Book Of The Path

Disclaimer: I do not Own Silent Hill Konami and Team Silent do. I just wanted to play with the world they made.

Physical rehabilitation hadn’t been something James had been expecting to undergo but then he had not been expecting his wrists and ankles to suffer such damage. He didn’t know how he’d managed to throw the vase at his mother when he hadn’t even begun the path of healing. He was finally getting to the point where he could walk for extended amounts of time without triggering unbearable sparks of pain. He’d always carry the scars from Walter with him, some unholy stigmata. His fingers poked gingerly at the healing wounds on his wrists as he looked out the window. He was no longer sure how long it was that he'd been in the hospital and he could not bring himself to care. He’d been left mostly alone by his mother, she’d only lost control of her self a handful of times; as long as he didn’t struggle too much she would quickly hit her peak of pleasure, clean up her mess, and leave him to stew in his own thoughts until his ‘therapist’ would come and talk to him. He didn’t know where they had found this man but he was something of a specialist in dealing with victims of the mass hallucinations brought on by prolonged exposure to Silent Hill. Apparently James was just another one of his highly damaged yet treasured clients. James closed his eyes tipping back his head as he stood in a patch of sunlight letting it thaw the chill that had settled with him. He was starting to wonder just where reality started and where the nightmares ended. If everything that had happened to him had been a dream, or part of one, then what had happened to him?


“Ah there you are James, how are you this morning?” The light, all-too-pleasant sound of his therapist’s voice rang out making James turn to look down the hall. The man stood looking at him, his posture horrible, his expression inviting. He had an average face and voice making it almost impossible for James to remember the man’s damned name. “Care to have our session out in the courtyard? I mean it’s a nice day and all.” James knew the man had a recorder on him somewhere, and that the session would be taped and listened to over and over. The Doctor was developing something of an unhealthy obsession with Silent Hill and while it worried James he shrugged it off, it was his choice after all.


James just nodded, he always enjoyed the sun light and sometimes he could watch the butterflies flutter from flower to flower and he could lose himself in the simple beauty of it. Mary loved butterflies. Sometimes however it was not beauty that he lost himself in but the horror of a swarm of black winged monsters with gnawing teeth whispering of his coming death. He shivered pulling his green jacket tighter around him. “The courtyard sounds wonderful.”

His therapist nodded and led the way into the small, enclosed garden. James could feel a tired smile cross his lips. Mary would have liked this place he was sure of it. In the center of the area was a simple stone fountain and around the edges were flowers, even the small white roses she would fawn over. He had tried to keep them alive when she had died but they too withered as if it was his touch alone that was toxic. The smile faded as he tried to push the feelings of guilt away. He had done nothing wrong the illness had killed her finally taking her away from him she was gone, dead as could be, the letter in his pocket had to be nothing more then a hoax. Or was it real and she was still waiting for him to find her?


“You’re thinking about something awfully hard,” the man stated looking to James his head tipping just a little. “Why don’t we take a seat and you can tell me all about what you’re thinking.”


James bowed his head taking a seat wondering what it was he should tell the man. He folded his hands together his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know where to start, but I’m not crazy, at least I don’t think I am.”


James looked up to the still standing man, his expression one of such loss and heart- breaking hopelessness that even the doctor had to fight with all his will to keep a professional distance between them. The doctor knew it was like that with all of his clients that had been exposed to whatever psychological nightmare ‘The Hill’ was; they all looked to him with such cutting desperation that even he wanted to take them into his arms and tell them all would in time be well. It was a lie, he highly doubted any of them would ever recover from what ever shared delusions they were suffering from. Though James was an interesting case, and had some how inflicted wounds upon himself that should be impossible. How it was that he managed to rape and then crucify himself was a mystery that he was sure took no small amount of intelligence for the man to work out.


“You don’t believe any of it do you?” James’s hazel gaze locked onto his eyes begging for understanding for belief but he knew the worst thing that a person could do would be to fall into their clients' own delusional world. “You don’t, I can tell. But you don’t have to believe it, I know, I think, I know it happened.”


James watched as the man pulled out the tape recorder. “So then why don’t you tell me James, all of it? How you came to be in this place and what it is that hunts you still?” He laid out a few spare tapes letting the man know he had more then enough for the story. “Just start from where ever you think you have too.”


The younger of the two nodded his blond hair falling in front of his eyes as tried to think of where to begin. “I got a letter,” he said after a moment pulling the battered page from his coat his hands feathering over it so careful. “The name on the envelope said Mary— ”


* * *

His mouth had gone dry the moment he pulled the crisp white envelope from under his door. Shaking hands held it as hazel eyes misted over, the fine flowing script was something he hadn’t seen in years but he knew it. He’d know it even if he went blind. 'Mary' was written so smoothly on it in soft blue ink and his breath caught; he hadn’t seen a letter like this since high school when they had just started to date. He licked his dry lips taking care as he tore open the envelope. He was greeted by a wash of her scent, sandalwood and cinnamon, her smell. He almost dropped the letter then in disbelief. Part of him dared to believe that the letter could be real that it wasn’t just some sick joke of one of his coworkers or some depraved friend of his mother's. His lips moved as he read the letter engraining each of the words, her words, to memory. “Our special place, Silent Hill,” he whispered not knowing he had spoken aloud.


James clutched the letter close to his heart before he ran off to what had been their bedroom. He didn’t sleep in it any longer, the bed was too large without her, the room too cold for one person. He paused just for a moment before he opened the door, everything was just as he had left it, just as it had been for three years. He gathered his nerves and stepped over the threshold. Something he had done not all that long ago it seemed with her in his arms laughing, newly wed. He shook off the feeling and slinked over to the closet wincing at the creaking sound it still made, a sound he had never gotten around to fixing no matter how much Mary had begged him too. Quivering hands reached up pulling down a heavy picture album; “Silent Hill.”


Meticulously placed pictures lovingly labeled and placed with tender care in colorful groupings greeted him. Smiles frozen in time, smiles that would never again be repeated since Mary was dead. He turned to the pages that dealt with the sleepy town and his breath caught in his throat. He wondered what part of Silent Hill could be their special place. The whole town had meant so much to them. From the Flower shop where he had bought her one of her much loved white roses to the lake that they had spent an entire day on where he had proposed to her with butterflies gnawing through his stomach. He’d never thought she would say yes. Or could it be the hotel?


A light flush dusted his cheeks pink. The hotel rested on the river front, a beautiful, grand old building. The stairs oddly enough didn’t creak under foot as he carried Mary to their room. They had lost themselves; Mary shedding her innocence to his all too knowing hands. He closed his eyes as he felt them mist over. She had deserved someone just as pure as she had been, not someone like him. But she had known that she wasn’t his first, she’d known about his past and she had taken him into her arms and kissed his lips so tenderly and lovingly that he held nothing back. “Oh Mary.”

James didn’t remember packing he didn’t even remember starting the car. It wasn’t until a day into his trip that the reality of what he was doing sunk in. He was going to Silent Hill to find his wife, his dead wife. It was madness. A dead person couldn’t write a letter. A dead person couldn’t be waiting for him in the peaceful resort town. But, what if they had been wrong and the small wasted body that had been curled up on Mary’s bed hadn’t been her but another victim of the same illness and she just happened to die during the night? Mary might have been too weak to speak then and no one thought that it wasn’t her. Maybe she recovered enough to request a transfer to a place that held her heart and hopes. True that seemed far fetched but how else could it be that he had gotten a letter from her? Still the letter might not be anything more then one cleverly created ruse to get his hopes up and lure him into that town only to break him apart. He frowned remembering that it was that sleepy little town that had given birth to the Order and he knew all too well that they were dangerous.

His conversation with the man behind the hotel desk had been short, clipped, and to the point. James didn’t want to talk he didn’t want to explain what it was that he was doing. If he had thought that he could have made the rest of the trip without stopping he would have. James yawned taking the key from the man as he turned and headed up the steps, noting how badly they creaked under him. He made a note not to come back on his return trip. Mary hated creaking steps and doors. In some ways she was almost obsessive about that. She’d yell at him when he would close the closet door on her, making it so she would have to open it and hear it creak.

* * *
James remained still as the engine cooled. He closed his eyes resting his head on the wheel. He’d finally made it to the last rest stop, his final stop before he’d enter the town. She’d told him she was waiting for him in Silent Hill. Hope and apprehension tangoed through him as he slid from the blue beast. Stiff legs carried him to graffiti splattered bathroom. His nostrils flared at the pungent sour-sick smell that hung in an unseen cloud around the stalls. He’d never understand how people could be so filthy. Cold water was splashed on his face soothing frayed nerves “Soon Mary,” he whispered catching his refection in the mirror.


His breath hitched and he leaned in closer, he stood his lips parted slightly as he watched his face lose color. With out thinking he brought his fingers up to the glass letting the long digits trail over it. James’s shock was clear on his face. Dark circles hung under his eyes making him look far older then he was. “We’ll be happy again.” He wanted so desperately for the letter to be real so that he could finally be the white knight that she had always dreamed of. “I won’t let you down,” he vowed pulling his hand away from the glass. James sighed stepping away from the sink tipping his head back seeking answers, or maybe solace in the grimy ceiling fixtures. Finding none he shuffled from the rest stop taking note of someones crude attempt at humor. ‘Only one birth is sacred use protection’ had been scribbled onto the side of the building in black spray paint. He’d never understand what it was that made teenagers so destructive, maybe it was a bad balance of hormones in an overly taxed system coupled with years of being imprisoned in school systems that really didn’t care about what children really needed. James shook his head pondering the words that had been written on the wall. He knew first hand that no birth was really sacred; if it had been true that one birth was then he should have been—he let that train of thought fall away into nothing.


Fog pooled around his feet as he slipped past the wrought iron town gate. Normally he would have driven into the town but something within him was telling him he needed to leave the car behind. The air was heavy, damp, and cold making him thankful that he had worn his battered old green jacket. It was an article of clothing that Mary had always detested but had never been able to talk him into getting rid of. The Jacket was an old hold over from high school and collage, and even when he had first gotten it the worn army coat had been heavily used. He shuddered picking at the sleeves. He could hardly see past the end of his own nose, the fog was so much thicker then he ever remembered it being; it had been one of the things she had loved about the resort town. She’d said that it gave the town a feeling of being magical as if it were part of some romantic dream. James on the other hand had never been the comfortable with not being able to see everything around him clearly. He absolutely hated the way it distorted and carried sound. James would rather be lost somewhere he’d never been in the dark then be wandering around in endless fog, but she had loved it so he had forgone his own comfort for her wishes.


Under his feet loose stones shifted and crunched. The sprawling path that led into town was either longer then James remembered or he was more out of shape then he had thought. He paused part way down taking a few deep breaths his ears picking up odd wet thumping and grinding sounds that came from every direction and no direction. He shuddered and scolded himself he wasn’t a child any more and he had no reason to be jumping at shadows and odd sounds. He knew the only monsters that were real were the ones that hid behind human faces. He couldn’t suppress another shiver as the path suddenly ended and he found himself wandering through one of the town’s cemeteries. Every ounce of his being told him that he should flee, and never ever look back. James shook the feeling off giving one last wry look back over his shoulder as he mentally scolded himself once again. He was being foolish.


The stones that were sprawled out before him varied in age and complexity. The sheer opulence of one of the caved angels made his stomach twist and knot with guilt. He hadn’t been able to afford anything nearly as fancy for Mary; her final resting place consisted of a modest head stone with her name date of birth and of death with the simple epitaph of: One of the rare butterflies of life, fluttering now ever free. She had loved butterflies. He loathed them. But he learned to love them because she had.