I.

Cybil Bennett retired from being a cop several years ago. Splitting up tended to be a routine option when they conducted some kind of search—it allowed them to cover much more ground and they all could defend themselves, so no one ever thought twice about splitting up.

But this was different. Though she pressed the idea of splitting up, she suddenly felt like it was a bad idea. Still she couldn't go back now—her pride wouldn't let her.

When they exited the attic, instead of a stairway, they found three separate, winding hallways, leading in different directions, lined with wooden doors. Each of them took a hallway, electing to meet back in ten minutes.

It disturbed her that she had become so numb to experiencing things that by normal standards were strange and impossible. But then again, that numbness allowed her to function and react quickly rather than be anxious and edgy. As a cop, she knew that if her head wasn't in the game, she would never escape this place.

Cybil now moved cautiously down the narrow corridor. She couldn't shake the distinct feeling that something crept around every corner, just out of her range of vision. But the stealthy stalker made no noise nor gave any indication of its presence. She was surrounded by silence, broken only by the sound of her boots on the hardwood floor.

She opened the first door to her right and entered a wide room, one of its walls draped with a mirror. The bed—rumpled, dirty sheets; the dresser—pieces of clothing hanging out of the drawers, some broken, the bottom one missing; the mirror—cracked and cloudy; the windows—shut, soiled curtains framed them; the carpet—brown and blue, foul, slightly damp. Cybil caught all those things on one glance through the room. But the thing that caught and held her attention was the mirror.

She stepped toward the mirror, unsure why she suddenly felt tense at the sight of her own reflection.

It was her—that was no doubt. Her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, her fair complexion, and her snazzy outfit comprised of black slacks and boots, violet blouse, and black jacket. But then again, she that feeling still lingered. Something wasn't quite right.

She kept her gun pointed at her reflection and stepped closer. Cybil thought about simply calling for Harry or Douglas (probably both) to be here with her, but she thought against it. She was fully capable of taking care of herself—there was no reason to get everyone worked up over her own irrational anxieties.

Behind her reflection, she saw movement and she whipped around. Yet, there was nothing there—only the door she had entered, which was now closed. She turned back toward the mirror and her reflection, only this time, it was the reflection that moved. It stepped toward Cybil through the mirror as if it were a wall of water. The reflection changed from an exact copy of Cybil to a younger version—police uniform, short hair, wicked smile.

Cybil took an irresolute step away from the new threat. "Stop right there," she warned. Cybil wanted to shoot, but in this weird place, there was no telling what the result would be. She could be injuring herself instead of defending against a monster.

"Are you really going to shoot yourself?" the pseudo-Cybil mused. She took a daunting step towards Cybil.

"I'm warning you, stay where you are," Cybil tried to sound strong and assertive, but her voice faltered slightly, giving away her trepidation.

"Warning me?" pseudo-Cybil laughed. "Remember, I'm you and I don't take kindly to threats."

"Since you know so much, you know I'll shoot you," Cybil bluffed.

"If you planned on shooting me, you would have pulled that trigger when I first appeared. But you can't touch me, because I'm you."

Cybil lowered her gun with uncertainty. She wanted to question the pseudo-Cybil, but what could she ask? It was strange staring at another person that was essentially the same person. It almost didn't make sense. Cybil searched for a logical question, but through all her years of interrogating, she couldn't conjure one.

"You're at a loss for words—you don't know what to ask, do you? Well let me begin by saying that you can't escape Silent Hill. You thought you could run away, but he still found you. You still belonged to him."

"That parasite—" Cybil remembered the creature that controlled her mind. It made her attack Harry, but he was smart enough to remove the thing without harming her. But it was totally removed from her, wasn't it?

"Yes, it planted a seed inside of you—our lord knew what would happen. It wasn't his time to be resurrected, but there were those blinded by their own ambition and fervor. Dahlia's attempt was destined for failure, just as it has failed yet again. And now here you are, in the middle of something you don't fully understand. Again."

"I came to save my son and his girlfriend."

"As our lord knew you would. Your presence here has separated me from you. But your son is dead and dear Christine is fulfilling her destiny as the new vessel for Samael."

"Sean—dead?" Cybil repeated. She suddenly went numb. "I—I don't believe you."

Pseudo-Cybil smiled wickedly as Sean dragged himself through the mirror into the room. Cybil knew it was Sean, though he looked nothing like her son. Blood seeped down his pallid face, and his mouth opened and closed hungrily. Sean's head moved erratically back and forth as he pulled himself closer, his body jerking at a different tempo. He moved from one position to another, without the normal fluidity of movement. He wasn't her son, just another monster of Silent Hill—Sean was indeed dead.

"Mom," he croaked out as he got closer.

"No," she murmured. Not Sean. He had a hearty laugh. He was helpful and kind. He was a great athlete. He didn't like mayonnaise or pickles. He had to have a glass of warm milk every night before he went to bed. He had a scar below his right calf from a bicycle accident. She pulled his first tooth. He would graduate in just a few weeks. He talked about being a pro-athlete everyday. Every little thing about Sean, things only a mother could know, flooded into her mind in no particular order.

This was that all that was left of Sean Bennett—her son. He had been transformed to a warped shell of himself not for any other reason than to taunt Cybil. She was saddened and disgusted. He was an abomination nothing like her son—nothing like Sean Bennett.

"I won't let you use my son," Cybil coldly said. She aimed her gun at Sean's head.

A deep growl escaped Sean's lips and he continued toward Cybil.

"Sean, I love you and I'm sorry," she squeezed the trigger.

The creeping figure moved for the final time then fell still. Cybil's icy blue eyes brimmed over with tears. She hadn't killed Sean—no, Silent Hill had done that, but she was still responsible. She had damned him years before he was even born.

Cybil collapsed to one knee and a heart-wrenching wail escaped her lips. The tears flowed freely, emotions she had kept in check all these years suddenly came pouring out. She had lost her son—the most important thing in her life. Nothing would be able to fill that void—nothing.

Her heart felt heavy and she could barely breathe through the sobs.

"Why him? Why not me?" she choked out.

"How melodramatic. You impressed me until the breakdown at the end. I couldn't have done better myself."

Dark, charred hands grasped at Sean and dragged the lifeless body back into the mirror

"Shut up." Cybil had lost all of her strength, she couldn't even lift her gun to shoot that damn clone in its smart-ass mouth. If it was possible to lie down and die, Cybil would have done just that. With Sean gone, was there anything left for her to live for?

A journal slid in front of Cybil.

"Maybe you should read what Christine and her friends think they know about you."

I haven't talked to Harry in years...we never mention what happened in that town...that horrible place called Silent Hill. We parted ways with an unspoken understanding never to talk of that place again. But now, seventeen years later, my son has found it...or it has found him. Maybe it's trying to get back at me...maybe I wasn't supposed to escape...maybe we both were supposed to die there, but somehow, we made it. But it wants me back. I can feel it calling me, driving me insane. Instead of me, it has found my son and his girlfriend. I can't let them go there...they cannot go there...it will get what it wants...I have to stop them, even if I have to kill them.

I have failed, but I know that my son is taking her there. When I went into his room, I found White Claudia, a small bag of it, but I recognized it immediately. They have had my son for I don't know how long and I didn't even know it. My son is taking her there to make her a part of that cult there or something worse. I have to stop it once and for all. I'll go to Silent Hill, even if it means my death. Cybil Bennett

Cybil stared at the words reading them over and over again. It took a few minute to make sense of what her double was trying to tell her. Then it dawned on her. Disbelief and shock replaced only a faction of her grief. "You—you wrote this and gave it to them."

"Of course, we know Sean had no White Claudia, you never really intended to kill them, and you didn't suspect that we still lurked in the shadows of Silent Hill. But, they're young, impressionable, and in a stressful situation. Christine was confronted by her boyfriend the same way. And she chose just as you did. They all witnessed it and they would believe anything we threw at them."

Cybil couldn't even respond. It was nothing more than a game to these people—no, monsters. Their lives were nothing—just inconveniences to be toyed with and disposed of at their whim.

Pseudo-Cybil continued, "I tried to kill Christine the night before they left. But that little bitch proved to be quite the fighter—and now, she's wandering around Silent Hill." She paused then, "It's only a matter of time before we get to her." Pseudo-Cybil kept a bit of distance between them but slowly paced back and forth as she spoke.

"How could you be so cold and calculating?" Cybil weakly asked.

"It's our nature—we're here to ensure our lord's resurrection is unobstructed and uninterrupted. We have pined for this day and now it is upon us. You should feel privileged to have lived this long. Our lord felt it necessary that you see this through to the end. But personally, I could care less—you and your companions are a nuisance. And I still intend to kill Christine."

Cybil couldn't resist finding out more, "Why would you want to kill Christine if she's the new vessel?"

"Once the investigator, always, huh, Cybil? Dead or alive, it makes no difference. Unlike Alessa, she's been primed since birth to mother our lord. Her body is all we need—consciousness is simply an unnecessary variable. But she still did what we needed her to do—return to Silent Hill."

"Return?"

Pseudo-Cybil's lips curled into a mischievous smile and her light eyes shone with amusement. "You don't know, do you? I won't spoil the rest, I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I have another brat to deal with—Alessa."

"Heather Mason?" Cybil corrected.

"No matter what new name you call her, how she changes her hair, or how she runs away, she is still Alessa Gillespie. And now, she will be justly punished for her defiance of our lord's will—just like you. I can't kill you, but I can hurt you."

Cybil barely got to her feet before pseudo-Cybil was upon her. She kicked Cybil in the stomach then grabbed her ponytail and flung her to the ground. The gun slid across the floor, much too far for Cybil to reach. The physical pain Cybil now felt didn't even compare to the emotional pain she was going through, but it was enough to grab her attention.

"I've seen your mind—you try to act tough, but you're really just a scared little girl," pseudo-Cybil said as she circled the fallen Cybil, kicking her every so often. "A frightened wimp! I hate you! Weak! Pathetic! Sniveling! Here you are crying over your precious son, you are simple and helpless, bound by your stupid emotions! This world deserves to be remade by our lord!"

Cybil unsuccessfully shielded herself from the kicks, catching them in her ribs, stomach, and thighs. It seemed as though she couldn't move fast enough to protect herself.

"Your feeble-minded friends don't have a chance—the monsters aren't going to kill them, you are."

"Like hell!" Cybil caught one of the pseudo-Cybil's kicks and pushed back against her, successfully throwing her to the floor. Cybil then rolled to her feet and kicked pseudo-Cybil in the face. She reeled backwards from the sheer force of the kick, but regained her posture abnormally fast. She retaliated by sweeping Cybil's legs out from under her.

Though she hit the floor hard, Cybil sprung to her feet as pseudo-Cybil rose to her feet. Cybil spun and delivered an impressive crescent kick to pseudo-Cybil's face. It was then that Cybil noticed that the other Cybil was unnaturally hard and smooth, like she was made of glass.

"You can't hurt me," pseudo-Cybil said as she kicked at Cybil's midsection. Cybil leaped back, but before she could charge at her again, a cold hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her about a foot off the ground. Cybil gasped desperately and struggled against the iron-like grip, but there was no chance she would escape.

"I wasn't done," pseudo-Cybil glared angrily at Pyramid Head. He rotated Cybil around to see his visage before effortlessly flinging her across the room. Cybil hit the wall then crumpled to the floor. She didn't move.

"Great timing," pseudo-Cybil sarcastically shot. "Fine, I'll kill Alessa then I'll finish my fun with dear Cybil. And you can stop presiding over me like some kind of watchdog."

She stepped forward and walked directly through the mirror to the other side where Heather Mason stood.

II.

Harry Mason closed the door to the room he found himself in. He wasn't sure that closing the door behind him was really the best decision, but it kept anything (like those hellhounds) from sneaking in behind him. Even though, if something was already in the room, it would be more difficult for him to escape. Harry figured he was thinking too much again.

The room itself was quite large. Harry figured the owners must have had a wall knocked down between two of the rooms and plastered over the additional door. Wait, but this was the other version of Silent Hill, so maybe it was simply a construction that somehow interpreted into something sinister. He was thinking too much again.

That was the problem with being a writer—his mind was constantly on full power. He analyzed, formulated, and mulled over every situation he came across in an effort to find new material for his books. He even pondered on his works in progress for hours on end, constantly looking for ways to improve the story, characters, and plot. He went to sleep thinking of new ideas for his story and would quickly write them down when he awoke the next morning.

Harry enjoyed it though, despite his habitual late nights, writing frenzies, and the dreaded writer's block. Heather made fun of him and told him he was weird. And maybe he was.

Harry chuckled to himself at that, but then turned his attention to the room. It was the only one that had a door he could actually open, so there must be something important here.

But as he surveyed the room, he became uneasy. He felt like he had stepped into a time warp—there he was back in the living room of his first apartment. All the familiar furniture was there: the sofa set, coffee table, end tables, television, curtains, piano, and bookcase. They were all there, no different than at least two decades ago, but they were spread out throughout the large space, no where near where they were before.

Harry stepped farther into the room still in disbelief. He ran his hand over the couch set his parents had gotten for him—a house-warming gift, his mother insisted. He didn't know how much it had cost, but he knew that his parents couldn't have afforded it. Or if they could, it was the last bit of free money they had. But they simply smiled as his father helped him move in—they never asked for the money in return.

But why? Why was it here? The thing that bothered Harry most was the disarray of the furniture, as if it had been haphazardly placed in the room only moments before he stepped in. But the piano caught his eye. Actually, it was the sheet music propped above the keys, like it was the only thing the mysterious mover had taken the care to ensure stayed in its correct spot.

He maneuvered through the maze of furniture and hovered over the piano for a moment. The first page of Moonlight Sonata had been torn from some book, judging from the ragged right side of the sheet music. It was a song he was familiar with, and the first few measures were the easiest of the song.

Harry then noticed something scratched in the seat. He leaned close and read it aloud.

"The tune of the moon will release the key to salvation."

It was much less cryptic than he was used to, but it was still a riddle nonetheless. Harry obeyed—he sat down glanced at the sheet music once, placed his fingers on the keys and began. He ended the tune where the sheet music ended and waited for something to happen.

A small panel, a secret panel that he wasn't even sure was on his piano, cracked open. Harry wedged his fingers in the crack and pulled it open all the way. A small pyramid sat in the recess. Harry immediately recognized it from long ago.

"The Flauros?" he said as he pulled it out of its hiding place. He remembered receiving the strange object from Dahlia Gillespie. It helped him to break the through the nightmarish environment Alessa had created, but plunged him into the distorted world dubbed 'Nowhere'.

He didn't know who or what had put this here or even if the evil powers that be knew that it was here. Regardless, it was here now and he hoped that it would prove to be useful in the inevitable battle ahead.

Before he could ponder over it more, Harry heard something heavy hit the floor. Like a body, he immediately thought. Harry brushed the pessimistic thought away, but he knew that something was wrong. He slipped the Flauros in his jacket pocket then stepped back out into the hallway.

"Cybil? Douglas?" he called once back down the hallway towards the rally point, but silence was the only response. Harry suddenly became aware that he was holding his breath, waiting for something. He let it out carefully, made sure his gun was fully loaded, then slowly walked back to the rally point and in the direction he thought he heard the noise.

Harry picked up speed, unable to shake the feeling that something bad was happening. He rounded the corner fast and ran right into Douglas.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, more embarrassed than anything else.

"You heard it too then—the crash."

Harry nodded, then asked, "Where's Cybil?"

Without hesitation, Harry and Douglas sneaked down the hallway Cybil had taken. Several doors lined either side of the hallway—Harry took the left side and Douglas took the right side, testing each door.

"Cybil?" Harry called again. Still no answer. Douglas called out as well, but the result was still the same. They suddenly heard movement and a sob from down the hallway.

Harry broke out into a full sprint and drew his gun. "Cybil!" he desperately called.

God, please let her be all right.

Another sob. Harry turned the corner and located the door that the sobs escaped from. He kicked in the door, covered by Douglas. He scanned the room and found Cybil.

She sat against the wall, her head lowered between her legs. Alone.

"Cybil?" Harry said and ran over to her. He kneeled next to her and when she looked up, he knew she had been crying. Something had happened—he had never seen Cybil like this.

He expected her to immediately tell him what happened. But she said nothing—she simply fell into his arms and began to cry.

Harry simply held her tightly as sobs racked her body. He waited until they had subsided before asking, "What happened?"

Cybil hesitated, unsure of how to retell what happened. But once she started, the words spilled out, "They killed him. They killed my son. Harry, they killed him just to get to me."

Harry had unconsciously taken her hand in a gesture of sympathy and comfort.

"It was my fault. I thought everything was over, I didn't know that I was still a pawn of evil. They killed him and now they're after Christine and Heather."

She paused, waiting for Henry to say something but he simply urged her to go on with an understanding nod.

Cybil kept her eyes fixated on the spot where Sean had fallen only minutes ago. "I thought it was over—even when I came here, I thought we were safe, that nothing could touch us. But I was wrong—they took Sean, they turned him into a monster and I—I shot him."

Cybil sucked in a breath, but it turned into a sob. "He was all I had—I don't know what to do without him. And I—the evil was inside me, Harry. All that time, watching and waiting. It used me—it made me try to kill Christine," her voice had grown unsteady and thin, but she continued. "I can't go on, Harry—I just can't." Her head fell and hot tears streamed down her face.

Harry took her and held her close, remembering his own pain when he thought Cheryl was gone forever. He understood too well how she felt, but unlike him, she wouldn't get a second chance to raise a child.

When Harry finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Cybil, we need you, now more than ever. It's going to be hard, and we're bound to lose more before all this is over. I wish there was something else I could say to ease the pain, but nothing in this world can help you with that."

Cybil had stopped shaking and simply lay in his arms. It was a comfort just to be there, knowing that someone was there for her when she had no one else. Reluctant to pull back, she forced herself away but turned to Harry. Her icy eyes, still wet with tears, bore into Harry's own dark eyes.

"Harry, I don't know what to do. All I had was Sean. And now he's—"

Harry's hand moved to the side of Cybil's face and lingered there. "You can't give up. It's hard—you feel like there's nothing left in this world, like a large hole was carved right here," he placed her hand over his heart. "But that feeling, turn it into determination. Fight for him because he can't fight for himself."

Cybil felt the warmth of his hand against her soft skin. She had forgotten the touch of someone outside her family that truly cared for her.

"Nothing we could have done would change what's happened here. This is bigger than any of us. But as long as we're here and we believe in each other, the evil can't win. Cybil, we trust you—I trust you. No matter what this place does, I know the real you and nothing will change that."

Sean still lingered at the forefront of her mind, but Harry's words had somehow soothed her pain.

"Thank you, Harry," Cybil replied sincerely. She had to be strong, in memory of Sean and for those around her. She moved her hand to the top of Harry's hand, thankful that she had someone like him to rely on.

"What happened here?" Douglas asked from across the room. He saw the dent in the wall from where Pyramid head had mercilessly thrown her.

Cybil stood with Harry's assistance. She lingered in his arms for only a moment more before pulling away, slightly embarrassed. "My evil self and some strange creature were here," she suddenly turned to Harry. "They said they were after Heather."

"Where did they go?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, but she came out of the mirror, maybe—" Cybil walked to the mirror and inspected the exact spot where the pseudo-Cybil had appeared. She hadn't noticed it before, but the large mirror was paneled—it was made of several smaller, rectangle mirrors about the size of a normal door. The panel that Cybil now stood in front of wobbled as if there was a hollow space behind it, unlike the rest of the mirrors which were affixed to the wall.

Cybil stepped back and drew her gun.

"What are you doing?" Douglas asked, quite surprised at the sudden shift in mood.

"Trust me now. Aim and on my mark, fire."

Harry stood to Cybil's right and Douglas stood on the left, all three aimed at the panel Cybil had pointed at. She waited—waited patiently—only a few more seconds—

"Fire!" she commanded.

Notes:

Fans of Resident Evil should immediately recognize the Moonlight Sonata puzzle.

The scene above ties into Heather's situation in Silent Hill: Lost Souls—Discovery.

CrazyB1tch85: I love reading your reviews! I just thought I would get that out the way. Trey is going to get much braver—check out the next chapter of Silent Hill: Lost Souls when it's posted. To me, he has some of the best lines yet in the story. If I was a girl, I'd love him too! You aren't the only one to be slightly disappointed by the end to The Butcher. Check out my response to Shortey below for my thoughts on it. And yes, the coin bit was done more out of convenience. I originally planned the adults meeting the teens in the house. I had written completely different scenes, but then I decided to go another way. But since Cybil already had one of the coins that they needed, I figured I needed a way to get it to them without having them meet. The result—the coin falling into their hands. The adults were in the attic, while the teens were on the first floor with the second floor in between them, so it is very possible that they didn't hear any of the ruckus above. I have given Henry a little more character than he had in Silent Hill 4, which seems to be turning out for the best. I was (I already graduated) a Behavioral Science (psychology) major myself (which is why Michael McNeal is one too!) and we studied about the debate in class. The books Henry and Tina found were definitely custom made, courtesy of Silent Hill. This chapter probably confirms your suspicions on Sara's sister. I'm sure you figured that it was Christine. Thanks for continuing to stay with the story and your wonderful reviews.

Rodarian: A lot of the situations in the stories just come to me as I'm writing. It's just one of the few benefits to having a wild and overactive imagination. I'm sure that you already figured that Christine was Sara's sister. Tell me what you think of their reunion. Check out the next chapter of Silent Hill: Lost Souls. You'll finally get to see the reunion everyone's been waiting for!

Shortey: I appreciate the review—you're keeping me honest. The end to the adults vs. The Butcher did indeed end too fast. I'll explain it real quick then let me know what you think. I originally intended for Douglas to get killed during this battle, which is why he ended up alone against The Butcher. But he's a great character, and Heather still hadn't seen him since the Amusement Park, so I scratched that idea. I was going to have all three fight him at the same time, but I hadn't really given any focus to Douglas, so that's also why he ended up alone. I also realized that it had been a while since I posted—I was going through a serious case of writer's block. So I ended it simply and quick. I really didn't intend for an anti-climactic battle though. I am considering rewriting the end to that battle, making it a little more dynamic—what do you think? As far as romance goes, I think there might be a little budding between Christine and Trey—I have actually considered a little romance between Tina and Harry, but they do have quite an age difference (40's and 20's). Maybe Harry and Cybil? Hey, thanks for the review and I appreciate the constructive criticism—it only makes the story better!