Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I woke up warm.

Not sweaty — warm. A forgotten feeling. And not because I’d died, or landed in hell, or some other poetic bullshit. No. It was the sun. Real sun. Not the murky glare of a crooked lamp or the jaundiced flicker of some rotten hallway, but actual, full, clean daylight.

I got up.
Emma was gone.
The couch was empty.
The Radiohead vinyl had stopped spinning, and for a moment, I thought I’d dreamed the whole thing.

I walked to the window.

The house sat high, perched on a hill that looked down over the town — or what was left of it. Down below, Silent Hill had vanished. Nothing but fog. Thick, unmoving. A milky slab sealing everything beneath it.

But up here, on this hill, the sun was shining.

The sky was blue. The air, crisp. The silence, almost sweet. Unreal.

Then — the smell of coffee, from the kitchen.

A mirage, maybe. Or a dream engineered to soothe me, sedate me, make me forget.
And it was working.

I thought back to last night.
Henry’s call.
Reagan.
His death.
Pure evil, devoured by itself.
And me? Hero or butcher?

Maybe Emma was right. Maybe a gas leak had fried my brain.
Maybe even Love and Henry, the way they appeared in that dream… were just rotting scraps of my guilt.

And now, this.
Sun. Warmth.
Emma.

Your voice, your smile.

What if you really were… “you”?

Maybe it was love at first sight.
Maybe, for the first time, I didn’t need to watch, or own, or control.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was all part of the punishment.

⸻

Reyes didn’t believe in fate.

He believed in numbers. In prints. In phone records and cold bodies stuffed in trunks. He was a good cop. One of the few left. But even good cops screw up, sometimes.

The motel was called the Norman. A rat trap, stinking of mold, with crusty sheets and carpet that clung to your shoes. Reyes paid in cash and left early, dropping twenty bucks on the empty reception desk. Outside: snow. Silence. The town was watching him, without being seen.

Ten years ago, he’d been stationed in Silent Hill. Hunting a monster — a serial killer obsessed with Walter Sullivan. He found symbols. Rituals. Letters scrawled in blood. But the real horror came after.

There was a cult. Supposedly modern. Religion 4.0, his colleagues said: money in exchange for power, bliss, and pseudo-spiritual garbage. But Reyes saw something else.
There was rot.
Something older. Hungrier.

He found things. He wanted to go deeper.
Then came the offer: a bag full of cash.
A choice — cover it all up and pay off his junkie brother’s debts, or keep digging.

Reyes hesitated. Then said yes.
Michael and Consuelo, his partners, said no. They kept digging into the filth.

And the bottom swallowed them whole.

They were never found.

Now, Reyes was coming back for Joe Goldberg. Or whoever he’d become.
Maybe he wanted justice.
Maybe redemption.

Or maybe he was just looking for a place to die an honest man.

Chapter Text

I found her in the kitchen. Emma.
Wearing an oversized shirt, she moved between the stove and the moka pot with disarming ease. As if nothing had happened.
As if we weren’t in Silent Hill.
As if I weren’t… me.

“Morning. Sleep well?” she said with a calm smile, like it was just any other morning.
“Not really, huh? You had a rough time yesterday, Dan. Lucky for you I’m here—your heroine.”

Christ, for her it was all so simple.
I wanted to say something.
Like how there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. Not right now.
I wanted to come up behind her, kiss her neck, hold her hips, slip under that shirt and make love to her for hours.
But then I thought about Henry.
And I knew—no, this wasn’t where I truly wanted to be.
So I just nodded and sat down.

In front of me, two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs with toast.
The smell was real. The warmth of the ceramic in my hands—real. The spoon clinking against the rim of the cup—real.
And yet, everything felt… fake.
Or maybe I was the fake. A misplaced piece in a reality pretending to be normal.

Emma was looking at me.
Not like you look at a killer.
She looked at me like someone you’ve chosen.
And that look—it shattered me.

We ate in silence.
Then she spoke. “So now that we’re sitting down, tell me… I’m curious. How’d you end up in Silent Hill? I mean, not that I’m complaining or anything, but… why here?”

Yeah. Why?

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe to find myself.”

She laughed—a short, genuine laugh. “Yourself? In Silent Hill? Come on, Dan, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t exactly a Tibetan monastery.”

Dan. Always that name.
She called me whatever she wanted. She had control, and didn’t even know it.

“Wanna go out for a bit? I wanna show you something.”

She got dressed quickly. No red dress today, just a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers.
The woman in red—today she was just a beautiful, ordinary girl.
I followed her.

Outside, the sun warmed my skin like someone else’s touch.
Below us—just fog. White, thick, unmoving.
The town looked drowned.
But up here, on the hill… it felt like another world. Fragile, but still standing.

“You know,” she said, “the fog usually comes up this far. But it’s still early. Here—just here—sometimes you get a bit of light.”

We walked along a narrow path that sloped gently down until it stopped, abruptly.
A chasm. Immense.
A hole in the world.

“Cool, right?” she said, almost amused.

No. It wasn’t cool.
It was creepy as hell.

“What caused this thing?” I asked.

“No one really knows. Conspiracy nuts say there was some secret lab down there—government stuff. Something went wrong, boom, explosion, end of story. Others say… it just appeared. One day it wasn’t there, the next—poof. The Devil, or something like that. Who knows.”

“And the only way out is down, through the town…” I said, gazing past the fog.

Emma nodded. “Exactly. And down there… well, there are rumors. Cults, disappearances, weird accidents. But who knows. The only person I really know who disappeared is my brother, and I think he just packed a bag and left.
Other than that, this town seems like any other. Boring, maybe. But it’s home.”

Your home.
Silent Hill.

Below—hell.
Here, a home. A hill. A refuge.

Who would find me here?
The police? The monsters?
There was only me. And beside me… you.

For some insane reason, with you, I felt safe.
Me.
The one obsessed with protecting.
I felt protected.

For a moment, I thought—maybe… maybe I could stay.
Just for a while.

Chapter Text

We got back home while the sun was still high, even though the fog—down there, beneath us—seemed thicker now. It was rising. Soon, it would swallow everything.

Emma closed the door with an instinctive motion, like she was trying to keep something out.

I didn’t look at her right away. My eyes landed on the bookshelf.

There.

The book.

The same one that had been at Mooney’s for years, until the day it vanished. I had seen it again in that… vision? Dream? Or maybe hallucination. The one with the message inside:
“We’re not done with you, Joe Goldberg.”

“What is it?” Emma asked, following my gaze.

I pointed. “That book. Where did you get it?”

She stepped closer and picked it up. “This? I don’t know… for as long as I can remember, it’s always been there. My dad’s, I think. It’s full of weird notes, symbols, formulas. I’ve never understood a thing.”

She handed it to me. Her fingers brushed mine. They still held the warmth of the sun.

I opened it.

Pages packed with scribbles, circular symbols, phrases in Latin and in languages I didn’t recognize. No threatening message this time. Just silence. But a silence that carried something.

I turned to Emma. She was watching me. Her eyes deep, unafraid. Just… present. Solid. Real.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No,” I said. Quietly, almost afraid she’d really hear it.

She took a step toward me. Then another. Her hands touched my chest, slow. Like she was looking for a way in, to somewhere deeper.

I didn’t say a word.

I didn’t need to.

We kissed. First with caution. Then with hunger. Like it was the last living thing left in the world. Clothes disappeared, one after the other, with no rush. Every touch felt more real than anything I’d lived through in the past year.

The house was silent. The fog pressed against the windows, but didn’t come in. It didn’t dare.

We made love. More than once. In that house suspended between two worlds. And for a moment—I swear—it felt like that could be enough.

It was all perfect.

There, in that place that had forgotten what beauty even is.

Beauty I had finally found… was you.

Emma fell asleep, her legs tangled with mine.

I stayed awake.

And then, at the far end of the room, I saw a figure. Naked. Soaking wet. Hair like black seaweed stuck to her face.

Another monster?
No. At least, not like the others.

Love.

It didn’t feel like a dream. It didn’t feel like a memory. It felt present.

“Do you remember me, Joe?” she whispered.

Her gaze slid to Emma.
“It won’t last.”

Then back to me. And she smiled. That smile. Cold, savage. The one I’d tried so hard to forget.

“You know it always ends like this, don’t you?”

“Love,” I said. “Or whatever you are… What do you want from me?”

“Answers,” she said. “I want you to tell me why.”

Why what?
Why I killed her? I saved Henry. I did the right thing.
She was a monster. I… maybe.

“Tell me what you want to know.”

“You’ve already heard me,” she murmured. “You know where to find me.”

And then she was gone.
Not slowly.
All at once.

Like she’d never existed.

I turned to Emma. She was asleep. Still. Peaceful.

You. You’re real. You’re alive. You’re here.

And I won’t let her—or whatever she’s become—touch you.

I’ll find her.

And I’ll kill her.

Again.

Chapter Text

Two hours earlier...

The fog was thick. Too thick.
Not like this. Not at this hour.

The sky was a sickly yellow—
not like sunlight breaking through clouds. No. This light was wrong. Diseased.

Something was falling from the sky.
At first glance, it looked like snow.
But Reyes touched it—
Not snow.
Sand.
The same kind he’d used for years to bury things.

He walked close to the curb, collar up, eyes squinted against the wet wind.
His boots sank into soaked gravel.
The phone—silent.
The town—quiet.
And inside him, something had started digging.

He’d spent the night buried in files: faded photographs, old reports, digital traces. Always the same name.
Joe Goldberg.

And now he was here.
In the street.
Looking for clues.
Looking for him.
“I’ll find you, you son of a bitch,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

At first, he hadn’t noticed.
It was early. Off-season.
But now—it was obvious.
Wrong.
No one was around.

Silent Hill had never been exactly bustling outside tourist months, but there was always someone—
a shutter clattering open, a guy walking his dog, a car rolling past.
Something.
Someone.

Now: nothing.

The lights were on.
Shops were open.
But empty. Abandoned mid-use.
A glass on a bar counter.
A radio crackling inside a hardware store.
But no one inside.
No one outside.

Reyes peeked through a window.
Knocked on a door.
Nothing.
The town seemed… emptied.
As if something—or someone—had sucked the life out of it.

Then he saw the roadwork.
A flimsy barricade.
He approached.
And froze.
The street ended. Literally.
Not collapsed.
Not sloped.
Gone.

A chasm.
A raw, open wound in the earth.
Below—just fog.
And blackness.
An unnatural edge.
As if the world’s map had been torn apart right there.

“What the hell is going on in this place…” he whispered.

Then—static.
The radio on his shoulder crackled to life.
“R… Reyes… Detective… Chief…”
A voice. Garbled. Distorted.
But… familiar.

“Reyes. Who is this?”
“Chief… we’re here. Trapped…”

“Identify yourself. Officer.”
“Alvarez. Consuelo Alvarez.”

Ice shot through him.
His knees nearly gave out.

Consuelo Alvarez was dead.
Or at least—vanished.
Years ago.

“Consuelo… don’t play games. This is a federal channel. I’ll trace this and throw you in a cell.”
“Chief… come to the station. We found something.”

Chief.
Only the close ones called him that.
Only her.
Only the dead.

Reyes spun around.
Silence.
The radio went dead.
No sound.
Just wind.
And sand.

He had no choice.
The police station was only a few blocks away.
He knew it by heart.
He’d served there for years.
But now, it seemed so far away—
like it had stayed behind in another world.

He started walking.
Each step heavier.
The gun at his hip, cold as ice.
And the fear… rising.
Slowly.
Like that cursed fog.

Chapter Text

I got up. Slowly. Without a sound.

I got dressed with the same calm you use when you prepare a knife before plunging it in.

I had to find her.

Emma, you make me feel safe. In a town like this, a town that devours everything, you are the only space where I can breathe.
But Love…
Love is the only creature in the world capable of ripping even that away from me.
Slitting your throat in your sleep. Locking you in a room and throwing away the key. Leaving you there, alone, to die.
Pretending to be me to set a deadly trap. Like she did with Marianne.

Every woman I ever tried to save from myself... she ruined them.
I won’t let that happen to you.

Not you.

“Mm… where are you going?”
Emma stirred. Her voice thick with sleep. Eyes still closed, but her body already on alert.

Shit. Now? What do I say?

“I forgot something in the car. I’ll be right back.”
Weak excuse. Transparent. I’d parked near the lake — maybe she knew that. But she didn’t stop me.
“Okay… I’ll wait for you.”

No, you won’t.
I know you’ll follow me, one way or another.

I stepped out, took the path that led toward the town. Step by step, it revealed itself under a milky fog that tasted like death.
The backpack weighed heavy on my shoulders. The book inside. I knew it would be useful — somehow. But the weight wasn’t just physical. It was draining something from me. Time, clarity, maybe even a piece of my soul.

I needed answers.
To protect you.
To protect you, Emma.

I saw him again — the forgetful man.
He walked hunched, in a worn-out coat, moving like he wasn’t part of this world anymore. Faded. Like the world had stopped touching him.

“Do I know you?” he asked, watery eyes, unsteady voice.

“Maybe. We crossed paths outside town a while ago.”
I lied. This wasn’t the time for truth.

“I get lost a lot,” he said. “But something always guides me… even if I don’t know what.”

Time to push. “Do you remember Emma?” I tried.
Blank stare. “Pretty name. But… no.”

“What if I told you she’s your daughter?”

Silence. Then just: “I don’t have children.”
But even he didn’t believe it.

I pulled out the book.
The moment he saw it, he stepped back. Hands trembling.

“That should never have left the house… It’s cursed. It has to be burned. Destroyed.”

“What is it?”

“A catalyst. Blood wakes the memory. Memory speaks the name. The name opens the door.”

Then he stepped closer, eyes deranged.
“Burn it. If there’s still time. Burn it before I BURN HER.”

The voice had changed. Scraped raw. Inhuman.
Something else was speaking through him.

And then, suddenly, silence.

“I’m lost. Is this the road to the lake?”

His memory — gone again. Before I burn her. Emma?
I should have killed him. One quick strike to the back of the head, then my hands around his throat.
Anywhere else — New York, London, Madre Linda — I would’ve done it.

But this town… this town tames you.
It gets inside you. Softens the exact part you once thought was sharp enough to kill.

Here… I let him go.

And I hope I won’t regret it.

If what he said was true… maybe he wouldn’t have died anyway.
Maybe Silent Hill wasn’t done with him yet.
And not with me, either.

I kept walking. No destination.

Stores open but empty. Restaurants with menus displayed, but no customers. No waiters.
A frozen town. A loop on repeat.

Then, on the ground — a flyer.

Lakeside Amusement Park.

Every perfect town has its amusement park.
A place to drop off the kids with the nannies while husbands fuck their secretaries and wives smile at each other, shopping their despair away.

It made me think of Love.
Santa Cruz.
That shithole she had to visit to feel “authentic.” The rides, the beach. She was pregnant.
And I was happy. Or thought I was.

Two weeks from our wedding.
I thought nothing could shake what we had.

It wasn’t true.

Yes.

Yes...

An amusement park. A perfect moment.

If Love was somewhere in this town…
that’s where I would've found her. 

Now I knew where to go.

Chapter Text

The old Paleville precinct still stood—like a shipwreck stranded in the dead heart of the city. Once, it had meant something. A landmark. A place people turned to. Now it was just cracked concrete and blind windows, swallowed by fog and forgetfulness.

The main operations had moved to Brahms years ago. That’s where the tech lived now. The digital archives. The phone lines that actually rang. Paychecks that arrived on time.
Here? A ghost booth. A crooked sign. And a heap of memories no one wanted to dig up.

Reyes stopped beneath the scorched cornice. Once upon a time, patrol cars were parked right here. Now? Just rusted-out shells, doors hanging open like broken jaws.
He’d worked in worse places. But none that felt so... rotten.

He pushed the heavy door.
It wasn’t even locked.
He exhaled, dryly. “Perfect.”

Inside, there was only damp and dust. Scattered files. Toppled chairs. The stink.
Walls soaked with mold and stories that refused to die.

And Reyes remembered the story of a boy.
Teenage dare. Him and two friends, sneaking in—bored or chasing a thrill. They all walked out. But the boy... he was wrecked. Bruised. A cracked rib. Mild concussion.
Said he’d been beaten. By cops. Talked about uniforms. About questioning. About laughter. Voices calling him by name.

An impossible story: the place had been abandoned for years.
No one believed him. The Hillside patrol wrote it off as a fall. The doctor at Alchemilla scribbled a hasty report: “accidental trauma.”
End of story.

But Reyes knew. Bruises don’t lie.
Those weren’t from a fall.
They were hits. Clean. Intentional.

The kid stopped talking. Moved away, years later.
Case closed.
But Silent Hill... doesn’t forget. It just whispers.

“Detective Reyes, reporting in...” he murmured, brushing his hand across the old front desk. Just dust. Stains. And the past.

He started walking toward the captain’s office. The nameplate was still there, chipped.
He threw the door open.

Inside, light sliced through the broken blinds. A desk. A couple of chairs. And something glinting beneath the dust.

A photo.

He picked it up. A man. Archival shot.
On the back, a handwritten note: “Dr. M. Kaufmann.”

“Kaufmann...” Reyes whispered. “Who the hell were you?”

A renowned doctor. A young nurse named Lisa Garland. An unexplained disappearance. A buried story. Every time it came up, Chief Bennett changed the subject.
She used to call this place “hell.”

Crack.

Reyes turned, sharp.
He wasn’t alone anymore.

Footsteps.
Slow.
Too heavy to be a kid.
Too steady to be a ghost.

Time to draw the gun.

His hand moved on instinct. Smooth. Quick.
The silence thickened.
Someone was out there, in the hallway. But the steps had stopped. No breathing. No rustle. Just the echo of a dead city.

He moved slowly, back against the wall.
The corridor opened into a maze of broken-glass offices. Empty lockers. That sick-sweet stench of wet paper and rusted metal.

A shadow flicked past the edge of the far wall.

Reyes froze.

“Police,” he said low. “Come out.”

Nothing.

Another step. Then one more.
Coming from the old staff locker room.
Reyes knew that place. Spent a thousand hours there as a rookie.
He remembered the stink of bad coffee. Nervous laughter. Small talk from long nights.
Now... just the thump of his own heart.

He kicked the door open.
Empty. Just open lockers and a moldy sink.
But something had passed through.

He turned—
Just for a second.
A reflection in the cracked mirror.

Not a face.
Not a whole figure.
Just... a twisted shadow.
Bent in a way no human should be.
Moving along the walls instead of the floor.

And then... nothing.

The mirror cracked on its own. A sudden spiderweb.

Reyes backed out.
He wasn’t chasing ghosts. Not today.

He returned to the captain’s office.
Took the photo of Kaufmann, slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
He’d dig into it.
Just... not here. Not now.

He made his way back to the entrance.
Whoever made the call, it was a sick joke.
Maybe some kid who found old files in the ruins.

He tried the door.
Locked.

The bolt turned, but something held it shut from the inside.
Reyes stopped, breathing shallow.
No sound. No steps. No click.
And yet... it was sealed.

He rested his forehead against the cold wood. Just for a second.

That’s when he heard the laughter.

Thin. Sharp. Too close.
Coming from the operations room. The old dispatch center.
Male voices. Low, slurred. Like a conversation stolen from another time.

Reyes turned slowly.
Gun still in hand, he moved down the corridor.
Every step took him deeper. Farther.

The door was ajar.
A blade of warm, golden light spilled through the crack.
Nothing like the sick light in the rest of the building.
This light looked... alive.

He opened it.

Inside, time had stopped.
Desks in perfect order. Coffee steaming. Fax machines humming.
Uniformed officers sitting, standing, laughing, talking—as if it were any other day, in any other world.

And maybe it was.

Reyes stood still.
Something about their faces.
Too smooth. Too still.
Like masks stretched over the wrong muscles.

One of them noticed. Rose to his feet. Broad shoulders. Walking toward him.

“Hey, Cap. Long time no see, huh?”

Reyes stared.
A punch to the gut.
That face... Monaghan.
Gone eight years.
Dirty, violent, rotten to the core.
All they’d found was his gun, rusted, at the bottom of the lake.

But now he was here.
Alive.
Or something very close to it.

“What the hell—”

Two hands grabbed him from behind.
Cold. Strong.
Yanked him back hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Reyes yelled, struggling.
His gun hit the ground, clattering.

“I’m Detective Reyes, Brahms PD! Let go of me, assholes!”

“Shut up, scum,” growled a voice behind him.
“We know exactly who you are.”

They dragged him down the hallway.
The laughter grew louder behind them.
Then warped.
Then wrong.

“Welcome to Silent Hill,” Monaghan hissed ahead of them, walking slow.
“Finally you came home.”

A door flew open by itself.
A long hallway.
Lights flickering on the ceiling.
The stench of bleach and blood.

The cells.

Reyes fought back hard, but the hands held tight.
One shoved him against the wall. The other raised his arm.

The baton came down like thunder.

Silence.
Then darkness.

Chapter Text

There were no more footsteps. No more voices. No more shadows crawling at the edge of sight.

The fog was getting thicker. And the smell—sweet, like burnt sugar—grew stronger with every breath.

The flyer for Lakeside Amusement Park was crumpled inside my backpack, but still readable. I’d grabbed it without thinking. One of those things you feel is important. Like a memory sliding in sideways, even when you don’t know where it came from.

I was walking along the shore. The lake was a flat, gray sheet. The sound of the water had vanished.

Each step felt heavier. Each thought more blurred.

Love, if you’re not an illusion—and you’re not—I’ll find you.

I still didn’t understand what this place wanted from me. First Reagan, the lies about my son, the hospital made of guts and nightmares. Then Emma—her kisses, her tenderness. A nightmare followed by a perfect morning.

And now you, Love.

Redemption? Punishment? Some Charles Dickens acid trip, with less moralizing and more pus. If that was the Ghost of Christmas Past, I didn’t want to meet the others.

Enough. I was drifting.

On the horizon, the silhouettes of the rides began to appear.

A frozen Ferris wheel, tilted sideways. Faded rocking horses, like dead animals. Neon signs flickering with no power.

And then... a sound. Faint. A lullaby. A music box melody.

I stopped. The gate was open.

The park was waiting for me.

Chapter Text

When he opened his eyes again, Reyes was lying on the freezing floor of an underground cell. The air was still, heavy, saturated with the acrid scent of copper and mold. Around him, darkness was broken only by a single source of light: a flickering neon bulb, pulsing with an irregular rhythm, as if breathing.

The walls were damp. The bricks, swollen with mildew, seemed to warp with every beat of light. Nothing was stable down there. Not even time.

Two figures crouched against the back wall. Michael? Consuelo? Dirty, weary, aged beyond their years. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move.

Reyes sat up. His body responded with a dull, spreading pain. A head wound—clotted blood on his forehead. His suit—worn out, soaked in old fatigue, too many desks, too many reports and too few investigations—was torn at the side. Someone had struck him precisely. Not to kill. To bring him down.

Maybe this is the ending I deserved, he thought.

Commissioner Bennett had been elected county sheriff. Seventy years old and still going strong—steel and memory. And he—Brahms’ new commissioner, the “luxury transfer”—was nothing but a shell. The rightful punishment for always choosing to stay silent.

Then the cell changed.

It wasn’t a sound. Not a movement. The world simply bent. The bricks shifted. The floor became coated in a red, viscous film. The bars, once black, were now gray and corroded by a different time.

Reyes was still there. But also elsewhere.

Another room. An interrogation chamber. The neon lights spun slowly. Michael, tied to a chair, was panting. An officer walked in circles around him. Face hidden. Gray uniform. A low, mechanical laugh. Behind him, Consuelo: swollen eyes, fixed on Michael, hands bound behind her back, her face an unspoken scream.

They weren’t after justice. They were after information. Names. Secrets. Not to solve a case. To bury it.

There was a man at the end of the room. Not an officer. A black coat. A surgical mask. Eyes behind round lenses. Silent. And yet, clearly in charge.

And by the door… Reyes. Young. Still. Head lowered.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t intervene. He was just there. And that was enough.

The flash vanished. Darkness again. Silence again.

Only Reyes remained. Michael and Consuelo were gone. Or maybe they had never been there.

The door stood ajar. As if waiting.

He stood up.

The Otherworld precinct was a living carcass. The walls breathed. The lights cast warped shadows. Familiar places had become recursive nightmares.

Then… the heartbeat.

Deep. Irregular. A black heart beneath the walls.

Monaghan.

He found him in front of the memorial board. Burned photos, shattered medals. Monaghan stood there, armed. Deformed. His uniform crusted with blood.

“Still standing, Reyes?” he rasped. “Thought you’d run for good.”

“You… you disappeared. You faked it, didn’t you?”

Behind him, other officers approached. Familiar faces. Corrupted faces.

“Disappeared? Me?” Monaghan laughed. “You were there. You saw it. You looked away. And then you left. That makes us the same.”

Reyes stared at him. “I… I did it to save my brother. You did it for money.”

“Oh, come on, Norman. You were corrupt too. Just never had the guts to follow through. I did. You hid. You let colleagues die. Friends. Because you were afraid.”

The officers started laughing. A low, rusted sound.

Reyes reached for his holster.

“Trying to be a hero now? Come on, admit it. Our motto was the same: serve the highest bidder and protect their secrets… with clubs and blood, right?” Monaghan hissed. Behind him, the laughter grew. Darker. Louder. More real.

Reyes stared at them. He knew Monaghan was right. He had betrayed. He had chosen to look away. But now he was here.

He had a choice.

To be lost.

Or to fight.

He drew his gun.

The darkness exploded.

**

The fight was vision and fury. Every blow, a debt settled. Every shot, a bleeding memory. Reyes faced what he had been. And buried it.

When it was over, the precinct’s carcass fell silent.

Two figures appeared in the corridor.

Michael. Consuelo. A file in hand—they held it out. He took it.

Light in their eyes. No blame.

They pointed to a wall—once smooth, now cracked. An opening. A door that had never been there.

Beyond it… a narrow tunnel, covered in ancient symbols carved into metal and stone. A cold wind carried the sound of distant music. A lullaby.

Reyes knew this was his path.

But before stepping in, he made one last stop at the precinct armory.

He rammed the rusted door open with his shoulder. Inside was darkness, but he knew that place by heart. His hands found the switches. A flickering neon strip lit up shelves, open crates, broken lockers.

Much was gone. But not everything.

A military backpack, stained with sand and old missions. Huge capacity. Into it he packed everything he could find: magazines, a pump-action shotgun, a second revolver, a reinforced bulletproof vest. Tactical knives. Flash grenades. Everything he’d hoped to never need again.

He dressed like a man with nothing left to lose.

In a cracked mirror he saw his reflection: pale skin, forehead still stained with dried blood, eyes ringed by sleepless nights. Now, armed to the teeth, he looked like a soldier in a world that had forgotten war.

Whatever waited beyond… was waiting for him. And he would be ready.

He slung his primary weapon across his shoulder. Breathed.

And turned toward the breach.

The sound of a music box had grown louder. It wasn’t music. It was a call.

Reyes stepped through the threshold.

The tunnel closed behind him.

Chapter Text

Everything was off, of course. Not that it surprised me.

Until the tourists start rolling in from Portland, New York, Boston, and every other overpriced city on the East Coast, a place like this is useless. Just a massive waste of electricity. They open for Halloween, maybe Thanksgiving, Easter weekend, sometimes New Year’s—if the weather behaves.

The rest of the year? Closed gates, silence.

Except today.

The rides were all lined up like they were in a shop window: the rusted roller coaster, the broken-down carousel, the Ferris wheel, even a busted tagada. Same old cheap junk.

And everywhere—that damn rabbit. Robbie.

The creepiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life—and trust me, I’ve seen things. Who in their right mind sticks a mascot like that in a kids’ amusement park and thinks no one’s gonna end up in therapy for the rest of their life?

What was it—a conspiracy funded by the therapist lobby?

Whatever.

Then, a sound.

The Ferris wheel started moving. On its own.

And the string lights lining the path—dead a second ago—flickered to life. The whole park lit up. Just for me.

Perfect, I thought. Classic horror movie moment where the protagonist walks straight into the nightmare, ignoring every ounce of common sense.

“So Dan, this car of yours wasn’t that far, huh?”

You.

Of course you came.

“Emma? Did you follow me?”

“Hmm, no.” She shrugged. “Let’s just say I took a shortcut. Even had time to swing by that redneck carnie’s place and steal his keys!”

A shortcut. Yeah, that actually made sense. She got here before me. She opened the gate.

Maybe she was drawn here by Love.

Shit. She was in danger.

“Emma, go home. Right now. This isn’t a game. You have no idea what’s going on here.”

Her face—cocky a moment ago—darkened.

“Okay. Enough.”

“Emma, I—”

“Emma, Emma… Who do you think you’re talking to? Some kid? A damsel waiting for you to gallop in on your white horse?
Newsflash, baby: wrong fucking girl.”

She was pissed. Really pissed.

“You don’t get it. She—”

“She who? Who the fuck, Joe?
I’ve lived in this town for thirty years. I know every street, every shadow. And now you show up, thinking you can protect me by sending me home like I’m some clueless teenager?
You know what? Maybe the only thing I need protection from is yet another dose of toxic masculinity. The classic white, straight, cis dude who thinks he’s the main character.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. Just let me explain. Love Quinn—”

“Who? Another ghost? Another one of your delusions?
Look, Joe, I don’t know if you’re insane or just a liar.
I let it slide when you snuck out earlier. Figured maybe you needed space.
I mean, we barely just met and ended up in bed. I thought it meant something.
But I guess I was wrong.
Good luck with your ghosts. Sayonara.”

“Emma, wait! Please, just hear me out!”

She turned. Took two steps.

And vanished.

Gone. Just like that.

Maybe I’d have deserved it, another day.

But not today, Emma.

Not today.

“Freeze! Put your hands up and don't move!”

Fuck.

Now what?

Chapter Text

A cop. In Silent Hill.
Dressed like he was heading to war.

I raised my hands. I was unarmed. Should I have run away? Useless. I’d probably end up in the arms of some monster. Or worse—my ex-wife.

He stepped closer.

"Joe Goldberg. Detective Inspector Norman Reyes, Brahms Police Department. You’re under arrest for the murder of Love Quinn and for the abduction and attempted murder of Kate Lockwood and Nadia Farran."

But they were the ones who kidnapped me!
Not that trying to explain it would’ve done much good.
He cuffed me and grabbed his radio. Turned it on. A voice answered:

“Hillside Police, Silent Hill.”

“Detective Reyes from the Brahms precinct. Do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, detective.”

“Christ, finally…” he muttered.

“Officer, I’ve got a confessed murderer in custody. I’m at the Paleville amusement park. Can you send a car?”

“Unit’s on its way. Dispatch is informed.”

The cops were coming. It was over.
Was this Love’s plan? To get me arrested?
I don’t think so.
And yet, there I was. About to be hauled off to prison.

Goodbye, Emma.
Goodbye, Henry.
Goodbye to you too, Brontë.
Goodbye to this rotten town.
Joe Goldberg: from ghost in the land of the dead to phantom behind the walls of Rikers Island.
I just hope the library’s decent.

“All right, you son of a bitch. Sit on that bench. We wait for the squad car.
At least I got something done today.”

Norman Reyes. Scruffy beard, dead tired look, mid-fifties.
Like he stepped out of a low-budget detective novel.
Must’ve been the cop Emma mentioned outside Brookhaven.

He walked to the gate and shut it.

“So you don’t get any ideas. I read your file. I know what you’re capable of.”

Right.
Funny thing is, I hadn’t even thought about it.
No cuffs or sedatives needed. Silent Hill did the job.

Sirens in the distance.

“They’re here. Good. I’ll dump your ass in a cell and get the hell out of this shithole.”

The squad car pulled up in front of the gate.
But…
Something was off.
It was a junker from the ‘70s. Belonged in a museum.
And the siren—white.

Weird.

Then the cops stepped out. And I got it.
Reyes went pale.

“M…Monaghan… that bastard. I shot him. In the head.”

“Hey Cap! Thanks for the call. Now hold it right there.”

Reyes grabbed me suddenly.

“Run.”

I didn’t move. Stunned.

They were ramming the gate with the car. They were coming in.

“Move, idiot! We need to go!”

We started running. I was still cuffed.

“Since when do cops run from cops?”

“Those things are not cops,” he growled. “If we stay, we die. Both of us.”

Gunshots whizzed past.

Jesus Christ. Who the hell were these people?

Monsters weren’t enough.
Flesh walls, killer kids, uptown girls turned into psych wards…
Now crazy cops too?

We ducked into the carousel. Reyes hid behind a wooden horse, dropped his huge backpack, pulled out his gun, and returned fire.

“Reyessss… don’t make this harder than it has to be,” came a voice from outside.
“You know you can’t leave. Come on out, hands up. We just wanna ask you a few questions…”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“The ones I used to call colleagues. The worst kind.”

Perfect. From B-grade horror to full-blown paranoid thriller.

“And why are they after you?”

“This.”

He showed me a file.

“Then give it to them!”

“No. I can’t. And they wouldn’t let us go anyway.”

The cops crept closer. Slow. Relentless.

Suddenly, the carousel started turning. On its own.

Emma?

No…
Something was wrong. It spun too fast. Faster and faster.

One of the cops stepped onto it. The others… vanished.

Reyes stepped out.

“Norman! There you are. Hand over the file and I walk.”

“Monaghan. You piece of shit. You and your herd of rotting sheep.”

“Why, Reyes? Why keep fighting?”

“Michael and Consuelo were good cops. I wasn’t.
I was a coward.
But that ends now.
I’ll finish what they started.”

“You just signed your death warrant.”

Another cop came from behind. Grabbed Reyes. Took the file.

Monaghan holstered his gun. Pulled out a baton.

One blow to the gut. One to the arm. One to the face.

“You know, Cap, I’m not in a rush. We’ve got all day.
And all night.
Not much else to do in Silent Hill.”

He was killing him. Just like that. Slowly.

I was next. No doubt.

I don’t know what came over me.
I got up. Threw myself onto Reyes and the cop holding him.
We all crashed into Monaghan.

One of them flew off the carousel. The other didn’t.
Monaghan stood up. But not like a human.

He pulled a gun. Aimed it at my head.

“Well, hero. This is it.”

A shotgun blast.

Reyes.

Monaghan collapsed. Or… what was left of him.
His head was gone.

“Let’s see you come back from that, asshole.”

He saved my life.
And I saved him too.

Why did I do it?
No idea.

The carousel stopped. The park had changed. Again.

“Come on,” Reyes said. “You’re with me now.”

I followed him.

Chapter Text

Darkness fell upon us like a sudden sentence.

Reyes took off his backpack and pulled out a heavy-duty flashlight—riot police style—far more powerful than my pathetic hardware-store lamp. A sharp click. A beam of light sliced through the darkness, and before us... horror.

The amusement park was no longer an abandoned place. It had changed. The asphalt had turned into corroded metal, rust covering every surface. The rides had twisted into scaffoldings resembling torture devices. The chains of the swings groaned like laments. The pink rabbits, the park's mascots, were now slashed open, covered in dried blood, their eyes stitched shut with wire.

A sound. Faint. Like a deep breath—but not human. Then a moan, muffled and persistent, as if coming from beneath the ground. I looked up. Under a lamppost... there she was. The creature that had hanged me at Brookhaven.

Tall. Inhuman. A black hood, her face wrapped in bandages—or smoke, or flesh. She stared at me, motionless. Or rather: I felt her staring. As if sniffing my soul.

"Shit... she's looking for me," I whispered to Reyes. "You see her? We need to hide."

"Who?" he said, barely turning. "Who am I supposed to see? Move. This way."

Just me. Only I could see her. Or maybe I saw her because she was mine. Made for me.

We dragged ourselves into a souvenir shop, the windows shattered like open wounds. Reyes shut the door behind us and barricaded it. The place was crowded with stuffed animals: pink rabbits hanging from the ceiling, gutted plush toys, music boxes spinning out of tune by themselves. The backroom stank of mold and old blood.

Reyes collapsed into a metal chair, dropped the case file, and began reorganizing his bag. Reloaded the gun, took a sip of water, and handed me a bottle.

"Drink, Goldberg. And no funny business. I'll shoot without thinking twice."

I didn't doubt it. He had the look of a man with nothing left to lose.

I drank.

The headache returned. A deep pressure. Memories clashing like pages from an over-read book. Henry. Bronte. Love.

"That thing out there... it's looking for me," I said quietly.

Reyes didn't even look up. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but I'm not surprised. In this town, everyone carries their own demon. You, a narcissistic bastard. Me, a coward cop who kept his eyes shut too long. And here we are. In a fucking amusement park. Two clowns looking for redemption."

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"Your reply to  a call from some guy named Will. Then, the talk with your son. You couldn't resist, huh? Had to talk to him. That's how we got you."

A punch to the gut. It hadn't been Reagan's trap. It was real.
Henry... what did they tell you? I would've explained everything, once I got out of here.

"Shame," Reyes continued. "Now we're trapped in this hell dimension. And there's no way out."

He had the keys dangling from his pocket. Again. But I knew he had the gun pointed at me under the table.
Why hadn't I disarmed him? Why hadn't I tried to escape? Maybe it wasn't an accident. Maybe... I wanted to stay. To understand.

The radio crackled.

"...hey... Joe, anyone there?"

Emma.

Reyes tensed, but didn't react. I froze.

"Where the hell am I..."

Then, another voice. Sweet. Twisted. Deadly.

"Are you lost?"

No. No no no no.

"Oh, Craven Road? There's roadwork today. Come, I'll walk you... my name's Love."

I flipped the table. Reyes jumped up, instinctively, kicked me, gun in hand.

"What the fuck are you doing, Goldberg?!"

"The radio. It's Love. I have to stop her, let me go!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

He couldn't hear it. Of course not. This town spoke to everyone differently. Personally. Painfully personally.

"She's alive," I said. "Love Quinn. My wife. The one I killed. She's alive. She's here."

Reyes froze. Studied me for a moment. Then lowered the gun and sat back down.

"This town's got an interesting sense of humor."

He opened the case file. Started reading.

"Ritual murders. Eight victims between 2005 and 2023. No suspect identified. Each marked with an archetype. The Tower. The Protector. The Outcast. The Sage. There's a list on record. Two are missing: The Witch. The Messiah."

He paused.

"Then, the donations. Millions of dollars from all over the East Coast. Nomoni. Cain. Westons. Lockwood..." Lockwood. That son of a bitch...

"All funding... something. A cult. A sick religion, born out of these mists. And me, the asshole, I took my cut. 55 grand. To look the other way."

He stood. Tossed the keys to the floor, toward me. A swift kick to my side. Then tied my legs together.

"You'll get free. You've done worse, right? I've got other things to do. And so do you. We'll meet again. I doubt either of us can really leave this place."

He grabbed his backpack. Before leaving, he handed me a powerful flashlight, a pistol with three magazines, and a combat knife.

He closed the door behind him.

Silence returned. But now it was deeper. More alive.

Love was out there.

And I... had to find her.

Chapter Text

I freed myself pretty easily. Reyes hadn’t even tied the knots properly.
Maybe he really wanted me to get out.
Or maybe he was just tired of everything.

I sank once again into the black belly of the amusement park.

But this time, I wasn’t just a man with bare hands.
I had a half-kilo flashlight, a loaded gun, a military knife.
And the most dangerous motivation of all: personal.

No trace of the monster. Just darkness all around, and that constant background noise… a whisper of twisted metal and dying plastic.

I started walking.
I passed through the carousel.
The horses weren’t horses anymore—they were carcasses, muscles exposed, hooves turned into rusted blades.
They screamed silently through stitched mouths.

The rollercoaster was nothing but a spiral of corroded sheet metal, pushing downward into some abyss.
I didn’t even step into the haunted house.
You wouldn’t have, Love.
You could tear a man apart with a rolling pin, but a badly made-up zombie jumping out of a closet? That terrified you.
Funny, isn’t it?

Then I saw it.

A rickety wooden sign, cracked and faded:
“The Dollhouse.”

Perfect for you, Love.
Full of obsessive beauty, miniature violence, control over every detail.

I got closer.
Door locked.
No way in unless… a ticket.
A fucking ticket. Seriously?

I checked every corner.
Went to the ticket booth—of course it was deserted.
The booths were skeletons, glass shattered, the register emptied.
No trace. Not even a scrap of paper.

I wandered between attractions, rummaged through kiosks, trash cans, bodies.
Nothing. Just noise.

Those tiny creatures.
I’d seen them before, at the hospital.
Small, malformed bodies, like badly stitched-up children.
They tried to bite, scratch.
I struck them down, one after another. Clean hits. No emotion.
I wasn’t afraid anymore.
I had purpose.

Then a voice.
Distant, broken.

“Help meee…”

I froze.
Heart stopped. Was it him?

“Henry?!”

“Daaad… help me…”

I bolted.
Swung the flashlight in every direction.
Into the fog, the shadows.
Up, down, right, everywhere.
My heart exploded in my throat.

I looked up.

The Ferris wheel.
A shapeless mass was climbing it.
And at the top, in the highest car… there was Henry.

I ran. Full speed.
The metal catwalk vibrated under my feet, but the sound felt like it came from another dimension.

It was her.
The creature that had been hunting me.
But now it was enormous. So much bigger than when I’d seen it just minutes before.
Even bigger than when it had tried to hang me at Brookhaven.

Its body was a grotesque tangle of raw flesh and barbed wire, as if every movement was an insult to logic.
The face? No longer hidden by a hood or bandages.
Just a smooth, blank mask.
As if God had gotten bored halfway through sculpting it.

Everything turned blurry.
Distorted.
Like the worst kind of nightmare—or a memory that wasn’t mine.

“Hey, asshole! Get away from my son!”

I fired.
One, two, six shots.
All useless.
The creature didn’t even turn around.

As if my hate wasn’t enough to hurt it.
And the more I hated it, the more I wanted to destroy it, to reach my son, the more it grew.
The more it fed on me.

I took a breath.
And lost it immediately.
I lunged toward the wheel, grabbed the nearest rail, started climbing car after car.
Each step, a breath that burned.

Then the wheel moved.

Jolted with a metallic groan, started spinning slowly.
I lost my balance.

I fell.

A fall that lasted forever.
The world disintegrated around me, the screams of the park blending into one distorted note.

Then… darkness.

I opened my eyes. Once. Then again.
Blurry patches. Dirty lights.
Someone was dragging me. I couldn’t see clearly.
But I could feel… soft flesh, claws, the stench of rust and blood.

My hand was gripping something.

I looked.

A ticket.

“The Dollhouse – Single Entry.”

I smiled.
Maybe I was delirious.
Maybe not.

Love, I’m coming.

Chapter Text

I woke up in bed.
My old house in Madre Linda.
Just like in the dream from the night before.
Only this time, it wasn’t a dream.

The mattress was soft. The sheets, crisp.
A lavender-scented nightmare.
Terror, in the shape of a $150 pillow.

And then—the smell.
Apple pie.
I got up.

I walked downstairs.
Voices. Two of them. Female.
Emma. And Love.

Emma's voice: “So you cook? How long have you been doing that?”

“Oh God, back in L.A. I used to run a place with my brother. It was called Anavrin.”

“Anavrin? Shit, I think I went there a few years ago with my friends! I remember it. That vegan place, right?”

They were chatting! But I knew it wasn't like that, I knew Love was hiding something...

“Well, technically it was more of a store… but yeah, there was a little café. Cute. Just enough to keep people fed.”

“So, tell me… how’d you end up in Silent Hill?”

“Matters of the heart. My ex-husband’s from around here. It ended badly. I rented a house... just tying up a few things before I head home.”

An innocent chat, as if they were old friends.
Emma… you had no idea how much danger you were in.

“Stay here. The pie’s almost ready.”

Love vanished into the kitchen.
I came down.

“Emma! Emma, we need to get out of here—now!”

Nothing.
She couldn’t see me.
She couldn’t hear me.

“Your new girlfriend’s cute, Joe.”

Love.

“Love, what are you going to do to her?”

“Nothing. Just offer her a slice of pie. You know, the kind you used to love. Sweet, soft. With one special ingredient: monkshood. The same one you used to kill me. She’ll be paralyzed. And then it’ll be you, Joe. You’ll finish her off.”

“I’ll never do that.”

“Oh, yes you will.”

She pointed to the monster.
The one that dragged me here.

It was changing.
Transforming.

Into me.

“That’s not me! You’ll never fool her!”

“Are you so sure, Joe? So sure you’re not exactly that monster? What are monsters here if not our regrets, our darkest urges, our lies? Ourselves.”

“No! I don’t want to be like that!”

“But that’s who you are. You’ll kill her, Joe. And then you’ll come back to me.
The sun is shining in Madre Linda today. And it always will be.”

I grabbed the gun.
Pointed it at her face.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweet Joe?”

But I couldn’t pull the trigger.
Not like this.
Violence doesn’t work here. Not in this place.

“Well then… I guess it’s time for you to face your past.
Forty?
You’re up.”

“Hey, champ.”

Forty Quinn.
What the hell kind of nightmare was this?

“They’re all here, Joe,” Love went on.
“All the ones who died because of you.
Because of us.
Forty, my sweet brother. Then Natalie. Delilah. Candace…
How many women did I have to kill for your love?
And the first time a new slut came along, you ran.”

Her face changed.
Shadow.
Void.

“Well. Time to say goodbye, Joe.
At least for now.
See you soon—for our little lunch date.
I love you… no, I wolf you.”

Forty grabbed me.
He was strong.
Too strong.
He dragged me away and locked me in a room.

And there they were.
All of them.
The victims.
The ones Love killed for me—or the ones who died because of me.

A black room. No walls.
Me, sitting.
Them, standing.

Delilah, the landlord from L.A., was first.
She called me a psychopath.
Said her sister never recovered.

Natalie, my neighbor back in Madre Linda, looked at me in disgust.
“I know everything now. After I died, they told me everything. You’re disgusting.”

Candace, my first, my great love…
She didn’t speak.
Just stared at me.
Then lifted the chair and hurled it straight at me.

One by one, they all hit me.
Harder.
More furious.

“ENOUGH.”

Forty.

“Joe Goldberg.
You are the most disgusting person I’ve ever known.
But you’re not here to die.
You’re here to redeem yourself.
And set us free.”

I couldn’t speak.
My mouth was shattered.
My face swollen.

“You can’t undo what you’ve done.
But you can change what’s coming.

Salvation—mine, theirs, even my sister’s—depends on you.
Break the cycle.”

They all stopped.
Even Candace nodded.

“How?” I stammered.
“How do I do that?”

“With the only thing you ever loved more than women.”

Silence.

Books.

A door opened.

And I was ready.

I went back to Love.

“Oh Joe, perfect timing.
Still got your backpack on?
Sit down.
It’s your turn to cut the pie.”

She handed me a knife.
It was bloody. And rusted.
Ready for Emma.

“Of course, love.
But first… a toast. How about it?”

She smiled.

“Perfect. I saved a bottle just for us.”

She turned her back.
That was my chance.

I grabbed the book.
The one from Mooney’s.
Emma’s copy.

Threw it on the table.
Right in front of her.

She saw it.
Opened it.
And… she saw me.

“Joe?”

“Emma. Run.”

Love turned.
Her face was no longer human.
Rotting.
Worms. Insects. Misaligned eyes.

“RUN!”

Love grabbed the knife.
Started chasing her.

Emma tried to open the door.
It wouldn’t budge.

“The book, Emma! Use it!”

She pressed it against the door.

The door opened.

She was out.

I wasn’t.

Love stopped.
Looked at me.
Then dropped to her knees.
And cried.

“Why, Joe? I just want to know why.
Why did you leave me?
I loved you.
I didn’t deserve this.”

“Because I wasn’t yours anymore, and you knew it.
So what did you do?
You killed everyone. You, not me.
Natalie wasn’t my fault.
You tried to kill Marianne.
And now Emma.
She’s not your reflection.
None of them are.”

“I loved you. I love you more than anyone ever will.”

“I know.
And that’s exactly the problem.
You were crazy.”

“So are you, Joe.”

“I know.
That’s why we could never be together.”

I turned away.
It was over.
And now, she knew it too.

“Love,” Forty’s voice came from the kitchen,
“Time to go.”

She dropped the knife.
Turned.
Started to leave.

But before disappearing, she looked back one last time…

“Joe…”

“Yeah?”

“You know when you gave Emma that book?
Well… you doomed her.”

Silence.

“He knows now.
He’s coming for her.
The Witch.”

Love smiled.
Opened the kitchen door.
And left.
For good.

The room began to change.

Chapter Text

The door shut behind me with a dull thud.

I found myself outside. The Dollhouse was behind me, swallowed by the fog.

The playground was still buried in the nightmare. Only quieter, more dead. As if everything had sunk one step deeper into hell.

I walked. My legs were still trembling. I had no idea where I was going—but deep down, I knew.

The lights on the rides were off. The wind stirred the chains of the old swing. Beneath my feet, bones buried under layers of mud and snow.

Then, slowly, the first notes began to play.

I am colorblind…

Counting Crows, from somewhere. A hidden speaker, maybe long forgotten. Or maybe just inside my head.

Coffee black and egg white…

I passed through the park gate. I didn’t look back.

It was over.

No. It wasn’t over at all.

In the distance, rising through the pitch-black darkness, I saw the library.

I am ready, I am ready, I am ready I am…

I knew that there, in the dust and broken books, in the shadows between the shelves and the stench of mold and human skin—
she was waiting for me.

Beck.

—

Elsewhere, at that same moment, Agent Reyes was unscrewing the rusted cover of a hidden panel beneath the carousel’s mechanism.

He had followed the clues. The secrets left in diaries, in the symbols carved into the walls of buildings. The pieces were falling into place.

A click. A metallic sound.
Then the carousel stopped. And slowly, it began to descend.

Downward.

Toward the church.

Where the secrets lie. The cult. The sleeping God.

End of Part Two.