Harry didn't trust Silent Hill, that much was obvious. But he didn't particularly trust it to be friendly towards cars, either. He crashed his jeep last time - could have died. Thought Silent Hill might just do that again, and make it stick the second time around.
For better or for worse, Harry drove only close to the town, and made the rest of the trek on foot. But, still.
At least it wasn't foggy.
It was damn dark though, since he, in his rush, came over from Brahm's graveyard immediately, sensibilities be damned. It didn't take much more than a few minutes of starting to put his feet into Silent Hill that, in hindsight, that was likely a decision that could have used more common sense.
He was here now, though. The streets weren't disappearing into nowhere, it wasn't foggy, it was just dark.
All he had to do was make his way to the amusement park, and then...and then...
And then.
And then what, he didn't have any idea.
He felt lost. Again. Silently calling himself an idiot. He didn't have anything to go on but a flyer that inexplicably was beside Cybil's grave. Still, that's how he got through things last time, right? Just move one point to another after getting little bits of information?
And look how that turned out. It lead to him being here a second time.
But he didn't have anything else, and he really didn't have any other choice.
First, a flick of a button, giving him clear light. At the very least, Harry had the forethought to bring extra batteries. Kept them in that breast pocket with the flashlight.
Then, a flick of the switch of his radio, tensing a little. The last time he turned it on, it was in Portland, and gave him about 5 seconds of Jazz before he turned it off.
Dead air now.
Taking a deep breath, Harry forced his feet to listen to that obligation, to make them push forward, whether it was a good idea or not.
---
The car was moving at a comfortable forty miles per hour. Nothing too fast, nothing lurching, a speed that felt just right. A calm, controlled speed, that had a destination in mind, but didn't have to be there as soon as possible. Just that luxurious, rare, cruising speed, that went perfectly in time with the turn of the world.
The job wouldn't be getting done as early as Garcian would have liked, but at the very least, Brahms wasn't a total dead end. So the target wasn't in town. But, he had been there just recently.
It was hard to miss him, this far north in Maine. An asian man in his early 20s, dressed sharp in a pressed, pinstripe black suit and tie? He stood out here, even if he wasn't wearing that pricy outfit. Maine wasn't particularly well known for having a diverse population, especially once you got to the rural counties. Of course, this meant Garcian likely stood out even more. A tall black man, in a spotless white suit, with a pure yellow tie? And a purple undershirt to complete the ensemble. Two out of place men, one looking for the other. One person in a gas station saw that asian man recently, another in a general store. Told Garcian that the only closeby town was Silent Hill, and there wasn't a hell of a lot there right now. Wasn't tourist season, and even people who lived there didn't seem to like being around the area.
Garcian let himself rest, read up on Silent Hill, get a map, and pick out the possible hiding spots of his target.
Once night came around, Garcian made his approach towards Silent Hill, at that comfortable, perfect forty miles per hour.
He saw a parked car, just left on the side of the road.
He passed it by.
---
It would be nice if he could relax, Harry thought. The radio hadn't gone off once yet. That was supposed to be a good sign. But it only served to put Harry more on edge, more aware of the inconsistencies of the town. Fog or no fog, the town seemed deserted once more. There were cars, and houses, and all other signs that there should be some life around here, but no. Lights out, everywhere. No sounds, not anywhere.
It was a near perfect void, is what it was. There was darkness, and silence, and Harry. The only thing obstructing it from being that void was the existence of the town itself. Buildings, cars, all mute, all unmoving. If you didn't have a watch, for all one knew, time stopped when it came in contact with Silent Hill.
What wasn't helping was that Harry had been trying to run the entire way to the amusement park. He hadn't gotten in any better shape since 1983 - he was, generally, physically the same, but was still slowed down some by the gravity of age. Harry was 39 now, and sprinting still wasn't anything close to his forte. Standing still was not advised. Sitting down even less so. But he had to.
The radio would give him the signal if he absolutely needed to leave, right? Right.
Hopefully.
There Harry sat, on the footsteps of a convenience store, gasping for breath, his sight going over the town in front of him, again and again. This didn't make any sense. Where was the fog? Where were the monsters? Not that he actually wanted either to appear, but. It didn't match up. If he had been getting packages from nowhere and no one, all concerning Cybil, then the source was, in a likeliness, Silent Hill.
So why had it been so easy so far? Why wasn't there anything taunting him, teasing him - or even cutting off the path to the amusement park? Why were the only signs just that same lack of electricity, and that same lack of people?
Harry didn't want to think about it. Thinking about it felt like he was just inviting trouble. Asking for the subjects of those nightmares to come back into vision, to put his older body to the test once more. To push him to be panicky, worried, and unsure of every next step.
He took another deep breath and picked himself up, turning and pushing aside the door to the convenience store. He should get something to drink, stop, calm down. Maybe a gatorade.
The bell to the door dinged a few times, Harry letting himself into the mess of a store.
The radio remained mute.
---
The perfect forty miles per hour was slowing, down to a sensible thirty miles per hour, a questionable twenty miles per hour, an insulting ten miles per hour, and then an agonizing five miles per hour.
"Son of a bitch," Garcian muttered to himself, pulling the car to park far earlier than he would have liked. Barely into the actual town of Silent Hill, and the headlights were becoming rapidly useless. The engine came to a stop, the door pushed open gently, and getting a firmer grip on his suitcase, Garcian stepped out, locked the car, and shut the door.
He pointed his eyes up, with the same expression he had on for the last few hours, his eyes perfectly still and natural, focusing on nothing, giving nothing more than a quick moment of his attention to the sky.
Fine, expensive boots gently pushed against the pavement.
He wasn't going to waste time wondering where the fog came from.