The doctor had called on Friday. He told James that it would be wise to let Mary come home for a visit. James knew what that meant. Was there no hope left for her? Was she really going to die? He hated to admit it but he was somewhat relieved. When that feeling came over him, he silently cursed himself. 'Bastard,' his conscious spat, 'you don't deserve her love.' Saturday he spent most of the day sleeping because he was so exhausted. Working late every single day had taken all his energy. The one time he'd forced himself to go see Mary; she pushed him away. As a result, he hadn't been there since. But he couldn't her sickly image out of his head. He had dreams about her thin, pale hands reaching for him as her sickly voice called his name over and over. Every time he had that dream, he woke up in a cold sweat, panting. He always expected her to be lying there, waiting for him. When he washed his face off he wouldn't look in the mirror because he was afraid he'd see her there. He was afraid of the dark places. He was always expecting her to reach out from under the bed and grab him, dragging him into her world of darkness, pain, and sorrow. It wasn't until Saturday when he kept awakening from those dreams that he finally said, "I can't do this anymore." He was going to put an end to the nightmares and daily feelings of exhaustion. He just had to. But how?

Sunday morning, James drove to the hospital to get Mary. She was lying in bed when he got there. He gave her different clothes to change into. Before they left, he heard her whisper to the nurse, "Make sure she gets that please. It's important." The drive home was quiet and James felt Mary's presence give the air a sickly tone. He wanted to roll the window down and stick his head out so he could breath the fresh air. Of course, he didn't. Mary complained that she was cold. He thought about giving her his jacket but he ended up grabbing her jacket from the backseat instead. After all, no one would want that sickly death smell lingering in their clothes, would they?

James had to carry her inside because she was too tired to walk herself. To tell the truth, he didn't WANT to touch her. Her sickly skin brought him back to his nightmares. But to avoid any questions, he picked her up. She rolled on the bed like she was paralyzed; just letting her body flop to the mattress. He pulled the blankets to her shoulders. "James," she said weakly, "could I have some water, please?"

He said, "Of course." He took his time getting it, watching the glass fill up with the clear liquid. He made no hurry to bring it to her. She sipped it and gave the cup back to him. He set it on the nightstand so she could reach it. It seemed like every five minutes she called to him for something. Her weak, sickly voice hit his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He cringed every time he heard her. 'What does she want now?' he thought each time. Eventually he shut himself in the little office which he'd chosen for a hiding place and ignored the voice. When that didn't work, he left. He grabbed his keys and drove aimlessly around town. Leaving that house was a huge relief. There was no evidence of an ill person in the car. He didn't feel like he had to hold his breath.

James kept thinking about the sickly woman that once was his wife lying in bed at his home. He could almost feel her cold fingers closing around his wrist as her dry, weak voice called his name, "James..." His body jolted in panic and he frantically wiped at his ear, trying to get the feeling away- it was almost as if she was actually there, her breath against his ear. He snapped the radio on to stop his mind from racing. It was on some classical station. A violin sang out a sad melody that made James think of Mary. He flicked it off again. He couldn't get her sick image out of his mind. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Even when she wasn't physically there, she haunted him. He had to stop this. He felt like he was going crazy living this way. It was time to end it.

When he got home, Mary was asleep. He picked his pillow up. The sleeve of his jacket grazed her face and she woke up. Her thin hand reached up, trying to grab onto him. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "Goodbye Mary." Once the words were out of his mouth, he had a pillow pressed down on her face. Her body squirmed under the force he had on her. She was too weak to fight back for very long. He waited until morning to call the doctor to say Mary had died.

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Nobody asked questions. He had told the lies so many times, James even believed she died because of that "damn disease". It wasn't until that letter arrived that he was thrown off balance. Just holding the envelope made his breath catch in his throat. Carefully, he opened it up and took out the crisp paper. It was a short letter, written in Mary's handwriting. That was the scariest thing. Who could've brought it here and how? Was it possible that she was still alive somehow? Maybe the disease hadn't killed her. His eyes went over the letter, allowing his mind to absorb the words:

'In my restless dreams, I see that town, Silent Hill. You promised you'd take me there again some day, but you never did. Well I'm alone there now... In our 'special place'... Waiting for you...'

James makes a place in his pocket for the eerie envelope. She was in Silent Hill. Somehow, she'd escaped that disease and now she was waiting for him. As much as the letter had scared him, it also gave him a sense of hope. Finally he could be free from that dark cloud of sorrow that had been wrapped around him like a blanket. If Mary REALLY was alive... If there was a way to see her again- to be with her... He'd jump at the chance. And that's what he is going to do. He is going to jump. So he took the letter, took her photo, took a map, got in his car and drove to where Mary said she'd be. 'In our special place...' Somewhere in Silent Hill. 'Waiting for you...'

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That's the end people. What'd you think? I might do one about Alessa's past.