July 5th, 2005
|z0mb1||04:46 pm - Dead Voices part 19|
wow! it's been a while since i've updated this. goddamn real life getting in the way. well... here's
In my dreams I see nothing. I hear and feel, but there is no vision.
In the darkness, I hear the sounds of chaos all around me. Doctors and police officers question me and judgments are passed. Diagnoses are handed out like candy. I taste pills in my mouth, and I smell the scents of different homes as I am moved from family to family. The wounds heal, but the mind does not forget. Something inside of me reaches up to consume what surrounds it. I choke it back, time and time again. It tears at me from within, working its way out. It is a beast that will not be quelled until there is nothing left for it to devour.
In the last moments of this blind cacophony I hear my mother singing to me, though I cannot make out the words. I hear my father laughing in the background. My brother is silent.
Neil woke up in a strange bed. His mouth was dry with the tang of sickness. He sat up, still slightly dizzy, and looked around. The room was dark and sparse. On the wall across from him was a painting of a pack of hunting dogs chasing a fox over a log. There was a nightstand with a lamp on it next to him. There was no clock in the room. He turned to the side and put his feet on the floor. He was wearing a pair of socks, some sweatpants, and a white T-shirt... None of which were his. He stood up and moved to the door. Finding it unlocked, he moved out into the lit hallway. He was still in Mac's house. He could hear music from the living room, jazz from a small pair of speakers, and moved toward it. No one was there. As he surveyed the room, the dizziness began to wear off and give way to a dull, rubbery feeling of post-sickness. A picture frame on the end table caught his eye. He picked it up and looked at it. The photograph that it contained was a picture of a young man and woman on their wedding day. The woman was, by no means, stunningly beautiful, though she had a very kind face. The man looked like Mac, minus about thirty years of hard smoking and drinking. Laid into the silver frame, below the photograph, was an engraved seal that read "G & M '73." A cough from the room beyond caused Neil to start, and then quickly put the picture down as though he was doing something wrong. He turned to see Mac entering the room, from the kitchen, looking down into a cup of coffee as he stirred it.
Mac looked up as he stepped through the threshold, into the living room. "You're up!" he said, with a look of surprise on his face.
"Yeah," Neil replied. "How long was I out?"
"Only a few hours. Can I get you some coffee?"
"I'll pass, thanks. What the hell happened to me?"
"Forced detox," Mac said, taking a seat in the overstuffed chair, and motioning for Neil to have a seat somewhere. "Hope you don't mind, I changed you out of your clothes. You sort of soiled yourself at both ends."
"No. It's cool, I guess. Detox from what?"
"Something different, but not new," Mac said. "A mixture of White Claudia and the good, old fashioned, healing potion that we're both familiar with. Apparently someone figured out how to bond the molecules and make something entirely new with it: A fast-acting, highly addictive drug with amphetamine-like qualities and no degenerative effect on the body: something that you could just keep taking and taking, forever and ever, and never physically burn out or OD on. It had its claws in you pretty bad, kid. You're lucky we caught it when we did. A pure dose of the real healing juice pushed the bad juju out of your system fairly quickly... The rest of the ugliness was just your body going into shock."
"Ok," Neil said slowly. "And how did you figure this out?"
"It's what I do. I was a chemist before Silent Hill had its way with me. I've got a small lab in the back room. I did some testing while you were out. I hope you don't mind, but had to take a little blood from you."
"Whatever," Neil said, ambivalently. "Does Silent Hill slip all of its victims Mickeys, like that?"
"One way or another... But this is the first time I've ever seen it happen like this."
Neil sat back and rubbed his eyes, tired. "So, now what?" He asked, after a long sigh.
"What do you mean?"
"Am I going to be going through withdrawals, or anything like that?"
"Not sure," Mac replied. "In theory, the pure healing solution should have purged the toxins out of your system. If anything, you'll probably want to avoid the Health Drinks that you find lying around... Or, at least, learn to tell the difference between the pure ones and the tainted ones."
"What's the difference?"
Mac got up and went into the kitchen. He came back with a Health Drink in-hand and gave it to Neil. "Drink it," he said.
Neil opened the drink and took a small sip. It tasted almost the same, only with less of a bite than the drinks he was used to. "It's not as bitter," he said. "And it smells a little less sour."
"There you go," Mac said. "Just keep that in mind. Avoid the bitter ones, unless you absolutely have to. If you find yourself without any other choice, make sure you get your hands on a pure one as soon as possible."
Neil finished off the drink and began to feel much better, though not invincible like before. After a few moments of silence, he motioned toward the picture he had been looking at and asked: "Who are those people?"
"That's my wife and me, on our wedding day."
"Who's G?" Neil asked.
"Me. My birth name is Gerald MacDuff Junior. No one calls me that, though. My uncle started calling me Jack when I was a kid, and it stuck. I didn't pick up Mac until college. No one but Maryanne ever called me Gerald."
"Maryanne was your wife, I take it."
"Yup," Mac said, looking over at the picture on the end table.
"How did she die?"
"Suicide. After our baby was murdered, she just sort of fell apart. I did what I could to help her, but it wasn't enough. One night, when I was working late, she took a handful of sleeping pills and never woke up. There was no note, nothing... Just a dead woman on the couch when I got home."
Neil couldn't help but look down at the couch he was sitting on.
"Don't worry," Mac semi-smiled. "It wasn't that one."
Neil was about to comment, when an idea suddenly flooded into his mind. "Shit!" he exclaimed, jumping up off of the couch.
"What's up?" Mac asked.
"My jacket? Where is it?"
"On the rack over there," Mac answered, pointing to the coat rack by the door.
Neil shot over to the coat rack, almost tripping over himself on the way there. "I think I have something for you."