James didn't want to talk about anything.

Silent Hill had been feeling strange lately. He noticed it some time ago (which would have been counted as weeks if time had any importance here). The air had shifted. It had excitement. It was darker and buzzing with building anticipation, like the tourist town it was supposed to be in the preparations of a festival.

For being so tightly bound here, he was left uninformed. He was also left mysteriously and completely alone. The monsters became disinterested in him and made themselves sparse, forcing James into an open world of isolation. To his chagrin, it actually hurt his feelings. These aberrations were created for him and hunted him every day, and had for possibly years. Now, they only jerked in his direction, jabbered in acknowledgment as the radio's static danced, and then moved on.

Not even the Red Pyramid Thing had been seen, nor the ungodly scrape of his knife heard, for a worryingly amount of time. James was rejected by his own walking traumas.

That made the affliction of Silent Hill so much more unbearable.

His wandering became more aimless. He took to standing in the middle of streets in the dense fog and do exactly nothing. He stood there, void of thought, dead in feeling, and remained there through the end of day and end of night. Nothing was going to come for him. The radio never hummed. He'd do this for days.

He didn't even notice.

Then he went to the lake. When he sat down, the town's mood shifted again. It became livid. The anger throttled his guts and he'd held tight to the bench, preparing to vomit, and the bile never made it past the back of his mouth. His head thundered and vision hazed. Silent Hill was throwing a fit, and James was allowed the joy of experiencing it, for the price of not knowing why.

It eased. The energy was still raging, but had calmed itself enough to gain another strange emotion: excitement. It was childlike, the anticipation of a toy at a birthday party, a cupcake before dinner. James caught his breath and sat back, absolutely lost. Silent Hill was simultaneously throwing a tantrum and quivering with unholy suspense.

James had felt a presence. Someone else was here. It didn't bring him comfort or hope. No one else ought to be here ever again. He felt dread knowing a living soul was walking the streets - his streets - and that's when the town whispered in his head.

He ignored it. He met Harry. He left the lake and made a promise to himself to get him and his daughter out of Silent Hill for good.

No, he didn't know the full story yet. What he did piece together is that Harry was important to Silent Hill and it wanted to do something very terrible about it.

He studied Harry. Harry Mason was the town's strange enemy. He looked unassuming, and most of the time, those were the types of people to watch out for. He saw streaks of silver in his woodsy brown hair, and lines at the corners of his eyes. James was in fact terrible at guessing ages, as he'd stated before, but he wagered that Harry was at least in his late forties. That made sense, didn't it, with a daughter who's seventeen? He wasn't sure.

He watched Harry's weight leave the bed. As he went to search the rest of the apartment, James took his direction to the floor again. Harry did not belong here. He did not belong here. He didn't want him here just as much as the town didn't. James had a duty now. He had to focus on it, no matter what the town tried to do. He had to keep telling himself that.

He closed his eyes. His body felt heavy. That was the burden of all that he was. He was a self-pitying coward and doormat. He wished he didn't have to be the one to help Harry out. James would rather run away and leave him to figure it all out on his own, so he could be rotting in self-imposed loneliness.

James sighed and brushed the trickle of water from his forehead. The top of his head was damp and cold. He wiped his freezing hands on his jeans as he stood, blinking an eye against a drip. Silent Hill wanted him to be poisoned and ingested by his own self. It was a struggle not to fall to it. He plowed through.

He left the bedroom and found Harry at the kitchen counter frowning over a tourist map. He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets and waited. After a while, it was clear that Harry was either too busy pouring over the map, or that he was expecting James to say something first. He'd have to take initiative.

He cleared his throat. "What's that?"

Harry chewed his lower lip. It appeared to James that his assumption was correct. "A map. We're in South Vale."

"Uh huh."

"I have no idea where South Vale is. I thought I recognized some of the shops when I arrived.. and it looked the same, too. Like, the main road I came in on."

James shrugged. "I don't know. The main road is Nathan."

"I didn't come in on Nathan," Harry murmured, rapping his fingers on the nasty tile. "I arrived off of.. hmm.. well shit, now I can't remember."

James couldn't find anything to say, and tilted his head when Harry met his eyes. After a short pause, Harry tried to prompt him. "Where did you come in?"

"It was an observation deck," James told him. "It led down to Toluca Lake." He stepped closer and leaned over to point at it on the map. "There."

Harry frowned at the spot. James's finger had left behind a dewy puddle on the waxy, thin paper. He looked at James again now that he was closer, and squinted in concern with what he saw.

"James, are you wet?"

James looked at him. "No."

Harry gave him a wary eye, and then was at the map. "Hm. Well, I don't know what to do. This isn't my area, clearly. These are your stomping grounds."

"Where were you last time?"

"Silent Hill," Harry sighed, standing straight and rubbing the back of his aching neck. "That's what the map said." He screwed his eyes up at the ceiling, squinting. "I think I was also in Central Silent Hill. I have no idea," he sighed, shrugging so grandly his hands clapped on his thighs when they dropped. "I have no idea where we are or where to go."

James's shrug was much less committed. "We could go to Central Silent Hill. Maybe we can find a map of it somewhere."

"That'd make sense," he said. "But how certain are we that we'll find one? If the town doesn't want us to have it, we won't."

He tucked his chin thoughtfully. "I'd guess it's on the other side of the lake."

"Yeah. I remember there was a drawbridge."

"So if we just take Nathan all the w—"

"Wait. Is there a ferry or a boat here?"

James looked up into the eyes of a hopeful man. Maybe he'd never find out how many times he'll be lying to him. He wished he'd feel regret for it. "No."

Harry folded the map and tucked it into an inner pocket of his jacket. James was sorry to see that deflated look on his face. He turned away so he didn't have to, taking one last survey of the living room.

"We should go," he said, fiddling with the radio in his pocket. "Maybe we'll find a map or something."

"After you," came a worn out sigh behind him. James nodded. He opened the door and took the lead, guiding Harry down the hall the opposite way they came.

Harry followed. He had no choice but to trust in his melancholy tour guide. He thought that maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but the hall smelled denser of wet mold, and the carpet even more waterlogged than the last time they were there.

James didn't seem to notice.