Wretched

Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill.

IV. The Fourth Day

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone. By the way, if I haven't mentioned it before, there's a reason this story's rated "M," and it's not for Pyramid Head's inane characterization.

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There were no windows nor timepieces in the small room, so Pyramid Head couldn't tell when it was day and when it might possibly be night. However, despite how utterly clueless he was most of the his moments spent in his little makeshift citadel, there were those very few-and-far between moments when some outside noise prompted him to believe that it was a certain time, particularly day. Sometimes, when he strained his ears hard enough, he could hear a few morning birds chirp when they landed just outside the building.

This morning—day—night—whatever the hell it was—was not one of those rare times, though, and so Pyramid Head was left to stare at Maria's sleeping form as he wondered when the hell she was going to wake up. Since his hunger had been indulged and properly pampered, it was longing for more food again. His stomach growled and gurgled, twisted and turned, and although he had half a mind to just ignore it and go on sleeping like he had been, the emptiness of his gut pleaded with him not to so. He hated denying his gut anything, anyway.

He wanted to say, "Would you mind getting the fuck up so that I can get some nutrition?" but knew that this was next to impossible. He had resolved not to speak around this woman, and Pyramid Head stuck to his resolves like blood to a corpse. Or, at least, something to that extreme extent.

"Fuck!"

The noise, courtesy of the previously sleeping girl in the corner of the room, made Pyramid Head's snap to attention.

She blinked and looked around the room—wide-eyed and owlish—before standing up quickly and groping unsteadily for the doorknob. "God damn it, Pyramid Head! Why didn't you wake me up?"

Oh, she was definitely going to die.

The door flew open in a flurry of rustling pebbles and scampering rats, and Maria ran through it, slamming it roughly behind her.

He figured that it had been somewhere around five hours before she returned again, carrying what looked to be a bucket and a…a sponge? Maybe it was a loofah? Whatever it was, he did not like what its presence meant for him.

Maria didn't speak to him as she worked diligently, bringing in the bucket and basket of cleaning utensils, and then leaving for a few moments before she returned again, this time with two more buckets. She repeated this act several times until a stray flesh-eating bug scared her into the submission and seclusion of the room.

Her hands on her hips, displaying the tattoo on her lower right hip in a rather proud manner, she nodded in satisfaction despite the threat of the bug outside the door. "That took a little longer than I anticipated." She started stretching then, working out the kinks and knots in her back and thigh muscles.

Fuck h—

Pyramid Head promptly told the voice to shut the hell up. He was far too apprehensive about what she planned on doing with all that soapy water to worry about needing a good, hard roll in the sack.

"Well!" She finished with this exclamation, smirking slyly at her materials. "I can be quite industrious when I set my mind to something, you know. So we'll just have to get started."

No, no, no, no, no! His suspicions were correct! She wanted to bathe him!

Like hell, he told himself. I'd like to see her try, he reassured. She won't come within three feet of me, he tried to insist.

But none of his mental oaths did anything to scar the bounce in her step as she slipped on some yellow gloves, pulled a bucket toward Pyramid Head, and grabbed a sponge-loofah.

She was dead when he got the feeling back in his arms and legs. When he was able to stand, she'd know the most intense torture, straight from the devil, himself. He was getting a little less creative in his punishments as time wore on, but she was a woman, and he knew he could find something to suit his fancy. Violation via the Great Knife, skinning her lower body, and then—

His clothes were gone.

His clothes—his apron and gloves and boots and even his socks—were lying in a pile near her. He'd been so distracted with his fantasies that he hadn't even noticed her removing his things!

Before he could think to react, a deluge of what he could only interpret was needles of ice fell over his whole body, making him breathe a hoarse, scratchy gasp. When his vision cleared, he could see Maria holding a bucket above his head innocently.

"I know, it's cold," she said, tossing the bucket aside. "But this was necessary. I said you stunk, and I wasn't lying." She took a bottle of soap, dish soap, no less, and drew little patterns over his cold, naked body in trails of translucent green. If he didn't know any better, he could've sworn she'd drawn a little heart around his navel.

"So much blood," she muttered as she pressed the sponge to his neck, beginning to scrub. "And it's all caked on. Don't you ever take showers?"

He could recall one time when he had fallen into Toluca Lake, but that hardly counted as a shower. The water was murky and grimy, and dead fish had caused him to smell like marine life for weeks afterward.

So, no, he didn't take showers.

She dipped a cup in another bucket to wash away the filth that she had cleaned over his neck and parts of his breastbone, and his lips tightened to keep in a rather vulgar but vocal remark.

Her manic scrubbing eventually lessened to something quite a bit softer—small, rhythmatic circles that covered the entire length of his body. She didn't pour anymore cold water on him, thankfully, probably thinking to save that for the end of his impromptu bath.

Soon, he found that he was falling asleep. He was so tired, and it was almost like a massage, so he couldn't be blamed for just—

A deluge of freezing water promptly woke him up.

She tossed the bucket aside and smiled unapologetically. "You don't look so bad when you're clean, Pyramid Head."

He glared at her as she set to work on washing his clothes in one of the buckets and then hanging them over the very same rail that had brought him into such a disheartening predicament in the first place. When that was finished, her attentions switched to him.

"It's about time for me to leave," she said, pulling on her jacket that she had removed for fear of getting it wet. "But I'll be back tomorrow to put your clothes back on you." She threw a blanket over him that he hadn't noticed until now and bid him a smiling adieu.