AN:
Fuuuck. This chapter is way too long. But if I had tried to make it into two chapters, they both would've been too short, and they don't stand alone well.

Okay, I'll stop complaining.

If you skip over the rest of the AN, at least read this:
There will be no update next week. Actually, there may not be one for a few weeks. I started going to college last semester, which means I'm now doing all of my work from my laptop. To get to the point, it's a new laptop, and I've been using a trial version of Microsoft word that's about to expire. So, I'm currently backing up the files for when it does shut down (as I'm not sure if it'll save my current work or not), but I know for certain that I won't be able to write until I can either manage to convince my parents to pay for Microsoft word for me, or scrounge up the money myself. Which isn't so easy, seeing as I was fired from my actual job last month.
So, don't sit around next Tuesday waiting for an update, unless you like feeling disappointed.
/Importance

With that out of the way, let me talk about this chapter.
As I said, it is way too long—even for me to go back and proofread. When I finish the story completely, I'm planning on going back and editing. So, just know that everything you're reading could be considered as 'work in progress'. So the fact of the matter is, is that it probably will be wrought with mistakes of both the grammar and character variety. I don't mean to tell you to prepare for the worst thing you've ever read, but I'm letting you know that this chapter probably isn't up to the quality that previous chapters have been.

And I'm trying my hardest to give Henry as few outward emotions as possible, but one of this story's main thematic messages regards change, so it's hard to find perfection when I have to weigh in previous habits, reluctance to change, desire to change, and how that change ought to be portrayed.

Also, Laura is somewhat a character foil to James. I hadn't thought about it, but one of my friends pointed out to me that her actions help to make James seem more righteous.

Response to critiques:
-The Mobled Queen- I'm breaking my own system of simply mentioning the issue at hand, because I want to personally thank you for the critique. It was very well-worded and exceedingly enlightening. When I read it, I went back to the chapter, read over it, and had a 'That makes so much sense!' moment. Most of the critiques I get offer me little more than spelling or grammar advice, but the fact that you could understand what I was trying to portray and help me see how to make it more believable was absolutely splendid. I wish I could've read that review before starting this chapter. I have a feeling it would've helped. Either way, thank you again for the help, and for all of the reviews!

-Settings- I'm really glad you brought that up. In an attempt to show their subtle differences, I'm making it so that James doesn't notice/appreciate sceneries or settings as much as Henry does. Henry, as a photographer, would pay much more attention to detail and feel a need to make note of it in his narration, I think. This does provide a bit of a problem for me, though, since I rarely like to narrate settings in extreme detail. I've found that while reading, no matter how well someone explains something, I always picture something familiar to my own mind. Whenever anyone writes a high school story, I automatically picture the high school I went to, no matter the differences. But thank you for bringing that to my attention, I really ought to describe the settings much more—especially from Henry's perspective.

-All these crazy compliments- Obviously not a critique, but I'm still blown away each week by the people who say they like my story. Thank you all so much! It really is motivating to read all the praise and comments when I get onto my laptop to write.

Anyways, there will probably be 3-4 more of these silly getting to know each-other chapters before things turn serious. So be prepared for that, whenever I'm able to write again.

I really wanted to apologize to James. Well… maybe not apologize. I wanted to explain my reaction and ask him to talk to me. Well… maybe not like that. I wasn't certain what I exactly wanted, but I knew that I wanted to be able to talk to him and get to know him. Maybe get to know who he was before the experience and how it changed him, what the experience was, and what he knew about Silent Hill and The Order. I'd done my own research on the area, but I didn't know what material was credible and what wasn't.

Reemergence

The only thing standing in my way of actually speaking to him was my own idiotic reaction and my shameful pride.

I called the front desk of the apartments about three hours after my confrontation with James on my cell phone. In the calmest voice I could muster, I asked if they could connect me to James Sunderland's extension. That woman at the front desk, whatever the hell that fat cow's name is, responded back that James didn't have a home phone to start, but a cell phone, and that he wouldn't be in now. I had to refrain from cursing at that slag. She was such a nasty, bitter woman. I don't know what happened in her life to make her hold everyone besides Frank Sunderland in disdain, but I pray I never go through anything like it.

I tried to imitate an amused chuckle and asked where he was, explaining that I was one of Laura's teachers. I had no doubt that she didn't know a thing about James' life besides his name or Laura's, so I wasn't worried she'd call me out on the bull-shit. Besides, it wasn't like the days of high school, where no matter how hard I pretended to sound like an adult over the phone it would never work—I actually was an adult.

She gave what I can only explain as a nervous throat-clearing and asked me to hold on for a moment. It was through her that I both learned James' cell-phone number and where he worked. When I hung up, I realized that the roles James and I had been playing had changed. Where he had been the semi-stalker with me unaware, now the opposite was true.

I found out that he was working at a nearby bar doing financial managing and bartending. It seemed a bit of a strange job, but at some point I realized that James must've been eager to take any job he could find moving back here. Even minus the expenses on his titan of an apartment, I can't imagine it's cheap raising a daughter. Especially one as bratty as Laura.

I knew where he worked, but that was of little help to me. I didn't want to piss the poor guy off any more than he probably was, so walking into the bar while he was working was out of the question. Going back to his apartment didn't work for me either. Even if he didn't slam the door in my face as I assume he would, I'd probably lose my courage before I could knock. I needed some way where I could just run into him. That way I would have to face him and he wouldn't be able to avoid me. Unless he ran away, which I can only assume he wouldn't. We're both adults, even if I don't act like it all the time.

I decided I'd wait a block away from work—on the only route I would assume he would take, unless he decided to take a scenic route today. I blew the option off at first as completely ridiculous—just the restless imagination of a nervous man. As the hours passed, the option became less ludicrous. If he was as angry as I would've been in his place, a calming walk would be something to consider. Too bad all the 'scenic' ways to walk back would take him through some of the more questionable parts of town. Then again, if he'd retained anything from his stay in Silent Hill as I had, he would probably be able to fend for himself. Though gun-wielding teenagers are probably a bit more dangerous than most of the creatures I faced—excluding the ghosts of Walter's victims, if they can be counted as creatures.

Still, I decided it was worth the risk. Obviously the excuse I'd used on James about needing to go to work was false. I didn't work on Saturdays.

That left me with little to do besides lounge around in my apartment. After my expedition into James' apartment, my apartment had begun to feel a bit less pleasant. I don't mean in the oppressive, choking sort of way it was when it was possessed—God no. I just mean that it was plain. I'd always known that, but it was, and still is, all I can afford without moving into the questionable area of town. Today, the monotony of the plain beige walls cloyed me. The way it merged into the dirty white carpet furthered the feeling. I couldn't even stand to look at my arbitrary kitchen and its standard appliances. I wanted away from the mundane, but I had nothing to do outside of my room, either.

I kept myself busy by thinking farther into the matter. I wouldn't say I was obsessed, though. I'm calm by nature, which comes in handy in situations where a different person might panic. I thought about what I should say. Something along the lines of an apology and an explanation, I assumed. If things went well, then anything past that should go smoothly. I could only assume he had a lot he wanted to say, much the same as myself. I thought about what time I should head over. I didn't want to miss him, but I obviously didn't want to stand around on the street corner waiting for hours. If he was working in the bar, then he wouldn't be leaving until later in the day.

This was quickly resolved with a quick trip to James' apartment at 4 p.m. I was glad when my assumption was correct, and Laura answered the door. I ignored all of her questions regarding what had happened with James, who I was now assuming was her father, and asked her what time he would be getting off of work. She called me a douche-bag, but called him on her cell-phone. She asked when he was going to be back, and when he asked why she wanted to know, she said that she wanted to know if he would be home in time for dinner (and, I'll add, she called him a jerk for not simply answering her question). As it would turn out, he was getting off in less than an hour.

I ran out of the room before Laura had hung up, hoping to avoid more of her questions. I vaguely heard her yell that I was a moron through the closed door.

When I was finally in my room, I wondered if I ought to physically prepare in some way. It seemed one of those confrontations that ought to be done at night while sparse bits of snow fluttered around us, illuminated by the dim street-lights for only a moment before resting against the once-black asphalt. If that were the case, I imagine I'd wear some sort of coat. However, seeing as it was going to be a humid August evening, it wasn't going to be the typical romanticized setting a movie might have. If only real life were more like the movies, where the weather fit the mood and atmosphere of all conversations.

Rather than an eloquent coat of sorts, I decided to leave my outfit as is. Taking the heat outside of the air-conditioned apartment into consideration, I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows.

'Less than an hour' didn't give me too secure of a time frame, so I decided to head over right away. Still feeling like a complete stalker, I walked along the sidewalk to a spot I knew I'd run into him. I passed by the buildings, wondering whether to call them short or tall. In comparison to a cottage, they were huge, but if the comparison was to a sky-scraper, they'd be tiny. They came in all varieties of colors too, excluding pink and purple. They were all juxtaposed against the side-walk, which gave me a clear view into a few of the windows. I passed by a woman yelling at someone in her apartment, a man getting his hair-cut, and another woman on a lap-top in front of the window. I finally reached my destination and stood with my back against a red-bricked building about a block away from James' bar.

The air held a slight, metallic tinge. It, mixed with the smells of upturned earth from a nearby construction site and the ever-present smell of burnt gasoline, put a foul taste in my mouth. At least it wasn't one of those 'deceitful by appearance' types of cities. It looked about as terrible as it smelled. All around, this area of the city reeked of disrepair and hopelessness. I can tell you, if I was one of those scrawny teenagers I see all over the internet, I'd be too scared to stand around without some sort of weapon. I wonder if James feels the same way every time he walked past this area?

I wish I knew something of his personality, besides the fact that he doesn't like eye-contact. I wasn't even certain how to approach him! Did I treat the matter gently and take his feelings into consideration? Or was I supposed to act all 'manly', slap him on the back, and just tell him that I was being a pussy? The latter was so out of character for me, just thinking about it made me laugh.

I guess I'd probably just shout his name and take it from there. I wouldn't chase him if he ran, despite how funny of an image that brought to mind. He was a good inch or two taller than I was, and looked a fair bit stronger than me anyways.

I had a number of amusing thoughts and day-dreams as I waited—none of them worth mentioning.

The sky had darkened as five rolled around. I kept constant tabs on my watch. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. One of my old friends passed me. She sent me a hesitant nod which I returned with the usual dosage of apathy and indifference I saved for all the people who called me crazy. 40 minutes passed. My legs were tired so I sat down for five minutes. At 45 minutes, I stood up again. Finally, at 47 minutes, I saw a tall figure approaching from the opposite direction. From the distance, all I could tell was that it was a male with short blonde hair. Nothing else was distinguishable enough, but I was hopeful. His eyes were downcast at the ground, but it was clear at 100 yards that it was James. He hadn't spotted me yet. In fact, he only glanced up long enough to seemingly make sure he wasn't going to run into any person or structure. I thought about how easy it would've been to pick-pocket him.

While lost in my thoughts and trying to distinguish his features, I failed to realize that I was on the opposite side of the road from him.

How does one discretely cross the road while rushing to make sure the other doesn't get too far away? The only answer I found was a prominent 'You don't.'

Abandoning all sense of stealth or any element of surprise, I cupped my hands around my mouth and spoke in a loud voice,
"James! Wait up!"

---

I'll be the first to admit that my job is pretty unsatisfying. When I'm not crunching numbers or balancing them, I'm behind the bar serving up drinks to people I wouldn't associate with under normal circumstances. One man in particular, a guy named Jerry, was eerily reminiscent of Eddie. I don't think it's necessary to say that I was never too fond of Eddie.

Our usual clientele consisted of promiscuous women, older men who need a drink after a long day of what they describe to be their unfulfilling lives, people who come to the bar because it's the only social setting they can be in without sticking out like a sore thumb, bar-hoppers, and people who just want to get piss-drunk for some reason or another.
Everyone deals with liquor in different ways. For some, it can take a depressing situation and numb them to their memories and, subsequently, their pain. For others, it's an avoidance of life all together. For others yet, it's simply the one thing that gets them through the day without placing a handgun to their head and ending everything.

Myself, I don't drink much. I drank until the point of unconsciousness often during the time when Mary was sick, but I haven't been drunk since I adopted Laura. I tell her it's because I'm afraid of what she'll do to me when I'm not sober, but it's really because I have no need for it. It doesn't make me happier, and I no longer need it as a filler.

That as it is for me, the same isn't true for the people who come in. Most lead depressing lives, and most like to share it with their tender. Sylvia, another bartender, had had to quit when the stress had become too much for her. It isn't a hard job physically, but it begins to wear on all of us emotionally. If it were a bar in a club, this problem wouldn't arise; since it was such a small, personal bar with a loyal set of attendees, contact and conversation were almost inevitable.

I'm alright with most of it. I pulled through my own problems, and I had no doubt that most of them would too. The only person who truly and poignantly affected me was a young man named Lucas. He couldn't have been older than 25, and his wife was dying of breast cancer. Maybe it was only because I saw parts of myself in him that I actually tried to help. He came in every Saturday for a scotch on the rocks. Every conversation was bitter-sweet, and left me with an empty feeling when he left to go back to his wife.

That, in addition to my confrontation with Henry, had left me in a less than pleasant mood. The only thing that had remotely cheered me up had been a phone call from Laura. There were rare moments when she accidently dropped her tough front and let me see her sweet, caring side—the one she had always used with Mary. I was eager to get home to her, for once.

Laura was actually a pretty decent cook. Nothing extravagant, but she could boil almost anything, and was already learning about frying different kinds of meat. I was so out of focus thinking about what Laura might be making that I didn't take my setting into consideration. I'd walked the same path almost every single day for a few months. It was second nature for me—something that required no thought on my part. My feet guided my body.

Something perturbed my thoughts. That 'something' being my name shouted at me from a considerable distance. I turned to look at whoever it was that had called out to me, and froze in my tracks. Of all the people I might have expected to call to me on a street, Henry wasn't among them. In fact, after today's conversation, I would've thought that Henry would be writing up a restraining order at that very moment.

He recognized my shock, I think, but kept walking towards me. I was in one of those numb states. I wasn't quite sure what to think, what to feel, or what to expect. The anger I'd felt earlier swept back, but it was overshadowed by my curiosity and reckless personality. It wasn't as though anything horrible would come of talking to him again, at least.
"Henry? What are you doing out here?"
I asked incredulously. There was absolutely nothing to do in this part of town. I should've been more concerned with what he wanted, now that I look back on it.
Henry kept his eyes downcast, as if he were ashamed. In fact, I'm almost certain he was. I wouldn't say it out loud, but that fact pleased me to a certain extent. I felt bad for thinking that way, but I did think that he deserved it.
Henry seemed a bit taken aback by the question. He obviously hadn't prepared an answer for that; maybe it was just because he was expecting me to yell at him, rather than ask him a legitimate question. He didn't know yet, but my anger isn't of the explosive variety. I'm not the type to blow up in someone's face—I'm the type who holds in their irritation and frustration until I'm eventually not irritated at what initially happened, but the fact that they don't understand why I'm mad or that it took them so long to figure it out. Mary always told me it was my worst character flaw, but her telling me that made me irritable in itself.

He sighed and looked back up, closing his eyes at the point where they would've been staring into mine. It was at that point that I realized that this wasn't a coincidental meeting. Henry had prepared for a conversation.
"I… called the front desk and had her tell me where you work… and then had Laura call you to find out when you got off of work."
I let out an almost silent groan of dismay and rolled my eyes. I should've known that Laura's call hadn't been what it seemed. He opened his eyes at the sound and looked at me, as if afraid that I was mad.
"No, I'm just upset that Laura lied to me."
I said, certain that I had answered the question running through his head. An almost unnoticeable smile on his part affirmed my assumption.
"I'm… sorry. I mean… about the phone call too, but more for running out on you."

He looked terribly out of place—I felt bad for him. Just seeing him that way, in such a guilty, remorseful pose, made my frustration diminish slightly. It's hard for me to give up the feeling of irritation when I have it, but I'm not an unreasonable guy. If Henry looked ashamed enough, then I'd at least give him a chance.

Even from first seeing him, I could tell that he was the introverted type who had a hard time displaying emotions, and an even harder time admitting to fault. I wouldn't call him proud in that way, because I think he was nervous more-so due to my possible reaction than the fact that he was admitting fault. He opened his eyes and looked me straight in mine. I didn't look away this time—the intensity of his stare captivated me. I wouldn't have suspected someone like Henry to be capable of portraying so much emotion in a single look.

"I'm not social, and with everything that's happened I've receded farther into my own mind than ever before. I mean, I've always depended solely on myself, but I didn't realize until today that I can't even imagine trusting anyone else."

Henry clasped his hands together, finally breaking eye-contact to take a deep breath.

"So… it wasn't that I didn't believe you or anything. I was… I don't know. I guess scared. I just… never thought that there was any possibility that someone like you existed, so I mentally prepared myself to be constantly alone… and shut off?"

Henry was fumbling for words, but I was beginning to see what he was saying. He wasn't looking at me as he continued to speak, instead focusing on his hands. Apparently, not only was he an emotional amputee, but he was also a nervous wreck when it came to apologizing. I wasn't sure whether it was because he simply ran away from problems, or if he honestly kept so many tabs on himself that he rarely ever had problems.

"And when you just announced that you believed me without even a bit of doubt, that fear of commitment and trust sprung to the surface. At first I didn't even believe you…"
He stopped and looked back up at me, the previous intensity replaced with the stoic face he always wore.
"Sorry. I'm sorry."

We were both silent for a moment. He staring at his hands again, and me watching him with a slight smile.

"You aren't the best at apologies, are you Henry?"
Perhaps it was a bit of a cruel thing to do, both making a joke of his heart-felt apology and insulting him, but it seemed right. After all, this wasn't an apology from lovers or close friends or anything. In fact, the fact that he'd exposed that much and made himself that vulnerable was nothing short of astounding. I had a feeling that the both of us wanted away from the somber mood.

I was rewarded with a smile to match my own,
"Not really. That's also the most I've said to anyone in years."

People have called me surly and often accuse me of not having a sense of humor; that's just because I often don't see a need. I'm a realistic person—I never really see a need to force humor that I don't truly feel. My time with Mary's sickness had also left me cynical and bitter. I mention this because when I do joke, people often don't get it and just confuse it with my usual sardonic banter.

I doubt Henry knew it, but the fact that he'd understood and joked back made me forget the initial problem. It was just nice to be able to laugh—especially to be able to laugh something that'd been so stressful off.
"Don't worry about it."
I said, taking the topic back to his apology.
"And I'm sorry too."

Henry, who'd been rather adamant about looking anywhere besides me, suddenly looked up at me with a bit of surprise on his otherwise blank face.
"What for?"
He asked, his right eyebrow lifting higher towards his hair-line.
"For grabbing and yelling at you. I was so focused on getting you to open up to me that I didn't stop to think that I was trying to force you to do something against your will. I'm not the best at understanding other people or taking the time to try to."
I trailed off and looked back up at him. I shrugged my shoulders to show that I didn't know what else to say. He nodded back at me.
"You don't need to apologize."

In the long run, I was certain that this was the best way I could've become acquainted with Henry. A bit unconventional, yes, but in the misunderstanding we both came to understand the other in a way we may never have through casual conversations. I've never meant to sound philosophical, especially since it was the only class in college I ever failed, but I truly do believe that had things gone my way initially, we would've taken solace in the fact that we had both been tormented by Silent Hill, but never really gotten to know each other past our shared experiences. Maybe I'm wrong—I don't know.

All I do know is that I saw some of his flaws and he saw some of mine. I saw his fear of commitment and abundant trust issues; he saw my temper, surliness, and lack of empathy.

I don't think it takes a PhD to know that the fact that we could overlook those extraordinary character flaws that would turn most people away meant that we had already established a bond—of what kind, I wasn't sure.

With all the perfect timing of a broken clock, Laura decided to call me at that point. I felt the vibrations through the fabric of my jeans and pulled the cell-phone out. I had to squint my eyes to see the illegible words on the bright blue screen. I flipped the phone open and pressed it against my ear.
"Yeah?"
I said into the receiver, sending Henry a quick look to let him know I hadn't forgotten about him.
"Soooo, how did things with Henry go, huh?"
She asked. She sounded excited—something which both confused and amused me. I'd never seen Laura take a personal interest in the workings of my life, but I suppose it had more to do with the fact that Henry was involved.
"Want to ask him yourself?"

Laura caught on to what I meant, and promptly hung up after calling me an asshole. I sometimes miss the days when her insults consisted of 'jerk', or 'dumb-head'. I tried my hardest to not curse around her, but I could only censor myself to say 'snot-nosed brat!' once in a while, when my natural reaction to most of the things she did was a very lewd, 'Bitch!'. I have no doubt that her list of obscene insults comes from me. Try explaining that to a 5th grade teacher who looks old enough to be your grandmother.

I shut the silver device and put it back into my pocket.
"Laura looking for you?"
He asked, his hands now in his pockets.

"No, but I think we've become her replacement teen drama. The cable in our complex went out last week"
I was almost startled when Henry not only understood another of my jokes, but responded to it with his own joke,
"Bummer for her. I'm pretty boring."

I gave a small smile to match his own. It was a bit strange, having such a fluid conversation with a man I'd analyzed as a social reject and partial nut-job just this morning. Most of my conversations with people feel contrived—I only talk to them when there was a necessity to do so, and even then I didn't usually say what I felt.
"I really should get going, though. I don't trust Laura alone in my apartment for long."
Henry nodded in turn,
"I can't blame you."

He began to walk up the pathway and motioned me forward with a nod of his head. Somewhere in the conversation I'd forgotten that we hadn't simply passed by coincidence on the street. He'd come to find me and, now that we were done, was probably heading back to the apartment as well.
I caught up to him and matched his pace or, at least, I tried to. He was a bit faster than I was.

We walked in silence for a while, the only audible noise coming from our footfalls against the concrete, a few cars whizzing by, and a car horn going off somewhere in the distance. The streets remained a dull gray, each building passed a perfect clone of another in my eyes. The city with its flashing neon signs had become a dull, monotonous thing to me. All the window frames looked the same, the walls, the streets, the roads, even the people in the window looked the same. For lack of anything interesting to focus on, I turned to look at Henry. I'd noticed it even the first time I'd seen him, but I decided to take a closer look since we were so close together and in a comfortable setting; Henry seemed to have perpetual 5 o'clock shadow. Myself, I'd never had a problems with facial hair. Mine grew in an almost unnoticeable blonde, and much slower than most of the other men I knew. I wondered what gene it was that determined how quickly a person's facial hair grew in.

As my mind wandered, stumbling over these thoughts, Henry must've looked over and caught me staring at his cheek. I only know this because when he cleared his throat to grab my attention, he was staring right at me.
"Tell me about what happened to you in Silent Hill?"

I did. I told him about Mary, Maria, the Pyramid Head, the strange puzzles, the places, and just about everything I could fit into the 20 minute walk. We walked through the apartment lobby without paying attention to the receptionist. I shouldn't say that, though, because I did look over for a moment to catch her dumbfounded expression. We made it up to my room as I was describing my conversation with Angela after she'd thrown her T.V. at the monster she'd imagined to be her dad. I told him I'd tell him the rest later, and to call me when he was free. When I started reaching for a piece of paper to write my number down for him, he told me to not bother. Apparently the receptionist was just thick enough to actually give a stranger my cell-phone number.

And just like that, we parted ways. I went in to my apartment, and I can only assume that he went into his. I managed to force down what Laura explained to be chicken cutlets sautéed in maple syrup. I pretended to like them, which pleased her. If I can stick my hand into a filthy toilet without a second thought, then I can certainly handle maple-chicken.

I can't pretend my day ended there, though. Thoughts about Henry and the day's incidents kept replaying through my mind. They mixed with the thoughts of what lay in store, what I thought about Henry as a person, and how Laura fit into the jumbled mess. Eventually my restless mind became too irritating, and I popped two sleeping pills.