When Hazel entered the restroom, the farthest stall in the room featured a closed door and a sobbing voice. No legs were visible beneath the stall. Hazel figured the crier had drawn her legs up on the toilet. She exhaled through her nose, frowning somewhat, and moved into the stall farthest from the crying one.
Hazel pulled the top seat of the toilet down and settled on it, crossing her legs. Even if she had felt a need to relieve herself (and she didn't, surprising herself mildly), she would have passed on the chance.
Public restrooms-high on the list of things that made her go, "Bleh." Especially dirty ones, such as the one she occupied now.
The first cigarette to her lips was cool to the touch at first, but it warmed quickly to the fire of the lighter. "Menthol," her lungs seemed to sigh. "Tar. Sticky, oozing tar." She grinned to herself and took a deep drag. "Slow, sweet, boxed death," she murmured. "Packaged up very attractively. Cigarette. Cigar-ette. Little cigar. But cigars suck." She held the cigarette up to her eye and scrutinized it. "But you, my friend, do not suck. If you were a man, I'd marry you. If you were a woman...I'd get a civil union with you or go to Nevada and marry you."
The door clattered open, and a blast of cold air caught Hazel by surprise. The embers in the butt of the cigarette snuffed out quickly on the cold concrete floor where it now lay. "Well, fuck," Hazel murmured under her breath. "Goddamn one night stands never got me anywhere. Close the door, would you?" Hazel called. When there was no reply, she rose and left the dirty stall tattooed with a surfeit of graffiti.
"No? Okay, I'll close the door."
Hazel blinked, stopping outside the stall and crossing her arms over her chest. The door seemed pinned against the wall, and the restroom was empty. Hazel took slow steps toward the door, then tugged on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. She tugged harder on the handle, her teeth beginning to chatter with the cold.
"Come on," she growled through gritted teeth. "Just close...keep the cold out for a few minutes..."
The handle flew out of her grasp and the door slammed shut. Hazel jumped with her shock at the door slamming shut on its own, then removed the hat on her head and tucked it into her pocket. "All right, then," she muttered. "I guess 'minutes' is the magic word. Close any door."
She tried the handle and, much to her assumptions, the door wouldn't open.
"Shi-i-it," she whined. 'Not fair.' She tugged on the handle again, laying her foot flat on the wall by the door to brace herself as she tugged on the door, but it stubbornly refuse to give. Hazel stumbled back, crashing into the wall behind her.
"Ow." She rubbed her backside, still smarting from slamming into the benches on the train too many times, then straightened and began formulating her escape plan.
And then, quite suddenly, the bathroom grew much colder than it had been earlier. Hazel hugged her arms to her chest and shifted, walking in place to warm her legs. 'I hope you feel stupid for choosing the short skirt.'
"I do," she muttered, a brief examination of the ceiling revealed no windows
'The one time a window would've been helpful.' She rubbed her eyes, met her own tired gaze in the mirror, and gawked.
The bathroom, though it had been in somewhat of a state of deterioration, was utterly destroyed, it seemed. Walls were grimy, black and red with rust and occasional smears that looked too slick to be rust (Hazel didn't try to imagine what it was). Mirrors were shattered, shards scattered at her feet. Stalls lay in the same state of deterioration as the walls, if they were even still standing. The sinks had disappeared, replaced by old, rusting pumps, and the very ground was a trembling, grating sheet of grill beneath her feet, the only thing saving her from an endless fall into a black, rumbling pit.
Hazel shivered and hugged her arms to the chest, taking in the new scenery timidly, turning carefully, not trusting the iron grating beneath her feet. The last stall stood, the door still taught on its hinges and closed, still somewhat foreboding, still emitting sobs. She sucked in a breath of cold, damp air, and took careful, deliberated treads to the door, knocked softly, and jumped as the door swung open to reveal an empty stall, splattered and painted with thick, red blood.
Hazel drew her trembling fingers gently along the stall wall to her right and held the blood-smeared fingers close to her face, inspecting the cold, rusty red liquid on her fingers, then stepped back from the stall, and dashed for the door. The handle tugged out of the rotting wood at her mere touch, but the door loosened from its hinges and collapsed as her weight slammed against the body of the door.
There was nothing beyond the door. Hazel's arms flailed and clutched for anything to hold, but only met snow. She blinked, took in the snowy ground around her, and raised her head.
Back outside the bathroom again. Hazel pushed herself up and stood shakily, legs trembling, leaning against the brick wall behind her for support. "What the hell," she muttered.
'Did they put something in the painkillers?"
Gingerly, she took a tentative step, but her legs wobbled and made it clear they weren't ready to walk yet. She collapsed to her knees in the cold snow and held herself there till she felt brave enough to rise. When she did, she tugged a cigarette from the cartons in her pocket, put it to her lips, and lit it.
'Probably put something in the Slims, too.'
A blue ghost of smoke hissed past her lips. She dropped the cigarette, and ground it into the snow. 'Bad habit anyway,' she thought, then moved to her right, keep a steady hand on the fence to hold her upright as she half-walked, half-slid down the sidewalk towards the barricade blocking the road. To her right, an old, gray lake rocked against dim sand, reminding Hazel of an old lady in a rocking chair.
'WE COME' proclaimed the red lettering stretching the highest expanse of the barricade.
At the foot of the grating that stretched from the road to the top of the barricade, the 'L' lay alone, propped up. Beside "WE COME" was one road sign, red, reading "Paleville National Park, 10 miles." At her feet lay the sign that had once rested beside the red one, smeared with red and black graffiti to the point of being obscure.
"IT SHOULDN'T HAVE GONE THIS FAR"
Hazel knelt carefully and scratched at one of the loose flakes of paint. Written on the thick red and black letters in a fine point Sharpie was a random series of words.
"angry wrath paper simple wrench fairy pen blade sex school career"
She bit back a wry laugh. "Sex, school, career," she echoed, then rose and left the barricade behind. There was no way to get through it, and, according to the map, a small road curved around and led into the town.
Down a set of icy steps and onto a narrow, snowed-over path formed by a small flat in the slopes that led from the trees down to the dull lake. Hazel followed the randomly curving trail, hesitating in her steps as she came across a small gazebo that housed a well to her right. Hazel left the track for a moment and glanced down into the dirty, brown water, catching her frazzled reflection.
'Stop and think.'
'What happened back in that bathroom?'
She pulled the hat off her head and tucked it into her pocket. It was just irritating her ears, anyway.
'And the last stall...'
She raked a hand through her hair and smoothed it.
'Keep going.'
A sudden gust of harsh wind pushed her on down the path till she reached a pair of wrought iron gates, painted black and peeling. Aging and rusting, they could barely cling to the leaning poles that supported them. One gate squealed faintly in protest as she pushed it open, and she slipped between the two gates, down the aisle formed by two crumbling stone walls, carefully dodging thick chunks of rock that scattered the floor, fallen from the walls. The hair on the back of her neck pricked and began to strand straight up, pressing against the fabric of the jacket. The fog grew thicker, and she kept walking, no matter how badly she wanted to turn around and run back to wherever she'd come from. No, she was too close now, it was too late to turn back.
Something waited for her there, and she was going to answer its call.
The aisle spilled into a serene, open field, blanketed with white. Hazel's legs ceased to walk, and she rested, shivering in ankle-deep snow.
It seemed empty, save for the dark, gothic-European-esque building that stood ominous and solitary among the white snow. Hazel took a step and began to walk toward the building, but her knee connected with something hard, and she recognized a tombstone, thick with snow like icing on a cake.
She stepped gingerly around it, patting it gently in a sort of apology, and took slower, more careful strides to the building. When she reached it, she hesitated.
'A family crypt?'
She brushed the layers of snow from the door at her level, then reached higher and cleaned off a cold, silvery plate.
'Benton.'
She pulled out the map and smoothed it out against the door. 'So this is a cemetery.' She drew her finger gently across the little gray spot that sprouted from a thin path. And Silent Hill is down there.' She jabbed her finger against the area where the road she was to next follow met the town, and the door beneath her hands swung open easily, colliding hard with the wall behind it and raising a ghost of dust.
Hazel was stunned for a second, then quickly gathered the map and tucked it into her pocket. She began to quickly close the door, but a glint of something caught her eye.
'Don't go in. You've seen horror movies, you know how this goes. It's gonna be a knife, and some psycho in there is gonna grab it, rape you, kill you, and eat you. God knows in what order.'
The boards creaked beneath her feet, only mounting the tension that whipped in the air around her. She took another step towards the glinting metal, reached out gingerly, and felt the jagged edges of a key in her fingers. She lifted it and held it to her face for examining. 'Benton,' it read, just like the sign on the crypt. Hazel looked down at the key-shaped lack of dust on the wooden coffin.
'Wonder who the Bentons are.'
She turned and left the crypt quickly, shutting the door behind her. The key, however, did not fit the lock when she attempted to lock the door behind her. Hazel dropped it into her pocket and stepped back.
'The map said the exit would be north...so that'd be behind this.'
She sidestepped the building and glanced behind it, noticing another set of dilapidated gates. She stopped walking towards them when she heard the strained sneeze inside the building behind her. Inside her chest, her heart seemed to skip a beat, then caught itself and raced. For a moment, her stomach dropped, and she glanced over her shoulder.
'Hearing things.'
She took a step back and turned.
'Dammit, Hazel, don't go in there.'
'Do you ever really listen to yourself?'
She pushed the door open tentatively with her fingertips and took a step in, leaning forward. "Hello?" she breathed, then realized she hadn't even heard her own voice. "Hello?" she said again, louder this time, and her voice wavered and cracked.
"Huh?" The voice was sharp. Hazel jumped, then stepped back quickly as a shuffling sound filled the air. From the darkness, the outline of a face, framed in thick black ringlets, rose, feral green eyes glinting like precious stones from the sparse light allotted from outside.
"Who are you?" Hazel stammered. Her voice was failing her.
The person raced toward her, and she yelped, jumping back outside into the snow. She reached into her pockets, searching for anything to defend herself, and her fingers fell on the knife. She held out her hand and began to flick out the blade, but a white hand seized her wrist and dragged her into the crypt before she could release the blade.
"Hazel," a soft, male voice was muttering. The blade was tugged from her grasp and tossed away, and soon, gentle fingers were feeling her face and hair hurriedly.
"Stop," Hazel snapped, batting at the hands. "Stop, stop, stop!" She found the face in front of her and her fist connected hard with the jaw. The body fell away from her and she scrambled up to her feet. "Just knock it the fuck off! Jesus!"
There was a slow silence, then the soft voice spoke again. "No...I guess you wouldn't recognize me, would you?"
"I can't even see you. What makes you think I would recognize you?"
"Hm."
"Who are you?"
"Hazel?"
"I'm Hazel. Who are you?"
"It's not important."
"It's damn important. You just molested my face."
A chuckle. "My apologies. I thought you would recognize me."
"Sorry...I have no idea who you are."
"It would seem so."
"...Who are you?"
"My name isn't important."
"What are you doing here?"
"I should ask you the same question." The voice seemed much softer.
"I didn't have much of a choice," Hazel muttered, shrugging. "That's all I can say, really."
"I didn't have much of a choice, either. I was drawn here, much the same as you."
"I wouldn't say I was "drawn" here..." Hazel touched her chin with a fingertip.
"Really?"
The man stood. He was hardly taller than she, slim, but with somewhat of a build. Hazel didn't know what to make of him.
"Really," she murmured.
"So you just ended up here?"
"I came here of my own accord. I was in an accident. I woke up in a church or something, and they said I would find all my answers here."
"Why aren't you going home, then?"
Hazel hesitated. "I don't know where that is."
"Do you not have parents?'
"I do, but...um...I lost all my memory when I was nineteen, so I don't know where they are."
"I'm sorry."
Hazel shrugged. "It's depressing, but it's also somewhat...releasing. I don't have much to worry about anymore."
The man stepped into the shaft of gray light that spilled in from the doorway. His features were sharp, yet infinitely soft, just as his words were.
'Walking paradox.'
They weren't her thoughts.
'He's as lost as I am,' she mused, 'and then again he seems as clueless as I am.'
"Last," he said. Hazel, who had been lost in her own contemplation, gave a start.
"Sorry?"
"Last," he said. "It's my name."
"Last," Hazel echoed. 'Weird.' She kept the latter thought to herself. "Who are you...or...well..."
"I know what you mean."
Hazel nodded slightly.
"And my answer is that I don't know. I'd be horribly disappointed if I did, however, for in this position, I hold a unique role."
"Hm?"
"I'm sitting alone."
"I don't think I follow you."
"I didn't expect you to."
Hazel bit her lip and glanced at the floor. "Can I have that knife back?"
He shifted, then kicked, and the little knife slid across the floor and collided with her feet. The blade was drawn. Hazel knelt to pick it up, then tucked it into one of her pockets again.
"So...what's so special about Silent Hill?"
"There are many things," Last said. "But that you will find out in time, among other things."
Hazel raised her eyebrows and frowned. "Oh."
"You should be going."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Depends on how you define dangerous."
"Do I need to be armed, at least?"
"I would. Just to be safe."
Hazel nodded. "Goodbye, Last." She turned, but at her first step, he was already at her back, a hand curled around her arm and a lock of her hair tangled in his fingers.
"Leaving so soon?" His voice nearly sounded pleading.
"I don't have all day." His warm, sweet breath on the back of her neck made her shiver in a way she wished she wouldn't. She tugged out of his grasp and shuffled to the other end of the house quickly. In the doorway, Last twirled the knife between his fingers and flicked out the blade. It pricked the end of his long, white finger.
"You've got a lifetime, kid," he muttered.
Hazel pulled the top seat of the toilet down and settled on it, crossing her legs. Even if she had felt a need to relieve herself (and she didn't, surprising herself mildly), she would have passed on the chance.
Public restrooms-high on the list of things that made her go, "Bleh." Especially dirty ones, such as the one she occupied now.
The first cigarette to her lips was cool to the touch at first, but it warmed quickly to the fire of the lighter. "Menthol," her lungs seemed to sigh. "Tar. Sticky, oozing tar." She grinned to herself and took a deep drag. "Slow, sweet, boxed death," she murmured. "Packaged up very attractively. Cigarette. Cigar-ette. Little cigar. But cigars suck." She held the cigarette up to her eye and scrutinized it. "But you, my friend, do not suck. If you were a man, I'd marry you. If you were a woman...I'd get a civil union with you or go to Nevada and marry you."
The door clattered open, and a blast of cold air caught Hazel by surprise. The embers in the butt of the cigarette snuffed out quickly on the cold concrete floor where it now lay. "Well, fuck," Hazel murmured under her breath. "Goddamn one night stands never got me anywhere. Close the door, would you?" Hazel called. When there was no reply, she rose and left the dirty stall tattooed with a surfeit of graffiti.
"No? Okay, I'll close the door."
Hazel blinked, stopping outside the stall and crossing her arms over her chest. The door seemed pinned against the wall, and the restroom was empty. Hazel took slow steps toward the door, then tugged on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. She tugged harder on the handle, her teeth beginning to chatter with the cold.
"Come on," she growled through gritted teeth. "Just close...keep the cold out for a few minutes..."
The handle flew out of her grasp and the door slammed shut. Hazel jumped with her shock at the door slamming shut on its own, then removed the hat on her head and tucked it into her pocket. "All right, then," she muttered. "I guess 'minutes' is the magic word. Close any door."
She tried the handle and, much to her assumptions, the door wouldn't open.
"Shi-i-it," she whined. 'Not fair.' She tugged on the handle again, laying her foot flat on the wall by the door to brace herself as she tugged on the door, but it stubbornly refuse to give. Hazel stumbled back, crashing into the wall behind her.
"Ow." She rubbed her backside, still smarting from slamming into the benches on the train too many times, then straightened and began formulating her escape plan.
And then, quite suddenly, the bathroom grew much colder than it had been earlier. Hazel hugged her arms to her chest and shifted, walking in place to warm her legs. 'I hope you feel stupid for choosing the short skirt.'
"I do," she muttered, a brief examination of the ceiling revealed no windows
'The one time a window would've been helpful.' She rubbed her eyes, met her own tired gaze in the mirror, and gawked.
The bathroom, though it had been in somewhat of a state of deterioration, was utterly destroyed, it seemed. Walls were grimy, black and red with rust and occasional smears that looked too slick to be rust (Hazel didn't try to imagine what it was). Mirrors were shattered, shards scattered at her feet. Stalls lay in the same state of deterioration as the walls, if they were even still standing. The sinks had disappeared, replaced by old, rusting pumps, and the very ground was a trembling, grating sheet of grill beneath her feet, the only thing saving her from an endless fall into a black, rumbling pit.
Hazel shivered and hugged her arms to the chest, taking in the new scenery timidly, turning carefully, not trusting the iron grating beneath her feet. The last stall stood, the door still taught on its hinges and closed, still somewhat foreboding, still emitting sobs. She sucked in a breath of cold, damp air, and took careful, deliberated treads to the door, knocked softly, and jumped as the door swung open to reveal an empty stall, splattered and painted with thick, red blood.
Hazel drew her trembling fingers gently along the stall wall to her right and held the blood-smeared fingers close to her face, inspecting the cold, rusty red liquid on her fingers, then stepped back from the stall, and dashed for the door. The handle tugged out of the rotting wood at her mere touch, but the door loosened from its hinges and collapsed as her weight slammed against the body of the door.
There was nothing beyond the door. Hazel's arms flailed and clutched for anything to hold, but only met snow. She blinked, took in the snowy ground around her, and raised her head.
Back outside the bathroom again. Hazel pushed herself up and stood shakily, legs trembling, leaning against the brick wall behind her for support. "What the hell," she muttered.
'Did they put something in the painkillers?"
Gingerly, she took a tentative step, but her legs wobbled and made it clear they weren't ready to walk yet. She collapsed to her knees in the cold snow and held herself there till she felt brave enough to rise. When she did, she tugged a cigarette from the cartons in her pocket, put it to her lips, and lit it.
'Probably put something in the Slims, too.'
A blue ghost of smoke hissed past her lips. She dropped the cigarette, and ground it into the snow. 'Bad habit anyway,' she thought, then moved to her right, keep a steady hand on the fence to hold her upright as she half-walked, half-slid down the sidewalk towards the barricade blocking the road. To her right, an old, gray lake rocked against dim sand, reminding Hazel of an old lady in a rocking chair.
'WE COME' proclaimed the red lettering stretching the highest expanse of the barricade.
At the foot of the grating that stretched from the road to the top of the barricade, the 'L' lay alone, propped up. Beside "WE COME" was one road sign, red, reading "Paleville National Park, 10 miles." At her feet lay the sign that had once rested beside the red one, smeared with red and black graffiti to the point of being obscure.
"IT SHOULDN'T HAVE GONE THIS FAR"
Hazel knelt carefully and scratched at one of the loose flakes of paint. Written on the thick red and black letters in a fine point Sharpie was a random series of words.
"angry wrath paper simple wrench fairy pen blade sex school career"
She bit back a wry laugh. "Sex, school, career," she echoed, then rose and left the barricade behind. There was no way to get through it, and, according to the map, a small road curved around and led into the town.
Down a set of icy steps and onto a narrow, snowed-over path formed by a small flat in the slopes that led from the trees down to the dull lake. Hazel followed the randomly curving trail, hesitating in her steps as she came across a small gazebo that housed a well to her right. Hazel left the track for a moment and glanced down into the dirty, brown water, catching her frazzled reflection.
'Stop and think.'
'What happened back in that bathroom?'
She pulled the hat off her head and tucked it into her pocket. It was just irritating her ears, anyway.
'And the last stall...'
She raked a hand through her hair and smoothed it.
'Keep going.'
A sudden gust of harsh wind pushed her on down the path till she reached a pair of wrought iron gates, painted black and peeling. Aging and rusting, they could barely cling to the leaning poles that supported them. One gate squealed faintly in protest as she pushed it open, and she slipped between the two gates, down the aisle formed by two crumbling stone walls, carefully dodging thick chunks of rock that scattered the floor, fallen from the walls. The hair on the back of her neck pricked and began to strand straight up, pressing against the fabric of the jacket. The fog grew thicker, and she kept walking, no matter how badly she wanted to turn around and run back to wherever she'd come from. No, she was too close now, it was too late to turn back.
Something waited for her there, and she was going to answer its call.
The aisle spilled into a serene, open field, blanketed with white. Hazel's legs ceased to walk, and she rested, shivering in ankle-deep snow.
It seemed empty, save for the dark, gothic-European-esque building that stood ominous and solitary among the white snow. Hazel took a step and began to walk toward the building, but her knee connected with something hard, and she recognized a tombstone, thick with snow like icing on a cake.
She stepped gingerly around it, patting it gently in a sort of apology, and took slower, more careful strides to the building. When she reached it, she hesitated.
'A family crypt?'
She brushed the layers of snow from the door at her level, then reached higher and cleaned off a cold, silvery plate.
'Benton.'
She pulled out the map and smoothed it out against the door. 'So this is a cemetery.' She drew her finger gently across the little gray spot that sprouted from a thin path. And Silent Hill is down there.' She jabbed her finger against the area where the road she was to next follow met the town, and the door beneath her hands swung open easily, colliding hard with the wall behind it and raising a ghost of dust.
Hazel was stunned for a second, then quickly gathered the map and tucked it into her pocket. She began to quickly close the door, but a glint of something caught her eye.
'Don't go in. You've seen horror movies, you know how this goes. It's gonna be a knife, and some psycho in there is gonna grab it, rape you, kill you, and eat you. God knows in what order.'
The boards creaked beneath her feet, only mounting the tension that whipped in the air around her. She took another step towards the glinting metal, reached out gingerly, and felt the jagged edges of a key in her fingers. She lifted it and held it to her face for examining. 'Benton,' it read, just like the sign on the crypt. Hazel looked down at the key-shaped lack of dust on the wooden coffin.
'Wonder who the Bentons are.'
She turned and left the crypt quickly, shutting the door behind her. The key, however, did not fit the lock when she attempted to lock the door behind her. Hazel dropped it into her pocket and stepped back.
'The map said the exit would be north...so that'd be behind this.'
She sidestepped the building and glanced behind it, noticing another set of dilapidated gates. She stopped walking towards them when she heard the strained sneeze inside the building behind her. Inside her chest, her heart seemed to skip a beat, then caught itself and raced. For a moment, her stomach dropped, and she glanced over her shoulder.
'Hearing things.'
She took a step back and turned.
'Dammit, Hazel, don't go in there.'
'Do you ever really listen to yourself?'
She pushed the door open tentatively with her fingertips and took a step in, leaning forward. "Hello?" she breathed, then realized she hadn't even heard her own voice. "Hello?" she said again, louder this time, and her voice wavered and cracked.
"Huh?" The voice was sharp. Hazel jumped, then stepped back quickly as a shuffling sound filled the air. From the darkness, the outline of a face, framed in thick black ringlets, rose, feral green eyes glinting like precious stones from the sparse light allotted from outside.
"Who are you?" Hazel stammered. Her voice was failing her.
The person raced toward her, and she yelped, jumping back outside into the snow. She reached into her pockets, searching for anything to defend herself, and her fingers fell on the knife. She held out her hand and began to flick out the blade, but a white hand seized her wrist and dragged her into the crypt before she could release the blade.
"Hazel," a soft, male voice was muttering. The blade was tugged from her grasp and tossed away, and soon, gentle fingers were feeling her face and hair hurriedly.
"Stop," Hazel snapped, batting at the hands. "Stop, stop, stop!" She found the face in front of her and her fist connected hard with the jaw. The body fell away from her and she scrambled up to her feet. "Just knock it the fuck off! Jesus!"
There was a slow silence, then the soft voice spoke again. "No...I guess you wouldn't recognize me, would you?"
"I can't even see you. What makes you think I would recognize you?"
"Hm."
"Who are you?"
"Hazel?"
"I'm Hazel. Who are you?"
"It's not important."
"It's damn important. You just molested my face."
A chuckle. "My apologies. I thought you would recognize me."
"Sorry...I have no idea who you are."
"It would seem so."
"...Who are you?"
"My name isn't important."
"What are you doing here?"
"I should ask you the same question." The voice seemed much softer.
"I didn't have much of a choice," Hazel muttered, shrugging. "That's all I can say, really."
"I didn't have much of a choice, either. I was drawn here, much the same as you."
"I wouldn't say I was "drawn" here..." Hazel touched her chin with a fingertip.
"Really?"
The man stood. He was hardly taller than she, slim, but with somewhat of a build. Hazel didn't know what to make of him.
"Really," she murmured.
"So you just ended up here?"
"I came here of my own accord. I was in an accident. I woke up in a church or something, and they said I would find all my answers here."
"Why aren't you going home, then?"
Hazel hesitated. "I don't know where that is."
"Do you not have parents?'
"I do, but...um...I lost all my memory when I was nineteen, so I don't know where they are."
"I'm sorry."
Hazel shrugged. "It's depressing, but it's also somewhat...releasing. I don't have much to worry about anymore."
The man stepped into the shaft of gray light that spilled in from the doorway. His features were sharp, yet infinitely soft, just as his words were.
'Walking paradox.'
They weren't her thoughts.
'He's as lost as I am,' she mused, 'and then again he seems as clueless as I am.'
"Last," he said. Hazel, who had been lost in her own contemplation, gave a start.
"Sorry?"
"Last," he said. "It's my name."
"Last," Hazel echoed. 'Weird.' She kept the latter thought to herself. "Who are you...or...well..."
"I know what you mean."
Hazel nodded slightly.
"And my answer is that I don't know. I'd be horribly disappointed if I did, however, for in this position, I hold a unique role."
"Hm?"
"I'm sitting alone."
"I don't think I follow you."
"I didn't expect you to."
Hazel bit her lip and glanced at the floor. "Can I have that knife back?"
He shifted, then kicked, and the little knife slid across the floor and collided with her feet. The blade was drawn. Hazel knelt to pick it up, then tucked it into one of her pockets again.
"So...what's so special about Silent Hill?"
"There are many things," Last said. "But that you will find out in time, among other things."
Hazel raised her eyebrows and frowned. "Oh."
"You should be going."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Depends on how you define dangerous."
"Do I need to be armed, at least?"
"I would. Just to be safe."
Hazel nodded. "Goodbye, Last." She turned, but at her first step, he was already at her back, a hand curled around her arm and a lock of her hair tangled in his fingers.
"Leaving so soon?" His voice nearly sounded pleading.
"I don't have all day." His warm, sweet breath on the back of her neck made her shiver in a way she wished she wouldn't. She tugged out of his grasp and shuffled to the other end of the house quickly. In the doorway, Last twirled the knife between his fingers and flicked out the blade. It pricked the end of his long, white finger.
"You've got a lifetime, kid," he muttered.