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Time passes by both slow and rapid, blurring the lines of day and night in a seemingly unchanging cycle.
He's long since stopped relying on counting how many days have passed as a way of keeping track of how long he's been here; it's easier to just go by how often the town has rearranged itself. Silent Hill is a sacred place - Mary had told him so, a lifetime ago in Room 312 - so much so that the Old Gods never really left, just merely changed their shape and form and function, and the town reflects that change every time. Sometimes there will be more streets, more buildings, more everything until it becomes an endless maze. Other times there's less and less until there's just the core, the heart.
But with every change comes strangers, people lured in like moths to a flame, more meat for the hungry beasts that are tied to the brick and mortar skeleton that is Silent Hill.
Just like he is tied to the Pyramid Head and the Pyramid Head tied to him; inescapable, inevitable, inseparable, always and forever.
James had tried running in beginning, but always it would find him. A moth to a flame.
An almost silent shadow following after him, it's approach forever heralded by heavy footsteps and the shriek of metal dragging across the ground. It never harmed him, which only served to make him more wary of it, to put as much distance as possible between them. There's something different about this one, even if he can't quite figure out why.
Eventually, he stopped running - there was nowhere for him to go, nowhere else but Silent Hill - and then he was the one following it. The Pyramid Head wanders almost aimlessly through the town which gives James a chance to really take in his surroundings, to notice things he hadn't before since the odd, shambling creatures keep their distance now.
Like the fact that all the rotten, bloody corpses strewn throughout the town are men, every single one of them. And that they are all eerily dressed the same. Or that he can't remember the last time he felt hunger, can't remember what a world without everlasting fog looks like, can't remember—
(How many times has James been here?)
He tries not to think about it.
Content - as much as he is capable of - to ignore it, just like he's sure the Pyramid Head is content to ignore him so long as he doesn't run off, since it barely even acknowledges his presence.
He wonders what punishment this Pyramid Head is supposed to carry out.
&&&
Laying on a half-rotted mattress, James watches the moths fluttering around the dark, barely lit room.
A few land on the Pyramid Head, who stands motionless a few feet away, before taking flight again. James should sleep - it's waiting for him to get up again - but sleep just brings strange dreams, troubling dreams; in some of them, Mary forgives him and James leaves with Laura, feeling a weight leave his shoulders that he isn't sure should go. In others Mary is upset with him and James just ends up making the same mistakes with Maria. Occasionally he'll dream of himself rowing out to Toluca Lake Island, but he can never remember how that one ends. It leaves his head pounding more often than not.
(The dreams feel more like memories, lives he's lived, choices he has made.)
But after he'd dreamed of driving into the lake and woke coughing up water one time too many, James has avoided sleeping as much as he can. His sore feet need a break though, so he lets his body rest even if he can't allow his mind to.
(How many times has he died, or left, or stayed, or—)
A moth lands on him, crawls across his chest and up his arm as he lifts it.
"It's odd that these moths are the only normal things here," James says, glancing over at the Pyramid Head who remains unmoving; he's been talking to it ever since the last time the town rearranged itself, though if he does it out of loneliness or because he's finally been driven mad, James can't say for sure. "They're left unchanged by the Old Gods, but why?"
There's no response from the Pyramid Head - it doesn't speak, none of them never do in James' experience - no change in it whatsoever.
"Maybe they're sacred, like Silent Hill," he muses, watching the moth flutter away, back to the others. "Or maybe they're just fond of them. Maybe there's no reason at all."
He finally looks away from the Pyramid Head and returns his attention to the moths above once more.
(James doesn't see its fingers curl and flex, the slight tilt to its metallic head.)
&&&
Whenever the town is rearranged, almost everything about it is different. Even the Lakeview Hotel isn't always there, though James isn't sure if that's a good thing or not; there's a bittersweet hole in his heart that is shaped like it, tainted by regret and his actions but what's done is done. The only exceptions are the church, the historical society, the hospital, and Lake Toluca. Other than those four places everything else is fair game.
Almost like structural pillars, unable to change on a whim without the whole thing crashing down.
Sometimes he thinks he hears air raid sirens, or the blaring of an ambulance, but it all sounds muffled and far away. But he never tries to follow those sounds. Not that he could even if he wanted to; the Pyramid Head always blocks the way forward with its Great Knife until whatever it is causing the noise has passed.
The Pyramid Head can hear the sirens, but not the whispers.
Even James doesn't always hear the whispers, but whenever they linger too long in one spot... Memories that don't belong to him left playing on repeat and fallen into the cracks, holding the fraying seams together. More often than not, it's unintelligible chatter, just voices layered over voices, all talking at once and easily forgotten about when they move on. Some stick in his mind, like the roar of flames. James is sure these memories aren't meant to be heard, not by him; he doesn't belong in Silent Hill, not meant to stay here like he has. But he won't leave. Or can't leave. Maybe both.
A world that belongs to Old Gods and nightmarish creatures, where he doesn't feel hunger and goes for longer than is surely healthy without sleep.
James sticks out like a sore thumb, but he can't imagine being anywhere else but here. He has to remember, can't keep forgetting and repeating the same cycles over and over and over...
"Watch out. The gap in the door..." James comes to, blinking away the haze that must have fallen over his mind to find himself standing in an unfamiliar, decaying hallway, staring at the Pyramid's Hands. Its fingers aren't fused together.
A vague sense of vertigo comes over James as he takes in the vicious looking scars; one runs horizontally along its abdomen, just above where its dirty apron rests at its waist. Another wraps around where its arm meets its torso. There aren't any visible eyes, but he can feel it staring back at him. Brow furrowing - because the Pyramid Head has never acknowledged his presence like this - James cocks his head at it. It mirrors his movement, almost... curious?
There's something different about this Pyramid Head, James has known this since the beginning, but now this fact feels more solid, more real. It looks nothing like the Pyramid Heads he encountered so long ago - back when Angela and Eddie and Maria were still alive and real and hurting in ways he could never quite grasp - and it doesn't behave the same way either.
"Is there only you?"
A low, echoing rumble is the only answer he gets.
&&&
James starts scavenging as much fruit as he can find as he follows the Pyramid head through the empty streets of Silent Hill.
None of it is for him since he no longer experiences hunger, but he leaves the rotting fruit out for the moths, keeping those precious few unchanged insects fed as an offering to the Old Gods.
Wherever James and the Pyramid Head go, the moths follow in their wake.
(For a brief moment, he's reminded of Mary and Maria spitting moths at him in the end.)
&&&
People come and go from Silent Hill so often - here one moment, gone the next - that James barely registers their presence.
He usually only ever catches a glimpse of them from a distance, but they probably never even notice him. They take one look at the Pyramid Head and run the other way. A small part of him that's buried deep finds it funny in a completely not funny way; they run from probably the only docile Pyramid Head and back into danger. Though, he supposes, it's a good thing they run, better that they keep their guard up since the other Pyramid Heads are no where near as calm as the one with him.
Those lured in by the town aren't the only people he's seen.
Sometimes he'll see these strangers going from alley to alley, only ever catch them in the corner of his eye. Strange people in strange clothes with strange symbols he knows recognizes in passing. Both the odd symbols and strangers tend to pop up the closer James and the Pyramid Head wander to either the church or the historical society.
Painted in dark corners as if to ward off the hungry rust tinged shadows that writhe all along the walls, it's always the eye that catches his attention even though looking at it too long causes sharp pinpricks of pain to bloom behind his eyes and his stomach to roll unpleasantly.
Those damn red rings are unnatural, they don't belong, completely out of place like the moths but for all the wrong reasons; its not of the Old Gods or Silent Hill.
The Pyramid Head refuses to go near them, its free hand pawing uselessly at its head, agitated in a way that James has never seen in it before. Smearing the forever damp red seems to solve the problem every time, the pain and nausea vanishing as well as calming the Pyramid Head.
Of course, this must've caught the attention of the strangers.
Lately the Pyramid Head has been fixated on a path seemingly only known to it that mostly consists of almost too narrow alleyways and a lot of backtracking until James isn't quite sure where they are in Silent Hill. Until the Pyramid Head comes to an abrupt stop at the mouth of an alley between two decrepit storefronts. Peering around his mostly silent companion, James nearly doubles over in pain at the vivid red painted all along the brick walls, the images searing into the back of his eyelids so they burn bright with every blink. A trembling hand wrapping around his arm is the only thing that keeps him upright, a surprisingly comforting warmth seeping through the layers of his clothes and into his skin.
With a shaky breath, James realizes that this is the first time someone has touched him in a very, very long time - longer than he cares to think about - and it is the Pyramid Head of all people. He finds himself leaning into the touch; he's warmer than James expected, the deathly pale skin giving the impression that the Pyramid Head would be just as cold as the fog that never stops rolling in.
At the pained grunt from the Pyramid Head, James pats the hand still gripping him before slipping past the paralyzed Pyramid Head and into the alley.
"I'm not so fond of them either, pal," James agrees, pulling one sleeve of his jacket over his hand and starts smearing the fresh symbols.
He counts at least ten as he slowly shuffles his way down the alley, making sure to wipe away as much as he can, but soon loses track once the stench of iron becomes too much as his sleeve becomes soaked through.
Damp fabric now clinging uncomfortably to his skin, James wonders if he can get the Pyramid Head to stop by the lake so he can wash his jacket. Probably not, because now that he thinks about it, the Pyramid Head hates Toluca Lake just as much as the symbols. Not that James can blame him; the lake feels more like a grave than Silent Hill's actual graveyard, nothing at all like the peaceful memories of staring out across it with Mary all those lifetimes ago.
Reaching the other end of the alley, James carefully pokes his head out to make sure there aren't anymore symbols waiting for them, but stops when he sees the message painted across a faded billboard above an abandoned storefront.
heathens who walk with the lost shepherd are pagans and enemies of God
That's... new.
During his time staying here in Silent Hill, after he remembered what he did, remembered his awful crime, James doesn't recall seeing anything quite like this.
A warning, maybe?
(Or a threat, a voice whispers in the back of James mind, forgotten just as soon as it's spoken.)
The meaning is lost on him, since James has no context for it. At the sound of shrieking metal against brick, James manages to tear his gaze away from the dripping words. The Pyramid Head is making his way down the narrow alley, sparks flying where the edges of his head grind against the walls, no longer paralyzed by the now ruined symbols.
Once they're both free of the alley, James peels his jacket off, unable to stand the damp sleeve still clinging to him.
The Pyramid Head stands motionless next to him, and for a brief moment James worries that he missed one, until he remembers the message. As he wonders if the Pyramid Head can read it something clicks into place in his head and that strange sense of vertigo comes over him again, like he's not anchored all the way in his own body.
(Watch out. The gap in the door...)
"You were chosen," James both says and doesn't say, because he's not all the way here but he is, even if he doesn't understand. The moths do and so do the Old Gods who listen through them. "Hurting and lonely and always walking on robin eggshells, wanting to belong. 'Don't be afraid, son.' You've been chosen."
Something like a snarl rips out of the Pyramid Head as he slams an open palm against the bricks at James' words.
Cautiously, slowly, James reaches out, rests a hand on the Pyramid Head's shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting manner - he's never been any good at comforting people, though he's tried so many times, always fumbling and clumsy - even if he has to stretch a little to reach.
He doesn't mention the quiet, echoing sobs coming from the Pyramid Head.
(It sounds a lot like someone thrashing in a bathtub.)
&&&
Rust colored fog rushes along the streets below, curling and writhing like blood in water.
(Or like the cracked and blistered and bleeding skin of a fire scorched girl, biding her time with the same fire sunk into her bones and eyes; waiting, always waiting, for just the right moment...)
The strangers from the church run from the fog and the monsters who crawl out of it as the sirens blare at a near deafening volume.
James sluggishly watches it all unfold from their perch on top of Brookhaven Hospital's roof.
"How long do you think it'll last this time?" James asks. The rust fog can't reach them up here, not with the moths around them. The canaries the strangers keep aren't much good other than warning them of the impending Otherworld. Moths would keep them safe, but the strangers don't seem to like them.
The Pyramid Head makes a sound that reminds him of whale song, which James takes it to mean 'not long.' Although, whether the Pyramid Head is right or he's being optimistic for James, James can't tell.
Wincing at the sight of a stranger being chased down by a pack of Double Heads, James settles back against the wooden bench. Sitting next to him is the Pyramid Head, but it can't be all that comfortable for him, James thinks, since the apron he wears clearly wasn't made with sitting in mind; not a lot of room to stretch out, only enough space to walk with, maybe even run, but not much else.
"This is the wrong hospital, isn't it?"
A long, drawn out rumble is the only answer he gets.
"Hmm," James replies, trying in vain to keep his heavy eyelids from slipping shut. They do, and James can feel himself sinking into the dark. "I don't know what you're looking for, but we'll find it. Promise."
The town is quiet the next time he opens his eyes, mind still hazy with sleep, feeling warm and comfortable for the first time in... well, James can't actually recall the last time. Can't recall the last time he dreamed of absolutely nothing at all, either.
Blinking away the last dregs of sleep, James realizes he's slumped against the Pyramid Head's side. From this close, James can see old, vicious bite marks all along the column of the Pyramid Head's neck. Which just begs the question of what sets this specific Pyramid Head apart from the others?
(A slow, steady heartbeat, fluctuating between radiating heat like a furnace and burning with a bone deep chill.)
Does he sleep? James wonders; the Pyramid Head is clearly awake from the way he holds himself, and probably has been the whole time.
The rust fog is gone and the world is quiet up here.
Breathing in deeply, James closes his eyes and hums an unfamiliar calliope tune, basswood horses that exhale poison dance behind his eyelids.
She'll be back someday, her ties to Silent Hill run too deep for her to ever be away for long.
(Everything comes in threes.)
&&&
The Pyramid Head's path leads them to the waterfront, down to half collapsed docks and rowboats jutting out from the water like grasping hands.
A watery plague pit, nothing good sleeping beneath the surface.
(Sickness still swells at the bottom of the lake, choosing and cursing depending on criteria only known to it, Silent Hill, and the Old Gods. It saw something in Mary that day they watched the lake. They never once thought that maybe it was watching them back.)
James hums as he stares down at the murky water between the rotting wooden planks. The Pyramid Head is moving more stiffly than usual, his unease from being this close to the lake obvious with the way he keeps emitting sounds of grinding gears and rattling chains.
The moths flutter in close, so close that the tips of their wings brush against both of them.
"Not yet," James decides, the ties that bind them still too restricting. Mind clouded with disjointed memories that haven't happened yet, James nods before looking up at the Pyramid Head. "Not yet, but soon."
A shudder of relief passes through the Pyramid Head.
Resting a hand on the Pyramid Head's arm, James starts coaxing him back to the concrete and asphalt rivers of the town.