Silent Hill fic: Outbreak - Chapter 8: Grace

[mistressofmuses]

In chapter 8: Grace goes to church. The priestess has plenty to say about the necessity of suffering.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Grace did not feel well.

She tried not to allow it to distract her, her focus firmly on the priestess in front of them all. Half of her had wanted to stay home today, but she just couldn’t bear the thought of missing church.

The air in the church was heavy, the White incense clouding the air, producing its typical mix of lethargy and subtle euphoria in her. Combined with the rhythmic speech patterns of the priestess, it was almost hypnotic. For once she was even grateful that the room was chilly and the pew was hard; it helped keep her awake.

“Faith in God must ever be absolute,” the priestess, Alma Shorey, intoned, hands raised. “Faith is tested through trial, and all times feel like trying times. We may always feel as if we are being tested, but surely we are in the midst of a most difficult one at the moment.

“Word was released this morning that three of our community’s children have succumbed to an illness. While we do not know the precise nature of the illness that killed them, we know that many more have sickened. Our thoughts and prayers go with them.”

Her voice took on an even more somber note as she continued, “But we must not forget that all things happen as God wills. God wants to create a Paradise for all the faithful, and promises to bring this to fruition. But before we are worthy, and before we can bring about Her rebirth, we must be willing to sacrifice. As God suffers for us, we must be willing to suffer for God. It seems cruel at times, all we must endure, but keep faith.

“God does not test us unduly. Even as we send our thoughts to those who sicken, hurt, and die, we must recognize that it is a human desire for them not to suffer. To remember our Godly roots, we must also thank them for their suffering and sacrifice. And we should ever consider our own willingness to do the same, should God call on us to do so.”

Grace swallowed hard, trying not to believe that the words were intended specifically for her. Even so, she tried to steel herself for the idea that if they were, she could be ready. If God brought an illness to the world, then surely God would decide which of the faithful were meant to survive or perish. If Grace impressed upon Her her own faith, then perhaps God would spare her.

She cleared her throat as quietly as she could, telling herself that the beginning of a cough coming on was her imagination, a trick of her mind brought on by so much talk of sickness, like yawning only because someone else described it.

The priestess began to speak again, but this time Grace was trapped in her own mind, thoughts spinning out of the church pew and away. Grace knew she’d fallen into a daydream, and was aware enough to know that was the last thing she should be doing in church of all places, yet she just couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Her head tipped forward, and she imagined standing on the shore of Toluca Lake, though not any part of the lake she’d ever been to. A fog had rolled in, and it smelled like the White incense of the church.

She jerked back awake as she lost her balance on the pew, her focus returning to her surroundings. Priestess Alma was still speaking on the necessity of suffering. Grace shook her head and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, trying to wake herself up and cling to her already-wavering consciousness.

The priestess again mentioned the illness, and Grace recalled that Priestess Alma was also a nurse. She worked in Alchemilla Hospital, where the sick children had died, so she must have known even more about this mystery disease than the rest of them did.

Grace stifled a yawn, letting her eyes drift shut for just a moment, promising that she’d keep listening and open her eyes back up right away. Instead, she felt herself slipping away from the church again.

Back to the shore of the lake. It was cold. She knew that she was really feeling the cold of the church where she was sitting. It was underground, so it made sense that it was always chilly, but in this half-dream she could believe it was the chill of the breeze across the water.

Grace was sure she was alone at the water’s edge, until she heard something behind her. A harsh, racking cough.

She startled awake again. The cough wasn’t harsh at all; it was a polite interruption from the man behind her. Turning around, she caught his disapproving look, a frown he conveyed more with his eyes than his mouth.

Grace flashed him a thin-lipped smile in apology before turning her attention back to the front, embarrassed at having been caught dozing.

She struggled to stay awake, biting the inside of her lip, shifting her feet, clenching her fists until it felt like her nails would either break or draw blood, but nothing worked. If only she could get up and move around, that might wake her up, but sitting there it felt impossible to focus. She almost laughed at the idea that her greatest moral Temptation would be the desire for a nap, but the thought sent her mind back into a disconnect from her real setting, and she was lost yet again.

This time she didn’t feel alone by the lake, and whatever voices she heard murmuring in the fog were not the chastising coughs of a fellow congregant.

“Most beloved are the martyrs and the sacrifices.”

Grace turned around, but the fog was so thick she couldn’t see anything else; the great clouds of white billowing to all sides, fading everything more than a few inches away into shades of grey nothing.

“Their suffering is what protects us all. The willingness to do as God requires of them is what will allow Paradise to be born.”

Suddenly Grace was filled with an unnamed dread, and the feeling that she had to run away from whatever waited in the fog. Indecision paralyzed her; where could she run? The fog blanketed everything, the scent of White incense growing almost cloying. She couldn’t run away from the fog: it was everywhere.

She heard a low sound, different from the coughing or the whispering, something more like a growl, but it echoed until she couldn’t source its origin. Finally unable to take it anymore, she took off running, sure any moment she would feel something slam into her back. Her feet slid out from under her and she felt herself fall…

Back into the pew again, this time with a cry of fear. The jarring force forward made her nearly tumble off the pew, narrowly avoiding cracking her head on the back of the pew in front of her. Her heartbeat was loud and fast in her ears, the panic from her dream taking too long to dissipate. Her eyes fixed on one of the wall hangings framing the dais at the front of the room.

The Death of Saint Jennifer Carrol was the name of the image, showing the woman being burned at the stake. The image had once struck her as such a morbid one to serve as a focal point, but… ‘Most beloved are the martyrs and the sacrifices.’

Grace was gasping to catch her breath and it took her a moment to register the surrounding silence. It took a moment beyond that to realize the silence was in reaction to her. To her shouting.

Sitting up she discovered she was the center of attention, the men and women of the congregation staring her way, expressions ranging from disapproval to concern to anticipation, as if something entertaining were about to happen.

“I- I’m so sorry,” she stuttered, tripping over her words. “I’ve not been feeling terribly well…”

Priestess Alma looked at her before resuming speaking. “It is natural for anxiety to take over during times of crisis. We will pray for our sister, Grace. Let us pray for all of our brothers and sisters of the faith who are here.”

She allowed a brief moment of silence, and Grace felt her cheeks burn at the attention, even if Priestess Alma had been understanding and not trying to single her out for embarrassment.

If nothing else, it did allow her to stay awake after that. Alma spoke of a few other community matters for about a quarter of an hour. Only toward the very end of the service did she speak again of the sickness and the sacrifice it could represent.

“We must show our faith in God by not walking in fear. Do not hide alone in your homes. Walk among your neighbors and your friends. Don’t fear the transmission of illness, from others to you, or from yourself to others. Always remember that all things occur through the will of God. You cannot circumvent what is meant to be. Pray to the gods and angels, but if you are called upon as a sacrifice, then glory in the fact that you were pure and beloved enough to be called to such a fate! Trust and love God, and She will keep us all under Her protection until it is time to join Her in Paradise.”

A chorus of “amen”s after that closed the service.

Grace approached Alma, along with some of the others.

“I’m sorry again, Priestess Alma,” Grace began, but Alma cut her off with a gentle hand on her cheek.

“You do not need to apologize to me, Grace. You did no harm.”

Alma was motherly, though still young. Grace could understand why she was a nurse as well as a priestess; she had a calm, yet authoritative presence that made you want to please her.

“Priestess Alma, did you mean it, that we shouldn’t avoid going out if we’re sick? I told you I don’t feel well, and… well… I’ve been sick. I’m terrified that I have… it. The one that killed those little kids. I almost didn’t even come to church today. I couldn’t stand not being here, especially feeling so worried, but still…” The words came tumbling out, like they were racing to escape and she couldn’t hold them back.

“Shh, shh,” Alma shushed her. “I encourage you to reflect on what I said today. It is a hard test to face, but if God has sent this illness to us, as God is responsible for all things, then do you not think that She has also selected those who must be sacrificed? We long for the rebirth of God, and to show Her we are ready, we must also show our faith is unwavering. What better way to do so than to go among all others, believer and nonbeliever, sinner and sibling alike? If God desires to use you as an instrument to spread this test, then how can you refuse Her? And if God deems you a worthy sacrifice, how can you deny the honor being done to you?”

Grace swallowed thickly and nodded, as Alma leaned forward to kiss her forehead. The priestess was right, as always. And if Grace’s faith may have wavered with her mortal fear of suffering and death… she hoped God understood.

Monday, September 12, 2016

Grace tried to do as she thought Alma had indirectly instructed her. ‘If God desires to use you as an instrument to spread this test…’

So she did not stay home, despite the warnings on the news to avoid contact with others if you had any symptoms.

Grace’s symptoms had stagnated, leaving her feeling vaguely flu-like, but not ready to collapse in the ER. She wondered if she even had the illness after all, since she had no skin spots. She let that comfort her lingering guilty conscience; if she didn’t really have whatever the dangerous illness was, then it didn’t matter if she passed it to someone. And then she had to fight off a wave of different guilt—did that mean she was questioning God’s power? Finding justifications for God’s will?

She tried to keep calm as she went into stores and spoke to cashiers, sometimes knowing she didn’t even need the items she was buying—they were just to give her a reason to be there. A couple people drew back from her when she sniffled or they caught her coughing. Usually she brushed it off with a quick smile and murmured “Allergies.”

She heard the news break throughout the day as three more children died. At least that could in no way be blamed on her. They’d been in the hospital already.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Tuesday had passed in a blur for Grace, as had much of Wednesday. She’d returned to work, despite her worsening symptoms. She tried the “allergy” excuse again, though late Wednesday her manager sent her home. She supposed that by now it was clear that it was something more than allergies, but really there just hadn’t been anything for her to do. While she wasn’t hiding away, that didn’t seem to be the case for most of Silent Hill.

The town was living up to its name to a degree she’d never seen before. Everything was still open, but people seemed to go to school or work and then retreat home, just like the news had advised.

Now Grace was back in the church for the Wednesday evening service. It had been a relief this time to sink down in the wooden pew, to breathe in the White incense. Entering the church had granted her almost instant relief from her plaguing doubts. She was able to wrap her faith around herself, to know that she had been doing the right thing, the things God had commanded of her.

This time her attention did not waver as Priestess Alma spoke, though she wasn’t sure afterwards of the priestess’ words. Her mind did not stray to Toluca Lake, as comforting as its waters would be. Her attention was for the church and the priestess and the words of God. Even the hanging, The Death of Saint Jennifer Carrol did not make her uneasy.

She was thankful for Saint Jennifer’s sacrifice on their behalf. At what time had the modern followers of the faith forgotten the importance of sacrifice? When had they ceased to believe in the necessity of suffering for God? How could they expect God to be reborn and bring about Paradise, if the followers shunned the prospect of suffering or sacrificing?

Grace sent up an ecstatic prayer toward both hangings—the one of Saint Jennifer, and the one of fiery-haired God on the other side of the dais. The idea that God could have chosen her to be the modern Saint Jennifer, a sacrifice for the cause, was truly the greatest honor imaginable.

And she would do all she could to ensure she was worthy, and could grant others the same honor.

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