Time's Speed Limit
On the Road
I slipped into my Audi A8 (black, of course, and nothing but the best) and hit the road that morning, still a little disturbed by Howard's note being there. But that was Howard…he was always full of surprises. Ah, Howard…I wouldn't call him a confidant, mentor, or any such title, but the man could fuck and he always seemed to like me. Oh, who am I kidding? I liked Howard, a lot, even though sometimes I thought he was a bit of a sap. He was mysterious and downright disturbing, and that made him fun for me. A mystery…a challenge. The things that I really liked in a person. He made me, I owed him, and I knew it. So I did what he wanted, or what I thought he wanted. Sometimes, I thought it might even be a little bit of love…no…not really love…but something.
It's never been my style to show any depth, but, fuck, I'm a human being and something's gotta give every once in a while. I knew I probably wasn't anything but a pet of some sort to Howard, but it was attention, and for the most part, it was fun.
(Ia, ia, Cthulhu Fthagan.)
Huh? I snapped out of my Howard revelry to look at my radio.
"Buy-a, buy-a, new low prices again!" Said the announcer.
That's not what I heard. What the hell was that? Who threw Lou's fag-on? I must have been hearing things.
Static started building up through the speakers. Static? On a satellite channel? I sighed, put in a CD, and passed a highway sign:
SILENT HILL &
TOLUCA LAKE 2713
So, only 2713 more miles and I'd be truly on vacation. Whee.
Wait a minute…why in the world would there be a sign advertising a piece of shit little Podunk town over two thousand miles away? I backed the car up…this was too good. I had to get a picture of this shit.
Aiming the camera at the sign, the viewfinder happily pointed to the white on green letters:
SPRINGDALE
TESTING FACILITY 13
Huh?
I dropped the camera (like I give a shit, I'll just buy a new one, right?) and actually rubbed my eyes. I felt as if I were being watched by a small audience in a low-budget horror film. Maybe I just needed a mid-day nap and some lunch.
Picking up the camera and getting back in my car, I checked the odometer. Christ. I'd only gone 87 miles, and already I was suffering from highway hypnosis? Screw that. I stopped at a Java To Go place and got a heavy dose of caffeine. I planned on being on the road no longer than four days. Then, sweet bliss as I put my feet up at the…the…what the hell was the name of that resort? Lakeview. The Lakeview Hotel.
That was an easy enough name, so why couldn't I remember it? It's not as if it were a traumatic event to be blocked out of my memories (as if I believed in that psychological garbage).
I sped off, determined to go at least 700 miles a day. My personal assistant had arranged hotel accommodations for me at each interval. I wasn't about to lose my ambition this early in the game.
I'd gone nearly 60 miles on Highway 80…and I was starting to feel hungry. I stopped and checked my OnStar. There had to be a restaurant. Hell, I wasn't even out of New Jersey yet, barely made it to Pennsylvania. If I were going to freak out over nothing in the middle of civilization, I'd be screwed if I actually made it to the middle of nowhere and something else happened. So, as Howard would have instructed me to do, I sucked it up, shut-up, and put up my stuff.
OnStar responded immediately with directions and a rating on the nearest dive. Ha. Two stars. This was going to be really cute. I went, "dined" and left, taking a sufficient amount of antacid with me. This little pioneer trip was not going to be so bad, though, after all, I was getting a glimpse at what the average person lives with on a daily basis. That, at least, was fascinating, and, actually, kind of fun.
I made up my mind that fried chicken had to be the best food ever created. At least that was new. No more ennui for Delia Wallace, not when there's fried chicken around.
Day Two
Welcome to Prairie Corners. What kind of an asshole name is Prairie Corners, anyway? Ah, what a lovely little place in … oh, as if I can actually remember what state I'm in (aside from hypnotic) … I'm fairly sure that I was in Iowa at the time.
I pulled over to the side of the road, rolled down my windows, opened my sunroof, shut off the motor (with a full tank of gas—I'm not that stupid), and relaxed back in my bucket seat. Time enough for a little catnap; even as tense as I was, I was still pretty damn tired from traveling this way.
The road ahead was very straight, and very wide open, with nothing on either side but what appeared to be wheat (or maybe oats, I haven't a damn clue). No people anywhere. A lonely stretch of road (even though people insisted to me that 80 was very well traveled—that day, I hadn't seen a person or car for hours). While I was driving, I felt a lot like a moving target. The space—there was so much space, and I couldn't help but feel very tense. I'd never lived anywhere quite like this. Sure, the Estate was on a very large piece of land, but it certainly was within throwing distance of New York City. The majority of my life seemed to have been spent in Manhattan.
At the same time, I felt a sense of liberation. There were no meetings out here, no deadlines, no bear market, no bull market, and at least for me, no worries. I drifted into a light doze. So quiet, the only sounds
All of a sudden, I was thinking of Howard again. What was he doing, aside from working? Why in the hell was I obsessing over Howard? Howard, and his slim, tight body, his light brown hair, his wire-rimmed spectacles, his soft, thin lips that pooched out in a pout when he kissed, his teeth, small and white and sharp…
(Ia, ia, Cthulhu Fthagan, Dagon Drak.)
What?
I snapped awake. It sounded like my radio was on, even though I'd shut the car off before my little nap.
It wasn't on, though, just the little red flash to signal the auto anti-theft device. I was just having a drowsy dream. I closed my eyes and settled back. I didn't know who Dagon Drak was, but I was just a bit too tired to care what Uncle Lou Fagan wanted to do with him. Near as I could tell, that was what I'd heard.
I dreamt of Howard.
We were in a rowboat on still water, a thick fog surrounding us. I found it rather difficult to breathe.
"Whatever you do, D, don't put your hands in the water." He was rowing feverishly, aroused. I was nude.
"Where are we, Howard?"
"Toluca Lake. My son, he's here. You have to help me find my son."
I looked around—feverish, naked, bewildered. "What are you talking about?" I tried to scan the landscape, but the fog was too thick. I looked at Howard again. "What's going on?"
"Delia, kiss me." He had thrown the oars into the water and was reaching for me. He was covered in black slime and there were strange little suction cups on his hands.
"What's happening?" I kicked and tried to get away, and landed in the water. It was boiling hot. I knew for sure I was going to drown.
"Do you need assistance, Miss Wallace?" Howard was saying in a polite voice. "Miss Wallace, shall I call for an ambulance?"
I awoke with a start. The voice asking me those questions was certainly not Howard's voice, but my OnStar satellite operator.
"No! No thank you. I just pulled over, uh, for a little nap." I said into the speakerphone.
"Oh, well, that's good, Miss Wallace. Your hand hit the call button while you were sleeping."
"Oh."
"He told you not to put it in the water."
"Excuse me, Operator?"
"I said, 'please be sure to call us if you require assistance with any matter.'"
I shook my head. "I will. Thank you." I ended the call before she could reply, and sighed, trying to shake the fog of that dream, and suddenly recalling the dream about the trapeze, and the black slime.
I hated the X-Files; the one time I saw it, damn it. Why was I dreaming about this stupid shit in conjunction with Howard? And why was I obsessing over Howard Croft all of a sudden?
I closed up the car, flipped on the CD player, and got back on the road. I decided I was only going to stop when I got desperate to sleep. I wanted to get to Silent Hill. The answers were there. I wanted peace. I hoped it would be there, waiting for me.
I also wished Howard were with me, nightmares and all. My stomach flipped with that thought. I'm no sentimental fool, I didn't love Howard and I knew for sure he didn't love me, but there was the ache for him, just the same.
Fuck.
