The lights shone brightly for a moment, then quickly faded to a dim glow.
He was barely breathing. He lay face up, bleeding from where his skin had split as his head hit the floor. His body smoked, though no burns were visible.
There, standing expressionless at the end of the corridor was the girl in the blue dress. Her hands were still glowing white after the lightning ball she had cast. She had to stay back, had to be patient, shouldn't provoke her. The girl didn't move.
His eyes opened. She took his hand. His gaze fixed on her.
"Cybil, I..."
"You don't have to say anything." she whispered through bitter tears.
His eyes rolled back in his head. She shut his eyes. Harry was gone.
Fury welled up inside her and exploded in a war cry. She wanted revenge. Revenge for Harry, for herself, for every sick and perverted thing that had happened in this twisted town.
She sprinted towards her. The young woman was surprised and took a step back. It was too late, Cybil was too close. She leapt at her, knocking her to the ground. While she was still dazed, Cybil pounced, closing her hands tightly around the girl's throat. She started to struggle but Cybil had a firm hold. She kicked and convulsed and pulled at hands that were squeezing the life out of her. A strange rasping sound emanated from her mouth.
Slowly, her resistance waned. Her fingers loosened on Cybil's wrists. Her legs grew still. The color drained from her face.
Cybil drew back her hands. Her tight grip had marked the girl's neck. Her head succumbed to gravity and slumped to the side. Her hair fell back from her face. The features were familiar.
So familiar.
It can't be.
Not her.
What have I done?
What have I done...
Cybil jolted from sleep. She was sweating heavily and she noticed she was crying. She wasn't sure whether she was weeping for Harry, the girl or herself.
The old nightmares, that were so hard to keep repressed, had been quick to resurface since going back to Silent Hill. And leaving town hadn't helped; it just added new characters to the freak show.
This dream had been particularly real. She wanted to call Ed and find out if anything had happened since last night, but it was far too early. Many American citizens would be out with their dogs, or jogging, or grabbing that first coffee, but Ed would still be asleep. It would be better to call on the radio from the station.
She slid out from under the sweat soaked sheet, sleepily stepped into her sweatpants and trudged downstairs. She slipped on her sneakers by the front door, grabbed her keys and dragged her butt out into the unseasonably cold air, hoping to leave the nightmare behind. Her mother always said that one should not and could not run from their problems in this world. Cybil thought, as she did every morning, that it couldn't hurt to try.