A/N: Oh yes, this is what you think it is. But don't get too excited! This is really just a sneak peek. I'm still working on figuring out the plot and all that - plus I have another story that I REALLY should be writing instead of dicking around and doing this in my spare time. XD

Anyway. This is basically a confirmation that yes, a sequel is coming. Because I can't play Silent Hill anymore without thinking about that good ol' story that I completed and how much fun it was to write and wishing I could return to that creepy world of mine. :P This one is going to be set in SH3, though I'm not sure if it will follow the game plot quite as closely as the last story did. There's a certain Chekhov's gun element (Heather's pendant, durr) that OC Brit could completely take advantage of...if I let her. We'll have to see on that one. XD

Title is subject to change...but I probably won't change it. XD I agonize over story titles for way too long as it is.

Enjoy!

In my restless dreams, I see that town…

Sometimes in late spring, when the showers seldom stop and the leaves are still budding on the trees, a thick fog rolls in and blankets coastal New England. It happens almost every year without fail, accompanying overcast skies and chilly temperatures until summer finally comes to save the day.

I hate spring.

"Hey. Way to not answer your phone."

The voice came before I could even say hello, and I rolled my eyes. Matt had never been one for manners.

"I just finished work two seconds ago, smartass," I replied as I fished through my purse for my car keys. "Three people called out today. Three! On spring break. Fuck my life."

He snorted. "Same shit, different day. Relax, the Massholes will go home soon. You can go back to complaining about other petty crap to me."

"It's not—" I faltered, and then sighed. "You're right. Wish I could go full-time at the shelter. The pay is no good, though."

It really was petty, but that was what happened whenever I fell back on the family business. Unfortunately my family's business just happened to be Dunkin' Donuts—it had been okay when I was seventeen, but now that I was twenty it was really getting tiring. It was especially difficult when the 'family' in question was somewhat crazy.

A lot of things had changed since I was seventeen. I had moved to Maine to live with my father in Wells for a while, but once I had gotten the assistant manager job (in addition to a weekend job at the local animal shelter) and paid off my car, I had been able to afford a little apartment in York. When I wasn't busy making ends meet, I tended to hang out with my friend Matt—he had adopted his dog from the shelter, and that was how we'd met two years ago.

"Solution: get a third job!" he declared, clearly bored with the subject. "But first, we're going to OOB."

"Old Orchard Beach? It's not even warm out. I don't even think the Pier's open—"

"Cool, so I'll meet you there around four."

I pressed a hand to my forehead. "Did you even hear a word I just said?"

"Nope," he replied cheerfully. "Just background noise. Anyway, I suddenly have important things to take care of. See you in a few hours."

Aaaaand he hung up. Same old Matt. Oh well—he was entertaining enough, when he wasn't intentionally being an ass.

I liked hanging out with Matt. He didn't overanalyze and read into things, he didn't pry into my business, and most of the time I caught on to any of his ulterior motives. Other people were a little harder to understand. They also tried a little too hard to understand me, I'd discovered in past years.

Matt and I clicked because we had a sort of unspoken mutual agreement. He was twenty-three, had spent two years in Afghanistan after graduating high school. He didn't talk about his time in the Army. He also understood that something had happened to me when I was seventeen, and we didn't talk about that, either.

Nobody else really understood that not-talking rule. My family, the police, the media, the psychiatrists…

Nope. Just Matt.

I gathered up my things, pausing to lock up the store's office before heading for the back door. I was dismayed to see that it was raining outside—again. I'd probably get dragged to the beach anyway.

The fog from this morning seemed to have come back. Now I grimaced, walking over to my car and immediately shutting myself inside. I refused to let myself look at the place on the hood where that dent used to be. It had been repaired a long time ago.

After a few seconds of bracing myself, I finally pulled out on to Route 1 and went onward towards home. If I had to deal with another one of these foggy days, I might just drive off a damn cliff.

Three years. Three years since I stumbled away from that nightmare.

I later found out that I had been missing for over thirty-six hours. A policeman on patrol had seen my empty car sitting on the road, found my license in my wallet, and had contacted my parents. An extensive search had begun.

What they never understood was the large dent in the front of my car—there was a dent but oddly enough, no blood and no body. Thus they had been forced to assume I had hit some sort of object. Again, though…no such object could be found.

The force of the crash hadn't been enough to cause any serious injuries, so they knew I hadn't walked away from the car in a delirious state. But if I had intentionally left to get help, why would I have left my wallet and purse behind?

So the police had come to the conclusion that some stranger had taken advantage of my situation and kidnapped me. Apparently they'd tried to call and trace my cell phone—but the number hadn't gone through. It would ring once and then immediately blare static. How surprising.

When I had then magically reappeared out of nowhere, walking in through my mother's front door covered in blood and gore, they were understandably alarmed. They were even more alarmed when most of the blood on me couldn't be matched to anything human…or animal.

I didn't really care. The weeks of questioning, hospital visits, being stared at by everyone who passed me by…it was still a step up from what I'd been through. I survived and the first thing I did when I got home was hug my mom. That made everything worth it.

Of course, I hadn't been able to explain anything that had happened. After all, what could I have possibly told them? So I feigned memory loss. They could develop their own theories about what had happened; really, it was easier that way, for others and for myself. I didn't have to relive the experience by telling the story, and they didn't have to hear anything they couldn't handle.

But regardless of all that, I was still the top local news story, and everyone around knew my face. That was most of the reason why I moved.

It was unfortunate. I had really been hoping my life could just resume its normal course once I returned home. Oh, well; at least now things were finally beginning to settle down. I still felt like I was missing something…

…If only James were here.

"It's pouring out!"

Matt was standing at the entrance to the front building on the pier, his arms crossed and his aviator shades stubbornly in place despite the weather. Though his clothes were soaked and his dark bangs were plastered to his forehead, he offered a smirk in reply to my protest.

"Yeah. I was kinda hoping you'd wear white."

"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes, walking up to stand beside him. "You know I had the hardest time getting up here. I could barely see with the rain and all this damn fog."

I refused to let it show, but my heart was still hammering away in my chest. It was still the off season, so the beach was mostly closed down—and in this weather, it was almost completely deserted. The heavy fog and lack of people combined to make me very, very skittish. Matt was lucky I hadn't stood him up. If I had known it would be this bad out here, I wouldn't have come.

"Yeah, same here," the man said with a shrug.

"Why'd you want to come, then?" I asked.

He shrugged again. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

I snorted. "You always say that."

Matt grinned shamelessly at that. It definitely wasn't the first time something like this had happened; he didn't cancel plans. Ever. In fact, he seemed to get a kick out of dragging me places on days like this. Matt himself was practically immune to the weather; I guess in the Army they hadn't done rain checks.

"Damn, it really is foggy…" the man remarked. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"What?" I asked, looking out over the water. It was impossible to see the horizon.

"Silent Hill."

If my self-control hadn't gotten better over the past few years, I would've jerked away from him just then. But I forced myself to remain completely still, fighting to keep my body from tensing up too noticeably. My heartbeat picked up again.

"Um…" I faltered. "Isn't that a movie?"

He rolled his eyes. "Everyone says that. It's a game series. The movie was based off the games, and it sucked."

"Oh." I forced a laugh; it came out sounding incredibly fake. "I don't think I saw the movie, anyway."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I had seen the movie multiple times, played the games so many times I'd lost count. Three years ago I had come home and snapped all of my game discs in half before tossing them in the trash along with my old handbag and everything in it.

"The games are pretty good. Survival horror," Matt offered. "I've got the second and third ones. I could let you borrow them…you've got a PS2, right?"

I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture. "No, no, don't bother. I'd probably chicken out halfway through."

"That makes it even funnier," he pointed out with a grin. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You've been sticking to cutesy games lately. What're you gonna do, play Nintendogs for the rest of your life? You're such a girl."

"Wow, I'm glad you've finally figured that out," I replied dully, trying to think of ways to change the subject. My gaming habits were the last thing I wanted to be talking about right now. I couldn't play anything anymore without inwardly questioning if it might actually exist somewhere on a different plane of reality. Violent games freaked me out now.

His grin just grew at that, and he thumped me on the back. "I'll force you to play one of these days. Anyway, I think the arcade's open…ready to lose another game of air hockey?"

"Hey, I'm not that bad," I said, glad he had moved on. "You're just a competitive ass."

Matt snorted. "You're oh-for-seven. I'm barely even trying."

"That's it, I'm winning this time," I grumbled.

He just laughed, and we made our way down in the direction of the rides. The beach's tiny amusement park was still closed, but the arcade tended to open a little earlier. I could see from here that the lights and machines inside were on, but it didn't look like a lot of people were there. Shocker. At least the rain was starting to let up a little.

Inside the arcade was about as deserted as I'd thought; I could see a few staff members milling around, but they looked like they had seen all of two customers so far. I paused by the air hockey table as Matt fished around in his pocket. He held a fist out to me.

"Here," he said. Curious, I held out my hand, and he dropped a quarter into it with a smile. "Amuse yourself, kiddo. I've gotta go get change."

"Gee, I guess I'll go get a gumball," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Whatever floats your boat!" He called, already walking away. Then he vanished behind a few games, headed in the direction of the front counter.

I let out a sigh, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms as I waited. I didn't have any change on me, and there probably wasn't anything here that would take a single quarter anyway. He would be back in a minute or two…and he'd probably beat me again. At least Matt paid for all the games.

Bored, I let my eyes wander over all of the different machines and consoles in the arcade. I was a little sad it was such a gloomy day; when it was busy here, I could usually amuse myself by watching some dork attempt to play DDR. Whether they were terrible or really, really good, it was still equally funny. Especially with Matt standing next to me and giving a running commentary like some kind of sarcastic sports announcer.

Alas, it was dead. So I stood against the wall and—

Scratch that thought. My eyes had just fallen on a 25-cent sign—but what was it for? I had to snort when I saw that it was a fortune teller booth with one of those cheesy moving puppets. This one looked like a grizzled old lady, her eyes closed as if in a deep slumber.

Ah, what the hell. It had been a few minutes already (Matt was probably dicking around, hitting on one of the girls at the counter or something), so I'd might as well find something to occupy myself with.

I walked up to the booth, looking it up and down and then shaking my head with a laugh. Then I said farewell to Matt's quarter, putting it in the slot and waiting.

Just like that, the puppet came to life. It opened its eyes, stared at me for a moment, and then kinda…moved around or something (was it supposed to be examining me? What a crock) and then finally came to a stop in its original resting position. A small paper card popped out of the slot on the machine. I picked it up.

One side of the card was a simple list of astrological signs and their corresponding flowers and birthstones. For some reason, Gemini was highlighted—probably one of the employees had been going through the cards or something. Well, it was late May, within Gemini's time range…maybe somebody had a birthday this month.

The other side of the card had the heading Grandmother's Prophesies printed at the top. A few short phrases were typed beneath it.

Danger, danger lies ahead

Skirt it with a delicate tread

Do not stick your chin out

Or you'll regret it no doubt.

Of course. The one time I go to one of these silly fortune booths, I get a shitty fortune. What was that supposed to mean, anyway? Oh well. At least it was probably more interesting than a good fortune would've been.

There was no trash can nearby, so I folded up the slip of paper and shoved it in my pocket. Then I walked back over to the air hockey table, looking around. Still no sign of Matt. I checked the time on my phone, deduced that it had been at least ten minutes, and let out an impatient sigh. How long did it take to get change for a couple bucks? He had to be chatting away at the front desk or something.

"What the hell," I muttered, shrugging, and started walking in the direction he had gone. I passed a cluster of games and tables, moving around a wall until the glass desk with all of the prizes came into view. It was well-lit and easy to spot—and nobody was there.

A frown tugged at my lips. Was that what was taking so long? The change machine had broken and Matt was waiting for the staff to fix it? But I could've sworn I had passed one of those machines on my way over here. This arcade was big, and I knew there was more than one.

"…Hello?" I called, walking up to the desk and looking around. It was now that I noticed there was absolutely no one here—the few people I had seen walking around were gone. The arcade suddenly looked deserted.

My frown grew. "Matt. Hey, Matt!"

No answer. It occurred to me that the rain had stopped; I could no longer hear the sound of it falling outside. The quiet in here was abruptly far more noticeable than before.

Where could he have gone? The silence set me on edge. The silence, the shadows, the…

One of the stuffed animals in the prize case was a bright-eyed pink rabbit. Smears of blood surrounded its mouth.

I took in a choked little gasp, adrenaline instantly flowing into my system. The first thing I did was reach for the switchblade I kept in my purse, looking around wildly at my surroundings and feeling very unsafe. It couldn't be…

Something shifted in the shadows up ahead. My muscles tensed as different scenarios flew through my mind and I tried to consider all of the different ways I could be attacked, the best way to counter and dodge, and every possible escape route. This arcade was so cluttered. So many places for things to hide.

Closer. It was coming—

"Brit? Oh, there you are."

Just as I was anticipating a confrontation, out of the shadows came Matt. I stared at him like a deer in headlights, my heart hammering away. What? Just him? Hadn't he heard me calling?

He reached up to run a hand through his bangs. "Where the hell were you? I told you I'd be right back. Why didn't…" Suddenly Matt trailed off, frowning. "You okay? You look like you just crapped yourself."

I erupted in a nervous fit of giggles. "Wow. Thanks. But I'm…fine."

"That wasn't a very convincing lie," he told me, cocking an eyebrow. "What're you reaching into your purse for? Please don't tell me that's pepper spray."

"Guilty as charged," I said with a more confident laugh, zipping my bag back up and relaxing my posture a little. Wasn't like I could tell him I kept an illegal weapon on me. "Sorry, you kinda crept up on me. You know how paranoid I am."

"No shit," he snorted. Something in his expression told me he was still skeptical, but apparently he was going to let it slide. That was what I liked best about Matt.

After the tension had eased a little, I found my eyes wandering back over to the prize case. The stuffed rabbit was gone.

Gone…but the image of those wide eyes and manic grin were forever burned into my mind.

For the remainder of that day, I dismissed the incident as my paranoia getting the better of me. It wouldn't have been the first time my mind had played tricks on me. But I just couldn't shake the chill that had crept over me; my paranoia had always lingered, but paranoia and instinctual alertness were two entirely different things. Paranoia was brought on by tricks of the light, perfectly explainable noises, the smell of rust and machinery and mildew.

Ever since that incident, though, the old alertness I had felt was coming back. Alertness was knowing when to recognize the signs. The fog was one of them. The sudden shift in atmosphere—that was another. When I had been separated from Matt in the arcade, something had changed without warning. The rain had been somehow silenced (it had still been pouring when we left), and everyone had vanished. And that rabbit…I still didn't want to believe I had seen that. That would mean accepting that something definitely was going on here.

…But it had seemed so real. Could it have been a hallucination?

It had to have been. I might carry a switchblade and a flashlight on me at all times, but I never wanted to consider the possibility that I might have to use either. It was just one of the many measures I took to help keep the nightmares at bay.

Still, three years had passed. If there was still unfinished business, why would the town have let me leave in the first place? It didn't make sense. So, rather than worry myself over the matter, I carried on with my life and tried to push the incident from my mind.

Not long after that, the night terrors started again.

I hadn't had them consistently since I'd first returned home from that hell. There had been a time where every single night was an ordeal and I had hardly ever gotten any sleep, but eventually I had managed to get past that. Now I had suddenly fallen right back into it.

I could never remember the dreams I had, but it was impossible to forget the fear. I always woke up with a jolt, sweating and breathing hard—as if I'd been screaming. My heart would be pounding hard. Sometimes I spent up to an hour afterwards sitting in the dark, too afraid to move, smelling blood and feeling phantom pain and thinking that something was lurking in the shadows just beyond my peripheral.

Just one single incident had completely destroyed the small sense of normality and safety I had managed to attain.

And, well…as expected, things went downhill from there.

"…with a high of 70 degrees, tomorrow will bring rain in the morning with scattered thunderstorms in the afternoon. Some thunderstorms may be severe…"

More rain. It never seemed to end at this time of year.

The wipers flung more water away from the windshield, clearing my vision for a split second before it was blurred once more. I was driving through the Blueberry Plains in Kennebunk, on my way to Sanford to meet my father for breakfast. It was about six in the morning…and as usual, it was foggy.

Growing tired with the weather, I reached out to change the station.

"—do you call when your windshield's busted?"

"One eight-hundred fifty-four giant," I sang along with the Giant Glass ad out of habit (it had been the same tune for as long as I could remember), laughed at myself, and changed the station once more.

"—purge the world of filth—"

My hand faltered as the radio picked up a strange crystal-clear spot of reception between stations. Was that a woman's voice I heard? Slowly, I turned the dial backwards a bit.

"—resurrect God and create an eternal Paradise. Sacrifice for the sake of Paradise. The blood of sinners will run in the streets. The Holy One—"

KZZZZZZZZZZRT!

The radio suddenly let out an earsplitting burst of static, snapping me out of the shocked reverie I had just been in. Then I noticed how thick the fog had gotten, too thick to even see the road—and just like that, the light faded from the day. It was six in the morning and the world was black.

I slammed on the brakes and pulled my car over on to the side of the road, feeling dangerously close to hyperventilating. I turned on my headlights and saw nothing. My high beams were only reflected by the fog. And still, the static blared on.

"No," I breathed, my hands holding the steering wheel in a vice grip. "No, not real, not real, not real…"

There was nothing else I could do. I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, squeezing my eyes shut and waiting for the static to fade.

At some point later in time—maybe ten minutes, maybe thirty—it did finally fade. And when I opened my eyes again, the fog was beginning to clear…and I could see the sun once more.

Eventually I decided enough was enough. Something had to be done—but I wasn't sure what, exactly. I didn't know what these strange visions meant, but I knew they were sinister and it was quite possible that…that something was going to happen.

Then one weekend I found myself in downtown Portsmouth, New Hampshire, checking out the shops. It seemed like a safe bet—in a place like that, I could surround myself with people and keep at least one human being in my sight at all times.

I was sitting in a small cafe when I saw a rack of flyers and brochures near the front door. Since I had nothing better to do, I absentmindedly picked through them. Some were vacation flyers, but there were a couple advertising apartments and real-estate in scenic New Hampshire locales. Normally I would've looked right past these; I had no interest in moving to this state.

…But one of the flyers read "South Ashfield Heights".

When I pulled out my phone, I found I was able to locate the city of Ashfield on my GPS. It was just a couple miles northwest of where I was.

It really was going to start again, wasn't it?

I snatched the flyer and before I knew it, I was driving. There was no sense in avoiding it. I needed answers…and until I found them, these weird things were going to keep happening.

To Ashfield, then.

South Ashfield Heights was a large horseshoe shaped building, and the interior was just the way I remembered it. Of course, it had been a long while since I'd played the fourth game of the series, but some things were kind of hard to forget.

Strangely enough, I didn't get as much of a bad vibe from this place as I thought I would. It just felt like another building to me. What was up with that? I couldn't even enter an arcade in another state without having an ordeal over it, and yet I could go into one of the locations from the series without a hitch?

Still, that wasn't what I was here for. I wanted to get in and out of this building as quickly as possible. It wasn't the building itself I was here to investigate, after all.

Shortly after arriving in Ashfield, I had located a phone book and flipped straight to the S section. There were several Sunderlands in residence in this city—it wasn't exactly an uncommon name—but only one Frank…and only one James. The two names were right next to one another. Same address. Different apartment numbers.

…And beneath James' name—Laura Sunderland. I had to smile at that.

Seeing those familiar names gave me the courage to enter this place on my own. It was as I had hoped…after everything, James had moved back home to his father's apartment building. That was why he wasn't in Hampton anymore. He had adopted Laura and come here.

You don't have to thank me. You helped me too, you know.

Well, this isn't over yet…so don't start saying goodbye.

It had been three long years since I'd heard his voice. I had never thought I would hear it again, either. But now…I was standing in his very apartment building. It was hard to believe.

For a moment, standing in the lobby, I had to hesitate. What could I say to him after all this time? He had moved on…

…but so had I, right? That didn't mean we weren't still friends.

I just wasn't sure I could turn to him with this. We'd been through so much; would it be fair to barge into his life and tell him about how Silent Hill seemed to want me back? I had never even revealed the full truth to him—explaining about Maria would mean explaining the game itself, and I just couldn't do that.

You know you can trust me…right?

I took a deep breath. Of course I could trust James. I would just play it by ear. It couldn't hurt to at least talk to him…he always did help me feel a little more sane. And if nothing else, at least I could ask him to tell me that everything was going to be okay. Like old times.

Hell…I just wanted to see his face again. To reassure myself that it hadn't all been a delusion.

According to what I'd learned, his apartment was in the east wing hallway on the first floor. I made my way through that set of doors, feeling that odd sense of familiarity all over again. Was I really here, in this supposedly fictional apartment building?

I came to a stop at his door. Right here…this was where he lived. James…he would know what to do. At the very least, he could hear me out and offer some advice. He was the only person that could hear me out. Everyone else would refer me to a shrink. My last psychiatrist had been named Koffman, and that alone had been too much for me to handle.

Taking a deep breath, I reached up and rapped lightly on the door.

No one came to answer—but it swung open slightly. My brow furrowed; that was strange. Why was the door already ajar like that? James was a little on the absentminded side, but he had to have gotten his act together at least a little in the past three years. Him leaving the door open to the world when he had a young girl living with him just seemed wrong.

Concerned, I pushed the door open a little further. A lamp was on in what looked like the apartment's living room, but other than that it was dark. It was still early evening, so neither of them would be in bed yet. Nobody home, then?

"…Hello?" I called. Despite the state of the door, it thankfully didn't look like the place had been ransacked in the meantime.

I wandered a little further into the room, looking around with a frown. "James? Are you home?"

This was unmistakably James' apartment. For one thing, it just…I don't know, smelled like him. Okay, maybe it was a little creepy that I knew that, but god knew I had hugged the guy enough times to be able to tell. That and the simple, practical way it was furnished just screamed James' personality. There was a pink backpack on one end of the living room sofa; it was crammed full of school supplies. That had to be Laura's.

I wandered in a bit more, stepping lightly and looking around. Why was there a lamp on if nobody was home? Maybe James just didn't care about the electric bill?

Said lamp was on an end table next to the couch. Beneath the lamp was a framed photograph. When I picked it up, a small smile formed on my lips. Laura was in the center of the picture, surrounded by friends. On a table in front of her was a big birthday cake, and Laura was getting ready to blow out the candles. Oh—and over to the left, there was James, Awkward Dad of the Year, wearing a tired smile on his face.

My own smile turned into a full-fledged grin and I shook my head. He probably thought he was a crappy father, too. But from the looks of this photograph, he was doing just fine. I couldn't wait to see him and tell him that.

…But where was he? Why wasn't he here? Something about this just seemed…

"Still following him?"

The sudden voice jolted me out of my thoughts and I took in a harsh gasp, dropping the frame to the floor. The glass shattered.

"Shit," I whispered automatically, feeling a flash of guilt—until I remembered why I had dropped the photo in the first place. I swung around to find the source of the voice.

The brown haired man just smiled slyly, reaching up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. That unsettling gaze was one I couldn't forget. Vincent.

"What…?" No. Hell no. This couldn't be happening, not him, not here. Dread hit me like a wall. His presence couldn't mean anything good. It certainly didn't do anything but worsen the growing fears I'd been feeling over the past two weeks.

He just shook his head. "Even after all this time…what were you expecting to find here, anyway?"

It didn't look like anything about him had changed since our last meeting. He did look a little older, and he was dressed in the same attire he wore in Silent Hill 3, but other than that he was the same frustrating man.

"Th-That's…none of your business," I retorted, feeling shaky. "What are you doing here? Why are you in James' apartment? You're the one that opened the door…that's breaking and entering. I should call the cops…" The threat felt pretty flimsy.

He seemed to sense my doubt, because that infuriating smile grew. He held up his hands in an appeasing gesture. "I'm only here because I had a feeling this was where you would come. But I don't understand…you look so unhappy to see me. Your hostility wounds me, Brittany."

My entire body tensed. "I never told you my name."

"Oh? This seems familiar, doesn't it?" He said gleefully, a wicked glint in his eyes. That shut me up.

Instead I gritted my teeth for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts long enough to think of what to say. I was still too shocked at this sudden development to do anything but get angry. Vincent had no right to be here. After three years…why was he showing up now? Why now, for fuck's sake?

"You said you were here…waiting for me?" I tried, watching him carefully. "Why?"

"I thought I would suggest a few more…productive ways of spending your time," he replied, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "Surely you've noticed by now. Your involvement in this isn't quite over yet."

"No," I said vehemently, taking a step forward and clenching my fists. "It is over. I don't want any more to do with that screwy town."

He shook his head again. "I think you misunderstand. I'm not the one pulling the strings here."

That caused me to pause. Those strange visions…the static…the voice on the radio…no, Vincent wasn't capable of that. But if it wasn't him, then…no. Why would she be involving me in this?

"That's right," Vincent said, smirking as if he had seen the moment I made the connection. "I'm on your side. I only came here to give you a little advice. I helped you back then, remember? Don't you trust me?"

Translation: I'm here to manipulate you.

"About as far as I can throw you," I retorted, scowling. My hand was already on the doorknob. This conversation was scaring me and I felt the need to get out as soon as possible.

But that wasn't going to work. Vincent, of course, wasn't done talking.

"If you're going to search for someone," he called, "find Heather Mason."

"Find her yourself," I snapped, glaring over my shoulder. "I'm going home." And maybe developing a drinking problem.

"This isn't something you can run fr—"

His voice was cut off as I closed the door on him mid-sentence. The action wasn't as satisfying as I'd hoped it would be. Immediately I began walking down the hallway in the direction of the lobby, my heart still pounding from the encounter.

Instead of finding James and some form of comfort, I had run into one of the last people I wanted to see. Now I was even more riled up than before. Too much information had been piled on me at once, and my mind was frantically trying to sort through it all.

One thing was for certain: it wasn't the town drawing me inthis time. Somehow I had caught the interest of The Order. But why? What did they want with me, anyway? Were they just pissed that I had escaped their precious hellhole?

If Claudia was the one pulling the strings…there was just no way for me to know her intentions. At the very least, I could trust Vincent to direct me in the exact opposite direction.

But I didn't want anyone directing me anywhere! This was my life, for fuck's sake, and I wasn't just some pawn for these crazy cult members to use. I had enough memories of Silent Hill to last me a lifetime, and I was not getting involved in that shit again.

I sighed, pushing through the double doors and heading back out into the lobby. There had to be some way I could escape all of this. Some way I could get out of their reach…

If there wasn't, I didn't know what I would do.

A/N: And so it begins. I have a little bit more written, but I'm saving it. Still have a few ideas floating around...not a concrete plot. Vincent's going to be so much fun, though. :D

Sorry if it seems a little...rushed? I don't know? The pacing of this chapter doesn't feel right to me in certain areas. Oh well. First chapters are always a little awkward.

Reviews will be very much appreciated. Feel free to tell me what you liked and didn't like, any theories you have, etc etc. :D I like hearing it all.

Next time: Where's James, anyway? And other adventures!