Harry's swallow was audible. "I've had some pretty shitty days in my life," he uttered feebly. "And today is really earning a place in the top five."

The true Mason inhaled deeply, setting his pipe across his shoulders again and dropping his head back on the steel. He was so worn down that even though he was near tears less than a minute ago, he now couldn't summon any feeling other than pure weariness. His body felt like stone and his head light as clouds. Staring at the ceiling, the scrape and sorrow filling his ears, the patriarch decided that after this, he was absolutely clocking out for the day and oh, what he would give to be able to kick back and zone out to Netflix.

James was waiting for him to lead. Harry dismounted the pipe and swung it at his side. Staring dully at the marionette and its broken puppet sidekick, he ran his tongue over his teeth and tap, tap, tapped his bludgeon on his calf. It felt like looking into a mirror of his worst nightmares. In fact, it may have even been a nightmare at some point. This was also a spitting image of what he could have been - what he'd feared in himself. Silent Hill really outdid itself today.

Harry sucked on his tongue. "I'm kinda insulted," he told James. "I thought I looked much better back then."

"What should we do, Harry?"

"Fight or flight. I'm not in the mood for another fight, so I guess that makes the decision pretty easy. Let's go back the way we came and blow this joint."

The two turned to leave. But it seemed that their attempt upset the blind monster, and his gait turned hostile. Like lightning, he lunged to cut them off, swinging the pipe so fast it nearly sang. It caught Harry on the shoulder and surprise sent him staggering to the side, shouting, "SHIT! Ow, you FUCKER!" He spun around in time to defend himself, the song of battle filling the room as steel clashed with steel.

Hatred was on the dead's marred face as he beat on the living with malice. Harry fended him off and pushed him back, but when he heard James cock the gun he sternly told him, "No, not now. Let's just go! " He responded with a disgruntled sound, though he was quick after the author back the way they came.

The race through the church was soon a chase. Behind them, the repressed wailing and sickly haul were faster than they anticipated or liked. Upon reaching the doors into the congregation, Harry fought to open them: they were jammed. "Are you serious?! Fuck me!" He glared at James. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this place?"

His eyes then looked past the conduit. A light was bouncing towards them. The flashlight on the scourged lookalike had been broken beyond repair, or so it had seemed; yet now it shone in the dark. James glanced back, then at Harry, then laid eyes on a coat closet just a few steps away. He crossed to it, pushed the folding, slatted doors to the side, and stuffed himself in. Harry hastily followed suit and slid them closed, then covered his light under his palm, as did James.

The running halted and the sniveling became questioning. Harry bit his lip and grimaced, resting his head back on the wall. It was like listening to an abandoned dog. Despite how cruelly it tugged on his heartstrings, he tried his damndest not to let it get to him, but god, how this day had made him fragile. He snapped his eyes down to the slats in the closet doors when the light outside turned off. The steps were quiet and the dragging minimal; it sounded like the doppelgänger couldn't decide where to go. Clutching the flashlight in one hand and the crowbar in the other, Harry put all his effort into holding fast and counting his breaths. He could make it; they could make it. They just had to hold on a little bit longer.

Then the radio turned on.

James scrambled to jerk off the backpack and shove it against his squealing pocket. Though smothered, it felt like it only sheltered the noise by a mere half a fraction. Harry huffed sharply. They were idiots to hide out in this small space, but desperation didn't care about safety. The sandy dragging grew closer. And closer. Swallowing hard, the living father pressed against the wall and white knuckled his weapon, bouncing it anxiously in his fist. Outside, another step put the being directly at their door.

The radio shut off. Tense, deafening silence followed. Harry licked his dry lips and waited at the ready. But the forlorn beast made no move to attack. Instead, his restrained sobbing pitched a wail within his mouth and left, the sound of his crying and the sweep of the dead little girl growing distant until it was gone.

Two relieved sighs came at once. Harry thudded his head back on the wall and glared down at the sack. "Fuck that radio," he angrily whispered. "I'm getting sick of its shit."

"No fucking kidding," James grumbled, reorienting the backpack on his shoulders.

"We gotta ditch it. It's been nothing but a pain in the ass." Shaking his head, Harry folded the door open and, after looking both ways, gestured with a jerk of his head for James to go.

They made it safely outside, once proven that the jammed doors evidently just needed a harder push. When they stood in the middle of the street, the veteran nudged James's pocket with the bludgeon. "Hey. Take that thing out."

He shot him a suspicious glance and removed the little red radio. They studied it together; the item had been of great help in the past when they'd come to Silent Hill. It held both significance and terrible memories. While it had become a liability and source of vexation to them now, there was a mournfulness about it, like losing a good friend. But it was past its prime. Their old, once trusty lifeline had to go.

"Too bad it started acting up like that," Harry said. "I wonder why it's busted."

James shook his head in lieu of a shrug. "Can't say. It only started doing that when you got here."

"Oh, thanks," he replied, sending him a wry frown. "Appreciate that."

"Sorry."

The tourist exhaled tiredly. "It sucks. It was actually working fine for awhile back in South Vale."

"I dunno, Harry. Maybe we ought to find a screwdriver and take a look at the inside."

"Nah," he dismissed, backing up a few paces. "I don't think it's worth it. It's gotta go, James. We had a good run, ol' buddy, but we gotta put'cha down." Harry tapped the pipe on his calf and raised it like a baseball player ready for his home run. "You wanna say any last words for it? I think it deserves a good eulogy."

James eyeballed him and took a step back, himself. "I'm not very good with words. I think that's more like your specialty."

"How about the words for Amazing Grace? C'mon. Uhh-uhhh-maaaze-eee-eeng grace," Harry comically warbled to the flat exasperation on the conduit's face. "How sweeeeet, the sound.." He snorted. "Okay. Radio, you've been a life-saver and the only trustworthy companion for a long time," he began, addressing the red box in James's palm. "I remember when I first saw you on the 5to9 Cafe table. You scared the shit outta me right before that gargoyle rolled in. Without your harrowing bleating and ear-damaging nonsense, I wouldn't've made it home in one piece, or no pieces at all. So thanks, old pal, for all the laughs and the terror you both gave and saved me from."

James slowly nodded. His older ward sniffled dramatically. "Anything you wanna say, James?"

He looked down at it and briefly chewed on his words. "Yeah. Thanks. What you said, except for me."

Screwing up his face, Harry lowered the weapon a tad and looked at James with disappointment. "That's it?" The green shoulders shrugged. He shook his head with mild dissatisfaction and wagged the steel bat in the air. "Suit yourself. Alright. Give it a toss when I give you the signal."

Straightening his back, James both leaned away and extended his arm in anticipation. Harry rolled his neck and kept his eyes on the prize.

"Farewell and adieu, to you, our once savior," he started to sing under his breath. "Farewell and adieu, to your screeching and pain! For we see no reason to keep you around here; but we hope in no short time.." A nod to James sent the radio into the air. Harry swung hard, the connection of steel to plastic making a loud THWACK! and exploding the box into pieces. James grimaced and shielded himself from the mechanical rain. Harry's arm dropped to his side like a pendulum and he saluted the carnage with the other. ".. to see you again."

Going around and gently kicking pieces into a pile, Harry continued to jauntily hum the old sea shanty, scraping the asphalt in time with the beat. Watching him a moment, James then looked down and spotted an odd, small piece between his feet. He picked it up and inspected it. It was a rust orange and brown triangular, four sided die, with its engraved numbers nearly worn away. "Hey, Harry," he called to him. "Take a look at this."

He offered the die when he approached. Harry softly frowned as he jumbled it in his palm. "Huh. Where'd you find it?"

"It was right here. I guess it came out of the radio."

"Well, whaddya know. So breaking the thing open was a good idea after all." Wrinkling his nose, he held it a little closer to his face to scrutinize the details. "There're numbers on it. Barely. I wonder if this was the culprit to its malfunctioning problems."

"Probably."

"Hm. Well, you know the drill. Better take it with us." Harry tucked it safely away in one of the inner pockets of the backpack and landed a couple heavy pats afterwards. "How's that, eh? Looks like we're back to the ol' cryptic puzzles. I bet we'll look back on the easy times we've had with regret that we ever complained about it in the first place."

James adjusted the straps and fell into place at Harry's side as they walked away from the church. "That's what we get for jinxing it."

The gruff laugh almost brought a smile to his lips. "Ohhh, James. You're never gonna let me live it down, huh?"

"Not if it's the last thing we do here."

"I'll hold you to that. Nobody likes a liar."

No, they don't, James replied in his head. So that really just goes to show, then, that we don't like each other very much at all.

He glanced at Harry.

Too bad.