Silent Hill 1. Baptism

Baptism

* * *

Insomnia had plagued Julia Walton for a very, very long time.

Statistically, this made sense: Julia had heard once that women are 40% more likely to suffer insomnia than men. Julia often referred to this as "cosmic bullshit", as she was wont to call things that she found unchangeable and unfair, but Julia was not the type to actually complain. She faced her sleep disorder with meditation and tea. Usually with music. The occasional book.

This night among the many years of restless nights, however, could not be dealt with the same way.

Julia's Pontiac had the tendency to squeal whenever she made sharp turns. She made sure to follow roads where these were absolutely necessary. When this wasn't the case, she went down the country roads and would find fields to spin around in. Normally, these squeals would be a minor annoyance. Instead, Julia used them as a signal to scream.

These were throaty, hard screams. Sounds she wasn't used to hearing, coming from her own mouth.

But they weren't constant. The tears were.

In a way, she was almost proud of the fact that her blurry eyes were capable of handling something as complex as driving. There seemed to be no shortage of tears, after all. But her hands were steady, and her foot was a brick.

Perhaps doing donuts at one in the morning wasn't the best thing to do, but Julia couldn't stand doing fuck-all either. Besides. Out on her lonesome, this couldn't hurt anyone else.

Not a soul.

She wasn't too sure how long she had been at it like this, continuously crying and continually screaming. When exactly had she burst out of bed, mascara running down her cheeks, and slammed the door behind her as the engine roared to life? Eleven? Twelve?

It didn't really matter. The clock still said 1:00, in those blocky green squares. It was enough.

No. No it wasn't. But she needed to stop while she could.

The car idled quietly by the side of the road. Julia took her hands off the wheel for the first time since she had entered the car and realized with dull surprise that her grip had imprinted heavily into the leather. She didn't dare look in the rearview mirror, for fear of seeing just how insane she must look.

Slowly, she let the tension drain out of her fingers, and folded them neatly in her lap. She was still sobbing, but the need to scream was at least gone.

This was just a moment's rest. Really, she couldn't stall this long. She'd run through most of her gas tank. If she was going to get home, she needed a refill.

Hopefully there'd be a self-serving station. Julia wouldn't want anyone to see her.

But where in fuck's name was she?

Her phone, unfortunately, had finally delivered on its promise of dying. Julia felt the dark urge to throw the useless piece of shit through her window and resisted.

She couldn't be too far from Brahms. Most of her driving was in circles. Tight ones, at that.

Then again, she did remember passing by a road sign emblazoned with a 21. She had to be on the County Road that led to Silent Hill.

Silent Hill was more or less a piece of shit town that Julia generally avoided. Still, there had to be a gas station at least nearby.

Silent Hill was, what, thirteen to fifteen miles from home? She had to be about halfway there. If she went at 30, she'd probably be there in a quarter hour.

If she went at 60, she could cut that in half.

Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Julia shifted into drive and stomped down on the gas pedal. She would get this business over with. Then she'd drive back home, stumble through the door, collapse on her floor, and cry some more. And she'd write it all away by saying she would have been awake anyway.

* * *

Julia had spent seven minutes driving in total silence and at breakneck speeds. Barely anybody used these roads. She hadn't seen a single person. Just pavement, and the woods, and the reservoir.

She was still crying. It was softer now. Gentle.

Didn't stop her from wishing she would spin out and crash into a tree.

With the fog that was rolling in, this was becoming more and more feasible. Julia knew she should slow down. In fact, town was incredibly close. There really was no reason to speed anymore.

But fuck it.

In the back of her mind, Julia was beginning to remember something the kids at school used to say about Silent Hill. Whispers in the back of the classroom. Hushed, rather serious conversations, now that she thought about it. It was always about things their parents had said. The one she remembered most, if she could, was something about a cop.

The radio clock clicked to 1:08.

About someone who went missing.

The steady influx of fog creeping in from the forest had quickly become too thick to even see through. Julia flipped on her high beams. Habit held over emotion, apparently.

Why did that even matter? Kids thrived for gossip and rumors and bullshitting each other. She had other things to think about. Other things to destroy herself over.

The smooth road of the highway gave way to bumps and potholes. Julia nearly shot out of her seat. For some reason, she actually had been wearing her seatbelt the whole time. What a pity.

Maximum density had been reached. The fog was encompassing practically her entire field of vision. If the road curved, Julia knew for a fact she would shoot off the side and into a ravine, if not a tree. Her foot didn't leave the pedal.

A dull ache pulsed in her chest.

This was it.

This wasn't fatalistic, mournful, pitiful bullshit. She was going to drive as fast as she could and wait for the first thing she hit to kill her. If she went fast enough, she wouldn't even have to worry about somehow surviving and spending the rest of her life explaining the darkest parts of her mind to nosy shrinks.

Julia Walton was going to kill herself. End of story. She'd been dicking around for a few hours, driving like a maniac, but she'd finally accomplish what she'd really set out to do the entire time.

Maybe the classroom memory was a last-minute attempt to divert the situation. Make her forget, make her doubt. But it hadn't distracted her. And now she would be able to finish this business.

As the speedometer tipped over 80, Julia began to smile slightly. She was crying hard again.

This was what she deserved.

This was what needed to be done.

There was nothing left to see beyond the fog. Perhaps that was odd. Julia just saw it as an indication that she was going to finally, _finally_, do the right thing. No more sleepless nights. No more bullshit.

As her left hand slipped down to unfasten her seatbelt, Julia finally ventured a glance at her rearview mirror. The last thing she would see before dying would be her own revolting face, smiling at last.

She hadn't been expecting the pair of bloodshot eyes peeking over her shoulder, staring intently through the reflection.

Julia froze.

The car did not.

Julia could never know what she hit. Her last thought, before the world turned black, was that of detached bewilderment.

_Rachel?_


	2. Not in Kansas Anymore

Not in Kansas Anymore

* * *

Dizzy.

She was dizzy.

That, at least, Julia could grasp.

She blinked slowly. Everything she could see was blurry. Doubled. Spinning. Spinning much too fast.

Her head hurt. A whole fucking lot.

She tried to move her right hand. It was heavy, slow. Lethargic even. She put in more effort. Got it up to her forehead. Blood? A gash?

Nothing.

Just pain.

Still spinning. Still doubled. Still dizzy.

She was… she was sitting down. Something was wrapped across her torso.

Seatbelt. She was in a car. She'd been… driving. Late at night. Where?

Where had she been going?

Everything was still spinning. Less so. Not as bad. Doubles were meshing back into one. Her head still hurt like a bitch.

She'd crashed. Why? What had she hit?

Julia closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly. She needed to concentrate. Think past the pounding in her temples, past her lying eyes. Past all this goddamn confusion.

Where had she been going? Why was she driving so late?

...Nothing. She couldn't remember.

Fanfuckingtastic.

No.

Wait.

There'd been fog. A _lot_ of fog. And…

Eyes.

Julia's vision had finally settled. Her head felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer from the inside, but she at least was grounded. She also wasn't ready to throw up all over her lap anymore. It helped her think a little bit more clearly.

She was right. There had been eyes.

But what about them?

Julia unbuckled her seatbelt. She wouldn't get up. Not yet.

The memory was becoming more clear in her mind. It must've been the last thing she had seen before the crash. But what the fuck did that even mean? They were blue, same as hers.

Maybe she was just too fucked up. Maybe the last thing she'd looked at was her own reflection in the rearview mirror. She sure as fuck was still suffering from a doubtless concussion.

No. There was nothing to be made of that memory, whatever it was. Julia would have to meditate on it later.

Julia reached into the pocket of her jeans and laughed darkly to herself when her phone wouldn't light up. It had died. Of course. That, at least, she could remember. Well, that and contemplating throwing out of the goddamn window.

Had…

Had she been angry about something? Somebody?

Cautiously, Julia grasped the door handle. Right now, it honestly didn't matter what she'd been doing or why. She needed to go to the hospital, maybe for a CAT scan or an MRI. She couldn't call anyone, and no one else had found her yet, apparently. Otherwise she'd be riding in the back of an ambulance by now. But could she even walk?

Julia glanced down to her hand as she began to open the door and realized with even more confusion that it had not been locked. She must have done this, for some reason. Either way, what that meant wasn't relevant. The Pontiac's maroon door swung open, creaking loudly. This was an old Sunbird anyway. Julia wasn't too concerned with wrecking a piece of shit her parents had bought back when she was in elementary school.

Julia gazed outside. It was still foggy. In fact, this was probably the thickest fog she'd ever seen in her life. She could barely see anything past a few feet. Besides, the white specks drifting down were much more intriguing.

Was it snowing?

In _late May?_

Julia ventured one foot on the ground. Her boot scraped against the pavement. So she was still on the road.

She put down the other and, gripping the frame of the car, slowly hoisted herself into a standing position.

Fucking hell. Her head hurt like a bitch. Bad idea, bad idea, bad **fucking** idea.

Still holding onto the Pontiac, Julia began to massage her temples. She'd have to endure this if she wanted to get to the hospital anytime soon. Of course, she had no idea where in God's name she'd actually crashed, but at least she had a road to follow. She couldn't possibly be far from home.

Her head still fucking hurt, yes, but Julia began to walk anyway. The quicker she could find an ER, the better. She sure as hell wouldn't find anyone standing around like an imbecile.

Absent-mindedly, Julia walked around to the front of the car. Might as well check out the damage, after all.

As she came around the curve of the hood, Julia faltered. She stared for a long minute.

Was she still dazed?

Why was the car perfectly intact?

Scrutinizing the inexplicably undamaged bumper led Julia's eyes down to the ground in front of her car, which held, to her stunned disbelief, a pile of disembodied organs.

They were strewn about, she imagined, much like a wolf would leave the innards of its prey after it had thoroughly torn the body apart. In fact, now that Julia was really looking, she could see the corona of blood splashing out from the pile. There was a lot. A whole fucking lot.

Julia Walton felt the bile rising in the back of her throat and swallowed it down.

What in God's name had done this?

...Or who?

Moving slowly could wait. Julia walked briskly back to the cardoor and dipped into the driver's seat. The keys were still in the ignition. She turned them forcefully, wishing the engine to life.

Nothing. It was completely, utterly dead.

For a fleeting moment, Julia contemplated locking herself in the car and waiting for somebody to eventually come along. She near instantaneously realized that this was very much a terrible idea, and bounded back out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

Waking up bewildered. A memory of blue eyes. Crazy weather. Her wholly intact car. Something's fucking innards spread out on the fucking road. Nothing was making sense, and her headache was growing more painful with every passing moment. Julia was ready to bolt. But where the hell was she supposed to go? She could be anywhere in East Jubumblefuck, Maine. She could be running to the fucking trees, for all she knew.

Perhaps the entire time she'd been aware of how completely silent everything was. It had been there, in the back of her mind, passed over in favor of figuring out her present situation and its oddities. The only reason she was paying attention now, however, was due to the loud shuffle of sneakers against the pavement.

She couldn't place where it was coming from. When she turned left, it seemed to come from the right; when she turned right, it seemed to come from the left.

But she knew for a fact it was getting closer. And she did not like that.

She had to say something. If it was someone friendly, they could help her. If not…

"I hear you," she declared. The shuffling paused. "Whoever you are, I hear you. I have mace and I've taken self-defense classes and I'm not afraid to use either."

No response.

She did not like that one bit.

Julia had to pick a direction to run in. Forward looked like the best option.

Bursting forth, Julia began to sprint. High school track and long nights spent trying to exercise herself to exhaustion would finally be coming in handy. And this road would lead her somewhere. Eventually. Getting the fuck out of Dodge was more important.

"_Julia_."

She nearly fell over herself trying to stop.

Julia knew that voice. She knew it very, very well.

"...Rachel?" She had to ask, and yet, there was no real rational reason for her to believe it. What would her teenage sister be doing out in this fog?

Once again, there was no response, but Julia was starting to notice the faintest shadow of a figure hidden in all the gloom. It was just standing there. She felt like it was staring at her.

"**Rachel**." Julia was beyond certain that had been her voice, whispering Julia's name. There was no mistaking it; not for someone she'd known since she was five years old. To Julia's chagrin, the figure began to move away from her in the mist, shuffling as always. Rachel dragged her feet the same way when she was tired.

"Come back here, you dipshit!" Whatever Rachel was doing, it was stupid, and Julia didn't have time for it. Her head was ready to crack open. She began to give chase.

Running.

Running.

Running.

Rachel always seemed to be ten steps ahead of her. Just out of sight, just out of reach. Julia called out to her constantly, waiting for some kind of reply, but there was only this silly pursuit.

"**Rachel**. Stop it!"

Nothing.

More shuffling.

More running.

How could someone who moved so slow be so fast? Julia almost jokingly wondered if she was still knocked out in her car and was just enjoying some royally fucked-up coma nightmare.

Almost.

They had been doing this for maybe five, ten minutes before the fog's density began to recede. It was still very thick, and Julia had no hope of being able to catch a glimpse of what just _had_ to be her sister, but it was becoming easier to see there was, for instance, a sidewalk on her right, or the dotted line in the middle of the road. There were more things, too. Scattered papers. Dirty caution tape. Traffic cones.

Discarded shoes. Someone's half-torn purse. Broken glasses.

Where in God's name was she?

The thought came to her suddenly. It must have been sitting back there, waiting to surface. She knew where she had been heading, after all.

Was this Silent Hill?

Julia's right foot smacked hard into a lump and she fell down swiftly. She was able to catch herself before her head suffered anymore trauma. Pavement wasn't the kindest cushion, though, and her hip had swung into the ground in full force.

Great. More pain.

A little bit more than pissed, Julia gazed back behind her to figure out what she'd tripped on.

A torso. A naked human torso.

The limbs had been torn off and were nowhere to be found. A gaping cavity revealed its empty, bloody stomach. There was more to be observed, more to be processed, but Julia couldn't look anymore. Besides, she'd started to scream, and promptly kicked it away. It rolled roughly down the road for a bit before sliding to a sickening stop.

Dear God. It had been so mutilated, she couldn't even tell what gender the person had been.

Julia had been handling things fairly well so far, in her opinion. She'd even gone so far as to momentarily forget about the heap of organs in front of her car

_ohchristweretheyfromthattorsoOHCHRISTWERETHEYFROMTHATTORSO_

for the sake of following her sister through this freaky goddamn weird fucking fog on top of all the other fucking bullshit that she couldn't quite wrap her head around. This was too much. Something was fucking wrong.

She wanted to yell for someone. Anyone. Rachel, even. But that had been fruitless. She was too busy running away.

...If Julia really thought about it, though, she'd only heard the person say her name once, didn't she?

What if it was just a woman who'd sounded like Rachel?

What if it was some sick fuck who was deliberately trying to screw around with her? Julia had woken up in her car; who was to say that someone hadn't bashed her over the head and set her up to be lost in all this goddamn mist? The door hadn't been locked. Julia remembered. The goddamn fucking car hadn't been locked.

Even dazed, she knew it was a farfetched explanation, but it was the best she could come up with.

"**LEAVE. ME. THE FUCK. ALONE**," she yelled. She wasn't expecting a response anymore. She was expecting a psychopath, a stalker. "If you try to hurt me, **I'll kill you**. UNDERSTAND ME YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKER?"

Julia Walton pulled herself onto her feet and hastily grabbed the mace from her back pocket. She wished she had something more menacing, like a board or a pipe or even a goddamn gun, but it was some semblance of a defense.

In any case, whoever this was seemed intent on fucking with her. Leading her through the fog like this… this was about messing with her head.

She needed the cops. A regular human being. Fucking anyone else other than this sick piece of shit.

Julia ran onto the sidewalk to her left. The fog was light enough for her to be able to see her surroundings now, but not enough to feel safe. This fucker could still be lurking around.

Standing before her was the most run-down piece of shit "cafe" she had ever seen. It was called "CAFE 5to2", but the "5to2" part had apparently fallen off some time ago. The scarlet awnings were dilapidated, shredded even. The windows were dusty and covered in yellowing posters, bar for one that was shattered open. No glass on the sidewalk meant someone had broken in.

Julia might not have visited Silent Hill much over the years, but she knew this town was supposed to be the quaint kinda bullshit tourists came to Maine expecting to see. Nobody even gave a flying shit about a suburb like that, and it had never been a bad area.

_Nothing. Made. Fucking. Sense._

So far, the only loud thing Julia had heard since waking up was her own voice, yelling when the occasion called for it; the grating sound of chains sliding against the ground made her jump, and hard.

It was slow. Metallic. Clinking. And coming from inside the cafe.

Julia didn't care to question anything anymore. She was just going to have to flee even farther.

Of course, she hadn't been expecting anyone to be standing behind her when she turned around. And this wasn't just someone.

Must've been six feet tall. Man? Woman? Couldn't tell. Covered in chains. Bits and pieces of rotted flesh poked through. A single, jaundiced eye. No arms to be seen. Two skinny legs. Lots of chains. Draping off. Writhing. Writhing like snakes.

It made no sound.

Neither did Julia. She couldn't.

Its head tilted ever so slightly to left. That lone eye had no pupil to speak of, but she could feel its cold stare. Julia couldn't tear her own eyes away. She was seeing now, too, that the chains were melded into its flesh, rusty and bloody and abscessed.

She couldn't help herself. "_What the fuck are you?_"

It stepped slowly forward, its twitching chains sliding behind. Julia stepped back. She threw a wary glance over her shoulder.

There was the first one. It had finally come to watch. It stood in the window frame of the Cafe 5to2, cocking its head at her in a mirror reflection of the other.

Julia began to take off to her left. She only got in six or seven steps before two chains wrapped around her ankles and pulled her down to the ground. Her head smacked against the concrete. She saw stars. Her headache was ripe once more.

The least of her problems.

Julia flipped onto her back and looked back at the advancing figure. It was still slow, lethargic even, but the jerking chains were now raised about it, threatening tentacles poised to attack. The one in the cafe was shuffling out into the street to join the attack.

She couldn't crawl away. It was pulling her back, sliding her against the ground. It was _strong_. She had nothing to hold onto, nothing to pick up and throw at it. More importantly, nothing to punch or bite or claw at. This was animate metal. It was going to drag her back and get her.

_It was going to drag her back and get her_.

Julia didn't even really plan the next thing she did. It was an unconscious thought. Primal, in a way. Part of it was that she knew she simply couldn't pry those squirming chains off her ankles.

She sat up, grabbed both of the chains past her feet, and using every bit of might she could muster, pulled hard.

This thing, whatever it was, clearly had not been expecting this sort of reaction. Caught unaware, it stumbled forward and fell flat on the ground. The chains around Julia's ankles loosened. That was her chance. Julia kicked them off and scrambled back onto her feet.

She didn't chance looking back.

She ran.


	3. A Call to Arms

A Call to Arms

* * *

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. _What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. __**WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK.**_

What in CHRIST'S name were those _fucking_ monstrosities?

Julia was far away from them now. That didn't make it any better. Her head was ready to explode. Her heart was bursting out of her chest. She even noticed her hands were shaking a little.

She'd dropped her mace back with those abominations. She couldn't go back. Maybe even wouldn't.

Who in their right mind would?

One had touched her. Grabbed her. With those writhing chains. Tried to drag her back. And then… and then do God knows what.

Made her skin crawl. Made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

...She couldn't be defenseless like that again. She couldn't let one of those fuckers sneak up on her and snatch her and…

Julia had come to an uneasy rest at what the street signs said was the corner of Bloch and Ellroy. It was a dirty yellow piece of shit building, with a banner advertising some indiscernible Tuesday-only deal and two decrepit, rusted gas pumps.

Gas pumps. This was a gas station. She'd been driving to find a gas station before all this mess had started. In fact, if she put it that way, this was what had led her to Silent Hill in the first place.

If she hadn't been scared to death or possibly suffering a major concussion, Julia would have laughed.

She felt more like crying. But that wouldn't do. She needed to find a weapon. Anything durable and painful.

Julia strode over to the building's façade. The windows were dark, almost as if they'd been spray-painted from the inside. The glass door prominently displayed a closed sign. She tried it anyway. It was locked.

She hadn't seen a single other human being since she'd woken up, discounting perhaps whoever it was she had been chasing through the fog. Julia didn't own a watch and her phone was a useless block of high-tech shit in her pocket, but even if she had been able to check the time, she doubted it would matter. Whether it was midnight or high noon, everything was grey and desolate. This gas station looked like it hadn't been used in years. Decades, even. And not a sign of human life.

Or any other kind.

Warily, she stepped a measurable distance back from the windows. None of that. None of that bullshit right now. Not while she was still just a lamb to the slaughter.

Julia turned back the direction from which she had run, down on the other end of Bloch Street. She had passed by a church. Maybe she could try going in there? Besides… the idea of someplace holy was fairly attractive, considering that fucking chain monster had looked too much like actual goddamn demonspawn.

Going by the first time, she hadn't been able to see the logo for the gas station printed on the side of an extension of the building, possibly the garage. She stepped closer to study it for a moment.

For all intents and purposes, she knew it had originally spelt out "SHELL", but the "S" was nowhere to be seen.

So she was in Hell, hm?

Fucking figured.

Julia decided to leave that behind and walked around the corner, revealing a predictably locked garage door. On the far side of the garage door, however, was a slightly open door. It was almost like it was inviting her to come inside.

On one hand, Julia could have somewhere to recuperate and feel secure from the outside world, maybe even find something to defend herself with. On the other hand, another one of those bastards could be waiting inside. It certainly wasn't light in there. Inside, amongst the shadows… who knew what could be waiting.

But this was the first open door she'd seen. And maybe she could finally find something useful. It had to be worth a shot.

Back against the wall, Julia slid slowly up to the door. She wished she had a flashlight or a functioning phone to flash in front of her and illuminate the way. She'd just have to be extra careful. Bolt again, if things went south.

She was as close as she could be without walking inside. A knot of tension tightened in her back. Julia stretched out her neck and strained to listen.

Nothing. Not one chain. Not one footstep.

Julia poked her head around the doorframe.

It was dark inside, sure, but not pitch black like she'd imagined. There wasn't even a car inside to block her view; she could peer around and scope out the harmless shelves of gas cans and auto parts. A dingy chair in the corner. A TV set. Some barrels of oil with a tarp on top.

And a big red pipe.

Julia slid inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. The pipe was just sitting there. Beckoning to her.

She picked it up off the floor. It was sturdy, and weighed just a little bit more than an aluminum baseball bat. Julia swung it around a few times. Thankfully, she could handle it, and she knew it could really pack a punch when she needed it to. This would work. This would definitely work.

Pipe in hand, Julia began to walk around the room. She felt more secure, but her head was still ready to split open; it was a long shot, but maybe she could scavenge around for some ibuprofen. If not… well, there had to be a drugstore out there. Even if it was locked, she had the means to break in now.

Of course, having a map would be really convenient considering she didn't even live in Silent Hill. She'd prefer not to run around completely lost and risk another encounter with those motherfuckers.

The shelves had nuts and bolts, rags, gas cans, all the assorted shit that she didn't need. A metal wrench on the bottom looked threatening enough, but she wasn't going to get close enough to anything for that to be necessary. If she grabbed something for short-range, it would be a switchblade or a pocketknife, if anything.

Something that would really hurt.

One shelf held a tattered old metal lunchbox. Julia wiped off some of the dust tenderly with her elbow. It reminded her of her grandfather's garage and how he used to work on vintage cars. She doubted it would be of any use, but opened it anyway.

A folded piece of looseleaf was taped on the inside of the lid. Inside the actual lunchbox, on top of what must have been the moldiest sandwich Julia had ever seen, was a clip-on flashlight and an accompanying pack of batteries.

That would be… very helpful, actually.

As a test, she flipped it on.

So a flashlight in an abandoned lunchbox worked, and her phone had died on her before all this even started.

Julia wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Luck was luck, she supposed; best to leave it at that. Julia took the flashlight and clipped it onto the front pocket of her shirt, sliding the extra batteries into the back pocket of her jeans.

Naturally, the only thing left was the folded piece of paper. Julia didn't know if it was exactly right for her to take something that must have been private like that, but she was too curious to read what it said.

_James,_

_I made ham and cheese with mustard on rye, just how you like it. I know I said I didn't want you to eat Twinkies anymore, but you haven't complained one bit, so I figured I'd treat you. Come meet me by the lake when you're all done. Love you with all my heart._

_Mary_

Julia carefully folded the note and neatly taped it back into the lid.

She felt guilty for touching it.

Julia continued her search. Two gigantic sliding metal doors connected to what would have been the main gas station, but the padlock was sturdy and she was apprehensive about even trying to open the doors, if she really thought about it. What if she didn't _want_ to go into the store? Who knew what godforsaken mess could be sitting in there, waiting for her to walk in. Those freaks of nature… Julia could only wonder what they'd done to the other people they were able to ensnare.

Approaching the next shelf, Julia was startled by an electronic hiss. She swung her head around. Nothing was in the room with her.

So what the fuck was that noise?

The hissing continued. Listening for a few moments, Julia realized it was coming from behind the oil barrels, beneath the shelter of the tarp. She walked over slowly. The hiss turned into a whining crackle. This reminded her of her grandfather as well. He had an old army green transistor radio he had given to Julia before he died. It barely worked and was old as sin, but she liked to turn it on in her apartment late at night and remember him.

What would a radio be doing in here?

Julia lifted up the tarp. She was correct assuming it was a radio. This one was pocket-sized and, strangely enough, army green. It must have been from the early 90s, but compared to everything else in town, the radio was actually in good shape.

So why was it acting up now? Julia picked it up to switch it off and move along, figuring it was just broken.

When she heard the skin-crawling sound of sliding chains coming from outside the gas station, however, she immediately ducked underneath the tarp, turning off the flashlight and the radio in unison.

She didn't know if these fuckers could see or hear like she could, but she wasn't about to find out. Not when it could corner her in the garage.

The oil barrels were very close together, but there was enough space in-between so that Julia could peek through the slit and keep an eye on the door. She kneeled there, hunched over, tense, and tightly gripping that pipe, for what must have been a full agonizing minute before the shadow of a figure finally cast over the windows on the door.

Its chains were wiping themselves all over the door. Feeling it. Scratching against the glass. It was a horrid sound. Her back was so tight it was starting to ache.

Julia watched, horrified, as the chained figure pressed its face against the door. She could feel that fucking right eye piercing the shadows, searching intently.

...Searching for her.

Julia shivered.

Once or twice, Julia was able to hear the door slamming against the doorframe, as if it was trying to enter the room. Could that fucking freak wrap its chain tendrils around the door handle and open up the garage? Julia held the pipe even tighter. She'd surprise it, bash it over the head, and sprint off into the fog all over again if she had to.

She'd rather not. But she would. And she'd make sure it stayed the fuck down.

The figure spent a long time hovering by the door. If it had hands, Julia was sure it would have been pressing them against the glass, trying to touch her even from her little hiding spot. Julia hadn't prayed in a very, very long time, but she started to chant a pleading mantra in her head, wishing it gone.

_pleasegoawaypleasegoawaypleasegoawaypleasegoawaypleasegoawayplease_

After what felt like an hour, the figure decided to finally to shuffle away. She watched intently as its shadow disappeared into the mist, and listened closely as the grind of chains gave way to the encompassing silence. Even that was not sufficient for Julia; she waited an honest five minutes before crawling out from behind the barrels.

She wasn't going to be taking chances. Not with something like this.

A part of her wanted to beat one of those fuckers down and make sure it never got up. The more sensible part realized that hiding and evading these monsters was a much smarter route. The important thing, Julia knew, was getting though this business unscathed. She had a killer headache already. She didn't need to add "open wound" to her growing list of problems.

Julia fished the radio out of her pocket and flipped it over a few times in her free hand.

It had crackled when the figure was approaching. The radio had been switched on that whole time, and only made a single sound when it was outside.

She pushed the power button and slid it back into her jean pocket. She would need something that handy with her. No more unpleasant surprises.

Julia took one last cursory survey of the garage. She'd spent enough time hiding. It was time to get a move on and find a pharmacy. Maybe even a hospital, if she could. She wasn't expecting to find anyone to help her anymore, but a fucking bottle of aspirin would at least get rid of her constant headache and possibly make all this insane bullshit easier to handle.

Or a smarter idea would be to just get the fuck out of Dodge and ditch town entirely.

Julia liked that idea. Julia liked that idea a lot.

…But what if this wasn't exclusive to Silent Hill? She had woken up in a world full of fog and stumbled into an empty town she knew for a fact was populated. Who was to say it hadn't spread? Hadn't transformed this slice of Maine into some sort of wasteland?

God. When she wasn't afraid for her life, she was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and her head just couldn't wrap around it. What had happened to her? Why was her car intact, if it had crashed at all? What had happened to Silent Hill? Why were there real-life monsters roaming the streets? What had led her into town in the first place?

"_Julia_."

She spun around to face the door, pipe held high in both hands.

A silhouette stood in the fog. Just close enough to be seen, just far enough to be hidden. And it was beckoning to her.

It had spoken with Rachel's voice again.

"**What are you**?" Julia shouted.

The silhouette dropped its arm to its side.

"_Don't be mean, Lia_."

There were very few people who were allowed to call Julia "Lia". One had been her grandfather. Another was her younger sister. The pipe dipped down to Julia's side.

"...Rachel?"

The silhouette turned about-face and began to run.

Julia sped over to the door, but paused before going back out into the street and giving chase. Really, she knew this couldn't be her sister. Why would she be in Silent Hill in the first place? Why would Rachel be toying with her? Saying Julia's name and running away? Rachel would be at home with their parents. Probably even in school, if it was daytime.

No. Julia had experienced firsthand an encounter with those chained freaks of nature. Something was supremely fucked up in this town, something she couldn't begin to understand, and whatever this thing was, it was not her sister. But it sounded exactly like her. Used Julia's nickname, even. And it wanted to take her somewhere.

Julia Walton was, to say the least, very uneasy with everything that was going on. This was no less unsettling, and she couldn't say with confidence that she trusted this… impostor, whatever it was. But she had no map, even if she wanted to leave or find medicine. Silent Hill was uncharted territory for her. And following the fake Rachel was the closest thing she had to a lead. Or at least some indication of what to do with herself in the midst of… whatever all this was.

She pushed open the door, weapon at her side, and stepped back out into the fog.


	4. Down the Rabbit Hole

Down the Rabbit Hole

* * *

Having spent most of her waking time running around and now sufficiently suspicious of the shadow masquerading with her sister's voice (however that was possible), Julia elected to walk behind her "sister" instead of actually pursuing the figure closely. She was still nursing an unpleasant headache, and she doubted anything involving raising her blood pressure would help tide that over. In any case, Julia had a feeling no matter how fast she was going, "Rachel" would always be a few steps ahead.

She was right. The silhouette stayed just beyond the veil of the fog, leading her along. Julia was curious as to what it really looked like. Would it be an eerily accurate reproduction of her teenage sister? Or another monstrosity?

For some reason, the idea of this shadow being a monster upset Julia much more deeply than the reality of the chained figures she'd encountered previously. Maybe it was the thought that something so disgusting and horrific could not only be intelligent, but impersonate her own family, and do it _well_. Julia had no real justification for Rachel being present when she had originally thought it was her sister, and yet Julia had wholeheartedly believed she was following Rachel through the fog.

Julia tapped her pipe aggressively against the ground. If "Rachel" wanted to continue fucking with her, Julia would make sure she taught it a lesson. She'd trap that motherfucker in an alley somehow. Make sure it didn't run away. Make sure it left her and her family the fuck alone. She may have been more frightened than she was allowing herself to be, but Julia Walton did not make empty promises.

Or threats, for that matter.

"Rachel" was taking Julia down Bloch St., a straight shot from where she'd already been heading. It was almost… underwhelming, in a way. Julia was anticipating "Rachel" to be leading her back in the direction of the chained figures, like she had when Julia came to in her car.

Her goddamn car. Heh. She'd worry about that much, much later if she could. Julia really was not too keen about heading back the way she came. She was sure there would be a shortcut back somewhere along the way, but until she had a map or a GPS or some other way of getting around town without getting hopelessly lost, she couldn't risk a trip back. Especially if she would be trying to haul back gasoline from the gas station with her.

Julia, still walking at an even pace behind "Rachel", gave a particularly deep pothole a wide berth. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she noticed for the first time that a concrete wall was lining the side of the road. Julia had only the vaguest memories of the very few times she had ever come to Silent Hill, but one that was rather clear was of her father driving them over a bridge past that enormous lake in the center of town. She had to be standing on it right now. Julia poked her head over the concrete wall and was disappointed to be reminded the fog was so thick she couldn't even see down that far, but the eerie quiet gave her the chance to actually hear the silky sound of sloshing water. She could even smell the moisture in the air, now that she was paying attention.

Was this fake fuck trying to lead her into the lake?

Julia turned back forward. "Rachel" was standing there, as always, waiting patiently for Julia to start moving once more. Julia grabbed the pipe from both ends and began to lightly tap it against the flesh of her palm. Yes, the chained monsters terrified her to no end, but "Rachel" simultaneously disgusted Julia and pissed her off.

The following resumed. Julia knew she would have to concoct a plan to trick this son of a bitch eventually. To trap it and give it fucking hell.

Concrete gave way to a pale blue handrail. This was mirrored on the other side by a pale blue divider, separating the road from the sidewalk. The divider had several splashes of a dark, reddish brown.

Dried blood.

That would be dried blood.

Julia stopped tapping the pipe and gripped it tight.

Her instinct was to run back.

She had every reason to act on this impulse.

And yet, Julia didn't want to.

Because, beyond despising this "Rachel", Julia needed to follow it.

It knew her name.

It had talked like her sister.

And it wanted to lead her somewhere.

She couldn't let it go. Even if she should.

Julia grit her teeth and kept walking. She was on high alert. Listening closely for the chains. Ready to swing her pipe at anything that tried to grab her. Julia walked backward a few times as she followed her fake sister, watching behind for a sign of movement in the impenetrable fog. Nothing would sneak up on her. Not while she was chasing "Rachel". She ignored the lowered boom gate, the Bridge Control, the fallen traffic light; they didn't matter. She wasn't going to be ambushed.

So focused on detecting any possible threats, Julia didn't notice "Rachel" had actually disappeared until she was standing at the foot of the drawn bridge. It towered over Julia, a looming monolith. It seemed to be mocking the fact that she'd strolled right into a dead end.

Julia turned slowly in a circle. "Rachel" was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck," she muttered. She jumped when the radio began to unexpectedly crackle.

In the distance, the chinking and grating of rustling chains resonated.

_**FUCK**_.

The building that housed the bridge control was right next to Julia. The stairwell was practically inviting her up to safety. She sprinted up the steps so fast she had to catch herself from flying over the railing on the top landing. Julia pushed herself off of the rattling iron bars and seized the door handle violently. Her hand slipped as she went to turn the knob. Julia hadn't felt it budge. She could hear now that the chains were much closer. She could hear now that the noise was too loud for just one or two of those fuckers. It sounded like five. Maybe even six or seven.

_ohgodpleasebeopenohgodohgodpleasepleasepleasebeopen_

Julia frantically wiped her free hand on her jeans and clutched the door knob in a death grip.

It turned.

She burst the heavy door open with her shoulder and kicked it shut behind her. The lock was garden variety, didn't require a key; Julia locked that, and for added measure snatched the chair from the desk inside the control room, propping it against the doorknob. Did she actually think that would work? She couldn't say. She'd seen it in movies, and it made her feel a little bit more comfortable considering a handful of those fuckers had tried to corner her on the bridge.

Would they follow her up the stairs? The one that had lurked by the garage door for so long… it had been looking for her. Searching.

Hunting.

Julia became very aware of how the door had a window, as well as how the control room was practically made of large and exposing windows. The landing only stretched around so far, but it was too much for Julia's taste. She was in a room with only one exit and they could find her, no problem.

The window on the door had a roller blind. She nearly yanked it off pulling it down. That, at least, was taken care of simply.

The rest of the windows had shitty old Venetian blinds, half broken and dusty. Julia would have loved some tarp or tapestries or even fucking towels to hang up, but she had nothing else to work with. She lowered all of the blinds as far down as they allowed; made sure to adjust the slats so they covered as much window as possible. There were still spots. Chunks of slats missing. Julia would have to make do.

And pray. She would have to pray those motherfuckers didn't find her. Didn't break in. Didn't wrap her up with chains and choke her and pull her and touch her and do things that Julia couldn't even bear to think about.

It was actually quite dark in the control room, now all the blinds were shut, but Julia still crawled underneath the wooden desk. She wasn't going to fuck around. She'd blend in, let those bastards hover around outside, and then wait for them to get far enough away for her to run somewhere else for shelter. Julia guessed she would be seeing "Rachel" again as soon as all this was done. That issue was postponed; at the moment, she needed to hide, and well. Tucked in as far as she could, Julia put down her pipe for a moment and pulled the flashlight out of her shirt pocket. Amidst all the panic, she hadn't turned it off yet.

Before she could, however, Julia caught the faintest gleam coming from the flashlight's reflection on the bottom of the desk. It was uncomfortable, but Julia was able to torque her head to inspect it further. Somebody had etched into the wood with a knife.

_OH GOD, I PRAY FOR THE CURE OF ME_

Julia considered it for a moment, then switched off the flashlight and shoved it back into her shirt pocket. She pulled out the radio as well. It had gone quiet when she'd locked herself into the control room. She didn't want it to be on when the monsters came knocking. Julia turned the radio off and slid it back into her jeans.

Finally, Julia picked back up her only weapon. She cradled the pipe close to her body. Partly because she didn't want to accidentally drop it and alert her presence. Partly because gripping the metal let her take out the pain from her pounding headache. Partly because it made her feel more secure.

All she had to do now was wait it all out.

* * *

One of the faults that Julia would most readily admit to possessing was an incredibly loose concept of time. Sometimes she wondered if it stemmed from her chronic insomnia. She could gain some semblance of a regular sleep cycle these days, but when she had been young and wishing desperately to fall asleep at 2:30 in the morning, minutes had felt like hours and hours had felt like an eternity. Waiting rooms, standing in line, traffic jams; all reminded her of how agonizing sleepless nights could be, and she made no illusions about how much she hated them as a kid. In fact, Julia had spent a good chunk of her childhood being yelled at by her parents for not being patient enough.

Nowadays, Julia would consider herself almost too patient. Maybe because her mother and father had hammered it into her head. But when she was stressed out like this, it would resurface at times.

Like, say, now. However long it had been since she'd set up shelter in the control room, Julia felt like she had been sitting there for at least half an hour and not a single sound had come from outside. Not one chain. Not one footstep. Not even "Rachel", calling out Julia's name and trying to lead her God-knows-where.

Julia longed for a watch. A traditional one. Something that didn't rely on being fully charged like her piece of shit phone. She had spotted a wall-mounted clock hanging over the desk when she ran into the control room, but the glass had clearly been broken and the hands weren't moving from their station of 1:08.

And yet, at the same time, she was a little relieved the clock was broken. The sound of a ticking clock still could upset her from time to time, even as an adult. In her childhood home, there had been an antique pendulum clock: supposedly an heirloom from her mother's side of the family. During the day, when people were moving around and talking and television sets were on and cars drove by outside, it was in the background, barely even noticeable. During the night, when all else was perfectly quiet and Julia was alone and crying from exhausted frustration and pleading with God to let her just please _please_ go to sleep, that fucking pendulum echoed in her ears. That clock drove her insane for far longer than she liked to admit. And of course, it would always chime with every passing hour, reminding her, _taunting _her, about just how much sleep she wasn't getting.

Time had never really been much of a friend to Julia. She'd learned to grow past that. But it was killing her, being huddled up underneath that desk and waiting for those fuckers to hunt her out. Plus, her constant headache refused to recede. It was verging on unbearable.

This control room had been someone's job, someone's little office. Surely there'd be acetaminophen or the like lying around for her to pop back and enjoy some good old-fashioned painkillers. Maybe even in this desk. But she was still wary of budging from her hiding spot.

She waited another five minutes. She painstakingly counted every goddamn second.

Nothing. No movement. But Julia was still paranoid. They had managed to sneak up on her beforehand, hadn't they? She hadn't even been really paying attention to what was going on outside when she was running around the room pulling down on all the blinds. For all she knew, they could be waiting outside. Standing still. Waiting for Julia to let her guard down.

Julia breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled with a quiet sigh. She could do it. She'd crawl on the ground. Not make a single sound.

With another preparatory breath, Julia gently placed the pipe on the floor and pivoted her body so that she was on all fours. She was going at a snail's pace, but Julia wasn't the type to take chances and fuck up and make unnecessary noise. Having crawled out from underneath the desk, Julia tenderly ran her right hand up the side of the desk, feeling for the drawers. There were two small ones that would pull out, and a large one on the bottom that would swing out. The large drawer made her nervous. Hinges could be rusty, squeaky. She couldn't gamble on that kind of noise. Julia grabbed the middle drawer from both ends and gingerly pulled it out.

She still didn't trust putting on her flashlight, so Julia began to delicately feel her way through the shallow drawer. Julia touched just about everything: several assorted pencils and pens; an eraser; a stress ball; a stack of manilla envelopes, filled with papers; an empty soda can; a glasses case.

Basically, useless shit.

Julia bit her lip and moved on to the top drawer. Same process. Slow. Steady. Careful. She plunged her hand in and immediately froze. Whatever she was touching was unbelievably soft. Almost as soft as skin.

Inhale. Exhale. Julia slid her fingers down the side of the shape.

It had knuckles and fingers.

Julia forced down the scream forming in her throat. She balled her hands into fists and squeezed hard.

This was too much. This was too fucking much.

It took about two minutes until Julia was able to unclench her hands. Her right hand had been the one to touch the body part; she wiped it furiously against the carpet, wishing away the memory of the cold corpse flesh. She didn't want to spoil her clean left hand. With utmost reluctance, Julia put her tainted hand back into the drawer.

This time, she was greeted by the relieving texture of paper. A long folded piece of paper, in fact. It felt like a brochure.

Or a map.

Julia slid the piece of paper out of the drawer, noting with significant disgust that she had to tug it out from under the disembodied hand, and crawled back beneath the desk. She wasn't a particularly large woman, but Julia figured if she huddled in a low corner of the desk, she could turn on the flashlight and block the light with her body. She was going to be meticulous. Not a hint that she was in there. Not one.

The flashlight admittedly made her a little more nervous. It had a strong bulb. And if Julia was taking the risk of turning it on for something that didn't even turn out to be a map…

She burrowed as tight as she could into the corner and switched the light on anyway, if reluctantly. The pamphlet was still folded, but she could see curving lines and a grid that just _had _to represent roads bleeding through the back of the paper. Julia sighed deeply and smiled.

However, she could also see now that there was the shadowy block of another piece of paper, tucked into the inside of the map. Julia stuck her thumb in the crease and opened up the brochure. The secondary paper didn't fall out as Julia had expected; it had been taped to the inside. The note was practically covered in scrawling black ink. The words were so tiny in some sections, Julia had to squint and pull the paper close to her face.

_Bridge goes up. Bridge goes down._

_Bridge goes up. Bridge goes down._

_I am so sick and tired of this godforsaken job. I am exhausted with sitting around, catering to the heathens that travel through this town and take pictures and spoil our sacred ground with their very presence. God would not allow it. Why should I?_

_The brothers and sisters say that I must be patient. That someday, we will have our Paradise. In the meanwhile, we must __**pray**__ and keep up appearances. I have prayed and prayed and prayed, and Paradise comes no closer. Two sisters have been lost in their pursuit of birthing God already, and there is no sign of any such ambition in the remains of our congregation. I cannot endure the wickedness of this world._

_...The most terrible thing is, I have been corrupted. I have read from the other Books. The ones that endorse the false religions. The priests, they always told me I was much too curious, much too impatient; they were right. By making me suffer the monotony and mundanity of this secular office, my own religion forced me to explore and indulge my sinful interest in the texts of the heathens. They are as sacrilegious as I had expected, but I can feel the taint their words had on my soul. Calling our most righteous angels "demons"... blasphemy. And yet I cannot extract the thought from my mind._

_I am at an impasse, it seems. I wish to reconcile with God and cleanse myself of impurities, but the heresy has become an infection. I have never experienced Doubt in my life. Why should I now, at 36? Why should I let such utter profanity affect me so?_

_No. I never would allow such a thing. I have been seduced. Poisoned. And I must expunge this wickedness from body._

_I have spoken with the Clock about this junction for many long hours. He ticks and tocks and tuts at me. I have begun to suspect he is mocking me for being so foolish. He counts the unbearable hours that I must spend in this cramped room, unsatisfied with life._

_Funny. Even now, I can remember something that impious Bible said. Something about tearing out your right eye and cutting off your right hand if they cause you to sin, for it is better to lose a part of you than lose your whole body to sin and be damned to Hell. It may be sacrilege, but I must admit, I agree._

_I am reminded of the saying my mother taught me when I was very young: 'The Devil finds work for idle hands.' Only now have I realized that this so-called Devil was the seducer of impropriety and sacrilege._

_Bridge goes up. Bridge goes down._

_Bridge goes up._

_It shall remain this way. None of the pagans can cross through while I am not here to ensure they do not spread their filth. I am the only one who possesses the keys to operate the bridge. The Order will understand my plight for reconciliation and resultant absence, I am sure. We have become smaller in number than we once were ever since that damned investigator started poking his nose around in our business, and we must remain committed to our faith, unified by God. One's relationship with God is of utmost importance. I am saved. I do not plan to lose Her blessings. I will not submit to the chaos of blasphemy._

_These shall be the last words I am able to write. I am certain the pain will be great, but I must suffer for my pollution to be eradicated. Even if it is an unorthodox manner of repentance, God will be pleased by my sacrifice._

_Once I am finished with this business, I will return to the church and fast. The penance will be long, but my mind will be clear, at last._

_I must embark on the Pilgrimage of Flame, as well. Perhaps it would be easier with my body intact, but I feel I am making a necessary contribution to the purge. This must be a well-planned ritual. From a man without sacrilege in his soul. From a man who has given up his hand and his eye for God's grace._

_I leave this map and letter, my dear Clock, so that you may follow me in my absolution if you please. Your ticking shall haunt me no more. We can meet again as friends, if you like. You were the best company I had in this lonely control room. I am sad to have disappointed you so with my egregious mistakes. I hope you are as gracious as God and shalt forgive me when the time comes._

_Let this infection be cured._

_Let my salvation be right and true._

_I offer you my hand and eye, dear God._

_Please accept this tribute._

_-Marcus Herr_

Julia stared long and hard at the note, reading it over a second time, before she peeled it off. There were a lot of half-formed questions forming in her mind that she restrained in favor of merely accepting that the whackjob who worked the bridge had cut off his own hand, presumably alongside gouging out one of his own eyes, and had left behind a map for his "friend", the broken clock on the wall, to follow him on some sort of pilgrimage.

And apparently, he took the drawbridge key with him.

Note put aside physically and mentally, Julia moved onto her main concern, the map. Marcus had circled several different spots around the area, including the church Julia had run past on Bloch St. and a lighthouse on the docks. Julia was currently located on the Old Silent Hill side of the bridge. And what was on the other side?

The Town Center. The Police Station. Alchemilla Hospital. Basically, any part of town that would be of real use to Julia. The word "Hospital" practically jumped off the page. Even if there wasn't a doctor or nurse in sight, she could finally scavenge some goddamn medicine and get rid of her headache.

She needed to get across to Central Silent Hill. Julia needed to find Marcus Herr, wherever he was, and get him to lower the bridge. Or take the keys from him, if it came down to that.

The thought of having to encounter a man who willingly dismembered himself made Julia queasy. Who was to say he wasn't violent towards other people? He certainly had rather unpleasant views of "heathens", and Julia was more than sure she fit into that category. She was glad she would have her pipe with her, when it came time to confront him.

But, of course, that would have to wait until she actually found him.

The Balkan Church was the closest location. She would start there. Branch out, if need be. Her main problem would be evading the chained monsters she still feared were lurking about outside.

The monsters.

What if Marcus had run into them too?

Reading Marcus's note had disturbed her, but Julia wouldn't wish him a fate like that. Nevertheless, she would keep an eye out for a body notably missing a hand.

Well. That was assuming Marcus's body would be intact.

Julia shook her head. She couldn't let this shit get to her. She couldn't let it make her morbid like that. She'd find the religious fanatic and get the key from him and be on her way, simple and clean.

First, though, she would have to leave the relative safety of the control room and head back down the street. Julia couldn't have been more reluctant. She hadn't seen them coming, but she had heard enough of those chains to know that there had to be at least one straggler calmly waiting. Taking on some regular asshole with a pipe? She could handle that. Taking on one of those freaks of nature? If she didn't have to, Julia didn't want to.

But she had to leave. Whether she liked it or not. The headache was still very much a presence; it was a quiet anguish that she had endured with due fortitude and could continue suffering, but Julia was starting to really feel like shit. She hurt badly. She needed painkillers. And there was only one place in Silent Hill she could rely on having analgesics to spare.

It was just her fucking luck that it was on the other side of town, across a goddamn inaccessible bridge, and she'd have to go on a wild goose chase to find the key.

Complaining about it, however, wouldn't help anything either. Julia folded the map into a tiny square, shoved it into her back pocket, and crawled out from under the desk once more, still carefully quiet but determined. She snatched the red pipe with her right hand and, with only the slightest hesitation, turned on her radio once more.

The airwaves were silent.

Julia's heart began to beat hard in her chest. It worsened the headache, but she ignored that.

This was it.

She would make a break for it.

Treading softly toward the door, Julia thought for a moment about "Rachel". There were many things going on that Julia readily admitted she did not understand, and she had the general feeling that there wouldn't be any explanation waiting for her, but "Rachel" was her main focus amidst all the confusion. Whatever entity this was, it was imitating her sister, and had purposefully sought her out twice to direct her. Both times, she had been ambushed by the chained monsters; both times, however, Julia had also come closer to something she ended up needing.

Were the monsters incidental, just a product of whatever happened to Silent Hill? Was this impostor trying to guide her on the right path through a familiar face?

Or was it just another monster? Some sort of demon, trying to deceive her?

The ambiguity was too great for Julia to make any conclusions. And in any case, she didn't like something impersonating her younger sister, her own fucking flesh and blood, so flawlessly.

Unfortunately, Julia couldn't seek out "Rachel" on her own. It appeared as it pleased. Hell, it had never even actually "appeared"; Julia had yet to experience its physical appearance. All in due time, hopefully.

Julia's left hand was poised over the doorknob. "Rachel" and anything to do with it would have to wait. Marcus Herr and his key were her top priority.

That, and getting through the streets of Silent Hill unscathed.

Inhale. Turn off the flashlight. Exhale.

Julia opened the door and broke immediately into a sprint.

* * *

Around the corner.

Down the stairs.

On the sidewalk.

On the road.

Running. Running.

No looking back. No stopping.

Fog. Endless fog.

No static. No chains.

Past the street sign. Past the gas station.

Almost there. Almost there.

Still safe. Still silent.

...Wait.

No, it wasn't.

Julia stopped abruptly. She slid a little on the pavement, but kept her balance. The radio had begun to fizz faintly.

She could hear something else too, now that she was halted.

What was that?

Was that… gurgling?

Julia spun wildly around.

Nothing behind her. Nothing on any side that she could see.

Sure as hell no chained freaks.

So what?

Julia turned in a circle once more, this time slowly.

Still nothing to be seen. Not through all the fog, anyway.

The church was practically right there. All she had to do was get to the doors. She'd be safe.

But God forbid she let something know she was out and about.

Julia began walking. Lightly. Tenderly.

The radio was getting louder.

So was the heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Fumbling, Julia turned it back off. If she was quiet enough, it wouldn't notice her.

Whatever "it" was.

The gurgling was getting louder as well. It was a sickening sound. Wet and choking.

Julia was getting closer to the church doors. Closer to the gurgling, as well.

She hadn't noticed it until now, but Julia had instinctively begun to wield the pipe in both of her hands, as if ready to attack.

...Was she?

The soft walk turned into subdued stride.

She didn't want to be outside.

The gurgling had turned into real choking. It sounded like someone was drowning in the middle of the street.

Maybe it was just another person.

Maybe they were attacked by the chained monsters, or something else awful had happened, and they were literally drowning in their own blood.

Should Julia go and check…?

Through the thick of the fog, Julia could finally see the shadow of a shape forming. It was low to the ground and very round.

Could be an obese man. Could be an obese man sprawled out on the ground. Injured. Hurt.

Julia moved tentatively closer.

As the round shadow became more defined, Julia could see two large, unsightly lumps jutting out from the figure on its top. In fact, it seemed to be swollen with painful-looking, pulsating lumps and bulges. What wasn't bumpy was loose and saggy; Julia could even see enormous veins running through the skin, throbbing with pumping blood.

Julia stopped dead in her tracks.

Too late.

The figure, previously huddled down on the ground, was turning toward Julia's direction. It had lean arms: its long fingers clutched the pavement for support; its bony wrists shook, struggling with its own weight. Even so, it moved fairly quickly for something that seemed to have trouble even lifting itself up, and Julia was soon staring at its puffy, distorted face.

There was some semblance of humanity to be found in its countenance, but it was perverted by what Julia was starting to recognize as a multitude of tumors. Beneath its distended, almost Cro Magnon brow, two black and beady eyes stared out at Julia coldly. Instead of a nose, there were two slits for nostrils. Its mouth was simply a hole that constantly chortled and gargled. There were hints of a real jawline, even a human skull, but this was mostly covered by overlapping tumors.

It was wholly naked, pink as a newborn baby, but Julia was able to spot sparse patches of dark hair sprouting out of its body in certain areas. Its skin, its knotted and trembling and horrific skin, was drenched in glistening sweat. Julia absent-mindedly recognized that she could smell the terrible stench the figure was giving off, but she couldn't even pay attention. She was engrossed in observing this mutation of a being.

Aside from moving to face her, neither the tumorous monster nor Julia had budged. They were staring into one another. Julia felt like it was waiting for her to make the first motion. Funny enough, she was waiting for it to move as well.

The pipe was in her hands.

The pipe was in her hands.

She knew what she had to do.

Before Julia could even raise her weapon, the tumor had pushed off its hands and was lunging towards her.

There was no thought.

There was no comprehension.

There was nothing.

Julia's mind went blank.

The pipe was in her hands.

The pipe was _in her hands_.

She swung up.

Hard.

Forceful.

The pipe smacked into what must have been the creature's chest.

Hard.

The tremor of the impact nearly shook the pipe out of Julia's hands. She held on.

It was all in slow motion.

She was.

"It" was.

"It" was reeling back from the blow, choking and sputtering once more. Julia pondered for a moment if she'd struck its windpipe.

She was moving so slow, but Julia knew she was really going fast.

She couldn't let it recover.

She couldn't let it attack.

She raised the pipe over her head.

She didn't pause.

It came down swiftly.

Deadly.

The pipe practically embedded itself into the creature's writhing flesh.

Its arms were flailing.

Julia raised the pipe over her head again.

It came down swiftly again.

And again.

And again.

Julia looked down at the tumor's legs.

They had hands, too. Grabbing at the air. Opening and closing, opening and closing.

Pipe goes up.

Pipe goes down.

Pipe goes up.

Pipe goes down.

Her cheek was wet.

She was crying?

Yes.

She wasn't here. She was, but she wasn't.

She was remembering.

Remembering Eddie Kinkel.

Remembering Eddie Kinkel and his

_eddiestoppleasedon'tdothatpleasedon'tplease_

hammer and being seven years old and how he wouldn't stop

_eddienopleasedon'tit'smysister'seddieicaughtitforherpleasedon't_

slamming it against the sparrow she'd caught for Rachel's third birthday

_EDDIESTOPYOU'REKILLINGITEDDIESTOP_

and how as hard as she tried she just couldn't make him stop

_IHATEYOUEDDIEIHATEYOUSTOPITSTOPIT_

she just couldn't make him stop slamming and slamming and slamming

_**EDDIENOEDDIESTOPITPLEASEIT'SFORMYSISTEREDDIESTOP**_

and slamming and slamming and slamming and slamming and slamming that fucking hammer, again and again and again and again until that pretty little bird was nothing but pulp in a cardboard box.

Pipe goes up.

The final blow had landed, bursting open a boil. Julia stood there. Lowered the pipe. Hunched over. Breathing heavy. Crying silently.

She didn't know when it had stopped moving. Stopped gurgling. But it was still now.

Dead.

Very much dead.

She had…

She had broken skin.

There was blood. Around. On the ground.

On her?

Julia stood upright and gazed down numbly at her body.

Clean clothes. Not a speck of blood. But a puddle was forming around her boots.

Julia tried to look at the mangled mass below her, but her vision went out of focus whenever she tried to actually process it. She looked instead at her hands.

They were dirty now. Both of them. There were splashes of blood on her fingers. On her knuckles.

Julia's eyes traveled down the length of the red pipe. She couldn't tell what was pipe and what was blood, except for what was dripping.

Dripping.

The pipe fell from Julia's hands. She turned her back to the creature's corpse and began to heave.

Julia sank down to her hands and knees. She couldn't stop staring at the specks of red on her white fingers. Heaving turned into real vomit. Mostly water. She hadn't eaten in some time. It burned coming out. Badly.

Her headache was agonizing. Julia felt like her skull was ready to split open. The stream down her cheeks had become tears of pain. Her stomach quivered violently with every excruciating retch.

Julia Walton had killed something.

Beaten it to death. Beaten it to a bloody pulp.

It had pounced at her. Tried to hurt her. It was a monster, nothing more.

But that didn't matter.

There wasn't anything left to puke. Julia was simply dry-heaving. Convulsing.

As the ravages of uncontrollable nausea faded from Julia's body and her chaotic mind began to settle, she realized that she had left herself exposed for far too long.

There were more of these out there. The chained ones. The tumors. Monsters.

Demons.

Julia felt dirty in many ways. She wasn't the most religious person these days, but the church was a safe haven. She needed to be inside. She needed to make sense of what she had done.

She needed to wash her hands.

Julia pulled herself up onto her feet and cast a sideways glance at the red pipe.

It was her only weapon. She couldn't leave it behind. But oh God, she did not want to pick it up.

Julia, however, did not have a choice. She'd been lucky nothing else had surprised her while she was incapacitated. It was time to grab her things and walk away.

Blood-soaked iron wasn't any different from regular iron, but it was heavier in Julia's hands.

Thick with guilt, she supposed.

The steps leading up to the ornate double doors of the church were about three steps away. Julia made it to them in one. She wanted nothing to do with what she had left behind.

Her cheeks were still wet. There were even unshed tears left in her eyes.

Julia didn't bother wiping them.

She didn't deserve to.

She hadn't noticed the graffiti on the doors the first time she had passed by the Balkan Church, but Julia was facing the spray paint head-on now and she couldn't help but read it, emotionally exhausted as she was.

The door on the right said "Eat Me".

The door on the left said "Drink Me".

On the bottom, near the ground, was simply "JUMP" scribbled across both.

Julia didn't have time for this nonsense. She pulled open the door and stepped onto the wooden floor of the church beyond, remembering with weary chagrin that she'd leave a trail of bloody shoeprints in her wake.


	5. Here is the Church & Here is the Steeple

Here is the Church and Here is the Steeple

* * *

Safely inside the church, Julia was somehow mindful to close the door behind her. She didn't want to look back. She couldn't look back.

Something would follow her in if Julia didn't remember to close the door. She didn't want to fight. She didn't want to do anything.

The Balkan Church was as quiet as the rest of Silent Hill. The creaking wood shifted under her weight obnoxiously, splitting the silence. Julia wasn't a heavy person. This had to be an older church.

Hopefully not the abandoned kind that would fall apart underneath her feet.

Then again, Julia would appreciate being knocked out for an hour or two. Anything was better than being awake and conscious at the moment.

Julia began to meander aimlessly up the aisle toward the cast iron crucifix hanging over the simple altar. She barely made it three pews before she slumped heavily into the nearest seat.

How did Julia feel?

She didn't even know.

Maybe it was regret. Or fear. Or even a deep sorrow.

But for the most part, Julia didn't feel much of anything.

Except for the headache, that was. That slow throb inside her head.

She felt like she deserved it now.

Julia was aware enough to know that she was certainly dazed. She'd cried out her tears and thrown up her vomit and there was nothing left in the shell of her body. Nothing except aching. Otherwise, she would have been completely numb.

She was still holding that pipe.

Or was it a hammer?

...No. It was a red pipe. Redder now than before.

Disgusting.

It was in a holy place. This weapon. This tool for

_**EDDIENOPLEASE**_

murder.

She would drop it if she could. But she couldn't. Not in there. Not while she was in danger.

_Was_ she in danger?

...Yeah.

Not at the moment.

But yes.

Julia gazed around the room. Everything about it was more or less muted. Slate-gray walls; ashen hardwood floors; marbled columns.

It was like she never even left the fog. It was here. Around her.

Watching her. Judging her.

It was a good thing Christ's head tilted down to his right. Julia wouldn't have been able to handle his steely stare.

This little church wasn't much like the one she'd gone to with her family as a child. That one had been larger, and more vibrant. Pretty stained glass windows that looked gorgeous when the sun came in at just the right angle. The Passion carved into the walls around the congregation. Warm colors.

She was noisy once or twice as a child during Mass. Her parents screamed at her all the way home until she locked herself in her room and sobbed into her pillow.

That didn't matter, though.

Nothing mattered much.

This was just another small-town church. Sparse, except for the red velvet on the altar and some paintings on the otherwise barren walls.

Julia stared down at her hands.

Still splattered. Still dirty.

With a grimace, Julia set the pipe down on the pew next to her and stood up. She wondered if this was a Catholic church. Julia knew they had those stoups by the front doors, for people to bless themselves as they walked in. The Holy Water would be the next best thing to a bathroom sink.

Better, in fact. She wouldn't feel like a sinner anymore.

Hopefully.

Julia looked on both sides of the doors. Plain as the rest of the church.

Perhaps there would be a bottle inside the altar.

Down, down, down the aisle. Halfway there, Julia suddenly remembered to turn the radio on.

Nothing. All quiet on the western front.

Julia glanced left at the open Bible on the pedestal before scooting behind the receptacle and kneeling down.

There was nothing inside. Cobwebs and collected dust.

How long had it been since anyone had been inside this church?

As Julia squinted into the shadow of the compartment, she caught the faintest gleam twinkling from inside; she duly turned on her flashlight.

Someone had practically carved into the inside of the altar with a pen. The letters were ill-formed and loose. As if someone was writing for the first time.

Or with the wrong hand.

Julia leaned in closer, thinking vaguely of Marcus's note. That had been what she was coming for at first, wasn't it?

Before she'd encountered that thing.

It took a minute or two for her to decipher the scrawling nonsense. She was almost impressed that he'd been able to etch it out in the first place.

_CLOCK_

_HURTING BAD_

_BAD THINGS AMOK_

_OUT TO GET ME_

_GOING TO BELLS_

_FOLLOW PLEASE_

_BE SAFE_

_PRAISE GOD_

Julia turned off the flashlight, rose to her feet, and scanned the room intently. There was one door to the side of the entrance, but even from the altar she could see the planks criss-crossing over its frame. Directly to her right, however, was yet another door. She hadn't noticed it at all coming in. The door even had a starkly yellow piece of paper blatantly posted on its façade. Julia shuffled out from behind the altar and ventured over, noting distantly that she ought to retrieve that pipe from the pew if she meant to move on.

This notice was not the work of Marcus, remarkably; it was a clean document on a fresh piece of printer paper, likely typed out and posted for the congregation's benefit, but that idea clashed with the ancient, abandoned feeling of the building.

_ATTENTION_

_The priests' quarters on the second floor have been sealed off during reconstruction and have been temporarily relocated to the basement. Brothers and sisters must not attempt to access the bell chamber or the belfry. An infestation of bats has been reported. Services shall continue as planned. May God bless you all with Her Eternal Flame._

Julia put her finger underneath the "Her" and held it there for some time. She could not recall, in all her life, ever hearing Christians referring to God in the feminine form. Except for Marcus's note, that was.

Maybe it was a new-wave religion. A feminist reinterpretation. Julia could appreciate that sentiment.

But Marcus's fanatical words were still swimming in her head. He was an... unhinged individual, from what she could gather.

It would be best to proceed with caution.

Walking back to reluctantly retrieve her pipe, Julia strove to find some sort of emotion to truly express. There had to be something underneath the stupor. Right? Something Julia, something human.

Nothing. She wasn't even nervous about Marcus as she had been reading his letter; getting her weapon felt more like force of habit than actual self-concern.

Besides, what would she do once they met? If he was to be found in the Balkan Church, at least.

She'd killed a living thing. Its blood, its real blood, was on her hands. Julia had never seen herself as a violent person.

Who was to say she wouldn't do the same exact thing all over again? Beat Marcus

_**NOEDDIENO**_

to a bloody pulp?

The pipe had dripped heavily onto the pew, splashing the wood with a dark red that was becoming near-brown. This should have made Julia gag.

She just picked up her weapon and made her way back to the door.

* * *

Julia glared up into the darkness at the top of the stairwell, listening closely for any sign of movement.

Not a flutter. Not a shriek. Not a moan. Not a creak.

There were doors peppering the bottom floor of the stairwell, likely closets and pantries, but Julia wasn't going to bother searching through them just yet. Opening and closing doors, rummaging around: all of those made considerable noise, and she didn't want to alert Marcus if he was still around.

No more being sneaked up on. No more being startled. Julia would be in charge this time. She knew he was headed for the bells the last time he'd been able to write anything down; she'd either find him on the way there, or at the top of the chapel. And she'd be ready.

Ready for what?

Julia set her right foot lightly onto the first wooden step of the stairwell and found it to be surprisingly sturdy. Julia stepped up fully, willing her weight to be bearable for the foundation.

There was barely even a squeak. These had to be newer. A finished part of the remodeling, she supposed. In fact, there wasn't any dust in this part of the church.

Julia would still tread softly as she ascended. She didn't care to fuck it up and announce her presence before she intended to.

Up, up, up the flight.

The stairwell spiraled upward onto the poorly lit second floor. All Julia could really see were the heavy sheets of plastic duct-taped to the walls, bleeding onto the ground. She thought less of remodeling and more of a crime scene. Julia didn't even care to try to investigate the priests' quarters; she knew they'd be completely empty.

Onward.

The third floor was pitch-black, save for a dim beam of light falling down from a square-shaped crack in the ceiling. Julia turned her flashlight back on for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

Ropes. Lots and lots of ropes. Jaundiced with age. Criss-crossing, looping, dangling. Many were frayed, torn in certain segments. Some even ended in nooses.

This had to be the bell chamber. The bat-infested one, she recalled. Julia shined the flashlight in a steady circle, surveying for amorphous black blobs suspended from the ceiling. She found, to her understated relief, nothing. Julia stepped off the stairs and further into the room, just able to distinguish the rickety ladder set up amongst the intertwining braids. It led straight up to the faint light. Likely a trapdoor to the belfry. Julia only took a few more steps into the void before her boots squished. She could feel something chunky underneath her feet.

Something meaty.

She hadn't illuminated the floor yet. She hadn't looked down at the goddamn ground before she walked into the darkness.

A queasy twinge pulsed in Julia's stomach. It was the first thing she'd felt besides the dull throb of her headache since confronting the tumor.

Julia didn't want to look.

She didn't have to.

But despite her numbness, a morbid curiosity took hold. Julia watched herself as she bent down to scrutinize what lay below.

The thin membrane of outspread wings were the most intact pieces strewn about, when it came down to it. Julia was even able to offhandedly recognize the occasional snout or beady eyeball. But for the most part, the bats had been eviscerated; torn apart into tiny bits, even. They coated the floor in swathes, a gruesome mixture of thick meat, grey fur, and splattered blood.

The pipe, on a second viewing, had not been able to faze her.

This did.

Julia bounded the meager distance to the ladder and leapt up onto the first rung she could grasp. Her boots were off the ground. She was still gagging. There wasn't anything left, of course, but the heaving didn't really care if there was. Julia bit down and fought back the retching.

Had it been a monster?

Or could it have been Marcus?

Julia, still clinging to the ladder, realized that she could now hear the soft murmur of a man singing. It came from above, drifting down like a snowflake. She wondered if he'd been at it the whole time or if he'd just started and decided that neither mattered. This had to be Marcus. And Julia had a feeling he didn't know she was waiting below. With one hand to pull her and the other clenched around the width of the pipe, Julia began to climb.

Coming closer and closer to the trapdoor, Julia started to recognize the tune that presumably Marcus was singing. When she was nearly three quarters of the way there, she could even hear the words.

"_London Bridge is falling down,_

_Falling down, falling down._

_London Bridge is falling down._

_My fair lady._

_Built it up with wood and clay,_

_Wood and clay, wood and clay._

_Built it up with wood and clay._

_My fair lady._

_Wood and clay will wash away,_

_Wash away, wash away._

_Wood and clay will wash away,_

_My fair lady."_

Julia had reached the trapdoor. She hovered underneath, listening to Marcus's nursery rhyme. He'd likely see her once she came up to the belfry; he'd most definitely hear her opening the hatch. She could only capitalize on the element of surprise if she moved swiftly. Julia steeled herself for whatever that would entail.

The hatch door burst open and Julia was on the belfry within seconds. Pipe held out threateningly, she spun around in an erratic circle.

She froze when she saw him.

Julia had envisioned Marcus as a kind of Charles Manson clone, wild-eyed and unkempt and obviously insane. This was an erroneous image. His close-cropped sandy hair and clean-shaven face betrayed no mental abnormality. His flannel shirt, red and black, was fairly standard; his khaki slacks were well-ironed, drooping down to a nondescript pair of black slip-ons. For all intents and purposes, Marcus would have appeared as a normal member of society, if not for the black stump at the end of his right arm and the gaping socket where his right eyeball should have been.

That, at least, confirmed his identity.

Marcus and Julia were staring at each other intently, but he had not yet broken from his song. In fact, as Julia stood perfectly still, it dawned on her that he didn't even seem to notice her in the first place. He was crouched down in a corner where the railings of the belfry met, rocking back and forth against the wooden pillar. Marcus was smacking himself on the side of the head in rhythm with the chanting. He remained perfectly expressionless. His left hand, his only hand, was wrapped in a stained latex glove.

From the look of it, dried blood.

Julia chanced repositioning herself so that she could fully face toward Marcus; he didn't so much as twitch.

The pipe dangled loosely in her hand.

Julia didn't know how to proceed.

She couldn't just attack this man. He wasn't threatening her.

At least, at the moment.

Julia could feel the words beginning to form in her mouth. She wasn't sure if she wanted to engage Marcus.

No. That was a lie. She _knew_ she didn't want to talk to this psychopath. And yet, he was the first human being Julia had actually seen since she woke up, lost and alone in her car. It was almost as if she needed to make sure Marcus was real.

It took two or three tries, but she was able to force the name out beyond her lips.

"...Marcus?"

He froze, as she had not a minute before. His one-eyed gaze was still distant and unfocused, but Marcus had definitely heard her.

"Marcus Herr."

A spark of attention came to his lone brown eye. He was looking at her, not through her.

Silence. His hand was still positioned against his temple, paused mid-smack.

Marcus did not speak for quite some time. Julia couldn't even begin to guess how long she stood there, waiting for him to respond, but when his lips began to flutter, all the words came rushing out of Marcus in quick succession.

"Are you one of them? Are you an angel of God? Are you Her divine servant, compelled to appear in this realm?"

Julia's breath caught in her chest. She wasn't sure what she should say.

Marcus was fanatically religious, wasn't he? She could play into that. To stay safe. To get those keys.

"...Yes. Yes I am, Marcus." Julia tried to sound sure of herself.

His head tilted to the side, resting on his open palm. He spoke again, once more in rapid-fire speech.

"A great servitude is a great fortune. _No_. A great fortune is a great servitude. But fortune favors the bold. Or does it help those who help themselves? But how can we help ourselves if God cannot hear our plebeian pleas? How do we find Paradise if we cannot speak to God, angel? _How?_"

Marcus had not even made a motion to stand up, but Julia was inclined to step back. He was spitting words at her. Thoughts. She said nothing. He continued.

"These _heathens_. They must have killed God. Her Eternal Flame has been extinguished. And what am I without my grace? Without an absolver for my sins, my damned curiosities? What **wretch** am I, forced to wander an Earth void of salvation?"

Marcus was beginning to cry, although his face was still devoid of emotion. Julia noted blankly that his exposed socket was dripping tears mixed with blood.

"You have abandoned us, angel. You have abandoned _me_. Now the dogs won't stop **barking**. Now the clocks won't stop **ticking**. Now the bells won't stop ringing and ringing and ringing _and ringing and ringing and ringing_. Can't you hear the choir girls laughing at me from the balcony? Can't you hear the **DAMN BATS SQUEAKING IN THE BELFRY**?"

Marcus clutched the railing and hoisted himself up. Julia skittered backwards and pointed the pipe in his direction. He looked down at it and cocked his head to the opposite side.

"You carry a Sword of Obedience, noble one? You battle your own kind?"

Julia couldn't reply. She was too frightened of saying the wrong thing and accidentally provoking him.

Marcus's head swerved suddenly to his right, as if someone had called his name. He began to rhythmically beat his temple once more.

"NO mother I WON'T _I WON'T_."

His head swerved to the left.

"Keep the demons to yourself, Lisa. Keep the heathens and their ways to yourself. I won't _listen_ to you anymore, you see? I talk only to Clock now, he knows the way. _**Don't be so capricious, then**_. We've had enough of your nonsense. Sense and sensibility. No no _no do NOT distract me! _I AM ON A **PILGRIMAGE**! I MUST BE **CLEAN**!"

Marcus was staring upwards now; still crying, still thumping. His shouting echoed with a gravelly roar.

"I OFFERED MY HAND FOR YOU! MY EYE! I _GAVE_, GOD! I REPENTED! **WHY DO YOU SPEAK TO ME NO MORE**?!"

Julia's heart was beating fast. She didn't dare move in fear of reminding him that she was present.

He remembered anyway. His tear-brimmed eye settled on her, charged with hopeless desperation, and he fell to his knees before her with a heavy thud. As Marcus spoke, groveling, she could hear the actual inflection of unbelievable sadness in his voice, past all the screaming rage.

"_Angel_. You are all that is left. You are the only flame that can light my way to Paradise. _What do I need to do?_ I have asked Clock and he cannot tell me, he _will not_ tell me even though I ask and ask and plead. _**How else must I repent**_?"

Marcus terrified Julia. This was her first real, expansive, human emotion since she'd beaten that tumorous being to death, and it shook her to the fucking bone. But mingled with that terror was a deep, deep pity. Here was a man with a severe mental illness: delusional; agitated; furious; weeping; hallucinating; and looking to her, _her_, for some kind of reconciliation.

She regretted playing into his fantasy. But if she was careful, maybe she could help them both.

Her voice wavered at first, so Julia cleared her throat and tried to sound at least somewhat authoritative.

"Marcus. All you need to do is hand me the keys to the control room. You've done well in your role as bridge-keeper all these years, and God appreciated the mundanity that you endured in Her name. You are not a heretic. You are saved. You don't need to make a pilgrimage."

Marcus lifted his head up to her. There was no smile on his face as Julia had expected, but he appeared to be some semblance of calm.

"As you wish," he said quietly, and dug into his pants pocket. Several different keys hung from the neon orange lanyard that emerged. Julia would have to sift through them later when the time came; she grabbed the lanyard from him, making sure not to touch the suspect latex of his glove during the exchange.

"Thank you, Marcus." Julia was trying for a soothing tone. She wanted to pacify him as much as she could. Marcus blinked rapidly and jerked his head so his neck cracked sharply.

"I killed the bats, you know. I exterminated the vermin from a place of worship. **I **cleaned up the mess. _**I **_made sure God's house was free of infestation. _Heathens_. _Rodents_. _Plagues_. They have been trying to poison me my entire life, but I have braved the onslaught. I have stared into the abyss and _did not let it stare back_. My service here is finished, then? You say I am free of my sins, most beautiful angel?"

Julia swallowed quietly and nodded.

Marcus turned his back to her and stared out into the fog. Julia could see for the first time the claw marks that had shredded through his flannel, goring his back. The cuts glistened with fresh blood. Some of the falling snow landed in his hair. He stood perfectly still. Julia could hear him taking deep breaths, inhaling with gusto. His fingers were crawling up and down the wooden pillar nonstop. It reminded Julia of a preying spider.

"It is a beautiful day," Marcus said finally. "The bells are ringing. _Cling. Clong. Cling. Clong._ I used to think the government was after me, you know. They were putting magnetic dispersers in my bedroom. In my workspace. I tried looking for them, but they were crafty heathens. They knew when I'd be searching. I decided to ignore them for a long while. They left me alone after a year or two. Once he wasn't so scared of being caught by the feds, Clock started to talk to me. Oh, how _happy _I was, angel. The cats had left me when I was sixteen, and the ghosts had stopped whispering in my ears by nineteen, and the aliens ceased their indoctrination techniques by the time I was twenty-three, but Clock kept me company. Even though his ticking and tocking would taunt me for my faults, he kept me in good company. He told about how you all were ringing the bells for me, to encourage me to survive and endure my lackluster life. He assured me that the heathens hadn't contaminated all of my food supplies, and that I could thrive in God's grace. And I listened. Oh, I listened. But nothing is more beautiful than hearing it come from your sweet, angelic lips, noble one."

Marcus began to bark out rough-sounding gibberish. Julia's skin was crawling.

"You see? I speak the tongue of God. She taught it to me when I was very young. She spoke to me and revealed how the aliens had cloned my father and replaced him with a fake. She taught me never to trust the irreligious, and Her guidance has always brought me so much comfort and confidence. And when She left me oh so recently, I cried for so long my tear ducts ran dry."

A gust of wind burst through the open air. Julia was startled but didn't budge. Marcus seemed unfazed, continuing his speech.

"One of the last things She told me was that this fog would bring good tidings for us all. That God had finally come to save us. And when I walked the streets and realized that I was alone in this town, I believed that She had left me behind. But then I remembered She also told me to wait for the angels to appear. To go to the church, and wait. And those dogs may have mauled me, trying to impede my pilgrimage, but the righteous prevail, and I made it, _I made it_. And you _**came**_."

Marcus's body was beginning to tremble. Julia imagined it was from some form of spiritual ecstasy.

"The bells are ringing. There are no more bats in the belfry. And I am free. Did you hear that, mother? Yes. Yes, I believe so too. Even you, Lisa. Even you. The choir girls aren't laughing much anymore. But quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

Marcus swayed backward and lurched forward, coming to a leaning rest on the railing. In spite of herself, Julia began to put a hand out for support.

"_The only other sound's the sweep/Of easy wind and downy flake._ Snow makes me think of Frost. Or perhaps Frost makes me think of snow. _The woods are lovely, dark and deep,/But I have promises to keep,/And miles to go before I sleep,/And miles to go before I sleep._"

"Marcus…" Julia said softly. He waved his hand behind his back violently, as if shooing her away.

"**Do not approach**. I am not worthy of your touch."

Julia bit her lip and stepped back.

"I thought I would have to complete my pilgrimage and come back for you to grace me with your presence. I thought those vicious dogs had made me falter before I could complete my penance and deprive me of absolution. But I see now that God is ready for me. And I must ascend."

Marcus hoisted himself onto the railing within a second. Julia watched on, wide-eyed. She couldn't move. She couldn't react. He was poised on the edge, staring down into the mist waiting below.

"The hour of departure has arrived and we go our ways; I to die, and you to live. Which is better? Only God knows."

Despite the tension of the moment, Julia recognized Marcus's words. She was thinking of college; of ancient civilizations, and philosophy. Was that Socrates? Maybe Aristotle.

For the first time since turning his unsightly back to Julia, Marcus turned to face her. He had finally broken his blank expression, replaced it with a dark and ghoulish grin. It contorted his face into that of a leering demon. Julia wanted to look away from him. She found she couldn't break eye contact.

"Exodus 10:21, Julia."

Before she could even begin to process what he said, Marcus had pushed himself off the belfry and dove into a freefall. Julia ran to the railing. She was just able to catch the silhouette of his frame being swallowed by the fog.


	6. Overdose

Overdose

* * *

Julia held tightly onto the railing. Her knees felt weak. She was concerned they would buckle.

The air was stale. Julia was sure that Marcus colliding with the ground had made a sickening thud. She didn't hear it. She didn't listen.

A lot of fucking bullshit had happened in a small amount of time for Julia Walton. This was the icing on the cake. Julia understood death as well as anyone else could. Her closest brush with the entity was when her grandfather passed on, though; she wasn't present when he died. All Julia ever saw was him laying in the coffin at the viewing. Peaceful. At rest.

Killing the tumor had rattled Julia deeply. Her numbed senses were gradually coming back. She even acknowledged, to some extent, that she was still in some form of shock. But that thing, at the very least, was still just a _thing_. Another monster.

To watch another human being commit suicide was a different ordeal altogether.

That was a man.

That was a person. Flesh and blood. Human. Terribly, terribly human.

He was disturbed, yes. Disturbing as well. But Julia had not wished him death. He was a sick man. He needed help. Therapy. Fuck, a prescription.

Julia's nails were digging into the hickory railing.

Marcus had said something to her. He'd grinned, an awful and toothy smile, and said something to _her_. Not the angel. Julia Walton. _He used her real goddamn name_.

Julia couldn't even begin to comprehend that fact. This was on the same level as "Rachel". This was on the same level as everything else going on in this godforsaken town. Hopeless confusion. Complete and utter insanity.

But what was it?

What were his last words?

Julia felt ill. Like she was balancing on a wobbling ship.

It had sounded like a Bible passage. She found that to be surprising, considering how appalled Marcus had been with himself for reading "blasphemy", but Julia knew a verse when she heard one.

What had it been? Leviticus? Chronicles? Genesis? Fuck, _Deuteronomy_? She was trying so hard to focus on what Marcus had said. Rocking back and forth and fighting back a neverending headache certainly weren't doing her any favors concentrating.

...10:21. That, at least, she could remember. It helped that Rachel's birthday was October 19th.

She could stand about and wrack her brain for specifics all day if she really wanted to, but Julia couldn't bear her constant sickness anymore. She couldn't bear reeling back from every blow Silent Hill was throwing at her and running into more trauma. She couldn't bear hanging onto a railing so she didn't fall over or faint. She couldn't bear acknowledging the horrible implications of the reality she'd woken up in. She couldn't bear the pounding in her head that just _wouldn't fucking GO AWAY_.

It was in this moment of exasperation that a phantom thought whispered in Julia's ear. She had been rendered amnesic of everything preceding her car crash. Even the car crash itself. But Julia could finally remember what she'd been thinking about, driving alone on a country road amidst all the fog.

She'd been thinking about killing herself.

Why?

She couldn't remember. She couldn't even fucking remember.

Julia peered over the railing, the last spot where Marcus Herr stood as a living man.

Couldn't see anything through the thickness. Not even a hint of the ground.

_itcouldn'thavehurttoomuch_

Julia shook her head hard and pushed away from the hickory she'd grabbed onto so desperately. Her steps were faltering, uneasy, and ultimately she fell down by the edge of the trapdoor. She'd held onto the pipe. She hadn't held onto the thought.

None of that.

None of that nonsense.

She would focus on that later. Christ, she'd have a full-blown psych evaluation when she could get one.

Her head was going to explode. Implode. Burst. Whichever. Whatever. It hurt it hurt it hurt _it fucking hurt_.

Keys.

She had the keys.

She had Marcus's lanyard. His last will and testament.

And a way to get to the hospital.

And a way to get to the drugs.

_andawaytokillyourse_

No.

Julia closed her eyes. Shut them tight. Pulled her mind together. As much as she could manage. As much as she could manage. As much as she could possibly manage.

Opening her eyes wouldn't break the spell, of course. Nothing would stop a head trauma headache, except for Julia's friend acetaminophen. He and his many relatives were waiting for her on the other side of the bridge. She could get over that bridge. She had the means. All she had to do. Was get up off the floor. And fucking. Start. _Moving_.

She could do it.

She could do it.

Down the ladder.

Past the remains of the bat infestation.

Down the many stairs.

Out the door.

Down the aisle.

Out the church doors.

Past the

_**EDDIE**_

tumor.

Down the street.

Up the not so many stairs.

Round the corner.

Through the door.

Key. Machine.

Bridge goes down.

And she'd be free. She'd be able to go where she liked. She'd be able to get herself nice and fucked up. Maybe even barred out, if she could find some Xanax.

Julia squirmed slowly into a kneeling position and dipped her foot into the black hole. She found a rung of the ladder. She gripped the edge of the floorboards with one hand and lowered herself far enough down to safely swing her weight against the ladder's nominal support. She was still hanging onto the fucking pipe. It was becoming an extension of her arm, she felt.

_maybesyououghttobashyourselfovertheheadwithitandbedonewithallthispainfulbusiness_

_NO_.

Julia grit her teeth and descended into the bell chamber.

In her panic, Julia had never actually turned off her clip-on flashlight during her fatal encounter with Marcus. The ray of light split through the darkness once more, fractured only by the scaling ribs of the ladder as Julia worked her way down.

Bottom of the ladder.

What had once been bat country lay in tattered pieces below.

It had broken her catatonia before. She didn't really think about it now. It wouldn't have done anything for her to do so. Just more shit to clog up her thoughts.

Julia put her foot on the ground. Through the rubber sole of her boot, she felt nothing but the floor. Julia squinted and turned to illuminate the path she would be taking through the mutilated remains.

There was nothing.

The way was clear.

The floorboards were spotless. Not a speck of flesh.

Julia shut her eyes tightly once more and fought away all of the conclusions her troubled mind was trying to come to.

_youimaginedityouimaginedityouimagin_

...There were very, very strange things happening in this town. Best to leave it at that and head for the hospital. Think no more of the impossible.

Not that reality here seemed to really care about what was and wasn't possible.

Taking the stairs down from the top was a different issue for Julia than her previous ascent. She did not care about being hidden. She cared about tripping on her unstable feet and seriously hurting herself. A tumble down a spiral staircase might spell out serious injury.

_ordeathyoucoulddieyoucouldjustdieifyouwantedto_

One step. A stagger. A grimace. It would have to be a slow process, spent clutching the bannister for support.

All she had to do was think about the prize waiting for her at the end.

All she had to do was think about painkillers and sweet relief.

_allyouhavetodoisdieeallyouhavetodoisdieallyouhavetodoisdie_

* * *

She couldn't say how long it took her to reach the first floor. It truly was a painstaking procedure. Julia imagined this was what it was like; to be old and frail, teetering and tottering at the top of a mundane death trap.

America, Julia had realized once upon a time, is the land of random facts and statistics. She thought now of the claim that one in three senior citizens suffers a fall every year.

She didn't want to be helpless like that.

She didn't want to be so weak.

Perhaps before Julia had considered exploring the pantries; she passed by them without so much as a glance. She had no patience for taking a detour. She had a bridge to cross. No bullshit.

The main chapel was the same as she had left it. Pews were perfect for support. Julia had also taken to leaning against her pipe as a makeshift cane. She was finding her feet, so to speak.

Could she run if she had to?

Possibly.

Probably.

Julia paused for a moment to turn on the radio. She recognized she couldn't stay so fickle with it. That radio, for whatever reason, could alert her to a monster's presence. It was very important to have it up and running. It would mean the difference between her finally getting medication or being killed.

_letthemkillletthemletitallgoletthemlettthemkillyou_

The airwaves were calm. Julia could assume nothing was waiting for her on the other side of the doors. She was getting closer and closer to the end of the aisle.

She knew she would have to walk by the tumor's corpse. The fog wasn't thick enough to hide it from plain sight. Julia would be forced to see her handiwork for a second time. It revolted her just to think about it. The only small consolation, if morbid, was that Marcus had jumped off the other side of the church. Wherever his body had landed, she would not have to encounter it.

Julia was at a dangerous point already. She couldn't handle seeing that. Not now. Not like this.

Her free hand, resting against the burnt sepia of the oak doors, reminded Julia that she had never found the opportunity to wash herself off. The blood specks were dry by now. If she didn't think about it, she could even mistake them for chocolate stains.

If only she could actually fool herself into believing that.

A gentle push and Julia was back out in the open once more. She guided the door softly back into place. Julia didn't like the idea of a monster wandering its way into the chapel. It was a preserved place, and at least deserving of some sanctity.

Julia circled back to face the street hesitantly. The tumor would be waiting there. A mush of tumors scraped against the pavement. A reminder of her own violence.

In some respect, she was expecting what she saw.

For the most part, she was just too fucked up already to react.

The tumor's remains, much like those of the mutilated bats, were gone. Vanished. In stark contrast to the complete disappearance of the bell chamber bats, a dark red blotch still marred the asphalt as an indication that the assault had actually taken place.

There was no way in hell that thing had survived and dragged itself away. She could see plainly there was no trail leading away from the spot. Julia's best guess was that something had eaten it while she was in the church.

Quite the comforting thought.

Leaning on the pipe allowed Julia the privilege of walking briskly away from where the corpse should have been. Her balance was coming back stronger. Given a minute or two, she knew she would be able to trust herself again.

_noyoucan'tdumbbitchyou'recrazyyou'reinsanejustfuckingkillyourselfalready_

Julia peered over at the "Hell" gas station as she hobbled her way down Bloch St. She'd written it off as merely dirty on a first viewing; looking now, she realized it was _moldy_.

Not important. That wasn't important. Speculating about that wasn't important. Julia was going to get to that bridge control. No distractions.

Passing over the bridge reminded Julia of "Rachel". She was almost surprised the impostor hadn't shown up already to taunt her in her damaged state.

Julia held no illusions about how much of a wreck she was.

Up the steel steps. Last time she'd gone up these, she was running for her life from the chained monsters. Nearly threw herself over the edge trying to get away.

_doitnowyougutlessshitthrowyourselfoffthebridge_

All the blinds were still drawn. Really, nothing could have seen her from outside when she was hiding. Julia supposed that made her feel better.

No.

No it didn't.

Julia took the time once more to shut the door behind her upon entry. She wasn't in the mood for something to wander in after her.

She wasn't sure if she could handle that, feeling like this.

Seeing the desk reminded Julia of Marcus's disembodied hand. What a nasty shock that had been. She could only wonder what his psychopathic reasoning was for such a placement. She could also only wonder where he'd left his gouged-out eye for another scared and unwitting son of a bitch to find.

Somewhere unpleasant, for sure.

The drawbridge machine held many different buttons and levers and lights. It appeared Marcus, if not one of his predecessors, had meticulously labelled every single component and its various functions. Julia should have been relieved by this bit of good fortune.

She just felt… tired.

Pulling out the lanyard from her pocket, Julia stopped to consider it for a moment. It wasn't remarkable in the least, in all honesty, but the neon orange stood out. Every single thing around Silent Hill appeared to be masked in a film of mist and grime and dust. Marcus's keys stood out like a flame.

He frightened her, admittedly. The thought of Marcus and his psychosis still put Julia on edge. But she would keep this memento anyway.

She wouldn't let him be forgotten.

A quick turn of the key and the machine was humming with life. This was good fortune as well, honestly. Julia could tell most things in this shitty town were some variance of broken or malfunctioning.

But of course, that didn't matter. All she had to do was press the switch, and she'd have her way to the promise of medication.

The bridge began to lower almost immediately after Julia drew her finger back. It wasn't as loud coming down as she expected, but the thought of every monstrosity in the area hearing it and being drawn to her by proxy made Julia very nervous. She ripped the lanyard out of the machine as soon as the drawbridge locked in place, stuffed it back into her pocket, and sped out the door. No bothering with closing it this time around. Julia wouldn't be coming back.

Her pipe was no longer a crutch; Julia could pull off a spry jog, although she would refrain from actually running until the situation called for it.

Julia was already halfway over the bridge. She was paying close attention to the radio, waiting for a warning hiss to crackle on the airwave. She also scanned the pavement for potholes. She didn't want to go through all this work just to break her ankle.

This was how she came upon her second instance of graffiti in Silent Hill. It was white spray paint, and a rather neatly written font, and arranged in the ascending style of a "TURN LEFT HERE" pavement marking. As Julia trotted over the bridge, she read the text accordingly.

HE

THRUSTS

HIS

FISTS

AGAINST

THE

POSTS

AND

STILL

INSISTS

HE

SEES

THE

GHOSTS

She knew that from somewhere. It was a tongue-twister, or a speech therapy phrase, or something like that. Maybe even from a book she'd read a long time ago. Julia only recognized its focus on consonance from years and years of paying attention in English class.

It was curious, yes. But not worthy of much attention.

The word "GHOSTS" ended right where the bridge filtered out onto the other side of the water. She was across now. _She was across_.

A quick survey of her surroundings: fog, a stripped and rusted Jeep, and no monsters. Julia sat on the stone wall and pulled the map out for consultation.

Bloch St. ran east across the bridge and filtered into Sagan St., which she was currently facing. The police station was directly to her left, just on the corner.

Should she go there? Silent Hill was largely abandoned, but police were always in contact with neighboring towns; it wasn't unthinkable that she would find a way to call for help.

A severe twinge of pain shot through her brain in response. Julia rubbed her temple furiously and grit her teeth. She was seeing stars.

No. The police station could wait. She needed painkillers **immediately**.

Crichton St. intersected Sagan, running north to south, which would lead her to a left turn onto Koontz St. Koontz St., wonderful Koontz St., had not only Alchemilla Hospital waiting for her, but also Green Pharmacy on the corner of Koontz and Canyon. _Two_. She had _two_ opportunities to finally find some fucking aspirin and fight back all this agony.

_orgetaneedlestickitinyoureyedieyouuglybitchdie_

Alchemilla was her first choice. Closer, bigger, and probably more reliable. And after she got her drugs… well, Julia hadn't planned that far yet, but she'd think of something. Maybe she'd take that detour in the police station, if she could get in. She was going to get out of Silent Hill, one way or another. Julia would get the fuck out of Dodge, away from madmen and monsters.

* * *

Julia stood by the wrought iron gate that led into the hospital's reception area. She peered through the bars at Alchemilla. It was a massive building for a small town like this at three stories high. The walls were ashen, much like everything else. They practically blended in with the fog. Only the hospital's sign stood out, a pinkish red "ALCHEMILLA HOSPITAL" punctuated by a red cross.

She had to get in.

The problem was, an ambulance had crashed into the gate from the inside, and a Chevy Impala had done the same from the outside. Both were substantially wrecked. The crumpled metal she would have to climb over looked dangerous.

The bigger problem was that Julia was afraid to move from this spot.

Coming down Crichton had been easy and quick. No interruptions, no distractions, no bullshit. But when she had assessed the damage and concluded that she should pass Alchemilla for a likely easier entry into Green Pharmacy and had even begun to walk down the street, the radio started to softly crack.

Something was waiting down Koontz St. She didn't care to find out what. She didn't care to

_EDDIENOPLEASE_

confront it.

The cement walls surrounding the grounds were not terribly high, but Julia wasn't sure if she was strong enough to pull herself over. If she tried, she would have to throw her pipe over first, and Julia despised the mere thought of disarming herself when she _knew_ there was a monster present. Part of her wanted to make a perimeter around Alchemilla and see if there was, by some chance, a broken part of the wall she could crawl through to get in.

Too risky. Too imaginative. She could only work with what she could see from where she stood.

The radio's hum was getting stronger. Julia's heartbeat was rising. She was listening for chains, for gurgling.

She couldn't be here. She couldn't be on this side of the wall.

The cars were too hazardous. She would fall and cut herself badly.

_doityoucuntcutyourselfbleedfuckingbleed_

Going over the wall was her ticket.

Julia didn't waste time contemplating; she winged the pipe over the wall's height and heard it clank against the ground on the other side.

Something else did too.

It was an animal, for sure, but Julia had never heard anything like this before. A dog's growl; a crocodile's hiss; a lion's snarl; it even sounded like creaking wood. Its echo came from down the street, in the direction of the pharmacy.

She wanted no part of it.

_stayletitgetyouletitkillyoustaystay_

Julia grabbed the rough edge above her head and tried to hoist herself up. If she hadn't been through so much shock, Julia was sure she would've been able to boost over the wall on the first try. It didn't help the stone was too smooth to provide much of a foothold. Her attempt was fruitless. The exertion had added a new surge of pain to her headache, as well.

The radio was getting louder.

So was the animal.

She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to see this abomination.

Julia tried for a second time. She was able to get her chest up to level, but her wrists couldn't handle the strain and Julia fell back onto the sidewalk. She was on her feet in seconds. Adrenaline was pumping.

She was frightened.

The fog was too thick down Koontz for her to see anything coming. That was terrifying. That was fucking terrifying.

_you'llnevermakeitoverletitkillyoudumbbitchletitkillyou_

A third attempt. Julia was able to pull up to her waist this time. She tried to pivot and swing her leg around the ledge but her boot slipped on the edge and her body swung back down to the ground. Her heart was racing. Her skin was crawling.

The animal was panting now as well. She couldn't hear it running, but she knew it had to be closing in. She wasn't going to waste time looking for it. The radio was practically screaming at her, hissing and popping. She had to get over _**now**_.

Julia was reminded of when the chained monster had grabbed her and tried to pull her into its clutches. She'd fought for her life then, and she'd fight for her life now. With adrenaline buzzing through her body and her heart ready to explode out of her chest, Julia grabbed hold of the top of the wall for the fourth time and sprang upward with all the strength in her toned legs, pushing down with her hands for greater velocity. She propelled herself up much farther than she thought she could; in fact, Julia realized midair she was close to vaulting the wall in its entirety. She was still short, though, and only managed to land awkwardly on the ledge, her left leg still dangling behind. It was rough. Her bones were rattled, especially her hips. She'd care about that later. Julia knew if she rolled over, she would fall into the hospital's courtyard and be safe.

As she turned her head in the midst of swinging her entire body over, Julia caught a glimpse of the quadruped shadow sprinting in her direction. It was vague, too fuzzy to make out a real form, but Julia could see its eyes, shining like diamonds in stark contrast to the smoky mist. They were blood red. Intense. And staring right at her.

Then the eyes were gone. She was spinning through the air. Sky and hospital and ground and wall came tumbling at her from all directions. She hadn't seen what lay on the other side, what she would be landing on. It was sheer dumb luck there was a thin patch of grass waiting for her. Still, it wasn't exactly a comfy mattress, and Julia couldn't stop her tumble from bringing her to a rocky halt on the asphalt.

She didn't need to look to know that her bared arms would now be scraped up. It was a small sacrifice. She'd protected her head from any trauma during the fall and the roll; that was more important.

Most important of all, she was alive.

_youshould'vediedgobackandletikillyouletiteatyou_

Julia wasn't going to lie around and tempt fate, though. She didn't know how high this son of a bitch could jump. If he could leap over the wall, she was still fucked. Julia lifted her head up and looked around quickly for her pipe.

It had rolled in the direction of the front doors. Julia hopped onto her feet and snatched the pipe off the ground as she darted toward the entrance. The double doors looked sturdy, if old. Julia hoped there would be a deadbolt for her to use from the inside.

_thereisn'tit'llburstthroughthere'snopoint_

_**No**_. There _**was **_a point. She was going to get that fucking medicine and then get out of this fucking town.

Julia flung one door open, ran in, and slammed it back shut. There was a door latch. It looked ancient, but it would do. Julia thrust it into position and spun around. She was in a green marble waiting room. There were two long and firm-looking coffee tables set up, along with a leather couch in the corner. The corner couch would take too much time and effort to move. Coffee tables were her best bet.

The hormones were still rippling through Julia's system. She dragged the first table over in a manner of seconds and slid it horizontally against the entrance. The second table was just as easy of a feat relocating. Julia propped it on top of the first table and took a minute to bash off the second table's back legs with her pipe; this was so she could prop the other end of the table against the doorknobs at an angle and restrict brute force. It was a makeshift, piece-of-shit barricade, and the radio might have been petering out, but Julia wasn't taking chances. Nothing was following her in.

Julia stood back at the other end of the room. She held the pipe tightly and watched the front doors.

The radio's hiss was barely a whisper.

Nothing. Nothing approached the door. She couldn't hear the animal from the waiting room.

All was silent once more. Julia could finally notice the loud drum of pumping blood in her ears.

She was… tired. Very tired. And strung out. And distressed. And a little crazy. But alive. Very alive.

_don'tgetusedtoitbitchkillyourselffuckingkillyourself_

Yes. A little crazy.

The leather couch wasn't suspect, as she had expected. In fact, it looked pretty comfy and clean. Julia collapsed on the cushion and tilted her head back to rest.

She hadn't sat down in a while.

It was best she took a minute to recuperate.

_thereisnosuchthingthereisnohelpjustdiefuckingdiegoddamnit_

* * *

Julia did not sleep. She was exhausted, yes, but she was also paranoid. It would be stupid to assume the hospital was safe enough for that.

Sitting down allowed the adrenaline to fade away. Her heart's rapidfire drumbeat slowed back into its natural rhythm. The padding of the couch was even comfortable enough to draw out a knot that had been forming unnoticed in Julia's back.

She was still stressed. Just less so now.

Her mind was coming back. She hadn't lost it, but she'd been in a very odd state. Julia didn't like to think about it. It was as if someone else had been in there, whispering horrible things in her ear.

No more of that.

No more bad thoughts.

Julia's eyes drifted over the lobby. The hospital still had that abandoned atmosphere everything else in town possessed, but the floor tiles were shiny and the room appeared more or less clean. An L-shaped counter separated the waiting room from a single door; the word "INFORMATION" plastered on the wall told Julia this was the receptionist's desk, although the office chair and the bulky Dell computer were also prime indicators. To the right and down the hallway, she could see two more doors. There were plenty of corny health awareness posters, and even two payphones. Julia couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a payphone.

Julia doubted any truly helpful drugs would be in this section of Alchemilla. Garden variety. First aid kits. And yet, Julia's tumble across the asphalt had scraped up her arms a fair amount. She wouldn't mind an equally fair dose of Neosporin and bandages.

Her boots squeaked as Julia stood up. It sounded like it echoed through the entire building. Everything was so deathly quiet around here. When there wasn't a monster around, Julia almost believed she was the last living thing on Earth.

For all intents and purposes, she might as well be.

How could she know this hadn't spread? How could she know she wasn't living in a world where this insanity was happening everywhere?

Julia had kept her stupid useless phone. She wished she could call somebody.

But she couldn't. Julia only had herself to rely on.

On the left-hand side of the hallway past the receptionist's desk was the first door Julia attempted to open. She could turn the knob and even budge a tiny crack, but something large and heavy was obstructing the door, and Julia couldn't push through. She went back around to the receptionist's desk and hurdled it in order to reach the second door. This one was simply locked.

Julia leapt back out into the waiting room and strolled down to the end of the hallway. Here was a set of double doors: she would've peeked through the tiny windows to see what waited beyond, but they were smudged opaque. Julia rested her hand gently against the wood and slowly pushed. These, thankfully, were unlocked. She was led into a much smaller room. To her left and around the corner was yet another set of double doors; to her right were the beginning steps of a stairwell; directly in front of her, two side-by-side doors indicated that one was for men and the other for women.

Bathrooms.

_Sinks_.

Julia shouldered her way into the women's lavatory and stumbled over to the white porcelain sink. The bathroom wasn't nearly as tidy as she would've liked, but Julia grabbed the faucet knob anyway and cranked.

Water sputtered out instantaneously, sparkly and clear. That was more than she could've asked for. That was _way_ more than she could've asked for. Her pipe dropped down onto the floor, forgotten. Julia smiled, a gleeful grin, and began to rub her hands vigorously in the water.

Washing off the blood made Julia indescribably happy. Her hands were clean. Her hands were _spotless_. They wouldn't be constantly reminding her how she'd

_IEEDDIEEDDIEEDDIEEDD_

killed something.

Julia cupped her fresh, untarnished hands together and gathered enough water to splash her face. It was cool. Refreshing. Calming, even. Julia used the bottom of her button-down to wipe her eyes and splashed her face a second time, reveling in the sensation. This felt real. This felt normal.

Wiping her eyes a second time, Julia paused for a moment to look at herself in the mirror.

Her smile faded almost instantly.

The water had felt wonderful and had probably rinsed off most of the bloody speckles on her face, but there were still many peppered around the edges of her temples and on her neck. They would've looked like oddly bright freckles from far away, especially compared to the real freckles on her cheekbones. Her eyes were bloodshot. They bored out from underneath her brow, accentuated by the bags of tired skin hanging below. Even the ghost of her mascara marred her cheeks. It was a wild, messy, depraved look. It was not something Julia was used to seeing on her own face.

Her thick brown hair was only mildly unkempt as far as styling went, but Julia could see spots where dried blood had matted the strands together. There were particles of dust and bits of rubble ensnared in the tangle of her hair as well.

Julia touched her reflection, watching her mirrored hand mimic the movement. This was real. This was her.

She looked psychotic.

On a normal day in her normal life and in a normal setting, she would've thought this was funny. Here, now, it upset Julia.

She looked like Marcus. She had that same dull, spaced-out expression. She was miles and miles away.

The more she stared at herself, the more Julia was thinking about Marcus Herr and his disembodied hand and his absurd letter and the carvings and the decimated bats and his eerie singing and his bloody stump and his empty eye socket and his gored back and his ghoulish grin and his slapping hand and his flapping mouth and his nonsensical tirade and his freefall off the church and his final statement, his pre-mortem message, his devil's secret.

"_Exodus 10:21, Julia_." And then he was gone. That was all. Nothing but death.

Julia tore her eyes away from the mirror and fumbled picking up her pipe.

She had met Marcus only once.

He was petrifying.

Pitiful.

And highly devastating.

Perhaps it was a good thing she'd remembered his words. It probably wasn't. When she would next encounter a Bible, she'd duly look up the passage he had selected. She was nervous about what it would say. And yet, she was nervous about everything else in the first place. It wouldn't make much of a difference.

_nothingmakesadifferencekillyourselfyouhorriblebitch_

Oh no.

Not again.

Julia's tongue was dry. Her headache had subsided previously. It was coming back. Full force. She wouldn't drink from the faucet as she had intended. She shut it off and walked back out into the small corner room. The double doors to her right wouldn't open. Stairs were her only option. Always stairs. Always stairs.

_stairsalwaysstairsalwaysstairsalwaysstairsalwaysstairsalways_

The second floor looked the same as the first. The rich walnut double doors were twins of the two sets downstairs. Julia was sure they'd be the same on the third floor as well.

_sameeverything'sthesameeverything'sthesame_

Unlocked. Julia shoved them open. A normal hospital corridor. More bathrooms on the right.

_goinlookatyourselflookatwhatacrazybitchyouare_

More double doors in front. Longer hallway down the left. One door on right-hand side. Bout three or four on the nearest side. Julia ignored the bathrooms and joggled the double doors.

Nothing.

The lone door on the right-hand side.

Nothing.

There were four doors on the left she could see now. They had numbers. Room 201 was right next to the stairwell. Start there.

Nothing.

_you'llnevergetyourdrugsyou'llnevergetrelief_

Julia's head was pounding. Someone was jackhammering her skull. Someone was beating her over the head with a hammer again and again and again.

Room 202 wouldn't budge either. Julia kicked it hard and bustled down to the next door.

Room 203 was closed, inaccessible, impassible. Julia slammed her fist against the wood. She was breathing fast.

204 had to be open. 204 had to be open. 204 had to be open. Upstairs if not. Upstairs if not.

Cold metal in her hand. Twisting knob. The warning creak of a squeaky door hinge.

It was open.

Inside. Three beds on either side. Stripped bare, stripped clean. Dirty mattresses. Stains. Piss stains. Not her problem. Not her solution. IVs, standing in corners. Empty. Staring at her.

No, they weren't. They were inanimate objects. Her head hurt a lot and she wanted painkillers. She needed to calm down. She needed to breathe.

_chokebitchchokebitchchokebitchchokebitchchoke_

A window on the other end. Broken panes. No drawers. No cabinets. There was nothing in here for her. No point in looking underneath beds. Upstairs. She had to go upstairs.

Back into the hallway. Julia's boots thudded against the floor. Her pipe was swinging back and forth like a metronome. Through the millionth set of double doors. Up the stairs. Up up up the stairs.

Third floor was a carbon copy. Julia's eyes were spinning. The stars had come back.

Calm down. Calm down. She needed to calm down. Calm down.

_fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoudiebitchdie_

_Calm down_.

Through the first set of double doors. Much of the same. Bathrooms. Second set of double doors. Hallway to the left. Four doors on the nearest side, one door on the far side.

No bathrooms. Julia didn't want to see another mirror. She couldn't look at herself. She couldn't see how insane she looked. It was tearing her head apart. Electricity was shooting through her brain. This was pain. This was real fucking pain.

Julia ran down the corridor to her left and tried all four of the doors, Rooms 301 to 304. Nothing. Nothing at all. All locked. All broken.

The lone door was no different.

Everything around here was locked.

_Everything around here was locked_.

Where the fuck was Julia supposed to get her drugs? Where the fuck was Julia supposed to get her relief?

Julia kicked the second set of doors violently. They swung back against the walls with a loud bang. If anything was in here with her, it would've heard her by now. Julia didn't care. She should've. But she didn't.

Two doors on either side of Julia right as she walked in. Neither would budge. She went around the corner. Another hallway. Three doors, Rooms 305 to 307. Reflections of their cousins. Locked. Constantly fucking locked.

Julia stormed down the hallway past every sealed entry and savagely shoved the third set of double doors. They gave way into a small square of a room which led to a brass elevator.

This would be the last dead end. This would be the final straw. Julia gritted her teeth and punched the call button. She anticipated the silence, the lack of mechanical motion, the unbearable frustration.

Instead, she heard metallic groans. Squeaking noises, of machinery long out of use.

The elevator was coming up.

It wasn't terribly fast. Julia half expected the doors wouldn't slide open when it docked on the third floor. But they did. Oh, they did.

Green marble to match the waiting room. The smell of decay. A discarded newspaper, crumpled in the corner. Not any of Julia's concern. The doors slid shut and Julia evaluated her options.

Second floor?

First floor?

Basement?

She didn't like the sound of going down to a basement. Perhaps the first floor would be a good choice.

She clicked the button and nothing happened. Julia pressed it several times in quick succession. No response.

Julia was ready to punch the wall. She knew that was a bad choice. She'd hurt her hand. It'd just make her look crazy.

_youarecrazyyouarecrazyyouarecrazyyouarecrazy_

She gathered herself and restrainedly pushed the button for the second floor.

The elevator dropped harshly for a foot or two and then coasted into a smooth, slow ride down. It was still slow, but Julia only had one floor to traverse. A ding. She was treated to a doppelgänger of the corner room upstairs. Everything in this hospital looked the same. The green color scheme made Julia think about getting sick.

_youaresickdumbbitchhealyourselfwithascalpeltotheneck_

Through the fourth or fifth or fifteenth set of double doors. Room 206 to her immediate left? Closed. Room 205 a few steps down? Shut tight. The ICU (behind a set of double doors, no less)? Inoperable. That especially made Julia embittered. She knew an ICU would have _real_ medicine. The kind of shit that would put her eternal headache to rest.

Julia had to blink rapidly to fight back double vision. Her agony was getting intense. Her frustration was through the roof. Marcus's dead voice was echoing back and forth in her head.

_exodus10:21juliaexodus10:21juliaexodus10:21julia_

She realized she was on the other side of the locked double doors on the second floor when she bounded around the corner. There was a door to her right. Likely led to a connecting room, one that was also locked from the other side of the level. Directly to her left was the umpteenth set of double doors. A sign said it was the Operating Prep Room.

An Operating Prep Room.

If that didn't have heavy painkillers waiting for her, she might as well find a window to jump out of here and now.

_don'twaitforitjustdoitfuckingjumpnowbitchdiefuckingdie_

Julia grabbed a doorknob. Wish beyond wish. Hope beyond hope. This had to be open. This had to be open.

It turned. It gave way.

She could get through.

Julia booted through the door. There was an observation window on the wall next to a metal door, revealing an adjacent operating room. It held wires and lamps and monitors and a rusty old operating table. Not her concern. The prep room itself had a row of built-in cabinets and a counter sink, along with wall-mounted cupboards and scattered plastic chairs. There was even an overturned wheelchair in the corner and a dingy portable bed in the center of it all.

Julia slammed the pipe on top of the row of cabinets and started raiding their contents.

Latex gloves. Paper towels. Surgical masks. Hydrogen peroxide. Isopropyl alcohol. Iodine. Cotton balls. Gauze pads. Elastic bandages. Adhesive bandages. Dressings. Tongue depressors. Blood pressure meter. Stethoscopes. Folded hospital gowns. Even some assorted tubes of antibacterial ointment.

No analgesics. No painkillers. Not even a whiff of Tylenol.

Julia would tend to her arms later. She had the supplies. She just had to end this fucking torment.

All of the wall-mounted cupboards had locks. Julia jimmied every little door. They wouldn't dislodge. She'd had enough of locked doors. Julia snatched up the pipe and began to break down the cupboards. After about five or six angry blows each, they all caved in.

Was it impressive? Or frightening?

Julia threw away the pipe once more and tore back the damaged cupboard doors. An assortment of equipment: largely syringes, with vials and bottles of clear, unidentifiable liquids. A distinct lack of regular medicine bottles promising something as simple as acetaminophen.

She was so distressed she wanted to cry.

Some of the substances had labels. Julia picked them out frantically and studied their names, more often than not ignorant of what they actually were. Names like sufentanil, fentanyl, etoricoxib, roxanol, flupirtine; it was all Greek to Julia. But then there were the drug names Julia did know. Codeine. Oxycodone.

Opioids.

Julia slowed down when she chanced upon these.

These would kill the pain.

These would put her at rest.

_overdoseyoudumbbitchstickaneedleinyourarmandfuckingdie_

Julia had never self-administered an injection before. She had a loose idea about the process. The typical tapping of the hypodermic needle and pre-injection squirt she'd seen in countless TV shows, for one. She was sure she could even find a vein. But would she be able to actually do that to herself?

A sharp pang spread in her head.

She would have to.

She would have to or she wouldn't be able to take this anymore.

_crossyourhearthopetodiestickaneedleinyoureye_

Julia didn't know correct dosage. The labels offered no instruction. How much was too much?

_takeitalloverdoserightnowgotosleepandneverwakeup_

Inside the cupboard, a syringe poked out, misplaced by Julia's rummaging. It was shiny. Inviting.

_jabitinyourskullletitfillyouwithcolddeathdumbbitch_

...Was it so bad if she had too much?

_nonotatallit'squickit'spainlesstryitbabytryit_

Was it so bad to end this nightmare?

It could be just that. After all. A long and terrible nightmare.

Who was to say she wasn't dreaming?

_stickaneedleinyoureyejustwakeupyou'llneverdie_

Dying in dreams woke people up. She'd wake up from all this nasty nonsense. She'd be in bed, in her tiny apartment, and throw away the covers and call her younger sister immediately and tell her all about this fucking creepy dream, even if it was three in the morning.

How else could she explain the monsters? The unwrecked car? The fake "Rachel"? Marcus knowing her name?

Edgar Allen Poe was right, Julia decided. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

Putting down the codeine, Julia took the needle and jammed it into the oxycodone vial.

The oxycodone vial promised 10 mg/mL. The syringe would hold 10 mL of liquid. One hundred milligrams of oxycodone. Julia watched the fluid trickle into the barrel of the syringe.

That ought to do the trick.

_stabitinbitch_

And what if she was wrong?

Julia replicated the syringe tap routine she'd seen in so many medical dramas. She even pushed out the preemptive squirt.

What if, beyond all reason, this **was** real life?

_whocaresbitchWHOCARESBITCHFUCKINGDOIT_

What if? Julia held the syringe away from her body and looked at it curiously. It was such an innocuous little thing. All it would take was a popped-out vein and a quick injection.

_justalittlePRICKdearjustalittleprickandit'llbealldone_

Her headache was reaching a new tier of unbridled misery. Julia couldn't stand around and contemplate anymore. This was a vivid dream. This was a vivid dream and nothing more. It was impossible that chained monsters and tumors and shadows with red eyes were roaming about in an unearthly thick fog. It was impossible that a populated town like Silent Hill was suddenly void of life, long since abandoned. It was impossible that a being was able to so perfectly impersonate Rachel. This wasn't happening. It was really hurting her and scaring her, but this wasn't happening.

Besides, didn't everything feel real in a dream?

_allthatweseeorseemisbutadreamwithinadream_

A soft blue vein jutted out from Julia's outstretched left arm. It was practically begging for a shot. Julia poised the needle overhead.

Any moment.

Any moment now.

She could do it.

Just put it right in.

It would hurt a little, but she'd just wake up.

Not a problem.

Not a problem at all.

Julia watched her hand remain frozen over the vein. The needle was ready to plunge in.

_doitdoitfuckingdoitDOITDOITFUCKINGDOIT_

Throbbing. Her brain was throbbing. This was anguish. This was fucking anguish. Why didn't she just get it over with and end this torture?

_DOITYOUFUCKINGCUNTDOITKILLYOURSELFNOWDOITNOW_

Her fingers were curled over the glass of the syringe. She could feel that. She could feel the waves of pain crashing through her head. She could feel her heart beating in her chest. She could feel the sting of the raw scrapes on her arms.

Julia couldn't remember ever having a dream so realistic, so attentive to detail and presentation.

_WHOGIVESAFUCKYOUDUMBBITCHJUSTDOITKILLYOURSELFKILL_

No no no _no_. This was a big fucking decision. She couldn't inject herself with an absurd dose of oxycodone and expect to get out of it unharmed if she was wrong.

_FUCKYOUDUMBBITCHFUCKINGDIEALREADYDIEBITCHFUCKINGDIEFUCKING_

Julia threw the syringe at the sink. It was pure impulse. The glass shattered into an explosion of shards. She flinched. Nothing bounced back her way.

_FUCKYOUYOUFUCKINGBITCHGETANOTHERKILLYOURSELFRIGHTNOWDUMBBITCH_

She had to sit down. Julia needed to sit down. She slid into a corner by the cabinets and held her tortured head in her hands.

_FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU_

_Why was she like this_? Why was Julia's mind falling apart? As if she could even pretend it wasn't happening anymore. As if her entire fucking life wasn't being turned upside down in front of her eyes. Was this bullshit real or was it fake? Was she dreaming or was she living a nightmare? Who the fuck could know? Who the hell could tell the difference? Who could tell her why she wanted to kill herself so badly? It was a dialogue in her head, a constant temptation, a fucking demon on her shoulder. She couldn't ignore it.

_**DIEBITCHDIEDIEBITCHDIEDIEBITCHDIEDIEBITCHDIE**_

She was in so much pain already. Julia couldn't help smacking herself anyway. There was so much frustration, so much confusion. She couldn't handle this. She couldn't handle this ambiguity, this bullshit.

_**BEATYOURFUCKINGSKULLINLETITBLEEDLETTHEREDWATERFLOW**_

Maybe it would've been better to overdose.

No.

Who was to say it wasn't a dream?

Who was to say it _was_?

_**STOPFUCKINGDEBATINGABOUTITANDKILLYOURSELFYOUDUMBSLUT**_

Julia was shaking her head back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She could see it all. She could see Marcus's black and bloody eye socket, she could see the tumor's pulpy remains, she could see the sentient chains coming to grab her legs, she could see the heap of innards spread out in front of her Pontiac, she could see the blue eyes in the rearview mirror that had made her crash in the

The blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

Right before she'd crashed.

A drive. Late at night. All alone.

She _had_ been trying to kill herself. She _wanted _to crash.

And before she crashed, she'd seen blue eyes, staring at her from the backseat.

She had thought them to be Rachel's. That was her last conscious thought before everything began.

_whywhywhywhywhywhy_

Why? Why had she been trying to kill herself?

_youknowyouknowyoudumbbitchyouknowyouknow_

It was…

It was about Rachel.

_rachelrachelsweetangelrachelrachel_

It was something about her younger sister.

Before Julia could continue on her train of thought, she was startled. She was so alarmed she jumped up from her refuge in the corner and grabbed the pipe, unsure of how to react. All mental conflict momentarily forgotten, Julia was uniformly focused.

The reason for this, of course, stemmed from a sound.

This was the first time that Julia had ever heard the air-raid sirens blare.


	7. A Dream Within a Dream

A Dream Within a Dream

* * *

Silent Hill, true to its name, had been unnaturally quiet since Julia woke up in her car. Bar her encounters with the monsters, her conversations with Marcus and "Rachel", and the occasional warning crackle of her clip-on radio, the only thing Julia had to listen to was her own breathing. To have such an ostentatious siren assaulting the eerie calm was deeply unsettling.

Then again, just about everything in this town unsettled Julia.

Of course, the show was just getting started. The orchestra was warming up, the conductor was tapping his baton on the stand.

From her spot in the corner, Julia could see the entire room. She didn't know yet what she was looking for. She supposed she was waiting for something to burst out of the woodworks and attack her.

Thus she was already watching when the room transformed.

It was a flicker, a vibrating fuzz. Julia was seeing double: one room with bare white walls and discarded chairs, one masked in darkness and glossed over with meat.

Meat. Flesh. She could smell it all too well, rancid and rotting. Julia didn't want to breathe.

Her back was touching one of those same walls. Julia jumped further into the room and flipped on her flashlight, treated to the sickening sight of a slab of infected skin where she once stood. A river of painful boils, surrounded by the pus waiting to burst forth from underneath the jaundiced scabs. It was quivering. Pulsating.

Julia had emptied her stomach long ago. If she hadn't, this would've been the reason. Julia ground her teeth together to fight back against the revulsion. She ignored the headache. She had to.

The walls had come alive. There were no faces, no appendages, but blood was coursing through those bulbous veins, and all the twitching created a sense of breathing.

A quick glance down revealed the floor was fairly unchanged, except for a thick coat of dust and copious cracks in the linoleum. The plastic chairs had melted. Only the wheelchair was the same.

Its upturned wheel just happened to be spinning.

She was starting to breathe heavily. It was a panicked noise, a wheezy agitation. Her headache was a largely forgotten throb.

Julia was far beyond questioning Silent Hill. There was no point trying to understand insanity. But dear _God_, what the fuck was happening?

_fearofthebloodtendstocreatefearfortheflesh_

The air raid siren had transitioned from the obnoxious alarm into a thick, foreboding ticking. Julia gazed up, expecting a pendulum to be hanging over her head. She was only treated with the sight of more meat moss.

Spinning around in circles. She was spinning around in goddamn circles. Every new detail drove the nail in her brain deeper and deeper.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock_.

She came to a halt when her eye caught the small window into the operating room. She didn't know how she'd missed the view on her first several frantic turns. Perhaps what she could see hadn't been there before.

The operating room wasn't very different. Much of the same wall flesh, same disgusting tissue. The ceiling-mounted lamps were turned on, dim fluorescent lights shining like a spotlight unto what lay below. The rusty operating table had once been empty. It was now occupied.

He must have been a thirtysomething. Blue jumpsuit pulled down to his waist, strong build, pale skin. His chestnut bangs swooped down over his eyebrows. His face had grave lines, but he looked very peaceful. This was a stark contrast from the rest of his mangled body.

Claw marks. Something had scratched up his torso, cutting long and deep. One of his nipples had been torn clean off. Beneath the arch of his ribcage, he'd been sliced open. A methodical cut, peeled back nicely and pinned down on the sides of the table. Julia had flashbacks of dissecting worms in seventh grade biology. From her angle through the observation window, Julia could just barely see into the man's hole, but it appeared to be empty.

_fearofthefleshtendstocreatefearfortheblood_

The bile in the back of her throat was vile. Julia couldn't be in here anymore. She ran to the miraculously unaltered door to make her nauseated escape.

Julia had not closed the door behind her. She had burst into the room half-mad and immediately began raiding its contents for a painkiller. Even as she went to grab the door handle, she remembered this inconsequential fact.

It was still heart-wrenching when the goddamn thing wouldn't open.

Julia pulled. She pulled and pulled and pulled. She cranked so hard she thought her arm would pop out of its socket. There was no use. She'd been locked in.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock._

The radio's whine burst to life. Sounds came from outside in the hallway. Drowning gags. Sliding metal. Clinking chains. Ungodly growls.

She took a few faltering steps back into Operating Prep, clutching her red pipe tightly. The fetid environment was slowly choking Julia. Her chest was heavy.

This door was far too sturdy to beat down. She'd break her pipe sooner than dent the petrified wood. And even if she was somehow able to pummel her way through, Julia would be in the midst of monsters.

The whirring wheelchair squeaked behind her, its tire pushing onward and onward perpetually.

Julia trudged over to peer into the operating room. With her luck, there would be no exit in there either.

She pushed through and let the door swing back into place behind her. It was colder in here. Sterile, as much as diseased wall tissue would allow it to be. Julia made a point not to look too closely at the corpse on the operating table. A fleeting survey of the room confirmed her grim prediction that it was a dead end.

One choice, no use.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock._

Julia turned back to exit into Operating Prep, perhaps in a fruitless attempt to break down the hallway door and face her bloody fate on the other side, when she saw the note taped on her side of the swinging door. It was so nondescript as to be conspicuous. She could only wonder if it had been waiting for her inside before the shift. Julia plucked it off.

She stood listlessly for a minute. Was she really about to stop and read this? Demons waiting beyond, the walls oozing with plague, the rumbling echo of the ticking clock_—_what would looking at the note do for the catastrophe unfolding around her?

Julia wasn't sure if she was grinning or grimacing. Likely both. Seemed this was the most she could do presently.

_Listen to the chime of ticking clocks,_

_Step into the night._

_Sins that the fire's kiss cannot undo_

_And a fateful dance with bedlam._

_Sleeping babes cry out - "Mama!"_

_A cancer, a wish, a bloody zodiac._

_Half my sight for Lobsel Vith;_

_Half my grip to stem a Leek._

_The lion sinks its teeth into the gazelle__—_

_It bleeds out slowly and wonders why._

What in fuck's name did that mean?

Reading it an extra two times did nothing to help Julia understand. It was gibberish.

Was it supposed to be a poem?

Dour, Julia let the paper drift down from her fingers. It held no use for her. She was locked in this cell; she had no way out, and she was being mocked.

In the curious way that a light material like paper acts when it falls, this particular piece sashayed its way underneath the operating table. Julia's eyes followed; she couldn't help but stare at the cadaver above.

Whoever he had been, he was a tall man. She shuddered to think what could've taken him down and destroyed him like this.

Morbid curiosity came as a push from within. Julia edged carefully closer to the body.

From the other side of the window, she had only been able to clearly see his right side. His left half was more or less identical, except now Julia could see the swollen, violet bruising around his left eye and the torn stump where his left hand should have been.

_marcusmarcusmarcusmarcusmarcus_

Dead bodies distressed Julia. The thought of touching one had always made her stomach turn. And yet, Julia found herself reaching over the corpse to lift up his eyelid.

It was the second time she touched dead flesh, but she was still surprised by the pure lack of warmth. Soft and utterly lifeless. Julia pulled back the lid and gazed into the abyss of the man's eye socket.

_gougedoutgougedoutgougedout_

Julia drew her hand away quickly and wiped it on the back of her jeans.

She knew there was no way in hell he could've done this to himself. Someone else, or something else, had murdered this man. The ghost of Marcus and his penance hung over her nonetheless.

_exodus10:21julia_

Now that she was hovering over the body, Julia could see inside the exposed torso. She'd been right before. All the organs had been ripped out.

No. She was wrong. Only one had been left behind. It was a pitiful thing, small and pink and veiny and connected to a long tube. Considering the tube ran up into the man's chest cavity, Julia assumed the tube was the esophagus.

He had a stomach. He had his stomach and his stomach alone. Why would someone leave one measly organ?

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock._

Julia frowned.

The pain in her head had never gone away. Her inalienable right to the pursuit of painkillers was business for later, much like figuring out why she'd tried to kill herself and what she almost remembered about Rachel. She would continue to ignore it. It didn't like being ignored, but Julia was sick of suffering. What was the point of the placebo effect anyway, if Julia couldn't force herself to believe she wasn't in constant agony? She would disregard her head, her arms, her nose, her fractured little mind, and focus instead on this curious corpse.

Or, for that matter, the unintelligible note.

Julia had… a suspicion, she supposed. An inkling.

She bent down and grabbed it off the floor. She held it high.

A poem. A letter.

What if it was a hidden message? A puzzle, of sorts.

She and Rachel used to leave each other messages like that. When they were kids. Cryptograms and riddles, so their parents wouldn't snoop. They made up their own little languages, even, so no one else could figure out their secrets.

Julia wished for many things in her present situation. More than anything, she wished to call her sister. Just to make sure she was all right. Just to hear the real Rachel.

That wasn't plausible at the moment, though. Here and now, Julia was up shit creek without a paddle and in the possession of a paper full of nonsense.

Sad enough it was her best lead. Sadder yet that she thought she could discover some purpose in all the rambling.

Julia pored over the text duly. She was searching for some sort of clever twist, some sort of subtle theme. The seventh and eighth lines, for instance, were nearly identical and referred to whomever had written the poem. The final two were far removed from the rest of the note, but were connected by the idea of the attacking lion. The first two were commands for the reader. There were ten in all, an even number. Put together and deliberated, these observations signified exactly jackshit for Julia.

Every fifth word? Nothing. Every noun with an S? Nothing. Julia tested out the words in her mouth, listening for meter or scansion. There was no rhyme or reason, no little trick she could catch on.

What in God's name was "Lobsel Vith", anyway? Sounded like something from Tolkien.

Julia rubbed her eyes on the inside of her forearm. She wondered if maybe the poem really was a puzzle, but the kind meant only to be solved by its author. Like a cruel inside joke.

An unintentional sigh sent Julia reeling. The fumes from the wall flesh were not as bad in the operating room as the prep room, but she couldn't stand the sudden intake of the unbearable stench. It was toxic. She could ignore the rest of her maladies; this one, not so easily.

Steadying herself on the edge of the table, Julia cursed loudly into empty space.

How the fuck was she supposed to figure out this message? What if the poem was just a stupid fucking poem in the first place, and she was standing around like an asshole, only prolonging her inevitable death?

_Tick, tock,_ replied the unseen clock. _Tick, tock, tick, tock._

Julia yelled up at the ceiling for good measure. That incessant ticking was worming its way into her brain. It was bouncing about in her skull, reminding her that time was flowing on and on while she bickered with herself and fretted and fought against God's torturous will.

No.

She'd have to take that thought back.

There was no way anything as benevolent as a God would put anyone through all this.

The words on the page were taunting Julia. They whispered hints, suggestions of a code or an unseen unity, but Julia couldn't grasp it. She imagined she wouldn't have such a hard time with it if everything was a normal fucking situation and she wasn't being slowly asphyxiated. Julia wished this had been from Rachel. She longed to be eleven all over again, teasing her six-year-old sister for making the riddles so easy to solve. Young Rachel thought being clever meant spelling out the hidden message with the first letters of every sentence, silly simple shit like that.

Silly and simple.

Julia scanned the left side of the paper. "LSSASAHHTI" wasn't a word. It wasn't even a proper anagram. Likewise, "_Listen step sins and sleeping a half half the it_" was more meaningless absurdity.

That was a stupid idea. All of that was a fucking stupid idea. She'd honestly believed for a moment that she'd uncovered the solution with such idiocy. As if there was a fucking problem to solve in the first place. She was stupid. Stupid, stupid, so fucking _**stupid**_.

Julia was seconds from throwing the paper away again when the key caught her eye.

The key was, in reality, a "k.e.y." "Leek", "gazelle", "why"_—_she hadn't noticed before that the last letters of the last words in the last three lines spelt out "key". Julia's eyes drifted up the passage. "Vith", "zodiac", "Mama", "bedlam", "undo", "night", "clocks".

H. C. A. M. O. T. S.

Stomach key.

She almost wanted to laugh. That was childishly simple. She'd skipped right over it, and it was something so childishly simple.

Julia knew she couldn't laugh, though. The second part of the equation was making more sense.

There was a key in the man's stomach. It had been left there for her to find.

She had no way of knowing for certain it would unlock the door into the hallway, but if it was meant for anything else, she might as well just admit her life was a sadistic joke and ultimately pointless.

_it'spointlessit'sallpointlessbeatyourselftodeath_

Leaving the pipe and the paper on the operating table with the cadaver, Julia stormed back into Operating Prep and flung open the battered cabinets. Their contents had not changed with the environment: there were still latex gloves. Julia snapped them on. The clinging texture over her fingers made Julia feel that much more secure diving into a stranger's dead body.

She paused for a moment to consider why she hadn't put on gloves before lifting the dead man's eyelid.

Spur of the moment, she decided. And it paled in comparison. This was going to be much more gruesome.

After some deliberation, Julia also snatched a scalpel. God forbid, she might have to cut into this mutilated man.

The very idea gagged her more than the fetor.

Back with the man's corpse, Julia laid the scalpel beside him. She refrained from sticking her hand into his exposed insides just yet. She couldn't take her eyes off of his face. He was so calm.

Julia brushed the bangs back from his brow. It was a jittery motion, but the intention was that of solemn respect. Something horrible had happened to this man. Atrocious, even. She would be quick about it all. Rooting around in his remains. At the very least, he was at peace.

_seehownicedyingisseehowpeacefulyou'llbe_

The sight of her white hand poised inside the man sent a chill up Julia's spine. This was what coroners did. This was the macabre mundanity of their day-to-day jobs.

She grasped the stomach lightly. It squished. Julia cringed.

This, too, was inside of her. It felt like a sin to even be touching it.

With utmost care, Julia lifted the organ from its position. She could feel the wet blood even through the latex. Julia dug underneath with her free hand, feeling for metal.

Her probing fingers stumbled upon something hard. Something small.

Julia scooped up the key and drew her hand out of the man's cavity. It was lathered in blood. Its jagged teeth conjured the image of a snarling lion. She tenderly set the stomach back into place and rested her free hand on the edge of the table.

She would have to wash this key off in the sink, if the plumbing worked in this version of the hospital. Julia wouldn't be surprised if it spouted out blood. Just like that scene from _IT_. The balloon in the sink, popping red splatters all over the bathroom and the screaming girl.

Julia had barely budged when the icy fingers curled around her wrist.

She looked down.

The dead man was leering up at her. His teeth were pristine, shiny even, and they looked ready to chomp down. His brown and bloodshot eye bored into her intensely.

Julia screamed. Her right hand, holding the key, jerked up. It clanged against the ground somewhere behind her. She tried to rip her left arm free. The corpse dug his fingers in deeper and grinned even wider.

"_Thief_," he croaked.

Julia screamed even louder. She smacked her right hand on the table, searching desperately for any kind of weapon. She found the slender handle of the scalpel and seized it wildly.

"_Slut_," he jeered. Julia watched her arm fly out, watched the scalpel slide across the corpse's throat and tear open a thin, oozing scarlet line. The cadaver's eye shot open. He gurgled.

Julia was still screaming. Her arm was moving independent of her conscious will, jabbing and stabbing the undead corpse furiously. She was poking holes into this man. She was carving him into pieces. One particularly vicious strike landed squarely into his remaining eye. This was the deciding blow: he let out a choking roar even louder than hers and let go of Julia's wrist to pull out the blade from his cornea. Julia didn't even think. She snagged the pipe and began bashing the man's head in.

_**NOEDDIENOEDDIENOEDDIENOEDDIENOEDDIENO**_

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._ Julia wasn't listening to the clock. She was listening to the thud of metal against firm flesh, the sickening crack of bones as they broke under every fresh bludgeon.

She'd never stopped screaming. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

This was the tumor all over again.

She was killing all over again.

Julia went on beating the man. He'd been dead once and he was dead once more, but Julia couldn't stop. Every blow was charged with her frustration, her endless fear, her agony. She wanted to go home. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

She couldn't say when she stopped her rampage. His skull had caved in some time ago. There were few facial features left to speak of. He was, to put it bluntly, a stain on a rusty operating table.

Julia stood back and panted hard. The wall tissue still smelt like shit; she was fighting back the retching.

If she came out on the other side of all this, if Julia made it out of Silent Hill… how could she ever look at herself the same again? She could see it now: getting up every morning, stumbling into the bathroom, and rubbing her eyes red so that she could wash away the image of her own bloody face mocking her from the mirror.

She'd murdered twice in one day.

This was what Silent Hill was driving her to.

And it scared the living shit out of Julia.

_liveakillerordieasaintkillyourselfnowyouevilbitch_

Julia wiped her tears against the crook of her elbow. Her throat felt rough. Her voice would probably be hoarse.

Didn't matter.

The scalpel was buried somewhere in the man's pulp. She wouldn't search for it.

Julia shifted about-face, dazed, and scoured the floor with her flashlight for the blood-drenched key. It had landed about a ruler's length from the swinging door. She didn't care much about cleaning it off properly anymore. Picking it up, she turned back to wipe the key off hastily in the dangling arm of the dead man's jumpsuit.

Why in fuck's name had he resurrected? As it was becoming increasingly apparent how things went in Silent Hill, just because.

Maybe, just to fuck with her.

Bleary-eyed and shaken once again, Julia made her way through Operating Prep to the hallway door. The radio kicked back into life as she approached the lock. The ghouls were waiting for her on the other side after all.

The key looked like it would fit this lock. There was only one way to know for certain.

Before she would insert the key and hopefully escape what had transpired in the operating room, though, Julia needed to plan out her path. She couldn't waltz out into that hallway blindly. Even with her flashlight to guide her, she would have to traverse a minefield of monsters. They would mob her within moments if she even had the slightest hesitation.

That couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it.

_letitletitletthemeatyouswallowyouwhole_

She'd run into this room in such a frenzy. She could barely remember what she'd run by, how she'd come in the first place. Orienting herself in such foreign ground was impossible.

Julia had come from the right, hadn't she? Down that long hallway from the elevator.

Or had it been to the left?

One way held a set of locked double doors. The other, a corridor to relative safety. If she chose to run down the wrong way, Julia knew she'd be cornered.

And then it'd be all over.

_howitoughttobelovehowitoughttobe_

Far too many traumas had cluttered Julia's mind. Her fleeting memory of her path to Operating Prep wouldn't suffice. She had to make a gamble.

Head left or head right. Head left or head right.

She'd flip a coin if it made any real difference.

Julia slid the stained key into the brass lock. It was a match.

A pause.

A halting twist.

_throwthedooropenandletthemcutyoutobitsyoubitch_

Julia tugged as softly as she could. Her ears were buzzing, itching, with pumping blood.

Left or right? Left or right? Left or right?

Through the widening crack of the door, a choking croup of a tumor wafted in. Julia's heart beat even faster.

Now or never.

Both of her only commodities were on. Julia shot out into the hallway and her radio's static started screaming in response. To her left, the muffled sounds of grating chains and a chorus of wet gargling. She chose to run right.

Her tiny flashlight illuminated the way. She wasn't bothering with absorbing the surroundings. Everything was draped in deep shadow, but she could smell the rancid wall meat all the same.

Rubber pounding against misshapen linoleum. The shrieking radio. The foreboding clock.

The path was bobbing back and forth into view. A fleshy lump was scuttling about ahead of her. Past the waiting tumor, her flashlight reflected in the tall windows of the double doors. If she made her way through all that, she'd end up at the elevator again.

She drew nearer and nearer to the end of the corridor. Something sharp was whirring about in the hall just an arm's reach above her head. Not important. The tumor was coming closer. Julia hadn't seen its disfigured face reared in her direction quite yet. That would change. That would most definitely change.

The monster was huddled on the right-hand side of the hall. She would skirt left. She could outrun it, probably.

She'd soon find out.

Within four, three feet of the tumor, its gurgles became more agitated. A beady black eye was peering over a misshapen shoulder.

_**EDDIENOEDDIEPLEASE**_

She might have to do that all over again.

Julia sprinted past. The tumor had turned fully around. It leapt at her a moment too late, launching into the opposite wall. Gurgling became a wet growling.

The double doors were right there.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_.

She stretched out her legs so she could cover the distance more quickly. Her left hand was outstretched, ready to grab onto the knob and shove her way to the elevator.

Thumping from behind. The tumor was crawling again. Fast.

Julia clamped down on the brass knob and wrung it accordingly. She was flying. She'd push her way in sooner than physically open the door.

Her shoulder slammed into the wood with a pronounced bang. The walnut had not budged. Julia had yanked the doorknob fully.

What had once been unlocked was now locked. It figured.

Julia spun around. The tumor was advancing. It would jump to her soon.

She would meet it halfway.

The tumor thrust off its hind set of arms, splayed wide and ready to grab onto Julia. She swung the pipe in an upward arc and ducked to the right. Her dodge drew some of the power away from her parry, but the metal pipe struck the tumor's underside with damaging vigor. Julia could practically hear the wind being knocked out of its knotted body. She wouldn't bother beating it to death. Julia bounded in the other direction.

She'd gone the correct way. She could only try the other end of the hall. Perhaps what had once been locked would be unlocked and she could escape through the middle set of double doors.

_they'rewaitingontheothersidetokillyoudarling_

Julia would be running into a minefield if she could get to the other side. She would also be approaching the stairwell. God forbid those doors were locked as well.

If they were, she would die. Simple as that.

Past the unseen whirring. Around the corner. Past the open door of Operating Prep. The tumor was scurrying behind her. Trying to catch up. Desperate for a proper attack.

Julia smashed for the second time into a set of doors. Jiggling the doorknob meant nothing.

She was locked in the corridor with the tumor.

Perhaps she should've never left Operating Prep.

_letifreeyoufromthisworldofsuffering_

**No**.

It was getting closer, snorting with labored exertion. There was a door across the hall from Operating Prep. Julia couldn't remember if she'd even tried to open it beforehand. Now was the time.

The click of a releasing latch. Julia threw open the door and snagged the knob on the inside as she went to shut it behind her.

The tumor had finally caught up. Julia could hear it breathing heavily. Maybe two feet away. Maybe less.

She'd almost escaped entirely when the long fingers snarled around her ankle.

It tripped her badly. Julia crashed down onto the ground face-first. The only luck she had was her elbow softening the landing.

The tumor started pulling at her immediately. Its gargle was a triumphant chortle.

Julia flipped onto her back and kicked the tumor with her free foot. It ignored the blow. Julia kicked harder. She'd kick this fucker's brains in if she had to. She'd plant her boot so far down its throat Julia would give it a real reason to choke and sputter.

_murderersthinklikethatyouviolentbitch_

The tumor gave up dragging her after the fourth or fifth jolt and instead began to crawl on top of Julia.

_OHCHRISTIT'SONMEIT'SGOINGTOEATME_

She didn't want to know what would happen next. She wouldn't be finding out if she had anything to do with it.

_GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF_

She could feel liquid dripping on her jeans. Sweat. Copious sweat. She could smell it even over the putrid wall tissue.

Julia planted both of her knees in the tumor's stomach. It absorbed the impact, unfazed. It continued to slither its way up her body.

_CHRISTGETITOFFGETITOFF_

Sprawled out like this and in such close combat, Julia could only wield the pipe in one hand to hit the tumor. She thought fleetingly, wistfully, of the scalpel she'd left embedded in the doubly-dead corpse.

Instead of focusing on regret, Julia grabbed the pipe from both ends and held the metal as a bar against the encroaching tumor. She pushed the weapon angrily against where the creature's throat should have been. This stopped the tumor in its tracks. It writhed against the obstruction and put its withered hands up by its neck to shove the metal away.

_I'VEGOTITI'VEGOTTHEBASTARDKEEPPUSHINGPUSHITAWAY_

Julia roared and channeled all of her strength into a mighty heave. The tumor flew head over heels into the hallway. It skidded into a wall, squirming to get off its back. Julia rolled so her entire body was in the room, got up on her knees, and slammed the door firmly shut. The door handle had a simple lock; she secured it and slid far away from the entrance.

The tumor was ramming the door from the hallway. Burbling, in a most frenetic manner. Julia could even hear the scratch of digging nails against the wood.

It had tried to mount her. That motherfucker was going to climb on top of her.

What in God's name would've happened if she hadn't fought it off?

_gobackoutthereandfindoutwhydon'tyou_

She was safe momentarily. It wouldn't do well to hang around and see if the tumor could break down the door.

Julia pulled herself onto her feet. This room was small and inconsequential. Some paltry armchairs and rusty lockers beset by meat moss, names taped on as labels. Julia wouldn't stop to study them. On the opposite side of the room, another door led out into the other half of the u-shaped floor. Julia could remember now: this door, from the other side, had been locked.

The way things were going, she wondered if it wouldn't be open now.

Approaching the other side of the room made the radio screech even louder than it had before. Julia could hear the chains scraping beyond as well.

Julia likened them to prisoners. Those staggering chained beasts. Something about those terrible chains seemed to put them into as much pain as they meant for her. And she might as well give them a name, after all; she was about to run through what sounded like a sizable group of them.

A named enemy is often less terrifying than an unnamed enemy.

Except, of course, the kind that shouldn't exist.

Her guess was proven right. The door was unlocked.

Pounding from the aggressive tumor resonated behind her. Time to move on. Time for the new threat.

_aren'tyoutiredrestdumbbitchrestandgetwhatyoudeserve_

Out, out, out. She remembered better now. The stairwell would be to her left, in the corner.

It had to be open. The double doors had to be open.

Julia twisted right and strafed to see what waited for her around the corner. Two prisoners, standing across the hall from one another, apparently staring the other way. Something was growling and grunting at the end of the black corridor. Flesh slapping against flesh. A tumor's gargle.

Prisoners moved slow, even with the animated chains to catch her. Julia just had to be quick.

The distance to the stairwell door was covered in a heartbeat, if not two.

Julia tried to push at first. That was her fault. She'd forgotten they had to be pulled from this side. The frantic sound of joggling wood, however, attracted more attention than the radio ever could. The grunts, the slaps, the gargle—all frozen as Julia felt the weight of cold stares against her back.

She scurried in. They were moving to her. Images of prehensile metal wrapped around Julia's legs flashed before her eyes; she fastened the door back in place and dashed to the stairwell. She didn't even consider going up. Down to the first floor, and then out of this hellhole. Outside wasn't safe and inside wasn't safe, but at least being outside didn't gag her.

In fact, the stairwell didn't gag her either.

Julia's eyes traced over the walls as she flew down the steps. They were normal. Bar the charcoal stains of blotchy mold.

How did that make sense?

Julia didn't care. Her descent was more important. The farther her distance from the second floor, the better.

The radio petered off as she delved down. Julia was left alone with the constant ticking and her own sense of urgency. She was quite focused. So focused, in fact, it took her much longer than she would like to admit that something quite clearly impossible was happening.

Alchemilla was three stories high. She was coming down from the second floor. Even if she believed the hospital housed a basement, at most, Julia could only have run down about two sets of stairs. It was around the sixth or seventh that she realized she wasn't hitting the bottom.

She came to a halt on the next landing and gazed ahead. A detail she had previously missed upon her frantic ascent for painkillers was that each set of doors leading into the hallways was located next to a number on the wall. Julia presumed the numbers were indicative of the floor.

This one was a "2".

Julia rounded the corner and walked briskly down the next flight.

This one was also a "2".

The sounds were no longer coming from behind the walnut doors. Her radio was silent.

Down one flight. Down two flights. Down three flights.

"2", "2", and "2".

Julia plopped down on the stairs and glared ahead. The "2" glared back. It might as well have been laughing at her.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock._

There were many possibilities to consider. One was that she'd finally cracked. It wasn't hard to believe she'd gone insane with everything else going on, but maybe this was it. She was gone. Over the edge. Beyond help.

Another possibility: some malevolent force truly was doing all this to her. Dropped her off in the middle of monster country, let her stumble and stagger her way through illogical obstacles, and laughed its ass off watching her struggle.

And yet another idea:

**This was an evil fucking town**.

She had exhausted the attempt to reach the first floor. It wasn't happening. The loop carried on. And even though she couldn't get a reading of any monsters waiting for her on the second floor like before, Julia would prefer not to go back in there.

God forbid the headless corpse would be waiting.

When down and out were respectively impossible and undesirable, the only way Julia could go was up.

Of course, that could just take her to yet another second floor. But it was worth the ascent.

As Julia trudged up the vinyl stairwell, the familiar crackle of static echoed from above. Julia froze. The sound wasn't coming from her clip-on radio.

Fizzing. Popping. Julia didn't dare move.

When the hushed voice came floating over the airwaves, Julia realized she was listening to a run-of-the-mill P.A. system.

"_Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot_

_The armless ambidextrian was lighting_

_A match between his great and second toe,_

_And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting_

_The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum_

_Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough_

_In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb—_

_Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:_

_And there, there overhead, there, there hung over_

_Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,_

_There in the starless dark the poise, the hover,_

_There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,_

_There in the sudden blackness the black pall_

_Of nothing, nothing, nothing — nothing at all._"

Fumbling. Sounds of movement. Metal and wood, clicking together. Heavy breathing.

"_Bridge goes up, bridge goes down. Pipe goes up, pipe goes down. Julia goes up, Julia goes down. We have your number. We know where you live. It doesn't matter where you go or what you do. We will find you. And you will burn in Hell for your sins."_

The intercom cut off.

So many things.

So many things she couldn't understand.

So many things she could not possibly hope to understand.

Julia's fingers drummed lightly against the side of her pipe. She remained still only for a few moments, listening intently for any further disturbance, and duly resumed her ascent.

_wehaveyournumberweknowwhereyoulive_

The number marking the floor had finally changed into a three. Julia rushed over to the entrance. Her radio held no warning of monsters beyond the doors as she drew closer.

She was, however, greeted by a locked door for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

This had been open before. Without a doubt. Wherever she was, whatever **it** was, it changed things far beyond the obvious scenery. She was in another world. Or further within her own fractured psyche. Would the two be much different?

_pipegoesuppipegoesdown_

Having figured this out made processing the stairwell's previously nonexistent fourth floor somewhat easier for Julia. In fact, it wasn't even a shock. How could it be compared to everything else going on?

Julia glanced at the third floor doors before taking to walking up once more.

She lingered at the top of the stairs. This was the very top, the only top; no fifth floor had magically appeared to taunt Julia with an endless climb.

She felt like she was flickering in and out of existence. A broken light, flashing irreparably.

What was happening to her mind, really?

Why were her thoughts unraveling?

The proverbial demon on her shoulder, that little cancer that rested insider her brain and whispered invitations to suicide and accusations of homicide in a voice of worms… it was convincing Julia that she couldn't trust anything she saw. Indeed, anything she thought.

_goodhopeyouloseyourminddumbslut_

Words came floating to Julia's attention through the recesses of her memory. Something her grandfather had said once that struck her as a piece of wisdom. "He who pours water into a muddy well only disturbs the mud."

This place. This hospital. This town. It was tainting her. Sinking her. Trying to logically approach these illogical events would just drown Julia. No more looking for drugs. No more excuses. Julia was going to get the fuck out of Silent Hill.

The only way to do that, then, would be to grab a hold of her fucking senses, to stop letting the utter insanity of her experiences affect her, to ignore her unending headache, and to _survive_.

And the closest indication she could have to proceed would be to walk through the next set of doors.

As she expected, as she had come to somewhat understand, these were unlocked. But when Julia pushed through to the other side, she was not prepared for what lay beyond.

This room was lined with curtains. Long curtains. Purple curtains, the shade of a nasty bruise. They undulated gently, but Julia couldn't feel any gust of wind blowing through. Her boots were now treading on a thin carpet, a yellow hue that reminded Julia too much of urine. Where Julia had walked in was actually well-lit. Further inside there was a wall of glass that faintly reflected Julia's figure behind the blinding shine of her flashlight; it bisected the room. Beyond this pane, barely illuminated by a dangling pendant light, sat a figure. Julia could not make out a face, but she could see plainly the sheen of long, dark hair.

Against her immediate instincts, Julia decided to approach the shadowy figure. She had an inkling. A guess. Her flashlight could not, as she had hoped, reveal the identity of the shape upon closer inspection through the glass. She elected instead to ask.

"You're the non-Rachel, aren't you?"

Julia noticed for the first time that the ticking clock's droll was muffled in this room. She could hear the figure shifting in its seat.

"_Why are you saying that, Lia? Don't you recognize me?_"

Julia's eyes narrowed.

"Cut that bullshit. I've been around long enough to know that you're a monster just like everything else in this nightmare."

The figure's head tilted to the side. Its face was still obscured.

"'_Monsters'? What are you even talking about? Stop being stupid_."

Well, that was certainly something Rachel would have said given the situation, but Julia wasn't buying it.

"You led me around town when I got here. What do you want from me? And why is all this happening? Don't play with me, you're not going to convince me you're my sister."

The figure straightened its posture. It seemed tense. Angry, even.

"_Oh yeah? I'm not your fucking sister, huh? How about the secret messages we would write in code to each other when we were kids? How about the time I saw you kissing Tim Sullivan on the back porch and blackmailed you for a month to do chores? How about the time you caught me a bird for my birthday and that asswipe Eddie Kinkel smashed it to death?_"

_**EDDIENO**_

Julia's heart stopped mid-beat.

"You…" Julia trailed off. How could she respond?

How the hell would anyone else know about those things?

"_But obviously you're not ready to talk to me yet, are you Lia? Still stuck being a know-it-all bitch? Well I don't want anything to do with you right now._"

"**Wait**_—_"

Before Julia could do or say anything, all of the light in the curtain room immediately vanished. She was left standing alone in the ensuing void with only her small flashlight as a companion.

Moments later, the lights flickered back on. Where the figure had been sitting, a mannequin had taken its position. The glass pane had vanished along with "Rachel".

Fake Rachel. Would a fake Rachel know so much?

Julia shook her head decisively. No use pouring water into the muddy well. More trouble, more confusion. Thoughts for later. She was drawn, inexplicably, to investigate the sudden appearance of the mannequin.

Approaching the plastic bust revealed a likeness similar to a department store model, overly feminine and beautified: its jet-black wig was rich; its outfit, a sensible assembly of a blouse with a cardigan and a plaid skirt over white stockings, resembled something Rachel would wear. Into its propped up left hand, a piece of paper had been stuffed. Julia fished it out of the mannequin's pallid grip and uncrumpled the wad.

_February 17_

_They've had me in this hellhole for three months. The walls are closing in. I've told them far too much. They probe at me, asking me questions that I don't want to answer. I know they monitor me. I know they've got cameras in hidden throughout the entire hospital. I keep up appearances and play dumb, but I know._

_I need to get out of here. Away from the rats and the loonies and the sickness that pervade this Circle of Hell. In-between the druggings and the sessions I know I was able to procure a gun. Suck an orderly's dick so many times and they'll end up paying back the favor somehow, I suppose. But I can't remember for the life of me where I hid it and they won't let me out of this goddamn room to even try to look for it. Wherever I put it, that's where I stuffed that ring of keys I filched off the janitor before they shoved that needle in my neck and I woke up strapped to my bed._

_Where am I? Where have I been? Room 206. Room 307. Room 301. The constant shifting is to disorient me, I suspect. They won't even tell me where I am now. But there are no windows here, and it is cold, and I fear that they don't intend to ever let me out again. I can slip out of my restraints, sure, but the door is locked from the outside._

_I need to get out. I need to get out of this hellhole before the rats eat off my skin._

_-Palmer_

Julia flipped over the page and was treated to hand-drawn layout of every floor on the hospital, carefully labelled. Palmer had done their homework. This escape plan was a legitimate effort.

As were the set of keys for the hospital and a gun.

Only the second floor was accessible. Whatever 307 and 301 might hold, Julia could at least check out 206, if it was possible to sneak past the monsters. Obviously the stairwell wouldn't even let her down to the first floor, but it had led her up to the curtain room, after all. This had to be a clue. Or even a command.

She would get out of Alchemilla. Oh yes. And she'd come out of it with a gun for size.

After stuffing Palmer's note into her pocket, Julia made a perimeter of the curtain room. There was nothing else inside besides the mannequin and the chair. All of the walls were shrouded. Julia went to move them, to peek at what lay beyond, and faltered as soon as her hands came near the thick velvet.

There was no smell, no sound, no indication that anything was particularly wrong for once, but the hair on the back of Julia's neck was standing up. This world made no sense and was prone to throwing her into perilous situations. She would heed her apprehension. For some reason, Julia was reminded of the P.A. system's poem.

_nothing, nothing, nothing __— nothing at all_

She turned instead to walk out of the curtain room and head back down to the second floor. She would have to steel herself for fighting and running, if not sneaking about, and for a one in three chance at that. But Julia wanted that gun. She had to try, at least.

She also had to try not to walk directly into the back wall of the elevator.

Yes. The elevator.

Of course the stairwell had disappeared. Or maybe the curtain room had transported her?

There was no logic. Julia had to keep reminding herself. There was no logic in this place. All she could do was take each oddity as it happened, accept it, and move on.

The directory had buttons for the nonexistent fourth floor, the third floor, the second floor, and the basement. In spite of everything, Julia managed a laugh. It was bitter. But what was to be expected?

Still… the third floor was an option once again. Her search could be thorough. And 307 was right next to the elevator.

After pushing the button for three and leaning back against the dingy elevator wall, Julia noticed for the first time with underwhelmed morbidity that the green marble floor tiles had shifted into a bright scarlet color. It looked like she was standing on top of tendons. Raw tissue, tenderized and primed for consumption.

_likealambtotheslaughter_


	8. American Toys

American Toys

* * *

Even before the elevator slid uneasily to a stop for the third floor, Julia knew she'd forgotten something. By the time the doors shifted open, it was too late: the putrid aroma of the wallmeat hit Julia immediately, sending her reeling. Admittedly it wasn't as bad as her initial exposure. She would even go as far as to say that it wasn't actually as putrid as the second floor. Still, with eyes wet and a dangerous lurch in her stomach, Julia pulled her button-down over her nose and crouched down by the double doors that would lead into the main hallway.

She had radio silence. Julia rested her hand upon the doorknob and twisted, slowly. The door creaked open. Julia pointed her flashlight and peeked through the crack.

The hallway was clear, save for a mound of bags halfway down that Julia could only vaguely make out.

She could proceed.

Julia walked softly around the corner to face the first door, the one leading into 307. Somebody had written underneath the numbers in blue marker.

_Goodbye Blue Monday_

Most assuredly, Julia had read that phrase before. For some reason it made her think of _Slaughterhouse-Five_. But the significance was lost on her, and really, it was just graffiti.

As Julia recalled, almost every single room had been sealed off to her upon her initial venture into the hospital, especially up on these higher levels. Room 307 offered no such resistance. Julia stepped in and closed the door gently behind her as she went about surveying the desolate little room.

The metal bedframes, five in total, were warped and tarnished. Only two mattresses remained, both visibly stained and dilapidated. An aluminum tray was flipped over in the corner. The windows had rusty bars installed over them. As Julia ventured further into 307, she realized the walls were not covered by the flesh, but instead by scores of claw marks. Like someone had tried to dig their way out.

There really wasn't anywhere Julia could see where someone could have hidden a gun. She bent down and flashed her light underneath all the bedframes for the sake of inspection: she only found dust and dirt. It was only after lifting up both the mattresses, and reluctantly at that, when Julia discovered the note tucked in the corner of an iron frame.

_December 2_

_It's only been maybe two or three weeks but staying in Alchemilla feels like an eternity. I already kicked the pneumonia. The scar tissue finally covered up my wrists. Still, they want to keep me for observation. Said something funny was in my lungs during an x-ray or something. I call bullshit. They want to keep me here because they think I've lost it. Well, if they think I'm nuts, send me to Cedar Grove or Brookhaven. Otherwise, I want out of this cesspit._

_Most of the prisoners here are just regular people, fighting off the inevitability of death like the fucktards they are. They've got me holed up here with this guy though and holy fuck, I mean I thought I had problems. I don't even know what to call him. Sometimes he's a saxophone player named Fred, sometimes he's a mechanic named Pete._

_Pete's fairly normal, I guess, for a split personality or whatever, but Fred's a real headcase. Says his old lady got replaced by a fake, and he had to kill her to find his real wife. Or, sometimes, he says she was cheating on him and he had to teach her a lesson. I doubt a murderer would be spending time in a hospital like this, rather than some jail cell where he could get buttfucked by a Crip with a big cock. Or the penal system itself. Same difference._

_He's a paranoid fucker too. Always freaking out about some guy who follows him around. 'A man with a pale face and red lipstick who can be two places at once.' I don't sleep at night because this motherfucker moans and writhes and sobs constantly. Then again, I don't sleep much in the first place, but he sure as hell isn't helping. Might ask them to move to a different room._

_And they don't believe me but those fucking rats are climbing around in the walls. I can hear them scurrying and squeaking and gnawing on things. They've infested this shithole, I don't care what anyone else says. Rodents. Vermin. They're all __**sickening**__. Rats caused the fucking bubonic plague and no one will listen to my valid fucking concerns? Makes my skin fucking crawl._

_-Palmer_

Palmer had been put in 307 initially, then. The first note mentioning the gun and the keys dated from two months later. It was a logical assumption to conclude she would not find them in this room.

If anything, at least Julia had narrowed down her prospects. 301 was in the other hallway. She would attempt searching there, if she could get through. The accessibility of doors was thanklessly unpredictable.

Well. Really, everything was unpredictable. That was just a fact of life now.

Julia walked back into the hallway and rubbed her temple absentmindedly. It seemed her headache was finally fading away. Not quickly, of course, but she wasn't in nearly as much as pain.

Approaching the mound of bags she had spotted earlier, Julia fixated on the laurel green canvas peppered with deep maroon splotches. She wasn't shocked by the blood. It was the **wetness**. Several of the bags were actively dripping. A small puddle was spreading out from the mound, slowly but surely.

Several were open. Hands poked out, fingers stiff with rigor mortis. One leg curved in such a position as to suggest the bodybag was poised to stand up and run away. With all Julia had experienced, it wasn't exactly out of the question to expect something to burst out and attack her, if not the body parts themselves. But the radio, her vigilant little friend, remained silent. And she couldn't let this hellhole break her down anymore. Julia strode past the mound. Yes, there were bits of corpses. Yes, someone had mutilated bodies and stuffed the parts in bags. She couldn't concern herself with that.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_, went the clock.

The whirring sound of sharp metal slicing through the air hovered above Julia just as it had in the second floor hallway. She hadn't looked up before because she was preoccupied with running to safety. Now, she simply didn't want to. What good would it be to see? Everything around the hospital was another horror; she was certain the ceiling would be just as unpleasant.

Ignorance was truly bliss.

Julia came to the set of doors that separated the floor into two parts and jiggled the door knobs.

They didn't even so much as budge.

Similar to the second floor, there was a door to Julia's right. It would lead into a small room, which she could presumably travel through to access the other side. This one was, thankfully, open. As Julia entered and closed the door behind her, she thought lingeringly of the crawling tumor.

Julia scrunched her eyes closed and wished the image away.

Downstairs, the corresponding room was a locker room: here, there were only a handful of rusty washing machines. There wasn't much else to observe. Julia headed over to the second door.

Julia had gone half this distance when the rattle of pounding metal made her jump back violently.

Her eyes searched the little linen room frantically, quickly coming to a rest on the closest washing machine. Its glass lid was clasped tightly and Julia could see nothing inside. Still, the little door shook against its restraints. There was a rhythm to it. A heaviness. Someone pushing their way out of a confined space.

"_Fuck that_," she thought to herself, and continued swiftly to the other door. It was gracious enough to not be locked.

Room 301 was just across the hall, not even seven steps away. A quick procedure. As Julia approached the entrance, however, a peculiar sound came echoing from the depths of the shadows to her right. She would describe it initially as creaking wood, akin to an opening door, but there was more to it than that: the throaty bark of a dog, and the roar of a lion, and the angry hiss of a crocodile, all mixed up in one.

Julia's heart started to thump heavily in her chest.

She'd heard that sound before.

From the thing with red eyes. The one that had chased her outside the hospital.

Julia stretched out her stride to reach 301 within moments. She clasped her hand around 301's doorknob and wrung it for all its worth. The door swung open. The radio began to crackle, almost as an afterthought. How fucking useful. Nails were clicking against the floor, moving rapidly. Julia grabbed the knob from the other side and tugged the door forcefully behind her as she entered. It slammed hard against its frame.

She had only seen this thing briefly. A glimpse of a four-legged figure, black as night. Scarlet eyes, piercing and bright. She had no gauge of how powerful it was. She couldn't even remember how big it looked. These doors were sturdy, sure, but something was telling Julia she couldn't trust relative safety at the moment.

Better scared than sorry.

A quick survey. 301 was a small room. A lone bed shoved in the corner. Intended for one patient, definitely. A vase full of wilted asphodels on the windowsill, sitting in front of the barred window. The walls were void of any flesh, much like 307. A painting of what seemed to be Little Red Riding Hood encountering the Big Bad Wolf on the wall. Her mind was frenzied and she was all too aware of the threat waiting outside but Julia focused in on the painting anyway.

She'd hated the story as a child. The wolf terrified her. A wild being of the night, preying on a little girl.

Almost on a whim, Julia tore the painting off the wall with extreme prejudice. The red-eyed shadow collided with the door in the same moment. It was a thick and resonating thud. Powerful. Terribly powerful.

A third note had been dislodged from its hiding place behind the picture frame. Julia snatched it up and unfolded it immediately. Her eyes scanned the page. The shadow was slamming against the door, the effort becoming increasingly vicious with every impact.

_January 8_

_Bobby came to visit today. He said I looked like shit. I don't disagree._

_They've put me on my medications. They say I have a brain tumor but I know it's bullshit. Wasn't it lung problems a week ago? This is all fucked. They want to keep me here. Imprison me. Test on me. They change my medications almost daily. You can't go from xanax to morphine to klonopin the way I do, it's just not fucking safe and even a suicidal fuck up like me knows that. Most days I'm too whacked out to do anything other than stare at the ceiling and occasionally masturbate. There's something going on here and they're making me a part of it and I need to get the fuck out of here._

_Tried telling Bobby that and he wouldn't listen to me. Figures. I'm on my own._

_But they don't know I've split open my mattress on the bottom. And the next time Vincent comes around to get his cock sucked, I'm gonna ask him a favor. He's sweet on me. I've done so much for him, after all. And what's a tiny piece of contraband between friends?_

_-Palmer_

The piece of paper drifted down to the ground as Julia ran over to the bed and wildly pulled the soiled mattress from the frame. Over the fizzle of the radio's hum Julia could make out the sound of splintering wood. Fuck, she could hear the shadow's rumbling grunts as it steadily broke down the fucking door.

Scored through the underside of the mattress was a thin gash. Julia plunged her hand into the slit and began rooting around. How fucking hard could it be to find a gun in a mattress?

Unless, of course, it had never been there in the first place.

Julia curled her fingers tightly around the pipe and continued to feverishly feel her way through the spring coils.

She was backed in a corner.

A monster was beating down the door.

She was shoulder-deep in a mattress, looking for a gun that might not be there.

And for some terrible reason, Julia felt like she wouldn't be able to fend off the shadow with just a pipe.

_asitshouldbeyoudumbbitch_

As the gravity of the situation sunk into her bones, Julia's motions felt all too slow. Her heart's pace was not nearly as frantic as it needed to be. In fact, even the sound of the breaking wood was drawn out for too long.

This was what happened, right? When adrenalin coursed through your body? When your mind found laser focus? Julia was frantic and pulsing with energy, about the equivalent of an eightball's worth of cocaine, but everything was stuck in slow motion and she couldn't break from time's choking grip. She thought fleetingly of how much worse this would make her death to endure.

And then, of course, her fingers found the smooth curve of a pistol's grip.

Julia's forefinger curled instinctively around the trigger. She pulled her arm out of the mattress in one grand motion and swung to face the fragile door. In the back of her head, a voice mused if maybe the gun wasn't even loaded in the first place, or if the safety was on, or if she could handle the shockwave, or if it would jam: a myriad of hopeless, doubting suspicions. But she could not heed their cautionary woes.

The door was caving in.

She'd never fired a gun before in her life. Jesus Christ, how the fuck was she supposed to do this? Julia threw the pipe to the ground and gripped the pistol with both hands, extending her arms in front of her as far as she could reach. Tension was high in her shoulders. She transferred this strain instead to her iron grip on the gun. If she fired off a shot and missed while dropping her best line of defense, she would die.

The door would quickly be pulverized. Through the many cracks, Julia could spot the black mass on the other side bursting through. It looked curiously ethereal. Smoky, like it wasn't even there.

If only it wasn't.

People in movies usually slid something on the top of the gun to start shooting, right? And what about the safety? Julia inspected the weapon quickly. The safety was already off. Clumsily, she clutched the top of the pistol and jerked the sliding part back, letting it snap back into place. She hadn't the slightest fucking clue about real gun handling but that seemed like the right thing to do.

The shadow's head bobbed back and forth into view as its body rampaged against the collapsing wood. Those bloody dots it had for eyes, reflecting the shine of her flashlight, were burning into Julia. For the first time she spotted its gnashing yellow teeth, its furled pink tongue dripping with hunger.

She thought of the Big Bad Wolf.

As Julia squinted and aimed the pistol at the encroaching monster, she began to mutter to herself.

"My, what a deep voice you have."

THUD.

_thebettertogreetyouwith_

"My, what big eyes you have."

CRACK.

_thebettertoseeyouwith_

"My, what big hands you have."

The door was a blow away from finally letting the monster in.

_thebettertograbyouwith_

"My, what big teeth you have…"

_thebettertoeatyouwith_

Her last line of defense broke down into pieces as the beast flung itself toward Julia. It would reach her within seconds. More an impulse than anything, Julia squeezed the trigger and prayed it would actually fire.

The shot rang out.

Her body jerked back, but she stood firm. The gun was still in her hands. The sound had barely even registered in her mind; Julia could only really hear the echo of her thunderous heartbeat and an unpleasant ringing in her ears.

She couldn't see if she had landed any damage and she couldn't hear if the beast was still breathing. She might have hit something, but she couldn't be certain.

That wasn't good enough.

Julia fired off two rounds.

The third bullet made the beast's face jerk back. Its momentum carried it forward on a collision course headed for Julia. She jumped to the right. The room was much too small, the creature too big; it brushed by her roughly, even managing to nick her left calf with one of its sharp claws. The vase shattered on impact as the shadow smashed into the barred window.

Julia whipped the gun around and fired off an extra two rounds into the black mass. How many bullets were in the magazine? Anywhere from twelve to twenty? Even less than that? She would have to check later. In any case, Julia kept the pistol fixed on the shadow.

Standing there, her light shining on the writhing beast, Julia saw it fully for the first time.

Although this monstrosity was a midnight black, it was also ever-so-slightly transparent. A shade. More of a cloud than an actual being. Even so, its blood was dripping out from at least two visible bullet wounds. Actually, a better word was essence. The liquid bubbling out of this monster was a thick and viscous off-white sludge, pouring down into an unsightly puddle below.

The beast's ribcage rattled with every quivering breath. It seemed Julia had punctured one of its lungs. Still, the monster was trying desperately to claw its way onto its feet once more. Its claws scratched against the floor as it slipped over and over again in its own blood. While it struggled, Julia caught sight of its canine profile, even finally noticing its wispy tail.

It might as well have been an actual wolf.

The wolf's usual call had been simultaneously replaced by a painful whine, a wheezing huff, and most curiously the bleating of a dying goat. Julia had lost a fair portion of her hearing after loading off a few rounds into the monster, but its deathly cry was loud enough to still assault Julia's ears. If it hadn't just tried to kill her, she would have felt an overwhelming pity.

With that thought lingering in her mind, Julia aimed the pistol once more. She set her sights on its jerking head. A small prayer for accuracy. Quick, deadly accuracy.

Julia squeezed off a sixth and final round. The wolf's mortal wail broke off almost immediately. It slumped down hard onto the ground, and Julia could feel the resonant thud vibrate through her legs. The puddle stretched out from beneath its host as the milky liquid oozed.

She stood still.

The shadowy beast's body remained still as well.

After an adequately reassuring amount of time spent staring at the unmoving corpse, Julia chose instead to ogle the pistol in her hands.

No one had ever taken her hunting. Not even to a shooting range. Her grandfather had enjoyed the sport of it when he was younger, from what she knew, but he'd given that up before Julia was born. The closest to a gun she'd been around was that of the paintball variety, something Jake enjoyed on occasion. Yet somehow she'd been able to figure it out.

Jake.

She hadn't even thought of her boyfriend once since waking up. Even thinking about him in the present moment seemed like… like an anomaly. There were so many other strange things happening to Julia; Jake was a remnant of another life. She could only wonder how many fruitless times he'd tried to call her cellphone. How worried he had to be.

She would handle that later on, amongst the many other things Julia needed to mull over. Right now, the gun required her attention. Demanded, even.

Fuck, the thing had been already loaded. Palmer had been prepared. And if she hadn't checked the safety, she still would have been able to fire off a round. Was that serendipity, or sheer dumb luck?

How could an orderly have honestly handed off a fully-loaded gun to a patient?

No matter. Ammunition was the important topic.

Feeling around the hand grip, Julia found a button and pressed it experimentally. The bottom of the grip slipped out and landed on the floor. As Julia knelt down to pick it up, an aroma wafted through the air that pierced the encompassing stench of the fetid wallflesh. It was a smell not dissimilar to bleach or chlorine. More than likely, the wolf's unnatural blood.

Picking out the remaining bullets one by one, Julia tallied up six. She'd wasted half the ammunition she'd chanced upon with one fucking monster.

Wait. Julia might be uneducated about guns, but she could tell this had to be semi-automatic if she'd been able to rail off bullets like that. There was one more bullet in the chamber, right? As an extension of this thought, Julia clicked the safety on so that the red dot was showing. This, she had learned from Jake's paintballing. Maybe it wasn't as stupid as she'd thought it was.

So she had seven bullets, then. Julia packed the bullets back into the magazine and stuffed them back into the pistol. This would come to be very handy, Julia was certain, but she couldn't possibly expect to find much ammunition at her disposal. Not unless she stumbled upon an armory. She'd been fortunate enough with a gun hidden inside a fucking mattress, she was sure Lady Luck wouldn't be so generous in the future.

Julia leaned against the wall and sighed.

Her body tensed for a moment as the image of the wallmeat burst to the front of her mind, but she remembered soon after that these walls were thankfully barren. The odor still wafted in through the open doorway, but Julia was learning to stomach it. She rested her head back and closed her eyes.

She'd forgotten about her headache amidst the high tension. It came back now, a rhythmic throb to accompany the tinnitus in her ears. Julia waved both off as minor nuisances. She'd been dealing with pain in her head for far too long to despair about her physical agony anymore.

And what of the mental variety?

_stillafuckedupbitchwhoneedstodie_

Not optimal. But better than before. Julia had even finished off the wolf without going through a breakdown. She supposed that was a good thing.

Yes. Getting comfortable with killing was a good thing.

Julia's eyes fluttered open as she recalled her displaced pipe. She couldn't leave that behind. Before she moved to pick it up from the floor, however, the scribbles on the ceiling caught her attention first.

Julia craned her neck back and tilted the flashlight so she could read the text in full.

_FEB 2_

_RATS ARE IN THE WALLS_

_CAN HEAR THEM SCRATCHING AT NIGHT_

_THEY WANNA BITE MY SKIN_

_GNAW OFF MY FACE_

_NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE_

_THROW MYSELF OUT OF A FUCKING WINDOW_

_THIS PLACE IS INFESTED_

_I'M INFECTED_

_THEY'RE WATCHING MY EVERY MOVE_

_DON'T WANNA GO TO THE BASEMENT_

_DON'T WANNA DIE HERE_

_WHERE ARE YOU GOD?_

_WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?_

What happened to Palmer? Yes, everything around Julia was a mystery and it was best not to dwell on the curiosities that didn't directly involve her, but this Palmer character was either the victim of severe mental delusions or some sort of sinister plot orchestrated by the hospital staff. Maybe even both.

Couldn't the same sort of thing be happening to her?

Julia spied her pipe being approached by the wolf's spreading pool and promptly snatched it from the ground.

Her arsenal was growing.

Soon enough she'd stumble upon a katana, huh? What next?

What next?

Now that she thought about it, Julia wasn't sure what her next course of action should actually be. The scavenger hunt from the "Rachel" Room had led her to a gun and another brush with death. She wasn't going to find the simple medicine she'd come to the hospital for in the first place, at least not without putting herself in unnecessary danger. Her present business was finished. She wanted to leave, but the stairwell prevented her from descending and the elevator lacked the option for the first floor.

Although, Julia recalled, it allowed the basement as an option.

Julia sauntered over to the open doorframe. She didn't want to go down into the basement. Regular basements were ominous on their own; the basement of a fucked-up hospital wrapped up in a nightmare would be far worse and spell out even more trouble for Julia. But she was being sent on a set path. Accepting that fact, as chilling as it was, would make the decision all that much easier. After all, it had never been hers in the first place.

Had anything she'd done so far been of her own volition? Hadn't Julia blindly followed her "sister" into the fog? Followed Marcus's paper trail? Even Palmer's?

Who brought her here?

_What _brought her here?

Questions, questions, questions. Julia could tell she would be asking herself many as she went along. The answers, if there were any, would be few and far between.

Julia glanced down at her scratched leg as she walked back into the hallway. It stung, sure, but the cut wasn't deep. It was a shame she was in the middle of the hospital and even treating something as simple as that wasn't a real option. Oh sure, there could be bandages or antibacterial ointment waiting around for her to pick up somewhere, but they would definitely be waiting behind legions of prisoners and tumors and wolves. Not worth the trouble.

Despite her close encounter with the wolf, or perhaps because of it, Julia remembered the pounding washing machine from earlier and sprinted through the small laundry room. It jolted and shook with vigor, but Julia was too quick.

She didn't have time for more nonsense.

_Tick tock_, went the neverending clock. _Tick tock_. Julia skirted around the mound of body bags.

Still, she'd sooner find something medical than another cache of bullets, and those were the most useful commodity she could hope for. Retrieving the gun had cost her nearly half the magazine. Her pipe was sturdy, reliable; the gun would be a last resort. Honestly, where could she find bullets around here?

Having reached the elevator doors, Julia paused. Before this hospital business, she'd considered going to the police station. Even if it was as desolate as everything else in Silent Hill, the police station would surely have an armory. Not only more ammunition, but more guns, more weapons, even probably earplugs or something to make sure she didn't drive herself deaf. And who knew? If the electricity was working, she could probably contact a dispatch. A neighboring county. Fuck, anyone. She wasn't betting on running into any officers, but the probability was significantly higher if Julia went to their headquarters.

Julia pushed the call button and the doors slid open.

Of course she wanted to get the hell out of Silent Hill. That was the prime directive. But she had no way of knowing what would be waiting for her once she was able to leave town. And there was no way escaping would be an easy process. No, a pitstop at the police station was not only useful, but practically necessary.

_anotherchanceforyoutodieyoubitch_

Well, there was always that. But Julia still needed the inventory. And this would be her decision. Not from some unseen overseer, trying to corral her into another deathtrap.

On that note, Julia pushed the button for the basement level. There was something starting to grow inside of her. Indignation? Spiteful resolution? She was still very scared, very confused, and badly in need of a therapy session, but there was the low rumble of anger in her heart that Julia knew all too well.

As with Silent Hill, as with herself; Julia would have to be careful.

Very. Very. Careful.

* * *

When the elevator shuddered and shook its way past the first floor, Julia speculated about trying to climb out the escape hatch and scale the cable. Would it be a plausible idea? In such an implausible place, probably not. Even if some arbitrary obstruction wasn't blocking her from going up there in the first place, there was no way for her to get the doors open from this side. And Julia didn't fancy being suspended in an elevator shift, considering all the monsters that appeared out of nowhere to generally fuck her day up.

On cue, as the elevator sputtered to a stop in the basement, Julia's radio shrieked loud enough to split through the ringing in her ears. She held her pipe like a baseball bat and waited for the doors to slide open. She physically couldn't hear any monster noises and that put Julia at an even greater disadvantage. Not the type of guessing game Julia liked for sure. When it came down to it, she'd much prefer a tumor over a prisoner or a wolf; Julia had never actually defeated one of the prisoners, for one, and wasting the last of her ammo on another wolf would leave her with a useless gun.

She didn't consider, of course, that something else could be waiting for her.

When the elevator opened, Julia was not beset with the stench of foul wallflesh, but instead by ammonia and feces. She pulled her shirt over her face immediately and grimaced. The basement was rancid, comparable even to a sewer. The floor spread out before her was wet; slightly flooded, it seemed, and the water was unpleasantly murky. Mold blanketed the walls and ceiling, similar to the stairwell but far worse. There were stains all over the walls. Smudged taupe blotches, smeared haphazardly. Dried blood or dried shit. Neither explanation was particularly appealing.

Julia hovered behind the corner of the wall and peered down the hallway.

She would notice later the door on her left, covered in tendrils of chains and a severe-looking lock; even beyond that, there wasn't much to the hall besides four more doors.

Her attention was on what was happening in front of her.

She could only see the cuffs of a pair of scrubs and a faded pair of tennis shoes. She had no doubt there was a body lying on the ground. The problem was, the rest of it was hidden underneath a mob of mutations.

Julia could be forgiven for mistaking them as simple rodents at first. After all, their long wormy tails were definitely evocative of a rat's, and they were about the same relative size. But a high-pitched buzz was competing with the ringing in Julia's ears, and their bodies were segmented and fuzzy in the style of an insect. Really, it was their six crooked legs coupled with their frantic movement that gave her the impression of flies swarming over a turd. The few heads that she could see through the squirming mass definitely possessed those bulging patterned eyes so characteristic of a fly. Their stubby snouts were decidedly battish, although the protruding teeth were definitely a rat's. The thin black membranes of their folded bat wings brought back images of the massacre Julia stumbled upon during her ascent through the Balkan Church.

This was a monster straight out of a B-horror movie. A cartoonish splicing of three organisms. These mutations would have been something Julia rolled her eyes at and laughed about if she saw them on screen. But even from some distance away, Julia could see the monstrosities vomiting up a sickly green sludge. Underneath the chorus of their intolerable squealing, there was a prominent hiss.

There was something else too. Beneath the layer of pungent sewage, Julia could smell something smoky. The smell of something being burnt.

The smell of some_one_ being burnt.

The tennis shoes were perfectly still. There was no way Julia had come in time to save the victim from their demise. But she could avenge them, in her own way.

Water-logged the way it was, there was no way Julia could sneak down the hallway. She chose instead to barrel over to the swarm of abominations.

Several of their godforsaken heads popped up and stared Julia down as she rapidly approached. The squeaking was turning into the warning screech of a colony of bats. Their buzzing mingled with the wail of the radio and the aftershock of the gun, creating a thunderous roar in Julia's eardrums.

Her shirt slid back down into place as she ran, exposing Julia to the putrid basement once more. She grit her teeth and held the pipe out by her side.

One detached itself from the flock. It flew toward her, its wings stretched wide. As it reared its head back and prepared to open its mouth, Julia burst forward and smashed the pipe directly into its hideous face. The abomination smacked into the wall. Julia didn't watch to see if it recovered. She had a small amount of time to take on a horde of these fuckers before one of them would start spitting toxic slime.

Julia started swinging the pipe back and forth like a reckless pendulum once she actually reached the swarm. The mutants screeched loud and fluttered about wildly. She aggressively swept over the area, taking care to smack every monstrosity she could. Some would die quick. Some would twitch and squirm until she finished them. When she missed, Julia took to kicking the monsters, even stomping on them. After a while she couldn't be sure if it was floodwater or blood that was splashing onto her boots.

She couldn't kill them all in one fell swoop. The faster ones flew away from her reeling blows and hovered above menacingly. Without the support of her hearing, Julia almost forgot about the looming creatures in the midst of her assault until one dove down and bit into her shoulder.

Julia's yell echoed through the hallway. She grabbed the squirming monster immediately and threw it violently to the ground. Crushing its bulbous eyes underneath the heel of her boot, Julia felt more than vengeful. She felt savage. Brutal.

Another monstrosity vomited in her direction. She ducked away quickly from the arc of the neon slime and launched the pipe so hard into the abomination it was embedded in the ceiling.

Three of them grouped together and plunged down in unison, a collaborative dive toward Julia's head. Instead of spewing out the green vomit, however, this particular trio burst open at the bottom. Maggots came pouring out. Lumps of wiggling, writhing maggots. Julia jumped back and threw the pipe about wildly in the air. She managed to club the middle hybrid into one of its birthing brethren, sending them both careening into the wall. Her skin was crawling. The image of maggots worming their way through her hair and into her skull was flashing across her eyes.

Most of the maggots had landed upon the desecrated corpse, as well as the remains of their fallen relatives. But had any managed to reach her?

Julia chanced a glance down. To her horror, she found a handful of maggots had latched onto the planes of her shoulders. In fact, while the grubs twitched in a frenzy, Julia realized _they were trying to burrow into her_.

The scream lodged itself somewhere in her windpipe. Julia began to hyperventilate. She shook her body back and forth, swiping with her free hand at the maggots, trying desperately to push the sound of terror out and finding she could only choke.

The third hybrid had seen an opportunity. Its kamikaze freefall toward Julia went unnoticed; it was by pure luck that Julia, in the midst of her panicked thrashing, managed to punch the beast before it could dive into her. Its sharp teeth managed to cut into the flesh of her forearm, but the monstrosity splashed feebly into the murky waters below, and Julia, still flailing, punted it so hard she was sure she could feel its bones crumpling through the leather of her boot.

Julia spun around in a wild circle. Her eyes were wide open, searching desperately for any flicker of movement. Her shoulders were tense, drawn up by her ears; a cold shiver was running up and down her spine.

_**theytriedtogetinsidemetheytriedtogetinsideme**_

One of the dazed creatures she had volleyed earlier began to stir. Julia pounced onto it immediately and listened with sick pleasure to the sharp snap of its crushed ribcage. Yes, it was loud enough to be heard over the vexing hum of her tinnitus and by lord did she like that. Insects didn't have bones, oh yes, but these fuckers did, and she'd break every last one. She'd destroy every last one of these cocksuckers for trying to get those disgusting maggots inside of her, she'd fucking make sure they were extinct by the time she was through with them.

Another one nearby woke and immediately began screeching. It was distressed cry, a call for help. Julia held the pipe over her head and brought it down heavily upon the mutation's head. She felt like an executioner. She felt like the predator, for the first time Julia had come to town, and not the fucking prey.

_anddoesn'titjustsuityouwell_

Julia froze.

The hallway had to be silent. The burning sizzle and the creatures' blaring buzz had long since faded away. Julia could hear only the damage in her eardrums.

Slowly, cautiously, she stepped off of the squashed monster.

_you'rethesameashimcan'tyousee_

Julia was shaking her head. The ravaged creatures, their wanton body parts, _the severed batwings_; she was back in the church, wading through Marcus's destruction.

_youdidthesamethingyou'rejustasviolentandinsane_

Julia shut her eyes tight. She focused on breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth. In and out. In and out.

_youcan'tmakethetruthgoaway_

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

_youdeservetodieyoubitchandyouknowit_

She had to control herself. It was hard, yes, very fucking hard, but that wormy voice was poison and Julia couldn't stand to let it disturb her anymore.

Julia had gotten carried away fighting the screeching monsters.

Screechers.

Julia had gotten carried away fighting the screechers. As with the tumor. And it was frightening, yes. But her life was at stake. Whatever perceptions she had of herself, whatever high standards she aimed for as a human being, Julia could not survive without turning to violent self-preservation and that was simply a fact she would need to accept.

_gotofuckinghellyouwretchedpieceofshit_

Whether she wanted to or not.

Julia surveyed the thin hall. The poor victim was barely a human body anymore. Even without the legions of maggots digging into the corpse, its scorched and gnawed flesh did not lend itself to its former humanity. Julia's heart was heavy with disgust. This person had suffered an excruciating death, and now their body was infested with maggots. Even in the floodwater, the maggots squirmed about, although she noted grimly that they were laboring in movement. She supposed they were drowning.

A morbid thought occurred to Julia. She would never know, of course, but this could be the final resting place of Palmer.

Julia stared at the remains for a long moment and solemnly crossed herself. Part of her wanted to eviscerate the feasting maggots. Mostly, however, she wanted to leave the body in relative peace.

One of its arms, severely burnt and raw, appeared to be pointing to the left-hand side of the corridor. Julia's eyes followed its length and ended up at the foot of the chained door she had barely registered before attacking the herd. With a lingering glance at the defiled corpse and another sign of the cross, Julia approached the door and appraised it completely.

The zigzag of chains rendered a rather melodramatic cobweb over the wooden door, but Julia noted that the tendrils were bound together by a singular padlock. All of the metal was slightly rusted, yet undoubtedly sturdy; Julia yanked on the chains just to humor herself and found nothing would budge. The padlock, almost as big as Julia's head, revealed a tiny keyhole. Julia's eyes drifted over the locked door.

There would be a key somewhere. That was how things worked now. She had been presented an obstacle, and the solution would be nearby, although it would probably entail Julia getting into some unsavory situation or solving a ridiculous puzzle. Taking care to avoid looking back at the corpse, Julia remembered the cadaver from the operating room and shuddered.

But as far as she could see, Julia could not find any piece of paper promising a riddle or poem or cryptogram for her to decipher. Julia supposed she would have to search through the remaining doors, if they would open for her, and hope to find some sort of clue, if not the key itself.

She had almost walked away, too, until she realized that some of the smudges above the door were seemingly forming words.

Julia directed the flashlight onto the suspect spot and squinted her eyes.

_mine is a long &amp; sad tale!_

They were streaked and took her a moment or two to decipher, but those were definitely the words. Shit? Blood? Either way, someone had hastened for a writing material. Julia craned back her neck. The message continued up onto the ceiling.

_FURY said to a_

_mouse, that he_

_met in the_

_house,_

"_let us_

_both go to_

_LAW: i will_

_prosecute_

_YOU… come,_

_i'll take no_

_denial; we_

_must have a_

_trial: for_

_really this_

_morning i've_

_NOTHING_

_to do."_

The text meandered over the ceiling, and Julia had to contend with the blood from her massacre of the screechers, but she followed the message as it lead her in a loop down the hall. She could see it, reading through, also written the opposite way. Julia made sure not to follow blindly and trip over anything as she went along.

_said the_

_MOUSE to the_

_cur, "such_

_a trial,_

_dear sir,_

_with_

_no jury_

_or JUDGE,_

_would be_

_wasting_

_our_

_BREATH."_

"_i'll be_

_JUDGE, i'll_

_be jury,"_

_said_

_cunning_

_old FURY:_

"_i'll_

_try the_

_whole_

_cause,_

_and_

_CONDEMN_

_you_

_to_

_DEATH."_

That final "DEATH" had brought Julia to the end of the serpent's tail, just above a door quite literally across the hall from the locked door. Julia would have liked to poke fun at such ridiculousness in any other occasion, but considering the decorations of screecher body parts and the severely ravaged corpse quite literally at her feet, she found it hard to be amused. Indeed, this winding poem seemed rather preoccupied with taking a harmless mouse, putting it through a kangaroo court, and condemning it to death. Julia supposed the capitalized words were the hallway writer's personal flourish.

FURY. JUDGE. CONDEMN. DEATH. Quite comforting.

Something piqued Julia's interest, however. She supposed it was the strong sense of familiarity. Julia was certain she had read this very same poem once upon a time.

_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, perhaps?

It seemed to be characteristic of Carroll, in any case. But that was neither here nor there. Julia read the graffiti to be more of a taunt than a clue. Like the voice of the P.A. system, reading off the deranged poem and threatening Julia.

She knew, either way, that she needed to go through that door and face what lay on the other side. Preferably not the unambiguous promise of death.

Julia curled her hand around the doorknob and braced herself. The radio was notably silent, as far as she could tell. Her hearing was coming back slowly.

What she walked into appeared to be no more than a storeroom. It was spacier than any other room in the hospital thus far, with aisles of decrepit metal shelving and a general spread of the mold Julia had seen previously in the stairwell coating its ruddy-colored walls. The shelves were largely barren, although some offered assorted containers and plastic bottles.

One even held a sizable white kit, emblazoned with a red cross.

Julia forgot her apprehension, forgot even the taunting poem, and strode swiftly over to the medkit. She couldn't have hardly heard the door clicking shut behind her, or the slide of a lock being put into place. She was nearly deaf and preoccupied with tearing the plastic container apart, after all.

No. She shouldn't tear it apart. She should sort through, carefully, and inventory the medkit. She had several maladies. A glimmer of faint hope alighted in Julia's chest. Perhaps, finally, she would be rid of her incessant headache.

Amidst the packets and rolls and pouches, Julia spied a squat medicine bottle that proudly advertised its pain relief capabilities. She plucked it out immediately, unscrewed the cap, and shook out four tablets into her waiting palm. There was no water to down the pills with. They slid down her throat harshly, but Julia didn't even flinch. As if recognizing that it would soon be gone, her migraine had burst back into action the moment she spotted the medkit. It would take some time, but it would also be done with, and for that, Julia could patiently wait.

After all, she'd be nicked twice by the monsters she faced, and although she'd been ignoring her injuries as much as the unstoppable headache, Julia was forced to admit that her calf was searing with pain. The screecher's mark was superficial, a light worry she could easily remedy with a simple band-aid: the wolf's mark was deeper, and Julia had not spent time to dwell on how a thin but steady line of blood was still seeping from the slice.

There were antiseptic wipes. A tube of antibiotic ointment, too, and a helpful looking roll of ace bandages, not to mention gauze pads.

Julia tore a band-aid away from the kit and applied ointment on its pad before slapping it on her hand. She did not use the antiseptic on her smarting gash, but cleaned the area around it instead, as well as her hands, before gingerly applying the ointment on either side of the wound. It was tender to touch. Julia was honestly amazed she'd ignored it for so long. Perhaps a fair amount of the constant adrenaline and a lot of willpower had staved it from her attention until a moment of rest like this. In fact, if she hadn't stopped to patch it up just now, who was to say what nasty things would've gotten into the cut?

With a gauze pad cushioned against the laceration and the ace bandage wound firmly around the width of her calf, Julia had remedied all of her physical ailments in little to no time.

Funny.

It was almost like something was purposefully being charitable with her, if only for now.

Julia realized almost instantly that her beeline for the medkit had stolen her attention from thoroughly inspecting her surroundings. She surveyed the storeroom hastily and found that the door she swore she had never shut was closed firmly in place. Julia turned the knob experimentally. It wouldn't budge.

Julia turned back to the expanse of the storeroom and wandered around its perimeter rather than beginning to panic. First of all, there was no real reason to freak out quite yet. Second of all, if the medkit had been waiting for her here, who was to say what else would be planted for her discovery?

As if on cue, Julia's venture into a corner afforded the view of a pair of black straps sprawled out from a lower level on one of the shelves. Julia ducked down and pulled, finding that a dusty black canvas backpack had been left dangerously close to the shallow floodwater. She inspected the backpack quickly and found it to be empty, although she paused to read the name stitched into its main flap.

PALMER

The hair on the back of Julia's neck felt prickly, electrified even.

They must have really taken Palmer down into the basement. That note wasn't just the disconcerted ramblings of a patient, though the locating of the gun had rather vindicated Palmer's somewhat relative sanity to Julia some time before.

Julia hoped she didn't find anything else that belonged to Palmer. She believed Palmer to be dead, almost rightfully so, and even holding the backpack felt akin to grave robbing.

And yet, it would hold the medkit.

Julia swiped the kit into the backpack and buttoned the flap down before throwing it on her back. It fit well, she noticed, and not without a twinge of guilt.

Palmer had not escaped. At least, Julia highly doubted it.

Could she accomplish her own plans? Even with the gun, with the pipe, with her demented sense of direction guiding the journey?

The answer, simply, was that she had to.

She continued her circuit through the storeroom. Most of what was contained within the shelves remained to be rubbish. Julia noticed a Zippo lighter discarded on one rack and sparked it once to be sure it was functioning before throwing it into the backpack. Not too far from the Zippo was a tall plastic jug filled with isopropyl alcohol and a dirty rag.

Julia thoroughly contemplated the idea of actually creating a molotov cocktail before she swept the jug and the rag into her backpack as well. She felt like she could do it given adequate chance for preparation. In all honesty, considering the quagmire she found herself rooted in, Julia would probably need it at some point just to save her own skin.

Imagining herself actually concocting a bomb was just mind-boggling.

Par for the course in her life now, it seemed.

Julia's search halted once she stumbled upon a tall storage cabinet resting against the wall in the darkest corner of the room. It was the same muddy complexion as the rest of the room, and indeed didn't really stand out much amongst the decor, but something about how large it was caught Julia's eye.

Trying to open its drawers was a fruitless endeavor. They were locked, or otherwise cemented shut.

What use could it have otherwise, then?

And really, in a room void of any other furnishings but the old metal shelves, the towering cabinet in the corner stuck out like a sore thumb.

Maybe Julia was putting too much thought into it, but something seemed fishy about the cabinet. Almost as if it was hiding something, or covering up a secret.

Julia sized up the cupboard. She could topple it, probably, but Julia didn't fancy the thought of creating a ruckus in the basement. She was cornered down here, and the monsters had a habit of showing up at the worst possible time, after all. But she could try pushing the cupboard out of its corner. Julia wondered if the shallow floodwater might even reduce the traction and make it an easier feat.

Squeezing into the space between the cabinet and the wall, Julia grimaced and shoved her shoulder into tarnished wood. It took some effort, but the cupboard slid with her force. Almost immediately the murky water began to surge around Julia's legs. When Julia glanced over her shoulder, she caught sight of a thin, dark door that had been hiding behind the cupboard's facade. Everything was draining underneath the secret door.

So she was right. And now there was more to explore.

Palmer had been locked away into the basement. Julia had not been able to access the other rooms, but she had a feeling this door led to where Palmer had been hidden. Far away from prying eyes. Many things had made Julia feel sick recently, often for visceral reasons: the pit in her stomach now was that of empathy and pity.

Nobody deserved to be locked up in a dark room all alone like that. No one deserved to be imprisoned. A life held captive was likely one of Julia's worst nightmares, mostly because it was so grounded in reality.

Yet again, Julia could feel the fury stirring in the darkest part of her heart. It was best to exercise caution, for certain, but perhaps channeling her inner rage and vengeance for Palmer on the next monstrous motherfucker to cross her path would be the best course of action. She'd crossed a threshold from passive to active and letting the violence of self-defense warp her mind like it had been would only tear her apart as time went on. It was best to accept her anger. Accept that she had killed, and would likely have to kill again.

She just had to make sure she didn't start to enjoy it, she supposed.

Julia tapped her pipe against the previously concealed door. She couldn't quite explain why she felt the need to do so.

Maybe she fancied it an announcement of her entrance.

A warning for whatever lay below.

Julia was still terrified and hurt and confused and on the brink of a mental breakdown, for sure, but if this was how she could get back her control, then so be it.

It was time to get fucking dangerous.


End file.

Silent Hill, Horror