Chapter 15: Items retrieved
Beth had almost no experience with aiming guns – hence the bullet that had hit Dean in lieu of the Reaper - let alone how to treat a gunshot wound. She gingerly pulled the man's coat off his body and rolled it up into an impromptu bandage. She tried wrapping it around his torso and applied pressure, but to no avail.
The damage had been done. The bullet had pierced Dean Frost's stomach. Within the next fifteen minutes or so, gastric acid would enter his thoracic cavity, slowly but surely ruining his feeble body from within.
The irony of the situation overwhelmed Beth. Despite all the formidable creatures roaming the town, Dean had been killed by a human being. "Me. Elizabeth Kalember, murderer."
Contemplating this new title, Beth couldn't hold down the vomit anymore. She slumped down on hands and knees, the taste of bile invading her mouth. Her tearful eyes could only watch as a dark yellowish colour manifested itself on the middle of the asphalt below.
"Murderer. Murderer. Murderer." She said it out loud like some bizarre meditation mantra.
"It was an accident," said her voice of reason. "An accidental shot. You can't blame it on yourself." But the tears and vomit splattered onto the asphalt told a different story.
"I'm sorry," Beth said to the dying man. The two words were barely audible through the thick filter of weeping that still pervaded her voice. Even if she could control her voice, Dean didn't look conscious enough to comprehend the apology.
The street was now completely silent, save for the sound of the burning car wreck, Dean's ragged gasps of agony and Beth's quiet crying. All the frustration, confusion and fear of the last 24 hours welled up in her brown orbs and burst out in the shape of teardrops. "I'm so sorry …"
"Don't be," Dean stuttered. His left hand dove into his trouser pocket and he held a crumpled, bloodstained paper up to his face. Beth recognized it as the second sketch of his mother. "I'm sure Doctor and Mister don't mind," Dean said, lips curving up in a sickly smile. "Because … maybe I'll get to see her again." His eyes shifted to stare at Beth. "Thank you."
"No!" Beth protested. "Don't say that! You're going to be okay." That prediction was so very, very unrealistic, and they both knew it. Beth struggled to keep Dean hanging onto what little life was left in his body. "You don't want to just fucking die, do you?"
The man let out a hollow chuckle. In the cold of the January noon, his breath emerged as ghostly white puffs. "Why would I want to live?"
Beth couldn't come up with an answer. She merely pressed the improvised bandage harder against the man's stomach to stop the bleeding.
Dean's breathing rasped and quickened. His mind drifted into delirium and onto the threshold between life and death. Only a couple of minutes remained until the gastric juice would have utterly poisoned his system.
"Dear … Uh, dear God," Beth hesitantly started praying. She knew she hadn't exactly been His most obedient follower lately, but the situation required a miracle right now. "I am aware that it's my fault this man has been injured, and I hope you can forgive me for that … But I really need your help. Please don't take this man's soul, and I promise I …"
Beth's prayer trailed off, her attention diverted by Dean's stomach. The skin of the wounded area seemed to be rising upwards, as if some parasitic creature was about to burst out. Dean let out gasps of pain, his back arching from the asphalt. Beth watched as a small, oblong object rose from the wound and floated through the misty air. The bullet's grey surface was covered in Dean's blood.
Eyes wide with disbelief, Beth stared at the bullet's ridicolously slow flight. The pellet of lead floated through the fog at snail's pace. It finally came to an abrupt halt, caught between two young female fingers.
"Interesting," Louise said and contemplated the blood-spattered piece of shotgun ammo. She gave a wry smile, thinking about the same irony that had nauseated Beth earlier. "Of all the unearthly dangers lurking around here, Dean's worst injury was caused by a human being, and a weapon created by humans."
"It seems destiny has an odd sense of humor," Philip observed, standing next to the ubiquitous girl.
A faint hope flashed through Beth's mind, and she glanced back at Dean's stomach. The jacket and patient's uniform were still soaked in blood, and the bullet-shaped hole remained in the fabric. However, the skin on the other side looked perfectly healthy, save for the pale colour and the glinting sweatdrops. Beth could even hear how the man's breathing was slowing down, returning to its normal pace.
"Y-you …" The woman stared at Louise, astonished. For once, the girl had actually granted one of Beth's wishes. "You healed him. You actually saved his life!"
"Prospero would have done the same." Louise referred to the wizard from The Tempest.
"I don't know how to thank you," Beth said.
"A simple gift will be enough - such as that book you found for me." Without further ado, Louise dropped the bullet and reached out her bloodstained hand. The 'Crimson Ceremony' book lying next to Beth rose from the asphalt and flew into the girl's grip. She handed it to Philip, who stared at the two words on the cover with a mixture of joy and awe.
"Only four copies of this book are left in the Lord's world nowadays. This … this is amazing," Philip informed. Contrary to Beth and Dean, he could effortlessly open the book. He leafed through the pages, fascinated eyes scanning the finely printed words.
"How come Dean and I couldn't open that?" Beth muttered.
"The ritual only unveils itself to the worthy ones," came the cryptic answer from the priest. "It is not something to be toyed with by those who do not see its true power."
"What's that book about, anyway?" Beth asked and stood from the asphalt. Behind her, Dean propped himself up on his elbows and wearily contemplated the street.
"I can't even begin to explain it to someone as ignorant of the Lord as yourself," Philip replied. "But once we have performed the ritual, all the world's people will understand Her glory once more."
A chill ran through Beth's spine, and she found herself nearly regretting that she had pulled that book out from the hidden shelf in the Baldwin residence. "Well … now that you've got your 'Crimson Ceremony', you're going to let us leave this weird place, right?"
"Oh, not yet. We still need the goblet," Louise said. She and Philip started walking up Munson Street. "After that, you may return to your true world." The duo proceeded towards Nathan Avenue and were rapidly swallowed up by the fog.
Beth gave a wry smile. "It's kind of funny, when you think about it …"
Dean stood behind her, unwrapping the impromptu bandage from his stomach and donning the coat over his green hospital t-shirt. "What's funny?" he frowned.
"Those men with the scythes, and the gross chrysalis-things in the hospital …" Beth had left her Shakespeare book in the car, so it had undoubtedly been reduced to a pile of ash by now. But she could still remember the play Louise had mentioned. "In The Tempest, most of Prospero's spirits were called Nymphs and Reapers."
-
With its dull grey walls and two-storey size, the building next to the small parking lot was thoroughly unremarkable. 'Silent Hill Historical Society' proclaimed the sign next to the entrance. Kyle grabbed the handle and opened one of the double doors. Shelley followed him into a narrow vestibule.
The wallpaper had a faded green colour, and the carpet was chequered in dark and bright shades of brown. A L-shaped counter with a dusty cash register was located to Kyle's left. The room had three other exits – a closed metal door next to the counter, another closed one behind said counter and open double doors in the wall opposite the main entrance. One of the double doors had been ripped off its hinges and was now leaned against the wall.
"Okay, we're looking for a black goblet with a snake around the stem, right?" Shelley said.
Kyle nodded. "Carved from obsidian."
He walked across the hall and entered the first exhibition room of the museum. The walls were filled with old paintings and photographs of important events, persons and places in Silent Hill's history. A long display case was situated in the middle of the room. Kyle tried the double doors in the right wall. They were locked, and he didn't have any ammo left in his pistol to shoot them open with. "Great …"
Meanwhile, Shelley had examined the display case. It contained jewelry and magazines from the 1920's and 30's. "No goblets here," she informed Kyle. "But there's this weird piece of paper – it doesn't look that old, actually. The date's from three years ago."
Kyle walked up to the display case, interest piqued. A yellow page lay on the middle of the case, apparently torn out of someone's diary:
Dad has been put in the brookhaven hospital because hes ill in his head. Mom says hes had a mental brakedown but I don't now what that means. She says he thinks he caused my death, but Im not even dead. I hope he gets better soon so he won't think like that. Sharon really misses him.
"Huh? What's a little kid's diary doing here?" Kyle said.
The woman shrugged and started running her eyes over the historical images hanging on the walls. A large painting on the wall opposite the locked doors depicted a muscular man wearing a butcher's apron. A pyramid-shaped helmet covered his head, and his gloved hand clutched a formidable wooden spear. The caption read 'Misty Day – Remains of the Judgment'.
"Eew. It feels like that thing's looking at me," Shelley remarked. "I can't see its eyes, though …"
"Yeah, there's something creepy about that thing," Kyle said. "The caption doesn't even say who painted it."
"Weird." Shelley walked back to the entrance hall to escape the Pyramid Head's judging glare. She opened the door next to the counter and stepped into the museum director's cramped office. The two desks were buried under brochures, old newspapers and photos waiting to be framed and added to the exhibitions. Shelley picked up a scrap of paper and read the director's notes:
The display case for the goblet was smashed last night, but there weren't any signs of forced entry in the building. Besides, the goblet is still there, and why would anyone want to burgle this place?
That glass case couldn't have shattered on it's own. It sounds ridicolous, but maybe the goblet caused it. There's something wrong with that thing. The pitchblack colour, the obscene creature on the stem… It gives me chills everytime I look at it - like it contains some horrible curse that's just waiting to break free.
Kyle walked on through another door to their left and entered the cramped area behind the counter. After searching through the drawers for half a minute, he found a bunch of keys for all the museum's doors. He walked back to the first exhibition room and started trying all the keys on the lock.
"I can't help wondering why the two of us have been pulled into this mess," Shelley said. "Even Louise didn't know."
'Originally, Philip and I had intended that only Beth and Dean would help us,' the girl had said back on Nathan Avenue. 'But you and Shelley somehow got caught up in Silent Hill's realm as well.'
Kyle finally found the right key and unlocked the door. "I don't want to know why we ended up here; I just want to get out," he replied. The next room contained nothing particularly interesting apart from the broken display case in the middle. The obsidian goblet rested in the case, a pitchblack serpent twisted around the stem like Satan on the branch of Eden's famous tree. Its eyes glowered at the two humans. They were so blissfully ignorant of the power it had come to represent.
"Still, I … I think I know why I've been brought here," Shelley said, half speaking to her companion, half thinking out loud. "I think I know the reason."
Kyle shot her a bemused glance and walked up to the display case, fragments of glass crunching under his shoes. The caption at the edge of the display case read: 'According to one of the Native Americans' oldest legends, this artifact was given to a chief who had lost his son in a war. The chief wandered alone to the top of a sacred mountain and sat down at the altar. "Why have you taken him?" he yelled to the spirits of the mountain. "Why could you not have taken an old man like me instead of a young boy like him?"
At that moment, an eagle flew by, holding the goblet in its claws. As it landed on the peak, it turned into a young woman with long white hair. "We did not take him," said the woman. "However, if your grief is sincere, take this black chalice and pick the white flowers that perpetually grow by the lake. If you use them properly, we might let you see him once more."'
The moment Kyle slipped the goblet into his pocket, he felt something icy stroking against his leg. He flinched and looked down at the cat from Lambert Hospital and the subway station. The grey animal's tail felt unnaturally cold against his shin.
"Why are you still following me?" he muttered, training his pistol on the cat.
"Kyle, what're you doing!" Shelley rushed forward to stop the man.
Kyle managed to pull the trigger first, but the gun merely clicked to remind him that he'd run out of ammo. The animal spat and darted off through the first exhibition room. Kyle gave chase. He soon halted in the entrance hall, the cat nowhere to be seen.
"What was that all about?" Shelley said as she entered the room behind him.
Kyle let out a deep sigh and turned to face Shelley. "I don't know. Suddenly, I just wanted to wring that cat's neck around … What's happening to me?"
"I know," said a little girl's voice from behind the counter.
Kyle and Shelley spun around to find the source of the voice. A brown-haired 9-year-old stood in the far corner, just tall enough to peek over the counter's dusty surface. Her eyes had the same bright shade of grey as those of her older sister, Louise.
"Who are you?" Shelley asked.
"Sharon. Sharon Barkin," the girl said, her voice soft and mournful. "I know what happened when Kyle first saw the cat."
-
A/N: Wolf: Actually, I have never played Devil May Cry. The Reapers and Nymphs were inspired by Prospero's spirits in The Tempest, as Beth finally realized in this chapter … Shortey: Well, Dean did pull through this time. But as usual in the battlefield of Silent Hill, there will be casualties … Tune in next week-E.P.O.
