"Childe of Dark"
Chapter 1
"Cooper."
Cooper let out a yawn as he stretched his arms over his head. He slowly opened his eyes. His vision came into focus and he noticed that he was traveling in a car. He had no idea where he was, but the surroundings felt familiar. He wiped the crust from his eyes and the drool from his mouth. He felt it odd how there was no sign stubble on his skin when his hand brushed against his cheek. He tried to pull down the vanity mirror behind the visor, but he couldn't reach it. It was then that he noticed his hand—it was so small. He drew his other hand into view and stared at them for several seconds. The scars on the backs of his hands were gone, as were the calluses on his palms. His fingertips were a healthy shade of pink, and didn't scrape together like sandpaper when he rubbed his thumbs against them.
"Wake up sleepy-head."
His head snapped sharply in the direction of the gentle voice. It was a voice he remembered from a distant memory. "Mom?"
"We're almost at your Aunt Sally's."
He watched her touch up her eyeliner in the rear-view mirror. She looked just as he remembered her, always preening and grooming herself. In retrospect, he thought it was amazing how much his sister favored her; it was no wonder that she became a model. Even the way they applied their makeup was the same. She was so beautiful. He didn't dare to blink, lest the image of her fade away like a mirage.
Cognizant of his attentions, she looked back at him with concern, saying, "You look pale. Are you ok?"
"Yeah I'm fine. It's just that I've...missed you."
"Oh baby, that's so sweet," she replied, blushing as she reached out to touch him.
He closed his eyes as her fingers graced his cheek. He could still feel the warmth of her touch even after she removed her hand. He wished that this moment would last forever, even if it were not real.
His tranquil reverie was interrupted when she turned the dial on the radio, stopping at Janis Joplin's Cry Baby. A chill swept over his body as repressed memories screamed to break through the surface of his consciousness. That song...it was the last thing he remembered hearing before-
"Mom stop the car!"
The warning came too late. The screeching of tires drowned the music playing over the radio. The car pulled them left, then right as she struggled to regain control of the vehicle. The tires exploded causing the car to spin faster and faster. It was so dizzying that it was impossible to tell when they became air-born. The world turned upside-down, then there was darkness.
When Cooper came to, the cabin started filling up with smoke. He could hear the sound of fire crackling outside. He reached across and shook his mother. No response. He felt her neck for a pulse. She was still alive. He unbuckled his seat belt and fell to the roof on his shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he pulled himself through the partially collapsed opening of the window. Once he was out, he ran to the other side to free his mother. The crawlspace was crushed between the ground and the weight of the vehicle, making it impossible to pull her free. His only option was to get the door open. He grabbed the latch of the driver's side door and pulled with all his strength, to no avail.
Why is everything so heavy?
The fire was growing larger. It was all happening again just as he remembered. He paced back and forth, pushing aside the urge to cower on the edge of the road.
Think, dammit, think!
He reached through the window and pulled the storage release. He then ran to the back of the car and groped frantically inside the trunk. In his haste, his thumb raked against something sharp, causing him to shriek in pain. Blood ran down his arm and dripped off the elbow, as he continued to fumble blindly, until he found the tire jack. He could feel the heat of the fire fed by leaking oil. Fortunately, this gave him enough light to work by. He wedged the jack between the gap in the window before affixing the handle to turn crank. It was working; the opening was getting bigger. The door started to warp, buckling between the weight of the car and the force of the jack.
I forgot I how much I hate this damn song!
Working halfway through the treads, blood continued to trickle from his hand, causing him to lose his grip on the crank. As he wrapped his hand with his sock to control the bleeding, the heat from the fire started to warm the back of his neck. He dared to look behind him; the flames were already dancing around the fuel tank. There was no time. He removed the handle from the jack and jammed it between one of the cracks behind the latch. If the jack had relieved enough pressure from the hinges, he might be able to pry the door open.
He propped his foot against the frame for leverage. The vertebrae in his spine popped as he pulled as hard as he could against the handle. He gritted his teeth so hard that his eyes started to tear up from the strain.
"...Please."
The word escaped his lips before he had a chance to stop it. Although it was too late to take it back, he resigned himself to the notion that his entreatment was most likely ignored - considering that it was made to someone who he has not spoken to in years.
Mercifully, he heard the sound of snapping metal. The lock gave and the door flew open. He fell backwards, landing hard on his shoulder - again. He rolled to his belly, and then crawled to the car on his hands and knees. Smoke blanketed the inside of the cabin, forcing him to hold his breathe as he reached inside to unlock her restraints. Grasping her firmly under each arm, he pulled her out. He continued to drag her along until they reached the side of the road.
He laid her down and checked her pulse again: nothing. Her lips were blue from asphyxiation. He fought back another urge to panic and allowed his training to take over. He straddled her and counted in his head as he began chest compressions.
...twenty-seven...twenty-eight...twenty-nine...thirty!
After ventilating, he checked her pulse again; he thought he felt something. He placed his ear over her mouth and waited impatiently. He was about to start CPR again when he felt her warm breathe on his earlobe. He rejoiced when he noticed the steady rise-and-fall of her chest. The color started to return to her face as she regained consciousness. She slowly sat up and looked around, noticing the wreckage behind them.
They held each other, tears in their eyes. He gripped her tightly as he nuzzled his head atop her breast.
"You see, Mom, I saved you."
"Yes baby, you saved me."
"I didn't hide on the side of the road this time."
"My little hero."
"Things are gonna be different this time—"
A rush of air caught their attention as the car exploded. Shrapnel and debris fell around them. He felt his mother's body flinch, then lean heavy against him. A thin sheet of metal landed next to them stained with red.
"Mama?"
She did not answer. He looked up, expecting to see his mother's loving eyes. There was nothing but empty air. He released his embrace, letting her body slump to ground. He didn't look; he couldn't look. He started to walk away when he slipped on something wet. He fell on his side and, at ground level, found his mothers eyes. However, these eyes were empty and hollow - darting about in vergence to the command of dying synapses firing at random. The rest of her remained balanced in such a way that it appeared as if she were buried up to her neck in asphalt. He covered his ears so as to spare himself the sounds of twitching flesh. When her eyes finally stilled in their orbs, the only part left moving was the mouth - alternating rhythmically between a smile and a frown.
—oOo—
BEEP BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP BEEP...
Cooper involuntarily bucked hard against his seat, pulling him back to reality. After resetting the alarm on his wristwatch, he looked around the cabin to see if the noise had brought any attention upon him. Fortunately, the other passengers in first class were soundly asleep. He wiped the sweat from his face with his hand, taking note of the familiar stubble on his chin. The rattling of ice brought his attention to the hand holding the vodka screwdriver. It maintained a tight grip on the shattered glass; a swirl of red started to mix with the orange along the bottom of the drink.
He got up from his seat and headed down the aisle, brushing past the stewardess on the way. He dismissed the look of concern on her face as he entered the bathroom. After locking the door, he threw away the cracked glass and removed the shards lodged in his thumb. He washed his hands thoroughly and splashed some cold water on his face. He grabbed a wad of paper towels and applied pressure to the cut. After a few minutes the bleeding stopped.
His plane landed in Brahm's International Airport a few hours later without further incident. After disembarking, he walked by the baggage carousel and immediately spotted one of his pieces of luggage. He stood patiently as he waited for the rest of his things to come down the chute. All the while, he pondered the significance of the dream he had earlier. It was rare when he dreamed about his mother; she died such a long time ago. He reasoned that his father's condition must have spurred his subconscious to dig up those memories. The large metallic suitcase brought him out of his thoughts as it banged loudly along the conveyor belt. He winced as he picked up the heavy suitcase. The weight of it opened up the cut on his thumb, causing a few drops of blood to trickle off the handle.
By the time he walked out of the airport, his car rental was waiting for him by the curb. He entered the vehicle and started the engine. Before driving off, he glanced at the newspaper that he purchased at the periodical stand. He threw the paper in the passenger seat after reading the headline:
Silent Hill Murder Spree Claims Fifth Victim
The drive from Brahm's was uneventful. He found the trip so relaxing that he almost missed the turn off from the interstate. The feeder road took him to an abandoned stretch of highway. He had to double check the map to make sure he was going in the right direction. He turned off the radio; listening to music had become a futile endeavor. All he could hear was the tread of the tires bumping against the patches of tar laid in the many cracks along the poorly maintained road. Fortunately, by the time he hit the mountain pass, the road started to smooth out. It was a clear day, so he could see for miles. Toluca Lake glimmered in the distance from the rays of the rising sun coming over the tree line. He put his map away when he drove past a rusty sign that had fallen into disrepair:
Welcome to Silent Hill
The streets were still barren in the early morning hours, giving it the appearance of a ghost town. After passing through the business district, he turned onto Sanford St., which took him around the perimeter of the lake.
In many ways, Silent Hill reminded him of his hometown in North Dakota. They were both quiet and unspoiled. However, the difference here was he always felt something was off about this out-of-the-way hamlet. Upon joining the Army, he had since traveled all over the world; yet Silent Hill proved to be inimitable.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Lake View Hotel. He handed his keys off to the valet and popped the trunk so the bellhop could take his luggage - although he opted to carry the large metallic suitcase himself. He checked into the presidential suite on the top floor. After tipping the bellhop and closing the door, he set the hard suitcase atop the desk. He placed his thumb on a sensor located under the handle. After a few seconds, the locks popped open. He opened the bi-level case to examine his gear. He took the night-goggles off the top shelf and put them on by force of habit. Considering that he always wore them when on duty, he felt naked without them. After giving the room a quick scan, he instinctively propped them above his brow. He picked up the M1911A1 pistol, slapped in a fresh clip, and tossed it onto the mattress. He then closed the equipment case and walked over to the patio.
He opened the drapes overlooking the lake. Anyone else would have taken the time to appreciate the view; however, he needed the light to work. He opened the rest of his luggage and took out his Class A uniform. He unrolled it over the mattress and used his fingers to smooth out the fabric - checking for any signs of wrinkles and other imperfections. Using his traveling iron, he gave his trousers a quick once-over to reinforce the crease down each leg. He took out his medals and pinned them on his jacket. Using a ruler, he measured the spacing, ensuring that they were arranged according to regulation. He saved his shoes for last, polishing them until he could see his reflection in the shiny leather.
After showering, he put his uniform on then stood at attention in front of the mirror above the dresser. He opened the velvet case and took out one last medal: a gold star surrounded by a wreath, topped by an eagle perched on a bar inscribed with the word "Valor." He respectfully unfolded the ribbon and placed it around his neck - adjusting it until the thirteen chevroned stars aligned perfectly with the knot in his tie.
After ordering breakfast, he left the hotel and drove to Alchemilla Hospital. Upon arriving, he waited a full ten minutes in the parking lot - his hands gripped tightly against the steering wheel. Even though the A/C was on the highest setting, they were sweating profusely. He wiped them off on the seat cushions as he steeled himself. When he finally got out of the car, he adjusted his hat in the reflection of the glass before going inside.
After some direction from the front desk, he was able to find the room. He gripped the doorknob, but waited before walking in. His palms were sweating again. He dried them off on his handkerchief and noticed that they were shaking slightly.
All I have to do is say goodbye...
He took a deep breathe as he slowly entered the room. Against the far wall, his father laid still, as if asleep. He approached and stood by the corner of the frame. The room was silent, save for the EKG that blipped slowly next to the bed. There was a plastic pouch hung over the side of the rail containing a yellow liquid. An IV was inserted into each hand. The skin on his arms was riddled with age spots and lesions. His face was gaunt; the skin drawn in. Most of his hair had fallen out. He looked withered - defeated.
It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had raised him. As he looked away, he noticed the gold light, reflected from his medals, shining on the wall above the headboard. He turned subtly, angling the sunlight through the window until the golden glow rested on his father's face. He wanted to make sure it was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.
"Da...Major?"
There was no response. He didn't even stir at the sound of his voice. He started to reach out in order to shake his leg when he noticed the chart at the foot of the bed. He picked up the clipboard and read the top sheet. The words written in bold at the top stood out from the others:
Do Not Resuscitate
"Coop?"
His attention turned to the familiar voice. His sister Una had entered room. Her blonde hair and gentle green eyes haunted him. She had grown to look so much like their mother that it made it difficult to disregard his dream. She laid her purse and coffee down on the table. Cooper stared, but still failed to acknowledge her.
Una folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, saying, "Not a word from you in two years and I can't get a simple, hello sis?"
He blushed as he tried to crack a smile. "Hello sis."
She replied with a pout, then went over to hug him. She felt him tense up when she pressed against him, but she didn't let go until he returned her embrace. "I'm glad you came."
He cleared his throat nervously as he took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. "So how is the Major?"
"Dad is not doing so well. He's been comatose for the past week."
He curled his lip. "What does that mean?"
"The doctors don't know if he'll ever wake up."
"Is that why you signed off on this?" he said, showing her the D.N.R. order from the chart.
She averted her eyes and looked down at her feet. "You didn't see him Coop. He had three cardiac events after his last round of chemo. You know how he gets when his mind is made up... He didn't wan't to admit it, but he couldn't stand the pain."
"So I'm not going to get a chance to say goodbye?" he mused.
"I'm sorry Coop." After an uncomfortable silence, she tried to change the subject. "It was nice of you to pay for all the medical bills."
He replaced the chart on the rail. "A soldier never leaves another man behind."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh I see. So you were duty-bound?"
"It was no big deal; I licensed one of my patents. Frankly, I'm surprised that he accepted the money."
She smiled nervously. "Well...I ended up telling him that the VA approved his extended care," she said, biting her lower lip afterwards.
He snorted quietly. "Typical that you had to sneak under his radar like that."
"I wouldn't be so quick to judge; you're just like him: that MacBride pride."
"If I'm not mistaken, your last name is MacBride too," he replied, deadpan.
"Smart Alek." Una rolled up her newspaper and playfully swatted him. "It only affects the males."
He caught the paper and snatched it from her, allowing her the indulgence of a chuckle at his expense.
The headline of the front page caught his eye as he unrolled it:
Silent Hill Second Annual "Festival by the Lake" Draws Record Crowds.
The subject matter stood in stark contrast to headlines of the paper he got in Brahms. He flipped through the other pages to see if there was any mention of recent violent crimes. Eventually, he found the story of interest buried on the last page. More disturbing was the fact that the article was very cryptic—referring to the murders as attacks. He made it a point to remember the byline, written by Joseph Schreiber.
He presented the article to her saying, "This town has some skewed priorities."
"What do you mean?'
"Reports out of Brahm's read like it's open season on people down here. How come you didn't mention any of this in your letter?"
Una shrugged as she skimmed the first few paragraphs. "The authorities have given everyone the impression that the increase in crime was from all the tourism. Besides, you read about stuff like this all the time in L.A."
"This isn't L.A., sis. I hope you've been careful."
"Of course. Anyway, most of the attacks have happened in South Vale on the other side of town."
"I see, so where are you staying?"
"Your concern is touching, but I'm a big girl now, Coop-"
"I see, so where are you staying?"
"I've been on my own for quite some time now, without any meddling from my big brother, I might add-"
"I see, so where are you staying?"
She sighed impatiently, but thought it best to placate him. "I'm staying at a hotel in the next town, and I leave here everyday before sundown."
"Good girl," he replied, nodding with approval. "Do you need any money?"
She smirked and put her hands on her hips. "Coop, I earn more money than you do... C'mon, I'll buy you lunch. We can catch up."
As he followed her out, his arm brushed against the rail, knocking the chart on the floor. He picked it up, and was about to replace it when he regarded the D.N.R. order. He glanced at his father briefly, and then looked around to make sure his sister had left the room. He then took the order off the clipboard and replaced the chart. He folded the paper carefully and put it in his pocket as he left to join her.
End Chapter 1.