Before he even held the blaring receiver to his ear, a lurch in the pit of his stomach told Officer Jacob Wells that this would be the seventh call to report a missing person in short amount of November that had passed.
"My daughter has gone missing."
Before he could even speak. Jacob Wells raised his eyebrows at Jessie Boyle, seated adjacent to him, and kicked his legs up on the desk.
"What's her name?"
"Hazel Halliwell."
Jacob hesitated, then tugged open the drawer at his side and drew out a thick sheaf of tidy papers strapped into a yellow file. "Ma'am..."
There was no reply as he removed the rubber band binding the papers to the folder and flipped through the first few sheets. "We already have a report for Miss Halliwell...Did you say you were her mother?"
No reply. Jacob frowned.
"Are you her stepmother, then? This report is from one of her professors from her college. They say her mother is dead. Ma'am?"
The dial tone met his ears. Jacob sighed through his nose and set the receiver back onto the phone.
"What happened?" It was Jessie speaking.
Jacob shrugged. "Remember our last call on a missing girl was for that Hazel Halliwell girl?"
"Yeah?"
"I just got another call for her from some lady saying she was her mother."
"And her mother is supposed to be dead?"
"Exactly." Jacob shrugged. The phone rang again and he groaned.
"I'll get it," Jessie muttered, punching a button on the phone and holding the receiver up to her ear. "Portland Missing Person's Department, this is Officer Boyle...Yes sir...Yes sir. What's her name, sir? ...Is that with a 'k' or a 'c'? ...Catherine McCarver. ...Eighteen years old? All right."
Jessie raised her eyes to Jacob and frowned.
"Light blond hair...blue eyes...fair skinned...five foot three, a hundred nine pounds..." She murmured to herself as she copied the details onto a fresh Missing Person's Report. "Thank you, sir. We'll send out alerts and begin to look for her immediately. ...I'm not authorized to disclose any information on that rumor, sir. ...thank you, sir." She hung up the phone and glared at Jacob. "Now how do you suppose he knew about all the girls that have gone missing?"
Jacob shrugged. "Word gets around. My lips have been sealed from the start."
"They've called in a detective, right?"
"Sort of. Apparently Gentry managed to slip all these missing people into a conversation with the cave man at Augusta. Turns out they've been having the same problem ever since September, so they've sent a detective down to look at what all we've got so far."
"Took them long enough," Jessie muttered. "All those girls are probably dead by now."
"Hey, that kind of pessimism won't get you anywhere." Jacob smiled a little, then jumped as the door to the department he and Jessie occupied slammed open and into a wall. "Gentry." He stood, addressing his superior. "You look a little miffed. What's wrong?"
"I need all the reports we've taken since the beginning of November."
"Here." He tapped the sheaf of paper against his desk to straighten them out and snapped the rubber band around them to hold them together.
"This one was just called in," Jessie began, offering the report on McCarver, Catherine to Gentry.
Gentry glanced at it shortly. "You come with me, Boyle."
"Yes, sir." She stood up.
"Bring that report."
"Yes, sir."
"Wells, stay in here so you can take any more calls that might come in."
"Yes, sir," Jacob muttered. Halfheartedly he returned the small wave Jessie gave him as she left the room.
The phone rang again. "Portland Missing Person's Department, this is Officer Wells...yes..." He hesitated, the sat the phone carefully in its cradle and left the room after Gentry and Boyle.
"Mr. Boyle," he called. The aging man turned to face him. Jessie, ahead of him, turned as well.
"Yes?"
"They've found a body."
Gentry studied Jacob's face, then removed his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. "Who has?"
"The detective from Augusta."
"Why the hell did he call you?"
"He said it was the only number he had."
Gentry replaced his glasses. "All right. Go back and keep watching for calls, Wells. Boyle, I still need you to come with me."
"Yes, sir," Jacob said, then returned to the department. Jessie trailed after Gentry's large steps down the hall.
"Any particular reason why I'm going with you, Mr. Gentry?"
"I'm sending you along with Detective Elwood."
"Who?"
"Denver Elwood. He's the cop from Augusta."
"May I ask where it is he's going that you're sending me along to?"
"Northwest. In that general direction. Elwood has been pinning locations for a few hours and seems to think that everything is pointing in that direction, so he's stopping here for you, then driving down there to see if he finds any leads."
"We're jumping into this awfully fast, don't you think?"
"It's Augusta, not us."
"Oh."
Jessie bit her lip. "What do you think is going on, Mr. Gentry?"
"Hell if I know, Boyle. I'd like to find out."
*** ***
The paltry, flickering light of a small fire crawled across the walls of the dark room that Hazel opened her eyes to. It took her long, painful moments to collect her bearings, but when the memory of the previous hours was brought to a little more than a handful of fuzz, she sat up and rubbed her dry eyes with her fingertips.
She seemed to be alone, but, then again, she couldn't make out the room very well. Before she could fully take in her surroundings, the angry, painful pounding in her head drove her back against the bed, and she moaned in anguish.
"She's still in pain," a young woman's concerned voice said. "Poor thing. I wish we had something that could help her."
"We do, but it will only help if she agrees to take it."
Hazel covered her eyes with her hands and pressed her palms against her eyes. The light around her that seeped into her eyes seemed to fade, and she drew her hands from her eyes, two figures stood over her. The figure on the right, a young woman, knelt, letting the light glare back into Hazel's eyes again. Hazel's arms went up again to cover her face.
"Does your head hurt?" the woman asked.
"Just a little bit," Hazel groaned. She inhaled through her nose and noticed a trace of something like a mixture of marijuana and opium in the air. 'Wonder which one's the druggy,' she mused.
"Here." It was the man that spoke now. Hazel moved her arms back down, her eyes adjusted more to the light than they had been.
"What is it?" she muttered. The smell she'd mistaken for opium and marijuana was closer now. It was something sweeter, like yellow trumpet flowers. It made her headache return with a force.
A cigarette. Self-rolled, obviously. This man apparently hadn't rolled many before.
"I don't smoke. Weed," she added, remembering the Virginia Slims in her jacket.
"It's not marijuana," the woman said.
"Drugs are bad," Hazel muttered, rolling over. Behind her, the two people spoke in hushed voices, then left the bedside.
"We don't have any pain medication or anything like that," the young woman said.
"So I heard," Hazel replied. "I'll be fine. Where am I?"
"On the outskirts of Silent Hill." It was still the young woman.
"Silent what?"
"Hill."
"Oh."
"It sounds like you've never heard of it."
"It sounds familiar, actually."
"I thought you were headed there."
"I was...I don't know where I was heading. I remember that I was on a train...and it collided with something."
"It derailed."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I heard the crash in the middle of the night, and when I got there, everyone but you was dead."
Hazel's stomach lurched. The poor old woman sleeping in the seat beside her...
"I mean...I imagine they were. There were three bodies outside the train, yours being one of them, and the other two were...very dead. The entire train was afire. I couldn't get in there and save people, but...well, no one was screaming."
"That's nice to know," Hazel said blandly. Upon hearing no reply, she pushed on. "So...what's this Silent Hill place like?"
The young woman's shadow turned away. "It's...hm...it's different."
"Different? In a bad way?"
"...it depends on how you like your vacation towns."
'You're not one for vacations,' Hazel reminded herself, then wished she could remember something more useful than her liking to vacations. "How far away is it?"
"Not far. I told you, we're on the outskirts of it."
"Could I get some help there? Maybe get back to where I was?"
"Where were you?"
Both Hazel and the young woman jumped slightly as the man spoke. "I..." Hazel hugged the clean white sheets that covered her closer to her body. "I don't remember."
"Well, it's not much use finding out how to get home if you don't know where you came from," the young woman said, almost shakily, turning back to Hazel.
"Is your name Hazel Halliwell?" the man asked.
"Yes," Hazel said. The man turned, and Hazel could nearly define his features for a moment, but he turned back into the shadow just as quickly, a vanilla-colored parcel his hand.
"This is for you." The small box landed softly on her lap.
"What is it?"
"A few things from your brother."
"My brother," Hazel echoed, then picked up the letter and began to break the seal with her finger.
"Don't open it yet," the man stopped her. "Not until you're out of here."
"...okay," Hazel murmured, and began to tuck it into the inside pocket of her jacket. Her jacket, however, was gone.
The young woman noticed the momentary confusion. "Most of your clothes were destroyed by the train wreck."
"Um..." Hazel ran her hands along the parcel, but it was a plain cardboard box wrapped in paper. Nothing to be felt.
"We've got clothes you can wear, though, when you're ready to go."
"I'm ready to go now."
"Don't you want to rest? It's only been about four hours since I... since we found you."
"What time is it?"
"Five thirty seven in the morning."
"I'm good to go," Hazel muttered, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Instantly, her headache returned. "Ow."
"Well...if you're sure..."
"Yeah," Hazel muttered. "Can I get some clothes?"
"Follow me."
There was little need to follow the young woman, as she only led Hazel to a closet on the other end of the room. "Here. There are all my clothes, but we're about the same size. It's cold outside, so you'll want to wear multiple layers, I think." She stepped inside the closet, fumbled in the air for a moment until she found the chain leading to the light, and tugged on it gently.
Hazel bit back a little gasp. While she wasn't scared, it was strange to see the young woman's face for the first time.
'So much for "young woman." She's not even old enough to be a senior in high school.'
She looked pale, too pale and sickly so, like she'd been bedridden for many long months. Strawberry blond hair that had once been full and lively was flat and stringy from a lack of care. Her blue eyes were tired, but still grasped an old liveliness that Hazel would hesitate to associate with her. The clothes she wore, an old, graying skirt that hung down to her ankles and a white, lacy-collared blouse made her look like a sick child who'd stayed at her grandmother's house for so long she'd run out of her own clothes. Her clothes, her old woman, Amish-esque clothing (as it seemed to Hazel), was much too large for her, hanging barely off her shoulders and hips.
The girl shrugged a little and offered an apologetic smile before she left the closet and shut the door softly behind her.
Hazel turned to the mirror, taking in her pallor with a frown. "Shit," she muttered. "I *look* like a train wreck." She was dressed in a plain pair of white pajamas streaked with red in several cuts across her body. Upon further inspection, she found the remnants of wounds from the train wreck. Not painful, but smarting. She raked a hand through her hair to smooth it, then another, then dragged both her hands through her hair for lack of a brush. The hair cooperated somewhat, untangling and rising to its full volume, but it was still unusually frizzy. Her face was whiter than usual, and her eyes looked dead. She rubbed her face vigorously, and her cheeks reddened.
"That didn't help," she muttered, then turned on the clothing, anticipating the worst. While it wasn't quite as bad as she expected, she found only plain skirts, sweaters, and white blouses. On the wall behind her was a small selection of women's jackets. She couldn't fight back the feeling that this room was somewhere inside a strict church. A closer inspection on the clothing revealed a size smaller than she was used to wearing.
'If these clothes are as big on that girl as the ones she's wearing now are, she probably things I'm a cow.'
Thought somewhat fitting, the clothes she'd chosen were comfortable-the black skirt, falling not even to her knees, the long-sleeved blouse, black sweater, and long jacket that fell almost to the length of the skirt. For warmth's sake, she zipped up and buttoned the jacket completely, then chose a simple pair of double-knit stockings and the most comfortable, durable pair of shoes she saw-high, black snow boots.
When she opened the door, the girl was waiting for her, the letter and a black beanie in her hand. "I thought this might help," she said, offering the beanie.
"Thank you." Hazel stuffed it into her pocket. "I think I overdressed."
"You should be fine. Can you move easily in it all?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Why do you ask?"
"It'll help. Trust me." She seemed to hesitate. "You might be doing a lot of running."
Hazel snorted. "Lots of monsters running about?"
"Possibly." She held the package over.
"I almost forgot that."
"You're lucky I remembered it. You'll need it."
"Um...do you have a map of the area or something?"
"Yes. It's on the way out. I'll be walking you outside. So...follow me. Please."
Hazel closed the closet door behind her and followed the girl out the second door in the room into a dark hallway.
"You'll have to watch your step. There's a few inclines and uneven steps here and there."
The first one caught Hazel's attention and flung her forward a few steps. "I noticed." She rubbed her nose, noticing the cold that began to pierce the air. "Are we heading up?"
"Yes. This is a basement."
"Are we in a church?"
"How did you guess?"
For the first time, Hazel caught traces of good humor in the girl's voice.
The hall lasted for a while, though not unbearably long, and opened into a cathedral. Hazel coughed and rubbed her nose again. "It's freezing," she breathed.
"It's snowing outside," the girl said. "Here, these are for you. I know James would never let you have them."
She took Hazel by the wrist and dropped a small plastic baggy into her palm. "Painkillers for your headache," she said. "Make them last just in case your headache comes back."
Hazel smiled a little. "Thanks."
"Not at all. Just don't tell James. By the way, what was your name again?"
"Hazel."
"Hazel." The girl smiled.
"Do I not get to know your name?" Hazel asked.
"Sorry," the girl said. "I can't tell you. It's a secret."
"A secret." Hazel snorted. "All right."
The girl pointed to the open double doors behind the chapel's rows of benches. "Be careful," she said.
"The map?"
"It's nailed onto the door. You'll see it when you walk out."
Hazel nodded slightly. "Thanks," she said softly.
The girl studied Hazel's face, then embraced her quickly. "It's so good to see you again, but we must part ways."
Before Hazel could reply, the girl left the room quickly, slamming the door and locking it behind her. Hazel watched the door, dumbfounded, then tried the handle softly, but it held.
"Okay," she murmured. "She locked the door...what was that all about?"
She turned away from the locked door and faced the open double doors across the room from her. In an oddly shaped clump on the stone floor in front of the doors, snow was gathering. Hazel reached into her pocket, felt the box, then removed the beanie and tugged it over her head. It fit loosely, but still hugged her head, warming her ears and holding her long bangs out of her face. She approached the door slowly down the center aisle of the benches and trudged through the snow, double back to the doors when she remembered the map.
When the girl had said the map was nailed to the door, she hadn't lied. The map was printed onto a sheet of durable white cotton, mildly damp at the edges from snow. Hazel tugged gently on the map, but it wouldn't give. She tugged again, pressing her foot to the door to hold it in place. She finally gave one powerful tug and the cotton ripped, coming off into her hands, but she lost her balance and tumbled back into the snow.
Hazel groaned and stood up, brushing the snow from her backside and smoothing the map against her thighs so she could read it. "Silent Hill," she murmured. "Silent Hill..."
The church she stood in front of was circled on the map. Hazel drew her finger along the road that led into the main town on the map. It wasn't much at all, a town compromised of less than twenty roads along the side of a lake. It stretched along the side of the lake, however, encompassing a few more buildings. Hazel frowned and faced away from the church, towards the road, and stepped up towards it. She didn't bother to look down at the road before stepping up onto it. Ice met the bottom of her shoe, and before she could finish the step she began to make up onto the road, she was flung onto her back for the second time.
"My daughter has gone missing."
Before he could even speak. Jacob Wells raised his eyebrows at Jessie Boyle, seated adjacent to him, and kicked his legs up on the desk.
"What's her name?"
"Hazel Halliwell."
Jacob hesitated, then tugged open the drawer at his side and drew out a thick sheaf of tidy papers strapped into a yellow file. "Ma'am..."
There was no reply as he removed the rubber band binding the papers to the folder and flipped through the first few sheets. "We already have a report for Miss Halliwell...Did you say you were her mother?"
No reply. Jacob frowned.
"Are you her stepmother, then? This report is from one of her professors from her college. They say her mother is dead. Ma'am?"
The dial tone met his ears. Jacob sighed through his nose and set the receiver back onto the phone.
"What happened?" It was Jessie speaking.
Jacob shrugged. "Remember our last call on a missing girl was for that Hazel Halliwell girl?"
"Yeah?"
"I just got another call for her from some lady saying she was her mother."
"And her mother is supposed to be dead?"
"Exactly." Jacob shrugged. The phone rang again and he groaned.
"I'll get it," Jessie muttered, punching a button on the phone and holding the receiver up to her ear. "Portland Missing Person's Department, this is Officer Boyle...Yes sir...Yes sir. What's her name, sir? ...Is that with a 'k' or a 'c'? ...Catherine McCarver. ...Eighteen years old? All right."
Jessie raised her eyes to Jacob and frowned.
"Light blond hair...blue eyes...fair skinned...five foot three, a hundred nine pounds..." She murmured to herself as she copied the details onto a fresh Missing Person's Report. "Thank you, sir. We'll send out alerts and begin to look for her immediately. ...I'm not authorized to disclose any information on that rumor, sir. ...thank you, sir." She hung up the phone and glared at Jacob. "Now how do you suppose he knew about all the girls that have gone missing?"
Jacob shrugged. "Word gets around. My lips have been sealed from the start."
"They've called in a detective, right?"
"Sort of. Apparently Gentry managed to slip all these missing people into a conversation with the cave man at Augusta. Turns out they've been having the same problem ever since September, so they've sent a detective down to look at what all we've got so far."
"Took them long enough," Jessie muttered. "All those girls are probably dead by now."
"Hey, that kind of pessimism won't get you anywhere." Jacob smiled a little, then jumped as the door to the department he and Jessie occupied slammed open and into a wall. "Gentry." He stood, addressing his superior. "You look a little miffed. What's wrong?"
"I need all the reports we've taken since the beginning of November."
"Here." He tapped the sheaf of paper against his desk to straighten them out and snapped the rubber band around them to hold them together.
"This one was just called in," Jessie began, offering the report on McCarver, Catherine to Gentry.
Gentry glanced at it shortly. "You come with me, Boyle."
"Yes, sir." She stood up.
"Bring that report."
"Yes, sir."
"Wells, stay in here so you can take any more calls that might come in."
"Yes, sir," Jacob muttered. Halfheartedly he returned the small wave Jessie gave him as she left the room.
The phone rang again. "Portland Missing Person's Department, this is Officer Wells...yes..." He hesitated, the sat the phone carefully in its cradle and left the room after Gentry and Boyle.
"Mr. Boyle," he called. The aging man turned to face him. Jessie, ahead of him, turned as well.
"Yes?"
"They've found a body."
Gentry studied Jacob's face, then removed his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. "Who has?"
"The detective from Augusta."
"Why the hell did he call you?"
"He said it was the only number he had."
Gentry replaced his glasses. "All right. Go back and keep watching for calls, Wells. Boyle, I still need you to come with me."
"Yes, sir," Jacob said, then returned to the department. Jessie trailed after Gentry's large steps down the hall.
"Any particular reason why I'm going with you, Mr. Gentry?"
"I'm sending you along with Detective Elwood."
"Who?"
"Denver Elwood. He's the cop from Augusta."
"May I ask where it is he's going that you're sending me along to?"
"Northwest. In that general direction. Elwood has been pinning locations for a few hours and seems to think that everything is pointing in that direction, so he's stopping here for you, then driving down there to see if he finds any leads."
"We're jumping into this awfully fast, don't you think?"
"It's Augusta, not us."
"Oh."
Jessie bit her lip. "What do you think is going on, Mr. Gentry?"
"Hell if I know, Boyle. I'd like to find out."
*** ***
The paltry, flickering light of a small fire crawled across the walls of the dark room that Hazel opened her eyes to. It took her long, painful moments to collect her bearings, but when the memory of the previous hours was brought to a little more than a handful of fuzz, she sat up and rubbed her dry eyes with her fingertips.
She seemed to be alone, but, then again, she couldn't make out the room very well. Before she could fully take in her surroundings, the angry, painful pounding in her head drove her back against the bed, and she moaned in anguish.
"She's still in pain," a young woman's concerned voice said. "Poor thing. I wish we had something that could help her."
"We do, but it will only help if she agrees to take it."
Hazel covered her eyes with her hands and pressed her palms against her eyes. The light around her that seeped into her eyes seemed to fade, and she drew her hands from her eyes, two figures stood over her. The figure on the right, a young woman, knelt, letting the light glare back into Hazel's eyes again. Hazel's arms went up again to cover her face.
"Does your head hurt?" the woman asked.
"Just a little bit," Hazel groaned. She inhaled through her nose and noticed a trace of something like a mixture of marijuana and opium in the air. 'Wonder which one's the druggy,' she mused.
"Here." It was the man that spoke now. Hazel moved her arms back down, her eyes adjusted more to the light than they had been.
"What is it?" she muttered. The smell she'd mistaken for opium and marijuana was closer now. It was something sweeter, like yellow trumpet flowers. It made her headache return with a force.
A cigarette. Self-rolled, obviously. This man apparently hadn't rolled many before.
"I don't smoke. Weed," she added, remembering the Virginia Slims in her jacket.
"It's not marijuana," the woman said.
"Drugs are bad," Hazel muttered, rolling over. Behind her, the two people spoke in hushed voices, then left the bedside.
"We don't have any pain medication or anything like that," the young woman said.
"So I heard," Hazel replied. "I'll be fine. Where am I?"
"On the outskirts of Silent Hill." It was still the young woman.
"Silent what?"
"Hill."
"Oh."
"It sounds like you've never heard of it."
"It sounds familiar, actually."
"I thought you were headed there."
"I was...I don't know where I was heading. I remember that I was on a train...and it collided with something."
"It derailed."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I heard the crash in the middle of the night, and when I got there, everyone but you was dead."
Hazel's stomach lurched. The poor old woman sleeping in the seat beside her...
"I mean...I imagine they were. There were three bodies outside the train, yours being one of them, and the other two were...very dead. The entire train was afire. I couldn't get in there and save people, but...well, no one was screaming."
"That's nice to know," Hazel said blandly. Upon hearing no reply, she pushed on. "So...what's this Silent Hill place like?"
The young woman's shadow turned away. "It's...hm...it's different."
"Different? In a bad way?"
"...it depends on how you like your vacation towns."
'You're not one for vacations,' Hazel reminded herself, then wished she could remember something more useful than her liking to vacations. "How far away is it?"
"Not far. I told you, we're on the outskirts of it."
"Could I get some help there? Maybe get back to where I was?"
"Where were you?"
Both Hazel and the young woman jumped slightly as the man spoke. "I..." Hazel hugged the clean white sheets that covered her closer to her body. "I don't remember."
"Well, it's not much use finding out how to get home if you don't know where you came from," the young woman said, almost shakily, turning back to Hazel.
"Is your name Hazel Halliwell?" the man asked.
"Yes," Hazel said. The man turned, and Hazel could nearly define his features for a moment, but he turned back into the shadow just as quickly, a vanilla-colored parcel his hand.
"This is for you." The small box landed softly on her lap.
"What is it?"
"A few things from your brother."
"My brother," Hazel echoed, then picked up the letter and began to break the seal with her finger.
"Don't open it yet," the man stopped her. "Not until you're out of here."
"...okay," Hazel murmured, and began to tuck it into the inside pocket of her jacket. Her jacket, however, was gone.
The young woman noticed the momentary confusion. "Most of your clothes were destroyed by the train wreck."
"Um..." Hazel ran her hands along the parcel, but it was a plain cardboard box wrapped in paper. Nothing to be felt.
"We've got clothes you can wear, though, when you're ready to go."
"I'm ready to go now."
"Don't you want to rest? It's only been about four hours since I... since we found you."
"What time is it?"
"Five thirty seven in the morning."
"I'm good to go," Hazel muttered, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Instantly, her headache returned. "Ow."
"Well...if you're sure..."
"Yeah," Hazel muttered. "Can I get some clothes?"
"Follow me."
There was little need to follow the young woman, as she only led Hazel to a closet on the other end of the room. "Here. There are all my clothes, but we're about the same size. It's cold outside, so you'll want to wear multiple layers, I think." She stepped inside the closet, fumbled in the air for a moment until she found the chain leading to the light, and tugged on it gently.
Hazel bit back a little gasp. While she wasn't scared, it was strange to see the young woman's face for the first time.
'So much for "young woman." She's not even old enough to be a senior in high school.'
She looked pale, too pale and sickly so, like she'd been bedridden for many long months. Strawberry blond hair that had once been full and lively was flat and stringy from a lack of care. Her blue eyes were tired, but still grasped an old liveliness that Hazel would hesitate to associate with her. The clothes she wore, an old, graying skirt that hung down to her ankles and a white, lacy-collared blouse made her look like a sick child who'd stayed at her grandmother's house for so long she'd run out of her own clothes. Her clothes, her old woman, Amish-esque clothing (as it seemed to Hazel), was much too large for her, hanging barely off her shoulders and hips.
The girl shrugged a little and offered an apologetic smile before she left the closet and shut the door softly behind her.
Hazel turned to the mirror, taking in her pallor with a frown. "Shit," she muttered. "I *look* like a train wreck." She was dressed in a plain pair of white pajamas streaked with red in several cuts across her body. Upon further inspection, she found the remnants of wounds from the train wreck. Not painful, but smarting. She raked a hand through her hair to smooth it, then another, then dragged both her hands through her hair for lack of a brush. The hair cooperated somewhat, untangling and rising to its full volume, but it was still unusually frizzy. Her face was whiter than usual, and her eyes looked dead. She rubbed her face vigorously, and her cheeks reddened.
"That didn't help," she muttered, then turned on the clothing, anticipating the worst. While it wasn't quite as bad as she expected, she found only plain skirts, sweaters, and white blouses. On the wall behind her was a small selection of women's jackets. She couldn't fight back the feeling that this room was somewhere inside a strict church. A closer inspection on the clothing revealed a size smaller than she was used to wearing.
'If these clothes are as big on that girl as the ones she's wearing now are, she probably things I'm a cow.'
Thought somewhat fitting, the clothes she'd chosen were comfortable-the black skirt, falling not even to her knees, the long-sleeved blouse, black sweater, and long jacket that fell almost to the length of the skirt. For warmth's sake, she zipped up and buttoned the jacket completely, then chose a simple pair of double-knit stockings and the most comfortable, durable pair of shoes she saw-high, black snow boots.
When she opened the door, the girl was waiting for her, the letter and a black beanie in her hand. "I thought this might help," she said, offering the beanie.
"Thank you." Hazel stuffed it into her pocket. "I think I overdressed."
"You should be fine. Can you move easily in it all?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Why do you ask?"
"It'll help. Trust me." She seemed to hesitate. "You might be doing a lot of running."
Hazel snorted. "Lots of monsters running about?"
"Possibly." She held the package over.
"I almost forgot that."
"You're lucky I remembered it. You'll need it."
"Um...do you have a map of the area or something?"
"Yes. It's on the way out. I'll be walking you outside. So...follow me. Please."
Hazel closed the closet door behind her and followed the girl out the second door in the room into a dark hallway.
"You'll have to watch your step. There's a few inclines and uneven steps here and there."
The first one caught Hazel's attention and flung her forward a few steps. "I noticed." She rubbed her nose, noticing the cold that began to pierce the air. "Are we heading up?"
"Yes. This is a basement."
"Are we in a church?"
"How did you guess?"
For the first time, Hazel caught traces of good humor in the girl's voice.
The hall lasted for a while, though not unbearably long, and opened into a cathedral. Hazel coughed and rubbed her nose again. "It's freezing," she breathed.
"It's snowing outside," the girl said. "Here, these are for you. I know James would never let you have them."
She took Hazel by the wrist and dropped a small plastic baggy into her palm. "Painkillers for your headache," she said. "Make them last just in case your headache comes back."
Hazel smiled a little. "Thanks."
"Not at all. Just don't tell James. By the way, what was your name again?"
"Hazel."
"Hazel." The girl smiled.
"Do I not get to know your name?" Hazel asked.
"Sorry," the girl said. "I can't tell you. It's a secret."
"A secret." Hazel snorted. "All right."
The girl pointed to the open double doors behind the chapel's rows of benches. "Be careful," she said.
"The map?"
"It's nailed onto the door. You'll see it when you walk out."
Hazel nodded slightly. "Thanks," she said softly.
The girl studied Hazel's face, then embraced her quickly. "It's so good to see you again, but we must part ways."
Before Hazel could reply, the girl left the room quickly, slamming the door and locking it behind her. Hazel watched the door, dumbfounded, then tried the handle softly, but it held.
"Okay," she murmured. "She locked the door...what was that all about?"
She turned away from the locked door and faced the open double doors across the room from her. In an oddly shaped clump on the stone floor in front of the doors, snow was gathering. Hazel reached into her pocket, felt the box, then removed the beanie and tugged it over her head. It fit loosely, but still hugged her head, warming her ears and holding her long bangs out of her face. She approached the door slowly down the center aisle of the benches and trudged through the snow, double back to the doors when she remembered the map.
When the girl had said the map was nailed to the door, she hadn't lied. The map was printed onto a sheet of durable white cotton, mildly damp at the edges from snow. Hazel tugged gently on the map, but it wouldn't give. She tugged again, pressing her foot to the door to hold it in place. She finally gave one powerful tug and the cotton ripped, coming off into her hands, but she lost her balance and tumbled back into the snow.
Hazel groaned and stood up, brushing the snow from her backside and smoothing the map against her thighs so she could read it. "Silent Hill," she murmured. "Silent Hill..."
The church she stood in front of was circled on the map. Hazel drew her finger along the road that led into the main town on the map. It wasn't much at all, a town compromised of less than twenty roads along the side of a lake. It stretched along the side of the lake, however, encompassing a few more buildings. Hazel frowned and faced away from the church, towards the road, and stepped up towards it. She didn't bother to look down at the road before stepping up onto it. Ice met the bottom of her shoe, and before she could finish the step she began to make up onto the road, she was flung onto her back for the second time.