Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Warning: Extremely Disturbing Content in this chapter.
A/N: This is the longest chapter so far, perhaps the longest one in the entire story at over 9000 words. Please Read and Review, thanks.
Chapter 7: Brookhaven Pt. 2
The two stared at each other from across the room, Sam speechless at the sight of the other man. He had been in such isolation for so long, it was hard to adjust to the presence of another human being. Dr. Kaufman, the man in question, walked slowly toward him, each step sure and deliberate. Sam, who had maybe lost more than a little bit of his sanity, kept the barrel of his shotgun aimed at him. The only other person he had talked to here had been Brandon, but as a child he was different. This was a grown adult, someone who may be able to explain what was happening in this damned town. As odd as it was, the problem Sam was having was that he had forgotten –at least a little –how to interact with another living being without trying to kill it.
Dr. Kaufman, to his credit, didn't even bat an eye to the distrustful treatment. He got over to where Sam was, looking over at the mess of papers on the floor. "I see you have been availing yourself of the opportunity to do a little searching, while you're here. Tell me something; how is Dr. Burke doing?"
Sam was having some difficulties in wrapping his mind around this development. A part deep within him cried out in ecstasy at socializing with another person. So starved for human contact was he, that it required actual concentration to keep himself from dropping his gun and throwing his arms around the other man in a crushing bear hug. It took him a little while to get his act together and form the words needed to respond. "I have so many questions for you." Pausing a moment, he continued, "God, I don't know where to even begin."
"I suppose you might be wondering about Silent Hill, but the truth is that it only plays a small part in your story." Dr. Kaufman found an old chair that was sturdy enough and sat down, facing Sam. "You see, Sam, many years ago when I was in medical school, I was approached by a man named, Jerry."
Sam rolled his eyes at this, having heard something like it before.
"Jerry," continued Kaufman, "slowly became my friend. He told me he was a doctor and had so many high-level connections; I was compelled to be seen around him as much as possible and he soon became my mentor. He was more than willing to let this go on and soon I was making all the right connections for myself. It wasn't until a few months after I graduated, that he revealed to me his true nature." Clearing his throat, he said, "I had always suspected that he wasn't who he claimed to be, but to discover that he was the Prince of Darkness really threw me for a loop.
"But the Devil wasn't the only person I met with such a strange and horrible secret. A woman named Dahlia Gillespie had recruited my help for her 'project.' At the time, I didn't realize how crazy she was or anything of the mad thing she wanted my help in facilitating. But none of that really has much to do with you. The Devil wanted mine and Dr. Burke's help in making the way to conceive you. Once you were born, He had no use for us anymore. I haven't spoken to Satan since the night of your birth, Sam." Dr. Kaufman stood up here.
"But there's more to it. I was a triplet; two others were born that night," said Sam, desperate for this knowledge. He just wanted it all out in the open.
"That's very true, Sam. I was not given the whole story, but I have pieced quite a bit of it together. All the Devil wanted was you and there were a lot of things that needed to be put in place to see that happen. My theory is that he required a very evil place for you to be born in. This is where he apparently turned to another powerful entity, the god Samael."
"Samael?" asked Sam, the name sounding strange on his tongue.
"A demon of great power, who had his own plans. It played a part in why he chose me, since Dahlia Gillespie worshipped Samael devotedly. She ran a cult that was based here in Silent Hill. This was the ground stage for their plans to have him rise to power. She wanted my help in facilitating the creation of Samael's vessel, her own daughter, Alessa. I make no justification for my part in all this, I just really didn't care all that much back then about the consequences.
"The Devil and Samael struck a deal, allowing Satan to use this place for the purpose of birthing you. In return, Samael would get your twin as a back up. That was in case, Alessa didn't live up to expectations. What no one, not even the Devil, knew was that there was a third baby. Your parents were carrying triplets the entire time and we were all clueless. You see, as the first-born you were promised to Satan, Brandon as the scond born went to Samael, but the youngest, Charlie, was a complete abomination."
"Hey! My little brother was no abomination!" Hearing it, Sam got infuriated for reasons that he couldn't articulate even to himself.
Dr. Kaufman let out a short bark of laughter. "Sam, I don't mean to get you riled up. I am merely telling you of the consensus reached that night by the two parties involved. They decided hastily –don't ask me how that played out –to throw Charlie into an orphanage. It was considered for the best, since the significance of it was unclear back then. They deemed it too dangerous to have the boy killed, but they did not want him hanging around either you or Brandon. Regardless, the Devil got what he wanted as well as Samael that night. Dr. Burke and I went our separate ways and life went on." Dr. Kaufman moved to head to the door.
Sam stood up, crying, "wait!"
Pausing at the door, Kaufman turned around to look at him.
"You've told me so much. How can you get away with telling me all this without the Devil punishing you?" Sam thought this might be good information to have for his mother.
"It's simple, Sam. He wanted me to tell you all this. The Devil knew that you would come here one day with questions and told me to answer them. All of this," Dr. Kaufman held his arms out wide, indicating everything, "was all a part of his plan." With that, he opened the door and left the room.
"Wait!" Sam cried out, quickly grabbing his file and his things. He rushed out into the hallway, wanting to ask what happened to Charlie after going to the orphanage, and didn't see Dr. Kaufman heading up the stairs. The sound of another door opening could be heard from his left. Sam darted around the corner to see a door swinging shut on the right hand side. Stuffing the file in his backpack and zipping it up as quickly as possible, while holding a shotgun, he ran into the room. It was the other storage room, with two large shelving units on either side. More junk was being stored in here, but it looked a lot cleaner than the other room did. What he didn't see in here, was Dr. Kaufman.
Sam was certain that he had seen the door to this room swing shut. His eyes focused in on a large circular hole in the wall on the far end. Slinging his backpack on, he readied his shotgun and crouched in front of the hole. He couldn't hear anything coming from within the hole, but there was no other place for Dr. Kaufman to go to. The hole curved out of sight, heading slightly downward and to the left. It was roughly hewn, like it was dug right out of the earth by hand. A foul breeze emanated from it, sour and ancient. It gave him a really bad feeling. But if this was where Dr. Kaufman went, then he would follow. With that, Sam got on his knees and climbed inside.
The air was rancid and musty, clinging to his skin wetly. Sweat dripped from his pores and soaked into his clothing, making him feel even dirtier than he did before. Traveling down the tunnel was slow work, each twist and turn taking him deeper into a place he knew was no good for him. His initial reason may have been to follow Dr. Kaufman, but it evolved into an obsessive dedication to reaching the other end of the hole. Sam had a vague idea of why this place wanted him, but he could tell that there was more to it. There was a secret here that he needed to learn and the only way to learn it was to go forward.
After an eon of crawling through this cramped tube, he noticed that the air had gotten even worse. There was a slight hint of sulfur mixed with the other smells. His vision was limited, even after pulling the flashlight from his pocket and brandishing it in front of him. The shotgun had to be stuffed into his backpack, the butt poking out the opening. Fortunately, there was sufficient space in here for his things to stay clear of obstacles. As he crawled in further, his vision began to get grainy and strange lines appeared and disappeared without pattern. It made Sam think of old film stock, the way everything always looked a little scratchy. He ignored the visual phenomenon, choosing to keep himself occupied with inching forward.
His light caught something that made him a little happy. It was the outer lip of the hole, opening up into a room. Reaching it, he climbed out and got to his feet. After dusting himself off as best as possible, he turned around to look at the hole he just came out of. The hole ended about a few feet in; the rest had been filled in. There was no way to turn back. Returning his gaze to the room, Sam discovered that it resembled the storeroom where he had entered the hole. There were drastic differences, though.
This version of the room was more decrepit looking. The shelves that he saw in the other storeroom were dusty, but in otherwise good shape. These shelves were completely rusted, broken in places even. The floor was still made of concrete, but it bore several ugly stains, caused by things he would rather stay ignorant of. The equipment and supplies had been replaced by decaying piles of industrial garbage. The door was made of reinforced steel, rusted as an old ship's bulkhead.
He clipped the light back into his jacket pocket and pulled the shotgun out. After making sure that the backpack was zipped shut securely, he moved over to the door. It opened with a great deal of protest. It led out into what could only be described as a metal cage, one that was kept suspended by unknown means over that all-too-familiar chasm. It was recognizable enough as the basement floor hallway, but only roughly in it's design. Everything else was absolutely different, from the construction materials to the look of the place itself.
Taking a look around, he noticed that the places where the stairs and most of the doors were located, were missing. The only two exits from this hallway were the door to the store room and the elevator doors. He pushed the call button on the grimy control panel and hefted his gun up while waiting. Eventually, the cab arrived and the doors slid awkwardly open. The interior of the elevator appeared similar to the one in the office building, all dirt and grime.
Inside, he looked over at the controls, thinking about where he would go first. Trying the first floor button, he discovered that the elevator refused to take him there. The button, when pushed, did nothing. He tried the second floor and the elevator started up, the ride rough and slow. It took a few minutes for the elevator to get him up two flights, before it squealed to a stop and the doors slid open. This floor was made up of concrete walls, with the floor made of the customary metal grating. Sam could hear a suspicious noise to his right, around the corner. Getting his shotgun to firing height, He spun around the corner, being greeted by a strange sight.
Standing no further than eight feet from him, was a nurse. She was wearing an old-fashioned nurse's uniform, from the odd hat to the short white skirt. "Miss?" he called out tentatively, hoping that she would respond with words. The nurse whipped around, facing him. Sam took a step back, seeing that she had no face to speak of. In her right hand was a lead pipe, with a ninety-degree curve at the end. She raised it up high and began to charge at him.
He took no more than a second of inaction, before firing at her. The shot hit her in the side, taking a chunk out in the process. While the shot caused her to stumble a little, it didn't really stop her at all. Sam raised the gun up to block the strike from her pipe, flinching a little at how strong it was. His arms shook in strain at the blow, causing him to clench his teeth in response. She struck again and this time the blow was enough to glance off his shoulder. Pain blossomed out from the spot, but he recovered quickly and used the broad side of his gun to force her back a few feet.
Sam was about to point the shotgun at her again and pump it, when something caught his peripheral vision on the left. Looking over, he saw another nurse had joined the fray, this one armed with another lead pipe. He ducked away just in time to avoid a strike that whistled loudly through the air. Hunkering down a little, he forced the weight of his body forward and slammed into her midsection. The force behind his attack knocked her back, knocking her off her feet. Pumping the shotgun, he aimed it at the first nurse and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He spared a single glance at his traitorous weapon, before refocusing on the immediate threat. It was too late to completely block the strike with his gun. Using his arm, he shielded his head as best as possible.
A scream of pain erupted from his lips, coming from deep in his throat. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet where he joined the other nurse on the floor. His shotgun flew from his grasp, clattering away to rest somewhere out of sight. The nurse walked up to him, standing imposingly in his line of sight. She raised the pipe up, ready to bring it down on him with brutal force. Grabbing the hand gun from his belt with his good hand, he aimed it at her and fired a few shots off. Not one of his shots missed, something he took a nanosecond to be thankful for, piercing her body. The nurse staggered back, dropping her arm with the pipe in the process.
The other nurse had, in the interim, clambered back to her feet, and was approaching him once more. He turned his gun on her and fired off a few more shots. It didn't seem to stop her any, something that elicited a deep feeling of disappointment in him. She marched up to him on rather wobbly legs, her pipe held up in a position that hinted at imminent violence. Sam rolled out of the way in time to avoid the pipe clanging down heavily onto the spot where his head had been previously located. He managed to get a knee underneath him and force himself back up. Raising the gun again, he fired at her, scoring a direct hit in the head. The nurse stopped in her tracks and her arm holding the pipe dropped, the pipe itself falling from her grip. She stumbled clumsily to her knees, before collapsing face first on the floor.
Sam turned his attention to the first nurse, who had drawn extremely close to him in his distraction. He fired off the remaining shots at her, scoring only a couple of solid hits in the process. She swung at him again, glancing him across the jaw. He saw stars for a moment, before shaking it off. Shoving her away from him, he dropped his gun and dove for the pipe that the second nurse had wielded. Grabbing it, he rolled back to his feet in time to deflect another strike from the remaining nurse. Raising his new weapon up high, he brought it down on her crown. The blow drove her to her knees, the pipe flying from her fingers. He raised it up again and swung it down. Sam continued to do this, losing his mind to the fevered reverie that hitting her brought out in him.
He had no idea how long he was at it or how many times he hit her, but when he came out of it, she was lying on the floor. Her head had been caved in and her body twitched spasmodically. His arms felt heavy and he let them drop, the pipe falling from his nerveless fingers. Each breath that came from him came out in a ragged burst of air. Some part of him cried in response to what had just happened. No matter what claims he made of self-defense, the truth was that he had enjoyed beating her to death. At the time, he had felt a perverse sense of glee every time he hit her. Sam couldn't get enough of the feeling that clubbing her had brought out in him.
A deep sense of disgust overtook him then. This place was turning him into a monster, no better than the ones he had just taken care of. He was frightened by what he was becoming here, what he was allowing himself to become. Tears threatened to fall at this realization; something entrenched and powerful inside him wrenched it out to the surface. There was no doubt about it now; this was a fate he more than deserved. Appalled at this part of his being, he backed away from the bodies and the evidence of his own weakness.
His back hit the wall and he let his body slide down it until he hit the floor. He covered his eyes with his hands and wept once more. Sobs shook his frame and his mind went numb at the weight of it all. Sam lost himself there, spiraling into his own universe of anguish. All his searching for the truth had brought him here, to this moment. In asking himself if it was all worth it, he found himself without an answer. It was minutes before he snapped out of it, but it may as well have been hours. Lifting his head from his hands, he took a look around, while trying to get his composure back.
The elevator had opened out into a small lobby, just like on the first floor. This lobby turned into two corridors, one of them just to his left. The second corridor stretched out in front of him, leading to the stairs and the medical wing. He pushed himself up to his feet and began to collect his weapons. Removing his backpack, he dug through it and got out the box of shotgun shells.
Loading the shotgun, he managed to get five shells in after pumping the gun once to fit one more. The nine remaining shells were put in his jacket pocket, before he turned his attention to the hand gun. He only had one clip left for it, so he would need to make every shot count. After reloading the pistol, he put it back in his belt. Slipping the backpack on, he grabbed the shotgun and decided on his next step.
First, he would check with the map, see where he should go next. Pulling it out, he scanned it's features intently. He decided that he would take a look at the locker rooms. The nurse's station was also down that same hallway and that might be a good place to start. With the map back in his pocket, he started down the hall and turned right when the corridor to the lockers came up. No stray thoughts entered his head at this point. His mind had blanked itself of all such stimuli, ruthlessly and efficiently. All there was for him was survival and the actions needed to ensure it. He knew that this was only temporary, but there was a wonderful quality to such a base-level of operation.
Sam found that all the doors were present and accounted for down here, so he tried the first one on the right, the linen room. The door refused to budge, it's lock broken and the bolt stuck in place, so he moved on to the nurse's station. Readying himself when he opened it, Sam saw that it was empty of enemies. He headed in and gave the room an initial sweep, finding it to be cluttered with the strangest of junk. Headless and armless mannequins were propped up on stands in the room's center, some with sheets draped over them. Boxes and boxes of doll parts lined the wall to his right, rolls of chicken wire piled together on top of them. Dismissing these as unimportant, he turned to the rest of the room.
An old phonograph was set on top of a dented and rusty filing cabinet that came up to about waist high, pushed up against the far left wall. For the moment, he ignored it. On the far wall was a large metal desk, with a variety of mundane office supplies scattered across it's surface. Taking a closer look, he found something curious. It was a very old looking playing card, the king of diamonds to be exact. He had the sudden feeling that it might become useful to him later on, proceeding to pocket it based on that instinct. With that, he found nothing else of consequence here and turned to leave.
A rather loud sound started up abruptly from his right, bringing him to level his gun at it. The wax cylinder on the phonograph had begun moving, the sound being translated by the needle and the horn. At first, the noise was just the grinding of static, but then he began to make out words in the uneven hiss. He couldn't tell what was being said, so cautiously stepped over to it. It sounded like a woman, someone in pain. Her voice sounded familiar somehow, but he had a hard time placing it.
"…ohn. Don't y………No! I d……aby…."
Then a male's voice, this one also familiar, could be heard. "……o. Please j……im. We on……Yes………ame?.......Sam." His name being spoken perked his ears up. It was then that he realized that the voices belonged to his parents. The voices faded and soon all he could here was static. Shortly after that, the sound stopped completely and the phonograph stopped spinning the wax. He stayed there for a few minutes, waiting to see if it would start up again. Nothing happened, so he left, choosing to search the locker rooms instead.
The men's locker room, the one he had found his new shirt in, was inaccessible in this version of the hospital. He had success with the women's locker room though, the door opening quite obediently for him. Inside, it was filled with old dilapidated lockers, most dented and marred beyond the point of ever being useful again. There was an old bench in the middle, stained with what was probably blood. Sam walked slowly around the bench, scanning each portion of the room as he went. Casually, he checked each locker along the way. For the most part, they didn't open at all, their frames too bent and twisted to swing out from their positions.
One of the lockers stood out a little from the rest. It had a corona of dried blood spreading out from it's perimeter, as if the blood had shot out in all directions, with it as the epicenter. There was no blood on the surface of the locker itself, suggesting that the blood had ruptured outward from something kept inside. Curious, he tried the handle and found that it opened easily enough. The interior of the locker was absolutely coated in the same blood that was on the exterior, smelling vaguely of copper. It was empty, save for something small and flat placed delicately on the center of the bottom. A closer inspection of the object revealed that it was another playing card, looking like it came from the same pack as the other he had found. The playing card was the six of clubs, something he noted absently. Currently, he had no clue as to it's significance, but slid it into his pocket with the other card, nonetheless.
He found nothing else in there except for a length of thin rope coiled in the corner on the floor. At first, he was going to dismiss it as unimportant, but changed his mind after a minute of thought. Sam took the rope and tied one end to the butt of his shotgun, fastening it securely. Once he was sure that it wouldn't slide around on him, he took the other end and tied it around the barrel. He tied it to a spot he hoped wouldn't allow it to interfere with operations of the gun in any way. With the rope tied to the shotgun, he could quickly and easily sling it on his shoulder when the time called for it.
With that taken care of, he left the locker room and made his way to the medical wing door. Entering the wing, he made a gruesome discovery. The area of the hall the door opened up to was wider than the rest of the hall; the wall in front of him was recessed a few feet back, a door could be seen in the middle. Several old wire bed frames were pushed up against the door, and a lattice work of barbed wire was stretched along it. In front of the pile was a stack of bodies, each wrapped in a translucent plastic sheet. All in all, there must've been at least a dozen bodies, some obviously meeting horrific fates. Blood smeared many of the sheets and the walls on either side.
Dismissing the sight (and dying a little more on the inside, for it), he focused his attention on the hallway that extended out to his right. Two doors could be seen facing each other just a few feet down, decaying into rust on their hinges. The barely visible outlines of hospital beds could be seen lined up against the walls in places. He turned to the first door on his right and opened it, taking a look inside.
The room was empty, save for some small bits of trash along the sides and corners. The floor was made of tile, with a drain set in the center. Blood was smeared everywhere, staining the floor in a spiral pattern that concentrated around the drain. Sam slowly walked around the outer edge of the room, choosing to stay clear of the worst of it. Nothing caught his attention until he reached the far right corner. Lying in a crumpled pile amidst all the filth that collected in this Otherworld, was a clean white sheet. Curious, he crouched down and nudged it with the barrel of his gun. He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He took this as his cue to try out his new rifle sling and reached down to pick it up.
Sam held it stretched out a little to see if there was anything to shake loose from it's folds; when nothing came out, he gave thought to laying it out on the floor to see the whole thing. The problem with that was that blood was practically everywhere and he didn't want to soil it. Looking around, he spotted runners attached to the ceiling. It looked like they were meant to string up privacy curtains. He had the brilliant idea to hook the sheet up on the runners, to see if there was anything on it. His reasoning was murky at best, but it felt right to do. Finding a corner, he poked the runner hook through the corner of the sheet and repeated this step. In about foot-long increments, he attached the top edge of the sheet to a runner. About a quarter way through, he could tell that something was written on the sheet in blood. He got two-thirds of the way through his task, when he saw the message for what it was. The sheet said:
Find me in S11.
Pulling out the hospital map once more, he spotted room S11 on the third floor. Finally, he had a particular destination on his agenda. Sam immediately left the room, looking from left to right down the hall. He headed right, hoping to be able to take the stairs up. As it turned out, neither the stairwell door nor the elevator would open up for him. He backtracked and left the medical wing, heading for the elevator.
The elevator doors slid open, permitting him access. He rode it up to the third floor, his gun in his hands and ready to use. As the doors slid back open, he could hear the strange shuffling of something stirring about in the dark. Tightening his grip on the shotgun, Sam stepped out into the small lobby.
In the beam of his flashlight, he caught sight of another nurse stumbling along the wall. She had a large kitchen knife in one hand, the end of which was liberally coated in blood. As soon as he spotted her, she began walking straight for him. He fired off a shot, blasting her in the gut. The nurse fell back, crashing to the floor in an awkward tangle of limbs. Sam pumped the shotgun, sending the spent shell flying through the air. Walking forward, he kept a wary eye on her corpse. As he passed by the body, his eyes picked up the slight motion of her arm being shifted along the ground. Jumping away in reaction, he barely dodged the arc of her knife swing.
Sam swiftly kicked the knife out of her hand, the sharp crack of bone telling him that he had more than accomplished that goal. He put his foot down on her upper chest, forcing her to stay down. Lifting his other foot up high, he brought it down and his weight went down with it. His shoe smashed into where her face would've been if she had one, the force of the impact making her go completely limp.
The brutality that he had displayed in dispatching her didn't even faze him. Later, he could take the time to breakdown, but now he had to press on. Entering the psychiatric wing, he noticed nothing of interest. Up here, there were over a dozen tiny rooms running along the left-hand side of the hall. So far, he detected no threats in here, but he couldn't see to the far end. He tried the room doors as he walked, figuring that he may as well see if there was anything of use in them. The locks on the first three doors were broken, but the fourth opened up with no problems.
Inside, the room was narrow and cramped. The room was lined with padded walls, brown and red stains streaked along them. A solitary bed was set in the center, leather straps dangling off the sides. A couple objects had been placed on the surface of the bed. He walked up to it and inspected the items. One of them was another playing card, the three of spades. Taking the card immediately, he looked over at the other artifact; it was a small wooden box. Flipping it open, he discovered a videotape in a cardboard case. Upon inspecting the tape, he didn't find anything written on it that would describe it's contents. He slipped the tape into his backpack, to look at later, and left the room. The other rooms along the way were inaccessible, so he dismissed them. Counting each door he passed, Sam paused when he counted to eleven.
The door to S11 was no different from the other doors on this floor, with one exception. At about head height, a thin case was fixed to the door. There were five slots in the top of the case, each one made of a hard clear plastic to display whatever went in them. Below the case, he saw a bronze plaque with writing on it.
…and the jewel fell from starless sky,
two in all with fire in mind,
the lands burned in their ceaseless hate,
laying waste to time and fate.
From East to West, the Sun burned red,
the farmers fell first, later found dead,
the father wet his blade and sat to rest,
drinking red wine and only the best,
he slaughtered the noblemen, six in all,
laughing mad as blood did fall,
his son betrayed and rose above,
beckoned by his mother's love.
Sam furrowed his brow in confusion at the poem. What could it mean? He thought to himself. The strangeness of this place was a constant source of befuddlement for him, though now he approached it with a more detached curiosity. The part of his mind that got scared and frustrated by these things was thankfully resting, waiting for his chance to resurface. Logically, figuring this out was related to getting through the door. An experimental turn of the handle confirmed that it was locked, with no keyhole visible. Something thin needed to be placed in the slots to unlock it, something like a playing card. He pulled one of the cards out to make sure it would fit in, before replacing it in his pocket. The poem below had to be a clue to the order he was supposed to place the cards in. While all of that was great, he still needed to find the remaining cards before he could test his theory. With three in his possession, he only needed to find two more.
Moving on, with a resolve to return with the cards, he tried the three remaining patient rooms. S12 and S13 were a no-go, but the last one, S14, proved fruitful. In here, the bed was pushed into the far corner of the room. Boxes were stacked on top of it, their contents spilled over the sides haphazardly. He walked over in that direction, hoping that a playing card was hidden somewhere amongst all the junk.
Pain shot out from his back, arcing across his entire body. Sam collapsed to his knees and fell forward to the padded floor. His vision began to swim and his mind felt like it was beginning to recede into darkness. Knowing that unconsciousness meant certain death, he fought with all his might to stay awake and rolled over onto his back. Every time he did this, the backpack dug into his spine, which caused a sharp pain. Ignoring it, he raised his shotgun up and fired. The nurse that had been standing behind him, was clipped in the side. The shot only grazed her and she merely raised her lead pipe in response.
Sam, still reeling from the last strike, could only roll out of the way to barely avoid the next strike. He forced himself up and spun around, with the shotgun held up defensively to block off any attacks. This was done in time for the nurse to hit the gun with her pipe. Using a proven technique, he pushed her back with the shotgun and pumped it. She had recovered quicker than he could react, though, and swung again. The pipe hit him in the side and he swore something broke on impact. He could already feel how wrong that part of his body felt, dully noticing that the pain made him go a little deaf for a few seconds. His body was rocked so hard to his right that he began to spin, while his feet briefly left the ground. Crashing into the wall first, something that induced another wave of pain throughout his frame, he bounced away and rolled across the floor. Somewhere along the way, he had lost the shotgun. As great as the jury-rigged sling was, he really couldn't use it while firing the gun.
It was difficult to breathe and it hurt so badly to move even an inch, but he absolutely had to. It was then that something in him finally broke the surface tension of his numb mind, and it was anger. Deep inside, he completely and utterly snapped. The pain faded into the background and he saw only red. Forcing himself to his feet, he bum-rushed the nurse who had been just about to hit him again, driving her backward and to the floor. Immediately upon impact with the floor, he began punching her in the sides. He ended up on his knees across the wretched thing's chest and driving his fists repeatedly into her face. Grabbing her head, he slammed it down onto the floor and forced his knee between her legs. This was no longer just about killing her, it was about completely dominating her. She attacked him first, they all attacked him here and he was so sick of being their victim. No, he would make her feel fear like had felt. He would make every single thing he came across here understand what he had been forced to go through. And he was going to start with this thing, this bitch, right here and right now.
"Do you like that, you fucking whore!?" he screamed into where her face was supposed to be, getting angrier at the fact that it wasn't there. He drove another fist into her head, which was beginning to bruise in places, screaming profanities at her all the while. His knee was being driven into her repeatedly, an action almost sexual in nature. Sam thought nothing of this, the rational part of his mind being completely locked away. All of his anger and his hurt and his fear (most definitely the fear), they were thoroughly expunged in the damage he did to her, over and over again. Eventually though, he began to grow tired, his body slowly turning to lead. He was aching a little all over, hinting at what was to come when it returned to him one hundred percent. Soon after, he stopped completely, the fury draining from him and his arms falling to his sides in tandem.
Below him, the nurse was dead and the blank slate of her face a twisted pulp of flesh, blood, and bone. Seeing this, he looked at his fists and stared at the blood that coated his hands; it was cold, all of their blood was cold. The breaths that he took began to hurt once more and a groan forced itself out his throat. Sam didn't know if he should laugh, cry, or scream; he was totally lost. He was uncertain if he would be able to feel anything ever again; his emotions were just plain gone. Everything grew a little fuzzy then, a little out of focus. His body started leaning to one side and he fell over the nurse's body to the floor, while his vision faded to black.
The cold sting of reality shocked him instantly to awareness. He spasmed uncontrollably in pain, his spine arching up and his muscles tensing in reaction to the terrible sensation. It consumed him and all he could do was scream out in agony, spittle flying from his mouth and spraying out around him. Tears flowed out from between his tightly closed eyes and fell down his cheeks in little rivulets.
Sam laid there, time stretching on and on, while his body pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He recognized the need to move, but it was so hard. All he wanted to do was curl up into a tight little ball and cry. His entire being was wounded, from his broken ribs to his mental and emotional states. Inside, deep within his psyche, he was dead. There was little left to take from him, short of his mortal life.
Something needed to be done, so he opened his eyes and rolled over. His legs slid off some object that they had apparently been resting on. He dully noticed that the object in question was, in fact, the dead body of the monstrous nurse. There was no disgust at this discovery, no reaction whatsoever. Without regard to how his ribs felt, he pushed himself to his knees and paid the price with a bone-deep fire in his nerves. A hand went to his side and clutched his ribs tight, holding them still. His breath was forced out of him and he took the brief moment of calm to get to his feet. Hissing in pain, he took a look around.
The room had changed in no significant way, the signs of his fight with the nurse were minimal. Before he did anything else, he would have to tend to his ribs. He slowly and gingerly walked over to the bed and pushed the boxes of crap off the side. He took the flashlight from his jacket pocket and set it on the bed, pointing it toward him. With a grimace of pain, he shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and set it on the bed on the other side. The jacket was the next thing to be removed, sliding down his arms slowly. As it turned out, his new polo shirt was the hardest of them to take off. It took several minutes to get it off and sweat began rolling off his body from the strain. With that done, he unzipped the main pouch of his backpack and pulled out the first aid kit that he had been using earlier. Taking out the one ace bandage it contained, he set it on the bed next to the light and inspected his ribs. After prodding the area with his fingers, he found where it all was emanating from. It didn't exactly feel broken, more like it was sprained.
He wrapped his ribs tightly with the ace bandage, hoping that it would keep them from jostling around. Finishing up, he grabbed his shirt and slid it back on. After suiting back up, he went about looking for his weapon. The shotgun was located near the wall, no further than a few feet from the nurse. Grabbing it and slinging it over his back, he looked at the scattered piles of various trinkets and hoarded junk. Amongst these things, a playing card was visible sticking up into the air. Sam stiffly got down to one knee and plucked the card from it's spot. It was the queen of hearts. There was only one card left to find, before he could try his hand at solving that odd little puzzle.
This room had nothing more for him, so he left. There were a few rooms on the other side of the hall he hadn't checked, so he tried them first. When they proved fruitless, he returned to the hospital's main wing. Other than the day room, which he had no access to, there was a store room and something called the special treatment room. The store room door wouldn't open, so that left one last option, before he would be forced to go back downstairs.
The special treatment room turned out to contain a main chamber with four tiny padded rooms in a line along the far wall. Each cell had a sturdy looking door with a small viewing window set at eye height. Sam saw that the chamber was empty, so he walked over to the closest door and tried the handle. The cell was extremely tiny, little more than a closet really. It stank of shit, piss, and sweat, accompanied by a thick mélange of stains and smears on the floor and walls. Taking a good look, he concluded that there was nothing of interest in here and he moved on to the next room.
He saw that this one was more or less clean, smelling faintly of formaldehyde and sulfur. With nothing to hold his interest, he moved to the next cell. Inside, Sam could see that the floor in here was missing and a complicated network of chains was holding up a body over the chasm in an odd leather bondage suit. The head piece had a zippered opening for the mouth, with something sticking out. It was a playing card. Carefully extracting the card from it's unorthodox resting place, he flipped it over to look at it. It turned out to be the Jack of Diamonds, it's corners torn and frayed around the edges.
Having the five cards he thought he needed, Sam shut the door to the cell and turned to leave. After taking a peek in the fourth and final padded cell (just in case there was anything of use in there), he left the special treatment room. His walk back to room S11 was brisk, as brisk as his battered and aching body could muster, at any rate. Reading the poem again, he took out all five playing cards and studied them. It made no sense; he just wasn't any good at this sort of thing. Sam grabbed one of the old hospital beds, hoped that it wasn't diseased or anything, then sat down on it and stared at the door.
Time stretched on, as he pondered this riddle. He laid out all the cards he collected and studied them. He had the King of Diamonds, the Queen of Hearts, the Six of Clubs, the Jack of Diamonds, and the Three of Spades. Sam's mind kept drawing a blank, unable to figure any of the poem's clues out. There was no frustration in this failing; that had left him along with all other feelings. No, all he had was cold determination, the will to take as long as he needed to take to work this out.
Focusing on the first part of the poem, he recited it in his head. …and the jewels fell from starless sky, two in all with fire in mind, the lands burned in their hate, laying waste to time and fate. The jewels had to refer to the King of Diamonds and the Jack of Diamonds, those seemed to be the most likely candidates. Keeping that in mind, he read the first two lines from the second part: from East to West, the Sun burned red, the farmers fell first, later found dead. The whole East to West reference had to relate to the order the cards were placed in. Looking at the door, he considered the possibility that the top was designated as North. If that was the case, then it meant that the cards went in from right to left. As for the farmers, he looked at the cards again, his gaze stopping on the Three of Spades. Of all the playing cards, it fit the criteria the most, given that farmers used spades as tools.
Sam set the first card aside and moved on to figuring out the next. The next two lines stated: the father wet his blade and sat to rest, drinking red wine and only the best. Instantly, he knew that it had to mean the King of Diamonds. To him, it was the only card that made sense going there. With the second card out of the way, he continued on. he slaughtered the noblemen, six in all, laughing mad as blood did fall. Almost cracking a smile, he set aside the Six of Clubs, not concerning himself with how clubs equaled noblemen. The last two lines were pretty self-explanatory after that; his son betrayed and rose above, beckoned by his mother's love.
He slid the Three of Spades into the rightmost slot and placed the King of Diamonds in next to it. The next card to go in a slot was the Six of Clubs, followed by the Jack of Diamonds and then the Queen of Hearts. When the last playing card was in completely, a loud click could be heard coming from the door frame. Sam tried the handle and the door swung open, allowing him access inside.
The room was empty, except for a small table and a wooden chair next to it. On the table, was a film projector. It looked very old and was colored puke green, an ancient speaker hooked up behind it. He walked over to it and noticed that it did indeed have a film reel loaded onto the spinner. An indicator light was on, showing that it was being powered, somehow. Sam, feeling like it was what he was supposed to do here, hit the play button.
On the wall, a recording started playing. The sound was polluted with static and the film was grainy with lines running through it. It showed two children playing in a city park, one boy and one girl. Sam noticed that the boy was Brandon, his young face alit with joy. As for the girl, she had long dark hair and wore some sort of school uniform; he wasn't sure if he recognized her or not. They were kicking a ball back and forth, having a lot of fun as they did it. He could hear their childish squeals, as they continued to play. When the girl turned to face the camera, Sam got a flash of an image in his mind. She was the person to step out in front of his car, causing him to crash it. This was the child that led to his present situation.
While he was thinking about that, something happened on screen that he missed. The little girl was on the ground crying and Brandon was standing in front of her, peals of laughter bubbling up uncontrollably from him. Brandon said to the girl, "You see why nobody wants to play with you? It's because you always cry; you're such a baby."
"I am not a baby," she responded, her lips quivering as she said it. "Why'd you have to push me?"
"'Cause you're a witch!" he stated cruelly, his voice loud and carrying out across the park.
"Am not!" she screamed, a whole new deluge of tears falling from her eyes. She covered them with her hands, as she sobbed. "Go away!" the girl yelled out, her voice high-pitched and a little difficult to understand.
Brandon was not to be deterred, however, and continued to yell, "witch! Witch! Witch! Everybody look at the witch!"
The image flickered out and was replaced by another scene. This time, it was set in a playground with school children in uniform running about and playing various games. In the sandbox, there was a solitary girl drawing images of flowers in the sand with a small stick. It was the little dark-haired girl from the last sequence. He noticed that the other children stayed away from her and didn't seem to even look over in her direction. The girl was humming some nameless tune to herself, moving her head side to side to some soundless beat.
Coming in from the left-hand side of the screen, Brandon was tossing a baseball into the air and catching it, his attention solely on this activity. He overshot his throw and the baseball landed in the middle of the sandbox, startling the girl. Once Brandon spotted her, he ran over and kicked sand into her face. The girl began coughing, before jumping to her feet and wiping the sand off her uniform.
Brandon said, "what's the matter, Alessa? Don't you like sand?"
Sam's ears perked up at that. He recalled Dr. Kaufman mentioning her as some sort of vessel for this being named, Samael. With more interest, he watched the events on-screen unfold.
Brandon got up real close, his proximity visibly intimidating Alessa. He said, "I thought witches liked sand." Laughter erupted from him at his own lame joke. Some of the other kids started to pay attention. Alessa burst into tears, her very being shriveling up on itself at the treatment. "Witch!" he yelled, getting everyone's attention. "Witch! Witch! Witch!" he chanted, a smug grin marring his youthful features.
Soon, the other schoolchildren were chanting it as well, their faces twisted into cruel and ugly expressions of mockery. This continued for some time, before, the screen started to fade out and turned to static along with the audio.
It all made sense now, to him. That girl, Alessa, was the reason he crashed. She had to have been the figure in the fog he had been chasing after when he first got to Silent Hill. Alessa must've known his relation to Brandon, that he was his brother. The truth of the matter was so simple, with such a childish logic about it. Sam, as the older brother was the best candidate to put his bully of a younger brother in place. All she wanted was for him and the other children to stop picking on her, such a plain and pure desire.
Eventually, Sam started to feel the urge to move on, but was uncertain of where he was going to go to next. There had to be some new hoop for him to jump through, if he was being led around by Alessa to serve as her protector. The thought seemed strange to him, seeing as how he was struggling to keep himself protected, let alone some girl who had a deep connection with this place. How was he supposed to do that?
Sam left room S11, a little lost again without a specific destination. The only thing he could think to do was search around and hopefully find some clue. With that as his current agenda, he started walking down the hall. As he passed by the elevator, he heard a noise coming from that direction. It was the mechanical clanking of the elevator cab moving. A dinging noise was heard, shortly before the doors slid open. He waited a moment for something or someone to exit the elevator and when nothing did, he went over to investigate.
It was empty, nothing waiting for him inside the cab. Sam cautiously entered and looked over at the control panel. There were no floor levels indicated, just a button indicating up and another below it indicating down. After pushing the up button and getting no result, he pushed the down button and the doors slid shut. The cab started descending, taking him somewhere off the map.