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Someone steps in front of the car.
He hadn’t thought that anything could stop him. But he’s slammed on the brakes and swerved almost before he’s registered what happened.
He nearly hits the public bathroom, the one where he paused to take a breather before heading down into the town. Maybe it’d be appropriate, his visit to Silent Hill starting and ending in the same place.
But the car screeches to a halt just short, nose nearly touching the brickwork. James sits there in the driver’s seat for a moment, breathing hard. He still hasn’t let go of Mary’s hand.
He wasn’t supposed to have to think about anything else. He’s not prepared for—
Who did he almost hit?
He looks back over his shoulder, out through the driver’s side window.
Angela?
He almost calls out to her. But, if she comes over to the car, she’s going to see Mary in the passenger seat, and she’s going to have questions.
He closes his eyes for a moment, then forces himself to unlace his fingers from Mary’s. Her hand drops away from his, limp.
He doesn’t realise, until he climbs out of the car, how badly he’s shaking. He almost hit Angela. He’s done too much killing already, and the idea of having another person on his conscience—
“You stopped the car,” Angela says. Shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around herself.
“I couldn’t hit you,” James says.
He swings the car door shut. It closes like a gunshot, and for a moment he’s back on that metal grating, gripping the handgun, putting an end to Maria as she whispers his name.
Angela glances at the lake. Looks over at James. “So it’s a choice only you get to make?”
He’d backed up a good distance along the road, to make sure he’d break the barrier when he hit it, because he’d known he wouldn’t be able to do this twice.
That was his chance. It’s gone.
“Weren’t you the one telling me there’s always another way?” Angela asks. “You’re a hypocrite.”
James hesitates.
“I guess I am,” he says.
Angela gives a dry, bitter laugh.
“Look,” James says, “I don’t know exactly what you’ve been through.” He could probably make some informed guesses, based on the things he’s seen and heard. He doesn’t really want to. “But it’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to live. Whatever you did, you were defending yourself. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
The same can’t be said for him. He has no right to still be breathing. But, if Angela’s still alive, he should probably stay with her. Make sure she gets away from this place safely, at least.
Maybe he’s making excuses, telling himself he needs to stay alive to protect Angela. He can’t protect anyone.
“I can take you away from here,” he says.
Angela takes a step back. Drawing into herself, making herself small. It’s not really a surprise.
“I won’t do anything to you,” James says.
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence.
“Do what you want to me,” Angela says at last, her voice flat. “I don’t care.”
James winces. “I just want someone to get out of here.”
“We aren’t getting out of here,” she says. “We’re being punished.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe there’s no getting out. A moment ago, he thought this was where it was all ending for him.
But someone’s still alive here.
They have to try.
“Look, I don’t know everything, but it doesn’t seem to me like you deserve any punishment,” James says. “Maybe we can stop it.”
“And what about you?” Angela asks.
James’s heart is beating fast, working overtime now that it’s found out it’s going to be required for longer than expected. “What about me?”
“You were going straight for the lake,” Angela says. “You were saying I can live because I haven’t done anything wrong, right? What about you?”
He should lie.
He can’t lie. He’s been lying to himself for so long, and he knows what that leads to.
“I found Mary,” he says.
A hint of surprise cracks through Angela’s bitterness. “Your wife? You mean – alive?”
He shakes his head. “She was dead. I – I think I spoke to her. But she’s dead, she was dead when I came here.” He swallows. “I killed her.”
He’s expecting her to run.
She just nods, slowly. It makes no sense, but she actually looks a little more relaxed.
“It’s not the worst thing,” she says.
It would be nice to be able to believe that.
“I saw things in the town,” Angela says. “I knew you’d done something to her. I didn’t know if you’d killed her or...” She pauses. “If you’re just a murderer, I can be around you.”
He pieced together some things about Angela, too, he guesses. It hadn’t really hit him that it might be going both ways. He’s afraid to ask what she’s seen.
“I’m just a murderer,” he says. “I promise.”
What he’s saying strikes him as he’s saying it, how simultaneously horrible and ridiculous it is, and he actually almost laughs. Just for a breath, just for an instant. It feels like something his body’s forgotten.
They look at each other for a moment.
“I’ll go with you, if you want,” Angela says. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.” She pauses. “You won’t save me.”
James doesn’t really know how to respond to that.
“Well, I’m glad you’re letting me try,” he says at last.
-
He needs to bury Mary, if they aren’t going into the lake together. He can’t just leave her here.
There’s a trowel and a full-sized spade in the trunk of his car. He doesn’t remember packing them before he came here. He doesn’t remember what he intended to do with them, exactly.
He thinks he might have been planning to dig a grave and climb in with Mary’s body and bury himself alive.
He feels he should take her down to the churchyard, at least. But he starts down the forest path and has to stop, his heart tight and thundering in his throat, cold sweat under his jacket. It feels like it’s all starting again. It feels like he’s going to forget what he did again, like he’s already starting to forget with every step he takes.
It’ll have to be here, by the top of the path. He can’t go any further.
He doesn’t ask Angela to help. She’s been through enough trauma without helping him to bury his bodies. But she gets to work with the trowel anyway, crouching wordlessly beside him.
She’s obviously trying not to brush against him. He tries to keep that distance between them intact, too, for her sake.
He should probably tell her to stay away from this. But it helps, not being alone.
-
Angela directs him to her car. He has to admit that it’s probably a better choice than his.
He offers to drive, and she nods. Half-curls up in the passenger seat, pressing herself against the door, her knees drawn up.
She doesn’t ask where they’re going. He doesn’t know if he’d have an answer. He can’t even think about going back to the house where he killed Mary.
Even if he could make himself go back there, the police would be at his door before long.
Maybe he’ll just end up on the run, dragging Angela along with him.
But she’s alive.
He glances over at her. She’s looking out of the window. She’s breathing, for now.
He guesses he is too.
-
If he manages one good thing here, it’s not like that erases any of it.
But it’s still one good thing. And that’s better than nothing, right?