Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill 2 or its characters. Or anything else from SH that I may mention.

Author's Note: Posting up the next part. It's been ready for a long while, after all.

- - - - - - - -

C H A P T E R - F O U R

James was one of two people who still came to group after more than a year. The other person, surprisingly, outdid his five years by adding another two. Her name was Brenda, and she was one of the few people he felt he could speak to privately, though he only did so once in a while. He didn't socialize with her outside of group, just like he didn't make intimate friends with any of the others. And it bothered him that Kate was trying to rectify that.

The group leader, Paul, an older man of about fifty, took his seat at the head of the room as usual. Most of the others did likewise, pulling the old metal folding chairs into a ragged circle. Brenda sat amongst them. James and a few others took posts elsewhere. James sat on a table in the back of the room. A dreary-looking couple, new to the group, as James didn't recognize them, huddled together by the only window. A young man in his late teens reclined on the floor by the table.

Kate was the last to arrive with an apologetic smile to Paul at her lateness. Her smile brightened when she saw James and she immediately hopped up next to him on the table. He felt a bit uncomfortable, but didn't show it.

Paul leaned forward in his chair. "Welcome back, everyone." He looked around the circle, and glanced up at the people on the perimeter of the room. "Rob?" he said to the boy sitting on the floor, "are you comfortable there?"

"Yeah," replied the young man, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

"Alright." Paul gestured out to the room. "Would anyone like to start?"

The woman with her husband by the window spoke up immediately. "I… I, uh…" She looked to her spouse, but he stared out the window. She swallowed. "I'm Tracey. This is my husband, Carl." She smiled with appreciation at the chorus of hellos, and went on. "We're here because… um… a couple months ago our daughter… she… she, ah…"

Brenda nodded, but didn't smile. "It's okay."

Tracey swallowed again. "Our daughter, Melissa, killed herself a couple months ago. We didn't see it coming. She seemed so happy."

Carl spoke up then. His voice was brusque. "It's always the ones you never expect," he said bitterly. "The one's who do it for attention give you signs."

Tracey put a hand on his arm to stop him, but she nodded. "She wasn't as happy as we thought, I guess." Predictably, the tears began. "I always wonder what I did wrong!" she choked out before bursting into sobs.

Paul nodded sagely. After all, he had heard stories like this many times. "It is a painful thing to lose a loved one," he said softly. "That is why we are all here. Eventually you'll see that it was nothing you did to make Melissa take her own life. We all have to move on."

"How can you say that?" Tracey suddenly spat. Her expression went from grief to anger. "How can I just forget about my little girl! I failed her!" She gasped for air in between the tears. "I was supposed to protect her!"

"Falling into depression won't bring her back," James suddenly spoke up. He remained apathetic under Tracey's enraged stare. "I know you wanted to protect her, but you couldn't. It's too late now. There's nothing else you can do for her."

Tracey gaped at him. Then her mouth clamped shut and she wiped at her tears. "What do you know!" she snapped bitterly. In the next moment she froze and her expression returned to sorrow. She turned away from the group and hid in her husband's arms. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely. "I'm being selfish."

Paul, always calm and understanding, said, "It's alright. Being angry is a natural thing. We all know you're upset. I will warn you that sometimes people here- people who've been here longer than you- will say things that will make you upset. But we are all trying to help."

"I'm still sorry," Tracey said, twisting in Carl's arms so that he embraced her from behind. She tried to smile at James despite her red, wet face. "It was ridiculous of me. Of course you all know how I feel."

Paul nodded. "Is there anything further you'd like to say?"

Tracey shook her head. Carl did the same, though he shot James a glare.

"Alright then." The group coordinator looked around the room, and his gaze fell upon Kate. "Kate, you haven't talked in a while. How have things been with Emily?"

The woman besides James shifted uneasily. "I.. uh… Well…" She glanced over at Tracey and Carl. "Well, my husband died about a year ago," she began for their benefit. "I was afraid Emily wouldn't be able to handle it and reject me or something." She laughed weakly. "But she's doing better than I am, I think, though she and I don't talk as much as we used to."

"Then how do you know she's dealing with it well?" someone asked.

Kate smiled at James. "She's told me that Laura helps her a lot, and I hear her talking with her sometimes. Laura is James' daughter." The last part was, again, to keep the new couple up to speed. "Laura just seems to always know what to say. And I think she keeps her from doing anything… destructive."

Tracey commented, "Well, I suppose they have the death of a loved one in common. They can support each other."

"Not exactly," Kate replied. "James' wife wasn't Laura's mother. Laura is adopted." She rubbed James' arm appreciatively. "You're raising her so well. She's helped Emily out so much."

"Well, Laura did know Mary," James pointed out. "Mary was planning on adopting her if she ever got better." He coughed. He didn't like talking much to the group. "But, ah, she didn't know my wife for too long, so I don't think she was as affected by her loss."

"You still adopted her?" Tracey smiled. "That's so sweet."

Paul brought the conversation back to Kate. "Though Emily should confide in a friend," he said, "you must be sure that she still trusts you with her feelings over her father's death."

Kate nodded emphatically. "I know. I've been setting aside time for us to talk or just spend time together. But, like I said," she smiled softly, "I think it's helping me more than it's helping her." She rubbed her arm. "Well, that's all I really have to say."

Paul nodded, then glanced around the room. His gaze fell again to the back, down by the floor. "Rob?" he raised his voice to be sure the boy heard him. "How have you been? Have you talked to your father lately?"

Rob looked up, then averted his eyes. "Yeah, I talked to him."

"And?"

"He's the same damn bastard."

"It was not a good conversation."

"Ha!" Rob smiled sardonically. "That shit about tragedy bringing people together is such b.s." He shook his head. "I don't know why I thought he would care more about Mom once she was dead, much less me."

"Your father is all you have, Rob," a person spoke up. "Now is a better time than any to try to make amends."

"He should be amending! Not me!" Rob snapped. "I didn't abandon us 'cause I couldn't hack it! Jesus. Fucking prick."

"Yeah," a woman agreed. "You know, he can't expect his father to change." She looked to Paul. "Instead of trying to reunite with people there's no hope for," she asked, "couldn't he just be more sociable? Join an art club or something?"

"Yes, that could help," Paul said. "But when we do something like that after losing someone, we have to be careful we don't cling too much to new friends. We become dependent on them, and the whole point of this group is lost." He looked at Rob. "Is there anything you're interested in?" he asked.

Rob shrugged. "I dunno," he muttered. "I don't feel like doing anything."

"Which is precisely why you should do something."

The young man sighed. "I guess… I could start a band… or something." He looked away. "I'm done."

The session continued for another hour or so, then Paul declared that it was time to leave. He set his post by the doorway, saying goodbye and well-wishes to each person, and telling them that they were perfectly welcome to the next session the following week.

Outside, Kate latched herself onto James' arm. "Would you mind walking me to my car?"

"Sure."

Kate worked at a diner near the community center. She often hurried over on foot after her shift had ended. And she often asked James to escort her back.

"You haven't talked much in group lately," she commented. She kept their arms linked as they walked down the street.

James shrugged. "I haven't had much to say."

"I suppose not. You've been going for a long time. I'm surprised you still go." She laughed. "Actually, I'm not," she amended, and her voice dropped to near-whisper. "Sometimes I think I'll never be able to forget him."

"You shouldn't forget him," James replied. He was unable to hide the stiffness in his voice, and she noticed.

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" she exclaimed, glancing up at him apologetically. "I mean, I won't be able to move on. I don't want to forget him. It's just the expression people use, you know?"

"Hn." James' eyes kept straight ahead, only flickering once to the left and to the right as they crossed a street.

She cuddled to his side and said, "I could never forget him." A pause. "And you'll never forget Mary."

"No." A beat. "Never."

"Maybe…" They made it to the lot. Kate's car was parked a few spots over from the entrance. The light from the diner flooded over them, shining on her hair and revealing the hope in her face as she continued. "Maybe we could help each other."

"Good night, Kate," James said, abruptly turning away.

"James, wait."

He turned around and she was standing right there. Before his mind could even entertain the thought that maybe he should kiss her, maybe he could move on like he promised Mary he would, Kate cupped his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his. It lasted only a moment before she withdrew. She looked into his eyes and smiled abashedly. "I'm usually not this forward," she said, "but since you obviously aren't going to make a move…"

"Kate--"

"Come to my house tomorrow night. I'll make you dinner."

He hesitated and glanced away. Her hands were still on his face. "I don't know."

"Please, James?" She tilted her head so she could regain eye contact. She succeeded. "We have to try to move on. Like Paul said, right?"

Like Paul said. Like Mary said. Like he said. "… Alright."

She looked so happy. She kissed him on the cheek before trotting to her car. She got in, started the engine, and drove away, offering a wave as she passed him.

All he could think of was Mary.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

James knew he had a visitor before he stepped into the house. The old beat pick-up parked along the curb was a truck he remembered from before he and Mary were even married. As he closed the front door, he went straight to the living room where he heard two voices.

"He's tooooo cute!" Laura happened to squeal as soon as James pushed through the swinging door. She held a calico cat tightly in her arms, and it nuzzled her shirt affectionately.

"I knew you'd like him," Frank Sunderland chuckled as he ruffled her hair. He sat in the armchair across from the television.

Laura frowned at the gesture, smoothing out the blonde strands with one hand while clutching the cat with the other, then grinned when she looked up at James. "Grandpa Frank got me a cat!" she exclaimed.

"Well, obviously," James replied. He sighed at his father. "Do you really think she can take care of a pet?"

"Hey!" Laura snapped. "I'm responsible."

James snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Now, now," Frank spoke up. "Laura is thirteen now. It's about time she learned some responsibility." He pointed to an assortment of things he'd set by the chair. "I've brought you everything you need anyway. Carrier, litter box and litter, food and bowls, and some toys."

"You didn't have to buy all this, Pop."

Frank laughed again. "This gift didn't cost me a penny. Some tenants moved out into a place that doesn't allow pets, so I told them I'd give Blotch a good home."

"Blotch?" Laura repeated.

Frank pointed to the dark areas of the cat's otherwise white and orange fur. "Yeah, he looks blotchy, you see?"

"I guess," Laura replied, setting Blotch down since he'd started to squirm. The bell on his collar jingled as he scratched behind his ear with his foot. Laura smiled. "Thanks, Grandpa."

"You're the one who's going to be cleaning that litter box, you know," James made a point of saying.

"Yeah, yeah."

Blotch looked up at James, as if just realizing he was there. He padded over the short distance and mewed, tapping at James' leg with a paw.

"What?" James asked, laughing.

"He wants you to pick him up, stupid," Laura replied.

"Hey, don't talk to your father that way," Frank said sternly before returning his attention to the cat.

Laura rolled her eyes at James. The corner of his mouth quirked up when he remembered the day her adoption had been finalized. She had told him straight out that she would never call him 'Dad.'

James gave in to Blotch's demand and picked him up. Blotch purred when James scratched him behind the ears. "Is he de-clawed?" he asked his father.

Frank nodded. "Only the front paws, though." He raised a brow at his son. "Where were you anyway?"

"At group," James said, looking down at the content feline in his arms.

"You still go to that, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Did you make kissy-faces with Ms. Brewett?" Laura spoke up, half-teasingly.

"Laura!" James glared at her.

"Who's Ms. Brewett?" Frank asked with a half-grin.

"No one," James muttered.

"She's my friend Emily's mom," Laura answered. "She goes to group too, 'cause she lost her husband in a car accident last year." She gestured to James. "She liiiikes him. A lot."

"Is she nice?" Frank prodded.

"Pop! Please!" James grumbled. He set Blotch down on the floor; the cat trotted back over to Laura and wound around her legs.

"I'm only asking," Frank chuckled.

"Laura, go set up the litter box somewhere," James said.

"Where?"

"I dunno. The basement, I guess. By the washer and dryer."

"Alright." Laura gathered the box, litter, liners, and scooper and disappeared through a door in the hallway. The cat followed her to the door, but remained behind, staring curiously down the stairs.

"So," Frank continued over Laura's descending footfalls, "what's her name?"

James sat on the couch by the armchair. "Her name is Kate, and it's nothing."

"Nothing, eh?" Frank replied, giving James a scrutinizing stare.

James squirmed after a few moments and then gave in. "She's making me dinner tomorrow, but after that I'm telling her I'm not interested," he insisted.

"She's pushy, huh?" He scratched his leg through faded jeans. "You'll probably have a hard time turning her down."

"No, I won't."

"Are you sure you want to turn her down?"

"Pop!" James scowled. "I'm just not interested in dating again. Ever."

"You're still young, you know."

"You know, Pop, that I…" James swallowed hard and looked over at the blank television set. "You know that I'm never going to really get over Mary."

"I know," his father said. "You were always crazy about her."

"How're the Heights?" James asked abruptly, wishing for a change in subject.

Frank frowned but obliged him. "Nothing special going on."

James chuckled, suddenly remembering. "No strange children? Or men carrying tools?"

"That man was real, dammit," Frank replied somewhat abrasively. "And, no, I haven't heard Braintree hollering at some poor kid."

"That guy's a psycho," James said.

"Well, he pays his rent."

"Seriously, you oughta kick him out. Don't you remember what happened to what's-his-face? Mike?"

"Of course I remember, but can't do anything about it. Mike wouldn't come forward. Besides, that was so long ago. Nothing that bad has happened since then."

"Psycho," James reiterated.

"Speaking of that kid," Frank said. "Did I tell you that I got a new tenant for 302 a while ago? A journalist."

"Yeah? Did you tell him about what happened in there?"

"What's the use in telling that story? That bizarre story…"

James raised a brow. "If it weirds you out so much, I'd think you'd get rid of that... cord."

Frank fidgeted. "I've thought about it, but I just can't bring myself."

"Why not? Honestly, Pop, it's freaking weird."

"So you've always said." Frank thought for a moment. "I suppose it's a good reminder to myself how some people don't see worth in anything but themselves. And that's no way to be. You can't just throw away something so precious because it inconveniences you. Not all blessings make life perfect. So it just reminds me that I should be grateful for all the little inconveniences I have that make life worth living."

"Pop, it's an umbilical cord in a box."

"Well, when I die, you can happily throw it out."

"I will."

"Throw what out?" Laura said, reappearing from the basement. Blotch mewed once, and she picked him up.

"Nothing." Frank stood up and ruffled her hair. "I better get going. Can't leave those folks alone for too long without someone to bitch at."

James got up too and walked his father out the door. Laura followed, holding her new pet tightly so he wouldn't run off. James and Laura stood on the sidewalk as Frank climbed into his truck.

"Thanks again, Grandpa!" Laura chirped.

"You're welcome," Frank replied through the open window. He started the engine, but looked up again at James. "You think about giving that woman a chance, alright?"

"Pop!" James clapped a hand over his eyes.

"See you later." And Frank drove off.

Laura turned to James and smirked. "Guess I shouldn't have said anything."

James rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you feel real bad, you sadistic little brat."

She laughed and nuzzled Blotch's head, then trotted back into the house.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hours later, he had managed to get Laura to go to bed. Or at least in her room with the cat. And then he went to his own bedroom door, but instead of going inside, he reached up and pulled a string that hung from the ceiling. The hatch opened, and he pulled down the wooden ladder. He turned on the electric lantern and brought it up the steps to the attic.

He settled in one of the few empty spots in the cluttered space and set the light at his side. The sturdy wood hope chest was right where he always left it. Always waiting for him.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" James muttered. He flipped open the clasps on the front of the old trunk. It had been Mary's grandmother's, he remembered, and his wife had loved the old thing. That was why he preferred it to be out of sight. He pushed up the lid and began to look through the things inside.

He glanced at two old mystery books Mary had begged him to read. He never had. He wasn't much for reading, no matter how much she insisted that this Harry Mason guy was a brilliant writer. As James set the books aside, an old memory filtered in. Hadn't the author disappeared in recent years? After some shooting? Eh, it didn't matter.

He rummaged through the chest. There was an old crocheted blanket and an unfinished cross-stitch. A well-worn cookbook. Her favorite pink cardigan. And at the very bottom was the scrapbook, always the end to his oh-so-pleasant walk down memory lane.

James turned the page to see their wedding photos, and his eyes settled on one particular picture of him and Mary standing beside a lake. But…

He was gone. There was only Mary, dress glaring red from the blood seeping from her mouth, eyes wide and bright and staring accusingly while her hand reached for him.

Immediately, he gasped and fell back on his rear. He kicked the trunk away, and it hit the wall and the scrapbook fell off it with a BANG that made him jump. He sat there, breathing hard for a few moments, then dared to crawl forward and peer at the scrapbook.

James looked at the picture again. Just him and Mary, happy on their wedding day by a local lake that many newlyweds used for pleasant wedding photographs. He clapped a hand over his mouth and made wet, strangled noise. What was happening to him? First that delusion in the shower, and now this picture? Was he going crazy again? He moved his hand away from his mouth and closed the scrapbook. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes. He needed a drink, desperately.

He opened his eyes. He curled his hands into fists, then grabbed the book and threw it back into the bottom of the trunk. As he piled Mary's other articles on top of it, he berated himself.

No, you do not need a drink, goddammit. You've been sober for five years. You're not gonna give up now and become some drunken loser and disappoint Laura and make a mess of everything again. Mary. What would Mary think of that? She'd probably cry.

He closed the lid on the trunk and latched it shut. With a sigh, he rested his head on the chest.

("Go on with your life.")

How could she possibly have meant that?

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Mmmyup. There's Frank for ya, SaddenedSoul. I do believe he makes more appearances.

Please review if you liked it or not.