Book Of The Path

Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.


Title: Book Of The Path.

Author: RaveEchidna

Fandom: Silent Hill 2 with splashes of the other games/ movie.

Paring(s): James/Maria, Pyramid Head(s)/James…too many to list

Warnings: Spoilers, Heterosexual sex, Gay sex, rape, snuff, dubious consent, gore, torture, child abuse, death, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, strong langue….lots and lots of very wrong things.


Chapter 12

Chills, he had them, looking over the table into the hazel colored tempest of his client’s eyes cut him to the quick. Of all those that he handled that had endured Silent Hill and returned in varying states of mental decay and breakdown, Mr. Sunderland was the only one that he feared. He swallowed around a lump in his throat, James’s last statement still whispered in the back of his mind. “I can’t answer that James,” he said finally shattering the silence spreading his hands, palms open, “only you can.”

Eye contact broke as James shifted he almost seemed to fidget the longer he spent talking to a single person. “You know that’s not true. That’s just something you say to keep people talking. Keep them talking and maybe just maybe they will hear how crazy they sound so they can start snapping themselves out of whatever disorder they supposedly have.” He fought to keep himself from growling at the man, James was almost certain he could smell the smiling Doctor’s fear. “I don’t know if this is going to work, maybe I’m just wasting your time.” The blond man looked down at his hands before he pressed them down on the table using them to support himself as he prepared to stand and walk out of the appointment.

“Hold it!” A hand shot out lightly grabbing one of the still very tender wrists. “No one ever said that this was going to be an instant fix. All therapies take time, if you’re not comfortable taking about Silent Hill then we can always talk about something else.”

James winced, even the light hold hurt enough for his breath to escape in a pained hiss and he grew very still. “It doesn’t matter what we talk about, Doctor, everything leads back to that damned town.”

“I’m sure it does,” he said to humor James offering over a smile he hopped was at least somewhat reassuring. “But we don’t have to rush in to tackle it just yet.”
Hearing the hiss he released the captive wrist. “Sorry I forgot how sore you must be.” He had enough social grace to look embarrassed.

“No one ever said that physical therapy was going to be an instant fix.” James had taken the Doctor’s words and spat that back at the man.

The man who might as well have been nameless chuckled shook his head. “Fair enough I had that one coming.” He leaned back a little trying to make himself relax. “Well I’ve gone over your records and found that—”

“My father and I haven’t spoken since Mary’s death?” James questioned cutting his shrink, and it felt odd to think that he had one, off. “I don’t plan on that changing any time soon.” He could see the expectant look on the Doctor’s overly pleasant and open face. He had to force himself to look away otherwise he knew he’d snap tell the man to fuck off and hobble back to his room. “I guess you want me to talk about it right?” James held up a finger when the man’s lips parted. “Don’t bullshit me.”

Dr. Nameless sank with a sigh, he’d been caught again. “If you’re going to be that way about things, the answer is yes I do want to hear about it but James, please understand that I do want to help you, so you can help yourself.” His fingers wove together. “I want to understand what could drive you to cut the man from your life.”

James closed his eyes. “I don’t think you’re going to like hearing this.” He took a deep breath and once more he reminded himself that the Doctor was just doing his job. “You probably think that I hate him—”

***

How he hated that man, the emotion gnawed through his soul leaving it raw and hollowed out. At ten he had heard his classmates say it enough. They hated stupid things like broccoli, spinach or the slop that the school’s cafeteria dished out at lunch time. They also hated for dumb reasons, like being picked last for the kick ball team. What they had was an empty and petty hate that would without a doubt fade in time. His hate was different. His was divine, his was consuming, and he knew it bordered on wrath, one of the mother’s most dangerous gifts if it was used for the wrong purpose or allowed to fester.

Light hazel eyes glared at the alcohol bloated face of the man that had sired him. The man was currently snoring as his body slowly burned away the case of beer that had been emptied into the vast chasm of the ever expanding rolls of fat that insulated the man’s guts. He would never think of Frank Sunderland as his father, a father would have stepped in, a father would have protected and defended his only child. Frank had done nothing as always, he’d turned a blind eye and deaf ear to his screams and cries. One word could be used to describe Frank’s attitude up until that point Apathetic.

Apathy, as James saw it, was the most dishonest and utterly useless mindset and life style ever. The levels he’d had dealt with from Frank had broken something in him leaving him ready to be foaming at the mouth in anger. Two hours had passed since it had happened and his mind was swimming, whirling, and he didn’t understand all of what his mother had done but he knew it had been wrong even if it had felt nice…well before she’d stuffed that thing up his butt, that had just hurt. His eyes were still red even though his tears had dried. “Why?” It was a simple question that hung heavily in the air. The single word oozed a venomous hate and extremely volatile rage.
Nothing, still no response from the man, swamp mud eyes opened blinking before they slid away from the boy. They seemed to focus on a blank spot on the wall somewhat to the left of the television. “Stop askin’ tha’ damn fuckin question.” A low, wet, grumbling wheeze issued from the man and it degenerated into a shaking cough.
James sincerely wished that the man would hack up lungs, blacked with tar and die gasping like a beached whale. “No.” A still childishly short finger pointed spitefully at ‘dearest father’. “Not until you give me a fucking answer.”

Even the man’s hands were bloated, padded with fatty deposits but they were strong, almost crushing as they pulled James from the floor. Hot breath thick with scent of beer and bile washed over his face. “You want an answer? You demand a fucking answer? Fine if you’re going to play big man I’ll give you one you damned brat. You were always so keen to know more to know everything kissing ass and playing Momma and Uncle Jimmy’s parrot. Well you sold yourself perfectly you got the job, now you’re one of the faithful one of the saved.” He dropped his son onto his lap. “Your mother loves you doesn’t she?” Yellowed teeth sneered, “and she doesn’t need daddy no more, I know she’s been looking for a way to get me gone.”

Color and rage drained away to be replaced by ash and confusion. The young boy felt his lips part but no sound left them other then a pained squeak as he was thrown from his father’s, not that the man could be considered that, lap. He hit the floor with a sharp thud, but he didn’t curl up he did his best to scamper away from the drunken man. He stopped only when he had his back pressed into the corner his eyes slightly wide with fear. He’d never seen the man so far gone.

Blood shot eyes narrowed. “If, if she ever pulls her head out of her out of her God’s twat she’ll know where to find me. As for you—God help you boy. I can’t, I won’t and you’re fucking lucky. If you’da been any other man I’da shot you.” Frank hauled his rotund form from the battered Lazy Boy. “Looks like you get to be the man of the house.”

* * * * *

James grew silent his fingers hooked into the wooden table top. His body shook he was seething, enraged his grip tight enough to steal away the pink color under his nails leave them a bloodless white. He had to pull himself back and away from his past and he took several breaths to level himself. “That was the last time night that dad and mom lived under the same roof.” His tone was still so flat. “You know I don’t think that this is going to help me much, and if you think I hate him…you’re wrong. I think he’s a worthless and pathetic bastard that should probably lie down in front of a bus or blow his brains out with the 12 gauge he used to keep in his closet. I don’t hate him, I don’t have to. I know he hates himself.”

The Doctor’s mouth went dry and he couldn’t take his eyes off James, the man’s words seemed to be pretty hateful. Slowly he reached out and turned off the recorder. He had to swallow several times as he processed what he’d just been told. His client had just recounted being raped at ten years of age and then calmly stated that he didn’t hate the father that walked out on them but that he thought the man should commit suicide. He knew full well that the memories that James professed to have could have been nothing more then very real and powerful delusions. He had a client in Shepherd’s Glen that was notorious for having fake memories.

“You don’t have to believe anything I say is true. You don’t want to believe that it could be true.” The blond man’s voice was still flat, like a bad voice actor. “It’s not your job after all right?” James untangled his fingers and picked at the nails pulling out dark slivers of the wooden table. “It’s not like you’ll ever find any of this on record, it doesn’t matter that I went to the police it doesn’t matter that I talked with my counselor at the school. You see the Order…they own so much more then you’d think and my home town, well it was born from it.” He knew he sounded crazy at that moment he didn’t care.

“The Order?” He who in James’s mind was nameless became Nameless. The man frowned. So many times Nameless had heard the Order mentioned, and most of his clients had suffered from actions of this shadowed cult. The Masons were known to scream, curse, break into tears or just break things when anyone mentioned the word. “What can you tell me about them?” His hand crept back to his recorder turning it back on. If James noticed he didn’t seem to care. “I’ve heard it mentioned a lot when dealing with cases like yours but I don’t really know anything about it.”

“Ever think you’re better off that way?” James licked at his suddenly dry lips. “Maybe that’s all that’s keeping you safe.”