And we're done! Sorry about the delay: I got sidetracked into The Dark Knight fandom and then had to bring my computer in for repairs.

I'd love to say that I have the next immediate installment in this ready, but I don't. I really, really want to do something with Douglas and Cheryl as the focus, but I don't feel comfortable writing exclusively from their perspectives until I actually get to play Silent Hill 3 (Everything I've done with them thus far has been based on information from the Silent Hill wikia and cutscenes on YouTube, but it's just not the same).

But this series WILL continue eventually, and I'm trying to hammer out a line of plot for the rest to follow.

[-]

Anne awoke to her arm positively throbbing.

Apparently, she had rolled in her sleep and accidentally put pressure on the wound. She grit her teeth and rolled to her other side, but the motion somehow managed to make the pain even worse. After a soft litany of assorted colorful words and phrases, Anne pushed herself up into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. That triggered a pounding in her head almost as strong as a moderate hangover, and her good hand came up to press against her temple.

Damn.

It took a few seconds to fully recall the events of the previous day, and for some reason it was difficult to reconcile the fact that she had been at work as usual during the day and in the hospital with her shoulder spewing blood before midnight. As well as the fact that, if she recalled correctly, Murphy Pendleton was sleeping on her couch.

Anne glanced at the clock- 6:24.

Five hours of sleep: Fantastic.

Odds were the only reason she had woken up as early as this was because of the pain. That medication hadn't done crap; Anne knew she might have to call back the doctor later and see if they had anything stronger. The wound had been stitched and then bandaged, and the sling was set to stay until the doctor was satisfied that the muscle and skin had healed appropriately. The wound was pulsing with pain that grew sharper with each movement and, to make it even worse, radiating heat.

As much as going back to sleep appealed to her, Anne knew that actually succeeding in doing so with the state her arm was in was slim. With a soft growl, she forced herself to stand up, resolving to go downstairs and put something cold on it (never mind taking another painkiller and the antibiotics she had been prescribed).

The trek to the kitchen was a slow one. The pain from her arm and headache were bad enough, but the fact that she hadn't been awake very long had her in a haze that made focusing difficult. Anne had never gripped the railing harder than she did that morning as she took the steps one careful stair at a time.

Murphy was sitting on the couch, slouched, arms crossed over his chest. He was snoring, and fairly loudly too. Anne's nose wrinkled. "Jesus, you sound like a lawnmower." She remarked, but he didn't even stir. Even in sleep he managed to look grim, troubled- not that he didn't have ample reason to do so. She made a note to kick him awake once she had done something about her arm.

After walking into the kitchen, Anne opened the freezer door and poked around until she found a sufficiently frozen bag of peas. After shutting the door, she sat down at the kitchen table, grimaced, braced herself, and then slowly pressed the bag to the shoulder of her arm.

It hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker, but it was mixed in with a sort of cool relief that sent all kinds of confused signals to her brain, and Anne ended up dropping her forehead onto the table. That, of course, pulled the muscles in her neck and shoulder and ended up making it worse for a bit, but eventually it let up enough that she could relax- physically, anyway.

I have to call into work, Anne thought as the pain began to dull. Have to tell them I'm not coming in, have to make myself sound like I have a cold to do it, because no way in hell am I saying I got injured in any way lest it get back to the wrong person. I have to set up an appointment with my own doctor to keep up with the shoulder, will have to go with Murphy and Travis when they go to get my car so I can tell them where it is, God damn I just want to go back to bed and not move.

Not an option. She had to give some kind of explanation for her absence, at the very least: Given the nature of their business, prisons tended to frown upon guards that didn't give some kind of warning that they wouldn't be at work on a given day. They liked to make sure they had ample numbers in case anything happened- not that that had done any favors for her father, Anne could not help but note.

And hell, after all of this, I still have to figure out who in Ryall is on Sewell's side or not. I know Benson, possibly Handley, but there's no way he could be getting up to all the shit he gets up to without at least some passive support from someone else.

It was amazing just how quickly she was capable of making new headaches for herself.

So engrossed was she in these thoughts that Anne didn't realize that Murphy had risen and walked into the kitchen until he was tapping her good shoulder. "How's the arm?"

"Somewhat tolerable." Anne grunted before forcing herself back into an upright position and carefully removing the bag of frozen vegetables from her arm. Once her hand was free, she used it to smooth back the many strands of hair that had come loose overnight. Murphy pulled out the chair to her left and sat down.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Call work, tell them I'm not coming in. Call the doctor, ask for stronger painkillers. If he cannot oblige, I'm giving you permission to shoot me in the head."

Murphy cocked an eyebrow at her. "That seems a bit extreme."

Anne heaved a sigh and adjusted her shirt. "I need something to manage the pain by Monday. I can't walk into work with a sling on or I'll get questions." She paused. "Do you remember any guards at Ryall that were buddy-buddy with Sewell?"

Murphy thought for a moment. "Not that I recall. Most people thought he was a dick, I think. And I thought the sling was to stop you from pulling the stitches."

"It is. But I'm willing to risk that if it means not drawing any more attention to myself than I have to. Sewell will ask." Murphy didn't argue. "What about Handley?"

"I'm… Not sure about him. Or the warden. You would think that after all the things Frank reported, they would have found something on Sewell."

"Handley doesn't seem to like him."

"I didn't like him much either, but I was still willing to do his dirty work. And compared to murder, Sewell probably isn't asking too much of Handley. Maybe he's just looking the other way."

"Maybe." That pounding in her head was coming back with a vengeance, and Anne figured that it might be better if she stopped thinking for the time being. Her distress must have translated to her face, because Murphy shifted a bit in his seat.

"If you're going to visit your doctor, I can stick around and give you a ride."

Anne stared at him for a moment. "You're being awfully nice to me for a man I once ruthlessly hunted down and tried to kill." She remarked dryly.

Murphy's lip twitched. "I thought we'd already gotten past that?"

"It's just a bizarre progression, is all I'm saying."

And she was very thankful for it indeed.

[-]

The day progressed at a snail's pace. Anne called in sick, praying that her absence alone would not be enough to peak Sewell's interest. Murphy drove her to her usual doctor and managed to get something just a bit stronger for the pain, and then he drove her back home.

"You need help with anything else?" He inquired as they pulled into the driveway.

Cooking dinner, driving, cleaning, showering and dressing myself are going to be a bitch too, so if you'd like a thrill-

Anne coughed and pretended to adjust the sling so Murphy wouldn't see the slight redness that had risen to her cheeks. "I should be fine. I can use my arm if I absolutely have to."

"Right. Did I already ask you if you're still planning to come to the meeting tomorrow?"

"No. But assuming these work-" Anne gave the new bottle of pills a little rattle, "-I should be fine to go."

"Travis'll be back in the morning. We'll drop by early, get your car, bring it back here and pick you up if you're up to going."

"Sounds good."

"I'll see you then." Anne nodded and climbed out of the car. Murphy didn't pull away from the house until she had successfully opened the door.

The rest of the day was one long, boring slump. The medication worked well-enough, and Anne was able to lie down without much discomfort. That was fortunate, as there wasn't really much else left for her to do: The less she did, the faster the wound would heal. The faster it healed, the sooner she would feel safe in removing the sling and using her arm without it, and she was counting on that for Monday when she went back to work. Maybe, just maybe Anne could play the sick-card again, but she didn't want to: The sooner she could go back and pretend as though nothing of import had happened Thursday evening, the better.

For a few hours, she fell in and out of a deep but fragile sleep. A few dreams teased her with their presence, but one hit with the force of a hurricane: Anne was back in the shipping yard, and Sewell and Benson and the four strangers were there. Everything progressed as it had before, with Anne accidentally making that noise and the attention being drawn to her hiding spot. But this time, when the shooting started, a choked sound to her left drew Anne's attention. There on the ground, writhing convulsively with a bullet-hole in his head was a police officer.

Anne stared at him, focused on his features, and was very nearly shocked to full awareness when she saw her father's face staring back at her, eyes wide, panicked. He coughed, choked, shuddered, and then managed, "Anne- Run!"

The name-tag on his jacket read "OFFICER G".

Anne sprang up fast enough that, upon realizing that she was awake and all it had been was a bad dream, she ended up cursing and carefully checking her arm to make sure she hadn't ripped open her stitches. After a few seconds of careful poking and prodding and seeing no blood, she was satisfied it was fine. She had developed a cold sweat, and her body was trembling with leftover adrenaline.

"Wouldn't want to go the way of old Officer G, would we?"

"No, no we don't." Anne whispered, running her good hand over her face. "Shit." Not for the first time, the sheer gravity of what she had gotten herself into settled heavily onto her shoulders. One false move and she would become the next Officer G, or the next Frank Coleridge.

Knockknockknock.

The sound was loud enough to make her jump, and still somewhat reeling from the dream, it took Anne a moment to realize that someone was knocking on her door- loudly, at that. But it was three o' clock and getting dark, so who exactly would be coming to visit now?

Knockknockknock.

"I'm coming!" Anne slid off the bed and tried to get her bearings before leaving her room and trotting down the stairs. Maybe it was Murphy? As she passed through the living room, Anne shot a look at the couch and wondered if maybe Murphy had left something behind when he had stayed over. That theory flew out the window when she saw a large, dark truck parked in her driveway; Murphy and Travis drove a blue, 90's sedan.

Knockknockknock.

The front door didn't have a window, so she couldn't see who was on the other side. Whoever it was, they must have really needed to talk to her (and not heard her call from upstairs), because most others would have given up by now. Anne grasped the knob with her left hand and twisted the door open. Standing on the other side-

…It was Sewell.

Anne's mind went to DEFCON 1 in a matter of seconds, and her first instinct was to find her jacket- her gun was in the pocket. But the door was open and if she chose to try and slam it shut and make a break for her gun now, if Sewell didn't already know, he would. Realistically, Anne could not move fast enough, could not get to her gun quickly enough, could not pull it out of the pocket before Sewell would be on her. Even if her arm was in perfect shape it would still be a stretch.

Time to play innocent.

Anne took a deep breath. "Sew- George. What brings you here?"

Sewell gave Anne a winning smile. He didn't look to be visibly injured, but he was wearing a jacket. The odds of the both of them merely getting grazed in that fire-fight were slim to none. "You didn't come into work today! Handley said you weren't feeling well, so I thought I'd come see how you were doing."

Anne felt her already thin smile weakening and forced it to widen a bit. "Oh yeah, just a- just a stomach thing, nothing to worry about."

Sewell nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, yeah. What happened there?" He nodded to her arm.

Lie, Anne, fucking lie like your life depends on it, because it does.

"This?" Anne said mildly, twitching her arm and praying that her voice wasn't shaking. "God, don't ask, I'm still embarrassed." She motioned for him to follow her into the house and when she turned around, her eyes landed on her jacket. It was still slung over the arm of the couch where she had put it the night before.

"Come on, you can tell me. I promise it won't leave the two of us!"

Anne rolled her eyes and looked back over her shoulder. "I swear to God, S- George, if this gets back to the other guards I'm going to kick your ass."

Sewell's chuckle was almost pleasant. "My lips are sealed."

"I… Was so tired this morning when I got up, I ended up slipping on the stairs when I was coming down to call into work. Not one of my more coordinated moments."

"How'd you get to the doctor, then?"

The hole in her story made Anne's heart jump in panic, but she covered quickly. "I managed. This is just a precaution, to keep it still for a while." It then occurred to Anne to be very, very thankful that it was not Saturday, or that Murphy hadn't stuck around for the rest of the day. If Sewell had walked in with him here, the shit would have hit the fan spectacularly.

Sewell kept his hands in his pockets as he looked around her living room. There was something about him that was a little too casual, a little too calm, and Anne was getting pulled in two different directions: Play stupid until he gave her a reason to do otherwise, or grab her gun before he could get the jump on her. The sling, ironically, worked in her favor: Sewell would likely assume that she couldn't defend herself and maybe give her some kind of sign before making a move.

"Nice place you got here, Anne."

"Thanks. Did you want something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm fine. So, what part of your arm did you hurt?"

Anne swallowed quietly and said, "Shoulder. Banged it pretty hard on the railing."

"Well that sucks." She did not miss his eyes jumping to her shoulder. There was a thin layer of bandages covering the stitches for an extra level of protection, and Anne hoped that he couldn't see the outline of them under her shirt-sleeve. Anne began to wonder how she could move closer to her jacket without looking suspicious, and if she should even try at this point. "How long do you have to wear that?"

Anne shrugged with her good shoulder. "Until the doctor's satisfied that it's better." She waited, watched his expression, but it didn't really change. "So, how have you been?"

"Been better, actually: Got into a bit of a tussle last night."

Forget racing or jumping- This time Anne was pretty certain her heart stopped. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was just some punk, probably though he could mug me. Pushed me into a dumpster, though. Damn near cracked my skull open on it." He turned, and it was then that Anne saw a lump behind his ear, disappearing into his hair. Maybe during the fight he had ducked or dodged or taken cover and slipped.

If only he really had cracked his skull open.

Anne took a little step backwards, a knot in her stomach telling her that she should get as close to her gun as possible. "Wow. That looks painful."

"It is, actually." Sewell took a leisurely step forward, but it was a large step, and put him a little closer to Anne than she would have liked. "I managed to knock the little fucker away, and I was going to give him exactly what he deserved- or she deserved, I suppose it could have been a woman-" Another step closer, and Anne edged back. "-but I was too busy trying to make sure I hadn't split my head open to do much else. Next thing I knew, they were gone."

So that was why Anne had managed to escape the yard without anyone really coming after her. After she had been injured, she had begun a hasty retreat back amongst the containers with the occasional parting shot here and there, but no one had chased after her. Sewell had been down, Benson was probably too scared, and the four other men had probably been eager to haul ass out before the police could come.

"Did you call the police?"

"Oh yeah. Not much they can do, though." He took another, final step forward, and Anne took another step back. Without warning, her leg bumped into the side of the coffee table and she stumbled. Sewell's hand shot out and grabbed her left wrist, pulling her up and forward and (oh shit) directly into his personal bubble. Her arm was almost folded against his chest, he was so close.

"Gotta be careful, Anne." Sewell murmured, his fingers tightening on her arm until the grip was uncomfortable. "Wouldn't want you to go and hurt yourself anymore than you already have, would we? That would be a shame. I like you." His tone was mild, innocent, but she could detect an undercurrent of a warning in his voice as he said it, and no, there was no mistaking it: He suspected. At the very least, Sewell suspected that Anne had been at the yard the night before.

Anne forced herself to lock eyes with him. "George? You're a little too close."

"Am I?" His smile had all the charm of a venomous snake, and the only reason Anne was still playing innocent was because her gun was still a few feet away and out of reach, and she didn't have any neighbors close enough to hear anything if things went bad. She hadn't lied to Murphy, she could use her bad arm if she had to, but there was no way she could wiggle out of the sling without giving Sewell ample time to realize what was coming.

"Yeah. And you're hurting me." She gave her wrist a little twitch. Sewell looked down at it, expression blank, and Anne began to wonder if maybe he honestly hadn't realized that he was hurting her- that, or he was damn well aware of it and was just being his typical lacking-all-forms-of-empathy self again. After a few seconds he dropped her wrist, and it and her hand tingled unpleasantly.

"Sorry about that, sugar. Sometimes I forget my own strength." That smile was back. Anne didn't bother trying to return it, awkwardly massaging her wrist with her right hand, which was hindered by the sling. "Well! I should probably get going. I'm pulling an extra shift tomorrow morning."

Anne followed him to the door, and damn, dare she hope that he meant to leave without any trouble? It was better than what she had been expecting- and what she had been expecting was a nightstick to the head or a bullet to the chest. She pushed back the relief, tried to stay on guard, because as long as Sewell was inside her house Anne was not safe. But then, he also knew where she lived, which meant that most of her security was totally gone; and that actually raised the question of how he knew where she lived in the first place, because she had only told him that she lived in Windham not her address-

"I'll see you on Monday." Anne said, allowing a small breath of relief to escape when he stepped out of the door. She gripped the knob tightly, preparing to slam it shut as soon as she had the chance.

"Looking forward to it!" Listening to him talk, you'd never guess that he had looked to be moments away from attacking her a minute before. Anne shut her eyes and went to close the door. "Oh, and Anne?" She stopped mid-push and opened her eyes. Sewell had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was looking back up at her. The smile was still present, but his eyes were cold. "Do try to be careful, hm? Really would hate to lose you to an accident."

Anne felt a shiver run down her spine, and her grip on the door tightened. "I'll be fine." Sewell gave a chuckle, a little wave, and then walked back to his large black truck, got inside, and drove away. Anne shut the door, locked and then bolted it shut before watched his taillights disappear in the evening darkness from the window. Once she was convinced Sewell was gone, she went to her jacket and pulled out her gun, tucking in into the waistband of her jeans. Odds were, she wouldn't be sleeping easily that night.

There is something seriously, seriously wrong with that man.

And now he probably knows that I'm onto him.

That, or someone needed to teach him the proper way to flirt with a woman.

After a moment's contemplation and strong efforts to get her breathing under control, Anne went over to the phone and dialed Murphy and Travis's number. It rang once, twice, after the third time she wondered if maybe Murphy was still at work or asleep, until finally mid-fourth ring he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Murphy? It's Anne."

"You all right?" He had snapped right to sounding concerned, and Anne was grateful for that. It was nice to know that she had someone who was unquestionably in her corner.

"Fine. Do you have Douglas's number? I don't think I want to wait until tomorrow to talk to him."

-End

I didn't originally plan out the ending to this story, and so I just kind of let the story go on its own. I had no idea I'd be bringing Sewell back into this.