Chapter Text
The moths that fluttered around him filled his ears. Their distinct, and honestly admittedly disturbing sound taking over his senses. It isn’t until the dark cloud of wings sweep down, firmly and forcibly buzzing around him.
Their tiny mouths feast on him, razors slicing along his pale flesh — eating him alive the very same way as she was..
The least that could be done was a simple swap of his hands, but the moths were the least of his worries. No matter how much they bothered him, no matter how much they crawled along him — clinging to him, even. As if his skin were a trap, they flutter to him with no senses.
The bundle of darkness disappears as soon as it comes, and forces him to come back to reality.
.. Reality is nothing but an empty, barren hotel room.
Coming from the fluttering wings is a forming body, it is contorted and tugged forcibly as the steel beams pry themselves apart. His finger hastily locked along the trigger of the shotgun he held, and shot countless bullets into the flesh of it. The last memories of his wife were anything but ideal. Her sickness, her pain. It was the very last thing he saw of her. His remaining memories of Mary were painful, and full of misery. Anger, and so much more bubbled within the poor woman until it all burst out and hurt anyone around her.
But he knew better.
The mutilation along her body was bone deep, and no matter how much those empty and cold eyes stared — almost as if it was apologizing for what was happening. At this point, everything was starting to come together. That was not Mary. It was a terrible monster that stole her face, and slithered its way into his own brain. The happy memories he once held no longer shone among the darkness it held. It tainted Mary’s name, stringing her around in his head as some monster. But Mary was not a monster, and James felt sick to his stomach for ever considering so.
That thing gawked at him from its upside down torment, mouth agape in an agonized expression as it glared down at him. His tall stature didn’t make him feel less intimidated. After all, the bed that trapped her would begin to creak loudly. Groaning, bending. The steel beams wiggle out like an insect, pushing the sickening sight even more above him. The crawling it gives is painful, as if it aches to even attempt it. Yet it continues to dash at him, doing anything in its will to destroy him, even if it hurts itself in the process. The heavy shotgun is nearly out of bullets until a guttural noise escapes the creature, its steel legs twitching until it collapses heavily onto its back.
“James..”
It – no, she lays within her own prison. The bed confides her, reminding him of the countless days in a row he’d seen his own lover in this same position. In fact, the previous anguish and hatred she held was no longer seen. The only expression the poor creature could give was exhaustion and almost relief.
It tries it's hardest to meet his eyes, head barely able to raise. This wasn’t Mary. And yet, he still could not help but feel a painful twinge of pity. James prepares himself silently, taking a deep breath as he began to step closer.
“James..”
It will repeat until the dirty-blonde stands above, a trembling raising up before he quickly pulls the trigger.
With a loud , and deafening boom — everything stops.
...
He came here with a singular goal in mind, and it was to see Mary again.
She sent him a letter, after all.
James sees her, but not the way he wanted. His state of hysteria planted a false narrative in his head. Mary died years ago. He moved on autopilot, desperate for even the smallest bit of peace. Unfortunately his trip there gave him anything but that, and instead reminds him of the very sins he buried deeply within his own psyche.
The town ultimately finished its course, satisfied enough (for now) and kicked him out.
The aftermath of Silent Hill only left him with the bitter acceptance that there truly was no reason for him to continue on. He knew that well before the town, but now it was cemented. Before, it remained merely a fear. Would there be anything left after this? It was something he could vent out and in the progress forget the pain, even if just for a little. But not anymore. There wasn’t anything anymore that could fool him.
.. What did he do now?
James wanted to turn himself in after it was all over, for that he murdered his wife. But there was only one goal in mind, now.
It’s not what she would have wanted, and he could almost hear her begging for him to just go home. But he was not a fool. It’s what he wanted to hear, and he refused to let himself have that. He wouldn’t give in to his own selfish desires for comfort. James hobbled out of that cursed town, in a far more dissociative state then when he first arrived. He looked like a zombie, walking amongst the fog.
Everything around him was untouched, although still gloomy and ominous. But he could feel it was different, and he didn't know if that meant he was dreaming still or finally awake. While the trail remained the same, his own state made him more lost then anything. The differences between delusion and reality were blending like paint, and left him to believe that he might still be in the horrific nightmare that was Silent hill. The possibilities were endless. Everything he went through, everything he saw. James believed anything could happen, now. The wounds were so fresh and open that the slightest graze had him clutching his chest in fear, terrified as he looked everywhere to make sure he was safe.
If I’m still here, I need a weapon. But there were none. Vulnerable, he quickly absconds to his car and hides. He hides away like the coward he always was, far too scared to get his nails dirty.
Alone with himself left the inner turmoil to boil and overflow. It burnt his flesh, leaving gruesome blisters as each thought hit him like a bullet. Go home. He’d wait for any sign of danger, and mourn his own peace. What would he say? What could he say? He didn’t know what happened entirely himself, and it was easily driving him crazy.
James doesn’t know when it happened, but he eventually finds himself curled up in the back of his car and stays there as night dawns upon him. If he was still there, maybe if he slept, he’d wake up normally afterwards.
The desperation leads him nowhere. The nightmare he swore he was stuck in was real, and he’d have to face the consequences when he went home.
But ultimately, he settles on a decision. The day ends with a loud screech of worn tire wheels — and then the eventual plummet as his vehicle sunk into the water below.
The lake swallowed the car hungrily, digging its teeth into and dragging it down with no problem. It fills the windows, pouring in and flooding higher and higher until he can’t see a single thing. The water chokes and strangles him, forcing its way into his chest and pouring past his fill line.
It hurt, it really hurt.
A painless death wasn’t what he deserved, anyways. An eternal hell awaited him in the afterlife, so he lets the water suffocate him until he feels warm and fuzzy. His eyes move, but he can’t make out what he sees. His lungs clench violently as he takes in multiple deep, and heavy breathes.
Dazed eyes will dart around, the very last chance he’ll get to.
“I love you, James.” It was sick and twisted to project his desire for her, but in his last moments he indulges. I love you more, Mary. You will never know how much I love you. It comes out in bubbles and gurgles, more water surging into his lungs. Despite it, she understands. Her pale hand stroked his cheek, and he smiled.
She sits in the backseat, looking at him with pure love and adoration. The blanket that once covered her is forgotten, no longer hiding the body of the woman he loved so dearly. If he was honest, it felt like she simply woke up from a nap.. The blanket wrapped around her. The sun shone into the water from above and makes her look like an angel. You were always so angelic, so beautiful. The nasty wounds that tormented her seemed to cease, skin flourishing and glowing in comparison. It left him with the real, and true memories of her. None of her pain, of her sickness. Mary wouldn’t want me to remember her like that. She’d want me to think of the good times.
And yet despite being in the drowning car with him, she seemed entirely dry. She was beautiful.
“You can rest now..” She whispers.
This wasn’t what she wanted, but it was too late. The gentle angel could only watch with shimmering eyes as her lover succumbed to his demons. The very same ones she swore to protect him from.
I’m so, so sorry.
James Sunderland was caught like a fish out of water. Violently, rudely and without his consent. The cool water soothed him until he woke up entirely dry, now tucked into a disgustingly white bed and.. Dull eyes will widen as a multitude of doctors come by at the notice that he woke up, bombarding him with questions. They took notes, took vitals.. They were always buzzing around him. What do you remember, last?
Being in water. He really, really wanted to go back.
James was forced to live against his will, forced to move on without her. It was an entirely new start, and was something that should feel nice, and maybe even hopeful. But alas..
Soon after being discovered, he was taken to the hospital. Urgently, no less. Though, they feared that they were dragging a corpse at one point. When he regained consciousness he would remain stuck in a dissociative state for a week or so. That was what it felt like, at least. His mouth could open, but no words escaped. He could look anywhere he wanted, and still he couldn’t make sense of anything going on. Maybe he was still lost in that town, and this was a sick trick. Was it possible? No, it couldn't be. He was just going crazy.. James felt that the lack of oxygen maybe even fucked himself over, adding more onto the long list of mental problems he dealt with. Trapped inside his head, prisoner of his own body. No one would see what he did.
The nightmare may be over in technicality, but still Silent Hill follows him. It left a deep, embedded branding upon his soul. The symbol would forever remain. It taints everything that came in contact with him. The foul slime, thick and wet will drip down the walls. It engulfed the clean white room he was in, swallowing it entirely until all that remained was an old and blood stained hospital room. Rust appears like mold, spreading further and further, eating away at everything surrounding him. James can’t believe what he is seeing. It taunted him.
The demons he thought he escaped came crawling back, slowly They came in nightmares or vivid hallucinations. Visions of that horrible pyramid thing, or suddenly the nurses that attended him would contort until they resembled the same grotesque ones he saw in that town. They reveal themselves in way he never wanted to see, stumbling slowly while dragging heavy and stiff legs across the floor. No matter how much he begged or how tightly he closed his eyes, it never went away.
Determined to get his way, he took any chance he had when given.
There was very little in his room, but he took what he could get. Waiting till he was alone before he attempted to escape the dream he was stuck in. His panic catches attention, with big worried eyes studying him as he stood his ground. "What do you want from me?" Yet they were silent. Maybe they were human before, but not anymore. The doctors are reforming, changing and contorting. Disgusting noises and crunches fill the room. I knew it, he’d think to himself. I’m not crazy. To keep himself safe, he quickly stumbled off of the hospital bed, tangled in a mess of iv tubing and his own hospital gown.
The smell of decomposition was fresh. Was this his life now? Was Silent hill going to be with him forever?
All he could do was simply accept his fate, submitting to the monsters that inched closer towards him. Their gloved hands are touching him, grazing his skin so gently that it makes him want to puke.. But on instinct and panic he pulls away, hands gripping at the IV within his arm and roughly pulling it out. Now, he could RUN.
...
Much to his dismay, he does not get far. He does not even get out the room, already having hands tugging and pulling him back to his bed. The curse is lifted, and slowly the decay and gore faded away. In the span of just minutes the real world comes back, but it didn’t matter. The horrors already stained his soul. The real world felt just as bad as the decaying one.
These episodes appear out of the blue the moment he is more conscious, piecing together more and more of what had gone on within that town. They remain frequant, but now James would hide himself away instead of fighting back. Doing so did no favors to him, and only led him to be restrained or worse, sedated. The horror went as fast as it came.
Machines are beeping, wires hanging across him and other various items jabbing at him. He can't help but feel like a freak. Constant eyes had to make sure he was okay, and the devices attached to him only made it it painfully aware that he was here. Their nervous eyes and constant notes didn’t help, either.
It made him feel sick and scared, almost as if he was an animal being used for tests. He didn’t want to be seen this way.
“We will leave you be after this, I promise.” The nurse speaks warmly, but James doesn’t reply. They always say that and never do. Her warm and tender hands brush along his flesh, getting a proper grip on his other arm before she got situated. It’s fast and painless, and James can only stare in silence as the needle is shoved into him and eventually left. He watched the IV dribble down with a stoic expression.
He never understood why people were scared of needles
James doesn’t argue as they tenderly attend his broken body, nor does he argue once they bring their big book of questions out to him.
‘Your car was found in Toluca Lake, do you know what happened?’ Subconsciously his hand raises to his face, nervously and anxiously tugging at the thin strands of dirty-blonde hair. All he can do is stare in confusion, biting at his nails until they bled. ‘James, what happened ?’ The pathetic man can not give a single proper answer.
His brain doesn’t feel the same anymore, and it could be due to a huge list of things. Because of this they opt to wait a little bit longer into his recovery before asking further questions. It takes some time to come back to reality, but gradually he takes the steps down. James heals slowly and painfully, unfortunately forced to remain mostly immobile as to not open any stitches or other work they’ve done to the gore found on his body.
He is in a deep fog and can't find his way out.
They return to ask their questions, not hiding their concerned glances amongst one another or the uncomfortable silence that lingered. His own breathing is too loud, so he holds his breath. The questions start off exactly the same. First, they start with the state he was found in. The more they are repeated at him, the less he begins to care. There was only so much he could say. Eventually he becomes fed up with them, and just spills entirely.
“I was trying to kill myself.” Casually, like it was something most people tried to do. A normal activity like a jog through the park. It might as well become an activity for him, he thinks angrily. Every attempt ended in failure.
They had their suspicions, so this confirmed it.
They tell him that he was lucky to be alive, and he says that he’d call it unfortunate more then anything.
They ask if he remembered what happened during the suicide attempt and he says yes. The longer he kept quiet the longer he would be forced to remain in this white prison. Unfortunately since it was a confirmed suicide attempt , they kept their grubby little hands on him for longer.
They ask him to recall what he did , and why he did it. He plainly leaves it at I drove my car into the lake. But what exactly pushed him over the edge? The answer was simple. Because he killed Mary. I - ME, James Sunderland, killed my wife Mary Shepherd-Sunderland.
Yet the desire for confession doesn't work so smoothly. The words wouldn’t come out. “I was.. I don’t have anything left ..” There were tons of reasons, truthfully, but there was only one that actually mattered. “M - My.. My wife, Mary —“ His chest is heavy and strangling him to death, and before he could get out his confession a hand is gently placed on his shoulder. On instinct he flinched away, staring in confusion and fear. “We know, James.”
James feels his stomach drop. What were you expecting, he thinks. You were going to say it anyways, so at least you don’t have to repeat it out loud.
He wants to ask when he’d be taken away. Rotting in prison was a punishment surely , but it wasn’t enough to change what he did. In fact, he wasn’t sure if any pain or suffering forced upon him would be enough of a punishment for his sins. He was beyond desperate for any overhaul. “I figured you’d like to know, but her body was retrieved from the sunken car. Your father has been contacted, and considering the state you are in he has opted to assist in what will be done to her body. I’m.. I am sorry for your loss, Sunderland. Truly, I am so sorry.” The doctor met his eyes, full of genuine pain. It made him want to throw up.
She was ill, and there was no denying that. It showed when she was alive when she struggled to take in the smallest of breaths without pain or struggle. When moving her arm felt like she was being ripped apart, and turning her head felt like she was going to unscrew it and pop off. In death, it showed in the form of her sickly, pale skin. Riddled with scarring and wounds from her torment of constant treatment. Skin raw, tearing . It was as if she was decomposing right then and there. The last sight he could remember were those empty, hazy eyes. A sickly film would cover them, and then Mary was gone.
He’d never see those pretty eyes again, would he?
When retrieving her from the sunken car, she was well beyond frail. And right off the bat they could tell that the deceased had been very, very sick. They couldn’t get a lot of info out of James, unintentionally and constantly fading in and out of stability. His brain tried so hard to shut down at the mere mention of her. And sadly it was working, which irritated him just as much as it did the staff. Because of this, they gain most of their information from Frank. He was just as involved in her treatment, so they had trust in what he had to contribute.
She was in bad shape , they’d say with pity. No shit.
They were not even sure how she had been still alive, in the first place. The lunge into the lake unfortunately damaged some of her body, the water helping the decomposition quicken. Though, with her fairly recent testing — they ruled it out as a natural death.
Confess, you fool. James was screaming on the inside. She had been sent home, after all. Death was approaching fast for her. She was found, seemingly dead for a few days from what little could be gotten from her autopsy. What has he done? The patient seems to have had a psychotic break once she passed away at home, causing him to take the deceased to commit suicide with her.
He’s sobbing because he misses her, because he hates what he’s done.
The body had no signs of foul play. In fact, the body was simply demolished. With the mixture of the illness, along with the increased decomposition from being in water. And while it was a bit hard due to the decomposition of her body, they thoroughly searched, confirming her passing from her terminal illness. They always told her she was lucky to still be alive, what a slap in the face that was . James wanted to strangle the doctors around them.
The reality settles in uncomfortably. Natural death, huh. You don't have to push hard against someone so weak , so frail . She was already half-dead at that point.
“Your father will be arriving shortly, he had been notified a bit ago but considering the distance between the hospital it may take an hour or few.” And to make things even worse .
...
The moment Frank arrived there was little to no emotion on his face. “I’ll be taking him home.” He stated it directly, and the doctors could only sternly refuse. They tell him he isn’t stable enough to leave. “He looks fine to me.” Sure, he held some bandaging, but what were a few scrapes anyways? Compared to when he was first admitted, he is doing much better. Though, they are referring to his mental state more then anything.
Begrudgingly, Frank complies. He has no choice, after all.
They ask him questions that he’d been asked years ago, and it made him feel a bitter resonance of nostalgia. It wasn't an enjoyable one, by any means. But it was a vivid memory he still held deeply. Except now it would play out different, as Frank would be asked to leave when they asked further about his mental state. Frank wasn’t hovering around him, whispering the paranoid thoughts and ideas he held – infecting his son with the exact same instability he held.
"You don’t need help, you need to just calm down. You don’t want them to take you away, do you?” A young James could only listen and nod fearfully.
Was he doing better? No. Did he still want to commit suicide? Yes. And what should we do about this, James? They send him to see a psychiatrist. And given the liberty, the words still won’t come out. “I feel fine.” They eye him suspiciously. They were not fools. “I just feel.. Miserable.” The attempt at being as minimal as possible succeeds, and they can only do so much with the information now. They can't help someone who does not want help. It was so much more then just feeling miserable. It was feeling like he was suffocating every second of his life. No matter what he did, it was never relieved. And he tried anything in his will to make the pain stop.
We’ve noticed scarring along your body. Are these self-inflicted? He can only sigh and nod his head.
It was the dread, and the unreasonable paranoia that haunted him, HUNTED him. Did he want help? Maybe, maybe not. James was not sure anymore what he wanted. What would they do if he admitted everything in his head, exactly? Would they withhold him even longer and never let him out? What if things were not as they seemed.. For all he knew, he could still be 'dreaming'. Silent hill came twinkling back anytime it wanted, and it proved so with each episode it gave him. Triggers were noted that caused these spurts, but he refused to talk more about it. Ending all the same, with doctors questioning him about what was wrong? Nothing, there isn't anything wrong. I'm sorry, I get lost in my head sometimes.
Was he actually safe here? How was he supposed to know if any of this was real life or a disguise?
The imagery was so vivid that it made him clutch his head in agony. The impulsive thoughts only got worse overtime.
Fuck you, Frank.
...
His recovery is slow, but reaches an endpoint. Desperately awaiting for the day he was released, but also he couldn't help but dread it. What was left for him? It took time, but the day came. He was given a small pat on the back and shoved back into the real world. His father is advised to keep an eye on him, to which he easily reassured them that he would, James wasn't sure if this was better compared to being dead. But the remaining question is what distracted him enough.. Where was he going to go?
In the time Mary was sick, he’d buried himself in work. It was all he did, anything to pay the bills. When he wasn’t working, he was drinking himself to death. Said bills were piling up more and more with the hospital stays and visits, eventually reaching the point of major debt. The rent was due, and so was the electricity. Everything was far past due. The house settles in this unease, letting the once warm and lively home now drown in utter darkness and despair. The only room that remained stable and clean was the one Mary slept in. It was no state to leave a rented house in, and as you'd expect, James is handed a lovely note with his name on it. Bold, even. How swell. "I thought to wait until you were out." Frank shrugged. "Seemed like more unneeded stress."
.. With that in mind, he now had no where to go anymore.
He doesn’t consider this until Frank is helping him into the car after having given the note. His father instantly takes him under his wing and firmly states the plan, regardless of how much he despised it.
“Listen, boy. I’m letting you stay in one of the apartments rent free, only until you can get a job to pay back. I wanna be able to check on you easier, and your house —“ James saw the grimace Frank showed, and hid his face in embarrassment. “.. Let's just say it isn’t the most ‘healthy’ state for a person to be in, or around.” Not that he could return anyways.
Frank unfortunately was left to gather their belongings from the abandoned home. It was as you'd expect, messy and pitch black. And cold, it was painfully cold upon entering.
Various items, which eventually moved on to the walls, looked like they haven't been touched in some time. Trash piles up in corners, bottles of alcohol littering the ground in an ugly ocean of old glass. In the very least there was a bag with some bottles already shoved in it. Proof James had tried, but obviously chose to give up in the long run. Frank rolls his eyes.
Alcoholism runs in the family, kid. Make sure you keep an eye on that and don't be stupid. It was useless to give the him any advice. It wasn't his fault if his son didn't want to try.
He had basic essentials already there and set, but the rest was packed up.
James was beyond broke and was lucky that his father even offered him this deal. That, and he really didn't have a choice. The amount of debt he had to pay off made it very clear he was going to be living this way for a while if not forever.
It was home technically, but it did not feel that way. it stayed empty for as long as he could remember. Months in still does it remain empty, save for a bed and a small couch and tv. "No wonder you're depressed, why don't you try actually decorating the place or - oh, why not try cleaning for once?" The only decor being the countless bottles of alcohol and trash from the bare minimum of food he ate.
The life he now held was anything but living.
If you asked James where he would be in a few years, he wouldn’t have a confident answer.
The future held plans that always seemed to differ against what he wanted. The world seemed to have a sick-kick in pushing him over when he was already at his worst. His life was on a steady, yet messy road to failure. It went by painfully slow and almost convinced him that maybe things would be okay, the sweet desire and desperation to have hope for once in his life . After all, he met the love of his life and hadn’t felt that good in so long. Finally, his happily ever after. Mary connected with James and understood him in ways that no one else ever had. He felt human around her, alive even. The time he spent thinking he was nothing but an empty vessel was proven otherwise.
It almost made up for it all, almost.
Maybe he was desperate, or maybe he truly found a reason to be alive.
The years he held with Mary were ones of a dream, feeling entirely perfect in every way possible. It never mattered what happened because he was with her . She was perfect, filling him with warmth and love he never knew he wanted so badly. Yet at the same time, the peace had him nervous and even scared at points. It was going well for so long, surely something wasn’t right.
James was skeptical, how could it all switch just like that?
As it turned out, he was right. It was all too good to be true.
He bitterly drinks to that.