Introduction (thought process… rewriting)
Silent Hill, Va. is located in Toluca County and nestled on Toluca Lake. It boasted of a five star hotel, a marina to write home about, a gorge deeper than the Empire State Building was tall, and a coal mine that floated the town during the tourist off season. In the seventies the coal in the mines caught fire and the town had to be evacuated. The town is abandoned but not deserted.
For Lawrence Anderson Jr, Lonnie to his friends, he had nightmares of Silent Hill, even though he was certain he’d never been there. He wasn’t old enough to have been born before the coal fires, and had no waking memories of the place. In his dreams he was a heroin addict trying to escape the nightmare within the Hell that was Silent Hill. For another thing, Lonnie didn’t even live in Virginia; he was born and raised in Saint Louis, Mo. All he knew of Silent Hill was a story in the papers, something he saw only because he’d accidently put a coffee ring around it, was that some people went missing in Silent Hill, Va. in the mid 2000’s, thirty years after the coal fires started. It was now seven years after that and Lonnie was on the verge of seeking therapy. Only Lonnie’s nightmares of Silent Hill would evaporate as the day went on and usually by breakfast, he couldn’t even recall the horrors that kept him awake at night.
Lonnie had a good life, a wonderful girlfriend, Shannon Shiga, a good job in construction, and a loving and supportive family. He lived alone in a small two bedroom house with a ‘man cave’ in the basement that most men would trade their left nut for. His truck was not new, but he liked it and it was reliable. He lived comfortably on his wages from working for Lawrence Sr as a brick layer at Anderson Brick.
He had tried to escape. It was a nightmare within a nightmare. The town was either covered in a fog that he swore wasn’t in his mind and sometimes… well sometimes it just became Hell. He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten there, how had he’d managed to survive for so long.
When the craving hits you, when the vomiting and shitting yourself, the aches and pains, the irritability, the such sensitivity to even something as tiny as a splinter feels like you’ve shot yourself in the hand with a nail gun, overwhelms you, you would do anything to make it go away. The heroin came with a bonus, the pure euphoria, the best bodily and mental orgasm one could ever have.
Lonnie was pacing and sweating, dragging his dirty fingers along his nose. Another symptom of the withdrawal, the excessive bodily fluids. He was also shivering in his ragged pea coat, one sleeve held on by a couple of safety pins. It was the end of October in Toluca County, he was certain it was still October, the gas station he paced outside of still had Halloween decorations in the windows. He gripped the small snub nosed pistol in his pocket. It was only partially loaded, he’d had stolen the gun, and never had wasted good heroin money on buying more bullets than the three it had in it.
The gas station was open 24 hours and at the same time a small eatery. Though most of Lonnie’s brain was gone he still had some sense not to run the station while three police officers, two men and a woman sat at one of the bench like tables drinking coffee and seriously out of irony, eating donuts. He paced and shivered and sweated, throwing glances at the cops sitting at the booth who seemed to take an eternity to finally leave the gas station.
What Lonnie didn’t realize was that the police officers had spotted him, had been alerted to his obvious agitation, and though they doubted that he would try any funny business while they were there, had finally decided over their coffee and yes, donuts, to finally go out and try to prevent a crime rather than showing up at the bloody aftermath. This was Toluca County after all, just because Silent Hill was abandoned and a ghost town, some of the craziness still seemed to seep outside of the town. The man in the ragged pea coat was showing obvious signs of what looked like an illness, but ten to one, he was suffering withdrawal of some sort of drug. Adjusting their gun belts, the three officers bid farewell to the owner of the gas station, and exited the orange and black decorated store with its sign of ‘NO MASKS’ on the door.
“Ohshitohshitohshit,” Lonnie mumbled running the words together as he saw the three officers striding across the lot of the station to where he stood on a strip that was supposed to have grass on it between the highway and the lot of the gas station. So much dog shit was on the ground grass hadn’t grown there in a while. They already had their hands resting on the butts of their guns, and the lady officer had her hand on her Taser. There was no way in hell Lonnie would be able to withstand being tased, he was pretty sure he’d scream like a little girl and probably shit his pants again.
“How are you doing today,” said one of the officers. They were state troopers with their wide brimmed hats, and gray uniforms. Two of them wore jackets and the third was just in multi-layers worn under his uniform. Lonnie panicked and ran.
“Hey! Stop!” The three officers pursued, one of them was calling in the incident into his shoulder radio as he ran.
He dashed across the highway and into the woods. The officers were following and Lonnie knew he had to lose them. Going to jail again meant he would have to suffer his withdrawal completely because they didn’t give free heroin in jail and the last time he was there, they didn’t even give methadone. He ran across another road, this one greatly overgrown, weeds had forced themselves through the cracks and whipped at his legs. He wasn’t even fully aware that it was a road except for the headlights that washed over him and he stood for a moment frozen like a deer.
It was one of the police cars, and even though the red and blue lights were flashing on the roof and even from behind the push bumper on the front, it was the wide white beams of the headlights that had mesmerized him what felt like forever, and yet everything seemed to move in slow motion and he blinded by the light, his heart thumping in his chest, his sweat soaked clothes clung to him, his runny nose, unchecked by the swiping of his hand, had dribble past his lips and he could taste the snot in his mouth and the dampness in the air. His lungs, legs and back were as if he was being dragged across a bed coals.
Lonnie’s arm pulled the gun from the pocket of the pea coat, and he fired blindly into the darkness behind the flashing lights that were searing his vision. When no shots were returned he moved around the side of the blazing and flashing colors and white to see slowly, for it took a moment for his vision to return. The lady cop must’ve gone back for the car while the two men had continued pursuit through the woods. His bullet had moved through the windshield of the car, and struck the lady cop in chest. Though Lonnie was not looking for blood, or even if he’d killed her or not, he didn’t care, he only knew he had to get away, he did not see any. Lonnie didn’t not check for a pulse, or if she was breathing. Barbarically he dragged the lady cop from the car and left her in the middle of the road. He needed money and money meant heroin.
Lonnie drove down the forgotten road like the devil was after him. He rarely let up his foot from the gas pedal, and he didn’t even bother to turn off the flashing lights. He paid no attention to the barricades across the road; they splintered across the front of the car as he burst through them. The chain link fence behind them just bent and sparked as he crashed through, pushing the pedal down further, it was nearly to the floor now.
The road suddenly forked, a nearly vine covered yellow sign had shot up in front of him indicating that he could only go left or right. Lonnie wrenched the steering wheel to the left and the car skidded, stalled, turned sideways and slid in the direction Lonnie had turned the wheel to not go. It hit a rock, or the metal roadside barrier that was meant to keep cars from sliding off the road and apparently down the wooded drop behind it, and flipped up into the air over the barrier. The car bounced off trees as it fell down wooded slope, Lonnie was tossed about the interior of the cop car like ping pong ball. It finally came to rest at the bottom of the slope, caught precariously between two trees that were holding the car from dropping into a much shallower part of Devil’s Pit Gorge, but still deep enough the bottom could not be seen.
Lonnie lay unconscious or dead across the hood of the car. The only thing having saved him from being thrown from the car completely and into the gorge that the car was pointed at like a crumpled arrow was his arm, obviously dislocated from the shoulder, was hooked somehow in the steering wheel of the totaled cruiser. The woods he had come to a stop in were silent. No owls, no bats, no rustle of wind. A nasty fog rolled in like a socialite who demanded to be the center of attention. Large puffy flakes looking like dirty snow began to fall from the sky. They landed on the trees, on the car, on Lonnie.
Introduction (thought process… rewriting)