Time's Speed Limit, Chapter Five

(The Road to Nowhere)

            I had to rub my eyes, literally.  I didn't remember actually arriving at Silent Hill.  Yet here I was, out of my car, approaching the station.

            There were no other cars, and it was completely quiet.  "Silent Hill, it is."  I said aloud, and scared myself.  I thought I was going to faint.  I bent over, took a deep breath, and told myself to hold on…and eventually, the wash of nausea and grayness surrounding my field of vision passed.  I stood tentatively on what felt like very loose ground, and approached the Welcome Station.  Maybe they'd have a little something for their guests; something nice for their guests, I amended mentally.  This vacation wasn't turning out very well.

            I entered the lobby area and was greeted by a simple, friendly face of a little old man behind a tall counter.  He looked like the type who probably forgot to put his pants on this morning.

            "Welcome to Silent Hill, Miss.  Would you care for a complimentary glass of juice?"

            I laughed.  A sense of unreality washed over me.  I thought I might be going insane for real this time.  Then I decided I didn't care.

            "Miss?"  His face showed concern.  I sobered up a little.

            "I apologize, sir.  I will pass on your offer for some juice.  How about a bullet?"  I started laughing again, and I reached for my gun.

            "Excuse me, Miss?"  His sweet, tired face looked concerned.  I pulled out my trusty steel and aimed at his head.  I fired once.  Twice.

            I awoke with a start in my hotel room, now completely disoriented and feeling one of the worst hangovers I've ever had.  I reached for my cigarettes on the end table and realized I'd given up smoking 4 years ago.

            Just what was happening to me?  Was I really losing my mind?  I looked around for a minute, trying to get a hold on reality and the waking world.  I recognized this hotel room as the sub-standard place that AAA rated four stars, but considering I was accustomed to The Carlisle for $25,000 for a three-night stay, I guess it could have been worse.

            I was actually only about 100 miles away from Toluca Lake, and judging by the speed at which I drove, I would wind up there in about an hour.

            I turned toward the nearby chair just to my right, and felt as though my skull might crack in half.  I promptly vomited, most of it landing on the floor, some on me, and some splashing onto the end table.  It was black and slippery, and tasted like rotten meat.  I looked again, and though there was probably some blood it, it was mostly pink and looked like chunks of ham.

            I wiped myself off and hopped in the shower.  That was a bad hangover…even though I didn't remember drinking the night before.  Now that wasn't too unusual lately.  I'd become quite the alcoholic.  Yet another reason for this permanent vacation—I needed to dry out and I knew it.

            I started to feel better and forgot about my dreams.  I checked out leaving that lovely mess and a hundred dollar tip to cover the clean up (and maybe even make it up to the maid), and rolled out for Toluca Lake.

            I arrived.  The Welcome Station was closed.  I suddenly recalled both of my dreams, and sighed.  Fuck precognition, I sure as hell didn't seem to have it.

            I passed it and headed on Nathan Avenue to Toluca Lake.  I looked around.  No dead children, no other cars, nothing.  I was completely alone.

            I consulted the clock on my dashboard.  It was blinking.

            BLINKING.

            I pulled over and consulted my watch.  My watch had stopped.  Suddenly, my car died.  My car, which cost as much as my penthouse…DIED.

            I got out of the car and looked toward the lake…a dense fog was rolling in quickly.  I got back in the car and tried to start it.  Nothing, no electric sound, no turnover whatsoever.  I tried to access OnStar.  Nothing.

            I realized I wasn't dreaming.  I wasn't going to wake up this time.

            I got out of the car and started to run down Nathan Avenue…I was very athletic, I had my gun, and the hotel wasn't that far away (3 miles according to my final consultation on my map).  I would hurry there, check in, and get my car towed.

            A thought sprang up, like a little cheerleader who wasn't getting her way, "Delia…have you seen ANYONE yet?"

            I stopped in my tracks, but refused to turn.  The fog was suddenly all around me and I could barely see three feet in front of myself.  If I turned, I'd undoubtedly get lost.  Fogs don't just roll in like this in NYC.

            Well, hell…now what was I going to do?  I wouldn't be able to see my car, and I didn't have a flashlight on me, I left my map behind.  It was just me and my weapon…as if there were anyone around to pose a threat.

            Not yet, right?

            Now I really scared myself.  I decided just to keep going down Nathan Avenue.  I'd come to the Ferry/Boat launch soon enough.  There would be somebody there to take me to the Lakeview Hotel.  I remembered from studying the map that it was just before the Silent Hill Historical Society.  The fog was thick, but it wasn't so thick that I couldn't see the buildings.

            I ran by a sign reading, "Rosewater Park," and knew I was headed in the right direction per my map.

            I slowed to a fast walk.  It wasn't as if anything was chasing me.  I told myself to grow up and get moving.