Blood Ties

Warnings: Graphic violence, language, het, slash, character deaths, AU.

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Full Summary: His father died only weeks ago, and Daniel discovers an old, weathered photo while sorting through his father's belongings; a beautiful woman with cold, calculating eyes. The cryptic phrase "Dahlia my rose and light, Silent Hill 1968" are scrawled on the back, but Daniel knows nothing of his father's mysterious past. Who was she? Why did his father never mention her?

With his curiosity piqued, but still grieving, Daniel packs everything and moves close to the abandoned town--in the city of South Ashfield. Soon he becomes a new resident of South Ashfield Heights apartments, hoping to piece his life together and move on. However, after one bizarre encounter, Daniel realizes SAH apts. has its own bloody history...

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AN: This will be my first and last AN during this story.

Primarily this is a SH 4 tie in, but will encompass all games eventually. Takes place two years after the events of SH4 and the "death ending."

The Red Pyramid(s) will show around the middle of the story. I take liberties with their origin, since I believe they were there long before James set foot in SH. This is one of the reasons why this story earned the AU label, but not the primary one.

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Constructive critique desired...

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Blood Ties

Death of a father, memories, and a strange message…

--------------------Chapter 1: Moving On--------------------

Daniel peered through the rearview mirror with a frown. Yes, so far, the freeway remained clear of his underwear. Immediate relief flooded him, then anxiety twitched in his stomach right after. How long would those cheap cords hold? What was rattling back there? Something was broken, he knew it. Moving was already a pain in the ass, but he had to move with a twenty-year old van, frayed bungee cords barely held the rear doors shut, and every jolt and shudder threatened to spill everything he owned onto the poor vehicle behind him.

As if on cue, he noticed something long and black weaving behind the van, and realized his lamp cord had worked itself loose, again. Scowling, he returned his eyes forward, noting with relief that a rest area lay just up ahead. Slowing his speed a bit, he followed the exit.

The tiny parking lot was crowded, and it took a few moments of maneuvering around several semi trucks before he could park the van. He found a decent spot near a group of large recreation vehicles that had windows painted with bright green alien faces and streamers trailing from the bumpers and door handles. Many of the occupants milled about outside, all dressed in garish shades of fluorescent green and wearing bobbing antennas the same color. Daniel cocked an eyebrow at the strange sight and sighed. It must be nice to be so frivolous, to have money and time to spend it on silly things. For him, life never had been as carefree.

His father had died last week.

“Massive coronary” was what they said after the autopsy. The kind that was sudden and severe, giving his father little time to acknowledge what was happening, and even less for a 911 call. Daniel had found him lying on the kitchen floor of their dingy two-bedroom mobile home, beer forming an amber puddle around his head, spreading from the glass his father had shattered in his hand. Surprised gray eyes stared into the distance and contained the look of vague puzzlement, as if death had caught his father while he had been pondering something…

His father always had this habit of spacing out when he drank; he would take the Daydream Caboose to La La Land and sometimes stayed for days. Sometimes he stayed longer. He would sit on that ugly ass couch of his; that green-as-mold piece of shit that had his scent baked in so deep that sitting on it was like sitting on his father’s lap…Something that Daniel hadn’t done for a long, long time. He missed that. He missed his father’s smell, his sad sighs when he sat on that couch, drumming his fingers and just staring, staring, staring…staring at what? What are you looking at? he would think. What are you searching for? Why won’t you look at me?

Daniel shook himself and cleared his throat, but the images stayed. They remained etched in his memory, seared and aching. The glass. It was everywhere. Broken shards had protruded from his father’s right palm, light winking upon each piece while blood flowed and mingled with the spill. That contrast of colors was what Daniel had remembered most; the streaks of crimson coalescing and pooling under his father’s gaping mouth. His father had bit his tongue when he collapsed--had bit it almost completely through. The blood had stained the floor in scattered splotches and the overpowering smell of beer and shit had lingered for days. Death was an inelegant thing and rarely left a pretty corpse. “Old Ben” would have been mortified at how he appeared in his final moments--especially to his son. His father had always carried himself with dignity, with hard eyes the color of flint, a wry smile, and seemed always on the verge of confession--as if he had secrets he knew he should tell, but could not. Old Ben had never liked talking about the past, least of all his own. It was a mystery that had always fascinated Daniel, and he often wondered when his father would reveal his childhood to him, or divulge some sordid tale about the past.

Now, it was too late. Cremated two days ago, his father’s secrets had burned along with him. Secrets forever lost.

He had sprinkled his father's ashes over his mother’s grave last week, watching as gray floated and settled upon the crimson roses and feeling…what? What was he feeling? Guilt? Anger? Grief? He had frowned then, the weight of the empty vase he held in his hands suddenly heavy and tried to feel something--something besides that awful numbness inside.

Daniel suppressed a wave of guilt and reached for the Pepsi he had waiting in the cup holder. He finished off what remained of the twenty-ounce in a couple of gulps, and let the carbonation burn a trail down his throat.

He thought about the past often, especially within the last few days. Regretting and lamenting the relationship with his parents. Growing up, he was always closer to his mother than his father. His father was never home, often working doubles over at GM as a sheet-metal specialist. The job required long hours and even holidays, but his father never complained. His mother was a tutor, teaching elementary students from their home three days a week. No grandparents in sight; both had died when he was very young, and his parents had no siblings. It made Christmas a little lonely, but for the most part he never wanted for anything.

He smiled a little as he remembered those early years, and the children who would visit the house. His mother often invited her students for dinner and brunch. He made friends with most of them, although when he grew older, those friends grew less and less. It was five years ago that his mother was killed. She had gone for groceries one rainy morning and never came back. The driver who had collided with her tiny vehicle emerged from the head-on collision with only cuts and bruises--and also quite drunk. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt at the time and the impact threw him clear. Clear and free, and the moist ground along the roadside broke his fall. Lucky him.

They took his mother to the morgue in pieces.

“I just hate driving in the rain…”

Daniel blinked and threaded his fingers through his mop of hair. He shoved her voice aside, tucked it into the back of his mind and shut the door. He wasn’t in the mood for echoes. No voices today. No sense heaping guilt upon more guilt.

After the insurance money ran out, they had lost the house. Daniel dropped out of Art College to take on a full time job. He managed to get them both a cheap trailer, but it was a constant struggle to keep the bill collectors at bay. The stress was nonstop, and the frustration that lingered was burning a hole inside. Daniel felt as if his head hovered just above water, and each wave that crashed threatened to put him and his father under for good. It caused him to resent Old Ben, and the fact that his father couldn’t move on. He was hurt that his father was never sober long enough to carry on a decent conversation; angry that he had to work doubles at the local Pet Mart just to make ends meet. His job was useless in every sense of the word; he felt wasted as his artwork sat neglected in his tiny room, pencils and paints collecting dust--much like his ambitions and goals before his mother had passed away.

But you’re free now aren’t you Danny boy? Free to do as you please…even move halfway across the country…

Daniel threw the empty bottle in the back seat and glowered at the parking lot. His gaze fell on one of the passengers from the alien RV’s. The girl laughed and bumped into her friend as she walked, both eating candy bars from one of the vending machines. The girl he noticed first had dark hair cropped close to her face. The wind whipped it about and made it appear as if she had a head full of black feathers. A candy-red tank top and shorts clashed well with the verdant antenna she wore and the sequins sparkled bright in the late afternoon sun. She had an delicate face, heart-shaped, and would make a good subject for one of his fantasy paintings. He committed her features to memory, and continued watching, feeling envious. She probably had both parents alive and well, providing a secure college fund and maintaining a happy home life filled with love and contentment. She probably had no job, no other worries than maybe a bad hair day--or her makeup running if she sweated. A bitter coil of resentment unfurled within him, and he looked away before the girl could notice him staring. It hardly seemed fair.

Daniel leaned his head back and pouted at the ceiling, his eyes following the outline of a large tear in the upholstery. Why did he stop here again? Oh yes, the lamp cord.

Grunting, he opened the door and eased his body to the pavement, stretching and cracking his neck as he straightened his clothing. His T-shirt was dirty from lunch (he never could wear white without spilling something on it), and his faded black jeans had a ragged hole over the knee. The air was cooler than the forecast predicted, but Daniel didn’t mind. Autumn was better than summer anyway, and he was happy to get out for once and enjoy the weather.

He rounded the van, sliding one finger along the side and came away with dirt. Yuck, needs a wash. He tugged on the bungee cord to test the resistance and made sure it was still taut, then snatched the lamp cord from the pavement. The electrical prongs were broken. He gave a irritated sigh, bundled the cord around the lamp and threw the thing into the back of the van. The sound of breaking glass as it hit the corner of his dresser made him roll his eyes. He had to take a piss.

Daniel shunned all that he passed and shoved the restroom door open with an angry whack. There was no one present within; a strange contrast to the many that loitered outside. Shrugging, he proceeded to do his business, and then walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He scowled at the mirror for a moment, taking in the dark circles under his gray eyes, and the pallid color of his face.

I look like a fucking ghost.

He felt like one as well, exhausted both physically and mentally. He had not had a decent night’s rest in a long time--and that was since even before his father had died. He always had strange dreams when he was younger, dark and beautiful, but sometimes he would wake up screaming for no reason. Daniel’s mother just blamed his creativity as the cause, and told him not to worry. “You just have the subconscious of an artist darling…” she would say and give him a little pat on the cheek. “That’s all…you just see everything differently than the rest of us…”

Daniel smiled in the mirror a little, blinking back the tears that threatened. He cleared his throat and washed his hands again, the repetitive motion soothing him. He shrugged the dark hair out of his eyes, vowing to get the shaggy mop cut soon. A smudge of blue decorated one cheek, a souvenir from carrying a box of paints that he had forgotten to seal shut. His lips pressed together in a thin line, but he could never get rid of that baby pout he was always teased for back in high school. He blamed his father for that. They both had the same lips and piercing gray eyes; the same body type even though Daniel hoped he would never have his father’s receding hairline.

His gaze now wandered over the varied graffiti scrawled upon the walls, picking out slogans and crude remarks that stood out from the rest. Normally, there was some decent letter art in most graffiti, but sadly it seemed only amateurs had left their mark.

Daniel dried his hands while still looking at the wall, and caught notice of some crimson lettering in one corner. Leaning closer, he scanned the paragraph, expecting some lewd rhyme or lyrics to a song, but instead, he read something else:

Heed my words child of sin; the damned lament and the innocent suffer. Weep not for the iniquities of the soul--for the transgressor, the vile and corrupt. The lies of this world taint all within. Blood and darkness consume the weak. Only the pure will inherit paradise; only by fire will the righteous prevail. Gather at the iron gates of Silent Hill. Gather and be cleansed from darkness!

Daniel swallowed and scanned the message again. Most of the ranting he dismissed as religious fanaticism, except for two words: Silent Hill.

He frowned and felt the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He thumbed through his ever-decreasing stack of cash until he came upon a worn and faded photograph. Turning it over delicately in his palm, Daniel stared at the face of a lovely woman who appeared to be in her thirties. She had long, wavy hair that appeared blond, but the photo was too faded to make out the exact color. She smiled brightly for the camera, but for some reason the happy expression did not reach her eyes. They remained hard, calculating, conveying a sense of menace that made Daniel feel uncomfortable even looking at her. He flipped the picture over again to read the scrawling words of his father, written thirty-eight years earlier:

Dahlia, my rose and light…Silent Hill, 1968.

His rose and light? She hardly seemed the rosy type--but his father had thought so. He came upon this photo when going through his father’s belongings. It was inside an old pair of jeans that he had found packed away along with some strange items in a box deep inside his father’s closet. Other keepsakes included a gold locket filled with dried rose petals, a lock of reddish blond hair, and a woman’s purple scarf placed neatly within the box. It was a little creepy finding these items and Daniel had no clue what to make of the photo. Was she his father’s lover? If so, why did he never speak of her? Did it end badly, or did they just go their separate ways? Again, Daniel became irritated at his father’s taciturn personality, and wished that he had confided in him a bit more before the end. He wanted to know who she was, what had happened, and why her photo seemed to have been tucked away like a secret treasure…

He had found nothing else and kept all but the jeans, storing the photo in his wallet for safekeeping. He felt an odd vibe when he read over the words “Silent Hill,” but could not fathom why. It was what prompted him to find an apartment close to the vacant town, in the small city of Ashfield. Conveniently, South Ashfield Heights had cheap rates, and after a long conversation with the superintendent Frank Sunderland, he could easily afford the one bedroom apartment available there for rent.

After some minor delays with details on the mobile home lease and then closing his bank account, here he was, two days on the road with everything he owned, and on his way to Ashfield to start a new life. At twenty-five years old, it seemed too late, but he was painting again, even selling a few portraits here and there for some extra cash. He sold three on eBay just for the security deposit, and his savings would cover at least four month’s rent. Once he settled in, he would find a job and paint on the side until he could do it full-time again. Everything would work out; all he had to do was be patient.

Daniel made a face at the mirror and sighed, giving another lingering glance at the bizarre scribble on the wall before turning and exiting the men’s room. As he walked, he put the picture back in his wallet, taking care not to bend it. And instead of ignoring everyone as he did before, Daniel took the time to study the people around him as he approached the van.

The alien entourage was gone. All that was left were a few broken antennas bobbing on the ground and some green streamers crisscrossing the pavement. A few truckers idled outside their vehicles, smoking and drinking soda while stretching their legs from the long drive. One trucker stood apart from the others, a thin fellow with a flannel shirt that had seen better days, and some dark brown pants spattered with bleach stains. His hair was long and greasy looking, his face scruffy and pockmarked. Beady eyes squinted at Daniel as he made his way back to his vehicle, and the trucker began walking toward him. Daniel hastened his pace and unlocked the door, jumping onto the seat and closing the door just as the trucker reached the side of the van. Even with the windows rolled down halfway, Daniel could plainly smell the stench of body odor, along with a week’s worth of sweat as the man leered against the glass.

“The world is crackin open boy, spewing nothing but darkness and shit,” the trucker said, his voice sounding like gravel crushing under heavy wheels. “Gotta cleanse it by fire. Gotta make it right…it ain’t natural ya know, all them doors gapin--gapin like hungry mouths. They’ll swallow us whole, eat us alive!”

Daniel glared but said nothing as he rolled up his window. He started the van, but the rumble of the engine did little to drown out the trucker’s final words.

“Child of Sin, heed my words…”

Daniel did a double-take and stared as the trucker flashed him a gummy smile and backed away, his eyes wild looking. He continued to watch the man as he pivoted like a drunk and ambled off. The harsh vibration of the van shivered through him. Child of Sin? Did that guy write the nonsense on the bathroom wall? He shook off the tingle of unease that snaked through his belly, and put the van in gear. It was nothing. It was just some creepy guy shoving his whacked out beliefs on other people. Just another religious fanatic.

It’s nothing…stop worrying about it.

He turned the radio up as he pulled out of the rest stop, attempting to dispel the agitation the trucker had inspired. He needed to stop worrying so much. Only a day until Ashfield. Focus on that. All else was a distraction, and there was no sense wasting more time.

Child of Sin…Silent Hill…Only by fire will the righteous prevail…

Daniel clenched his jaw, but continued onto the freeway, noting the signs above that pointed in the direction of Ashfield.

Only one more day…and then his life would start over. Everything was going to be just fine.