The second floor's door continued to bang and shudder as Tim climbed past it to the third floor. He was sticking with his plan to search the first floor last, and now that he had a flashlight there was no excuse keeping him from going from the top floor down. He shouldered the door open and found, to his dismay, iron bars staring in his face. All but the first two doors were blocked off from this side. With a huff Tim turned to check the only two doors so he could leave.

A glimmer through the bars caught in his light. A key? Maybe it would be helpful. If nothing else he might be able to make a distraction for those monsters downstairs.

Tim kneeled and reached out his hand to grab the key. He could just about reach it… Nearly…

"Ow!" He yelped, yanking his hand back from the offensive boot that had stomped on him.

The key was sent clattering across the floor as a young, blonde girl, no more than 10, kicked it as she ran away. Her bright blue dress fluttered round her knees as she giggled into the darkness.

"Wait!" Tim yelled after her. But no, she wasn't coming back. What on earth was a child doing in this place? No kid should be here especially ones left unsupervised to stomp on strangers' hands.

Making his way to the end of the hall Tim tried the doors as he went. First, he couldn't open, but the second opened into a plain and barren apartment. In the center of what used to be a living space sat a single red shopping cart (how did it even get up here there are no elevators in this building?). In the basket lay a shiny piece of black metal that Tim recognized instantly as a gun. The floor around the cart was littered with bullet casings and the walls pockmarked with holes. Either someone was having target practice or something very bad happened in this room.

With a trembling hand Tim took the gun in his hands. It was cold, and heavy. This wasn't the first time he'd held one, he was from Alabama, but it was the first time since Alex… Now wasn't the time to think about that. He hefted the backpack from his shoulders and stuffed the plank he'd been using into it, just in case he'd still need it. Double checking that the safety was on and that he knew how to get it off in a hurry he tucked his new weapon into the band of his pants. It was awkward, and strangely made him feel like one of those gang members he'd see on bad crime shows, the ones with next to no budget that only showed in the middle of the afternoon.

With nothing else left for him on this floor Tim made his way back to the second floor. He listened at the door for the shuffling and clicking of the straight jacket monsters before carefully easing the door open. Nothing.

"AAAAAA!" A scream, from down the end of the T intersection in the hallway.

"Jay?!" Tim took off running in the direction, trying to open every door along the way. The further he got, the louder his radio hissed. Near the end of this hall was another set of iron bars. Behind them an eerie red light shone, illuminating a figure not much different than him. It was a human, wearing a dirty beige jacket and blood stained blue jeans. Short wisps of black hair poked over the top of a black and white mask, painted in an emotionless stare.

This should not be possible. Tim stared into the eyes of the masked man, or at least where they should be. Slowly the mirror image of himself tilted it's head to the side. It was watching him watch it. There was no knowing what the masked man was thinking. Was it judging him? Taunting him? He'd thrown the mask away, gotten rid of every hint of his other self. Was it angry at Tim for that? Tim took a shaky step backwards, groping along the wall for the nob of the last door he'd passed, the only one he hadn't tried yet. The man before him took a step forward, smoothly and confidently stepping up to the bars. It wrapped a hand around one and turned it's haunting gaze to study it. Tim darted inside the room and said a quiet prayer of thanks that there was now two layers of separation between him and the phantom of who he used to be.

The room in front of him was larger than the last two he'd been in, but that brought no relief. A small television sat in the corner of the room, it's static display painted in blood splatter. In front of the tv sat a dead man slouched in his chair, dead from a bullet in his head. Tim tried not to look at the body, it made him feel sick. On the table next to the door there was a notepad with two pages laying nearby.

The first was a short note, written with a shaking hand. "Amy I'm sorry, I know you don't see them but I do. That red demon, always after me, and those things appearing around town. I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, I love you."

Tim looked over at the body slumped in the chair, it was a sad fate. The other page was written so differently it could only have been another person.

"Three needles stand of

three different heights.

The fat, the tall and the thin.

From slow to fast they

move to the right.

Scott rests not on three,

but fifteen."

A riddle? What was this doing here? Tim left the two papers on the table where he found them and gave the room another glance. There was no harm in looking through the other doors here. This poor man wouldn't be needing anything still here.

The first room was a closet, with nothing of note. The second, what Tim assumed was supposed to be a bedroom. Along the opposite wall someone had carved words into the wall, and the only other thing in the room was a grandfather clock. Investigating the wall there were two inscriptions, one with the names Henry, Mildred, and Scott, each name with an arrow next to it. And one saying "The red demon comes for those guilty of the highest sins." This one was more ornate, with swirls carved around it like a frame.

"Henry, Mildred, Scott… Where have I heard that before?" Tim mumbled to himself. It was too familiar. But the, the riddle. Scott was mentioned there as well wasn't he?

Putting it to the back of his mind Tim turned to the clock. It read 11:45 and 15 seconds, and the hands weren't moving. "The Scars from the past will remove the nail that stops time." was written to the side of the clock in bright red marker.

That was it! Henry, Mildred, and Scott were the names given to the Hours, Minutes, and Seconds hands of a clock in a rhyme he'd had to memorize when learning how to tell time. No wonder he'd forgotten, it had been so long since he'd been in kindergarten. So he had to move the hands on the clock to the positions shown in the carving? No problem. The glass front of the clock wouldn't budge but a swing from his plank of wood opened it up well enough. Careful not to cut his hand on the broken glass he twirled the clock to the correct time, 9:10. With a soft click the clock was easily moved to the side, showing a hole between the apartments just wide enough to squeeze through.

So, this was what he had to expect from Silent Hill. The town didn't obey the rules of logic so be it. He'd do what Heather obviously had to resort to and make note of every locked door and every strange blockade if he had to. He quickly pulled out his map to make note of the passage, as well as mark the blocked areas. He'd made it to the other side of the bars on this floor.

He'd made it to the other side of the bars. Where the masked man was. "Fuck."