Chapter Text
James’s head was spinning. Black dots danced in his vision, and every sound in Groovy Music sounded louder than it should. There were three of those creatures from before, groaning and retching and spraying acidic upchuck whenever they could. “How are there so many of these things?!” The older man heard Leon exclaim, just as he put one down with another bullet to the chest.
James forced himself to concentrate, ignoring the throbbing pain in his skull. He gripped his 2x4 with both hands as he readied another swing–he put all his weight into it, only to miscalculate, stumble, and crash into a shelf. “James!”
“Look out!” James’s warning came too late. One of the straitjacket monsters threw itself at Leon, catching the young cop off guard. His gun made a loud clattering noise as it hit the floor, the younger blond trying to keep the creature’s dripping “mouth” away from his face.
James quickly dodged a second spritz of upchuck and dug the rusty nails into a second monster’s head. It shrieked and tripped over its feet, collapsing into a glass cabinet and bringing it down. A nasty squelching came from the monster as the glass cabinet crushed its infected lungs, effectively killing it.
Good. That leaves the one Leon’s grappling with. “Leon!”
“Now!” In the blink of an eye, Leon drew a combat knife from the inside of his jacket. He held it tightly and steadily in one hand and plunged the blade into the creature’s shoulder. It gave the young cop an opening, shoving the gagging beast into the store counter. “James, hit it now!”
The former store clerk didn’t waste any time. He wound up and swung as hard as he could. The nails in his 2x4 dug into the straitjacket monster’s feeble neck, showering the ancient cash register and worn wooden counter with blood. James squeezed his eyes shut, yelling as he brought his foot down.
The nasty squelching from earlier was back as James stomped on the dying creature repeatedly until it stopped moving. His yells escalated only to stop as if a switch inside was flipped off; his panicked, shallow breathing evened out, Leon waiting until the older man lowered the 2x4 to come closer.
The young cop crouched and curled his fingers around the hilt of the knife. He then twisted his wrist and heavied. The blade left a clean, gapping gash behind–Leon cleaned off the blood using the leg of his jeans. It was pointless to worry about the state of this outfit, most likely he’ll burn it once out of Silent Hill.
“Nice reflexes,” Leon said with a smile, clipping his combat knife onto his belt. He wiped a dribble of red off his cheek. “Hopefully any nearby didn’t hear that. You got the vinyl glue?”
“Yeah, and the other half of the vinyl,” James replied, holding them up for the blue-eyed man to see. “You okay?”
“Yeah, these things are hell in numbers, but on their own just take a little creativity,” Leon replied, adjusting his black fingerless gloves. For a cop who was off the clock when brought to Silent Hill, he was prepared for anything. “You okay? You took a few hits there–you’re pretty sturdy for a store clerk.”
James snorted. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Instead of a wave of annoyance washing over him–because James isn’t a people person–at hearing Leon chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. The cop busied himself reclaiming his gun and checking how much ammo he had left.
“It’s up to you,” Leon shrugged, his smile broadening. “It’s good to know I have a capable partner in this situation though. If we’re going to find Mary and get out of here, we need to keep our wits about us.” He peered out the broken windows, chewing on his lower lip. “The coast looks clear, we should get back to Neely’s Bar.”
Their stop here proved fruitful, just like their visit to the Saul Street Apartments and the corner pharmacy. They stocked up on nutrition supplements and bandages, Leon found a box of handgun ammo–though both wilted when it had only four bullets–and James found the missing jukebox button in one of the third-floor apartment bathrooms. They were this close to getting the old thing working again; no doubt more monsters would stand in their way, so they needed to hurry before the riffraff showed up.
Without another word, the two men exited Groovy Music. The fog permeating throughout Silent Hill was denser than before. It was like a plume of smoke zigzagged down the streets, pressed against the brick buildings, and smothered any sign of life in its way. The air was heavier too, and cold; Leon zipped his jacket all the way, one hand hovering over his gun holster.
James kept his 2x4 out and ready. Leon was the only one with a gun on him, and so far ammo was scarce. If they find more it’s another story, but if only James was armed too…
At least they can depend on the radio James found to warn them of incoming threats. The dense fog provided good enough coverage; they didn’t have to fight everything, only if necessary.
So when James and Leon kept to the stores and alleyways, only communicating with their eyes, a straitjacket monster on its wobbly legs or crawling around on its belly would be none the wiser.
“...” James looked at Leon, his forest-green eyes a little buggy. Leon nodded with a coolness to his expression. He drew out his gun, silently conveying that James should go inside first and he’d cover him.
The older man sighed, relieved. He held his 2x4 across his torso like a shield, pushing the heavy doors of Neely’s Bar open. A weak crackle came from his radio; Leon heard it and took point, Matilda especially heavy in his hands. James’s footsteps didn’t falter, a good sign. Despite the two sharing an equal partnership, the older man was still a civilian. Leon had a duty to uphold, a strange town infested with monsters be damned. Taking a deep breath, the young cop guarded the main entrance, his pulse quickening as the static, even with James behind closed doors, crackled louder and louder.
James held the repaired vinyl record with both hands. It only took a minute to put the jukebox button in its rightful place; the coin he got from the Texan Cafe register felt like a stone against his palm–James took a deep breath and inserted the vinyl, careful not to mess with the gears and such too much.
“...” He inserted the coin and pressed the number two button, watching as the jukebox lights came to life.
Leon entered the bar a few minutes later, lowering Matilda. The creatures were oblivious to the two men sneaking past them, at least for now. The young cop relaxed his shoulders; they were safe here.
“...?” Leon turned around slowly. The jukebox was working, illuminating the gloomy-looking bar with pink, green, and yellow lights. The song playing wasn’t familiar to him, but to James it was. His eyes were glassy like he was in a trance. They were hazel green now, almost golden thanks to the jukebox lights. The air in the bar was warmer as if someone had turned the heater on max.
The young cop stayed quiet, turning his gaze back to the seemingly deserted streets.
“...When I’m old enough, I’ll get out of here. I have to. ”
“?!” Leon felt like the air was punched out of his lungs. He gripped the doorframe and pressed his forehead against the cool wood. An icy wind rattled his bones while his eyes burned white-hot. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe for support.”
“-aring at the water.” James’s voice seared into Leon’s eardrums, making them bleed. The younger man shivered, his back curled like a gargoyle’s. “...That’s where Mary could be. Rosewater Park,” the older man’s voice grew stronger, confident. “Rosewater Park, that’s where we need to go next.” That’s when James realized Leon wasn’t next to him. “Leon?”
“...”
“Leon?” James tried again, his body facing Leon’s now. The younger blond was staring out into the street, the blue in his eyes pale very pale. His skin was pale too, almost white–his expression was unfathomable, his body practically glued to the doorframe. “Leon?” James said a little louder. He reached out, and, this time, his hand landed on Leon’s shoulder.
Leon pulled away out of reflex, pupils dilating. He blinked a few times before the blue in his eyes was normal, and a hint of peach entered his cheeks. “Leon.”
“Yeah?” Leon replied, slightly out of breath. He cleared his throat and ran a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m sorry I…I guess I spaced out for a minute.”
“Why? Are you okay?”
“It’s the fog. It feels so oppressing, it’s everywhere–I’m not used to it, that’s all.” Leon quickly cobbled together a half-truth, shaking his head. It was like seeing a dog ridding water out of its ears. The younger man smiled, but it was too small. “You were saying, James? Something about a park on the lake?”
“Rosewater Park,” James nodded. “Mary and me…we spent the whole day there. Just the two of us, staring at the water.” He gestured with his head toward the jukebox. Its lights were dead again. “It’s busted for good this time, but I remember now.”
“You’re smiling.” Leon pointed out, the worry lines in his forehead vanishing. “It must be a nice memory.”
“It is.”
“So we go there. We go to Rosewater Park and find Mary, then get the hell out of here.” Leon stated, looking down at the floor. “Your radio hasn’t gone off, so we should be in the clear. I don’t know if it’s safe to walk out the front door, though.”
That eerie message on the wall about a hole wasn’t quelling Leon’s growing paranoia.
“We might not have to. This came out of the coin return slot,” the older man held up a fancy-looking key, a beaten gold and somewhat light.
Leon blinked, which caused James to chuckle despite himself. “We’ve been dealing with monsters, but this surprises you?”
“Monsters, believe it or not, have some logic to them. Supernatural, paranormal, bioengineered–there is a way to explain them. A key coming out of a jukebox is something you don’t see every day.” Leon argued with a brief eye roll. James’s somber grin only broadened. “Anyway, is that the key that goes to that door?” The younger blond pointed to the locked door just past the bar counter.
They tried it earlier with little success.
“One way to find out,” James said, taking the lead with Leon close behind. The key was to the door, the clicking sound of the lock giving in oddly satisfying. He elbowed the door open, leaving the key wedged in the keyhole; Leon kept a hand around Matilda, noticing how barren the shelves on the walls were.
A barred walkway to the right, dark red with rust. Miscellaneous objects were scattered mindlessly across the floor as if someone had left in a rush. The air in this room was stale, and the wall paint was peeling in places.
“Let me check for any supplies,” Leon whispered, to not startle James. It was a quick sweep anyway, the young cop finding nothing useful. It was a shame as they didn’t have much handgun ammo between them, and James only had his 2x4 to defend himself with. Leon went to the only other door in the room, frowning at seeing the diamond-shaped metal patterning outside its small window. “That hallway is gated off, so is this door–there has to be a way out of here.”
“There,” James said, pointing to a window connecting this room and the adjacent one. Leon looked up, relief flooding his chest like a broken dam.
“Good eye. We’ll need a boost to reach it,” Leon’s eyes fell on a metal cart half a foot away. It looked old and beaten, but sturdy enough to hold their weight. “That should do.” Both he and James grabbed the side handle and pulled. It was lighter than it looked; the handles were wrapped in white cloth for some reason and fell away once the cart was under the window. “Want to go first or…?”
“I’ll go first,” James assured Leon, already climbing onto the cart and feeling the window sill. Sturdy as the cart; there is a low chance of this place collapsing on top of them. “In case there’s something on the other side, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Wow. How sweet of you,” Leon retorted, shaking his head. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, which looked real compared to the one from earlier. “I know you can handle yourself, just be careful okay?”
“I will. I’ll let you know if it’s safe.” With that, James swung one leg over the window sill, using his arms to raise his upper body. It took a bit since he had to draw both legs in once they were off the cart–he stumbled a bit on the landing, kicking up years-old dust from the impact. He slowly stood up from his crouch, peeking his head around the doorframe before him. “We’re in the clear,” he said, his voice an octave higher. He walked over to the medicine cabinet on his right and fished out the lonely nutrition supplement on the top shelf.
Leon had a better landing, falling into a feline’s crouch. He uncurled his back and pushed off the heels of his worn tennis shoes; they were scuffed and had dried blood splatters on the toes. He craned his neck to take in the room before standing to his full height, letting his arms hang at his sides. This room must have been a bathroom, judging from the run-down sink and toilet–both crusty with grime and rust. It was weird that this room had a short, white ladder underneath the window. Was that a practical or aesthetic choice on the architect’s behalf?
The room next to it wasn’t in much better condition. It looked like an office/backroom: a desk wedged by one of the windows, with papers thrown around and an ancient lamp with a broken bulb. There was a corded phone on a small, square table, a few pots filled with dried soil and dead flowers, a dart board behind the desk, and a few metal shelves piled with paper towels, books, paint cans, and half-empty boxes. Black and white photos of tourist hotspots around Silent Hill hung on the walls, and the only true splash of color in the room came from the fire extinguisher sitting by the door. Leon crouched down to inspect it–anything can be used as a weapon if you get creative enough–while James tried to make sense of the written chaos on the desk.
“Found anything?” Leon asked after making the depressing discovery that the fire extinguisher was empty. He stood up again and walked over to James, who showed him a note hastily scribbled on an old sheet of paper.
“I think so…this note talks about someone’s car, greenish-blue with the plate number ending in 06. The owner was going to leave town with someone, but he didn’t look too good so I guess the bar owner, or one of the bartenders, took his keys and locked him out?” James wasn’t sure, and his tone made that obvious.
“Sounds like this guy was locked out of his apartment or motel room,” Leon theorized, reading the note again. “Wherever he was staying, he must have worried this person enough for them to feel like taking his keys from him was a good idea…” The two men stood in silence for a few minutes, puzzled. “A greenish-blue car with the plate number ending in 06, you think we might find something there?”
“If what you’re getting at is right, it could be the keys to his apartment. We can’t get to Rosewater Park on foot–some roads are out, and trying to cross them is too dangerous.” James sighed, the bags under his eyes worse somehow. “Nothing about this place so far has been straightforward. I don’t think we have any other option, Leon.”
“So let’s check out back and hope it’s still there. Whatever it is,” Leon replied as James quickly noted the car and plate number on his maps. “That door should lead back into the alleyways, right? Some of the houses here had garages, maybe the car we’re looking for is in one of them.”
It’s a long shot, but all they had. James agreed, as he nodded his head, pocketed the backroom letter, and followed Leon out the door–neither seemed to notice the fog was heavier, darker, and thicker this time as if swelling with every piece of the puzzle they found.
Well, if they didn’t then they will soon. They will very, very soon.