt… Death wasn't the end. Maybe everything from this life would not be remembered. That wouldn't be such a bad thing, to forget how Dad was killed by that crazy bitch, her head all full of that mutated religion. Then there was how Mom was dead from that damned disease. Now here they were, a town full of people who thought they were crazy and monsters that thought they should be killed or worse. Everything would probably be better off if they weren't alive anymore. Then there was how that damned news-man would not shut up about bloody murder of seemingly innocent beings.
Cheryl's lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the wall—her eyesight blurring over. To her left, a teardrop quickly rolled down Heather's right cheek, using a quick hand to dab it away. Heather, we can't think like this, thought Cheryl. Because maybe that could be the reason why we've ended up in this mixed-up place. If we don't figure out what's going on, maybe they think we're better off just killing ourselves. Well, we should kill them first, kill the monsters, kill people who try to hurt us, kill and kill.
You're right, communicated Heather. Her own thought-communicated words resounded more strongly. Words in the mind seemed to resound differently when thought with misery—as if the telepathy was assisted by strong emotions. Or could it be that the very same kind of thing that made them able to communicate mind-to-mind fed off of pain? No, it should not be their suffering at all. Red-tinged thoughts of anger came to mind. Still, we shouldn't suffer. Any time we face one of those ugly things, we should kill it before it even has a chance to cause us hurt.
Kill the monsters, thought Cheryl. The girl had her hands clenched into tight fist--as if clutching a weapon. Not only was she feeling Heather's anger in her own mind, she was feeling her own anger as well. Kill the monsters. Kill, kill, kill.. Yeah, that's exactly what we'll do. To Hell with what happens after that.
We're just trying to survive, was Heather's response. Can't blame us for trying to do that. There was no thoughts passing between the girls, just the sound of the radio—which had actually changed over to the beginnings of a song. She listened to the lyrics, both girls did. Such a beautiful song. It was a change from the damning and hateful words from the news-man:
When the e-e-evening falls,
…and the daylight is fading.
From within me calls,
…could it be that I a-a-am sleeping?
For a moment I strayed,
…then it holds me com-plete-ly…
Close to home, I can-not say.
Close to home, feeling so-o-o fa-a-ar away…
So caught up in their own problems, so full of bitterness and fear, the girls had been approaching all of this with toughness and attitude. They only reserved tenderness and care for each other. It was because the rest of this crazy world seemed to so Hell-bent on driving them crazy with it. Now there was this wonderful and melodious song absolutely flowing from the speakers of that radio. They were paused in their kitchen-doings---paused like mannequins.
As I walked the road,
…there before me, a shadow.
From another world,
…where no other can follow!
Carry me-e-e-e to my own,
…to where I can cross over.
Close to home, I can-not say.
Close to home, feeling so-o-o fa-a-ar away…
They sank down to the floor on opposite sides of the kitchen, Heather by the sink, Cheryl over by the door leading to the living room. Both were huddled with backs to hard kitchen surfaces, their knees drawn up close to their chests and arms crossed tightly. The unfairness of it all was beginning to get to them. What was it that they had done to deserve ending up in this slow and silent hell of a world? Maybe there still was a god. And just maybe, that god hated them. Instead of having them suffer directly and immediately, that god—that unseen force—was seeking to wear them down with random and haphazard encounters with other-worldly creatures that were so grotesque and distorted that they should not even exist, did not even deserve to exist.
Why? It was a huge question of a word. As they felt their faces grow hot and felt their eyesight blur over with tears, that huge and misery laden question of why was still in their minds. Why was that unseen force doing this to them? Why were they born again…and again…under not-so-normal circumstances? It made for them living lives always having to worry about something or someone trying to approach them and make them dead, or make them crazy.
Maybe it doesn't have to be this way, thought Cheryl. Dark thoughts came to mind. There were knives in the kitchen drawers. It would have to be a smooth-edged blade, though: Serrated edges would hurt too much. They could go upstairs and lie down in the shower's tub and do it-- first one wrist, then the other. Or maybe one wrist would do, because it would be hard to cut with the cut one. They could help each other. And the tub would catch the blood as it flowed from their bodies. It would be just like falling asleep after that…
Fzzt, fwsh-h-h-h…! Midway through these thoughts, both girls became aware of the angry and aggressive sounds of static coming from the radio. The radio was making more of those sounds again… It seemed to be like typical interference. There was that hissing and buzzing all mixed in with it. Only that kind of interference made that sort of noises. That radio's speaker had all the hissing and occasional squealing typical of a bad station or poor tuning or a weak frequency. But the only way that the radio would begin making that particular set of noises was when something was nearby—something that did not belong in this world.
Bzzt! Wink-flicker, went the lights. Trouble was, the kitchen lights were not even on. The girls could feel the edges of a headache. He's coming, thought Heather. It's like we can't get away from that six-foot bastard! As if in response to that negative comment, an extra tinge of headache made her wince. "Ow!" she exclaimed. Another burst of headache-pain resonated in both girls' heads. There was an intense glare of light from the windows.
Both thought it was a nuclear flash or something, making Heather scramble across the kitchen to be by Cheryl as the lights were going crazy. This was a world where Canada nuked part of America. Who knows what the Hell just happened now? At least they would not have to do themselves in now. They waited for the final searing glare of hard radiation and intense white glow that would overcome everything and incinerate them.
It did not happen. That glare of light died down, and the lights stopped going crazy. There was instead the sound of a strong breeze blowing outside the window—a cool breeze. The radio-static made a slow wave of static… as he appeared. It was Frank: the six-foot being in the silvery metal death-mask and full-body fluffy bunny suit.
Both girls stood up with their backs to the kitchen wall near the door to the living room. You know the old saying, thought Cheryl. Speak of the devil, and he appears. Except I don't think the people who thought up that saying had rabbits in mind—especially six-foot bunny suits and death-mask. They'd probably never see rabbits the same way again after seeing this big bastard.
…
2.
…
Bastard was a word that was coming into increasing use between the girls. The official definition of that rather derogatory word was this: One born illegitimately, out of the confines of a legal marriage. Yet modern times saw the birth of many such individuals in modern times, being born out of wedlock was an especially common occurrence. Single motherhood ceased to be a rarity. The negativity did not grow out of being born out of wedlock: the shame and stigma of such status gone in that sense. However, modern times instead saw the term itself bastard as retaining the less-than-savory worth, being a somewhat naughty verbal item used in describing someone of less-than-desirable company. Since Cheryl and Heather were both born out of wedlock—and not necessarily born with a father's input—did that make them bastards?
It certainly did in the old way. Hopefully, they were not bastards in the new sense of the word. But they were certainly sure that the creature wearing the silvery death mask and covering its body with a bunny suit, it was a bastard in both the old way (i.e. born out of wedlock) and in the new way (i.e. less-than-desirable company). Since that particular bastard showed up more often now, they were beginning to think the word bastard just as frequently.
Then again, did trans-dimensional entities like Frank have marriage? Maybe he was spawned in some kind of alternate-reality factory. Or maybe he was given that stupid bunny suit as a birthday present. There was also the idea that Frank could have been human at some point—ha-ha, not that way. Except, the girls were not especially sure.
The bastard, the entity, was standing here right now. And whenever that entity communicated, its thoughts came straight to both girls' minds—as if it was communicating to one person. Also true was how the entity's thoughts came across extra-clear and in an echoed sort of way. Those metal bunny-ears of the silvered death-mask probably made for some especially good reception of transmitted thoughts, too. Heather had the thought of maybe trying to turn that rabbit-thing's ears left and right, then asking Frank if he could pick up the alternate reality version of WCIN—one of her favorite radio stations since it played the indie-sounding soft-rock radio she liked to listen to, very often with female vocalists and far-out experimental melodies.
The thing in the rabbit-suit bowed its head, the metal ears of the silvery skeletal death-mask exaggerating the tilt. It only added to the crazy notion of the entity tuning in on something. Maybe Frank listened to his own favorite radio stations when he was not warping in and out of various planes of existence. Did the silvery death-mask include those surround-sound earphones that would be invented about twenty or so years from now? Maybe those headphones also cancelled out whatever Hellish sounds there were between dimensions, too.
They consume pain, came the thought, interrupting Heather's free-associating thought. The thought came across especially clearly. Yes, it was certainly the metal bunny ears. Redness is how they take nutrition.
Cheryl went to lean against the part of the kitchen wall, left of the door that went into the living room. Heather did the same on the other side, her arms over her midsection. You know, thought the girl on the right, I could ask you when all of this is going to stop, but I know you'll just whack us with some cryptic answer that could mean half of anything. So I'll just start easy. Who are they you keep talking about?
The entity's thought-communicated response was, nevertheless, as cryptic as Heather did not want it to be. You see them every day, but you cannot see them every day. An ominous sound of thunder came out of somewhere. They live.
To that, Cheryl thought another question as she stared into those bulging chrome eye-pieces of the rabbit-figure's death-mask. You said something about them feeding off of suffering. I thought monsters ate each other or something. Those big ugly things can't just get their daily recommended allowance of vitamins and minerals off of bad feelings. That is, unless they drink tears or something… Ick.
In different worlds, the rules are different, came the entity's response. Thoughts are things at some level. The entity then swayed to the right. The things are also real at some level. You should try to understand. It is important to the town.
Heather stood away from the wall and put hands on jeans-covered hips, Understand what! That we're probably going nuts? And from what you're telling us, this is all supposed to make some kind of sense. Just try to understand and everything can be alright, is that it? Look, my Dad used to say the same damned thing. Guess what? He was murdered.
Cheryl added to Heather's sentiment. Sometimes, trying to understand every damned thing all the time can get pretty grating. So like, we're just supposed to go along with this crazy mess? Just lay down own our backs, spread our legs and take it? The Hell we will!
Eh-hah! That figure in the rabbit costume made that exclamation again—that noise that could really mean anything. The time will come again when you understand. You have understood before. You will do the same.
To that, Cheryl smirked. She then thought, You know what? Another sort of person said something like that before, that talk about understanding stuff some day. She's dead too. Is it me, or is it that all the advice you've got was ripped from the mouths of dead people? It's all things from people who've gotten themselves slaughtered somehow. Well, Frank, it seems to me that maybe listening to you might get a girl killed.
To that, the being in the bunny and death-mask suit seemed to…darken. Whatever invisible energy source or light-source that made the entity visible, it turned down in intensity. The living-room lights remained the same. Everything else was at the same level of illumination. It was just the entity that became more darkened by shadow—though he cast no shadow himself. He bowed his deathmask-covered head. It would not be the first time, time and time again It is the way…of the Circle. I cannot make the pain stop. I'm so sorry…
Bzzt, wink-flicker! That was the light from the kitchen ceiling suddenly flickering on and making odd buzzing sounds before going dark again. There was the sound of a heavy breeze outside. Then the entity was gone, vanishing from this reality.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Cheryl, using her voice this time. She resumed emotional control of herself, remembered the voice of her mind. We're not done with you yet. Get back here! Both girls strode over to where the entity had been.
He was not at all there. Nor was there any solid physical evidence of him being there. But they did feel an intensely cold spot in the air where he was standing here in the kitchen. It was as if he had been sucking heat or something, or as if there was a hole in the universe where the heat was drained. Whichever the case, it was cold enough for the girls to step back and rub their arms, which were bare because of their choice of outfits.
One of these days, we're going to figure out how the Hell he does that, thought Heather. Then we'll track him down in whatever world he comes from and shoot him in the eye or something. You know, is that freaky thing in the bunny suit even on our side? He ran like a loser when we told 'em that all his advice seems to come from people who got themselves killed.
Same thing about Dad, too, added Cheryl. He was always trying to be responsible for us no matter what we did, even after Mom died. He just pretty much sat back and let me smoke and get drunk. He still cared for us even when we got in trouble with the law, too. One night, I got really bent and nearly set my bed on fire. She frowned. Yeah, you know all this, since your life was exactly like mine. Now I really hate fire. Quit smoking for good after that.
Yeah, same here, agreed Heather. Speaking of responsibility… She looked at the stopped clock above the sit-down counter against the far wall: The skinny hand of the clock that counted seconds was stopped—had been stopped all this time. Only when Heather stared at it did it start ticking again. Hey! Did you see that! That thing just started up again out of nowhere.
Thought Cheryl, It's like no time passed when Frank appeared. What does that mean? She turned to face Heather, looking into the eyes of someone who looked exactly like herself. Frank was here. He was saying those things to us. Like, how can something take no time to happen? Everything is supposed to take time to happen.
Heather shook her head. Well, maybe taking no time was exactly what happened, she communicated to Cheryl. The more I think about that thing in the bunny suit, the more I'm starting to get worried. He appears out of nowhere at any time….so to speak. And he appears almost anywhere. If he can do that, it's like he can probably make anything happen. Frank must not be an ordinary monster.
Cheryl thought something else. Why would he need us? If that thing wearing the bunny suit can do anything, he wouldn't need to take two girls and suck 'em back to an alternate past. Why did it bring us to this alternate past? Something's not right about this.
The kitchen-clock's ticking interrupted the silence. Things won't be right if we don't catch the bus to school, either, added Heather. Hmmph… We ought to have plenty of time if we had ourselves a quick breakfast and head out for the bus-stop. If we're going to be in this world a while, we may as well keep playing our role—as stupid as it is. As they picked up the items used for breakfast, they were sure of avoiding that spot.
…
Some other time that morning, a night-colored limousine drove and ambled through the nearly emptied streets of the downtown area. It was a weekday. Most vehicles were parked at the sides as people were at work. Most all of this town consisted of opulent suburban homes nestled amongst trees, plenty of forests in between. Yet the downtown area boasted grand, stately buildings that sometimes took up half-blocks of space, buildings made of traditional brick-work and with gabled roofs. Such buildings housed such institutions as the Town Hall, the commerce board, the police station, and the public library. Both the town's seat of government and the public library housed documents on the town's official history.
That night-colored limousine pulled up to the grandiose structure of Town Hall and stopped right up front. The rather old-looking cars parked along both sides of this downtown street made for there being no parking space for the long-car. No problem, it simply stayed parked in the middle of this street. Everyone in this town knew the significance of the passenger in that vehicle and would therefore not dare to approach it with any sort of danger. They would not even think of doing so.
Both doors at the front of the limousine opened up. Two men in red suits walked around back to flank the rearmost door of the vehicle. One reached down to open the door while the other stood up straight. The opened door revealed the reclining figure within—a figure of beauty clad in clinging white silk.
It was her. Alessa was swathed in another white silk gown. This one was with a neckline open beyond her sternum to reveal the place between upright breasts, more of her perfect skin. The way the gown clung close to the rest of her body, it was clear that the rest of her was just as pleasing to look at—hips flaring outwards from the flat abdomen beneath the bosom, a lean torso, long slender arms ending in fine fingers. As for her long dark hair, it was combed away from her slim column of a neck to flow behind her shoulders and back. The name Alessa certainly belonged to such a beautiful being. It was this vision of beauty and nubile womanhood that slid out of this vehicle.
Alessa's bare feet touched pavement, her body upright as wind caressed her figure and blew her silken night-colored tresses. Her large dark eyes seemed to take in all of the view and seeing more than merely that. Before her was Town Hall. At ground level were two wooden doors at the top of eleven stone stairs—the stairs divided in the middle by a red rail. Those wooden doors opened outward, folded outwards as Alessa ascended the stairs. This godly figure of nubile womanhood entered the grand building.
…
Somewhere on the third floor of this grand building, there was a long meeting room large enough to accommodate a long executive's table that could seat sixty people—thirty per side and one at each end. Diaphanous red curtains flowed along the windows along the left side of the room. It was the west side. Such promised an amazing views during the burning sunsets over the land. The long table inside of this room had a darker red carpet of deep silk pile. Wood paneling along the rest of the walls gave the room an older, more museum-like feel. Regularly placed dark paintings added to that feeling while two white chandeliers added to the daytime light shining through the window.
First came men in gray business suits and black sunglasses. Two of them had strong holds on both arms of a tan-skinned man dressed in blue work-clothes. His shoulder-length dark hair was the only vaguely feminine touch about him. He otherwise looked immensely masculine and physically strong, huge hands at the ends of thick arms and with a broad chest. The tan-skinned man's blue work-shirt and sturdy blue slacks suitable for industrial work. As strong as he was, he could not stand. The man had been mistreated by his captors and could barely stand. There was nevertheless something strong and noble about him.
They kept the man standing. Apparently, their grips on the big man's arms was the only thing Everyone was standing, looking stiff as mannequins. But all eyes turned to the doors. They were waiting. Everyone and everything was quiet. It was as if sound was being drained from the air.
There was the sound of a breeze… In stepped the exquisitely beautiful figure. Her long-legged stride took her to the head of the table and quickly sat down. Everyone else sat only then while keeping their eyes on her. A vision of porcelain-skinned beauty with a body swathed in white silk, her night-colored hair flowing back and away from a delicate and round face, Alessa was mistress and the primary focus of all attention.
As for the secondary focus of attention, the tan-skinned strong man, they dumped him in one of the seats. He flopped somewhat like a man-sized rag doll yet was able to stay upright, his wood-brown eyes downcast. A slight cough from deep within his chest produced a trickle of blood. Then he stared at the feminine figure. It was not a polite stare. He knew what lay beneath the appearance of physical beauty.
Alessa stared back. Her voice was still sweetly beautiful with its light and delicate accent. Still, there was some kind of hatred. "I shall speak to you in a way you can comprehend. Do you in fact understand…? Yes, you do understand. Now we commence discussion of the point at hand." The beautiful midnight-haired woman pointed, a long slender arm with an outstretched and accusing finger. "You do not belong in this land. You are an outsider and intruder. What are you doing here? The doings of this land are not of concern to the likes of you." That slender limb lowered, the accusing finger going down with it.
Another cough, and the tan-skinned man spoke—his voice low and clear despite his suffering. It was as if his voice was now apart from his body. His voice sounded out with him saying, "There is a great sickness here. It is soaked into the land itself. Such evil is not normal and must not exist. The sickness of the land is so terrible that it even makes for a faint mist that one can see even on a clear day. The sickness is not of this world. It must be removed and destroyed, like diseased trees!" The man suddenly stood in showing a burst of strength and lurched in Alessa's direction.
Six of those men in gray suits grabbed the tan-skinned man in blue. They hit him, again and again… Their fists crumpled his abdomen. More slammed into his ribs—some of those ribs already cracked. While some of the blows made for thumping sounds of meat, others made cracking sounds. Only when the tan-skinned man in blue work-clothes slumped to sit down did they stop. He was bleeding now.
Alessa tilted her head to the left. Her voice came with the sweetest sounds of sympathy. "Oh, you poor man! So it is destruction that you desire? So be it. Such is easily granted." There was a slight gesture of her left hand.
Fwoomph… The figure of the tan-skinned man in blue work-clothes was instantly alive with fire, lost in the bright yellow burning. Soon this room was filled with the light and smell of burning human flesh as the smoke billowed towards the ceiling. In the flames, the figure raised a blackening arm to point at Alessa, the burning head raised. "The sickness shall not spread beyond this place in four dimensions," came the man's voice…before he lowered his arm and bowed his head.
The fire continued burning, consuming the corpse of the defeated man. Thick sounds of fire still kept going as he alone kept alight. Somewhere in the midst of the flames, there was that man's laughter. And the echoes of that laughter did not fade off until long after the figure was a blackened corpse. The brightness of the flames glinted in Alessa's dark eyes and shimmered off of her silken white gown.