Fourth chapter is here! Please be so kind as to read and review; if you do, you can pick up a free raccoon on the table over there on the way out. Also, thanks to Kasumi for naming Fifty-Two's absolutely adorable dog, Ver-Gras! I want that dog…-longing sigh-

Disclaimer: Although I own the characters blundering around in the town, I do not own Silent Hill. Konami does…go give Konami a cookie.

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Forty-six patients. That couldn't possibly be right…Raephin scanned the list in front of him repeatedly, quickly and then slower, until he was saying aloud every single name that was printed neatly on the record. Forty-six, forty-six…his roommate had been number fifty-two. And what was that note that stated he'd be in a lone cell for the rest of his stay? Was the doctor out of his mind? …Or was he out of his?

Raephin was drowning in a sea of overwhelming confusion.

The pounding of his hand harshly snapped him back to the horrible truth of reality. He was still in a… "deformed hospital". He was still wandering around aimlessly. And things were still not making sense. To pile another misfortune atop his stack, the bandages he'd wrapped around his hand a while ago were growing bloody and coated with filth. Infection did not sound quite peachy to him at the moment.

As he turned to step over the messy and unorganized floor, he noticed the bulb outside the room had ceased its flicking. A weak, gloomy light engulfed the hall; everything was frozen, deadly still and eerily hushed. The pulsing of the walls had stopped, and he could no longer hear the distant screeches of raging and famished monsters. It felt as if, all of a sudden, his ears had given away with everything else; he felt completely and utterly deaf.

Raephin couldn't even strain to catch the sound of his own breathing. It was like another dimension, lost, empty, and an eternity of distance between the real world, and what he was caught up in right now.

He took his sweet time when exiting the room, not knowing what might await him when he fully entered the ominous hallway. However, much to his surprise, nothing shrieked and lunged out at him; nothing dropped heavily upon his head, or clawed at the skin of his heels. Nothing. There was nothing but a threatening immobility—and why this stillness was threatening, he could not explain.

The dimness began to fade gradually into the background of his sight as light caught his eye. A faint glow, but nonetheless that of the sun's. The dying rays seeped through the thin cracks of the bottom of a door—double doors, in fact. His eyes squinted to examine the source of daylight carefully. Were those the doors to the front entrance and exit of the hospital? He shook his head slowly in protest to the absurd question. They couldn't be…they hadn't been there before.

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"Sir…the days are growing with extreme pace. We must act upon our goals as soon as possible. The requirements must be filled before the time comes."

"You mustn't grow hasty, Ryland. Have you accomplished the tasks I already gave you?"

"Well, not exactly, Sir…you see—"

"There was no body," Roth interrupted rudely, leaning against the wall behind him. The church was an enormous place. Ryland stood at the front of the worship hall, overlooking the entire room. She could remember the tedious services—she'd gone to quite a few, out of sole curiosity. Behind her was a massive glass-paned window, where the Holy Mother stood in all her glory, hands outreached to their highest extent and a long, rich-colored robe of red draping down Her shoulders.

"No body?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Ryland shook her head, glancing in irritation to the figure that lounged on the first wooden row of pews. "So what do you have to say to that? Do you think Metatron has something to do with all of this?"

"Fuck Metatron," the outline snarled, turning from the girl so that his back faced her.

Ryland looked absolutely baffled. "And Sammael? What if He comes, only to find out that we've failed to do what He has asked?"

"Fuck Sammael," the lazy figure teased.

Roth remained silent. Ryland's face twisted in a fuming expression. "How d-dare you say such things, and as a leader, no less! Roth and I have been striving to do this job, this very task for you, and you sit there on your indolent behind and tell us—"

"Shh," the leader, as Ryland had so made clear, sat up from his seat and shifted so that he was in plain view of the two, a rough finger planted gently on his deviously smirking lips. "Speak no more, my dear followers." He was clothed as the siblings were, dark and bringing out the color of his glittering, shady eyes. Hair, wild and thrown into a mass of chocolate-colored tangles, were pushed back as to not interfere with his sly expression. His face was unshaven, where a small bundle of dark hairs were already growing on his accurately pointed chin. All in all, he looked as if he hadn't bathed in three long months.

Roth nodded to his sister, a warning to remain silent as their confident boss spoke. "Apologies, Miki, Sir. My sister has a tendency to sweat over the slightest predicaments."

"Our Lord is a wise fellow, you see…" The man addressed as Miki smiled lightly, eyes flicking into a dazed state. "Lord Sammael…does what we think might be wrong. But you see, taking your time is the best way to show that you're planning things out warily. We are ruthlessly pushing to achieve what many others have failed to complete in the past. Our first step is already working its way into the town. The Beginning."

"The Beginning," Ryland repeated in a bemused murmur. "Is that why the town is becoming bathed in a thick amount of fog…? And why those creatures are roaming the streets—"

"Of course," Roth interrupted matter-of-factly. "What better way to announce the high arrival of our Sammael?"

"It is a way Sammael has chosen. Therefore it is good," Miki nodded in agreement. "The Beginning… 'In The Beginning, people had nothing. Their bodies ached, and their hearts held nothing but hatred. They fought endlessly, but death never came. They despaired, stuck in the eternal quagmire. A man offered a serpent to the sun, and prayed for salvation. A woman offered a reed to the sun, and asked for joy. Feeling pity for the sadness that had overwhelmed the earth, God was born in those two people. God made time, and divided it into day and night. God outlined the road to salvation, and gave people joy, and God took endless time away from the people. God created beings to lead people in obedience to Her. The red god, Xuchilbara; the yellow god, Lobsel Vith; many gods and angels. Finally, God sent out to create Paradise, where people would be happy just by being there. But then, God's strength ran out, and She collapsed. All the world's people grieved this unfortunate event, yet God breathed Her last. She returned to the dust, promising to come again. So God hasn't been lost. We must offer our prayers, and not forget our faith. We wait in hope for the day that the path to Paradise will be opened.' A wise woman of the Wolf family once said that," he whispered all of this out, words streaming in a river, which flowed with ease.

"You read your scriptures and know your religion well, then," Ryland crossed her arms. "And even that of other religions, too. But you're seeming to forget which God is which, Miki."

"A God is whatever you make it to be," he mumbled in reply. "Our Lord, Sammael, is the Angel of Death. A beautiful, misunderstood and fallen angel who bears the head of a beast. For Paradise to be made, the world must first be remade. Haven't you heard that before, Ryland? Don't you read up on your beliefs?" he grinned to her jokingly, though in such a manner that made her feel lower than dirt. He continued on with a certain air. "Sammael will be the key to creating Paradise. He will destroy the world of its filth, and bring forth the Paradise we've been longing and waiting for all this time."

"There is still something we need," Roth chided in. "A person in which has that key."

"A boy…" Miki whispered. "A boy who will help us to call our God, Sammael." His eyes flicked to both the brother and sister thoughtfully. "A boy you must continue to search for, whether it be in the cemetery or elsewhere."

"We'll look up on it," The girl reassured with a hurried nod. "We promise…" she rose her head, eyes narrowing in deep ponder. "Miki…you escaped from prison a while back, did you not? How were you able to study all of this, and learn such a great amount about our religion if you were confined in a tiny, vacant cell?"

Getting up from his resting position, the man knelt down to fiddle with the inside of his boot, the glimmer of a small-bladed pocketknife catching the light's glare. His lips curled upwards into a malicious grin, eyes looking positively devilish as he straightened to his feet and flicked out his tongue to run it across the tip of the sharp edge. "I have my ways, my friends…I have my ways."

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The doors hardly needed pushing; Raephin didn't even find it necessary to spend the effort in reaching forward to take a hold of the handles, because as soon as his fingers rested atop the cold metal, both sprung open as if they had been in wait of his dragging arrival. Thick clouds of fog flooded into the open doors, overwhelming him and causing him to choke out for breath.

Although it was fairly hard to observe his surroundings, he was almost sure that this was the front entry of the hospital. He made his way forward, slipping through the gated door, which was, surprisingly, already unfastened. He was looking both ways with caution, not only because he was crossing the street, but also because some of those nasty creatures in the hospital could have gotten loose, and was now running the streets.

He made his way down the sidewalk, finding each and every area of the town somewhat familiar. He could still remember where the bowling alley was, and where Jack's Inn was located. Nathan Street wasn't far, and neither was the Silent Hill Lakeside Amusement Park. The thought pleased him. He'd remembered when he'd gone as a little boy, and had taken a daring risk to go into the Haunted House with a couple of friends. In the tour, they had first entered a blank room where the speaker announced its boring yet essential messages. In the next room, it had been dark and unpredictable, with shelves stuffed with books all along the walls. It had told of a story of a family of four who had been sliced to pieces, and then of one man who died of suicide. When walking down the hallway to get to the next door, a thing had dropped from the ceiling by a noose—they later discovered it to be a "stuffed" body, which the Narrator announced to be Danny. Raephin could have sworn it looked so real, the stench and all, but then again there was a lot they could do to enhance the settings to terrify people. There was a lot in this town he was unsure of.

Raephin's distant eyes caught movement; he immediately jolted from his previous thoughts and shifted his attention to the source in front of him. There was a human standing from afar—a male, he thought to himself in certainty—yes, with dark hair and a darker attire…and an even darker gaze. Raephin had to squint his eyes to see through the hanging mist clearly—there was blood, thick and drooling down his fingers like rivers of crying red. He wanted to get closer…and yet he didn't. Should he see if the other man was okay? Or was that a foolish choice, and it would only result in him getting injured or possibly even killed? He'd just escaped that horrible life of the hospital, and to die right after when freedom was now willingly placed in his hands would be outrageous! He shifted weight awkwardly on his feet, teeth grinding into his lower lip in battling thought.

The mysterious man—yes, mysterious indeed, for he had come out of nowhere! Or that's what Raephin had predicted, given he hadn't seen him walking around before—turned his back on him and began to run with an unusually swift speed.

Raephin's legs began to move on their own, without hesitation or without decision. He dashed after the man in determination, cursing his instinct a thousand times and more.

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Come…please…

A middle-aged man he was. Nothing more, nothing less. He'd lived in Silent Hill for quite a time, and when this month was to come to a close, it would be ten, entire years. Yes, he could remember it plainly, but not as if it were yesterday; it didn't play like a movie in his mind, but rather a very old and scratched up recorder. He never was a visible person.

Logan pulled the navy-colored vest tightly against his chest, body shuddering when came the chilly breeze of the air. He had no wish to reach up and adjust his glasses; they were fogged up, as they had been for the whole time he had been out here. The fog was something native to Silent Hill, he assured himself in confidence, but never had it grown this terribly thick—so thick that it seemed you could reach out and grab a solid chunk in your very own hand. He'd stepped out of his peaceful, little green house on the corner right next to that delightful little restaurant—he couldn't remember the name at the moment, though truthfully he hadn't ever been there himself—when he'd noticed the drastic change in the area.

What truly horrified him, though, were the few scattered and sprawled corpses he'd found randomly on his way to this place. Blood was smeared cruelly down the streets, where it ended at an abrupt cliff, or a broken-down car. Vehicles' windows were smashed in and shattered; there was no human life to be found, much less a dog or even a stray cat.

Are you alone…?

For some reason, he had been called here. A place—an orphanage, even—by the name of Wish House. There was some sort of presence…and he was hoping desperately for it to be another being that could help him figure this all out.

D-do you feel…alone?

"Who's there?" Logan searched the yard with his eyes, but found nothing but scattered toys and cribs. A few stuffed animals here and there, and even maybe a ball or two. The breeze had ceased its blowing, and yet a red colored ball located almost right at his feet seemed to move about three inches. "…Is somebody there?"

I'm here…I'm here, can't you hear me? Can't you hear my voice?

A low sound rumbled behind him, causing him to whip around and throw out his hands defensively and instinctively. There stood a creature—a creature most unlike he'd ever seen before—with mucky bandages covering its body and two revolting heads—were they heads? He wasn't sure. It advanced towards him, body low, dirty bindings dragging across the orphanage floor. "W-What…?"

Ver-Gras…wonderful you've decided to join us!

The dog's left head thrashed out, curled back lips emitting a vicious snarl as his tooth caught on Logan's pants. The startled man let out a shocked cry and fell back, landing on his rear and lugging himself as far away from the canine-looking monster as possible. "G-Get away…Get away from me, you…"

Be nice, Ver-Gras. Be most kind to our guest.

Another snapping of the jowls, saliva sloshing down hungry muzzles. This time the right head charged forward for its own turn; Logan's response was quick and clumsily, jerking up his arm so it smacked the dog-thing right in the face when it got too close for comfort.

Oh! He wants to play! I want to have fun…

"What is this thing…? This place? …This presence?" Logan whined quietly, breath huffing out in deep pants; he was an older person, now! Heart attacks were easier to get, definitely, and he felt wide open and available to a heart's eternal rest right about now. The creature advanced slowly, as if testing its prey, wondering teasingly if the frightened man would get up and attempt for a hopeful escape.

That's Ver-Gras, my friend. This is Wish House. And that presence? That's me, silly.