By (who else but) amara enid

setsuna_inverse@hotmail.com

“I like this song, thank you very much,” he said.

“It’s stupid!” Cheryl said, kicking her legs even more. “Are we almost there?”

“Almost. Don’t you remember when I pointed out that sign back there that said how far away we were?”

“That was like a million years ago, Daddy,” the little girl said, rolling her eyes. “Daddy, we have to stop soon. I can’t feel my legs anymore. They’re all tingly and stuff. And this music is dumb!”

“My legs hurt too,” he said. “I’ve been driving for a long time now, and my feet are starting to get tired. All I want to do is get to town then go to bed. How about you?”

“OK,” Cheryl agreed. “Can we turn the music off soon, though?”

Harry chuckled. Cheryl had been complaining about Led Zeppelin for the past 20 minutes but Harry had been cleverly dodging having to turn it off. He was afraid that it was the only thing keeping him from getting road hypnosis. Unconsciously, he found his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“You should learn to appreciate good music, honey,” he said complacently. “Lots of people like these people.”

Cheryl pulled a face. “Like who?”

“Your mother,” Harry said, and like he had suspected, Cheryl had fallen silent. At least she had fallen silent until Harry began to hum along with The Battle of Evermore. Then she began to kick her feet again.

“Daaaaaadddy!” she whined. “Stooooop!”

“Cheryl, please don’t whine at me,” Harry said. “It doesn’t get you anything. I’m doing something for you by taking you on vacation, so can you do something for me? It isn’t that bad…”

Cheryl sighed, settling down and staring out the window. “Daddy,” she piped up a few minutes later, “is it hard to be a writer?”

“Sometimes,” Harry replied after a moment’s thought. “I have to think of stories to write.”

“Is that when I see you sitting up in front of the computer swearing?” Cheryl asked innocently, and Harry mentally grumbled. Outside he gave a sort of wince and nodded reluctantly.

“…Most of the time, yes,” he replied slowly.

“I don’t want to be a writer, I’ll have to swear,” Cheryl said.

“That’s nice,” Harry said. “I shouldn’t swear either.”

“But you do.”

“…Well, yes, but I do.” Having conversations like this with Cheryl made Harry faintly uncomfortable, but it seemed as she got older she developed a knack for finding things he didn’t care to talk about. He had a sinking feeling it was only going to get worse as she got even older still. Lately, Harry had been considering hiring some sort of nanny to start helping him take care of Cheryl. It wasn’t that he didn’t have enough time for the little girl…it was just that he found himself having troubles raising a daughter. He suspected that it was because he was a single male.

“I’m going to be an artist,” Cheryl announced proudly. Harry was glad she had veered away from the subject at hand and onto a new path.

“Good for you,” he replied. “You’re an excellent artist even now, Cheryl.”

“I know!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “Mrs. Reyes says I’m really good. Don’t you remember, Daddy…?”

Harry thought back and realized he remembered all too well. Walking in more than a little late to the Parent Conferences…drawing all sorts of odd stares and whispers…then plopping himself down in the small chair at the desk that bore Cheryl’s name on a sky blue name tag with little daisies and grass. All the parents of the children in the class were all sitting at their respective child’s desk, and Harry had been a little than more unnerved to notice that it was mainly women there.

“Erm…yes, I remember…Mrs. Reyes is your…art teacher?” he asked, silently praying that he was right.

Cheryl looked annoyed. “Daaaaa-ddy! Mrs. Reyes is my regular teacher! Ms. Filbert is my art teacher!”

Harry mentally slapped his forehead. “That’s what I meant.”

“It is not,” Cheryl sighed as if she was dealing with a young child. “They’re two different people. I like Ms. Filbert better. She told me once that you needed to get married because you don’t know how to raise a child. Is that true?”

Harry blinked. Once again, Cheryl was dragging him into a conversation he would usually prefer to avoid. “Well…I’m your Daddy, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Cheryl answered in a tone that basically said, ‘So what?’

“So then I know how to raise you,” he replied. By the way Cheryl was squirming, he knew she did not find that to be a satisfactory answer, but she didn’t say anything else. Also to his glee, she had stopped complaining about Led Zeppelin. Towards the end of Stairway to Heaven, he looked over to see her zonked out against the window. He reached over and locked the door (just in case she accidentally opened it or something) and resumed driving.

He suddenly realized he wished Cheryl would wake up, because her conversation had kept him from zoning out. More than once he found himself unconsciously veering towards the side of the road, but then swerved quickly back to where he was supposed to be. Forcing his eyes as wide as they would go, he concentrated on remembering the words to Four Sticks. He was running over lyrics in his head when a cop on a motorcycle roared past. Harry’s eyes followed the welcome diversion until he could see it no longer (which didn’t take very long, the bike had really been flying) and then he was left to his own devices with lyrics.

Yellow lines started to look all the same after a while, and even when Harry looked up at something else he swore he saw yellow lines. White ones, too. And occasionally, one of those annoying little blue reflective things that they stuck in the middle of the road just in case to let you know where the center line was—if for some reason you ignored the blaring yellow.

It was a screaming difference when the yellow line in the middle of the river of black that was the road was broken by a large object, still showing signs of movement. Harry stared at the motorcycle that was lying on it’s side in the road, wheels still spinning. He regarded it with a mute sort of horror, wonder, and shock.

Surprisingly, his arms and legs kept driving. He was so frazzled and worn his head hadn’t even sent a command to stop and see if he could find out what was going on. He continued to stare behind him into the dark night after the discarded bike, lying in the river of black like some sort of drowned child would float. He looked back ahead of him, face still twisted into a horrified pensive frown. Time seemed to slow as his brain registered quickly—yet still too slow—that there was a person in the road. Time stretched into something infinitely long yet shorter than a millisecond as his eyes snapped wide open and his hands gripped the steering wheel convulsively.

The girl in the road stared at him straight on as if she intended to play chicken with the much larger and dangerous Jeep, and Harry suddenly realized that she wasn’t going to move. Time slowed and sped even more as the Jeep seemed to move of it’s own will towards the girl. 45 miles an hour turned into a million miles too fast to Harry’s brain.

“Damnit!” the word flew unbidden from Harry’s mouth, causing Cheryl to stir—and Harry wasn’t sure—but also to jerk her head up also. His hands reacted fast but too slow for his liking as they ripped the wheel hard to the right, Harry frantically hoping that he would be able to avoid hitting the girl who still stared straight into the headlights eerily and complacently.

He swerved neatly around the girl, but in the split second space between going around her and sailing ahead at approximately 60 (somehow his foot had pressed the gas pedal in an adrenaline rush) he realized he wasn’t going to have enough time to swerve back around onto the road.

Nevertheless he tried, and what he got for his pains was a shrill scream from Cheryl and tilted leap off the shoulder. A moment of sheer terror ensued as the Jeep was airborne, then a jarring crash that flung Cheryl to the floor of the Jeep somewhere and knocked Harry’s head against the doorframe hard, hard enough to cause a flash of lightening and a clap of thunder in his head.

The Jeep rolled down the ditch a little ways then came to a sudden and harsh stop accompanied by a frightening crunch, tilted so that it’s front end and hood were lower than the rest of the car. Harry drooped listlessly over the steering wheel and something was running along the side of his face—bugs, his mind told him, it was only some local bugs—while Cheryl began to pull frantically at his shirt sleeve, screaming and crying.

/I’m just taking a nap,/ he thought, finding that even thinking hurt. /Since when did it hurt to think…/

Harry slumped forward over the steering wheel limply, hitting the horn once. Then he fell silent in voice and mind as he passed out. The only sound in the cold winter night was a little girl crying.

The cab of the Jeep was very cold, now that he came to think about it, and he looked in front of him blankly. Had they fallen asleep in Silent Hill?

All he could see in front of him, in the headlights’ bright wash was an ocean of frosted plants and tendrils of thick, soupy fog. With sudden and frightening clarity, the events that had proceeded his ‘nap’ came flooding back to him. The last thing he remembered clearly was Cheryl (who was probably fully awake by that point in time) beginning to scream.

He snapped around in his seat and his hand flew protectively over the passenger chair, like many a parent’s arm when they have to stop suddenly and their child is next to them. Expecting to throw his arm over a shaken Cheryl, he was slapped in the face by an empty seat, and what was more, an open door. Harry’s nerves all went haywire at once.

/Open door?! I—I—I locked that--!/ Cheryl would have known better not to wander off by herself. She would have stayed in the car—right? /Of course!/ Harry reassured himself. /Then how the hell did something unlock the door from the INSIDE?/

Ignoring the bursts of pain from his temple, he quickly opened his door and clambered out of the Jeep with some difficulty; the car was on a downward slant and the hill, foliage, and fog weren’t helping his progress any. Twice he almost slid down the hill and fell but he made his way safely through the headlights and over to the open passenger’s side. There he stood at a total loss of what to do, gaping at the empty seat in a state of suspended animation.

/She can’t be gone, no, she can’t, it’s not possible…/ He blinked once at the empty seat, then looked under his feet for any footprints or anything. He saw nothing through the fog (that no matter how much he flailed and kicked at it, would not disperse.) He gazed at the seat a moment longer in horror, then made his way back around to his side of the car as fast as he could and got in, pulling his door shut with an angry slam. Reaching over, he pulled Cheryl’s door closed also. He turned the key back and forth, trying to evoke some sort of a response out of his Jeep.

“Come on, damnit…COME ON!” he hollered at the vehicle that refused to turn over. Finally, after some more frantic cursing, the engine roared to life, causing a mighty tremor to run through the battered Jeep. Harry threw it into reverse and floored it, trying in vain to get the Jeep to go back up the hill. The vehicle shuddered and roared, and Harry cursed and screamed, but nothing could make the Jeep budge. Harry swore a final time and hit the steering wheel in disgust and frustration, and leaned back, turning the Jeep off. He sat there for another moment, then suddenly his eyes lit up. /It can’t be that far to Silent Hill. We was almost there…I’ll walk the rest of the way!/ He turned around in his seat and grabbed his jacket from the back seat, then climbed back out of the car, pulling the jacket on. He looked up in annoyance to notice that it was starting to snow. Carefully, he picked his way back up the frosty, foggy hill, then back onto the road.

He began back on his way to Silent Hill.

Harry swallowed in an attempt to moisten his dry throat, and winced at the very audible noise it made. Sniffling in the cold, he stood up straight and began to walk further into the town. Looking around a bit, he saw a small town that had passed its boom. Everything had a look to it like it was dying, buildings seemed to sag, streetlights drooped, cars looked antiquated. It seemed as if the town had already died, as a matter of fact—Harry hadn’t seen one person or living creature since he had entered the town.

His shoes left deep impacts in the pure white snow (which showed no signs of letting up.) The fog was still thick and it made everything hard to see. This factor only added to Silent Hill’s perishing atmosphere. Harry was afraid to make noise, he felt as if he were in a church or a graveyard, or something of the sort. The only noises he could hear (but still felt guilty for making) were the sounds of his breathing and sniffling, and his feet making heavy crunching noises in the snow.

The crunching was amplified, but faintly, when Harry realized he was not the only person walking. He looked up and squinted through the fog, trying to see through the delicate white curtain of snow also. He saw the hazy shadow of a small person, and he walked with a slightly increased speed.

“I need help,” he called out to the unmoving, petite shadow. “I’ve been in an accident—my Jeep’s wrecked back on the highway—and my daughter’s missing. I need to get to the police station.”

He stopped dead in his tracks when the person did not reply, or move. His voice echoed back to him off the walls of the dying buildings, and he shivered suddenly. Funny thing was, he wasn’t all that cold.

“Hello?” he called to the person, suddenly having a very sinking feeling. He started walking again, drawing closer to the mute and motionless figure. The fog seemed to peel back layer by layer, and the figure became clearer. He stopped dead in his tracks again when he realized how desperately familiar the figure was.

“Cheryl!” he cried, starting towards her at a quick jog. The snow made it hard for him to advance. “God, honey—you shouldn’t wander off like that—do you have any idea how far Silent Hill is from where we crashed?—something could have happened to you while you were walking—“

Cheryl did the oddest thing then—at least to Harry. She turned away from him and began to walk away. Harry thought for a moment she couldn’t see him due to the snow and the fog, and perhaps his voice was echoing off something else near her. He pursued her still.

“Cheryl, honey! I’m over here!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Turn around and come the other way.”

She didn’t listen, instead broke into a run in the opposite direction. Harry watched as her figure began to fade again, and he began to run himself. “Cheryl! Come back—where are you going?!”

She ran faster than he knew she could and for a moment it seemed like it wasn’t her running. Harry had a fleeting thought that perhaps it wasn’t her, and he was chasing some very frightened local girl, but when the figure turned and looked at him while running, he saw the face. It was Cheryl. /Why in God’s name is she running from me? She can’t possibly be confused as to who or where I am…maybe she hit her head in the accident or something…maybe she doesn’t know what she’s doing…/

Harry continued to pursue his daughter through the desolate winter invaded town. Cheryl rounded a corner into what appeared to be an alley, and Harry thought he had cornered whom he was convinced was his concussion (or something) affected daughter. He gave chase into the alley and expected to see Cheryl, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw nothing but an empty alley that was open at one end.

/She couldn’t have gotten through the alley already!/ Harry exclaimed mentally. /There is no way in Hell she could have…/ He looked around him. /She couldn’t have just vanished into thin air, though. She must have gotten through./ He sighed, shaking his head. /Cheryl must have gotten one hell of a knock to the head. Why would she be running from me? That’s got to be it./ For some reason, Harry felt compelled to comfort himself.

He walked through the dark alleyway, wishing he had a flashlight on him but knowing he didn’t. Digging in his jeans pockets produced a book of matches, which he knew would be of absolutely no use to him. Running plus matches equaled burnt out match. Harry knew this. He jammed the matches back in his pocket and sighed, charging ahead again, hoping that perhaps he would catch a glimpse of where Cheryl had gone.

He burst out of the alleyway, looking around and stopping after a few feet when he saw nothing. He looked down at his feet and sighed heavily, slowing his pace back down to a trudge when he realized that Cheryl had disappeared. /Shit! How could I have been so fucking slow? How could she have been so fast? She wasn’t always that fast!/ He muttered to himself and lifted his head, sighing.

The sigh only got halfway out before it turned to a vow and he stumbled backwards in animalistic fear. He fell over in the thick snow, and it began to soak into his jeans and froze his hands but he did not notice one bit. “Holy Mary, mother of God…” he looked up at the wall in front of him, to see a grotesquely twisted and flayed body—human body—hanging in a crucifixion position on the wall. Blood dripped down into the snow from the skinless body, causing a large blossom of red slush to grow larger. The poor individual’s own blood was smeared about the wall behind him in splatters and splotches, and it ran thick and crimson down the walls in some spots. He felt faintly sick to his stomach but swore to himself he would not vomit, not here and now when he needed to find his daughter. Not now when he needed to find out exactly why Silent Hill was dead.

Standing slowly (and awkwardly) he stepped away from the body more carefully and calmly as he noticed that the innards were beginning to fall out seeing as they had no skin to hold them in. Harry turned away in a shudder of revulsion and nausea as something in the belly of the twisted corpse fell to the red snow with a sickening plop and wet noise. He shook his head to try and dispel the image, but he felt the corpse’s eyeless eye sockets gaping at him as he walked away. He stopped again when he looked out and saw two figures advancing haphazardly toward him. In light of what he had just seen, he froze in fear—he didn’t trust anything he saw in Silent Hill anymore.

The two figures appeared to be Cheryl’s size, and Harry therefore deduced they were children. There was something in their walk—no, more like their loping gait—that he didn’t like. Something that didn’t suit him well at all. He stood up straight, akin to a dog with hair bristling on it’s back, and he began to back up towards the wall again, a look of apprehension on his face. His jaw was held in a steel line and his eyes glittered.

“What’s going on around here?” he asked loudly, even though he didn’t expect a reply. He was right not to expect one, he didn’t receive one. “Huh? Answer me, you bastards! What?! Where is my daughter?!”

The two figures advanced upon him quicker now, and as they drew closer Harry saw that he was correct in a manner of speaking—they were children, but not quite. Something was very, very wrong with them. They looked dead, as dead as Silent Hill itself. He stopped his retreat when he was close enough to the wall to hear the blood dripping off the skinned corpse, and tensed his fists at his side. He didn’t know how he would fight what he was about to face—or anything he would face in this town, but he knew he sure as hell was going to try.

The two ‘children’ charged him at the same time, leaving him no choice but to jump back and to the side. He spun around quickly, almost losing his balance, and reached out quickly with a foot, giving a well placed, flat flooted shove to the back of one of the children-creatures, causing it to careen into the bloody wall with a animal like croon. The other turned on Harry, hissing, and it swiped out at him with some sort of talons on it’s hands. Harry jumped back with an oath, dodging the talons the best he could. It made a noise much akin to something he had heard while watching the velociraptors on Jurassic Park, then lunged at him with talons out. He flung himself out of the way, lading on the ground and sinking partially into the snow. He floundered about hastily, trying to right himself before he could be attacked, but as he scrambled to his feet he felt something razor sharp dig into his right leg. He gritted his teeth against the scream he wanted to let out and whipped around, ignoring the acidic pain in his calf. He clasped his hands together, forming a sort of cudgel, then swung his arms around in a semi-circle and knocked the child-creature square on the side of the head. It flew to the side with a whine, and flailed about in the snow for a few moments. Harry took the precious seconds to pull the talon looking object out of his calf, wincing and groaning as he did so, then gripped it in his hand as a hunter would a knife. It dug into the palm of his hands, but in his adrenaline rush he felt near to none of the pain. He rushed the standing child-creature and slashed at it, drawing a gash across it’s arms (which it had brought up for protection.) Blood flowed from the wounds, and Harry leapt in for another attack. This time the child-creature was quicker and shot a kick to his shins, causing him to fall on his face.

Once again, Harry sunk into the snow a ways, and he groped blindly and quickly for the talon. His head wound received in the accident was throbbing, and when he moved there were bright flashes of light and sharp stabs of pain. One of the child-creatures let loose a feral growl, and something kicked at Harry’s side. He rolled over and looked up to see himself now being surrounded by three children-creatures. He reached up blindly behind him and located the lost weapon, then promptly drove it into one of the child-creature’s horribly deformed foot. The creature drew back, screaming and squealing like a provoked animal. Harry heard the other two begin to growl menacingly, and he looked around him frantically. He had no other weapons left, and no other options of escape.

The two non-wounded child-creatures began to kick at him fiercely, and all he could do was curl into a ball and wait to die. They would kill him sure enough once he was incapacitated enough—they’d use those horrible talons to rip him to shreds, he figured. He wondered if Cheryl knew her daddy loved her and wished the best for her, and if she would make it out of this hellhole on her own.

One of the creatures placed a well aimed kick to his left temple, and a new explosion of pain shot out from his head. He twitched convulsively and cried out unconsciously, writhing against the unbearable pain. There was another kick to his head, he thought they had found his weakness. He cried out again, digging into the snow. Yet another kick, and everything went black instantly.

Reaching over, he groped around for something he could use as a weapon, and his hand closed around something small, cold and round. He realized suddenly it was a salt or pepper shaker. He regarded it oddly. /Did they drag me to a restaurant or something?/ Then he threw it forcefully at the moving shape, and it dodged the tossed object with an indignant little noise.

“Whoa, killer,” the distinctly female voice said with a hint of amusement. “Take it easy, there! I’m not going to do anything to you!”

Harry sat up all the way, carefully running a hand through his hair. “Um. Sorry, I’m just a bit edgy—“

“Heh, I would be too if I were you,” the blurry woman said. “When I started picking off those…things…from a distance with my gun, they were having at you pretty good. You were passed right out.”

“You got me out of there?!” Harry asked, squinting harriedly.

“I sure did,” the voice replied. “I’m Officer Cybil Bennet, from Brahms—the next town over. Any other circumstances, I’d have you call me Officer. Right now I’m so damn glad to find another normal human I’m going to let you call me Cybil.”

“I’m…I’m…” Harry paused a moment in painful thought. “…I’m Harry Mason.”

Cybil looked at him thoughtfully (but he didn’t see it—she was just now coming into focus.) “Sounds pretty familiar.”

“I’m a writer,” Harry said.

“That’s where I heard your name before!” she exclaimed. “I read one of your books a while back. I forgot the name—um, it was pretty good though. I think after being here for a while, you’ll have something all new to write about.” She laughed shortly, nervously.

“Thanks,” Harry said, squinting at her again. “You a blonde?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “What’s it to you?”

“I just want to make sure my brain is still functioning properly. I was in an accident…I bumped—well, I cracked my head on something in my car.” He blinked. “Which brings me to another thing, I—“

“You the Jeep wrecked back outside of town?” she asked. He nodded. “You’re right. That thing on your head was pretty nasty. I cleaned up the blood and put some ice on it for a while—the swelling went down a bit.”

“Thanks,” Harry said again. “But listen, please. I wasn’t alone in the car.”

“Oh Christ,” Cybil said fearfully. “What are you saying?”

“My little girl—Cheryl—she’s in Silent Hill by herself. I saw her…I was chasing her when I came into town. But she was running away from me for some reason…” Harry trailed off, then blinked, finding that Cybil was in reasonably good focus now. He looked about him and saw that he was in a dingy, foggy, dead looking old diner. He figured the heating must have stopped working, because it was freezing in it. He was laying in a booth, stretched out, propped against the wall. Cybil was leaning against the bar, arms across her chest.

“Nothing’s what it seems here,” Cybil said to him prophetically. “I’ve seen some weird shit. I don’t know what’s the deal—but believe you me, I intend to find out.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he murmured in response. “But, then again…I haven’t had a chance to look around.”

“And you won’t get one either,” Cybil said briskly, standing straight. “I’m going to find a way for you to get back to that car of yours. Then…I want you to drive as fast as you can in the other direction, and get some help.”

Harry looked at the woman in front of him doubtfully. Her face was pale, but high in her cheeks was a pinched red colour. She sniffled constantly, much like himself, and her eyes were also watering due to the cold. She was hidden mostly behind a large green jacket that had some sort of fur lining around the hood, and it hid her face some of the time. It looked like a forest service jacket, to Harry. She seemed too frail and small to be able to make him do anything he didn’t want to do.

“Stop sizing me up, would you?” Cybil asked, irritated and amused at the same time. “You’re leaving this town. I’d be out of my mind to let you stay here.”

“I’m going to stay,” Harry said flatly. “My daughter is here.”

“Leave that to me. You should think about yourself now; what good are you to her if you’re all busted up like you are?” Cybil asked, turning away from him. Apparently, she thought it was the end of the conversation.

Harry was silent for a moment, but then frowned. “I’m not going.”

Cybil turned her head and looked at him through the fur lining around the top of her too big coat. She looked so very small to Harry. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this, but listen here, Harry—“she said his name like it was some sort of expletive, “—I’m the law. You haven’t much choice in the matter. I tell you to go, you go.”

“Try and make me,” he said in a non-believing tone. “I’d say right about now, the law has stopped mattering. I’m staying, with or without your consent, Cybil.” He said her name with as much negative accent as she had said his. “You can tell me what to do until you’re blue in the face. Don’t think for one second that I’m going to listen. My daughter is here. Obviously, you don’t have kids—you don’t know what it’s like. I would gladly march back out into those town streets if it meant I was going to find her again. So please save your talk and threats for someone who’s going to listen.”

Cybil looked at him for a moment through the fur, then sighed, rolling her eyes. She turned back towards him and shot him a look. “It’d be better if you left.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It would make me feel a million bucks better if you left.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Tell me what she looks like,” Cybil said. “I’ll find her for you, and you could get out of here…wait by your car, at least.”

“I’d rather not,” Harry said shortly and impatiently. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going again. Thanks for your help, Officer Cybil Bennet from Brahms—the next town over. I appreciate it.” He stood and began to limp away, towards the diner door.

“Oh, shutup and stop there,” Cybil sighed. “Get over here. If you’re hell bent on trekking out to your untimely demise, let me at least even the odds a little.” Harry reluctantly limped back over to the shorter woman, who fished inside her jacket and produced a sidearm.

“Take this,” she said in a sigh, and slapped it into his hand. “I don’t need to teach you how to shoot the thing, do I?”

“Point and aim?” Harry asked.

“Don’t forget to pull the trigger,” Cybil joked. “And make sure the safety isn’t on. Hold it tight, or it might kick your hand back a little. Here—take these too—“ She handed him a few clips. “I don’t think you’ll need that many bullets, but just in case.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, looking the gun over. “Do YOU have another one?”

“Of course!” Cybil exclaimed, grinning. “You didn’t think I’d give my only weapon away to a civilian who probably doesn’t know how to shoot the damn thing, anyway?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Anytime,” Cybil replied, choosing to ignore the sarcasm in her companion’s voice.

“Why are you giving me a gun? Isn’t that against the law or anything?” Harry asked.

“You just told me the law quit mattering. I did it because I’d rather let you have a chance than just walking out there without a weapon. You might as well be wearing a huge target on your head, that says, ‘Free game for Hellspawn’.”

“Ah,” Harry said. “I see now. Thanks.”

Cybil regarded Harry inquisitively. “Well…you’re on your own. You’ve got the gun and the ammo—you said you wanted to find your daughter. I’ve got other things I need to be doing…like looking for other unlucky souls such as yourself. What brought you to Silent Hill, anywho? The town died a couple of years ago, when—“ She stopped herself. “—It’s dead. No one comes here anymore.”

“Vacation,” Harry replied suspiciously. “My daughter picked it out. I think maybe she liked the name. And what happened to make the town die?”

“Nothing,” Cybil said quickly, readjusting her coat. “Nothing happened. Like I said, I have to be going. But…be careful, eh Mason? The town’s crawling with all sorts of…unpleasant things.”

“So I’ve noticed. I’ll keep my guard up,” he reassured.

“Good.” She started to walk away from him, towards the door of the gloomy diner. She stopped, her small hand on the wide bar that served as a door handle. She turned back to him with a grin on her face—it wasn’t an ordinary grin, it seemed more grim than mirthful.

“Hey, Harry.”

“What?”

“After this, you gonna be writing any more books?”

“That all depends on if I get out of here alive, obviously.”

Her grin widened. “You’ll do fine, I’m sure. You’re a pretty stubborn bastard—I think for something to kill you, it’d have to spend about 6 hours doing it. You bounced back from your injuries pretty quick…” She indicated him.

“Yeah.” Harry didn’t know what else she wanted him to say.

Cybil cleared her throat. “Back to the book thing…if you write another one, will you dedicate it to me?”

“To you?” he asked her, with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “I know it sounds stupid and we barely know each other—but I always wanted a book dedicated to me. Plus, don’t you be forgettin’…I saved your little author ass. Maybe you owe it to me…”

Harry nodded. “Sure. Alright, next book is yours. But don’t hunt me down and whine to me if it’s a rotten book.”

“I’m sure it’ll be OK,” Cybil said, pushing the door open some and letting in small flurries of snow, along with some tendrils of fog. “Damn! It’s cold out.” She grinned back at him again. “Good luck, and good bye, Harry Mason.”

“Good luck and good bye, Officer Cybil Bennet from Brahms—the next town over. Although I have the feeling we’ll meet again.”

“Small town,” she said. “You’re right. We probably will run into each other again.”

“Until then, I guess,” Harry said, with a wave of the gun. He had forgotten it was in his hand.

back to winter garden

back to the fanfic dimension