Chapter Forty-Seven:
"Leaving Old Sorrows Behind"

I was somewhere. I didn't know where, or what or why or how, for that matter. All I did know was that I was again visited by that strange sensation of tumbling, only this time I felt none of the fear and regret that was present then. There was nothing, a momentary absence of all emotion and a complete release of will. It was a most peaceful sensation. There was also a distinct difference in another sense.

It was physical. I was moving, or shifting or teleporting, I don't know exactly, but when I looked down at myself, it wasn't a younger, cleaner James Sunderland, but the me I knew now. I looked beaten up and worn out, like someone who was thrown into a dozen battles, one after another, without taking a pause. Not that that was even slightly untrue. Yet, despite my very unsavory appearance, I felt good and I felt right. I felt like all of my weight was finally off of my shoulders, and that I could finally breathe again.

That wasn't so, though. I had survived a lot. I came to terms with some really terrifying truths. But something was missing, something was still left undone, and it didn't take much to figure out what it was. I mean, I did come to this town for a reason, after all. Nothing went as I had thought it might have, if I must understate, but for all I got out of the experience, none of it would really mean a thing unless I actually did see her again, because I knew she was still here. I knew a part of my wife, living or dead, had been here. It had always been here. It had never really left here. Whatever it was about Silent Hill that proved so magnetic for her must have worked both ways.

I reached into my pocket. I was surprised to find that it was much emptier than it was a few moments before. Only one object remained inside, and I took it out. It was the only thing I had brought with me to Silent Hill, well, the only real thing. I guess it was only fitting that it would be the only thing I take from Silent Hill.

I gazed upon her smiling face, just long enough for the image to imprint itself fully in my mind. Then, I slipped it back into my pocket and closed my eyes. I could only hope that I would see what I wanted to see when

I opened my eyes.

I was in a different place now, far away geographically but very close in memory, for it was my own house. Our house, but her room, specifically. The house's floorplan called it the spare bedroom, and ostensibly, it was intended to function as the sleeping quarters for hypothetical future child. Until then, Mary decided it would make a great crafts room for herself, something she had always desired but our old apartment never had the room for. There was perhaps no location on the planet Earth that was as iconic of my wife as this one. She was all over it, every last inch. She picked out a new color for the ceiling, new cream-colored wallpaper and a white Berber carpet. Her sewing machine sat upon a small table, and next to it was a desk holding hundreds of thread spools, needles, embroideries, and all manners of related instruments. Her little tape player sat on the window sill, softly playing a Carole King cassette. And the window, oh yeah. It was bright, basking with late morning sunshine. Sunshine! To finally see it again was like meeting an old friend after years.

Perhaps in a figurative way, it was a premonition, because there was one other object in this room, one that wasn't here in normal times. It was a small bed. A child's bed, really, and don't think the irony was lost on me when I brought it in here. No, it wasn't for a child, sadly. It was for her, so she wouldn't have to climb up the stairs to lie down if she had one of her many bouts of fatigue.

And there she was.

Mary lay flat across the bed, dressed in a drab set of pajamas. She looked just as she did in her last days. Her skin was covered in sores, and scars where old sores healed improperly. She was thin to the point of gauntness. Her hair was stringy and matted and her face was ravaged. But as I looked into those green eyes, those deep, verdant irises on pure white untouched by the chaos surrounding them, I knew right then and there that I would never gaze upon a woman as beautiful. Damn the disease and all the damage it caused, beneath it all was a brilliant beauty that no disease could ever tarnish. It was a truth, and it wasn't a new truth either. I felt a revelation just like that when I first met her. But I was a fool, because I took it for granted. If nothing else, Silent Hill cured me of that little folly.

I took the chair from her sewing desk and sat on it beside her bed, holding her hand in mine. It was so warm, but not in the feverish way it so often was. It was a nice warmth, a healthy warmth, as if the pocked skin really did conceal a person of model health beneath.

"James," she said. Just a simple, single word, but hearing it, hearing her voice, it was amazing.

"Oh, Mary," I said. "I'm here."

A smile lit her face, and it was in striking contrast to any smile Maria put forth. There was no sarcasm behind this smile. This one was genuine. "I know. I'm happy to see you."

"And I'm happy to see you, more than you can know," I said, and I hesitated, because even though I knew what I had to say, actually doing so still wasn't easy. "Mary… I'm… crap, I'm so sorry. I mean, I know that sorry isn't even a good start, but I…"

She put a finger to her lips, and I stopped. It wasn't as though I was making myself clear, but she didn't need it. "James, I know. I can see it all over you. You've been through hell, haven't you?"

I nodded. That was certainly true.

"I wanted to die. I told you that, remember? The pain was so bad, always so bad. I wanted the pain to go away, and that was the only way. It's not your fault."

"I know, honey. That's why I did it. I couldn't stand to stand by any longer and watch you suffer like that." But as soon as the words left my mouth

There you go again, Sunderland. Haven't you learned anything? Hasn't this experience left any impression on you? That's a lie. That's a damned lie you've been telling yourself from the beginning. It's the same self-serving bullshit that you believed so strongly that you nearly lost yourself in it.

they just didn't sound right at all, and how could I keep up this deception even now? I couldn't say it anymore. I had to speak the truth, the truth being that James Sunderland wasn't the man Mary thought he was, that her husband was a grade-A numero uno asshole who blinked when adversity stared him in the eye, who concerned himself with himself first and foremost.

"Mary, it wasn't like that. It wasn't because of you, it was because of me. I couldn't watch you suffer because it made me suffer. I couldn't stand what it was doing to me. Ever since it happened, everything just completely went to hell, and I had to give up everything just to make sure you were cared for. I had to give up my whole life and I hated you for it." Boy, was that bitter. Admitting it to myself was horrible, admitting it to Mary may have been the most painful thing I've ever had to do, but I had to do it. There would be no respite for my soul if I kept the truth to myself. It was necessary.

But it was also bitter. Very bitter.

I expected her to darken. I expected the smile to disappear. I didn't think she would get angry at me, though I wished she would. I wished she would fly off the handle and berate me for the jackass I was. She wouldn't, though. She would look disappointed, and that was even worse. The fact that she might not love me anymore was something I could not bear to hear. Even though I just told her I hated her, and for something completely beyond her ability to control, hearing the same in return was sure to break me, even though I deserved no better.

That was the thing about Mary, though. She was quiet, soft-spoken, difficult to notice in a crowd. I was the same way, really. Not long after I proposed to her, Nicky Sheperd remarked "I hope you two have kids, and I hope they're loud as hell, but until then, I'll have to keep close so that no one mistakes your house for a church." It was an exaggeration, of course, but the underlying point was a good one. Neither of us were really all that outgoing or excitable. Left to our own devices, both of us chose quiet activities. When in each other's company, however, we really blossomed. Yet, we even saw each other the way others saw us. Maybe that was part of what attracted us. In any case, we were often underestimated in such regards, and I was guilty of it myself.

This was one of those times, perhaps the best, most wonderful of them all, for Mary did not get angry, and she did not get upset or sulky, either, as I almost certainly would have. The smile never left her face, and her eyes never left mine. She was reading me again, and in that moment, she made it clear how strong her talents were. She was reading me, and the smile on her face told me she was reading something in me that even I didn't know.

"James," she said softly, "If that were true, you wouldn't look so sad right now." She squeezed my hand, and at that moment, I felt so much love for her that I wanted to cry. I really didn't deserve someone this wonderful. I don't think anyone did. She was right, too. The way I felt right now only vindicated her. Whatever I thought I felt in those days, whatever confusion scrambled my mind like so many eggs, it didn't faze her one bit. She knew. She always did.

She turned to her side and reached for something I couldn't see. When her hand reappeared, there was an envelope in it. It was cream-colored and oh so familiar. She held it out for me and I took it from her.

"There's something I want to tell you, something I hope you'll do for me," she said as I placed the envelope in my pocket.

"Anything."

"I want you to go on with your life."

A simple request, and one I fully intended to honor, for her sake as well as my own. There was so much I felt I wanted to say in response to that, but only one thing stood out, the most important of them all.

"I love you, Mary,"

I didn't care what I thought I thought at any point in history before this moment. Right now was all that mattered, and right now, there was no greater, more fundamental truth in the entire universe. "I'm sorry for everything, but I love you."

"I know you do," she said. "I love you too, James."

I stood, and leaned over her. Our other hands joined, and a second later, so did our lips.

Our last kiss was without a doubt the best one. The best one by far.

I was walking.

And then I stopped.

I was outside again.

When I saw the gate bars in front of me, I wondered for a moment if I was at the gate. You know, the one with St. Peter standing off to the left with his Big Book O' Life Deeds. If this was so, then Heaven needed a better budget, because the bars on this gate weren't golden, but steel, long rusted over. I wasn't afraid, because the gate was ajar. It wouldn't stop me. I stepped through.

The fog was gone, and because it was gone, I didn't recognize my surroundings right away. I saw a wall made of rough-hewn stone running ahead, past which I could see Toluca Lake in all its unshrouded splendor. A small building made of age-darkened wood stood nearby, and beyond it I could see a small pond with reeds and fronds poking up from the surface. It was the tombstones that made me remember the place. It was here among the sleeping dead that I met my first human being on this excursion, a slight waif of a girl who was busy searching for her mama. It was here that she warned me of the fantastic dangers awaiting me in Silent Hill, though she hadn't quite worded it that way. Despite my scare on the path earlier, I hadn't put much faith in her words at the time. I wondered what exactly became of poor Angela. There was a girl who had definitely received a lifetime's worth of the short end, and when she had finally struck back against her tormenter, it only drove her into deeper and darker places, from which she would never return. I didn't know that for a fact, but when I saw her march sullenly up those flaming stairs, I didn't get the notion that a return trip was in the plans for her.

I walked through the graveyard towards the other gate. Even with the absence of fog, there was a silence pervading the area. But no, that wasn't true. I could hear birds chirping in the midsummer afternoon. I could hear the breeze shuffle leaves and the buzzing of insects and even the faint hum of distant traffic on Nathan Avenue.

I was back in the world of real things.

Even as the knowledge made itself manifest, it was a well-bred danger sense that caused my heart to leap when I heard the sudden crunch of rocky earth behind me. Footsteps, and quick ones. There weren't monsters out here in the world of real things, there couldn't be. I spun around to see what it was, hoping that rationality had won the day for good and had a good hold on its territory.

It did. The footsteps were not those of some shambling horror from the depths of the Ninth Circle. I think that, even with the knowledge that I had returned to real things, seeing a straight-jacket or mannequin behind me may have been less of a surprise than what I did see.

It was Laura.

"James? Hey James, wait up!" she cried, and I did. She stopped a few feet in front of me, breathing deeply. "There you are!" she said after she caught her breath. "I was calling for you, but I thought you weren't listenin'."

Had she? I honestly didn't know. But…

"Why?" I asked. I genuinely did not know. The last time we were in the same room together was certain to be the last, I was certain. Even for an eight-year old kid, the most fickle of all creatures, "I hate you, murderer!" wasn't an opinion easily changed. Yet, there was no trace of hatred on her features now. There was no sense of fear, either. She wasn't afraid of me. Let me tell you, that was a nice feeling. Only a real monster could make a kid recoil the way she did in that hotel room. Hopefully, the display I was seeing now was a favorable indictment of my character.

"You saw her too, didn't ya?" she said. I nodded. I knew what she meant. I didn't need to ask further. She didn't need to be asked, though.

"I ran away from you in the hotel and I didn't know what to do, cause of what you told me. I was tryin' to find a way out and leave but I didn't know where. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital again, and she was there and we talked for a long, long time about everything." Here, she spread her arms wide for emphasis. "Lots of it was secret stuff, you know. Just for her and me. But the last thing she told me was that she saw you too, and then she told me about you."

"Laura," I said, "I'm sorry. About everything."

"I know. That's exactly what she told me."

I didn't know what to say to that. So, I said nothing.

She pointed at my pocket.

"Huh? What…"

"There's something poking out. I think it's her's." she said. I dipped into the pocket and sure enough…

It was a rather fancy envelope, and small, much like the kind Mary and I used to mail our wedding invitations. It was creamy-white and embossed with floral designs. I turned the envelope over in my hand and looked at the front.

"Mary."

My wife's name.

I opened it, and there was a letter inside, just like before. This one was quite a bit thicker, though. I unfolded it, and Laura stood rapt at attention as I read it, out loud.

In my restless dreams, I see that town, Silent Hill. You promised you'd take me there again someday, but you never did. Well, I'm alone there now, in our special place, waiting for you.

That was the first page. It was quite familiar, matching verbatim the letter that had brought me here to begin with. I turned to the next page and kept reading:

Waiting for you to come and see me. But you never do.

I feel so lonely these days, so terribly lonely. It's like a cocoon, but I won't emerge as a beautiful butterfly. I'll be trapped in here forever, growing more ugly by the minute, but it won't matter because I won't ever come out, not as a butterfly, not as a moth. Just a cocoon of pain and lonliness.

I know I've done a terrible thing to you. I couldn't see it while I was doing it, but I could see it in your face. It was terrible and horrible, and I can't blame you if you can't forgive me for it. Since the moment you left, all I wanted to do was take it back, to say something different, no matter what it was. But I can't. All I can do is sit here and stare at the cracks in the ceiling and wait to die, and all I can think about is how damned unfair it all is. Why me? What did I do wrong? I know rationally that I did nothing, that I'm just a victim of really unlucky circumstance, but it's still not fair at all.

I got a visit from the doctor today, and isn't he the charmer? He was so sweet to me, and at first I liked it, but it was fake. It was charm and sweetness with no sincerity behind it, a niceness groomed with lots of experience, I'm sure. I was writing something down at the time when he came in with that smile on his face to tell me that they were letting me go home for a short visit. Said it would do me some good to be around loved ones again. He was full of it and I told him so, but I really did want to come home. I know it wasn't to make me better, I'm not stupid. I know it was because it might be the last chance I might ever have. I think you know what I mean.

But you know, I'm glad to go home anyway. I've missed you so much it hurts. All I want to do is see you again, you and mom and dad and Nicky and Will and even your dad. You most of all. But I'm also a little afraid. I'm afraid that maybe you don't want me to come home. After what I said to you, I guess you have the right to feel that way, but I hope you don't. I'm so, so sorry about that.

When the doctor told me that I was going to die, it was such a shock to me. I couldn't believe it, I couldn't accept it. It made me angry, and I took it out on everyone. I struck out at the people I loved most, and I know I struck out at you the hardest. I hope to God you don't hate me for that, but I guess I understand if you do. But I want you to know one thing. Regardless of anything I ever said to you in anger, I'll always love you. No matter what, that's always the truth. You know, even though the thought of dying scares the living daylights out of me, even though our life together had to be cut short the way it did, I wouldn't trade a minute of it for the whole world. The years I got to spend with you were, without question, the best of my entire life. They were wonderful, and so were you.

Well, this letter has gone on forever, so I think I'll say goodbye. I gave this to the nurse, and told her not to give it to you until after I'm gone. That means, if you're reading this, then I'm already dead. It's such a strange thing to realize. I hope you won't forget me. I have no right to tell you to remember me, but I can't bear the idea of you forgetting me. These last few years have been so hard on everyone, and on you most of all. I'm so sorry for the things I did to you, and to us. You gave me so much, and I don't think I could ever begin to give it back to you. I don't think it's possible, but it fills me with regret nonetheless.

I want you to live for yourself now. I want you to live life for you. I don't want to drag you down any further. I don't really think you hate me. I certainly want to hope it's true. It wouldn't be like you at all. I don't think you're capable of really hating anyone.

James, you made me happy. I love you, now and forever.

Your loving wife,

Mary

Now I did cry. Unabashedly. Tears ran down my face and I sobbed softly. It wasn't sadness, though, at least, not all of it. It was love. I never expressed it for her the way I should have, but she made up for my deficiencies. This letter was proof positive of that.

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope, then returned it to my pocket. Then I placed my hand on Laura's shoulder.

"Thank you, kid." I said. "I know I'm not a great guy, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." She said nothing. I guess that was too much to ask for. I turned away from her and made for the other gate and the nature trail beyond.

I took maybe ten steps away before I heard those faster, lighter steps behind, following me. I stopped and turned back to her.
"You're following me?" I asked.

She nodded. "There was something else she said to me, James." And she told me all about it as we exited the cemetery and made our way up the old nature trail, to the Toluca Lake overlook and my waiting car. She didn't finish until we were both on our way east towards Augusta and Interstate 95.

By that point, I had already agreed. It was a good idea.

She reached forward and turned on the radio, and we were greeted not by white noise but by music, a Van Halen song I liked. Apparently, Laura liked it too because she started singing along. A moment later, I did too. She sang along to other songs, the ones she was familiar with anyway. I let her go solo. I had other things to think about, many things, but all of it really boiled down to one:

The future.

7