Prologue

This was not a good day to be me.

Oh, everything started out normal. In fact, everything was all peachy-keen. Nothing happened- as usual. But then, we got this call from the Daisy Villa Apartments. The old lady on the phone said that she had heard gunfire on the roof one night, and was frightened. The woman was about eighty-five, and in truth, nobody really believed her. However, we did send a uniform over... about two days later.

Which is about when the shit hit the proverbial fan.

He had found some pretty liberal blood splatters, and called us immediately.

We got there fast, and the CSU people started taking their samples.

"Captain Baker!" called one of the uniforms.

"The CSU guys want ya'."

I walked over to the group of blue-coat-clad techs. They were hunched over one of the larger smears. They didn't even seem aware of my presence.

Slightly offended, I barked. "Well?"

They jumped as a unit- and a woman stood up. She regarded me cooly. "Captain Baker?"

"Yeah, uhm..."

"Doctor Lynch."

I nodded. "You wanted to see me, Doctor Lynch?"

She blinked. "Yes. Look at this." She motioned to the smear.

"Yeah? So, what? It's a blood smear. Seen one, seen em' all."

"But, look at it. Doesn't it seem strange to you?" She asked. She looked at me like I was a retarded four-year-old.

I gave her a look. "It's blood."

"No." She stressed. "It's not just blood."

I was quickly tiring of the runaround. "Then stop diddy-bopping around your point- and make it!"

"The blood's black."

"What the hell kinda joke are you-"

"Captain!" Yelled a uniform.

"What!" I bellowed.

"You gotta see this!" He standing on the fire escape, and pointing down.

I walked over to the uniform, and looked to where he was pointing.

I found myself looking into a bedroom. Inside, a young blond woman, and an elderly man were standing somberly over a bed. They both looked like they went a couple rounds with a wolverine... and lost.

"Okay, they look like shit, but what is it I'm supposed to see?"

"A call just came in from that apartment. A girl called, saying that her father was dead."

Apparently, this was a mentally slow day for me, because all I could say was: "He looks okay to me." And I nodded to the old guy. "Wrong apartment."

"No, sir! I think her father's the guy on the bed!"

I sighed. Looking closer, I noticed that there was indeed something under the crisp, white sheets.

Something person shaped.

Something person shaped with dark stains over most of the torso.

"Hell." I muttered. "Let's go.

&&&&&&&&

At the Police Station...

After commandeering the girl, her elderly pal, and the poor, dead loser in that bedroom- the really weird shit began.

The body was identified as Harry Mason, an author of horror novels- ones that I've read, in fact. He'd been pretty good too. All that stuff about ghost towns and demonic cults were pretty creepy. The guy was- had been- pretty talented.

The girl had been identified as Cheryl Mason; Harry's second adopted daughter. She was seventeen. The first had... what the hell had happened to that one? Whatever had went on- he had named this daughter after his first Cheryl. Odd, but not terribly so.

The old guy was Douglas Cartland. A private investigator. The two of them had been pretty banged up when we found them, but he had looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer and just pounded the shit out of him. Although, he said that aside from a few broken ribs, the wounds were mostly superficial. So, wonderful people that we are, we didn't exactly give a second thought to keeping a banged-up old guy at a police station for hours.

Harry Mason, according to the medical examiner, had died from severe internal bleeding. But, I had seen the body. Somebody had eviscerated the bastard. His insides had been very much on the outside. A bad way to go.

The two of them were the prime suspects for awhile, but not long. However, the security cameras quickly exonerated the two of them. They hadn't been in the building when Mr. Mason had died.

But I'd bet my badge that they knew what had happened.

I decided to talk to Cheryl Mason myself. So, I entered my office, where I had left her.

She sat in my armchair. She took delicate sips from a can of fruit juice, and winced each time.

Now that I had a minute, I took a good look at the kid.

She was loaded with cuts and bruises on every exposed region of her body. Her clothes were ripped and spattered with blood. I noticed that she winced because her lip was split, and a violent purple bruise was forming around it. It looked painful.

I smiled. "Hello, Ms. Mason."

She gave me a feeble, exhausted grin in return. "Captain Baker."

"How are you?"

"Good, I suppose. All things considered. How's Douglas doing?" She was clearly worried about him.

"Mr. Cartland left. He said to tell you to call him. In fact, he gave me a note to give to you." I handed it to her, and she smiled gratefully at me.

She scanned the note, and smiled- obviously relieved. I heard her murmur, "Thank God."

"Ms. Mason."

She looked up at me. "Yes?"

"I was wondering... what happened the night your father... passed away." I prodded gently.

She dropped eye contact. She didn't say anything.

I went as quiet as possible. She knew something, all right. She may not have done it, but she knew what the fuck was going on...

"It's okay, you can tell me." I urged

"You won't believe me." she whispered.

I smiled. "You don't know until you try."

She gave me sad eyes. "It's insane, you'll think I'm insane."

She went quiet.

"Come on, honey. It's okay."

She looked at me, and sighed. "Fine. It all started when I fell asleep at the mall..."

: AUTHOR'S NOTES : Since Literary Alchemist pointed out to me that this might come across as canon rape, (Thanks for letting me know about that! ;D ) Heather's telling this story AFTER she and Douglas returned from the Silent Hill 3 escapades!

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