Jones looks down at his watch as he speeds along the freeway. He'd been driving for hours on end, and Silent Hill was getting ever closer. A strange sensation passes over him as he stares at the mountains in the distance, knowing full well that the town lies just beyond them. His mobile phone begins to ring.
"Jones," he says, identifying himself.
"Where the hell are you?" Carter shouts,
"Bradley Allen Cole has gone missing," Jones replies.
"He's not the only one,"
"What are you talking about?"
"It's Crispin, he's escaped from the institution,"
Now the shit had really hit the fan.
"How did he pull that?" Jones questions, bewildered by the news.
"No broken locks, no sign of force… and no-one saw a thing. Just woke up this morning and his cell door was wide open, minus the patient,"
"Someone let him out?"
"It's possible. Just where the hell are you Jones? We need you here,"
"I told you, Doctor Cole has gone missing. He might be in danger,"
"Did you not hear me, kid? Crispin has escaped, the whole of Ashfield is in danger,"
A volley of phone static causes Jones to recoil from the phone.
"Carter, repeat,"
A few words can be made out amongst the interference, "Something… cell wall…. Carved…. Silent … H…."
The signal goes dead.
"Hello?" Jones calls, "Carter?"
There's no sound now except the slight crackle of static and an electronic popping noise. The phone's screen flickers violently and the keys won't respond.
"Great," Jones sighs, slinging the device onto the back seat.
A strange, thick mist seems to linger over the area. He nearly misses it, but in the corner of his eye Jones spots a small road sign as it whizzes past the moving car: Silent Hill, two kilometres.
Satisfied he's found his destination, Jones folds up the old map he'd taken from the file and tucks it away in the glove box.
All of a sudden, a sharp spike of static emanates from the radio and Jones shoots into awareness. Directly in front of him, amongst the mist, a figure stands motionless. At this speed, it's too late to stop. Quickly slamming both hands on the wheel, Jones turns sharply to the left. The old Chevy buckles under the fast manoeuvre, spinning out of control. Jones tries to ease off then reapply the break pedal but it doesn't seem to respond. The steering goes loose, leaving the Detective completely helpless. With one last desperate attempt to halt the vehicle, he applies the handbrake, but the lever appears to wrestle his efforts. In midst of panic, Jones spots the figure again, but can't make out any kind of features, his head beginning to spin along with the car. His vision begins to blur, as he curls himself into a ball, awaiting impact. A loud crash turns into a dull, tinny sound in his ears, and his eyes won't open. Coherent thought morphs into dream like stupor before all fades to black.