[Silent Hill] Ten of Swords
Her hands begin to shake again on the dirt path along Toluca Lake's southeast shore, and fearing that her attacker is still in the cemetery ahead is only the half of it. Wary eyes glare balefully at the innocent looking pines, finding no threat there but resenting them all the same. So sick of it, all of it. It kept running through her mind lying there bloodied on the floor, how dare she be put through this again, be torn at, cut down, belittled, reduced to a frightened little child. The gore dried on her leg and dirt on her coat is more than unsettling, it's downright embarrassing.
And no less nasty is the suspicion that she isn't here by accident, nor as the pitiful little favored plaything of some greater hideous cosmos. She must've done something to bring this on herself. There hasn't been a single moment of pain in the last three years in which that didn't ring true. Walter had been the one who hit her, but she'd been the one who submitted to it.
She approaches the graveyard with extreme caution, crouching down as she moves along past the headstones. She doesn't hear or see anyone, but with the fog as it is, history has proved that's no guarantee of safety. Her purse is right where she dropped it, and all its contents are present and accounted for. She drops her little pistol into her right coat pocket, and little random assortments are dropped into her left, to clink up against the remainder of the morphine. Keys, granola bar, a tiny plastic case bearing a couple of Excedrin, you never know what might come in handy. Her little photo fold is rescued, too, it just seems wrong to leave it behind. She snaps her credit cards in half and could just laugh at herself as she does it; who exactly is going to run an identity theft scam from here, Eileen? But she'd just be nervous about leaving them behind intact. If she manages to get out of here somehow, she'll need that bank account unmolested for a trip to Ikea and a security deposit, by God. Makeup and comb can stay, and so will her driver's license.
That leaves her phone, which she waits until she's back on the path to check. Its power is off now though she could swear that it had been on when she'd been shot. It doesn't turn on at her urging, either; not a good sign.
Armed and well, this leaves just one more thing she wants to be: not here anymore. Maybe if she can get far away enough from the epicenter, the town will let her go. Lindsey Street was a bust, so she'll just have to find another one that's crossable. Neely, maybe; she hadn't tried following it to the south. Heading west again, she does not notice the odd phenomenon in which the stream flows towards the bridge from both directions.
---
There is, as it turns out, a human medical clinic at the Lindsey intersection. Great, NOW you tell me. She's all set to pass it by with only an irritated flip of her hair when she notices the trail. Blood, dribbled along the street, passing between her shoes and up over the sidewalk to the clinic door. Blood she knows was not hers.
It could be one of those dog things, though the beeline for the clinic door bespeaks some level of intelligence.
It could be another victim of this place.
It could be her attacker.
Or it could be a rescuer.
She wastes only a moment on indecision; sticking her nose in things has been known to get her in trouble but she can't just walk on by, just in case. She crouches and takes quiet, deliberate steps towards the building, keeping as still and low as she can. The curtains inside have been shredded, so tattered that they're no more than strings dangling on either side of the windows. Eileen cautiously peers through the corner of one such, seeing nothing at first, but then her eyes adjust to the unlit interior, and she finds the bleeder.
She can only see his outline, at first, framed in a doorway and wrapping what must be a bandage around his forearm. Square chin and soft jaw, hooked nose, receding hairline, he turns and she never expected she would be so so happy to see that face. He's alive! He's alive! And she's found him and can help him, this is why she's here, it must be! Her second chance, her redemption, somebody big took pity on her today. She stands abruptly and runs to the entrance, beaming with surprise and relief. "Doctor Abernathy!" He starts as she throws open the door. "You're okay, oh thank God! I've been..."
She would've expected shock at finding another living soul in here, confusion, disbelief, caution. What she didn't expect was a flash of pure fear, and plain dead eyes as he reaches for his waistband and pulls out his gun. She recognizes, instantly and without analysis, that he's not going to point it at her to keep her at a safe distance, not going to hold her at bay until he knows she's trustworthy, not going to wave it in her face to prove his capability. His face is only business; he's going to point it at her, and then he's going to fire it, and feel no remorse.
She ducks and holds her hands up in front of her face. Wood splinters next to her as a hole is put in the door frame and the sound of the shot is deafening. She scuttles backwards, happiness erased, and sidesteps to hide around the corner of the building, her back pressed up against the brick.
What the hell, what the hell! What the fuck does he think he's doing?! Granted, this one doesn't know her, but you don't shoot at people for walking through the door! That was no knee-jerk reaction, either, no shocked response to her sudden intrusion. He looked up, saw her, and made the decision to shoot her.
Her stomach sinks as it dawns on her, as "Walter's" different height and shape suddenly make terrible sense. Walter Sullivan is as destroyed as he has been for three years exactly, Troy Abernathy shot her in the graveyard. And when she hid, Troy Abernathy came after her to hurt her more.
Oh God, what has this place done to you?
"Dr. Abernathy! Troy Abernathy! I'm not here to hurt you!" She slides further along the wall, in case he decides to pursue her this time, too. "Do you hear me!? I said I'm not going to hurt you! My name is Eileen, I know where we are and I'm here to help you! It's going to be okay, just... just tell me if you understand!"
She holds her breath and waits, but there is no answer from inside, nor footsteps. Shit. She doesn't dare approach him again without some confirmation that he won't hurt her, that's for sure, but what else can she possibly do? Maybe wait, maybe once he's treated himself and back outside, he won't feel cornered, will listen to reason. Cautiously, she edges back out onto Lindsey and crouches behind one of the wrecked cars, and waits.
She doesn't have to wait long. He emerges, warily checks left and right, and then is on his way, heading purposefully north. She waits until he's nearly disappeared into the fog before emerging, and keeps her distance as she follows along next to the wall, stepping as quietly as she can. Lindsey and Nathan, Neely and Nathan, alleyway and Nathan, Abernathy must have someplace in mind that he's going to, he walks wearily but purposefully. When Eileen, untrained as she is, screws up and gets too close, he takes notice, raising his gun again. She ducks and flees instantly, and he doesn't fire this time. Waits for a moment, perhaps to see if she tries to return, then continues forward, now looking back warily from time to time. She follows, and wracks her brain for what on God's green earth she could've ever done to him that's left him wanting to kill her.
What she could've done to him that he'd know about, anyways. She can certainly think of one thing that he wouldn't.