I'll just let you know, this chapter contains some not so pretty language and scenes.

The not so tragic death of a monster: The fourth interlude

Part 1: Revelations of now…

Virgil let her head slump against the cool surface of the window, allowing it to vibrate softly against the glass as the car jolted against the un-kept tarmac of the road, whatching blankly as the town sped past. The shadowy buildings beyond the stained plane of glass would occasionally shift into a momentary focus, but almost as soon as they had, the details melted back into the grey mist they'd been spawned from as the car sped by.

Why on earth had she agreed to come?

The question rolled about the inside her head, stubbornly demanding to be supplied with an answer with a voice like that of a spoilt child. Whatever doubtful part of her brain sprung it upon her wasn't going to let it drop until it ether got what it wanted or drove her mad with its tireless nagging.

'You belong here…'

Well, as far as Virgil was concerned, not any more. To tell the god honest truth, she'd had enough of that place and its demons and secrets. Right at that very moment, she didn't care if she woke up tomorrow back in her own pathetic excuse for a bed in that dank little hole she called home if she could only just pretend for a few moments that she was free…

The others certainly seemed to believe that they were. As Virgil looked around the car, she began to feel as though the heavy cloud of foreboding that hovered above her head seemed to be raining only on her. Next to her, Grace was humming a springy little melody to her self, tapping out an uncoordinated beat that never seemed to fit the tune on the faded wooden panels below the window. Jobe seemed to be in a far more sombre state, grunting occasionally as he applied that little extra bit of pressure to the accelerator but that was the only thing damping his mood.

With a sigh, Virgil turned back to whatching Silent Hill sweep by…

Optimists always ended up getting hurt the most.

"Grace," Jobe's voice floated into the back, "How do you know Casper?"

The humming stopped as if someone had hit the mute button on the woman and Virgil silently observed how her fingers instantly froze.

"Casper Bates? The guy in the hospital?" She asked in a distant voice, suddenly becoming completely absorbed by something beyond the car window.

Jobe grunted in confirmation, tensely whatching the woman through the rear-view mirror as she shifted in her seat, a thick wrinkle taking over her brow.

"I don't really…He I" The words tripped off her tong. She swallowed a dry mouthful and tried again. "I did…some work for him, nothing big or anything…"

Jobe remained silent, even if it was killing him not blurt out how painfully obvious it was that Grace wasn't telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her god…

"Any way, out of the blue, this guy, Casper, shows up on my door step screaming that I'm going to play some huge part in the coming of god because of my sin's or some shit like that and jumps me. Next thing I know, I'm tied up in the back of a van he's driving and we're in the middle of nowhere."

From the way her words had suddenly begun to spill so effortlessly, Jobe didn't doubt the authenticity of this part even if the first time he'd met the man he'd written him off as completely harmless, if not a little eccentric…

"But then the van ran out of gas or something…Anyway, we stopped and he comes into the back to get another can but I managed to hit him one and made a run for it into the woods."

"Then what happened?"

"II don't know… I got back on to the main road and…" She stuttered to a halt, frowning as her mouth tried to form words that seemed to be desperately clinging to her tongue. "I guess I must have past out or something, cos next thing I know, I'm in that town and the whole place is deserted."

Jobe kept his eyes on the road ahead but his mind was a million miles away as he mulled over the compound of thoughts swirling about inside his head. Trying to pick the questions apart only lead to new one's taking their place.

For a while, awkward silence reigned supreme over the car. Looking at the grey world outside, Jobe felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw that the neglected, ramshackle buildings had given way to a forest of faceless pine trees.

They'd made it out…

Yet still something chewed away relentlessly at the back of Jobe's mind and Eddie's words came floating back to him, whispering cruelly in his ear in a taunting voice.

'I've got sin, hell, we've all got it…'

But Jobe couldn't think of anything he'd done that had earned him a place along murderers and worse. Sure, he may have told one or two lies and lost his rag a couple of times but nothing that quite warranted as 'sinning'.

And Grace? Well she seemed to have been dragged into all this by some nutcase who believed that she was going to play some vital role in rising 'God'. Looking at her, the last thing you'd think she could be was a herald of a new Messiah…

So what about Virgil?

In the front, Jobe wetted his lips, trying to work out how to post the question with out her flipping out completely and stabbing him through the back of the seat. After all, in all the short time he'd known her any topics concerning her and her background were strictly taboo.

"Virgil?"

Jobe wished he could grab the words and drag them back down inside. Now he really was going to have to ask…

The girl looked up from the window.

"Someone I met in Silent Hill told me that…well, it draws a certain kind of person to it. Do you have you…"

"You want to know what I did." With that one, flat sentence, she'd saved the floundering Jobe, but the moment he'd heard her sour words, he suddenly realised that perhaps this was another door that was built to stay firmly locked.

Virgil returned to gazing out of the window, her mind already whirling back to the events of two years gone that she'd promised her self she'd never EVER make her self relive again. Oh well, it was too late for that now, she'd opened the floodgate and was powerless to stop the flow of words that came such a painful ease.

Part 2: And revelations of then…

The girl looked up at the house, glowering at the building with such venom that you'd think she'd pull a 'Carrie White' and blow it up just by wishing that little bit harder. After all, it had been no more a home than a prison to the girl form her earliest memory of when the marginally good times (though reflecting back on them now, they were like some wondrous golden age…) had turned oh so bitter…

But then the girl smiled; reminding herself that this was no time for reminiscing. After all, this dreary, overcast Thursday afternoon was going to be her day of liberation from the insignificant, semi-detached ruin that was effortlessly shamed by its near immaculate neighbours. She was finally going to escape, and there was no way she was going to be coming back. Not this time, even if he hunted her down again and tried to drag her back like the last time…

For it was not the house itself that scared the girl, waking her up at night in a cold sweat as her eyes raced around her room, rabidly checking that none of the shadows were concealing something that shouldn't be... It was the beast within.

You see, there was something terrible that lived inside this house, a vindictive creature that failed tragically to pass itself off as a man. It went from day to day wallowing in an ever-darkening hole of self-pity, lashing out at those around it with words laced with alcoholic fumes. Anyone who even deigned to even look at it the wrong way would not be spared from a torrent of violent, verbal abuse. But behind closed doors and out of sight from the rest of the world, this monster was capable of doing far worse things…

The girl shook her head, cutting short her mind's wondering and scolded herself for wasting so much precious time. When it finally staggered home from the bar at some ungodly hour and found her gone…well, she wanted to be as far from her hometown of Brahms as possible.

Angela Orosco refreshed her the tired, worn smile and went to unlock the door, for after tonight, she was never going to let her father torment her ever again, be it physically or mentally.

No matter how many times she told herself that, not once did it ring true.

8 8 8

The girl passed through the tiny kitchen, dragging a small suitcase that was fit to burst behind her. In the space of three minuets, the girl had rooted through her sparse belonging, picking out anything that could hopefully be pawned off for more than five dollars, or enough to scrape together enough cash for a ticket on the first greyhound coach out of here…

Oh yes, this time she was going to do everything properly and by the time her father got home, she'd be long gone.

Out of the corner of her eye, Angela caught sight of the clock that hung over the kitchen door before she paced through out through it into the hallway. The shortest hand lingered indecisively between five and six, slowly dithering towards the latter at such a slow speed that you wouldn't have missed anything if you looked back five minuets later.

Angela stopped. Even on a good day (i.e., one where her father arrived at his damned drinking hole, only to realise that he'd squandered almost all his money there the night before) he wouldn't manage to make it back before seven, at least.

The girl dropped the suitcase on the wooden table, no longer noticing nor caring how many circular stains tattooed its surface and turned to the kitchen surface. She'd also stopped seeing how the occasional bottle of alcohol had managed to settle down in between the kitchen appliances like nested vermin as she searched for a clean glass. This in itself was a surprisingly hard task, seeing as her father had a wonderful habit of reducing them to shattered, translucent shards.

'To freedom…' The girl poured out some water and lifted the glass in a private toast-

"What the fuck's all this?"

The glass slipped from her hand, cracking into countless pieces as it hit the inexpensive lino floor.

"shit…" She hissed to herself, trying to stop her heart from burst through her chest as she lent against the work surface with a shaking hand.

She looked over her shoulder, and sure enough, there stood the owner of the voice in all his glory, leaning against the opposite doorframe.

The beast…

The monster…

Her tormentor…

Her father…

"II didn't know you were home…" Angela muttered numbly, any of the optimism in her wilting away like a dying plant.

"What else to I do on a Thursday afternoon?" He snarled in a patronising voice, pulling his lip back in a bestial sneer.

Shit! How could she have been so stupid? Her father didn't have to go down to the logging factory on Thursdays ever since he'd received that recent promotion to overlooking wood treatment.

"What is that?" He nodded his head towards the suitcase that lay guiltily upon the table. "You think you're going to leave me?" His heavy work boots clumped dully as he slowly began to walk towards her, the lip twitching as if caught in a wild dance.

The girl tired to shrink back but the hard cabinet offered no shelter.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry but I just can't take this any more, please…can't"

His balled fist slammed into the table, rocking the sturdy wooden structure, the sharp smack of flesh slicing through her stammering.

"AGAIN?!" He roared, the colour flaring in his face, still visible through his scruffy, one-day beard. He looked up at his daughter, stopping her breath dead when she caught the look in his blood-shot eyes. "So you think you can just get up and leave me too, huh?" He hissed, the tips of his knuckles turning bone white as his fist trembled against the wood. "Just like that pussy-bitch of a wife and son of mine…"

He wavered, his wrath drenched momentarily as he wallowed in memories. Even from the other side of the kitchen, Angela could smell the intoxicating stench of stale whisky on his breath and quaked. Drink always brought out the worst in him…

Thomas Orosco snapped his frayed attention back onto his daughter, the anger that coursed through his veins fully re-fuelled.

"What is it that I do? I loved them…I love you too, but then you all just leave me…" Something began to well up in the corner of his swimming eyes. "Don't you know how much this hurts me? Do you think I want to be alone?" The words came out as nothing but a low moan, setting hairs Angela didn't even know she had on edge. Tears were an even worse omen of things to come, and every time these heated conversations flared up between them like this…well, we will see the road they usually took for our selves.

His teeth began to grind dangerously together as the girl remained silent, drooping her head and trying to hind behind the curtain of black hair that fell across her face.

"BITCH!" The roar came like a thunderclap and for a brief moment, Angela wondered how she'd come to be sprawled out on the kitchen floor. That was until she saw her father towering over her, the tips of his balled knuckles flushed red as they violently tremored. It perfectly went hand in hand with her stinging cheek, drawing her to the obvious conclusion.

"What is it? I take care of you…isn't that good enough?"

No answer came the loud reply.

"Don't you love me?" Yet again, all the anger had melted away, defusing through his skin and dissolving into the ether as he mewed piteously.

Angela let the blood roll over her tongue as if it were some fine wine and turned her head away, coming face to face with the dust that had collected under the skirting boards. Anything was better than looking at him when he was like this. Some deep shame burned inside her at the thought that it was this man, who at times could be so unbelievably fragile and powerless, keeping her here like some prisoner. Truth be told, she preferred it when he ranted like some bated creature and destroyed anything he could get his savage hands on (even if it was Angela herself), because if she submitted to this pathetic drunkard before her and let it control her life, how weak did it make her?

The clock ticked tirelessly on, the quite sound dominating the small room until Thomas let out a choke of barren laughter. The hawked noise was so mirthless and cruel that the girl wanted to do nothing more than rip her ears from her head, if only it would make it stop. Instead, she lay there, motionless save for the growing cringe that spread across her face as his dry cackle slowly grew louder until it filled every dirty inch of space within the kitchen.

"So what?" He snorted darkly, the mirth slowly ebbing off like cheap booze. "Now you think you're better than me?"

Silence…

Something snapped in Mr. Orosco, His swimming, drugged brain no longer able to tolerate the unforgiving blanking it was receiving from his daughter. Who the hell was she to judge him after all he'd given her? That ungrateful little cunt, he'd show her how much she needed him…how much she really did love him.

Mumbling something along those lines on numbed lips, the man descended upon his daughter, catching her in his long fingers that instantly began to explore and ravage anything they touched. The girl screamed even though she knew all to well that no one would hear, let alone listen, but that didn't stop her cry for help. Like some doomed Cassandra, she saw what was going to befall her, but as always, was powerless to stop it…

"Shut the fuck up!" He roared in her face, frothed spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth, but she screamed again, slapping her palm into his face in a weak attempt to hold him back. He retaliated with his own hand, rolling it into crude bludgeon and laid into her. He didn't even bother to try holding back.

The girl felt the world slip out of focus around her, the find details that defined the kitchen blurring together in a hectic mess of colour. Angela was barely away of her father's fingers as they greedily migrated down her body, to busy trying to persuade her mind that it to should give way to the sweet unconsciousness that beckoned to her. At least that way, she wouldn't have to be here when he…he…

She let go of this world, slipping into the quagmire of memories, one after another filed away in her mind. It would be a lie to say that they were any less disturbing than her current situation…

8 8 8

It would not be total fiction if you were told before Mrs. Orosco left, she and her husband did manage to salvage the occasional tender moment from their self-destructive relationship. Things usually followed a persific pattern…she would say something that Thomas would interpret as a smear on his character and accused her of nagging. She'd retaliated by offering him a piece of her mind (i.e., some less than constructive criticism) and things generally went downhill from there…

After blows had been exchanged, he would apologize to the train-wreck of a woman he'd reduce his wife to and things were usually resolved with a physical gesture of love. Everything would go back to being hunky-dory for a blessed short while until the vicious cycle re-started itself again…

When Angela was at the grand old age of ten, her mother finally decided she'd had enough and packed her bags. Needless to say, her father didn't take it to well and the pair had exploded into an apocalyptic argument, even by their standards. Angela and her younger brother had exchanged wide-eyed glances as they cowered in the relative safety of her room, trying not to listen to the pair of hateful, shrieking voices that carried through the house. At any moment, they had expected to hear the tail-tell thud of a body hitting the floor.

Fortunately, Mrs. Orosco managed to escape unscathed, narrowly dodging the suitcase that was flung vehemently after her by her husband. He was still screaming profanities as she drove away from it all and didn't stop until he noticed that the majority of his neighbours were staring at him from their porches or between the gaps in their curtains, all wearing the same look of dumb shock.

That day, the two children saw something die in their father; he went for days without leaving the house, floating aimlessly from room to room, all the while heartlessly ranting about how wrong this all was. Over time, he began to convince himself that the whole world had turned its back on him, forsaking him to lonely solitude. Occasionally he would become romantically involved with some other women but there was never any substance to these short relationships. Ultimately, they would end with a painless break up and Thomas would sink ever deeper into the black, melancholy pool of his own world. And that was where he met someone wonderful, someone who could sooth all his pain and never persecute him for his faults.

Alcohol.

For days on end he would drink as he fell deeper and deeper into this destructive love affair, becoming totally oblivious to the world around him as he shut him self off from it. By some miracle, he managed to keep his job down at the logging factory, probably only because his co-workers pitied him and 'the children'.

Angela had been all alone in the house with him on that Saturday morning when it began. Her father had just gone through yet another extremely turbulent break up with some floozy half his age and by this point, his two offspring had lost all sympathy for him. So Thomas Orosco turned to the bottle, the one and only companion who stood by him through the thick and thin of the self-imposed tradagy that had become his life.

She'd been whatching him from the other end of the kitchen, under the guise of doing homework which her mind wasn't focused on anyway. Every now and again, the child peeked over the top of the sheet she was supposedly reading at the man slumped over the table, dead to the world.

She quickly looked away as he stirred, listening as he groaned heavily and sat up with a painful slowness.

"Come 'ere" He blinked at the child with dull, bloodshot eyes that reflected nothing. The quickly clouded over when he saw her poorly masked apprehension as Angela fidgeted in her seat, trying to prolong going near him for as long as possible.

After an extremely short and one sided battle of wills, the girl caved and slunk over to her brooding father and very reluctantly accepted the place on his lap he offered. It wasn't that she hated the man; rather she hated being anywhere in the proximity of him after a night's drinking. As said before, it had a tendency to bring out the worst in him, even in the early days of his affair with the magical elixir.

"You don't hate me, do you?" Angela felt something bitter rise in her throat when she heard how genially scared he sounded as he whispered the question in her ear.

"No"

"Good…" She felt his hand move, surreptitiously shifting up her thigh. "That's good," He purred again, the hand softly rubbing against her upper leg. "Now, promise me you'll never leave…"

"I-I've got to work…" She hopped from her father's lap and raced out from the kitchen before he had a chance to see her burning face, trying not to vomit there and then from the myriad of feeling that flushed through her.

That night, she didn't hesitate to lock the door to her room.

Gradually, over the years, Mr. Orosco grew bolder on these approaches on his daughter…after all, she must like it, as she never once voiced objection when he 'touched' her and for a short while, Thomas was happy. He'd finally found someone he could show his affection to and not be turned down and for a while, things were good for him…until he began asking questions.

Why didn't she return his love? Why didn't she ever once respond to his affection? Perhaps she didn't love him after all…

Paranoia and fear took root and they were very quickly justified.

He'd cornered his now sixteen year-old daughter one day when they were alone together and asked if she still felt for him. Something inside the girl finally snapped and all the years of abuse that had eaten her hollow from the inside out found a voice. Needles to say, it wasn't one he wanted to hear.

He'd beaten her and finally fucked, yes, as sad as it is, that is the only word that can possible describe what he did to her.

He'd shown her, and he would again and again until it drove his son to leave in disgust but apart from that (and crushing ay renaments of a soul his daughter once possessed in to dust) there were no negative repercussions.

Until now…

8 8 8

'Crack'

Angela felt something explode in the front of her skull, agonisingly ripping her from the world of times gone by.

Having had his way with her limp body, a mixture of lust and self-loathing overtook him so, naturally, he took it out on his daughter and yanked her up by the hair before smashing her head into unforgiving work surface. With a snarl, he grabbed a half empty bottle of 'Southern Comfort' and stormed from the room and left his till trembling daughter to sort herself out.

The girl didn't dare to move until the sound of her father's footfall had slipped into the next room, finally daring to look up only when she was sure he was gone, blinking furiously as she forced her eyes to re-focus.

The first thing that took form before her was the knife block, complete with the trademark smooth black handles of these particularly sharp kitchen appliances.

'Take one…'

With slow caution, the girl reached out, wrapping her hand around the plastic hilt as she numbly followed the voice's instruction.

'Why?'

'Don't be so naive, you know what we have to do!'

She dropped the knife as she drew it from the wooden block, bile rising in her throat with the coming of the revelation.

'But, I can't …'

'DO IT!'

The soundless voice rung in her ears as she grabbed the sharp blade and walked with a deliberate slowness into the lounge.

Perhaps if Mr. Orosco hadn't been whatching T.V as he silently stewed, he would have heard his daughter creeping up behind him and may have turned in time to see the knife's steel blade dance in the dim light as her hand shook.

But he didn't, and was still wondrously oblivious to her existence as she came to rest behind the armchair he'd folded into for the evening. However, when the knife came slamming down into his shoulder, severing muscle and tendons, he finally took notice…

With a squawked yell, he leapt up from the chair, the knife still buried deep within him. White, hot agony seared through him as she pulled the knife free, whatching without pity as Thomas turned round and for the first time, saw the face of his assailant.

The look on his face was priceless, but the expression of dark horror and shock rapidly gave way as the knife shot out again, this time finding his throat. Effortlessly, it ripped through his tender skin and he hit the floor, choking wetly as he helplessly watched his own blood gush forth and soak into the cheap carpet.

She watched as her father writhed against the floor, his wide, panic-stricken eyes silently praying for help as he struggled to get up.

'Look at how weak he is…end it, end it all.'

The suppressed wrath within the girl finally consumed her and she descended upon the man, the blade finding his neck again and again and again, ribbons of crimson streaming from the mess she reduced it to.

Finally, she rolled off him, panting as the buzz of adrenalin slowly died down.

A full moment later, the true magnitude of what she'd just done hit home with a sickening clarity.

"Oh my god…" She whispered to her self, and for the first time saw the stark, red blood that had seeped into the cuffs of her jumper and ran down the cracks of her hands.

Angela felt her stomach turned to water as she huddled into the nearest corner, trying desperately to not look at the still warm corpse of her father and all the while, desperately wracking her brain for someway to get out of this situation.

She had to get out of here…

The girl burst from the house as dusk gave way to night, still gripping the knife so tightly that she'd all but lost the feeling in that hand.

If only there was someone she could turn to…

'Where was it mamma said she'd gone?'

Silent Hill, the voice within smoothly answered and without hesitation, the girl took off into the gathering darkness.

8 8 8

Virgil's voice cracked on the last syllable, her worn voice finally breaking down in to tears. Jobe could only look ahead as he let her harrowing tail sink in and silently wished he'd never even thought of asking. In the back, Grace stared at the girl numbly, the cigarette she'd gone to smoke as Virgil had began to talk clung unlit to her lip.

"You asked me what my name was and now you know," Virgil grabbed her head in her hands, her slumped back violently shaking as she spoke. "But I don't want to be her anymore…" Her words disintegrated into wracked sobs. Grace, not knowing any better consolation for what she'd just heard, tenderly wrapped an arm around the girl, who just cried all the harder.

A/N- certain parts of that chapter was extremely hard to write as I'm so frigid, I can't even write scenes of a sexual nature without clamming up but I hope it's better than the last one. I realise that it's extremely long and I probably start waffling uneccerceraly somewhere around the middle but one thing led to another.

Please don't flay me for this…