Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill in all its incarnations, nor do I own the characters, locations, and other relevent elements therein.
Author's Note: Thanks once again to Literary Alchemist, and also to Marumae, who gave me a bit of assistance when he was not available. And, of course, a big thanks to all my readers for their thoughts and encouragement.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Reanimation
When Miranda told Walter that they were ready to board the boats, he went downstairs to get Henry. He expected he'd have some trouble getting him out of the apartment, but when Walter entered the room he found Henry sitting on the chest by the television. Henry had the light blue cloak around his shoulders and was trying to tie it around his neck. Walter walked over and knelt in front of the other man, nudging Henry's hands out of the way and tying it himself. Henry's hands shook as he lowered them to his lap, where they wrung together.
Walter wanted to ask if Henry was okay, but he had barely said one word and Henry emphatically shook his head. He didn't want to talk, or listen, or think. He obediently let Walter lead him up the stairs and out the door, the same one they had gone through when Walter had taken him outside in secret.
The fresh air was a change from the stilted atmosphere of the apartment, but Henry couldn't shake off the heavy foreboding weight on his shoulders. He wished he could enjoy being outside; after all, it was only the second time he'd set foot outside the building. But the change in atmosphere only made him queasier. It brought him closer to the inevitable.
Walter led him in a different direction than he had the first time they left the building together, towards the sound of chattering voices. Those voices hushed as he and Walter approached, however, and Henry could only suppose it was because of them.
A little girl's voice broke the silence. "But we wanna go!" she whined.
"Silence, Elizabeth," a woman said. "You'll stay here with Sister Alice like good children and prepare for the others."
"Yes, come along now." Henry recognized Alice's voice. "They'll be back soon enough," she said amiably.
"Yes indeed," came Miranda's calm voice. "To the boats now. Ivan, do you have her?"
"Yes, Mother," said a young male over the sound of feet moving past them through the grass.
"Good. Walter, are you and the Receiver ready?"
"Yes, Mother," Walter said, adjusting his grip on Henry's arm. Henry said nothing.
"Well then, come along."
Briefly, Henry entertained the idea of breaking away and running, but he knew he wouldn't get far. He moved beside Walter at a steady pace, noting when they passed from soft grass to hard concrete and back to grass again. Their feet clomped on wood after a moment; from what Miranda had said before, Henry assumed they were on a dock.
Walter stopped him and said, "I'll get in first."
Henry could hear the water splishing around beneath them, the thud of Walter's shoes as he got into the rowboat. Miranda spoke to someone quietly, her voice close behind him. He scorned her in his mind.
"Henry."
He tentatively stepped forward, leaning down and holding out his arms. Walter put his hands on Henry's forearms to guide him, and Henry reluctantly found Walter's shoulders. Henry expected to somehow hop down, but then Walter's hands were firmly on his waist, and he was lifted lightly down into the boat. His feet touched the wood bottom, but Walter didn't let go.
"Okay?" Walter said. One of his hands shifted slightly, his fingers pressing into Henry's hip.
With an aggravated grunt, Henry quickly pulled away. He carefully sat down in what he figured to be the back of the boat, since the edges he used to steady himself did not curve to a point.
The boat swayed as Walter sat, and after a moment Henry could hear the oars revolving, splashing down and pushing the boat along the water. Walter didn't speak as he rowed, and that was fine with Henry. He kept getting a sickening feeling from the direction they headed. He tried to concentrate on the lulling rhythm of the boat.
Something tugged in his head and he turned to the water, leaning a bit over the side of the boat. His head panged. He lowered a hand to the water, let his fingers skim the icy surface. The chill of the lake reminded him of cracks in ice, thin lines striking through foggy white, through his mind, forming a well-kept riverboat, its towering paddle propelling it from shore, a sparse number of passengers milling about the deck. They buttoned their jackets and tightened their shawls as the fog curled around them. One little boy ran to the rail and peered at the water, his body casting a pale shadow over the name painted on the side of the boat: Little Baroness. The boy strained forward, something beneath the choppy waves commanding his attention, and then he recoiled, pushing back from the railing and shrieking as it came up from the water.
Henry jerked away from it, but at once he couldn't recall what it was. The image was gone, a ghost sinking into the waters beneath.
The boat jolted and, coming from his strange thoughts, Henry realized they had stopped. They were docked. He heard Walter get out of the boat. Henry stood up, reached an arm out. Walter grabbed it and his other arm and pulled him up. Then Walter led him onto land.
As Henry's sandals touched the grass, he stopped, swayed. He held his stomach at a sudden sickness. Other people were also ashore; he heard murmurs and gasps of concern.
"Henry?" Walter's hand moved to his back.
Henry's hands flew from his stomach to his burning head, at the horrible and strange images that flowed unbidden from the ground beneath, through his feet and slipping up his bones to his skull.
A person, a corpse, purple skin wet and bulbous and sloshing around the bones, with shaking hands that clawed at the gray grass, trying to get onto land. Waterlogged lungs vomited lake water as fearful bloodshot eyes in deep lilac sockets finally saw relief in the land. A gurgled cry as the body was violently dragged back into the black lake.
A young Native American girl dressed elaborately in furs, beads, and feathers, beside an older man similarly garbed. They chanted at an altar in the middle of a cave, their tribe gathered around them. The girl set a fox, limp and unconscious, on the altar and the man drove a knife through it. All bowed their heads, the sacrifice done. Then only horrified screams as something appeared from the darkness and snatched the girl, one malformed arm around her waist as the other hand crudely latched onto her breast, claws piercing the tender flesh there, soaking her thick fur dress with rich young blood.
A man, modern, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, ran breathlessly through the night, struggling through the trees, crying out each time he stumbled, the sound of his feet scrabbling against the dirt and grass and through the brush not enough to mask the hungered panting of what pursued him. It was dark in the woods, but when the man emerged upon the moonlit shore there was nothing of comfort, only a terrified sob because he could not run any further, because the mainland was so far. He hesitated only a moment before pushing his sneakers through the thick, fine sand,choking on it when the agile creature dropped from the trees and leaped upon him.
Henry gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate and banish those thoughts and more from his mind. He tried to think of something else, something cheerful from his past, but there were only the disturbing visions and the pain they brought him, with Walter's voice in the background. So he focused on that, on Walter's harried words, on Walter's one hand pressed against his back and the other closed around his forearm. The sights in his mind slowly fell away to the darker recesses of his consciousness. He could still feel them there, an eerie tremor at the back of his mind.
"Where are we?" Henry finally said, voice a strained moan.
A young male voice-- Ivan-- answered. "The island."
"This is where you were resurrected," Walter added, sounding relieved.
"Is there a problem?" Miranda said, making clear her irritation.
Her voice startled him, but Henry resumed his silence, though he knew his distaste showed on his face.
Miranda said nothing more and Walter pulled him along again. Henry noticed the other man was going a bit slower, a considerate gesture, but it did nothing to settle Henry's nerves. Nothing could, given what was coming, why they were there. And then they were walking along a hard surface, stone, and their steps echoed. Henry at once saw in his mind's eye the girl from his vision and his first flash of real memory from his second life, looking up into that light with Miranda's voice reverberating in his ears.
Walter pulled him aside and kept a hand on his arm. Miranda fired out orders for the body to be placed on the altar, for everyone to take their places, for Ivan to be ready with the chrism, the goblet, the knife, and then one final thing.
"Brother, are you ready?"
"Always for my duty to God," replied a man, voice deep and reverent.
In his nervousness about Eileen's return, Henry had forgotten about the sacrifice. He tried to speak, but the grip on his arm tightened.
"We do what we must for God," Walter said.
Henry kept silent, though something inside him wept for this poor man and how Henry could do nothing but let him go. Wept for how, really, he could hardly care if he could hear Eileen's voice again.
As Miranda started to chant, Henry's fear consumed his anxiety, and he wanted nothing more than to jam his hands against his ears and block it out. That small, wounded part of him that still managed to cry for rebellion emerged once again, and he could not control his urge to stop the ceremony. He threw himself forward with violent, vague intentions, but Walter's arms were instantly around him, holding him back from the sound of Miranda's voice, rising up in echoes. Henry screamed in protest, but one of Walter's heavy hands clapped over his mouth. Henry sunk his teeth into Walter's palm, but the taller man did not react, and Henry was left with the strong metallic taste of blood and dirt seeping into his mouth. He felt as if he would choke, his anger crumbling under his fear once again as his throat constricted. The thought of Walter's life essence further polluting him, melding with his body, whirled him into panic until he was screaming so loudly into Walter's hand that the sound rang shrilly in his ears, not muffled at all, until he realized it wasn't his own choked voice shrieking throughout the stone chamber, thrumming against the walls and overtaking any other noise that might have been there. Henry stopped struggling, stood frozen in Walter's hold, feet stuck fast to the ground. He felt as if the agony in the voice was so white hot that it melted his sandals to the stone.
Her horrendous cries never ended. Henry pictured her in nothing but a pool of glittering blood, the way she had left and the way she returned, filling him with guilt so terrible that he didn't even know how he had broken away from Walter. Nor could he be sure how he fended off all the invisible hands that tried to hold him back. He just focused on her voice, pushing himself through the dark until he collided with something solid and cold. He collapsed on top of it, on top of a flailing form, sickly warm and wet and screeching in his ear, the wail of the siren escalating until it finally ended with a breathless "Henry!"
And then nothing. Thick silence until he heard those surrounding them rush up, their voices a boiling cacophony.
"Quickly, the blanket, the blanket!"
"It's done!"
"Take him! Hurry!"
But Henry's arms flung around the limp, slick form that had begged his name and refused to let go.
A pair of hands on his shoulders, a body close to his. Walter's voice boomed in his ear. "Henry, we must keep her warm."
Henry lowered his head, pressing his face into her body.
"She can go across in your boat," Miranda said evenly, just a trickle of exasperation in her voice.
"I will carry her," Walter said, hands wrapping around Henry's forearms and slowly pulling.
Walter's words were an assurance to Henry next to Miranda's; Walter would not lie to him. Henry felt himself shake as Eileen's body slid away beneath him and a pair of hands slipped under his arms and pulled him upright. Henry was guided by the arm away from where he had fallen. He knew it was not Walter leading him. The hands were small, cautious. The stranger made him nervous and Henry stopped, refusing to go on when the person tugged lightly.
"I have her," Walter said.
"Take him to the boat, Ivan," Miranda said, voice clipped with impatience.
Ivan murmured nervously to Henry under his breath, an unintelligible request, and pulled again. Henry hesitated, but walked along with him while listening intently for Walter's heavy steps behind him. He was so concerned with making sure Eileen was close by that he couldn't be sure how long it was before they arrived back at the dock, when Ivan stopped him and helped him into a rowboat.
Henry sat at the back of the boat as he had done before. A moment passed and no one had joined him, and Henry gripped the plank beneath him tightly. Frantic thoughts in his head rambled that they had lied, they were taking her on another boat, taking her from him again, but then a heavy weight set down, rocking the vessel from side to side.
"Hold out your arms," Walter said.
Henry swallowed hard, stomach lurching as the boat settled, and extended his arms. Bundled in thick fabric, she was lowered into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, exhaling shakily when he felt the slight rise and fall of her heavy chest against his.
The boat moved again as Walter settled in the back, and it was not long before Henry heard the grind of the oars in their metal hoops and the splash as they fell into the water. The cold air brushed against Henry's face and he held Eileen tighter against him. He felt her faint breath against his cheek and raised a hand to her face. Her skin was warm and sticky, and he pulled up the hem of his cloak to wipe the blood away from her face.
"She will be bathed," Walter said.
Henry continued to blindly smear the blood, recalling her face in his mind as he did so. Her pale freckled skin, the curve of her cheeks, the sleek bridge of her nose, her soft slender lips. And her bright, hopeful green eyes.
Eventually the boat stopped again. Henry waited, and sure enough her voice came from above, on the dock.
"She comes with us now, Henry," Miranda said.
He would not let her go again. Before Henry even heard the wood creak as Walter leaned forward, he latched his arms around Eileen and buried his face into the blanket that cocooned her. He resisted Walter's hands tugging at his arms, willing them to be like an unbreakable steel vise. His voice keened low, crying out as his muscles failed and his joints betrayed him, allowing Eileen to be pulled away. He lunged forward with a furious scream, but Walter caught him and held him back, his strength secure and unfailing.
Henry went on screaming, demanding that she be returned to him, but there was no response. His voice cracked and died, but he still craned forward in Walter's arms, still tried to break them.
"We will take good care of the Mother Reborn," Miranda's voice said above them.
Henry swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, fingers digging into Walter's arm.
"I assure you, you'll see her again," Miranda said. A brief pause before a low chuckle. "So to speak."
He tried to keep control, forcing his lungs to fill and empty at an even pace, steadying his body as Walter stood and pulled him to his feet. The sound of the other man climbing onto the dock echoed in his ears, and Henry moved stiffly when Walter reached down and pulled him out of the boat.
"Return him to the temple," Miranda said, voice now on the same level, close by, and as soon as Walter let go of Henry's waist, Henry lunged towards her voice, snatching up a fistful of cloth and shoving. She cried out and there was a clattering on the dock, the sound of feet stumbling, before a great splash. He was about to leap into the water and grab her hair, hold her head under until her chest filled with water, but Walter grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Then he heard Miranda's angry voice again, still on the dock.
"Take him now!" she snapped, and then Henry was pulled away, stumbling across the planks from Walter's quickness.
Miranda looked down and watched two Sisters pull Ivan from the steely water onto the dock. The young man knelt at her feet, the wood darkening around him as water dripped from his robe. Miranda bent down and put a hand against his forehead, tipping his bowed head back. She scoffed at his bewildered expression. "Go change and tell Sister Alice to bring me the children."
"Yes, Mother," Ivan said, but she was already looking away, out to the water as the other boats slid in to the neighboring docks. After a few moments, when she was satisfied that all the boats were nearing shore, she turned to check on the Mother Reborn. One Brother carried the Mother carefully in his arms, another Brother and a Sister on either side of him. They were taking her to the woods, to bathe her in a pool as their scriptures called for. Miranda was about to turn back to the lake when she noticed that they had stopped.
They backed slowly away, the Sister grabbing onto the center Brother's robe, the second Brother edging in front of the Mother Reborn. And then Miranda saw them, dark shapes slinking from the cover of the fog, prowling about the ground. At first she saw only a few, then perhaps a dozen, but after a few moments she was sure there were more than thirty. The Brothers and Sisters stopped moving backwards when half a dozen of the creatures scurried around them, enclosing them in a circle. The cats mewed eagerly, drawing closer.
"Do not fear them!" Miranda said with a deep laugh as she approached the wary three. "She has only sent them to behold Her Vessel."
"O-Of course, Mother," said the Sister with a nod. Her hands were still clenched in the middle Brother's robe, and she pulled on it, urging him forward. "Let's go."
The two men followed her lead, continuing on to the forest. The cats stepped out of their way when the humans neared them, craning their necks upwards to the Mother Reborn and yowling. Miranda kept close behind, only smiling when the Holy Mother's servants closed in behind them.
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Dressed in plain slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, Ivan left the sopping robe hanging on a line strung between two trees outside the cabin he shared with the other Brothers. He looked up at the sky despite the fog, then sighed and set off to find Sister Alice.
The activities buildings were all empty, and he saw no sign of her or the children by the shore. He knew they would not be in the administration building so close to the Receiver and, soon, the Mother Reborn. They were not in the children's cabin. Ivan was beginning to worry just as he heard a smatter of laughter from the forest behind the camp. He tromped through the trees and brush, and it was less than a minute before he found them in a round clearing. All of the children stood poised in a ragged circle except for the blind-folded boy in the middle. He wandered around the center, occasionally lurching forward in an attempt to grab one of his friends. At this the other children scattered, failing at being as quiet as possible so he wouldn't have help finding them. Alice reclined against a tree and watched them with a serene smile.
Ivan walked to her side and said, "Miranda wants to speak with the children."
Alice glanced up at him and nodded. "Very well, but just a bit longer."
"Alright." Ivan turned to go, but Alice stopped him.
"Why don't you sit with me awhile?" she said quietly.
"I should probably get back to Mother."
"I need to talk to you," she said, smile fading. "About Father Stone's journal." She spoke lowly, but the children were too involved in their game to listen to them.
Ivan sat down cross-legged at her side. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, staring at her eagerly. "Yes?"
"Ivan…" Alice looked away from him, her gaze sweeping across the ground before coming back. "I don't have any answers for you." She continued despite his downstruck expression. "There isn't an answer that you would like, anyhow."
He folded his arms as if he felt a sudden chill, as if he was still in his wet robe. "But… But I don't understand. He's the Son. Surely if Father Stone had given God more time…"
Alice nodded. "Even the best of us have lapses in faith."
Ivan looked upset. "I… I guess this doesn't really… doesn't really change anything."
At this the Sister glanced at the children, to make sure they were still caught up in their fun, and said cautiously, clearly gauging his reaction, "But it's wrong, yes?"
He didn't answer. He wouldn't say that a priest or priestess was wrong, even if he knew it. Uncomfortable, Ivan looked away from her.
"Ivan, not saying it won't fix it."
Something about her tone made him look up, stare at her warily. "Fix it?"
She hesitated at his expression. "The invocation of Valtiel can… It can be reversed."
His jaw dropped at her words. He started scrambling to his feet, intent on heading back to Miranda, but Alice grabbed his arm and pulled him down again. She looked at the children to be sure they were still oblivious. "Listen to me, Ivan," she whispered. "The coming of Paradise cannot be tainted like this. The Son should have no loyalty to God but his own when his Mother comes to greet us and lead the way. Don't you think so?"
Ivan shook her arm off. His face was bright red. "Sister, do you realize what you're talking about?" he hissed. "I can't go against Mother Miranda like that!" For a moment it looked as if he would cry. "Can you imagine what she'd do if she found out that we-- y-you were planning such heresy?"
"Is it not heresy to determine that faith is not enough?" Alice retorted. "How is setting things right any worse than Father Stone's conclusion? Will you let this go on just because Mother Miranda is too afraid to do the right thing?"
The young man was shaking. "Sister Alice… I'm afraid."
Alice took a deep breath and smiled. "Of course you are. You think I am not? But we have to push through that and do what is right, don't we?"
Ivan folded his arms again, tried to calm down. He wanted to be back with Mother Miranda, to have her assure him with her wise words. But ever since he'd found the journal, he was forced to admit, her reasoning had less power with him. It pained him, but he was starting to doubt her.
Suddenly the children surged forward, finally noticing Ivan's arrival. Looking excited, they gathered tightly around the Brother and Sister.
"Is she here?" Elizabeth asked, the other boys' and girls' eager faces reflecting the question. "The Mother Reborn is with us?"
Ivan did his best to smile and nodded. "That's right. And Mother Miranda, sh-she wants to talk to you."
"Will we get to see her?" Deirdre asked, still concerned with the resurrected woman.
"I think you've already seen enough of the Receiver, don't you?" Sister Alice replied with a chuckle. She stood, as did Ivan, and said, "Come along now. Back to camp."
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Heather skimmed the emails as Jeremy printed them out. There were a dozen or so from the past six months.
... and we got a weird report today. Tourist was taking a walk through the woods and stopped by a pond. Swears to God that the water was bright red, thought there'd been a murder and got the police. But when she brought them there, the water was clear as anything. No murders were ever reported in that particular area, but what's reported and what happens can easily be two different things, right?...
…Oh, and this one's a gem. Total fucking loon came to us today and started quoting Alice in Wonderland at us, rambling, saying weird shit like he followed the rabbit down the hole, but the hole was gone now. I remember that part clearly, 'cause he grabbed Earl's shirt and started screaming, "It's gone now! It's gone now!" Over and over. Scared the hell out of me. We called the cops, of course. Guy's probably being prepped for Brookhaven as I type…
…been a promising day. Earl and I were looking through the book exchange in town and found some real gems, old books about the history of Silent Hill and whatnot. I think the owner might've gotten them from the old Baldwin mansion when the inheritors had that auction. I even scrounged up a little hardback titled "The Old Gods: Silent Hill's Order." What luck, yeah? I can't wait to read it, but we've been busy lately…
That last bit, from three months ago, seemed promising. If only she knew more. Jeremy couldn't help her with it. His mom's friend-- "Sandra," the emails said-- had never mentioned anything about the book to him.
The front door to his house opened and Jeremy hastily clicked 'print' on the last message and closed the window, opening another with some benign encyclopedia site. When his mother walked in, Heather flipped up the papers in her hand to hide the Mail Monkey logo.
"What's going on, kids?" Jeremy's mother said when she walked in, looking harried.
"Not much, Mom," Jeremy replied with the most forced smile Heather had ever seen. "Just doing some research for school."
His mother nodded distractedly, though she made a point to smile at her son's friend. "How are you, dear?"
"Just fine," Heather replied, standing furtively in front of the printer as it chugged out the last email.
The older woman nodded. "Excited about graduation?"
"Oh, yeah," Heather said, moving her weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something easy-going to say.
Jeremy's mother, however, just nodded and moved into the next room, the kitchen. Heather watched her take the phone off the wall and dial as she shuffled through papers on the counter.
Heather turned around and took the last mail from the printer. "That's it?" she asked Jeremy. He nodded, and she squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks. You're a real pal."
" 'A real pal'?" he repeated with a chuckle, though he looked a bit disappointed at the same time, swiveling back to the computer screen.
"Yes," Heather replied, before stooping to kiss him on the cheek. He turned his head and grinned up at her.
Suddenly the volume of his mother's voice escalated. "I have her address right here!" she exclaimed. "Couldn't they just send someone to check? Something has happened to her, I know it!"
Heather's eyes fell on the paper half-crumpled in the woman's hand.
Jeremy's mother suddenly slammed the receiver back onto its holder and slapped the paper onto the counter. She stood there for a moment, hunched over, breathing hard, before bringing her hands to her face. She turned around and sobbed, "Jeremy, I just don't know what to do anymore!"
Jeremy went to the kitchen and Heather followed him. He reached out and rubbed his mother's arm. "I'm sure they're doing what they can, Mom. I mean, it's a weird situation over there."
She lowered her hands and wandered to the entryway. "I want to keep believing she's okay, but I just…" She shook her head.
"It'll be okay, Mom," Jeremy said, embracing her.
Heather quietly stepped to the counter. She glanced down at the small sheet of wrinkled paper with the address. She watched the son and mother as she surreptitiously took the note and slipped it amongst the emails in her hand. They noticed nothing. She excused herself, flashing a quick apologetic smile at Jeremy as she left.
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