AN:Chapter 3

It would appear to be Tuesday again, which means I owe you all a chapter.

Now, before I bring up anything else, I will update next week, but I may need to skip a week after that. I'm actually replaying Silent Hill 2 now so I can get James' character down to a more solid level, so that's taking up a lot of my free time. Mind you, I shouldn't say replay, because this is my first time playing Silent Hill 2. Before you panic and accuse me of having started the story knowing nothing of James, I watched my brother play SH2 about 5 or so years ago. I tried to play it then, but the controls were too hard for me and I was too scared. Even two years ago the Silent Hill games were too scary for me when I tried to play four. Only very recently have I been able to play them and not be shaking in fear after three minutes of it. So, I've beaten 4 and homecoming now, still pretty behind in three, and am in the hospital in SH2 right now. I still remember most of the plot events of SH2 and what James was like but, as I said, I want it to be fresh in my mind.

Pyramid Head is most definitely not fun to deal with, by the way. When he held that door shut on me and then opened it when I was far away, and then pushed me off of the roof… oh the fear. I screamed. I've always appreciated him and what he stands for/represents, but only now do I truly fear him as he should be feared. Watching Silent Hill is not the same experience as playing it, I'll tell you that.

Wow, how's tangent time? I love it. I'll make the next comments brief and stop wasting your time:

To respond to the issues mentioned:

-The 'skinned mike' incident: You know, I had thought he had been killed. I know that Walter had fabricated it to be worse than it actually was (meaning that it was very clear that he hadn't actually been skinned), but I did think that Richard had killed him. Hmmm. This may be a good time to say that all I'm writing about is from my own experience with the games, and very minimal research on the internet or in Lost Memories. Mostly meaning that I will probably make many more small errors like this one, and the quote about the hole. Thanks for calling me on them!

-The Spade: Is that the super goofy shovel that makes Henry run like he's a runway model? If so, I may just have to find a place for it in my story. Or maybe the pickaxe of despair, because of how hard of a time Henry had wielding it.

Convergence

Despite the conviction with which I set out to find Henry, a week passed and I still hadn't found him. A few of those days I'd walked around the third floor with the hope that he might come out of his room so that I could conveniently walk past him and start up a conversation, but it never happened. I should've knocked on his door from the start, but I was too nervous. Of what, I'm not actually sure. I think it had just been too long since I'd made such an effort to get to know someone. All of the current friends I'd made had all come to me. Also, I had never really desired to meet any of them--it just happened.

But Henry was the only person I really wanted to make a good impression on. After all, not only was he the only person I thought I could finally be fully open with, he was a person I had to admire for his courage. Everyone knew what had happened to him. I don't mean to say that I find him intelligent for telling people, no; I find him quite stupid for thinking that anyone would believe him. What I do admire is the way that he deals with the isolation people subjugate him to. Rather than lie to earn back his reputation, he suffers.

I began to feel like a stalker. When I wasn't at work or watching Laura, I was either walking around the third floor or thinking of elaborate schemes to meet him. Schemes that I might mention were too complex and absurd to ever actually work.

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I woke up on the last Saturday morning of the month later than I normally did. I slowly cracked my bleary eyes open, but immediately regretted the action and closed them again with a grumble. The way I was laying, the retina-scarring rays of the rising sun fell right onto my face through the cracks in the window-blinds. I curled my body into a fetal position and turned around. In contrast to the affect the light had on my eyes, it was warm on my naked back, causing me to shudder at its almost unnoticeable touch. I kept telling myself that I needed to reorganize my room for that purpose.

I awoke a while later with a shock at a sudden knock at my door. Out of habit or instinct, I couldn't quite say which, I immediately bolted into a seated position and pulled the covers resting on my knees to my chest. I was glad Laura had actually knocked for once, or she would've found me in a compromising position. I wasn't terribly virile in clutching the blanket to my naked chest like I was trying to hide myself.

After collecting my nerves shortly later, I got out of bed. More for Laura's sake than my own, I picked up a stray pair of jeans and threw them on. I wonder what it would've been like if I'd answered the door with only my boxer-briefs on. The look she gave me just without a shirt was funny enough. I wonder if she actually would've screamed at seeing me only in my underwear.

She hastily turned away with her eyes scrunched together. I managed a bemused chuckle, and to not say something along the lines of, 'What, Laura? Never seen a sexy man without his shirt on before?' but managed to refrain. She probably would've had a clever retort anyways, and I wasn't in the mood for self-deprecation.

Still looking away, she finally spoke to me,
"There's someone in the kitchen who wants to talk to you."
I shot her a quizzical look,
"You shouldn't answer the door when I'm not around. What if…"
As she so often did, Laura knew what I was getting at and interjected,
"It was some big, strange man who kidnapped me?"
She rolled her eyes,
"First of all, you know I can take care of myself. Secondly, I invited him over here."

That was the part that stopped me in my train of thought. I stood leaning against my door-frame for a moment. I was suddenly aware of the state I was in. Apparently I was about to meet someone and I'd just woken up. I nodded, told her I'd be out in a second and to tell them to wait. I ducked back into my room and closed the door. I realized that I should've asked Laura who it was. Was it the principal of her school? Was it her boyfriend? Wait… did she have a boyfriend? If she did, how was I supposed to act? I had no idea on how to give advice about dating boys! Or was it someone I worked with?

With the multitude of questions running through my mind unanswered, I desperately scanned my eyes along my disheveled room. It was cluttered with books, papers, and clothing that I hadn't quite had the time to put away. I was unsure how I ought to dress. I took a quick look at the luminescent red lines that made up the numbers of my alarm clock. It was 8 a.m., and that calmed me considerably. Whoever it was, I doubted it was business related. That in mind, I settled on a semi-formal, button-up shirt. I rolled the cuffs up to sit just above my elbows and looked at myself in the mirror. It wasn't my usual, plain style of clothing, but I guess it looked alright—even a bit metro. I briefly considered putting on shoes, but decided that if someone was waiting for me to wake-up, they weren't expecting me to be clean-cut and formal. Besides, who wears shoes in their own home?

Laura eventually yelled at me to hurry my ass up. I gave up my search for a matching pair of socks and conceded to her wishes. It took me a moment to navigate my way through the study and kitchen to the dining room.

I shouldn't have expected a pleasant surprise, being that it is Laura who had prepared said surprise for me. I didn't think she'd actually been watching me, though. Or even that she'd been paying attention to me. I can't actually ever remember mentioning anything about Henry Townshend to her.

Somehow that I'll never know, she knew about my fascination with him. I know that she had no idea why; she just saw it as a way to torture me more.

I locked eyes with the man sitting at my table. For once, it was my turn to be shocked. My mouth hung open in a slight gape, to which he chuckled.
"Hey. James, right?"
He asked. I nodded, completely dumfounded. I can only imagine the smug look Laura was wearing as she spoke next,
"He's been wanting to talk to you for a while now. He's just too much of a pussy to actually say anything."

I felt ridiculous. Not only because of what Laura was saying, but because I couldn't defend myself. If I did, I'd be partially lying to start, and look like an idiot for fighting with a child. My own daughter, nonetheless.

I turned to scowl at her with this knowledge in mind. I expected her to be smiling with false innocence when I turned around, much the same as she'd used when around my dad, but she smiled back with perfect venom.
"I like him. He's the only adult in this town who's greeted me with something other than 'Awwh! What a cute little girl!'"
That made both me and Henry chuckle. I'm not sure why Henry laughed. He had no idea just how angry Laura got when she was belittled or judged for her age. The people who did greet her by calling her cute often found laxatives in their drinks later, or something else equally unpleasant.
"Well then, I'm off to school now."
Laura announced to us. For the sake of not seeming awkward, the both of us watched Laura as she grabbed her back-pack and sack lunch.
"See you later, Henry! Oh, and you can thank me later, James."
She sent me a knowing smirk and walked out the front door to my apartment.

I've never been known as a social person. It isn't that I'm one of those reclusive introverts, I'm just not chatty. My worst points being small talk and starting conversations—the two things I needed for this conversation.

I sat down in the chair across from Henry and winced when it squeaked. He chuckled softly, probably more at the awkward anxiety of the situation than the actual noise. I scrambled around a slew of different possible starting questions before finally settling on one.
"So… Laura just went to your apartment and brought you here?"
I knew it was a large avoidance from the subject matter both of us were interested in, but I wanted to start things at least somewhat pleasantly. He smiled and nodded as he leaned against the back of the wooden chair.
"Yeah. Good thing she caught me while I was tired, or I probably would've called her cute."
I chuckled back,
"So she woke you up? I'm sorry about that."
He held up one hand and shook his head, as if to show that he took no offense.
"Don't worry. It was nice to have a chance to talk to her."
I thought I caught an underlying tone of loneliness in his voice but didn't mention it.
He looked back up at me and stared into my eyes. I broke the eye contact without a second thought. I pretended to be interested in the wall trimmings and hoped that he would look away. As childish as it may sound, eye contact makes me awkward nowadays. I didn't mean to upset Henry, I just hadn't made eye contact in years. I did sometimes with Laura, but that wasn't the same. There's something familiar between us, where we don't need to worry about eye-contact or forming close connections in that way. When Henry looked into my eyes, it felt invasive—as if in doing such, he was reading into my soul. As I said, it was a childish, embarrassing notion, but I couldn't help myself at the time.
"But…"
Henry finally continued after the short pause. I could tell he was still looking at me, so I looked back over. Instead of his eyes, I focused on his lips. It's a bit strange how obsessive I was feeling, especially about something as simple as where to place my eyes.
"She told me that you'd been wanting to talk to me?"
His tone of voice was a bit irritating. It seemed as if he thought he was talking to a child; which is a bit strange, since the man looked quite a bit younger than I. I decided to overlook the tone in light of the situation at hand,
"I have. Ever since I saw you in the lobby."
It felt a bit creepy leaving it at that so I continued,
"My dad told me what happened to you…"
He sighed and shook his head.
"Just stop there."
He muttered, his tone suddenly dark. He stood up from the chair and glowered down at me. I finally returned his eye-contact, hoping I could somehow understand what was going through his mind.
"I already know what you want. I'm not telling my story again just so one more person can laugh at me."
Henry's way of speaking was strange to me. I could tell through the context of his words that he was upset, but his inflection hardly changed.

He pushed in his chair with a scowl on his face and made to walk out. I scowled back and grabbed his arm. I wasn't actually terribly insulted, but knew that the only way I could get him to stay was if I could prove the intensity of my words.
"No, you don't!"
I said, the inflection in my voice rising. Maybe I was just mad that he'd judged me before I could even put a word in. Maybe I was mad that so many people had judged him, that he didn't see any point in trying to trust someone new. All I know was that I was mad, and I wasn't letting him out of my apartment until I'd said what I wanted to.
"If you think I've been practically stalking you for the last week just to get my laughs at your expense, then you're wrong!"

We both glared at each other for a moment. I wasn't sure if he was angrier that I'd physically assaulted him, or that I'd admitted that I'd stalked him. Or maybe he just thought I was pretending to care so he would trust me. I don't know the exact reason, but he eventually sat down again. The tension around the room was practically tangible for a while. I sat back down in my seat and looked at him. He was staring back at me, obviously waiting for me to say something.

I sighed. I've never been terribly great with words. My exclamations had come easily, but now I actually had to think and put my thoughts into words.
"Look. I…"
I paused. I didn't know whether I should apologize or if I was supposed to say something about how I understood his pain. Did I? I'd felt more than enough pain in my life, but not the same type as he was feeling.
"I believe you."
I looked back up at him, and was relieved to see that his glare had dissipated—only to be replaced with a skeptical look.
"No… it's more than that. I understand what you went through. It was Walter Sullivan, right? I never met him, but I know that he killed himself in jail after killing Billy and Miriam Locane. Right? I found a newspaper article about him when I was in Silent Hill."
I wasn't really sure what I was saying, or where I was going with it. I just wanted him to know that I had seen the horrors of Silent Hill. I wanted to be able to talk to him… maybe share stories of what had happened to us. I feel a bit selfish, but I didn't want to talk with him to confirm his reality. I wanted to hear what he had to say to confirm mine. That, and I so desperately wanted a friend that I could tell everything to. Maybe in that way I'd finally have someone who would listen to me and not think I was crazy.
"I know everyone thinks you're crazy, but I know what you've been through. I went to Silent Hill… as strange as it sounds, the town almost called me there. If I'm right, then I'm guessing you saw all kinds of monsters too, right? It sounds like your situation was different than mine… but I guess I… well, I just thought… you might want to talk to someone who won't treat you like a mental case as much as I want to?"
I was expecting Henry to smile and tell me how glad he was. I know that if he had come up to me first and let me know that he thought I wasn't crazy, I definitely would've. At the very least I thought he might show some sign of relief.

Instead, he just shut his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at my clock. For the first time since we'd talked, I caught a definite change in his voice. It wasn't the elation I had prepared for, but nervousness.
"I have to go to work."
Was all he managed to stammer before he quite literally ran out of my apartment room.

He left me sitting there in complete shock, just listening to the reverberation that the slammed door had caused. I stared at the door for a while, half expecting him to run back through. When I finally collected my senses, I realized I was angry. I was downright furious that he'd reacted that way. I'm sure he didn't realize just how hard it was for someone like me to be open about that, and how vulnerable it left me, but it hurt.

What hurt the most, I think, was knowing that my one chance of talking to someone who could understand or validate me had just run out of my front door.

I sat at that kitchen table for a while—how long exactly, I'm not sure. I stewed in my vexation as I tried to collect my thoughts. I tried to figure out why he'd left. Was it something I'd said? Was it something about me? Something about him?

It irritated me for a long while. I thought that it would subside within a few moments, but it didn't. I'm not one to harbor feelings of resentment to someone I barely know, which added a feeling of confusion to my anger. It was a complex feeling that I'm not sure I could describe. A part of me was scared. The last time I'd felt resentful towards someone… I still haven't forgiven myself for what I did.

I was frustrated, but I wasn't sure if it was at him or myself.

That question drove me crazy during the hours before I had to go to work. I actually went into work three hours early to escape my restless mind. Work at least gave me a distraction, but it was hard to shake the feeling of disillusionment.