Gone. No sign of her at all. No sign of a struggle. Not even a trail of blood to follow. It was more disturbing than if there had been.
He suddenly felt like he was the only person in Silent Hill. It hadn't seemed so bad when there was someone here to share this madness with. But his isolation was complete, him against the darkness.
He supposed Lydia would feel that way too, if she was still alive. The darkness closing in, icy fingers tightening around her body with no reassuring hand to comfort her. Or she could be suffering horrific and painful injuries at the talons of some inexplicable assailant until she could bear it no more.
There was no longer any doubt that he had left her to die.
Though he was filled with blame and remorse, he resolved to continue. A few hours ago he would have been on the floor sobbing uncontrollably, not knowing how to move forward. But he was becoming hardened to the shocks and trauma associated with this hell they had lost themselves in. Now he knew that Cheryl was alive he felt more focused. He would find her, despite what she said.
He had to be practical in order to achieve his goal. Cheryl was here somewhere. He had to decide what to do and quickly.
Perhaps coming back here was the wrong thing to do. It was a dead end. No Lydia to rescue. No way forward. He had to go back.
He turned the door knob. The door wouldn't budge. Shut tight. No way forward and no way back. He was stuck in reception with these two rotting corpses in chains.
He thought for a moment. There had to be another way.
He examined the yellowing door with the three squares. He carefully ran his fingers over the decaying material. He gently applied some pressure. He pushed harder. He shoved it. No movement. He backed up a couple of steps, braced himself and charged at the door.
Searing pain ran through his right side. He supported himself on the chair and clutched the shoulder, muttering to himself about how much it hurt. His mind raced through the possibilities. Perhaps he could remove the door from it's hinges, but with what? Maybe he should just open the window and get out, run for help. He tried it, but the window wouldn't budge either.
As he surveyed the room for an answer he felt the presence of another. Fingers delicately brushed the back of his neck. He shot a glance behind him expecting to see that the reaper had come for him in Lydia's form, but the room was still empty.
His attention returned to the center of the room. Something was different. Something was on the table. A small box. He was sure it hadn't been there a moment ago. A conjuror's trick – distraction and sleight of hand. What ghost, what phantom was mocking him now that he had fallen for this simple ploy? He had written children's book once about the ghost of a magician that had befriended a young girl. It hadn't been tremendously successful but Cheryl had loved it. She asked him to read it to her again and again. He hadn't believed in life after death when he had written it, but he was sure now that he wasn't the only occupant of this room. The theatrics of the trick suggested that Cheryl was with him, although he prayed that she was still alive.
He tentatively picked up the box and turned it over in hands. There was a symbol on it. A rectangle with three black squares just like the door. He studied the door again. There was a change here as well. A small slit, a little larger than a playing card to the left of the door.
Harry chuckled to himself. He felt his grip on reality beginning to loosen. The ghost of Marvo the Magnificent was showing him the way.
He opened the box and was unsurprised to find a pack of tarot cards. He shuffled through them past the fool, past the magician and the wheel of fortune. He stopped at death. He stared at it for a moment. The picture was moving...Death fixed Harry with its' gaze. It swung out a bony hand towards him. He panicked and dropped the cards. They spilt across the floor. He groaned at his own stupidity. He bent down to pick them up.
One card stood out among them. It was a rectangle with three black squares on it. He smiled to himself. Marvo the Magnificent strikes again. He took it between his fingers.
He stopped suddenly.
What if this was a trick?
What if Marvo was not so benevolent and this was leading him into a trap?
But then, what choice did he have? There was nowhere else to go. Whatever path he was being led down was the one he had to take.
He took the card and slid it into the gap with a click. He tried the door again. It creaked open. As far as he could see in the dark, the passage was clear. Marvo hadn't let him down.
There was a faint sobbing coming from somewhere nearby. It seemed to be coming from the boys' toilet. He knocked on the door.
"Hello?" ventured Harry.
The crying stopped. Harry stepped inside. It smelled unpleasant, but it was bearable. There was just one cubicle at the end of the room. Harry approached and gently swung the door back.
There was another body, skinless and featureless on the wall before him. Arms outstretched like a horrifying Christ. It even had a crown of barbed wire.
This was a nightmare. The same nightmare he had endured two weeks ago. No...not quite the same...there was a weapon. A sawn-off shotgun, just sitting there on the grate. He presumed it had belonged to the corpse.
Something was written on the wall. The words 'The Monster Lurks' were daubed on the far side of the cubicle in excrement. Harry wondered if this cadaver was leaving a warning for others who followed.
The stench of rotting meat became too much. He grabbed the gun and quickly exited the room.