A/N: So terribly, incredibly sorry to anyone who may have cared about this story. I had to deal with a lot of stupid real world problems. Also I was drawing a lot as opposed to writing. I'm not abandoning this or anything though. I'm just challenged when it comes to updating and I wish this chapter was one of quality but no asdfghjkl;'

Apologies out of the way, I've decided that I'm most likely going to end up posting shorter chapters because otherwise I'm not sure how often I'll update.

Also I don't endorse Shattered Memories but this is still an AU fic so it seemed appropriate.

It felt as if there was a sharp rock poking into the back of Henry's neck when he finally started to come back into consciousness. The heat throbbed in his temples as his headache made him want to roll over and fall back asleep. This was by far one of the worst mornings he has ever had the unfortunate experience with. It embarrassingly took him about a minute to notice that he was not staring up at the familiar ceiling fan of his bedroom but instead was nestled in cold hard casing.

The bathroom?

Struggling through bleary tired eyes to see his position, he pulls himself up with aching arms. Inspecting the immediate surroundings makes him uneasy, all the terrible memories of last night flooding in. The confusion and awareness seizes his stomach. A salty metallic taste dries his mouth, tongue sticking to the inside of his cheek. One of his feet catches themselves as he hoists his body out the bathtub and stumbles to the doorway. He finds himself trying to quiet the creaking door as he slowly peeks out into the rest of his apartment. An eerie silence wafts throughout the room as the whole space comes into view. All of the windows are closed tightly, no mud or rain smeared on the carpet like how he remembers. The chairs and tables all upright, bookshelf immaculately arranged.

His shoulders jump a slightly delayed reaction when he hears the bump of the heater turning on. The soft rumbling of the pipes does nothing to quell his nerves; his whole body feels on edge.

How bizarre. A Dream?

He ends up standing stupidly in the doorway for several minutes until he loses track of the time. Even though there was no sign of the struggle he believes he dreamt the night before, he still can't shake this violated feeling crawling up his spine. Henry finds himself inspecting every inch of his apartment. All of the door's locks are secured tightly, his old shoes cast next to the kitchen corner. The square tile would have shimmered a pristine clean if it wasn't cloudy outside. The only thing he seems to find out of place is a small nick on the wall next to the laundry space but Henry reasons that it could have been there a long time without him seeing. He's often carried boxes and baskets in there and it was a spot easy to bump into.

Running a hand through oily hair, he retreats back to the bathroom to wash his face. Even though the original panic had forced him awake, the tired feelings settle back in. He just can't get over how strange all of this is.

As he stumbles near the porcelain sink, he catches his reflection in the mirror. His brown eyes fly open in surprise on how awful he looks. Dark bags droop under his eyes, hair wildly stuck to the side of his head and some molded to his face by the blood dried there. By far, the worst of it was his blue upper lip. Sensitively, he touches the bruised wound, a bloody row of teeth peeking over swollen flesh as he hisses at his reflection. It's a dull throbbing but still noteworthy, although Henry partially believes that it looks worse than it actually is. Confusion begins to set in the back of his skull. His whole body shivers recalling last night's events. Most of all, the fear bounces around in his chest again, re-inspired.

When he awakes in his bed from his power nap, the relief of normalcy recedes quickly noticing how cold it is in the apartment. Henry seems to have a tough time staying warm even when nestled in two blankets. Curling into a lump is the only thing he can think of in an attempt to warm his frozen feet.

A knock on the door makes him bury his head in the soft pillow for a moment. He groans inwardly before throwing the blankets off and wincing when the cold air hits his form. Rubbing his upper arms, he grabs his coat off the hook before shuffling it onto his body.

The visitor raps on the door again, this time a little louder, somewhat more impatient.

He glances at the thermostat and is confused to see that it's set for a normal temperature. There's no reason it should be this cold in his apartment but pushes the thought aside.

He pops up the collar to cover his neck and peers out of the aperture, not really worrying when he sees a woman standing on the other side of the door.

She appears to be scowling under dark sunglasses when he gets the door open.

"Sorry for taking so long."

The woman brushes his apology off, shrugging her shoulders.

"Officer Cunningham-" She starts but flinches noticing his face. "I need to ask you a few questions."

Henry squints at her badge as she pulls it out. He doesn't like the way she glares at him, it's almost as if she believes he's done something wrong.

"I don't understand. Why?"

She ignores his inquisition. "Where did you sustain that injury?"

Henry almost stutters but manages to suppress the shake in his voice. "I've, been having some" The half-truth gets stuck in his throat. "Night terrors." It seems believable enough.

The officer's eyes narrow accusingly. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Henry's reply is pretty confident despite how unsure he is about the statement.

"Must be difficult."

"Yes."

"Do you take medication?"

"I don't understand how that's relevant." Henry blinks at her in disbelief. Her rude tone was starting to grate on his nerves.

"Certainly if you managed to sustain such," searching to the right adjective, she looks at him from head to toe. "Astonishing injuries, the correct course of action would be medication."

"Well I suppose so-" Henry offers.

"But?"

"It's difficult to treat, officer." The words come to his head much easier than they had before. He seizes this opportunity to change the subject. "I don't understand. Why did you knock on my door?"

She senses his disdain, feeling merciful she predicts that he probably doesn't know anything.

"Okay, you're right. I'll let you off the hook." A half smile appears on her face, it looks out of place and forced. It makes him feel more intimidated actually.

"I knocked on your door today because I wanted to advise you to be on the look out for suspicious looking characters." She waits for his reaction but gets none to her mild disappointment.

Henry briefly documents internally that she is a very suspicious looking character. "Alright."

"Good. I suppose I'll take my leave then." The officer turns around but Henry decides that it can't hurt to ask one more question bouncing around in his head.

"Did something happen?"

Her footsteps slow and she slightly pivots in his direction but doesn't look at him. Henry assumes she must be thinking because she remains quiet for a moment.

"It's nothing to worry about. We've got it covered."

Well that's reassuring.

Without waiting for his response she makes her way down the hall, boots lightly scuffling on the carpet. Henry admires the confidence in her walk, it's feminine but powerful and she still manages to look intimidating from the back.

The man's thoughts drift back to the confrontation in his dream. He can't seem to shake this feeling that there is something familiar about this police officer and he doesn't know why. The migraine steeping into the back of his head suddenly feels like a warning, as if he would hurt himself if he tried to remember. The harder the concentrates the more it hurts. When he thinks he sees a flash of red cross his vision he freezes, quickly trying to forget and focus on something else.

Henry finds himself mindlessly staring off into nothing until he notices the lonely black object on the floor. With an inquisitive expression, he approaches it. When he goes to pick it up, suddenly recognizes it as the officer's ID and curses under his breath. Silently he hopes that she had already left the building so he wouldn't have to speak with her again. He knows he should return it and she's only had a minute head start on him so he feels confident that he'll reach her in time. Henry starts jogging to catch up with her but notices something strange when he turns the corner.

Suddenly when he reaches the stairs, a gust of warm air hits his face. It reminds him of the feeling someone gets when they open the door to a warm house on a snowy day. Henry pushes the thought aside when he doesn't spot her anywhere in the empty lobby. A funny looking expression must have been on his face because the superintendent looks up at him and smiles until he notices Henry's bruised face. All the color drains from his features and he stumbles back slightly, hands gripping tight around the broom stick.

"Henry? Oh my God, what happened?"

"Oh, nevermind that. It's not a big deal. Did you-"

"Hardly!" The superintendent exclaims. "Son, you gotta be more careful with yourself. You could end up gettin' worse next time."

Henry waves it off as if it's nothing.

"Yeah, I know. Did you see which way the policewoman went?" Henry scratches the back of his neck, looking at the only door out of the building.

Frank's features scrunch up in confusion. "Policewoman?"

"She just came down this way."

Mr. Sunderland shakes his head. "I didn't see anyone come down this way."

Henry stills, the ID almost falling out of his hands. "Are you sure?"

"Yup." The superintendent continues his sweeping until he notices the unease coming off of Henry.

"Are you sure that you're alright, son?"

Henry shakes his head. "Yeah."

A look of concern makes it's way onto Mr. Sunderland as Henry hands him the ID.

"Give this to her if she comes back."

Confusion settles on the superintendent's face but Henry ignores it, dark bangs shading his face as he made his way back up the stairs. When he reaches his floor, the whole hallway is toasty and he begins to overheat in his winter coat.

Day by day, Henry is far more than disconcerted by the dreams he has been having. Every time he closes his eyes, the gruesome images reel around repeatedly like short motion pictures in his head. Each is so vividly projected, when he awakes all he can see are the shadows casted over his vision. There are voices, hushed muffled sounds that tell him things. He can't quiet understand them but sometimes, he can still hear them speaking to him when he's awake.

At first he puts down those creepy crime novels he had been reading, thinking it may have been the culprit in implanting the thoughts in his head. Although it doesn't stop when he packages them away in his closet.

When the lack of sleep drags on for weeks and the weighed feeling on his eyes doesn't subside, he decides to ask for advice. Or more so, he is just presented with advice by the a few of the residents of his apartment building.

The superintendent suggests that it might be his diet. When being honest with himself, Henry admits that he doesn't eat nutritious often as he should being a young man who lives alone. Frank wasn't so health conscious like his wife but he mentioned having to keep an eye on his heart quite a bit.

The missus won't let me have salt anymore. How's a man supposed to enjoy dinner?

Mrs. Sunderland's advice wasn't as scientific. It was much more apparent when she presented him with a gift of candles, incense, herbal tea and a book that included the number to a 'doctor' of holistic medicine. She tells him how much yoga class has helped with her hip and cleansed her of 'negative energy'.

The superintendent and his wife were always looking out for Henry much to his great relief. He had come to almost think of them as parental figures so it became commonplace for them to give advice when he had a problem. Although Henry's found himself in a more supporting role since their son disappeared.

He ends up taking a different route completely and much to his dismay, he picks up the phonebook and dials the printed numbers.

Although he doesn't feel any better once the appointment for the therapy session has been made.

…

Despite the bad feeling he's got, Henry decides to make use of those candles and runs a bath for himself. He can't remember the last time he's taken one but it's a relaxing change. He pulls the basket out from under the sink, pushing aside some of the other cleaning products nestled inside. He rolls up his sleeves, rubbing his bare forearms before turning on the faucet. When the water starts running, he feels as if some of his anxiety was washing down the drain. A content smile worms its way onto his bruised face as he starts gliding his hand through the water, testing its temperature. Arms folded on the rim of the bathtub, he rests his head for a moment, waiting for it fill up. The steam begins to fog the mirror as bubbles form in the bathtub. After he removes his clothes, he doesn't even bother to read the instructions for the bath soap. He rips the packet upon with his teeth, careful not to touch the wounded side of his mouth before pouring it into the bathtub.

A tired sigh leaves his lips when he carefully places himself in the water, aching body trembling slightly. His features scrunch up when the hot water reaches his injuries but he slowly becomes used to the heat.

He stares off into the open space, barely inspecting the adjacent wall. However, his attention is caught by a relatively small crack in the bathroom tile. He can't explain it but for some reason the sight makes him slightly uneasy. Naturally, he knows that it will only get bigger if he leaves it alone.

Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he wonders idly.

Has that crack always been there?

There is a firm knock on the door that shakes Henry from the book he's reading on his comfy living room chair. The paranoia sets in once again considering that the last visit from the strange policewoman wasn't a very pleasant one. He's had far too many visitors for his comfort zone recently. The peephole reveals the fish-eyed image of a gruff looking middle-aged man. He would have looked more patient if it weren't for his large arms crossed against his brown long-coat. Henry turns the deadlock and fumbles with a large ring of keys on the counter. He peers out over the strained steel chain, suspicious, only allowing the door open a crack. "What is it?"

"Henry Town-sh-end." The older man tests the name on his tongue, unconsciously tips his dark hat reading the name printed in his little book. Henry nods in response.

"My name is Douglas Cartland. I'm a detective."

A confused expression forms into Henry's face.

"May I come in?" He gestures to the door.

Although reluctant, he does so anyways, afraid that he would be scolded if he didn't.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

Douglas walks in past him, taking a short look around the small apartment.

"No, I'm sorry."

Somewhat leering as the detective passes him without removing his shoes, he remains silent.

Douglas shifts uncomfortably in his place. "You knew a man named James Sunderland, correct?"

Henry's eyes widen at the name, he swallows hard and nods.

"Frank Sunderland said you were one of the very few friends he kept in contact with after his wife's death."

The impersonal way he spoke very bluntly about James, it made Henry inwardly cringe slightly. It was said as if he were some case being documented on television.

"For awhile I suppose, but he alienated me just like all the others. We weren't very close."

The detective lets out a large sigh of perceived frustration. "Alright then, I need to know if Mr. James Sunderland was acting strange at all?"

Henry thought about that but couldn't come up with much of anything.

"No, not that I can recall."

The detective looks up at Henry with an accusing stare. "Are you sure?"

The dark eyes glaring at Henry made him feel like an unwanted speck of dirt staining the detective's jacket. He wasn't afraid of the man, he just felt like he was wasting the man's time and he guesses that the other had a similar thought.

The older man looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes. Henry could tell he clearly thought this case was a lost cause but was still trying to be civil and go through the routine. "He didn't mention about problems at home?"

Henry doesn't make eye contact, remembering. "James lived alone."

"According to the records I received, he was married."

"She died about 3 years ago." Henry looks at the floor.

Mr. Cartland cold gaze remained unsympathetic.

"It's polite to look at someone when they are speaking to you."

"What?" Henry looks up mildly offended, features twisting up slightly.

The other man voice lowers itself but it's a very calm observation. Each word comes out slow, a pause between most of them. "It is polite. To look at someone. When they are speaking to you."

Henry doesn't appreciate being scolded like a child. "Are we speaking? It sounds more like an interrogation to me."

"Is there any reason that I would need to interrogate you?

"Of coarse not." Henry scoffs, voice highering a bit.

The detective's stern expression disappears for a moment, grin visible through the grey stubble on his face. He chuckles lightly in disbelief. "Alright. Whatever you say kid."

He sighs deeply, hands still buried in the pockets of his brown trench coat.

"Look, I'm just going through protocol here. No need to be uncivil."

Henry almost laughed but stopped himself. He's the uncivil one. Henry muses silently to himself.

"Do you remember your last conversation with James?"

"No."

"Not anything?"

"No. Nothing."

"You don't remember the last thing James said to you?"

Henry thought about it again for a moment but shakes his head. "No."

The dectective sighs once again and pulls out a small leather book, bringing a business card from in-between one of its pages and holds it out for Henry to take.

"Just give me a call if you hear anything. Okay?"

Henry nods. "Alright."

He's not sure if could be any help and he feels almost certain that he won't be, but he agrees nonetheless.

Leaving the apartment is a challenge, especially in his tired state but he manages to arrive at the office physically in one piece. He's been rehearsing the things he wanted to say to the man in the office all day and now the little confidence he's built up makes him feel slightly less worried. The particular words bounce around in his head, picking out mock up questions he expects to be asked. He shivers slightly but he imagines it's the brisk wind blowing into his open jacket.

Although it's a busy road, there aren't many cars out this particular day and it makes the trip much easier. When approaching the building, Henry feels obligated to stop and observe its towering stature. Already nervous, another chill catches him as he passes the sign that reads "Hilltop Center". That anxious feeling flips over in his stomach when a girl with short dark hair exits through the front door. He knows that he shouldn't but he can't help but feel embarrassed going in.

Upon stepping up to the receptionist, she doesn't take her eyes off the computer.

Henry decides to try for her attention, awkwardly. "Uh, hi. I'm looking for-"

"Mr. Townshend?" she speedily replies.

"Yeah, I-"

"One moment please." She spins around on her chair, red cardigan catching some of the air.

"Doctor, your 4 o'clock has arrived."

The speaker box distorts the man's voice some but the reply comes. 'Send him in.'

Disoriented by the instructions, Henry spins around on his heels to go through the door but realizes that he has turned the wrong way. Hoping the woman hadn't noticed, he returns to the spot he started in.

"The name is on the door." She smiles at him.

Blush rises up on Henry's cheeks and he mutters a 'thanks' before checking the name on the gold plate.

"Doctor M. Kaufmann"

He lets out a large anxious breath proceeding in and is greeted by a man in a clean suit. He is writing rather vigorously onto a clipboard.

"Go ahead and take a seat." He motions before returning to his work, flipping one of the sheets over.

Henry complies readily, knitting his fingers together on his lap as he situates himself on the large leather couch. The doctor flips another paper up over the clipboard and puts the previous file he was working on into the cabinet on his desk.

"So… I heard you've been having trouble sleeping. Is that right?"

Henry swallows hard, absentmindedly bouncing his knees. "Yes."

The doctor takes a look at his patient nervously rubbing his hands together and nonchalantly writes a few notes down.

"Well I assure you that we will deal with that issue very soon but first, I'd like you tell me a little about yourself."

Henry begins to squirm under the other man's confident but patient gaze. It was a very simple question anyone should be able to answer but the words are stuck in his throat and there is a long pause that laces through the room. Noticing Henry's struggle, the doctor scribbles something with his pen.

"Let's start with some of the basics. What do you do? As in occupation."

"I'm a photographer." Henry says in a swift breath.

"I assume you like job then?"

Henry nods.

"Good. Do you live alone?"

Henry swallows the lump in his throat, still nervous about the line of questioning. The other man waits patiently for answer, gazing up at him from the glasses perched on his nose.

They discuss some other general things after Henry finally starts responding more freely. The questions get much more heavier like describing the relationship he has with his parents and the high level of stress he has accumulated for a reason Henry can't quite pinpoint.

"It's almost like something horrible is going to happen but it's just inching toward me. The anticipation is the worst." The rehearsed statement doesn't come out like he had planned it to but the doctor seems pleased in his openness.

"Very insightful."

The praise makes a warm feeling rise in his cheeks, he almost wants to smile until he hears the next question on the therapist's list.

"Do you ever hear voices?"

"No." Henry lies too quickly, his upper lip twitches involuntarily.

Kaufmann looks up over the reading glasses perched on his nose to observe Henry's strange reaction. His palms sweat as he tries not to give his secret away.

"Interesting… Was there any type of event you can recall that would cause your fairly recent chronic insomnia?"

Henry grimaces at the professional term but mentions the vivid dream.

"I've been having strange dreams."

"If you would be willing to share, I could try and provide some incite if you'd like."

"Alright, well… It was almost like I was awake but at the same time, I wasn't." Henry glances away from the tightly clenched hands in his lap to the Doctor, trying to gauge his reaction.

Kaufmann stares at him interested. "Go on."

The patient squirms under the gaze but continues. " I dreamt that I had been woken up by a sound in the middle if the night and when I went to see what it was, an intruder attacked me."

Henry looks at the doctor expectantly, hoping that it was a good enough synopsis but he replies differently. "What kind of intruder?"

"A man, with dark brown hair. A scar on his cheek." The discomfort he feels is overshadowed by the intense way he tries to recollect Murphy's face. "He was soaking wet." Henry decides to add.

"It was storming out." This was turning out to be way more detail than he had wanted give to the Doctor so he keeps the other details to himself, absentmindedly lightly checking the injury on his face.

Kaufmann nods his head with an understanding grunt. "Perhaps your dreams are manifesting the things you fear? Are you afraid of home invasion?"

"Not really… I live in a relatively safe neighborhood."

"Hm, how comfortable are you when meeting new people?"

The question makes Henry flinch slightly. "I'm okay."

Kaufman looks incredulous but doesn't say anything about it and that worries Henry even more.

"I see." It's a rather cold statement the man makes before checking the clock on the wall.

"How unfortunate that our session seems to have come near it's end. We'll have to look more in depth at this next week."

Henry nods and lets out a heavy breath. Upon almost getting up, the doctor stops him.

"Before you go, I needed to discuss one more thing with you today."

Henry plops himself back down into the leather sofa once again, not making eye contact but waiting for Kaufmann to continue.

"Now, while the sessions will ultimately help your condition, I think it would be most beneficial to put you on medication for the time being as well."

His eyes widen somewhat. Henry hadn't expected it.

"Are you sure that's necessary?" He challenges rather mildly, voice slightly higher and upper lip grimacing.

The doctor's face becomes suddenly very grave and the setting sun filters the whole room red. The stripes of shadow from the blinds covering Dr. Kaufmann make him appear much more intimidating than before. The expression locked onto his face seems very cold in contrast to the bright room and it elicits a shiver to run up Henry's neck.

"Mr. Townshend, I don't mean to worry you but I've concluded that without the proper help, your state of health could be in serious danger. Are you questioning my authority?

"No! Not at all I would never-"

"Good." The doctor pulls out a square pad of paper, writing down a prescription. Henry doesn't dare interject again.

"I want you to be taking one every night. There may be some insignificant side effects but nothing major."

Henry's eyes widen slightly at the thought.

"Sleep is our biggest priority at the moment. We can adjust the dose in the near future."

The plastic smile on the doctor's face made Henry feel paranoid about that late statement.

He pulls himself from the leather sofa once again, grabbing the small paper from the doctor's hands, wanting to leave as quickly as possible. However, Kaufmann also gives Henry a manila colored envelope with many bent papers sticking out from inside.

"Would you mind giving this file to Ms. Garland on your way out?"

Henry stutters, mind going blank. "Am I even allowed to do that?"

The doctor nods and Henry turns to exit, eyes on the floor.

"And no opening that." Henry mumbles a sound of agreement before shutting the door. It would be so easy to look inside and see this person's secrets.

Henry obeyed anyways, not wanting to intrude into someone else's private information. He does read the name written on the side of it several times though.

It's silly but he can't help but feel somewhat noble. He tries to imagine what the person would look like but fails to conjure up any images.

Don't worry,

He looks at the name again.

Miss Cheryl Mason. He smiles.

Your secrets are safe with me.

The whole apartment is nearly pitch black. The clouds in the dark sky cover all of the stars that sometimes peer into Henry's room on regular nights. The dark outline of the ceiling fan still steadily rotating, quietly in place above Henry's sleeping form.

The phone rings several times and Henry tosses over and picks up the phone half asleep. He's surprised the loose grip he has manages to move the receiver over to his ear.

"Hello?" he mumbles.

"Henry." There is a muffled whisper but Henry recognizes it straight away. His eyes widen, whole mind completely at attention.

They stay silent for a long moment.

"…James?" Henry asks tentatively.

He doesn't say anything but Henry can hear water crashing up on shore in the background. There's static crackling in his ear.

Henry shoots out of bed grabbed the phone stand. "What the hell. James, where are you? Where did you even go?"

"I went to Silent Hill." The rush of water is unsettling.

"Why?" His breathing is shallow.

"I belong here." James mutters on the other end. "With Mary."

His hands are clutching the receiver so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"James?" he asks again, more desperate. Voice cracks.

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

He scoffs aloud. It sounds like a sad breath, as if contemplating dejected memories.

"I have to go to her." It's a listless statement.

Again, Henry begins to plead.

"James wait! Don't hang up."

"Goodbye Henry."

"Damn it James!"

There is a steady dial tone a follows.

Defeated, he grabs the address book on his nightstand and pulls out Douglas's business card.

The man doesn't hang up but the phone becomes deadly silent. He pulls the stand closer with ease before looking down and the plastic bit on the end of wire. The cord is old and frayed at the end.

A violent shiver runs down Henry's spine. A deep breath is drawn from his trembling lips.

The phone hadn't been connected to the socket.

After a glass of chocolate milk, he's worked up the courage to dial the numbers before the anxiety settles into his half-awake mind. He pays no mind to the late hour.

He calls the number and when it doesn't pick up, he pushes the keys again, and again, and again until it reaches through.

"Yeah?" a rough grisly voice answers before he hacks a smoker's cough.

"Did you check the Lake?"

"What?" He snaps unintentionally. "Who-"

"This is Henry. Your new lead, it's Silent Hill, Toluca Lake."

Douglas is frustrated from being woken up at this hour but attempts to keep it professional.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" He swears lightly under his breath.

"You told me to call." Henry counters softly.

"Alright, We'll talk in the morning-" He yawns ready to roll back over in the motel sheets.

"No, write it down." Henry didn't notice the assertive tone in his voice. It no longer mattered to him in this moment. He felt determined to get this.

"It's late."

"I know. Please." Douglas can't see the young man's face but he's sure that this must be very important.

"Trust me on this." Henry finishes.

The Detective sighs deeply once again. "Alright."

"Toluca Lake." Henry repeats it. Detective Cartland reaches in the drawer to pull out a small book. When he notices that the front is adorned with a large relief cross, he sighs and rummages around some more. He fingers a pack of cigarettes, flat wrappers and the Holy Bible once again before he finds what he was looking for half asleep. He scribbles it in his little brown pad on the motel nightstand.

"Silent Hill." He reassures Henry, irritation light in his voice.

There's a long silence and it almost makes Douglas hang up but he hears a soft whisper.

"…Do you believe in ghosts Detective?"

He scoffs and mutters quietly but very patiently. "I think you need some rest, son."

"Alright." Henry complies straight away.

"Goodnight Henry."

"G'night Detective."