the object of death's affection (matsuda) wrote in lemonsugar, @ 2012-03-22 10:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | silent hill |
Rain
ne Cunningham took a moment to pause, to look up at the sky and let that sun fall on her face, before she was nudged slightly from behind and remembered to walk forward, staring wistfully at the tiny scrap of blue visible through the daunting gray of the clouds overhead. Anne was not normally a very romantic or sentimental person, but the fact that she knew it would be quite a while before she was able to see sun again made her keep staring at the sky, with a frivolity that she normally would not have shown.
She was rewarded for her uncharacteristic display of silliness by the very sudden and very solid presence of Murphy Pendleton's hand on her shoulder, holding her firmly and preventing her from moving any farther. In her carelessness, she had been heading straight for him, and would have run into him if not for him physically intervening. Somewhere in the back of her mind, where she had the capacity for shame even after all her years, she was faintly embarrassed.
“Careful,” Murphy told her in his characteristically gruff voice, fixing her with a stare from those brown eyes that always instilled in her a kind of rage that she couldn't fully explain, even given the circumstances. It was something hot and primal and almost boiling and it consumed her completely. “You should watch where you're going.”
Anne simply fixed him with an frown back, her eyebrows arcing so much that they nearly pressed together above her nose. Murphy looked nonplussed by the expression and simply countered it with a calm look of his own, mostly blank save for something that almost looked like a strange kind of fondness there behind it all. Murphy reached down and checked her cuffs to make sure they were still tightly fastened, and then nodded to her. Still feeling sick to her stomach with rage, Anne climbed the two steps onto the prison transport bus and took one of the empty seats on the left side.
The bus was transporting prisoners from both the male and female wards of Ryall State Correctional Facility, though the transfers were predominantly male. Aside from one jaded-looking middle aged woman with a tattoo on her face who sat near the back of the bus and stared daggers into the souls of anyone who glanced at her, Anne was the only female. This of course earned some curious looks, given the fact that she knew better than anyone that she certainly didn't look like a hardened criminal.
“What did a pretty thing like you do to get transferred to maximum security, gringa?” asked the prisoner directly across the aisle from her and Murphy, who had just gotten onto the bus, shot the man a dirty look.
“Cool it, Sanchez,” he told him, and Sanchez gave him a dirty look and leaned back in his bus seat. “I don't want you harassing the women, okay? This bus ride is gonna be long enough without you running your mouth.”
“I wasn't harrassin' nobody,” Sanchez argued. “I was just asking the lady a question.” despite his innocent words, there was nothing but a heavy sense of the sinister in the way he looked at the Murphy, and the guard obviously noticed and stared straight back with a stare that was just as intimidating.
“I'll tell you why she's getting transferred,” chimed in the inmate in the seat behind Sanchez, a forty-something man with hair trimmed short and a pair of eyes that clearly showed his intent for mischief at the moment. “She beat the shit out of old Pendleton, that's why. He just got out of the hospital last week. Seems weird he's coming along for the ride. I'm surprised you didn't know about that, Sanchez. Shit like that leaks over from the womens' ward all the time.”
“Watch your mouth, Sewell,” Murphy snapped, his expression darkening. He took a seat just behind the driver which, Anne noted, directly diagonal to her own. The other guard sat in the left front seat, in front of her, and he attempted to engage Murphy in conversation, but seemed to fail. Anne let her head rest against the cold pane of the window and tried to pretend she didn't notice Murphy giving her a curious glance before he turned his attention to the foggy road in front of them. The driver checked to make sure the gates into the actual prison from the loading yard were shut before he nodded to the woman in the guard tower, who flipped a switch to open the next gate. Slowly, the old bus roared to life and pulled out through the gates, into the outside world.
The route to the maximum security prison was not an eventful one. It began with gentle rolling hills, slopes of green grass that grew gradually more brown and lifeless as time went on. It seemed to almost work in a slow gradient from lush greenery to deadness, one that Anne tried to follow but lost track of quickly. As the hours inched past the smooth hills gave way to jagged peaks and forests, and the dense and lush conifers were eerie somehow, as though they held secrets that the human mind could never hope to grasp.
When the bus had left the prison, Anne had been chilly but now the interior of the vehicle was almost uncomfortably hot. The back of her prison jumpsuit stuck to the cheap fake leather of the seat and her arms felt almost glued to her sides. She felt her eyes wandering around the bus, no longer wanting to fix themselves on the scenery, and Murphy, who sat sideways on his seat, happened to make eye contact and fill her once again completely and instantly with loathing. The guard gave her a neutral sort of look to counter her obvious anger that just made her that much more furious, and all she could do was stare in return at Murphy. The fact that he was sitting her right now and her father was in the ground just made it all the more unbearable.
The only semblance of comfort she could find came from the fact that there was a scar that stood out on his cheek, angry and deep, that hadn't been there before their previous encounter. The fact that she had left a lasting mark, even if her revenge had not been successful, was comfort enough that she could ignore the way it made her feel to know that he was still here, still alive, and as far as she knew did not even feel any remorse for what he had done. His certainly didn't look like the face of a repentant man, though what kind of man he was, she couldn't say.
The road was getting bumpier and more uneven, and Murphy was still looking at her, head bouncing slightly with the curves of the road. There was an odd and unreadable expression on his face, something almost sad, something lost or lonely, she wasn't sure what it was. All she knew was that it had no place in his expression while he was looking at her. She had little time to stew over his fact, however. There was a loud, strangled yelp from the bus driver, and it was immediately clear why. When Anne looked up, it became apparent that the road was simply missing before the bus, a jagged edge that dropped off into nothingness.
The driver swerved sharply to avoid the sudden dropoff, and with a squeal of rubber on asphalt the bus smashed against the guard rail, the almost impenetrable metal exterior of the bus tearing through the rail like it was butter. The bus careened down the hill on the other side, miraculously managing to avoid tree after tree all the way down, until finally there was a jarring lurch and a screech of metal. The body of the bus connected hard with a tree, and as it ground to a stop prisoners were sent flying from their seats. The last thing that Anne was aware of was the bus' ceiling headed straight forward, and then she knew nothing but blackness.
The world came slowly and painfully into focus under a canopy of evergreen branches. When Anne opened her eyes she was staring up through an intricate pattern of pine needles into a fuzzy-edged patch of marble gray sky and for a moment she wondered if she was dead and she was staring up at some sort of bizarre bleary afterlife. Then the grogginess from the crash began to drain away and once more she was in her right mind enough to realize that she was lying on the forest floor. With a soft grunt she sat up, noting the pain in her head. A quick touch told her that it was bleeding down the side of her face. The gash felt deep, but she guessed it was more distracting than life threatening and she simply pulled her knees against her chest, rolled over, and maneuvered herself to her feet. It was a bit difficult with the cuffs still on, but she managed after several tries. Once she'd gained her footing, it proved to be easier than she'd expected to stay upright, and she was relieved that she could ignore her present condition and assess the situation around her.
The wreckage of the bus lay a few yards away, which made her wonder exactly how she had managed to end up so far away from the crash site. For a moment she worried, as she made her way over to the smashed vehicle, that she would see the bodies of her fellow inmates as mangled as the steel they would be twisted around. However, when she peered inside the bus, she didn't see anyone, dead or otherwise. It was a bit disconcerting and she stepped back, looking around the small clearing in the trees for any sign of life. It seemed to be a fruitless search, however. It was becoming increasingly apparent that she was alone.
As this realization began to sink in, a small spark of excitement settled in as well. The guards were gone. There was no telling if anyone would even assume she had survived the crash. She could make an escape, and never have to go back to prison. Anne had never been much of a rebel, to be completely and totally honest with herself. During her sentence, she had never stirred up any trouble, had done what she was told, had always been compliant to the requests of authority. Aside from her assault on Murphy Pendleton, she had been a model prisoner. These thoughts were crazy. What kind of model prisoner makes a break for it?
The kind that doesn't want to go back, she answered for herself.
A glance to the left and the right told her that the coast was still clear, and before she could change her mind, Anne walked in a straight line in what she guessed was west. She had always had a head for direction. A fallen tree blocked her way, and she had to maneuver up the hill and around it a bit to get anywhere. There were scores of obstacles holding her back from freedom, and it gave her plenty of time to wonder just how the hell her life had come to all of this. Doing jail time, assaulting correctional officers, doing what was just about equivalent to a prison break. None of it was what she had planned or expected as a child or a teenager. She had envisioned herself married, maybe with children, upholding the law just like her father had. Instead she had stooped to breaking it.
Traversing mountain terrain was not at all ideal with handcuffs on, and she worked up quite a sweat climbing over rocks and moving around trees. Eventually her travels took her to a ridge, a sharp dropoff on one site and a series of steep jutting rocks on the other. Climbing the ridge was going to take quite a lot of figuring out, and she moved over to it and pressed her useless cuffed hands against the cold stone.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Turning around, Anne caught sight of Murphy standing not two yards away, watching her. There was really no excuse she could make, no way to somehow get around this. So she simply looked at him, with an expression that she hoped made clear to him just how unhappy she was to see him.
“I'm going to town,” she told him eventually, turning away from the rock. There were really no words to express how much she hated his presence at the moment but she was sure he understood.
“Like hell you are,” Murphy responded, shaking his head. “You're staying with me until I can find some way to call for help.”
“Where is everyone else?” Anne asked him rather harshly and suspiciously, as though she thought he had something to do with their absence, though she thought nothing of the sort.
“How should I know?” Murphy responded, sounding genuinely confused. “I woke up at the bottom of the hill, and everyone else was gone. You're the first person I've seen,” he shook his head, pressing a hand to his hair where Anne could see that the brown strands were matted with blood. “Shit, a busload of dangerous criminals looks in the woods. They're gonna have my badge for this.”
“They should have had it a long time ago,” Anne snapped, and Murphy raised his eyes to her, giving her a look that said without words how much he would like it if she would just shut the hell up.
“And why's that?” he asked rather dangerously.
“You know what you did, Pendleton!” she hissed, eyes closing into slits so narrow his blank face was blurry. “Don't lie to me, we both know it!”
Murphy just fixed her with a long stare. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he told her finally, shaking his head. “You're sure as hell not making any sense.”
Enraged, Anne could only seethe and clench her fists. “He was a good man, you know,” she snapped, eyes threatening to cloud over just briefly before she was able to gain her bearings.
“I'm telling you, I have no idea what you're talking about,” Murphy informed her calmly, but firmly. Anne took a step backward, increasing the distance between them. For a moment all she could think of was how much she loathed this pretended innocence, this complete disregard for the truth. She fixed him with a cold stare, taking a few more steps away from him. “Be careful,” Murphy told her, and this just made her contempt rise even more.
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, you sick bastard! Lying right to my face like you think I don't know exactly what kind of man you are. You make me sick,” Anne was not exactly a warm and fuzzy sort of person, but she had honestly never hated anyone before, and she had no idea what to do with these feelings. She took a few more steps back, unable to see much more than red.
“Cunningham, look out!” Murphy exclaimed, looking honestly a bit concerned. “There's a—”
The word cut off and he lunged forward at the same moment that Anne took another step and felt the edge of the dropoff under her heel. Unable to wave her arms in an attempt to regain her balance, her feet slid out from under her. Murphy had acted quick enough that his hand closed around the chain between her cuffs just as she felt her belly start to slide along the rocks on the blank face of the cliff. For a moment she simply dangled there, suspended in midair from the chain in Murphy's hand. The pressure on her wrists from the cuffs pulling all her weight turned to pain, and she felt a small trickle of blood run down her arm inside the sleeve of her prison jumpsuit.
There was a tense moment in which Anne wondered if Murphy was going to drop her. Given the circumstances of their past together, it wouldn't be entirely unjustified. But he started pulling with a grunt, and slowly she began to rise. The cuffs cut in even worse as he pulled, and Anne struggled to ignore her discomfort and pushed her feet against the cliff face to help. By the time he had hoisted her up and she sprawled on the ground, they were both breathing heavily. Murphy leaned over and put his hands on his knees, wiping a fine sheen of sweat from his brow. After several long, silent moments, Anne was able to sit up, honestly surprised that she was alive.
“Why did you save me?” she demanded, and Murphy simply looked at her. “After everything I did to you?”
“I wouldn't just let you die,” he informed her, looking slightly surprised that she had imagined another alternative. “What kind of person would do that?”
The first thought that ran through her head was 'the kind of person who would kill my father', but she let it go and simply looked at him, curiously, not really sure what to make of him. Murphy was a strange man on all counts. He had always been kind to her, even friendly, and even now after she'd put him in the hospital, he was benign toward her. It didn't make any sense. It was something she couldn't really explain, and wasn't sure if she even wanted to. Feeling undignified beyond all words sitting in the dirt, Anne examined her wrists. The cuts from the cuffs weren't deep, but they were bleeding rather profusely. The blood felt almost bizarrely hot against her skin in the cold air, and if she hadn't known any better, she would have thought it was steaming.
“What I'm thinking,” Murphy said finally, after a long, tense silence. “Is that we can get up the hill and into the city, and then we can call for help. My radio is busted, but I'm sure we'll find some way to contact someone in Silent Hill.”
“Will you at least uncuff me?” Anne asked, and Murphy shook his head.
“Not a chance,” he told her, raising a brow. “I know what you're thinking. You're going to try to escape, and I can't let that happen. I still have to do my job. I WILL help you, though. If we work together, we'll get out of this safe. Okay?”
All Anne could think was how grudging she felt accepting help from him. But she sighed and nodded, really seeing no other option. “Okay,” she replied, and Murphy knelt and took hold of her arm, helping her to her feet. Glancing up the hill, the pit dropped out of Anne's stomach.
In more than one sense, this was not going to be easy.