Chapter Twelve

Cybil visibly cringed at the sound of Rose's voice, though not for such reasons as merely hearing it, but rather hearing the way in which she chose to organize the words into a particularly unpleasant sentence; her violate-blue eyes stared up at the mother's above her, the grim expression present not only in them, but in her face as well; at last she heaved a deep sigh and declared that it would be best to attend to the shoulder injury first, as it was the more serious of the two. Nodding, Rose took the water bottle which was offered to her not a second later; Cybil instructed her to treat the wound by flushing it out—it seemed to be her answer to everything—which Rose proceeded to do immediately. Tipping the bottle so as to allow a steady but solid stream of the life-giving liquid, the cop sucked air in through clenched teeth at the sharp stinging sensation that accompanied the cleansing, whilst doing her best to keep still.

Once she had finished flushing the wound—and made sure to keep some of the water for further cleaning—Rose requested whatever remaining bandages Cybil had with her, the number of which were few; only a few ragged pieces were offered to her, but the woman made the best of them, using the already half-removed sleeve of her blouse as a way in which to keep the bandages in place. There were still enough left so that she might keep the cuts she knew were present on the woman's midsection covered as well, so long as she gave up another section of her blouse, which she had no problem with. The mother worked for a good few minutes more, listening to Cybil whenever she had instructions for her, and eventually the puncture was sterilized to the best of their current ability, and the sleeve of Rose's blouse looping about the cop's neck and under her arm so as to keep the bandage in place. Once finished, Rose stood up, and Cybil pulled a shabby pillow underneath her head.

"Should we fix up your stomach now, or do you want to wait a few minutes?" Rose inquired with a concerned tint to her voice, though it wasn't overly detectable. Her question was logical—Cybil might want to wait for the pain to subside from the last 'operation' before subjecting herself to another. Much to her evident surprise, however, Cybil shook her head, and gestured to the water bottle on the ground.

"Pick it up."

Understanding completely, Rose snatched the bottle as the cop slid her shirt up so as to allow the cuts, which lay around the very middle of her belly—one claw had even sliced into the bellybutton itself—to be flushed out and bandaged in much of the same way as had been done to her shoulder. As was to be expected, she hissed at the pain involved in the process, but 'twas brief. Rose at last returned the nearly empty bottle to her friend, who, having now managed to move herself into more of an upright position, slid it into a pocket of her utility belt and dropped her head back against the arm of the couch.

"That'll get infected."

The cop shook her head despite its laying against the armrest as she did so.

"I'll be okay. What I want to know is just why those things were running around in broad daylight. Everything else seems to come around after the sirens."

"I couldn't give a damn about whatever the Hell those things were or what they were doing there. I just want to get home to my kid in one piece."

Cybil chuckled, her eyes closing as her head remained drooped in a rather uncomfortable looking position on the couch. She couldn't help but admire the fact that the fire within the Da Silva woman never even once flickered in consideration of failing to burn. It was always burning, no matter what the circumstances. Had Cybil been in her place, she knew she would have given up a great many days before. That must have been why she had never been graced with children, she decided. Her thoughts meandered about until they at last landed on the woman and the miners who appeared to be her bodyguards; she didn't trust them, but they had provided them with a safe haven, for the time being. Or so it seemed. The young cop couldn't help the worry that was present during the procession of her ponderings; she feared that at any moment something was going to happen that would signal yet another betrayal such as had been seen by the lady Christabella.

Sitting up at the sound of light shuffling, Cybil laid eyes on the sight of Rose crawling atop the bed in the far corner of the room; she patted the pillows cautiously before laying her head on them, no doubt checking for insects or other unwelcome critters or substances. She couldn't seem to settle herself, however, for a moment later she was standing by the headboard and dragging the bed across the room. Curious, Cybil continued watching, noting the fact that her friend was able to bear the pain of whatever injuries she had thus far sustained, and half wondering how she managed to do so at the same time. It obviously wasn't the fact that the injuries weren't serious; the hole in her jeans knee and the numerous tears which speckled the remainder of the material revealed open cuts and countless bruises; whilst Cybil herself had been lucky as of current and wasn't marred with a particularly great amount of minor scrapes, the injury to her shoulder and midsection made up for it. She'd shaken her head at Rose's declaration that infection would come to the puncture of her collarbone area, but inside she'd known her friend was correct. In fact, the cop would be lucky if she ever regained full use of her arm.

"What are you doing?"

The calm but inquiring tones wafted about the room for a moment or two before reaching Rose's ears over the heavy scraping of the metal legs of the bed upon the wooden floor; she proceeded to look up at the cop briefly, halting for a moment, and then continuing to move it until it was only a couple of meters from the couch upon which Cybil lay. Apparently satisfied with her work, Rose climbed back into it and rested atop the coverings; undoubtedly she preferred such over blanketing herself in ash-caked cloth; once and finally settled, her sea-blue eyes traveled back to the officer and she spoke.

"I don't like the idea of being that far away from the only other person I trust here."

Smiling, Cybil shifted her position back to that of which it had been a minute or so ago, this time choosing to rest her head on the small excuse for a pillow that rested against the arm of the surprisingly comfortable but entirely grotesque couch. It would have been nice if the town allowed them moments such as these more often, but alas, they were hated and hunted, and nothing they did or said or discovered would ever change that fact; this Hell had a warrant for their captures and tortures; as much as she refused to believe it, the blonde officer knew all too well that the chances of both she and Rose surviving a second visit here were ever so slim. Of course, she would never tell Rose such a thing; it wouldn't be right for Cybil to take out her own insecurities upon the only person who had willingly been taken under her arm and had accepted her as something other than just an overly-protective police officer; she hated the thought of sending Rose into the same state of depression and worry that she had been engulfed by since the day that madman had thrown that innocent boy down the mineshaft just a few short years ago.

People were stupid. People were stupid and people were cruel, and that was the moral of this place. It wasn't meant as a means of dragging anyone it could into its boiling, magma-filled depths; it wasn't meant as a means of torturing whatever or whoever happened to enter into its domain for the mere pleasure of doing so. No, the meaning of Silent Hill was much deeper than that. This town, once so quiet and lovely, had been transformed by the evil and stupidity within its occupants, had made its way to become a barely-living symbol of that evil and stupidity, and those who managed to fall into its grasp were to be shown just what could happen were they to commit the very same or similar sins as did the founders of Silent Hill.

Her face must have shown something of her emotions and thoughts, because Rose's voice broke the brief time of silence, filtering through the dust-laden air loud and clear.

"You scare me when you're so quiet."

"You'd rather not know what I'm thinking."

"And why's that?"

"I'd not like to be the one responsible for your stubbornness failing you."

To this, the mother was silent, focusing her eyes on the floor rather than Cybil, slightly unsure how she was supposed to respond. Or perhaps she hadn't been meant to respond. It wouldn't have been the first time--that was for certain. She pressed her head more deeply into the putrid looking pillow, sighing in acknowledgement of the facts. At times this place could seem so awful, while at others, 'twas the only place she could ever have imagined being, or wanted to be.

The absolute sense of peace, which filled the room to the brim, was something the two had been longing to reach for far too long; the soft fabric of the sentiments it evoked from within their weary minds thread its way throughout the room, weaving in and out of the quilt on the bed and the fibers of the couch, sifting and winding about the legs of the furniture and drifting up alongside ancient curtains to decorate the broken windows, at last allowing itself to dance before them like a particularly lovely silken ribbon of serene blue. Tranquility was no longer concealed; the stillness of the room and the presence of another were enough to convince them both of the fact that a world beyond this Hell did exist, that the road to perdition was able to be avoided should they try hard enough. For now, Silent Hill lived up to its name. All was quiet on the western front.