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Silent Hill 2 Fanfic

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Mutou Yami
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« on: October 16, 2010, 04:56:56 am »

Chapter Seventeen
Otherside

More memories. More memories.

More dreamlike, this time. Not the rapid-fire slideshow like last time. This time, it felt more like a slow, leisurely drift through the recesses of my mind. I felt disembodied, an observer from the outside granted access to the inside. I remember only vaguely how I got here, but it didn’t really matter. That I was here was all that mattered.

But where was here?

It was bright. Blues and whites in an endless cascade swirled all around my unusual point of view. It looked like a beautiful, clear sky on a summer afternoon. The edges of my vision were fish-eyed, like a warped camera lens, but that was okay. This was really peaceful.

Ah, I love it here. So peaceful…

Mary?

You know what I heard?

No, honey. What?

I heard that this whole area used to be a sacred place.

Yeah?

Yeah. And you know, I think I can see why.

I agree. It seems different for me this time.

Different?

Yeah. Before, I never really saw anything special about this town. Nice place, yeah, but nothing too special.

Really? I’ve always thought it was special, from the moment we first came.

I didn’t. But I think something’s different this time. Maybe it’s me, and not the town.

What’s different about you?

I love you, Mary.

Ha ha, and you didn’t before?

Of course I did.

So what’s different?

I… I don’t really know.

You don’t need to sugar-coat it, James. I know.

Mary…

No, it’s okay. It’s unfair and it’s messed up, but I understand. Just do me one favor, okay?

Anything.

Promise you’ll take me back here again. That’s all.

Of course. Absolutely I will.

You’re such a good man, James. I love you. I know I’ve been touchy lately, but I love you, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that.

I don’t.

And I never did. I never doubted. Not for a second.

That’s why I came back. That’s why I saw that letter and I came back here. Love and no small amount of faith. Her illness robbed us of so many years, so many opportunities. There was so much I wanted to do, so much I wanted us to do. She wanted children, and I did too. I wanted to be a father, and a better one than my own. I wanted to see them grow, to play with them, help them learn, help them develop. I wanted to see a son play football in high-school, a daughter on her prom night. And I wanted Mary to be right there next to me when I saw these things. She would have been.

Now, all that was out the window. All the domestic dreams I ever had were eaten by that illness as surely and as savagely as Mary was. All I was left with was an empty, day-to-day existence. Living for myself. Some people love doing that. It was ruining me, though. Mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, in every way possible, I was on the fast track to nowhere, and I knew it. And, I have to be honest, that also was a major reason I came here. Hope. What was I hoping for? Mary? Mary’s dead. Only a fool or a lunatic would chase a lead from a dead person. Maybe I was both. She wouldn’t be here. She can’t be here. I know where she is. She’s dead.

Yet, I came anyway. I came because deep down, I think I really believe I’ll see her here somewhere. I think I have to see her again to have any chance at reclaiming my life. I miss her so much. So much.

Why did you have to die on me like this?

Why?

James?

Yeah, hon?

I’m not feeling so well.

What’s the matter?

I don’t know. Threw up all night.

We should go see the doctor.

Why? What good will that do? What good have they done?

They’ll be able to figure out what’s wrong, but it will take time.

Glad they have time. I don’t know if I do.

Don’t talk that way.

Why not?

You’re scaring me, that’s why not.

Scared? What do you know about scared? I’m scared, James. I’m terrified. Something’s killing me, don’t you understand? I’m dying and nobody knows why!

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…

Don’t be sorry for me, James. It’s not helping.

I’m doing everything I can to help!

Too bad God isn’t. I go to church every Sunday of my life and He turns His back on me now.

Don’t say things like that.

Oh, shut up already. Just stop it. Stop it! Stop trying to make me feel better! Stop trying to baby me! Damn it, James, just go! Just leave!

Mary!

Oh, don’t think I can’t tell. You wish I was all nice and healthy again, and it’s killing you that I’m not. Big wrench in your plans, huh? Just go!

But…

GO! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME BE!

…James?

…James!

Where are you? Come back! Don’t leave me! Please! I didn’t mean it! Please come back! I love you, James! I love you! I didn’t mean it so come back please! James!

James!

James!

James!


Where did I go?

I think my eyes are open now. I think I’m seeing something. I know I’m feeling something. I’m rolling. Not like logrolling, but rather, I’m being rolled. Being pushed. My eyes are open but they can only roll so far on their own, and my head wasn’t willing to help out. I don’t think I was tied down, I guess I would have felt the pressure of rope or straps, and I didn’t. But I wasn’t going anywhere on my own. All I could do was lay there with my eyes open, watching the dark ceiling pass by.

There was something really odd about it, though. I didn’t really notice until my vision began to sharpen a bit, but once it did, it was really obvious.

There was no ceiling.

Maybe there was, I’m only assuming. I saw hanging air vents, I saw exposed piping and old, frayed electrical wiring poking out in random tufts like a teenage boy’s first beard. It wasn’t just that everything was exposed, but everything looked really, really old. Hundreds of years old. Everything metal was covered in thick, scabrous rust that was a deep crimson hue resembling fresh blood.

For an eternity it seemed I was being carted along this endless corridor, from where and to where I had no idea. My wits and senses were beginning to come back to me, and with that the less I felt like I was still in dreamland. Though, as I saw more of my surroundings, the more I wished I could return to dreamland. Failing that, I really wished this ride would end. Fear seeped back into me, filling the vacuum left behind by my subconscious detachment. I wanted off, and now.

Then, unexpectedly, I felt my body tilt forward, a lovely and wonderful response to a wish. I should take a picture of that for posterity. I ended up on my feet, and I found that I could move my arms and legs, I could wiggle my fingers and shake my head.

At that moment my entire body was overwhelmed by that peculiar sensation of needles and pins as blood poured into veins and arteries and capillaries that seemed to have been out of use for a hell of a long time. I was seized by the sudden and tremendous force of it, and my body convulsed uncontrollably. It felt like I had been thrown into a river fill of piranhas that had been left to starve for a week, and it was so extraordinarily shocking that I collapsed to the ground, moaning and wailing and wishing for it to stop. It wasn’t exactly painful, but the strength of the sensation, the strength and the extent of the sensation was so completely overwhelming. I was experiencing sensory overload. And, for the moment, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it except lie there twitching and allow my body to get itself back in gear and get my blood flowing again. It did, but it was a slow, torturous process, and more than once I thought for certain it was going to drive me over the edge of insanity. It was several endless minutes before I was even able to stand.

So, what the hell happened to me? It felt like I had suffered some sort of total shutdown of my circulatory system, from head to toe. I wasn’t expecting any answers, really, and I didn’t get any. I was feeling okay, more or less, and if I was, then it wasn’t a major issue.

What was a major issue was that I was having the worst time remembering how I ended up this way. I tried and strained to find even a sliver of recollection of the events that led me to where I was. It did come back to me, bit by bit. A trickle of images, not unlike that little stream of unconsciousness from before. Laura, Maria, the monsters that hung from the ceiling. Those rotten, stinking flesh bags in wire cages with the happy feet. The happy feet that wrapped around my unhappy neck and choked the life out of me. Just thinking about those things was like taking a baseball to the face, and I could almost see my heart rate double. I remembered encountering them but I didn’t remember how that encounter ended, probably because I didn’t stay awake long enough to find out. Whatever happened, I ended up in a very different place.

Very different indeed.

I somehow found myself outside, at least, in a technical fashion. The area I found myself in was very small, perhaps not even as large as the room I Laura was playing in. On all sides were high walls made of stark, naked concrete, which were stained everywhere by a combination of rust, dirt, and just plain age. The wall behind me was adorned with a double-door, but it was in horrible shape. I don’t know what color it originally was, but now it was red and brown because it was absolutely covered in rust. The surface was a dark, scabrous mess that made the doors look like they had contracted some terminal form of eczema. The dirt beneath my feet actually sported random tufts of grass and low moss here and there. It was soft, spongy and damp.

Of course, even without all of that, I’d still know I was outdoors because it was raining. It wasn’t coming down very hard, my clothes and hair were a little wet but comfortably far from soaked. There were no sounds. The place was almost tomb-silent except for the light patter of raindrops hitting the ground. Honestly, I found it rather peaceful. I hadn’t felt less threatened at this very moment than I had from the moment I walked out of that toilet stall on the lakeside overlook, and that seemed like a million years ago.

There was something else odd, and I realized as much, but the feeling wasn’t anything so obvious as rain. I simply couldn’t lay my finger on it. I gave the little yard here a good second look, but nothing gave me any sort of inspirational flash.

Nothing to do except see what was behind the doors, the rusty red twins with the dragon’s scales. They were sealed with an odd sort of pull-latch. In its salad days, I’m sure that pull-latch moved without a trace of effort, but those days were far away in the mists of time. These days, nothing short of a team of pack horses was going to bring it open. I had to squat on the ground and use my legs to push against it for it to even budge. I did this in a sort of repetition, and eventually I got the bar far enough above the lip to pull the door open. Doing that was by no means easy, but I was able to wedge my leg inside the door and push with my thigh enough for it to let me slip through.

The place I had found myself in outside was hardly an inviting place, but if it wasn’t exactly peaceful, it also didn’t fill me with an overburdening sense of dread as much of what I’d seen in Silent Hill had.

The place I found myself inside was even worse. Far worse. A whole different world of worse.

The appearance of the steel door was only a prelude to what I found behind it. There was a horrid look about everything. The walls of this building, whatever it was, were absolutely caked with all manners of filth and dirt and rust, and some of that rust looked too red to be rust. Some of that rust looked far too much like blood for my taste. A viscous black smear of rot coated the floor and crept up the walls where they met. It looked like the diseased, emphysematic lungs you see in those anti-smoking ads. I thought I could even smell it in the air, along with a myriad of stenches. Death, decay, pestilence hung in the air like a cloud, so thick you could almost grab it with your hands. It was hot, wet and nasty and it made me sick.

That’s it. That’s what had bothered me even outside, where it looked relatively normal.

Where in the hell did all the cold go?

Even before I got into town, the temperature had felt like late autumn, cold, wet, and damp. Nothing even close to the balmy early-summer heat that normally curses the land this time of year. Even inside of the buildings it was chilly at best. Even in the damn hospital it had been cold.

Now, it was anything but cold. Now the air was warm and muggy, and had that sort of unpleasant thickness that made breathing more difficult and was often the unindicted co-conspirator in several deaths among the elderly and the asthmatic in New England every summer.

Inside of this place, the warmth and humidity only served the amplify all of the sensual properties of the nastiness that pervaded the entire area, none of which were pleasant. I stepped through and looked around, taking care with my steps. The floor was slick with wet filth and the last thing I wanted was to plant my ass in it.

The room I was in was pretty small, and blessedly empty of anything moving. There were two doors, and a small hallway led a few feet down, however, a gate of ancient chain-link fencing cordoned it off. I tried the door in front of me first. The knob was covered in dark slime, and I jerked my hand back and wiped it on my pants. I tried again using my jacket sleeve, and gave the knob a good turn. To my surprise, the knob came off in my hand with a dull snap. The neck of the knob was a jagged mess, corroded with age and any number of other elements. I tossed it on the ground and gave the door a half-hearted shove, knowing even before I tried that it wasn’t about to give way.

The knob on the other door wasn’t as messy, and I turned it with less muscle. When it turned, it did so with a dry grinding noise, but it did turn, and the metal door swung open slowly, its joints protesting loudly and fervently.

The world beyond this door was no better than the one I came from. It was another hallway of some sort, and it was in just as generally a wretched shape. What a gift, there were no shambling threats, so I had all the time I wanted to explore this new little pocket of hell.

At first, there didn’t seem like much to see. A few doors lined one side of the hall, all of them in sorry shape, one so encrusted with filth that it held the door sealed like glue. None of them opened. The knob on the last door was bent at a painful angle.

Yet, a second look at this particular door proved fruitful. There was a plate of some sort at eye level, a plate that was probably once shiny brass but was now green going on black with tarnish and crud. I gripped my sleeve and wiped some of it off. It was dried, and crumbled with pressure.

I have to admit that I had no idea what to expect to see engraved on that plate. There were a few things I wasn’t really expecting to see, however, and one of them happened to be what I did see.

The plate read “C1”.

Jiminy **** Christmas. I’m still in the hospital.

Yes, I’m still in the hospital, but what in the hell happened to it?I blacked out, that much I know for a fact. It didn’t seem like I was out of commission longer than a few hours, at least, not to my mind. There was the almost complete cutoff of my blood flow to consider, but even that couldn’t have been more than maybe four or five hours. Yet, if I really was still in Brookhaven Hospital, and I had to judge by my surroundings, I’d guess I was unconscious for a hundred god damn years at least. Before that obnoxious little **** locked me in that room with the fleshbags, the place looked neglected and abandoned, unused for several years. Now it looked like the entire building was suffering from the late stages of some kind of terminal cancer. It looked rotten, it looked diseased. It wasn’t just the look of the place, either. It smelled weak and sickly. The air was heavy and humid and thick on the lungs. It even felt wrong, in some sixth-sense way that’s hard to explain correctly. It wasn’t just the air that was heavy, everything was heavy. It was as if gravity itself were stronger here, the ever-present force pulled downward with greater strength and intensity here.

Fell asleep for a hundred years. Twilight Zone bullshit.

Yet, no sensible explanation made itself readily available. None of this was right. Was I here alone? What happened to Maria? To Laura? It was driving me crazy. But, what was there to do about it? The answer, of course, was obvious. Press on. Maybe something did happen to Silent Hill, something that killed all of the people or turned them into monsters somehow. Maybe it also created the strange, unseasonable weather and caused the severe damage to parts of the town. I could accept all of that as possible. I had to, because there were no other explanations available. But seeing what I was seeing made me question even these loose rules of logic that I had grown somewhat accustomed to while in town. So even the obvious answer wasn’t so obvious at all. I had been scared and shocked more times than I cared to remember since this morning, but until now, I was afraid only for my immediate survival. Now, finding this impossible scenario playing out all around me, I was afraid for more than my own life. I was afraid that I would not die. I was afraid to live in a place like this, to live and possibly forever be denied Mary. I came here for her, after all. I could not leave until I found some way of coming to grips with that letter I received early this morning.

So, even though obvious wasn’t obvious, I decided to press on anyway. It was better to press on and die than to sit motionless in this stinking shithole and spend the rest of my life scared and simply waiting for the merciful hand of Death. No. If I met Death, assuming any of the stories about the entity held even the slightest trace of fact, I preferred that it happened on my terms.

Besides, there was Mary. No matter what, there was Mary. I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t rest until I could find her. That letter in my pocket felt like a single bone that belonged to a larger skeleton buried beneath the earth, one that would not allow me a moment’s peace until it was whole again. I was a man driven, and I had to be, because nothing else could force me to brave this kind of experience.

But where to press on to? There were no more doors left, except… was that the elevator?

It was. And I suppose climbing the shaft wouldn’t be completely impossible, though something I hardly looked forward to. I would have to find a way to pry the door open first. I could have used my pipe, but whoever deposited me in that little courtyard forgot to bring it with them. One of the C-Rooms might have something, though I would have to force my way into one of those too. I stood there trying to come up with some kind of solution, and I pressed one of the elevator buttons on the panel, more out of vacant curiosity than anything else.

Imagine my surprise when I heard the bell ring and the crusty old doors slide open.

The elevator looked different inside, too. The walls were draped completely in white sheets. They were yellowed some, probably from age, but really, so far, this was the most sanitary environment I had seen since waking up. I stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind me with a smoothness I would not have even thought to expect considering the look of them.

The panel inside was covered in a thin film of dust, but it was very readable. I pushed the button for the third floor, then I stepped back and gripped the rail tightly. I was worried the first time I had ridden this thing. I had no idea how on earth it was still functioning. I was still halfway convinced that some ungodly amount of time had passed while I was under, and if my supposition was even somewhat true, this elevator could very well be a deathtrap.

The elevator’s motor jerked to life and I felt my stomach drop with the force of its movement. I was only going up two floors, but the ride seemed to take an hour as I latched onto the rail and prayed very hard and very strong for this thing to deliver me whole. Finally, an eternity later, the bell dinged again, and the doors whooshed open into the pitch-dark hallways of what was once the Solitary Wing a hundred years ago.

If I held any tiny hope that the third floor would look as I remembered, it didn’t last past my first view. The hallway didn’t have the same look of shithole nastiness that the first floor did, but it was still undeniably different from before. It was darker, for one. The walls were stained green with mold and mildew, and the amorphous coverage was all but total. There was a wet stink in the air from all of it, and it was even warmer up here.

I stepped off of the elevator, and to my immediate right, there was a strange sight. It was a door, but it was decorated in some sort of strange fresco, a three-dimensional bas-relief of a woman. The woman’s face and the décor around it were contoured, but her arms were actually extended away from the door, crafted in full detail. It was rather impressive-looking, and it seemed as though the overgrowth had not damaged the relief, or even touched it except on the edges.

The fingers were slender and smooth, except in two places. Both of her ring-fingers had indentations. Did someone remove her rings? Interesting. I tried the knob, but it was locked.

I turned to go down the hall, and as soon as I did, I found myself facing a nurse. My heart nearly blew out of my chest as my eyes clapped the sight of the rotten, mottled outfit over the plastic-looking body. Providentially, its back was to me, and I had the initiative. I quickly reached for my gun and fired two shots into its head at point-blank rage.

The demon nurse’s wail was cut short as the back of its head imploded and the front burst like a watermelon dropped onto a sidewalk. A steaming splash of gore cascaded against the opposite wall and slid down, leaving crimson streaks as it went. The nurse quivered and shook on its feet for perhaps two seconds, then it fell to the ground in a heap, where it convulsed weakly and then fell still. The smell from its pulped head made my stomach turn like a tilt-a-whirl, and I had to lean against the wall and swallow down my rising bile.

Once I composed myself, I looked down at the monster again, and I was pleased to see, as crazy as it sounds, that it carried a pipe not at all unlike the others I had encountered. I picked it up and tucked the gun in my belt, satisfied to have a good close-range defense again.

I checked my pocket radio, as it had occurred to me that it didn’t warn me to the presence of the nurse. The knob was turned all the way to the left, in the ‘off’ position. I couldn’t remember turning it off, but I was very glad I did, because it still worked once I turned it back on, just as my flashlight did.

I turned left and made my way to room S3, hoping against hope that Maria was still there, hoping that she had survived whatever happened, that maybe, just maybe, I could dream that she might actually know what had happened.

The plates on the doors were overgrown and illegible, but the third door from the end was still unlatched and it was the only one that was. The handle was slick with what felt like fuzzy moss, but the door opened without much trouble.

It was empty.

That was asking for too much.

The room had changed considerably. The bed was still there, but while before it looked old and ****-soaked, now it was saturated and disgusting. A huge blob of black fungus grew from the center of the mattress and radiated outward like an evil little starburst. It smelled like sweet, rotten fruit, and I had to hold my nose because the scent was rather powerful.

However, on the bedside table, there was a clue. Several of them, actually.

Prescription bottles. Several of them. I counted six on the table, and I saw two more on the bed. The labels were still pretty clean, and I recognized some of the drugs listed. Hydrocodone, Valium, Percocet, all of which I remember because at some point or another Mary had been prescribed all of them and then some. All of these bottles were empty but none of them were ancient. There wasn’t even so much as dust on them. They hadn’t been here long at all. And that could only mean Maria was still here somewhere. Maybe looking for me.

And as uncomfortable as she made me feel, right now I would probably kiss her if she were in front of me, because this place was overbearingly depressing, and I felt if I didn’t find another human face soon, I would go nuts. She was here somewhere, though. I put one of the empty pill bottles in my pocket and stepped back out into the hallway, determined to find her.
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All Hail The Strogg!
R.I.P. Paul Gray - April 8, 1972 – May 24, 2010.


"Stay...
 I Need You Here, For A New Day To Break...
Stay...
I Want You Near, Like A Shadow In My Wake...
Stay...
Here With Me... Don't You Leave...
Stay...
Stay With Me, Until The Day's Over..."
I love you Mutou Yami... Forever.


Long Live, Mr.Yamaoka Akira, The Silent Hill Legend.
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