[quicklog: louis d/jean g]
[Louis arrived at the manor late, wrapped in a comfortable fisherman's sweater that's been in his closet for ages. It was a concession, as he stopped at the apartment he had barely moved into when they were all called to Silent Hill. It still smelled of fresh paint and stale dust from the last tenant, and being there made the uncomfortable feeling in his chest worse.
It was hard to think. Hard? Nigh impossible. And it wasn't just the trip to a nightmare door, or the shock of being chased by a terrorist group, or knowing what had happened in the subway. Every time he tried to grapple with these things, with one, with all, he drew further back from the thoughts until they became not much more than loose concepts. He missed the train going to upstate New York twice, simply staring off into space and thinking about nothing. He was staring straight ahead, right on time. Then he blinked and then was fifteen minutes later, and the platform was empty.
By the time he got out of the taxi at the gates, from a driver who gave him a long look when he told him where to stop, he was bone tired and it was well after dark. He pressed the buzzer and leaned heavily on the gate when it clicked open. He shut it behind himself slowly, and then halted for a moment.
Where was he, precisely?
Oh, yes. The manor. He said he would come.
Numbly, he approached the front door, his small bag slung over his arm. He was a jumble of discontent and weary sadness, about so many things. He had considered that he might go into this place and not be able to come out again, but that might be best. He had meant what he told Cris. He wouldn't be a burden, and Sam was troubled enough without his presence in her life.