Chapter 7: Figure Eight
2 years later...
Angela Orosco was cold. Her white, long sleeved blouse offered no protection, because this was an emotionless sensation encasing her very heart. Angela aimlessly wandered through the fog enshrouded depths of the Silent Hill Forest, not knowing where her path would take her but too scared to deviate nonetheless.
I wonder if she's still here...mama.
She cautiously walked down the dirt path, dried leaves and twigs crunching beneath her feet. She had no idea what had brought her back to this town. Perhaps it was a perpetual destiny that would always bring her back to this place. A hollow feeling of loss, Silent Hill being the only entity that could fill that void.
Angela stopped at a set of rusty gates. Through the thick fog, she could make various objects jutting from the earth; tombstones...
Angela tightly gripped the rusty bars of the cemetery gates and shoved them open. The hinges cried like the scream of a demonic wraith, it crescendo echoing throughout the night sky.
She entered the humble fog enshrouded necropolis. I don't like this place. Angela thought meekly.
She was scared. Scared of this unknown, scared of what fate would eventually await her, but she could not turn back. A fire withing her burned to find what was driving her to this place, a fire that would eventually consume her very soul.
She walked through the cemetery, her sneakers lightly thudding against the soft earth. She felt as if she were being led by an invisible force, something greater than herself beckoning her to its secret. Her shadow eventually fell over a small headstone. Unlike many of the other graves, this one bore no flowers, no way to tell if this person was ever loved, just a patch of dirt covering a forgotten body.
Angela knelled next to the grave, trying to discern the words etched beneath its weathered surface. She lightly brushed aside residue that had built up on the surface of the stone, and read the name aloud, her voice barely a whisper in the still air.
"Thomas Orosco"
1950 – 1999
Survived by a wife and son...
The name sent pings of recognition through Angela's skull. She tried to grasp the elusive significance of the name, her thoughts ferociously swimming throughout her tired mind.
Thomas Orosco...mother...brother...
"Excuse me...I..."
Angela instinctively jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She backed away from the grave, an accused look permeating in her soft brown eyes.
"I, I'm sorry...I, I...I was just..." She stammered. The man standing before her eyed her with a look of incredulity. He was a middle aged man with light brown hair and wearing a heavy dark green jacket. The warning bells in Angela's mind escalated as the two stared each other down.
"No, it's okay. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm kind of lost."
Now was Angela's turn to stare with the look of disbelief. Her senses calmed and gave way to sheer confusion at the mans plight.
"Lost...?"