Silent Hill Fan Fiction ❯ Silent Hill---Dreams of a Waking Mind ❯ Chapter 2---Please Say It's Not Alright ( Chapter 2 )

 

 

 

Chapter 2

Please Say It's Not Alright

 

 

Jason sat straight up in his bed. What had woken him? A chill, a breeze, cold and unnerving. He looked to the window. It was closed and latched shut but that breeze continued to flow through the room. There must be a crack or hole in one of the walls, he figured. He looked over at the alarm clock on his desk, it read:

4:50

Yawning, Jason got up to go wash his face, rubbing his eyes as he staggered to the bathroom. He cupped the cold water cascading form the faucet in his hands and then splashed it all over his face. The brisk, refreshing water revitalized him, woke him fully. Bent slightly over the porcelain sink, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, it stared back at him. He looked like shit. He'd only just fallen asleep around one. His black hair was matted to the right side of his head and he hadn't shaven in a few days and was starting to grow some rough whiskers, “You look like shit, Jason.” He told his doppelganger in the mirror.

As Jason returned to his bed he noticed the window curtains fluttering in the wind. But the window wasn't open. And it was brisk, cold enough to see his breath.

“Well—”

“Hello—”

“There—”

It was a woman's voice. It echoed eerily through his room as the voice came from one spot and then another---the voice was coming from all over the room. “Who's that?”

“As if you—”

“Didn't—”

“Know.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Jason screamed at the disembodied voice.

“Don't get—”

“So agitated, doctor—”

“But I suppose I—”

“will—”

“leave…”

Instantly, Jason felt the room begin to warm up. He could no longer see his breath. The window drapes ceased to flap and wave—the breeze was gone. He looked back down at the nightstand clock. Confusion had writhed its way upon his confused countenance. The clock read:

4:50

Impossible, he thought. Jason was sure it had been at least ten minutes, if not more, since that chill had woke him up from his restless slumber—a slumber nonetheless. He stood, pondering this for a moment but shrugged it off and tried to go back to sleep.

Lethargy and fatigue seemed to be the only constants throughout his entire life. Doctors and psychologists always diagnosed him with a mild case of insomnia and he'd been taking prescription sleeping pills since he was a teenager, somewhat similar to what had been prescribed to Luna—they didn't seem to work too well for him but Luna would be able to sleep no matter how much she didn't want to. What did doctors know? They couldn't see past the mountains of cash they were paid to sell a company's product. Jason knew, after all, he was a doctor himself.

Those licensed medical physicians would always tell him his insomnia was a result of his paranoid fear of the dark. Those doctors were always so fucking analytical about everything—he hated those doctors. It was unfortunate that he had to work under them. It wasn't the darkness that scared him half to death when he was a child and it wasn't the darkness that kept him awake now.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

………………………&# 8230;………………………… …………………………̷ 0;………………………… 230;…

 

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!! RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!

 

The incessant and irritating ringing of the phone brought Jason up to half-consciousness. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Insouciant and nonchalant, as was his normal morning demeanor, he lifted the handset from the cradle and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Mr. Cole,” A shrill, high-pitched womanly voice replied on the other end of the line, “This is your seven a.m. wake-up call.”

“Yes,” Jason yawned and stretched, “Thank you.”

“Have a good day, sir.”

CLICK!

Jason looked around to let his eyes adjust to his dimly lit surroundings, the singular source of light being the obscured sunlight bleeding through and around the window curtains on the west wall.

For a short instant, Jason thought he heard a murmuring, a whisper. He sat on the side of the bed, silent, listening for another mumbling. When he heard nothing, he stood up and headed to the bathroom to shower. Rounding the foot of the bed he tripped and fell hard on the rough carpet. As he got up he looked back at the foot of the bed to see what he'd tripped over.

“Luna?!”

There, lying in a fetal position, at the foot of the bed was Luna. Her hair was messy and disheveled, matted to her face and neck, dripping sweat. The pajamas she wore were ripped and tattered all over with corresponding wounds on her flesh. Jason couldn't believe it, Luna even had bloody bite marks. He might've thought she'd done it to herself but she couldn't have possibly set her mouth where the bite marks were.

Blood, fresh and dried, was all over her unearthly paraffin flesh and her eyes were red and bloodshot, from crying probably. She didn't even look at Jason or cease her trembling when he called to her.

“Luna, my God! What the hell happened to you? H-how the hell did you get in here?” Jason crouched down and took a closer look at Luna's wounds and cuts.

 

Luna didn't answer Jason. She continued to tremble, murmuring something. Jason couldn't hear her at first but as he listened more closely he thought she was saying:

“Home is where the heart is…”

“Luna,” He shook her by her shoulders, “Luna! Listen to me!” Luna gave Jason an aberrant, fleeting glance, “You need to tell me what happened to you. You have to calm down, Luna.”

“T-the…The fucking monsters, Jason! That's what fucking happened!” Luna broke out of her fearful trance and stood up and began screaming at Jason. Jason took a step back. Luna fell in Jason's arms and buried her head in his shoulder as she broke down and started sobbing uncontrollably. Jason held Luna gently and tried to console her. As Luna cried on Jason's shoulder and he held her in his embrace, she felt a nostalgia—something familiar and warm yet there was something remotely distant about it.

“Come on, Luna. Let's patch you up then you can get some clothes on, alright?” Jason asked as Luna crying began to slow. She nodded weakly.

 

………………………&# 8230;………………………… …………………………̷ 0;………………………… 230;…

 

Jason sat on the edge of the foot of the bed, a medical kit resting next to him which consisted of gauze pads, antiseptic, a couple of needles, thread, tweezers, a pair of small scissors, a roll of medical tape, and an assortment of bandages. He'd been ordered by his superiors back at the institution to take it with him—“Just in case her paranoia acts up and she decides to `self-mutilate'.” They said.

“Luna sat on the floor at the foot of the bed in front of Jason. Her pajama top was draped over her right shoulder and had slid off her left shoulder, leaving it bare so Jason could patch it up easily. A rather deep laceration ran vertically diagonally down the back of her shoulder, stopping just between her scapulas.

“Ow!” Luna cried as Jason put an antiseptic pad across the cut. It stung like hell.

“Sorry about that.” Jason apologized.

“No, it's alright.”

A couple of hours, a lot of “ow's” and many bandages later Jason finished treating Luna's wounds.

“Still,” Jason said, “we should take you to a real doctor, Luna.” The med kit made a metallic CLACK! As he shut it.

“But aren't you a real doctor?”

“Not a licensed medical physician, no. My degree is in psychopathology, psychopharmacology, psychobiology, and psychiatry. I did mess around in physiology and neurology for a little while.” This left Luna with a perplexed look upon her face. She hadn't understood a word Jason had said.

“So you, uh, do what now?” A proper response, she thought, considering her confusion.

“I majored in psychological courses. You could say I'm a doctor more for the mind than for the body.”

“Oh, I get it now.” Luna spoke her competence as she looked at all the bandages on her arms and legs and back and stomach. The blood was already beginning to soak through the gauze pads and bandages.

 

………………………&# 8230;………………………… …………………………̷ 0;………………………… 230;…

 

“So,” Jason stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a white, long-sleeved, button-up shirt and a black jacket. He didn't look half-bad, “First off. How'd you get into my room?”

“The door,” Jason gave Luna a confused look, “It was open. You didn't close it.” Jason still had a somewhat perplexed look on his face. He was certain he'd shut the door because it made a loud K-clack! when he pushed it shut.

“So, uh, what really happened to you Luna? Were you attacked by someone?” Luna threw Jason an irritated leer as he asked the question.

“Goddamn it, Jason!” Luna was furious at Jason—not at Jason himself but just frustrated at Jason the doctor and all doctors and psychology for that matter. “How is it that you can learn so much and still be so stupid?! Incompetence! That's all science teaches! Incompetence and pompous egos! Disbelief in the preternatural and supernatural just because it might be implausible and tough to explain!”

“Luna! Calm down!”

“No!” She snapped, “I've already told you what happened to me, damn it! Monsters! Demons! Whatever the hell they were, they fucking attacked me! I've told you before but you never believe me!”

As Luna continued to rant and rave Jason thought he began to see things. Here and there—he would swear to the Good Lord he saw this—little ripples would appear, on the walls, on the floor, the ceiling, everywhere. The ripples seemed to morph and deface the spots which they occupied. Pieces of the walls melted away to unveil rusty, bloodstained metal grating and the pipes behind them were just as disgusting. Spots on the ceiling did the same. Jason couldn't believe his eyes. It had to be an illusion or something. He rubbed his eyes then opened them again quickly. Everything was normal. There was no rusty, blood covered grating or an intricate maze of equally decayed pipes. He was right. He was seeing things probably as a result of his weary body compensating for its anemic state. He was brought out of his trance by Luna's continued ranting.

“…You said you don't think I'm crazy but if you don't believe what I'm saying is true then what the hell do you think I am?!” Jason looked at Luna. She moaned exhaustedly as she began to fall. Jason barely caught Luna before she hit the floor. Looking at her pained expression, Jason figured she'd overstressed herself to the limit and passed out. He picked her up, which wasn't easy because he wasn't the strongest of men. He laid her down on the bed and then sat on the side of the bed next to her.

He sat there, his feet on the floor and his head turned so he could observe the resting girl. His eyes began to wander, tracing the curves of her nubile body. The rips and tears in her pajamas revealed more of her smooth, pale peach flesh.

`It's there for the taking, right in front of you. Only mere inches away.'

“Shut up.”

`Oh, come on. You know you want to. And she'd probably never even know, she's so deeply asleep. So go ahead, take her. Give her a good one!'

“Shut up!”

`After all, that's all they're good for. So take her!'

“Shut the fuck up!!”

Jason yelled at the incorporeal voice. But the voice continued, incorrigible and stubborn, speaking heinous and gross perversions to him. It wasn't the voice from earlier, it was a different voice, darker and evil. The most sickening part of the entire conversation between Jason and this voice: Jason wanted to do all those things the voice had been suggesting but he knew it was wrong so he tried to resist those almost insatiable urges.

`Aw, come on. You know you want to ravage her—fuck her—defile every inch of her luscious body. Besides, it's not like it's gonna matter anyway. Go on, fuck her now before the window of opportunity closes on you.' Almost as id the voice controlled his actions, Jason's hand involuntarily began to hover over the bed and towards Luna's legs.

………………………&# 8230;………………………… …………………………̷ 0;………………………… 230;…

 

“…As it is written, damn it

So let it be wrung

From throats of those in overthrow

The past at last has come…”

-Dirge Inferno-

---Cradle of Filth---