A/N: Yay, the chapters finally get double digits … Sheitan: Tak! Wolf Ravensoul: Haven't seen the Grudge or King's Kingdom remake. Sharon and Louise have nothing to do with Alessa and Cheryl or any scenes of SH3. SlapDash: He figured it out because Louise said it in the train. Snikers: Woah, that review made my day! Thanks a lot…

Chapter 10: Going to town

The walk from the subway exit to Hooper Lakeshore Apartments lasted a few minutes. Beth led the way to the block where her flat was located on the third floor. As they were about to ascend the narrow staircase, Shelley paused, shivering. "I c-can't go up there," she declared.

"Climacophobia?" Kyle said, his right foot already resting on the third step of the stairway.

Shelley nodded.

"But you didn't have any trouble with the subway stairs …"

"Those were different. They were wider. It's the narrow ones I can't … I can't …" Shelley's bottom lip quivered, but no words would glide over it. She turned around and raked a shaking hand through her red strands.

"There's a lift, too. But it only carries two persons at a time," Beth informed, already pressing the button for the elevator doors. Kyle and Shelley took the lift while Beth and Dean made their way up the stairs.

The group waited silently in the third floor corridor while Beth pulled out a key from her wallet and unlocked door 102, pushing it half-open. Her hand shot around the frame and flicked the light switch with a quick, skilled movement, which she had practiced to pure instinct over the years. The darkness was immediately ousted by a bright yellow tinge from the ceiling lamps. Beth pushed the door all the way back and entered her flat. "Home sweet h---"

The murmur trailed off as she noticed the sorry state of her oh-so-sweet home. Cobwebs had invaded the ceiling corners. Thick layers of dust carpeted every horizontal surface. The once healthy, bright green colour of the potted plants had withered to dark shade of brown. "Huh? I must have been at the hospital for weeks. But why didn't anyone take care of my flat in the meantime?" Beth frowned.

"Maybe this isn't real either," Shelley said behind her.

"Yeah. It's hard to get used to … I really don't know what to think anymore." Beth sighed and picked up a Honda key from a chest of drawers. "Well, I guess we can go now. My car's parked in the lot just outside."

"Wait," Dean said. "It's freezing out there. Don't you have any clothes I could borrow?" He still only wore the mental patient's uniform from Lambert Hospital, its thin green fabric hardly too suitable for the chilly weather.

"Sure," Beth said and walked through the living room to a narrow bedroom.

The pillows and sleeping quilt lay in a creased mess on the bed. It was just like that sunday morning when she had left the apartment to go to the bakery, blissfully ignorant of the horrors awaiting her in Louise's worlds. She had apparently had a rather eventful dream the night before, but Beth couldn't recall what had made her toss the quilt around like that. She had never been able to remember much of her dreams. "And now that I'm trapped in another person's dream, all my experiences are going to be burnt into my memory. How ironic."

Beth searched through her scant wardrobe and walked back to Dean carrying unisex trousers and a warm coat. "Thanks," the man said, donning the clothes over his hospital uniform.

They were about to head back to the parking lot when Beth froze on the first step of the staircase. Dean and Shelley were already descending in the elevator, and Kyle had reached the landing between the third and second floors. "Kyle, wait!"

"What is it?" the man asked, watching Beth return to apartment 102 and unlock the door again.

"It's this book Louise mentioned. I'm sure I still have it lying about somewhere," Beth said as she walked up to her living room bookcase and let her fingers crawl along the shelves like a spider looking for a fly in its cobweb. The fingers abruptly paused at an old-looking, five centimetres thick book in the middle of the bottom shelf. Beth pulled it out and brushed the dust off.

Kyle gave a wry grin. "What is that, the Necronomicon?"

Beth handed the book to Kyle. "See for yourself."

"The collected works of Sir William Shakespeare, Volume VI," Kyle read aloud from the golden letters on the brown front cover. "Contains The Tempest, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Measure for Measure and King Henry IV." He shot Beth a surprised look. "I didn't think you were the type who reads Shakespeare plays."

"Actually, I don't. It's been at least ten years since I read that, and it was mostly boring as hell," Beth admitted, grabbing a backpack from a coathook next to the front door. "But Louise said The Tempest had 'a lot to do with the situation' or something like that. She told me it was her favorite story, too, and she used to read it with Sharon."

"Sharon?"

"Her sister." Beth dropped the book into the backpack and slung it over her shoulders. "Anyway, Dean and Shelley must be wondering what's keeping us here." She locked the apartment door behind them and they hurried down the stairs.

"What took you so long?" Shelley asked. The reunited quartet exited the apartment building and started walking across the parking lot.

Beth told her about the Shakespeare play. "I think I'll read it in the car. Maybe there's something useful in it," she said and unlocked the doors to her Honda. The car usually had a silvery gloss reflecting the sunlight – this had often led Beth's vexing mother to call it 'the show-off-mobile' – but in the darkness of the 19.00 P.M. winter evening, the vehicle's colour was obscured to a dull grey. "In the night all cats are grey," Beth thought, shivering. She could see her own breath rising from her mouth like a ghostly puff of smoke.

They quickly agreed that Kyle, as an experienced taxi driver, should be sitting at the wheel. Beth entered the front seat next to him, while Shelley and Dean sat down on the back seat. The doors were slammed shut, and Kyle carefully got the Honda out of the parking lot. The icy streets looked unusually void of traffic. Beth opened the glove compartment and produced a book filled with maps of Hooper Lake City and its New England environs.

"No thanks," Kyle interrupted when she started guiding him towards the nearest highway to Silent Hill. "I've been driving around here for years; I know the route."

"Suit yourself." Beth replaced the maps in the messy compartment and immersed herself in the Shakespeare volume. Behind her, Shelley was tossing slightly in her sleep. On the other side of the backseat, Dean stared out the window at the one- and two-storey buildings of the peaceful neighbourhood. The snow was neatly shovelled off the sidewalk and salt poured all over the roads, allowing Kyle to speed up a tad whilst in such safe territory.

At one point, Mister thought he recognized one of the houses as the home of Mr. and Mrs. Midkiff, Dean's former foster-parents. "Wishful thinking," Doctor commented.

Meanwhile, Beth was reading some obscure academic's two-page introduction to The Tempest. The professor started off by informing her that this was Shakespeare's last work and that the main character, the powerful wizard Prospero, represented the great poet himself. Bored and weary, Beth skipped the introduction and began skimming through the list of dramatis personae:

Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan

Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor

Trinculo, a Jester

Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave

"What the fuck?!" Beth exclaimed.

Kyle winced and let his eyes leave the road to glance at the passenger next to him. "What's wrong?"

If Beth wanted Kyle to comprehend what the name Caliban meant to her, she'd have to tell him about her encounter with the monster of room F16. And frankly, she didn't have the energy to take that walk down Memory Lane. "Nothing," she replied.

Kyle's suspicious gaze lingered on Beth for a second before returning to the road. He knew that "nothing" wasn't enough to cause one to blurt "what the fuck", but he was too tired and not curious enough to ask again. Beth ran her eyes over the introduction and soon found a passage on Caliban:

The savage Caliban is the son of an evil witch and of Satan himself. Caliban's name is indeed an anagram for Canibal, a name given to the Carribean Indians by travellers. Caliban's character has caused much discussion. There were two concepts of "the savages". According to the French philosopher Montaigne, they were the natural and unspoiled ones. According to the view our poet shared, they were "natural" in the sense that their souls were low and uncultivated or degenerate. In the play, Caliban should therefore be represented as wearing a hide and not, as he is often shown, resembling a fish or amphibian.

While Beth read, Kyle drove by St. Gilliam's School where blood had trickled over his taxi earlier. The cab was still parked on the road next to the school, its yellow metal completely covered with streaks of crimson. Kyle shuddered and sped past his old vehicle.

In the parking lot for bicycles outside Gilliam's School, one of the bikes was lying on the asphalt with its tyres cut open and the chain missing. The back wheel spun around slowly in the winter breeze.

---

Roy Mark stood proudly behind the counter of his crowded roadside diner and watched the customers devour their junk food. He had owned this place for about half a year now, and although the first three months had made his wallet feel lighter than a feather, the customers had begun pouring in last October. Apparently, some major road mending had started on a nearby highway, forcing the motorists to take the detour along the diner's highway. Roy knew he would once more find himself in serious financial trouble when the road mending was over and people could return to the other highway, but until then, he was enjoying every second of his life as the owner of a succesful diner. He had even employed two waitresses and an extra chef.

Suddenly, he noticed a grey Honda pulling up outside. This would normally be a welcome addition to the plethora of vehicles in the parking lot, but the four figures stepping out of the car looked disgusting, mildly put. Their clothes were smeared with resinous goo and purplish-brown stains resembling dried blood, and their otherwise pale skin was coloured dark yellow and blue from various bruises.

"Like ghosts or something," Roy shuddered. "Reminds me of those three weirdos I saw last year. But I don't have to call the police this time. They won't do anything when the place is so crowded … right?"

The man's nervous considerations were interrupted by the door bell softly announcing the entrance of the four ghosts.

---

The moment she entered the diner, Beth felt as if every single person in the way too quiet room was staring at her and her companions, jaw dropping and hair standing on end. The only noises were those of a crying infant and a jukebox playing a cheesy pop track. Beth could understand that the newcomers' gory appearances might look shocking to all these ordinary customers, but at the same time, she felt like screaming at them all: "What the hell do you think you're looking at? Haven't you ever seen blood and bruises before?!" Of course, this would only attract even more intimidated glares, so she kept quiet.

Kyle murmured something about black coffee and tuna sandwiches. Beth and Shelley nodded approvingly. Kyle purchased the meal from a very pale Roy Mark, while Dean went to the men's room and Beth and Shelley took seats at a table as close to the exit as possible.

Kyle soon joined them with the sandwiches and coffee, and the trio started eating. The rest of the diner crowd seemed to realize that these creepy-looking people were, despite their unusual appearance, just another group of customers getting a meal. And so, they turned their heads back to their own meals and once more drowned the jukebox song and the baby's squeals with their conversations. "Phew. I thought they were gonna keep staring at us like that forever," Beth said.

"Well, that guy behind the counter's still watching us," Kyle mumbled, glancing at the ever-suspicious diner owner.

Dean came back from the restroom and took a seat next to Kyle. They had been eating their sandwiches in silence for half a minute, when a curious female voice behind Beth suddenly asked: "Are you guys from Silent Hill?"

Beth cocked an eye at the waitress standing at their table. She was a slightly plump, black-haired girl in her early twenties. 'Melissa' was written on her yellow uniform's name-tag. "No, us guys are not from Silent Hill," Beth replied. "We're on our way over there."

"It's just that … You look like you've been through Hell or something. And … is that a hospital uniform you're wearing?" the waitress pointed to the patient t-shirt under Dean's jacket.

Dean hurriedly pulled the jacket closed to hide the suspicious-looking bright green t-shirt. "Of course not," he said.

"You know, we've had some weird customers like you before," Melissa informed. "Roy told me about these three freaks he once met, back when he worked here alone. One of them turned out to be wanted for the murder of her own dad. And then there was that other woman a few months ago - came wandering along the road like a stray kid. She looked really battered up, a bit like you guys. Said her name was Daryl. Anyway, all those people were from Silent Hill …"

Beth finished her sandwich and started sipping the pitchblack coffee. "There's something strange about that place, huh?"

Melissa nodded vehemently. "One day, I'm going to be a journalist, and then I'm going to go do a big article about all the weird stuff going on there. You know, I heard they've even got an evil satanic cult. Cool!" The waitress flashed a smile of morbid fascination.

"Well, good luck finding a magazine that's actually going to publish that story," Beth said as they got up from the table, tipping Melissa.

"Thanks! You've gotta stop by someday and tell me what Silent Hill was like," Melissa said.

"Sure," Beth half-heartedly promised. Behind the counter, Roy Mark breathed a sigh of relief at hearing the door bell announce the departure of the four ghosts. The Honda backed out of the parking lot and drove down the highway, its faint grey colour soon disappearing in the black night.

---

They were a few miles from the isolated town. Gloomy woods surrounded the highway, only illuminated by the car's headlights and a chalkwhite full moon. The misty forest whizzing by looked like something from an old black-and-white horror cliché. Beth could easily imagine a cheesy werewolf jumping out from behind a tree any time now. "I wonder what that cult in Silent Hill is all about?" she muttered, staring at the wipers' monotonous fight against the snowflakes invading the windshield.

Surprisingly, the answer came from Dean: "They worship God. Or rather, something that they call God." His voice was pervaded by loathing. "There's also the Holy Mother and the angel Valtiel, but "God" is the most important."

Beth looked over her shoulder at the man in the backseat. "How do you know all that?"

"I grew up in Silent Hill. Almost everyone in that town knew there was a cult, but no one liked to talk about it. Silent Hill's a popular tourist resort, so things like that have to be kept secret."

"But … what's so bad about this cult? Shouldn't people be allowed to have their own beliefs?" Beth said.

"Not if they push them on others like this cult does. Brainwashing little orphans, circulating drugs, even murdering the people who get in their way … Like they did with her." Dean tightened his grip on the crumpled black paper that had once been a beautiful portrait.

"Her?"

"My mother. She worked for this company developing the town to attract more tourists. They built the amusement park, made brochures, funded hotels … And then they started dying, one after the other. It was rumoured the cult had something to do with it, but the police didn't make any headway."

"And what about her?" Beth blurted out, starting to get used to Dean's habit of calling his mother she and her all the time.

"A car hit her. She died on the spot," Dean replied. "The driver was never arrested. Everyone said it was nothing more than an accident, but I know the cult did it. They just hired someone to make it look like an accident …" The man's voice sounded strangely empty, as if her death was only a distant, indifferent memory. He was perfectly aware that he couldn't go back and change what had happened.

"I, uh … I'm sorry." Beth turned back to face the windshield. The silence of the car was only broken by the wipers sliding back and forth on the pane. Dean gingerly opened his black box and grabbed a pencil to draw on the white side of the paper. He quickly outlined her head and neck, then started sketching the eyes, nose, lips …

---

A/N: Roy Mark and his roadside diner belong to Wrath. Tune in next week, and check my profile for links to sketches of the Bedridden … -E.P.O.