"When you reach the end of what you should know, you will be at the beginning of what you should sense."

~Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam

Sixteen

There was a pang of guilt in Dawn's gut for feeling a little excited amidst the tragedies that have befallen Willamette. She couldn't help it though; here she was walking into the offices of Channel 9 News, much like she had done a dozen times before, but this time it was side by side with Karen London. Karen was someone that she looked up to, even aspired to be, although maybe on a grander scale. There was nothing wrong with starting your career in a small town, but Dawn's long-term dreams involved a national spotlight. Right now though, she was happy to consider tagging along with Karen as work-related experience. Still, with all the people that had died so far and considering what happened with Will, maybe she shouldn't have agreed to go with her.

At least she wasn't in the car with Karen anymore. Even with visibility at a bare minimum, the woman drove like a maniac. Thankfully there was only two or three cars on the street, and she couldn't help but clutch the sides of her seat when they passed those going twenty miles per hour faster than they should've been. Karen had asked some questions about Will during the ride over, but Dawn didn't have many answers. She knew that he was from Silent Hill, which piqued Karen's interest as it would've anyone who had heard of the town, but questions about Will's childhood and family went unanswered. The only other facts that Dawn knew was where he lived, that he grew up in a sheltered environment and had practically an encyclopedic knowledge of classic rock. Will deflected the question the only time Dawn asked for more details about his life in Silent Hill, so she didn't push, no matter how much she wanted to.

"So, how long have you and Will been fucking?"

Dawn blinked and looked incredulously at Karen. "What?!"

The reporter laughed as she opened the station's front door. "You heard that, huh? I was asking if you wanted to be in front of the camera or behind it, but you were off somewhere. I know a conflicted look when I see one."

Dawn's face flushed due to the combination of the question that was posed to her, and the embarrassment that she was caught daydreaming. She just shook her head and followed Karen inside as the reporter held open the door. The station itself was one of the newer buildings in the town of Willamette, and one of the town's few points of interest. Channel Nine covered the entire county, and Willamette's centralized location made it the prime choice for a new building after the old offices in nearby Ashton were starting to deteriorate. Inside the station were only a few people, but all of them were so busy that she felt like the two of them were walking through unnoticed. Dawn overheard one of the station's employees talking on the phone regarding the possibility of an alien invasion.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about everything that's been happening recently." Dawn finally stated as she followed Karen down a hallway towards the back of the building. "And to be honest, I was hoping to intern for you directly at some point, because I want to do what you do. But not like I want to take your job or anything, I mean I'm fine going to another station around the area if I need to, and being a production assistant is fine for now…"

"Either you don't talk at all or too much," Karen turned her head with a smirk, "don't worry about it. After everything that's happened lately, I have a feeling I'm heading to greener pastures anyway. We're the only game in town right now, so any exclusives will be all mine. Help me out here, and I'll be happy to take you under my wing."

Dawn smiled as Karen opened a door at the end of the hallway and they entered a darkened room that was about the size of a large closet. Straight ahead was a desk that seemed to fit perfectly with the room's dimensions, which housed a mess of papers and Post-It Notes, and a laptop that was being stared at by a slightly overweight man who swiveled around upon their entrance. He furrowed his brow and gave a slight nod towards the college student.

"What's with the P.A?"

"She's part of the team today. Dawn, this is Paul, my cameraman." Karen replied, leaning in and looking at the computer monitor. "What are these articles?"

"These articles," Paul responds and turns without acknowledging Dawn, "are news reports from different part of the country. There's a lot of shit going down out there, not just in Willamette. Town in southern Texas is reporting that three people mysteriously fell into comas while on a crosstown bus. All of them passed away, same with four people in an office building in South Dakota. Another report is from Georgia, where a thick fog has covered several mountain towns and blocked out all communications. No internet, telephones, faxes; they're completely cutoff from civilization. I guess we're lucky we're just experiencing periodic outages and not complete ones."

"Seven reported dead, plus the five here. That's not even counting Nicole Baldwin, or the other two that were killed before two days ago." Karen said while standing back upright. "Those other places in South Dakota and Texas, did it say anything about the weather there?"

Paul pulled up another window immediately and pointed. "Apparently the town has been covered in an extremely dense fog for the last week, which is a rarity due to it being the dry season down there."

"What about Pure?" Karen asked, shooting a side glance at Dawn. "Any mention of that with the deaths?"

"No, but I did find something strange." Paul began. "There was another drug down in Texas that appeared to crop up in the last couple of years that was found on one of the victims. This one's called Arena Blanco, or 'White Sand' if your Spanish is rusty. That's too big of a coincidence though if you ask me."

Karen nodded and shot another glance at Dawn, who was just a spectator in their conversation. The reporter pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, uncertain if the innocence of the whole situation was genuine or if Dawn was a fantastic actress. Her intuition told her it was the former, however her intuition also told her that Dawn did not know William Carroll like she thinks she does. He was from that town; Silent Hill. Rumors had circulated for years about that place. Were the people there part of some dangerous cult, or were they merely an insular society? Will was passing by when they were wheeling Nicole Baldwin's body out of the dorm. The connection with the drugs was too much of a coincidence like Paul noted. What was Will's role in all of this, she wondered.

"Paul, see if you can pull up any information on Silent Hill and its cult." Karen requested, avoiding eye contact with Dawn. "Specifically try and find out if there's any mention of them being involved with the use or manufacturing of hallucinogenic drugs."

"I don't get it," Dawn added, moving around to the other side of Paul to watch the computer screen, "how could a drug cause people to fall into comas simultaneously? And the fog, you're saying that a drug can control the weather too? That's a little farfetched don't you think?"

"You'd be surprised at what's out there, girlie…" Paul responded as he kept typing, not seeing the scowl that Dawn threw his way from the name he called her, "…there was a show called the X-Files that was on probably before you were born, dealt with aliens, shadow governments, strange phenomenon…those stories all came from somewhere. And the shit that I've heard about that Silent Hill place, with the stories of kidnappings, brainwashing, hell that whole incident about the Wish House or whatever it was called…"

"Alright Paul, you've made your point." Karen interjected and pointed to the screen. "See that, right there. That article you have up mentions that there were suspicions years ago that a drug-trafficking ring was based in or around Silent Hill. A drug called PTV that is made from a plant indigenous to the area called White Claudia."

"PTV equals Pure…White Claudia equals White Sand…" Paul said while nodding, "…oh yeah I'd say there was a definite link here."

Muffled voices cut in the conversation, causing Karen to raise a finger to her lips. Everyone turned their attention to the police scanner at the left edge of the desk.

"…10-10, situation is under control. Suspect has been detained, 10-17 back to the station, over..."

"They're talking about Will," Karen said as she hit Paul on the shoulder and pointed to his camera equipment, "we need to get down there."

Paul scrambled out of the seat faster than Dawn thought he physically could and grabbed his camera equipment, following Karen out of the room. Dawn tried to process all the information she had seen and was told in the last hour. The thought of Will being a drug dealer, coupled with the fact that she liked him, caused a bevy of mixed emotions. He seemed so normal, she thought to himself. Well, normal compared to where he was from and the stories around his home. He certainly didn't seem like someone that was raised in such a dangerous environment.

"Let's go rookie."

Dawn turned to see Karen standing in the door frame with a smirk. She didn't wait for a response before turning and speed walking down the corridor. Dawn followed her at a matching pace. Whatever she was feeling about the situation and about Will, she was resolved to get to the truth; no matter how that would affect her.

The whole purpose of getting to his house and clearing everything incriminating out was twofold. Of course, he needed to protect himself and the others back home who were depending on him. It also helped to avoid thinking about everything that was happening. It was a course of events that he had not anticipated, or even thought was a possibility. Will's entire purpose for going to Clearview University was to spread the Order's influence with PTV, or Pure as he were to name it. Widening the Order's reach and recruiting new followers was the sole objective, and if he could learn a little about the outside world to broaden his own horizons, that was a great bonus.

He was never told that people would be dying, even though there was a history of sacrifice for the cause. It wasn't that he believed Horace Fuller; that guy was a creep who treated Will like he was some spoiled teenager. His mother on the other hand had guaranteed him that they would be able to gain power and influence without shedding a drop of blood. There were some in the Order that believed that force was the best option, but he and his mother never subscribed to that ideology. The Baldwin girl and the other college student whose name escaped him could have had something to do with the drug, but there was no proof of that. The woman in the movie theater, the usher, Teddy…there was no doubt of the correlation with their deaths and Pure. But why did Will end up in that place with them?

The one rule that he did follow was to make sure never to fall under the spell of the highly addictive substance. Horace wouldn't have given him any straight answers, he was sure of that. After clearing out his room, he was going to contact his mother, even though it was forbidden. That was Horace's job, to be the go-between for the Order and the 'soldiers' like Will. Sitting here in this interrogation room, all he could do was wonder what else he wasn't told. Lack of knowledge and control of the situation greatly troubled him.

His train of thought was thankfully broken up by the wooden door creaking open. Detective Rutledge slowly walked through the door frame carrying a small box, nudging the door shut behind him. A sly smile was strewn on his face as he side-eyed Will, a knowing and smug look that Will interpreted as the detective thinking that he had him dead to rights. Will easily held the detective's gaze, even though he was incredibly nervous. Not only about the prospect of going to jail, but the consequences of getting caught, and what that would mean for The Order. There were instructions provided should he get caught, but that was the last thing he wanted to think about. So, he tried and succeeded in maintaining his cool, even when the detective dropped the box that slammed onto the tabletop.

"Oops," Rutledge said with a light shrug, "sorry about that. I hope I didn't startle you."

"No worries detective," Will replies after a weary sigh, "I'm just a little tired. It's been a pretty long day, after all."

"I would've thought you had enough sleep. You looked energized when you and your roommate were going twelve rounds earlier. Did I say roommate? I meant your boss, right?"

The way the detective emphasized the word boss told Will that Rory probably wasn't going down as a small-town drug kingpin. He did his best to offer up as little as possible, not wanting to give the cop the satisfaction of making Will squirm.

"I'm willing to cooperate any way that you need me to, sir." Will stated. "Now I don't know too much, but…"
"I'm gonna stop you right there," Rutledge interrupted as he took a seat across from Will and began rummaging through the book, "although I'm sure you were about to spin a brilliant yarn. You see, I know that the only connection that Rory kid has to the distribution of Pure is that he just happened to be living in the same house as the actual dealer. A lot of nerve to actually keep this much stock in your room of all places."

The detective began to pull the little film canisters out one by one, each containing what amounted to about one thousand dollars per bottle.

"I mean, you really didn't think that a blanket was going to hide that chest, did you?"

The detective started snickering and shaking his head. Will offered him a quick smile.

"Can I have some water?" Will asked.

"In a minute." The detective replied while pulling out a black and white notebook from the box. Will's eyes widened a little bit. He knew that they would have turned his room inside out, but he thought that after they found all the Pure, they may have stopped looking for inconspicuous items. That notebook, after all, wasn't in the chest with everything else. He kept that in a small compartment that he fastened underneath his bed frame. "This is some fascinating reading material, Mr. Carroll. I suppose that Rory made you hide this in your room along with enough Pure to supply Willamette. Some hold he must have over you, huh?"

The detective slapped the book on the table, causing some of the bottles to rattle. If anything, Will was a diligent bookkeeper, which now came back to haunt him. One thing that he was told not to do was leave a paper trail. Now, if by some miracle he didn't go to prison, he would have to worry about the wrath of The Order. He wondered if his mother would have some sway over their decision on what to do with him.

"Look, I still have no idea what happened with you and those other people in the movie theater, but I followed up with the doctor and he said that your coma was legit. That there was no way of faking it. He also said that you were the only one that didn't have a trace of Pure in their system. I know that drug is linked to all of this, just like it was linked to Michelle Baldwin, Andrew Gill and Federico Suarez. This right here," Rutledge motioned to the notebook, "is a very big piece of the puzzle. We know part of the who; that part is over Will. Quite frankly, I'm not interested so much in how Pure works so long as we can stop its influence and hold over this town. I'm not lying when I say that you're going to jail, but if you cooperate with me, maybe there's something we can do about the length of time you spend there."

It didn't matter what guarantees the detective could offer him, he knew just how much trouble he was in. He was almost sure that somehow Horace would find out. Just how he would be handled was still up in the air. Will didn't know if this was indeed an olive branch that Rutledge was offering, or if he still needed to know some finer details.

"As I'm sure you've already guessed," Will started, "Rory has nothing to do with this. He's just a prick and I thought it would be funny to get him riled up and thrown in jail with me. Turns out I was right; it was pretty funny."

"You do know that he can press charges for a false accusation, right?" Rutledge asked with an eyebrow raised. "Considering the ten or fifteen minutes I spent with him, he'd be the type to do that."

"I figure I've got bigger problems to deal with. So, what exactly do you want to know?"

The detective rose from his seat and began to pace back and forth behind the table. His hands were clasped together, and he pursed his lips, which Will read as a sign that he may not have the whole picture in his head. He guessed that Rutledge would start throwing some theories out and gauge Will's reaction to what he was saying, adjusting his thoughts accordingly. That's what Will would have done.

"I did some checking into your background, Mr. Carroll. I know that you're from the town of Silent Hill back east, and I know some of the town's sordid history. It was difficult to sort through what was true and just rumor, but one thing that's for certain is the history of drug trafficking that the town was caught up in. I know that nothing was ever proven in a court of law, but Pure sounds just like the type of hallucinogenic that spread throughout that region years ago. You're a smart young man who got out of a small town to go to college, and someone in a position of authority recruited you to sell this shit to kids. Hell, not only kids, but residents in the town too. The problem is though, that you're here and they're not. It's you that's gonna go to jail. Unless, of course, you want to cooperate with the investigation. Ball's in your court, Will."

It was a nice speech, Will thought to himself. The detective wasn't totally wrong though, especially with how events unfolded over the past few days. Will did feel like he was being used for means other than what was previously explained to him. He dropped his hands below the table, clenching and unclenching them, a habit he picked up when he was a kid during the times he felt a lack of control. There was a part of him that wanted to tell the detective everything, mostly out of spite towards Horace, and whomever else back home was pulling his strings. His mother? He didn't know, nor did he want to assume without more proof. Still, what was there to tell? There wasn't anything that would help his case here.

"I get a phone call every other week," Will started, bringing his hands back up and folding them together on the table, "that's from the same person. They use people from outside of the town. This guy calls himself Mr. Crowley. I've never met him, but I could pick him out of a voice lineup or something if you need me to. He arranges for meetings outside of town at a diner, where I meet another guy, your age, maybe a little older. He calls himself Mr. Brownstone. We meet at the bar; he orders a coffee and I get a piece of peach pie. He asks about the weather and that's it. I excuse myself and go to the restroom, where I pick up the product that's stored behind a ceiling vent above the stall. I leave an envelope full of cash from the take for those two weeks. The cycle repeats itself. I'm never in contact with anyone from back home, so I'm not sure who's pulling the strings. If you ask me, I'd take a guess that Kilroy is behind it. He's the deputy mayor back home."
Will was too busy making things up on the spot to notice that the detective had started to type and scroll through his phone. When he finished, he looked up to see that the detective was just staring at him with a slight smirk.

"You know you shouldn't have led off with Mr. Crowley," Rutledge replied while looking back at his phone, "because I knew I heard that name from somewhere before. I saw your room, you know. Big rock and roll fan, CDs and even vinyl everywhere. So, it doesn't take a genius to notice that when I search for the term 'Mr. Crowley', the first result I get is a song by Ozzy Osbourne. You've got a few of his albums, don't you?"

Will wondered whether he wanted to get caught, because he made that way too easy. Before he could respond, the detective kept going.

"Oh that's okay if you don't want to say anything, because I know you do. And what do you know, when I type in Mr. Brownstone, Guns N Roses pops up. Some band named Styx comes up for Kilroy; who the hell are Styx anyway?"

"Progressive rock, you should give them a shot." Will replied.

"Funny, that's exactly what I did for you." Rutledge stated, sitting down once again and rifling through the box of possessions he brought from Will's room. There were some more books that were essentially writing journals, ideas that he had that could fit a half page or ten. The detective wouldn't get much from those instead of some ideas for novellas.

After clearing everything else out, Rutledge pulled a brown, leather bound book out that Will didn't recognize at first. He didn't have any books like this. It only took a fraction of a second for his eyes to fall on the symbol. Will pushed his seat away from the table and got to his feet so quickly that Rutledge instinctively reached for his side arm.

"Where did you find that?" Will asked.

"Where do you think?" Rutledge inquired back, gauging Will's fearful reaction to mean that he was onto something. "I got it in your room, like all of this other stuff. What is it? I looked through it but it's not in any language that I know."

Will barely heard anything the detective said. He was having trouble not taking his eyes off the red circle with the upside-down triangle on the cover of the book. Until now, it was a book that he thought to be long gone, or possibly didn't even exist at all. He certainly wasn't in possession of it. And he certainly wouldn't have dared to read…

"Looked through it?" Will responded weakly, a lump forming in his throat. "You didn't read any of it out loud, did you?"

The detective gave a light shrug in response. "And if I did?"

It wasn't a very far ride to the police station, but with the fog's ever-growing density, Dawn was thankful that Paul drove a lot more carefully than Karen. She asked Karen on the way if they would be going into the station, and that was confirmed, so Dawn spent almost the entire car ride thinking of what she should say to Will. She'd be showing up with a reporter and her cameraman. The chance of Will's arrest flying under the radar was slim to none. If finding out what was going on meant that Will would never speak to her again, then she was prepared for that. This was too big of a story to ignore. So why did she feel so guilty for thinking like a reporter if that's what her ambition was?

When they got to the station, the fog was so thick out front that she stumbled over one of the steps to the front door. Thankfully, Karen was there to catch her elbow and steady her out.

"You okay?" Karen asked.

"Yeah," Dawn replied, "just would have been my ego bruised probably."

"Good, but that's not what I meant. If necessary, are you prepared to face Will Carroll?"

Before Dawn could answer, a yelp from what sounds like a dog startles both women. The cursing that followed revealed that it wasn't a small dog, but rather Karen's cameraman.

"You alright Paul?" Karen said, a hint of bemusement in her voice.

"Something bit me!" Paul spat, hobbling over to the two and pulling up his right leg. His jeans were ripped along the bottom with a rounded hole in them. Pulling up the pants leg showed a series of tiny punctures in his ankle where blood dripped down. Just looking at it made all the color in Paul's face drain.

"What makes bites like these?" Karen wondered aloud.

Before anyone could answer or posit a guess, their attentions were turned towards the street. The sound they heard wasn't one that seemed at all familiar. The closest thing might have been if somebody was shuffling their feet through the mud. It grew louder and louder as it approached, not yet penetrating through the density of the fog. Squish…squish…squish…louder and louder still. The same sound could be heard down the street where they parked, and the opposite direction. It was all around them, and it was gaining.

Dawn cleaned out the lens of her glasses and put them back on. She tried her best to peer through the wall of moist air. Finally, something moving caught her attention and she gasped. Backing up, she tripped over the steps and scrambled to her feet without aid. Both reporter and cameraman turned inquisitively towards her, but she grabbed their sleeves before they could ask.

"We need to get inside! NOW!"