Chapter Three

1

 

     Can you hear the music? It filters through the channels of pain and flesh. How delightful that combination is. Feel it, Heather, and be one with agony. Today will mark tomorrow with same stink.

 

     Heather slowed, doubled over as her stomach spilled into her throat. Her fingers dug into her scalp. Slowly she opened her eyes and took in a blurry world. Feeling bile and chunks slither down her chin she stiffened. Fog entangled the distance. There was no way to tell if a building lay beyond or a band of creatures or a broken road. She'd just have to start walking and hope for the best.

 

     Hope? Hope is a fairytale spun by the helpless. There is nothing but sorrow to navigate black hearts.

 

     "Shut up," Heather groaned.

 

     "I can't." The reply came from her mouth though in a deeper tone filled with malice and grit.

 

     Her knees buckled and as she collapsed onto cracked pavement littered with old newspapers she sobbed. Her throat burnt like a piece of hot coal, her chest heavy and mind an endless labyrinth of pain.

 

     Entertain madness no longer. Allow darkness in. There is no reason to deny the future when there is no past to retreat to. Nothing can save you now. The heaven you envision does not exist.

 

"Please," she begged, now leaning over and burying her head in rubble.

 

     Begging is for human scum. How is it that you reduce your worth by continuing to succumb to destructive natures?

 

     "Just kill me," she sobbed.

 

     That would be too easy. Death should not be a quick release. It should slowly grow inside you like a cancer. Only then can you truly appreciate death. Besides you are of no use dead. Let's just all this out of the way so we can begin Hell needs a beginning after all. Then again it has always been a residence in time and space.

 

     Dirt embedded under her fingernails as she clawed at the changing structure beneath her. Damn and cool soil washed away hard pavement as trees sprung up around her.

 

2

 

     Lisa Garland hung her head as she turned away from the wall. With her hands clasped over her heart she found her gaze wandering to the thing Dyne as he skipped rope. She narrowed her view and gasped when its texture glistened beneath the flickering bulb overhead. It was not a rope, but a string of intestine.

 

     He stopped, let the repulsive thing drop and sighed. "Soon other heroes will come."

 

     Treachery harvested in ancient nightmares, funded by double edged blades, spell disaster and yet so little is known about horror. Perhaps as trust is abandoned by wasted hands that seize greed humanity will survive to gain a bit more than just ignorance. Why must the weak be the sheep and the strong lions who stalk them?

 

     Gazing out the window Lisa prayed that there was something beyond this physical prison. She was aware that science and religion were never going to be friends. She believed neither was a comfort. Then again her opinion was about as important as a piece of s**t.

 

     "Stay out of my head," she cried in his direction.

 

     Dyne grimaced. "I forget sometimes that your thoughts should be private ones."

 

     "Why are you doing this?"

 

     He turned away from her. "It is my nature, I suppose. I am sorry though."

 

3

 

     Dyne pressed his face against the glass. Its cool touch sent colorful ripples across his ash face.

 

     "I still want an answer," the woman Lisa said behind him.

 

     He sidestepped along a twisted pipe, stopped and then peered at her as though the question she asked was like a rancid piece of meat in his mouth. He shivered, spat and wiped his tongue on the back of his grossly exposed hand.

 

     "I like this form," he stated quite plainly. He sighed. "But I guess I can try to transform into something less...fun."

 

     He lowered his head, sighed again and closed his eyes. A form without distortion wasn't much of a form. Where was the fun in being "normal"? Still Dagger said these humans were accustomed to a certain kind of "beauty".

 

     Dyne concentrated. He pushed his energy outward as he imagined sleek ivory skin knitting together and bright blonde hair sprouting forth in feathered strips. When he opened his eyes he groaned.

 

     Lisa gasped as he turned and rolled his new face upward. "This sucks," he said in a creamy voice. "Why can't I just be heinous?

 

     Dyne narrowed his sparkling sapphire eyes and rubbed his chin. Sitting in a chair Lisa remained fixed in place, her stare ceaseless as she listened to the conversation. She turned once to admire the cloth dressing the table and the glass with tawny liquid inside but her attention drifted back to the handsome thing who moments ago wore a macabre suit.   Her fingers curled around the hem of her uniform. Being a nurse was such a long time ago. It hardly registered anymore. How long ago was it?

 

     Silent Hill, she thought. That fateful day when Alyssa came in would forever haunt her. How was it that child managed to survive? No one human could possibly withstand such horrible wounds. Of course another question remained and buried ever so painfully with each passing second. Who could do that to a child?   Then there was blood. Twisted flesh scarred and sizzled. Things in the fog wandered aimlessly. The hospital was not immune. Every nurse began to suffer some sort of break down, changed into something horrendous.

 

     The video tape...Harry found the video tape, played it and her secret was out. Or was it? Did she even have a secret to keep?

 

     She shook her head. Death swam in uneven tides. It grasp seized the nape of her neck and she shivered. Looking down at her arms she watched as Goosebumps emerged. How was it she was flesh when she was sure she died?

 

     Maybe death was just a dream, she thought.

 

     But this was no dream. He was not a dream. His blue stare was real and the leap of her heart assured her it resided in real time.

 

     I am not making sense, she told herself. But then again does anything make sense? No world is perfect. Tragedy happens every day and sweeps away hope in an instant. She saw it every day in the faces of victims of abuse and cancer, but those were her nursing days, weren't they?

 

     Dyne's voice snapped her back to the present. "We should go find Henry and Dagger."