It was a special place—Silent Hill. Silent, calm, warm under the sheets. Real, but is it really? You don’t want to rise, not from this warmth that curls around you like a heavy fog. Stepping out would only mean facing the cold. It might not be real. But the guilt gnaws at you, a tether to something, still. You saw it, you wished for it, and you did it. Maybe he sees what could have been—what was before or what never was. The room holds a warmth, a little chill creeping in, reminding you it’s autumn.

Silent Hill had always been special to you. Maybe it was to James too. You’re healthy now... at least, that’s what they say. But you’ve seen sickness, in your father, in others. Cancer had taken its toll. And just like Mary said, you broke. Something inside you shattered. You understand James. But you’re not a killer... only in your mind, in your imagination. He is, though. A killer by act.

There’s a strange connection in that, isn’t there? But it’s not love. No, you’re both too messed up for that. He gave in, and so did you. Maybe it’s just frustration, something gnawing beneath the surface. You can’t go back to normal after that. Remember your dad? You could never get your arms around him, not fully. After his last round of chemo, though, when you hugged him... your hands met behind his back. He’d gotten so small.

You roll over in the bed, closer to James. It’s early, and the fog clouds your mind, but it’s warm here. And he’s here too. It’s not comfort, not really—just a cold kind of comfort. Do you deserve any at all? You’ve found solace in the broken, in the disturbed... in James. There’s a similarity there.