Chapter 2

She barely slept at all between those rounds of tossing and turning, her alarm finally went off. This was the day. She still struggled to accept she was doing something, not only outside her office, but also outside Portland. She wasted the previous evening trying to decide what she would wear. She'd hiked on occasion, but didn't have a great deal of suitable clothing. She eventually just chose old jeans and a tee-shirt, along with an old pair of brown hiking boots. She wasn't going to see anyone and would likely spend the day in the middle of nowhere. There was no reason to worry about appearances.

She checked her bag for the necessary items. She had several folders, including the massive victim folder. She had a digital camera that would suffice for the photography needs of the paper. She took a few miscellaneous tools, just in case, but would probably never need them.

She grabbed a flashlight and several other items: a first aid kit and a pad of paper. She didn't want to forget anything. She'd packed the majority of her goods the previous night to avoid a hectic morning rush.

She locked up the apartment and moved on. It would take a little while to arrive at Silent Hill. She still had to drive through Ashfield and Shepherd's Glen. A major highway to bypass the metropolitan areas had been discussed for some time, but the state hadn't gotten to it. If it were like the countless projects discussed in the rumor mills, it would never be realized.

She admired the morning sun's illumination of the tall West Virginia Mountains. They were shades of purple and blue in the distance. Her journey would take her through them. The county highway took drivers through twists and turns of all directions. She rounded the turns at the Devil's Elbow, Hell's Crossroads, and countless other colorfully named locations known only to the surrounding region. At least she wasn't stuck behind a desk.

The engine remained relatively quite despite the rising elevation as she pressed onward. She stopped in Ashfield to grab a biscuit, wasn't the most nutritious breakfast, but it was fast and she was in a hurry. She grabbed her voice recorder and began to recite her thoughts as they came to her:

"Tuesday, August 4th, I'm now leaving Ashfield on the route to Silent Hill. I have mentally run through the victim's list since yesterday. I'm almost certain the disappearances aren't due to criminal activity. There's just no definitive methodology involved. Everything is too random. There has to be another reason.

"I checked with several police stations yesterday afternoon and discussed a few of the area disappearances. Not a single individual had their credit cards or bank cards used after their disappearance. There's no bank activity at all once they'd vanished. The victims all vanished in different locations, all with no witnesses and no strange vehicles or individuals reported nearby…"

People didn't just disappear. She passed through Shepherd's Glen as quickly as she entered. She was getting closer. People didn't just disappear and strangers didn't go unnoticed.

Silent Hill was a regional mystery. It was a functioning town, just like most of the others, but there was something extraordinary about it. People were too quite when the name was mentioned. Its history was shrouded in a little too much secrecy. Maybe there were a gang of locals that terrorized out-of-towners, but even then, they would surface at some point. They wouldn't just vanish along with the victims. Aunt Lola was from Silent Hill and never discussed it. It intrigued her growing up, but it wasn't until she began work at the Gazette that the thirst for answers really grew.

The file for a man named James Sunderland had been faxed to local police stations from the West Virginia State Police, when he vanished. All area police stations were given full notes, the details of his car and two photographs. They followed his tracks in Silent Hill from a public restroom, down a common hiking trail, and the prints simply vanished near a local cemetery. They didn't veer off the trail. There was no sign of struggle or evidence he'd backtracked. His prints just stopped.

There was also information on the latest disappearance. Tina Townshend. She'd been attending a university, was sent on assignment with several friends to gather specimens for her botany course. They began hiking near the Silent Hill Historical Society and she disappeared. Her friends searched for two days, but there was no sign of her. Her tracks went inside the Historical Society's building, but didn't emerge. Strangely, the building was locked when her friends arrived. They would never have gotten in, but luckily, the curator arrived to open for the day. They checked the windows and the backdoor. She walked into the building ahead of her group, and by the time they got there, she was gone. Again, no sign of struggle. No sign of Tina.

The strangest quality of the history was the random nature. There was no linking quality to any victim. All shapes, all sizes, all ages and both genders had been taken in nearly equal numbers and all at utterly random times. Some were originally from Silent Hill and some had just come to visit for their own personal reasons.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Silent Hill Historical Society. She paused a moment and looked around. It was on the outskirts of the town, next to the edge of Toluca Lake. The society building was dark. The small red and white hours sign stated they weren't in before lunch through the week. She walked up to the entrance and gently tugged on the latch. Apparently, the building didn't have a caretaker or housekeeper after hours. They probably couldn't afford one. Most county historical places usually operated on shoestring budgets.

So, how would Tina have entered? The doors were made of thick hardwood. The industrial deadbolt wouldn't have succumbed to a young woman's tug. It was not a lesser quality lock that could be subdued with a hair pin or a credit card. If Tina had broken in, there would've been damaged reported to the authorities when they arrived.

She snapped a few photographs of the area before she decided to try the public restroom Sunderland visited, before he went missing. She drove back down the county highway. It was an empty area. The sluggish traffic remained sparse, although there should be a number of cars out. It was nearly time for school to start.

She passed the entrances for Rosewater Park. She would return just to visit, it was a beautiful area. Sunderland's car had long since been impounded, at least according to his file. There was no indication that he'd returned for it or had returned to his life. She pulled in the lot and looked around. The notes on him indicated he'd lost his wife around a year before he went missing. She'd been hospitalized in Ashfield before she died.

The road hadn't been as dangerous as she'd assumed. There weren't any hairpin turns around Silent Hill. The lake wasn't close enough to the road to pose a risk of swallowing vehicles if they went over the edge. Toluca Lake didn't seem deep enough to instantly envelop wreckage should any fall in it. Perhaps out in the center, but not at this shore. She parked the Toyota next to the building and pulled her bag from the passenger's seat.

There weren't any other cars nearby, but that was best. She could explore in silence and absorb the environment. It was puzzling. The town wasn't particularly large, nothing you could get lost in. Portland was a thriving city in comparison. She would hike the trail herself and see if it harbored any potential threats. That might offer some explanation. Maybe all the victims somehow, inadvertently wound up on the same trail. Maybe that trail passed a place in the ground that had fallen through into a cavern below?

According to the file notes, this was the same trail Sunderland disappeared on. It wasn't anything like she expected. The trail had a few curves, but nothing remotely perilous. It was not small or difficult to navigate. There weren't any protruding boulders or holes in the ground left by burrowing animals to obstruct the trail. The path was well-constructed and the trees limbs were too high above to pose any kind of risk to people.

She approached an old stone wishing well off to the right. Someone had constructed an elaborate white gazebo surrounding it. She stepped up and photographed the area. It was beautiful. Someone had taken great care to build a wonderful spot. She looked down into the well and noticed something sparkling in the water. She couldn't tell if it was a metal sparkle, or just a piece of trash. She leaned down into the well and tried to aim her flashlight directly towards the source.

It was difficult to see as the water continually waved, even though nothing touched it. She couldn't make out what lay beneath the surface. She reached her hand down into the water; its chill engulfed her flesh as she reached to grasp the object. She grabbed onto something metal, but not before losing her balance and plunging headfirst into the water.