Chapter Four

Something was different. Lewis couldn't tell what exactly was different, but he felt it the moment he opened the door to his office. Slowly he took a step into the small room and began cautiously scanning every inch. Something was out of place. That was the only way he could think to describe the feeling that had suddenly come over him. His nerves came alive with each small step, and every gulp of the air around him seemed like it would be his last. Finally his eyes swept their way across the dark cherry wood desk and found his feeling's cause. He nearly jumped back out of the room when he saw it, taking a moment before his mind whispered to him what it was. With the realization of its identity he slowly closed his office's door behind him and walked around the desk until he sat down in the soft desk chair, never taking his eyes off of it for even a moment.

Even knowing what was out of place hadn't been enough to calm his nerves, and he showed this fact as he edged forward in his chair. Had any noise suddenly sprung to life then surely Lewis would have died right there of a heart attack. "It's ok," he quietly muttered to himself. "It's just an envelope." Though these words were meant as a reassurance they failed in their job. The words had seemed to come from a voice that was distant and alien to him. A voice that was unaware of Cassie, or of the misspelled note, and therefore was unaware of how a plain envelope could cause such distress.

Several moments silently ticked by as Lewis just sat there and stared at the large manila envelope that had ended up on his desk. Without even being conscious of it he began to rub his hands together, as if this action could calm his mind down. Inhaling and exhaling in a long, almost exaggerated fashion, he tried to decide what his next move should be. That alien voice returned to whisper mentions of safety and how he should simply open it. A voice that was more familiar with the recent turn of life events murmured to push it aside in fear that whatever it contained would surely serve as another step downward into insanity. The alien voice, coupled with a strong sense of curiosity, finally won out the argument as Lewis reached forward and took the large envelope in both hands.

With the envelope now only inches from his face Lewis found himself scanning its surface to try and determine its source and to give his other voice one more moment to calm itself down. Shown on its center in large black lettering was his name, as well as Brookhaven's. Slowly crossing the empty gap between the hospital's address and the upper left corner his mind made a quick list of possibilities of to whom this was from. One of those possibilities, one that was further down on the list then should have been, turned out to be the sender. Letting out a breath that had become caught in his lungs in anticipation he read it to himself. Officer John Simmons, Silent Hill Police Department.

Taking his time Lewis let his fingers slide across the envelope to where the flap had been glued shut. It had been nearly a week since he had forced his mysterious note upon the police officer, and knowing how he had acted during that meeting Lewis was given to serious doubts about whether or not Officer Simmons would actually do anything with the note other than use it as a paper basketball. The presence of this envelope suggested otherwise, and he found that he could hardly contain his anticipation about what secrets had been revealed by the analysts.

Yet he found himself struggle when the moment came to actually find out those revelations. Part of his mind seized his fingers as they slid under the flap and refused to let them reach inside, fearing what exactly those revelations might be. Before Cassie's death Lewis had lead a normal, peaceful life here in Silent Hill. Rumors for years had persisted that something strange was beginning to take hold of the quiet resort town, but Lewis had dismissed even the most bizarre stories as coincidence and happenstance. Since the young girl's death though he had begun to question anything that was even remotely out of the ordinary, afraid that if he were to lull his senses then another horror like the one he witnessed that fateful night would come screaming into his life.

This paranoia and fear was silly and almost childish. That was what the alien voice told him. The voice of reason, his voice that had been allowed to flourish in his mind until those weeks ago. Swallowing away the saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth he felt his fingers once more become lax as they gripped the envelope. Nothing in the envelope should cause such unwarranted fear, no matter what it contained. Besides, this may not even have anything to do with his note. Simmons may have sent a letter on a totally different matter. Whether this was the case or not Lewis could hold himself back no longer as his fingers plunged into the manila colored mouth and took hold of two different textured sheets of paper, before pulling them out and laying them before himself for his approval.

The moment his eyes moved from the envelope to the two sheets of paper his heart jumped in fright. One of the two slips of paper he had seen before, as it sat there it seemingly mocked Lewis as it announced its return into his life. It was something that he had prayed would only be seen in the terrors of his sleep, and as he looked at the crumpled and misspelled note he couldn't help but sit back and allow the demon of it dance its way back into his mind.

Tearing himself away from the already memorized note he looked over at the second slip of paper, though not without some difficulty. The note seemed to call out to him and demand that his attention be brought back to it. Only after he was able to push it aside with his left hand was he able to concentrate on the note's companion in a bid that some sort of answer could be received.

The second slip seemed ordinary enough to the doctor. A golden logo of the police station had been emblazoned on the page's top, followed by a rather business like heading with Simmons' name, badge number, and other details of the sort. Glancing over the page as a whole he noticed how the rest of it appeared normal and professional as John's words had been clearly typed out. Pulling the note closer and looking around for a moment in suspicion Lewis decided to not hold back the revelations that had been splashed across its surface any longer. Slowly, so as to not miss a single letter, he began to read.

Dear Doctor Lewis. After careful examination of the note that you presented me with our specialist was able to draw two conclusions. The first is that it was written by a left-handed male approximately between the ages of twenty and forty five.

This 'conclusion' struck Lewis as superficial. While he was able to narrow down the notes possible author some by these facts, it still described nearly half of Brookhaven's residents. Reading on he hoped that the second conclusion would provide him with a better clue.

The only other thing worth mention is what the specialist found out about the ink. It was found not to be ink, but in fact is blood. Type AB negative according to the tests the specialist ran.

Blood? The note had been written, not in red ink, but blood? An icy shiver ran down the length of Lewis' body as this revelation hit him. In the stunned moment that followed the paranoid voice of his mind shouted at him of how it had tried to warn him that such a thing would come as a result of having the note analyzed. His mind's other voice couldn't think of a response, instead pushing him to read the final words of the officer's letter.

I trust that these two facts will provide you with enough clues to figure the rest out on your own. The police department sees this matter, as well as the death of Cassie, officially closed and deemed unexplainable. Officer John Simmons, Silent Hill Police Department.

When the note closed Lewis found himself unable to do anything but sit there in shock. Such finality had been conveyed in Officer Simmons' closing words that they were too hard for Lewis to simply shake them off. How could he reveal the fact about the note's crimson ink so casually, only for his next comment to be one that tossed the whole matter aside as though it were an every day occurrence? There was no statement to further question the note's chilling message or its bizarre source, no offer to help Lewis in any further digging for clues, no anything. Just a simple and matter-of-fact closing that had ended as though no one else could possibly care about the note or his feelings of it. Lewis found himself feeling so terribly alone.

In the aching silence that his office provided him Lewis grew fearful that Cassie's ghost would take this silent opportunity to once more haunt him as she had done so many times since her death. Instead of sitting in wait for this to happen Lewis found his gaze creep its way over to the crumpled note. Seeing the red lettering made him shiver with fear as his stomach made clear its own opinion about the matter. When he had forced the note into the police officer's hands he had done so in the belief that at least some questions about it would be answered. Belief was a rather strong word, but he had hoped. At least dared to hope. Now though that his haunting reminder had been returned to him he found his mind to be racked with more questions about it, not less. Staring at it with a strange sense of resentment he held back the maddening shouts that he wished to yell in response to its mocking presence. Weary of having to fight back these demons that seemingly would not let go he slumped back into his chair and into a point somewhere between unconsciousness and despair.

Lewis remained in this state for several hours. During this time the world around him continued on with its routine, completely ignorant of Lewis or the torments that life had thrown him. While the world had forgotten about the pitiable existence that the Brookhaven doctor was slipping into, his presence had not been void from every mind.

Traveling down the sterile halls of Brookhaven Doctor Randy Sampson kept a polite smile on his face and his view ahead of him. It was nearing lunch time and after four separate patient visitations he was ready for a break. Having not seen his friend Terry that morning he had decided to pay him a visit before inviting him to share a meal in the day room. Thinking back to the last chance that he was able to speak with Terry caused a bit of worry. Something had been different in his friend's expression that day, and Terry's abrupt departure had caused Randy to worry even more about his friend. As it was he heard that Terry spent most of his free time in his office, doing stacks of paperwork and who knew what else. This fact caused him to decide to try and make a helpful effort in returning his friend back to the life-loving man he was before the mysterious death of one of his patients.

Turning around the corner Randy nearly bumped into one of his colleagues. He exchanged an apology and some kind words with his fellow doctor before they parted ways. As the other doctor headed away from him and down the hall Randy couldn't help but to pause and wonder what had caused him to space out like that. Was it purely exhaustion stemming from his busy morning or was there something more? Was he even more worried about his friend than he thought? Whatever the case was Randy decided to push the matter aside as he continued on to Terry's office.

Pure silence enveloped Lewis as he sat there in the aftermath of reading Officer Simmons' letter. He wasn't sure as to which part of the letter disturbed him more; the fact that the note had been written in blood or the policeman's harsh closing. Sinking into his chair he took the opportunity that the silence had granted him to let his mind debate the issue on its own. A couple of hours passed, though he could've sworn it to be only be a handful of minutes, before his neat and safe little world came crashing down around him as a knock came to his door.

"Yes?" he asked with a slight cough as he roused himself from his state of half consciousness. Picking himself up in his chair he stared at the door as it slowly opened in anticipation of who chose to bother him now and with what. When his tall friend peeked his head out from behind the door relief came over Lewis. At one point in his life the sight of Randy was enough to bring happiness to his heart as his friend seemed to liven up their dull and drab workplace. Now though the sight of Randy could only bring relief; relief in that the knocking had not been caused by yet a new lurking terror. "Hello Randy," Lewis replied in a tone meant to be cordial, but ended up falling well short of its mark.

"Ah Terry," Randy replied back with his own sincere tone. "I was just wondering what you were up to." Stretching his neck a bit he cautiously looked over Lewis' desk to make sure that he hadn't just interrupted some important task that his friend might have been doing. "It's almost one so I thought maybe you'd like a bite to eat," he added as almost an after thought.

"Almost one?" Lewis replied back with shocked confusion. Quickly turning in his chair he looked at the clock that had been hung on his wall and saw that his friend was indeed telling the truth. But the last time he had seen the clock it had read just past ten thirty. How had he lost two hours so easily? As he put this question to himself his nerves sprang to life and his face grew pale as he tried to come up with an answer to justify his missing time.

Randy found himself standing there and staring back at his friend in confusion. Was there something in what he had said to provoke such a reaction from Lewis? "Terry, what's wrong?" he asked in response to the sudden color drain that affected the man before him. "Is there something bothering…" Randy started to say as he took a step towards his friend to reassure him. His statement was never finished though as something caught his eye. "Hey, what's this?" Randy asked as he reached for a crumpled scrap of paper that laid on the floor before him.

Lewis had been completely oblivious to his friend's words. Whether it was by choice or not none could say. Something in Randy's final question though seized his mind away from his current wave of panic and drew it to his friend. As he watched Randy bend down he wondered what possibly could have caught his friend's attention. Watching him slowly straighten back up Lewis found his gaze being focused on his friend's hand and the crumbled piece of paper it contained. Slowly Randy began to smooth it to try and see what was written on it.

The next moment was one that Lewis could swear he had not been a part of. His encounter with Officer Simmons just one week prior suddenly flooded his mind and he found himself living in an echo of that moment. And as he had done with John, Lewis lost complete control when he realized what his friend had. "No!" he screamed as he flew at Randy and grabbed the crumpled slip away. Once he had seized his prize the energy spurred on by the moment quickly disappeared and he sunk back into his chair exhausted as he cradled the blood-written note.

Neither then nor later on could Dr. Sampson have the words to describe his state of mind when his friend suddenly and wildly seized the crumpled paper from him. As he looked upon Lewis he felt that he was not looking upon a man, but something closer to an animal. This behavior he had seen in people before, in the people he had been surrounded by and spent his days trying to help, but never from anyone to whom would bear the label of sane. Lewis' behavior had left him truly terrified.

When exhaustion set into Lewis' mind he suddenly became clear of whatever demon had possessed him for that brief moment. Though his memory told him that he had committed the act of sheer lunacy when it was revealed what Randy had, he very much believed that it was something he had only witnessed. Like Randy, he couldn't believe what had happened in that fraction of a moment. Thinking back to when he had done the same for Officer Simmons he felt as though all the barriers of his mind were beginning to crumble away and he worried that dealing with insanity for so long was causing him to in fact become insane.

When this revelation hit Lewis he found himself on the verge of a breakdown. His eyes began to grow sore with emotion and they yearned to be kept shut, but Lewis refused them this luxury. Keeping them open he stared at the crumpled piece of paper that lay in his hands. How could something so small, so seemingly innocuous, cause such a reaction from him. This note surely had some power that was too great for one man to try and control. In that moment he knew that he had to share this burden with his friend. With a sigh that released the last of his tangible emotions he placed the note on his desk and pushed it across until it was within his friend's reach.

As Randy saw this action, a part of the tension that coursed through him relaxed, though only a small part. Seeing Lewis' reaction the last time he had reached for the note Randy felt very nervous about reaching for it again, even though he could tell something within his friend had changed. He moved his hand towards the paper slip very slowly and cautiously, keeping his eyes on Lewis the whole time, ready to pull away at the first sign that Lewis was about to have another fit. The moment his fingers made contact he snatched the note up and backed away, letting himself have one more precaution against any madness that might suddenly grab hold of his friend. When it appeared that his friend's lax state would not change Randy unfolded the note and began to look it over.

As soon as Randy's fingers had touched the note, his note, Lewis could feel the beckoning of his unforeseen demon once more. This time though he was able to fight it back, knowing that he needed his friend to read the note. He needed somebody, anybody, to read it and be able to help him to understand it. For some reason he had thought that Officer Simmons could have been the one to help him, seeing the bond made from Cassie's death to be one that would bring the two men together in the face of this new horror. That belief had obviously been wrong. Now he decided to turn to his one friend, his one sane island amongst the insane sea of Brookhaven, in the hope that together they would find a way to put an end to this madness.

When Randy had finished reading the note he could scarcely believe it. As Lewis had done before, Randy felt the need to read it again, hoping that he had somehow misread the short and barely legible message. A second read through didn't change the note's contents however and as the full weight of it impacted him Randy felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Slowly his hands dropped and the note moved out of his view. With his view no longer obstructed all he could do was simply stare at his friend with wide eyes and a sense somewhere between understanding and pity.

Lewis had been watching his friend the whole time that the note had blocked Randy's face. He was waiting a reaction, any reaction, that his friend might give at discovering the note's message. What he saw in those wide eyes told him that his friend's state was not far from the one he had been in when he had first discovered the note. "Now do you understand?" Lewis quietly and vaguely asked. While someone might believe the question to be related to his frantic behavior concerning the note, it was in fact meant to imply the entirety of the situation that Lewis had found himself a victim of.

"It has to be a practical joke," Randy replied, hoping to bring some reassurance to Lewis. The look on Lewis' face though showed how little he believed in this theory. "Okay, a very sick practical joke. But that's all this has to be, right?" This explanation seemed logical enough, and thus his mind tried to force his acceptance of it. Somewhere deep down though he knew that this was no logical note. He knew that something more was at play here, and though his words were meant to put Lewis' mind at ease, his tone betrayed this true sense of the situation and left Lewis faring no better.

Lewis knew though that this was no practical joke. In simpler, saner days he might have believed that explanation as truth. Since Cassie's death though he just couldn't accept anything at face value. Like Randy's unmentioned feeling he knew that this note was just a small part of a bigger and more terrifying picture. He had to find out who had written the note. Only then he knew that there was a chance he would be able to lay his demons to rest.

"Randy," Lewis started in a tone that lacked depth, but soon became a plea as his words continued on. "I have to find out who wrote that. Whether it's just a practical joke or not I need to know. Can you help me?"

Could he help him? At the moment Randy felt in a position that he could be asking the same, but he knew that the position he occupied was far better than where Lewis was. Through this note Randy was only getting a peek, a brief glimpse, into the hell that Lewis had tumbled into upon Cassie's death. This small peek was enough to make Randy shiver, so he could only imagine as to the terrors his friend was going through. Immediately upon Lewis' question Randy's mind had screamed out a firm no. It wanted to cast of this evil shroud that it could feel emanating from the slip of paper in his hands, and run back to the safety of a normal and sane world. Deep down though Randy knew that he could not close this door so easily. Something like the feeling that had now taken hold of him was a feeling that could only be shaken by a firm resolution. By reading this note Lewis' problem had become his problem, and as he looked into the green and gray flecked eyes of his friend and saw the helpless despair that dwelled inside them he knew that he had to do whatever it took to help both of them resolve this situation.

Standing there with his firm new determination to solve the note's mystery he slowly looked over it, taking in every little facet and nuance that it offered. Something was familiar about this note. Something about it seemed to scratch deep within his brain and whispered about how he had seen this before. But how could he have? This note was surely a new work of terror, wasn't it? If indeed it was then where could he have possibly seen it before? Randy's mind was racked with questions as he continued to stare at the note, hoping that somewhere between the written words a memory would be dragged out and he would be able to divine why such a sense of familiarity had come over him. Then, as if a wave of information had suddenly crashed against the beach that was his mind, he figured it out. It was not the note itself that had struck a cord, but rather the writing. This writing he had seen before. Standing there in silence he dug through every bit of information stored in his mind, hoping that somewhere locked away was the first piece he needed to complete this puzzle. And then suddenly it was before him. "I'll be right back," Randy said quickly to Lewis as he rushed out of the room.

Randy's sudden exit left Lewis to sit there dumbfounded. To him he felt suddenly as though the roles between them had been reversed from their last meeting when he had so suddenly left to speak with Officer Simmons. Pushing this sudden abandonment aside he began to wonder what exactly had been going through his friend's mind. Obviously he had been deep in thought, but to what end? Was the solution to all of this madness really to be found within the recesses of his friend's mind? Could all of his tireless searching been ended so long ago had he simply confided in his friend? To be so close to an answer and yet so far away at the same time. That thought in itself was maddening.

As Lewis waited for his friend's return he found himself in an eerie silence once more, this time without even the precious note to keep his mind at bay. Everything that had happened to him lately was causing such a drain on him. Cassie's death, the mysterious note, Officer Simmons' blatant regard of him and the situation, all of this tied in with the normal burden of dealing with Silent Hill's insane was causing him to be pushed down into such a dark pit of despair. Sleep had become a luxury to him, eating something to only be done out of necessity. His wife had been nearly ignored as Lewis withdrew into himself in an attempt to solve the crisis he had found his soul to be entangled in. He felt bad for all of it, but knew that he could not go back and undo what had been done. The past had passed, and now only in his future could he hope to overcome any of these obstacles. With Randy's help he hoped to finally put the entire matter behind him and to be able to return to his once sane life as a doctor in a mental hospital. Something in his skull whispered to him though that this madness could not so easily be overcome.

Without any warning the door to Lewis' office abruptly swung open, revealing Dr. Sampson on the other side. Not even pausing to close the door he made his way across the room, his eyes locked upon Lewis the whole time. Lewis noticed his friend to be carrying a manila file folder that had been tucked just under his left arm. When he approached the desk he swiftly removed the folder from its spot and placed it on the desk in front of Lewis before saying, "I think I may have found out who wrote that note." His tone was thick with uncertainty, which prompted a 'but' to be uttered from him.

Lewis was completely unaware of the uncertainty that his friend harbored about this information. All he had heard was the possibility that at least one of his demons would be put to rest and he had jumped onto the folder as though it was the one thing that he had sought after his entire life.

Inside the folder Lewis found the standard information sheet that laid out all of a patient's information. The enclosed picture showed a very pale, very fragile man, yet when you looked into his eyes you got the sense that this man was far from weak. Running his fingers across this seemingly sacred document he found the age of this man to be twenty eight years old, and his name to be Christian Leiters. Lewis knew that he had to speak with this man, but suddenly his mind registered the doubts that his friend had tried to convey to him. Tearing himself away from Christian's file he looked into his friend's eyes. The doubt was immediately tangible, and Lewis' heart sank at the possibility that the man in this photo was not the note's author. "What is it Randy?" he asked as concerned welled up inside him.

Taking in a deep breath Randy searched his friend's face for a moment, hoping to find just the right words for what needed to be said. No words came to him though and he decided to just state out flatly the reason why Christian could not have authored the note. "He's been locked up in the isolation ward for the past three months, Terry. With only food allowed to be taken in there is no way he could have gotten this piece of paper to write on. Let alone delivered it to you."

These words splashed over Lewis as he found himself suddenly drawn back to the Brookhaven patient's photo. Looking into those blank eyes he felt a new wave of terror come over him and he could've swore he saw an evil grin peek just out the corner of the madman's mouth.