The visage of her dead father blurred as Cheryl felt a stinging sensation on the back of her head, before he quietly dissipated and complete darkness played like an empty reel on loop. The empty silence was punctuated by the chirping of an animal, most likely a bird of some sort, far off in the distance and Cheryl found herself staring at the inside of her eyelids before sense returned and she opened her eyes.

Air filling her lungs, Cheryl let out a quiet sigh as she was greeted by what had greeted her for a long while now: the lull white of a ceiling, the floral pattern of the faded wall next to her. Wrapped in the comfortable pink comforter, and two pillows behind her head (just as she liked it). She stayed like that for a moment or two, taking in the fact that whatever hell she had dreamed up was purely just that – a dream. Not unlike the ones she used to have fairly frequently in the months following the ordeal she went through, but this was fine. So long as the horrid visages remained purely fantastical at this point, she didn't really care. Her fingers traced from her navel up to her chest, absentmindedly feeling around and rubbing at skin. It was almost subconscious at this point, Cheryl's need to check for her father's amulet. Although she missed him terribly, she knew its absence only meant good things. She was here, she was okay. If that amulet had to be sacrificed so that she could live on, she'd do it for her father's sake.

Unfortunately, she wasn't really sure what to do with herself at this point. The two years following Silent Hill left her...broken, and in ways she hadn't anticipated. Sure, the nightmares were one thing. Anybody could, or would anticipate such misgivings in the light of the absolute sheer terror she had experienced. But what she didn't account for were things about her that changed in small ways. Small idiosyncrasies, small things that she and only she would notice. Faint stirrings in the night that she caught herself tripping over while she would fall asleep in her bed. The mirrors, her drinking. These were just minor melodies in a greater leitmotif that portrayed who she was. It was more than enough to make Cheryl's face distort in abject disdain, and only she really knew. No matter how close Douglas and her had become over the years, there were things he could never and would never understand about a nineteen year old woman who spent a previous life in pure pain, only to fight tooth and nail to prevent it from fully occurring yet again. She had escaped, she had made it out alive...but, it was often her mind would wander to dark corners. And in these shadowed places she knew the truth. Who she was hadn't made it out. That girl had been slain at the proverbial altar, and what had been wrung and kneaded out of her blood was who she was now. She was mangled, tired. Cheryl would occasionally return to the girl's corpse from time to time, much like she did when she visited the resting place of her father. There were no words. Not really. After all, what could be said? It was supremely ironic, then, that such a scenario reminded her of when Alessa attempted to prevent her from confronting Claudia. It was almost amusing, in fact. Cheryl's fingers rubbed incessantly at her skin, almost as if they were hoping to uncover the amulet in the sinew, tissue, and marrow that laid beneath.

Cheryl's hand balled into a fist as a response. Her nails digging into skin, a sharp pain eliciting from the reaction that drowned out such thoughts. A hiss of air drew in and snaked through her teeth. It was enough. A quick glance at her palm only showed a reddened hue, but no actual blood. Satisfied, she shifted and turned over in her bed only to feel her heart quicken upon seeing a figure curled up in her chair. Feminine, brunette, freckle-faced – there was no doubt, it was her. Whatever Cheryl's intentions might have been were dashed when a quick rise from the bed incited more sharp pain to flare at the back of her skull. Cheryl let out an audible grunt as her face winced and she brought the tips of her fingers to inspect, only to find a small lump beneath the locks of her hair.

Alessa stirred, eyes fluttering as her arms and legs stretched and her mouth parted in a small yawn. Energy returning to her face when she noticed Cheryl was no longer sleeping, but rather reared back in an almost defensive pose. Alessa couldn't help but smile, she was thrilled her younger self was conscious.

"Oh, you're awake!" her voice raised in cadence. "I'm glad you're okay, I was pretty worried when you passed out in the bathroom last night. I wasn't sure if you were sick, or..." she trailed as an expression of concern came over her face but for a brief moment before it eased into a comforting grin, and then a small giggle as Cheryl's body language was more amusing than serious.

"I guess Mr. Cartland was right, though. All you really did need was to sleep it off." Cheryl's eyes narrowed at the sound of her keeper being referenced "How do you know Douglas?" the words spilling like acid from her mouth. Two raps at the door drew the attention of both girls as their gaze shifted, the face of an older gentleman peeking into the bedroom. "Because she's the one who helped me get you into bed last night."

The man placed his hand on the doorknob and pressed so that he was now standing in the doorway of Cheryl's room. "Although, believe me, it was just a little strange when I came back home and thought you'd completely changed your style again only to find the actual you passed out on the floor." Douglas caught what he was saying when he looked over to the modestly dressed girl in the chair "Uh, sorry. I mean, the younger you?" his index finger tapped the base of his chin.

"Anyways, I thought I'd make you girls some breakfast. I know Cheryl isn't terribly fond of my cooking, but it's gotta be better than those toaster strudel things she usually munches down on in the mornings." As if it were some cosmic disposition of fate, the aroma of eggs, of bacon, of pancakes danced its way into the room and Cheryl's nose got a good whiff and found that she actually might tolerate his food today. She couldn't remember the last time she ate anything, and her stomach betrayed her when noises were heard coming it. Douglas' mouth curled into a slight grin, and he chuckled.

"So, get some clothes on and I'll meet you two in the kitchen." Douglas pulled the door close and resumed attending to the food on the stove. He wasn't sure what to make of this situation, and some small part of him worried this might have been some ploy by the group of people that hired him to find Cheryl, so that they would take her away. It just seemed so surreal, even in the face of everything he witnessed two years ago. Here was this girl, unassuming and plain. Puritan, even, like she was fresh from an Amish community. He half expected Cheryl had found God, given the girl's homely appearance. And she was in his apartment, no explanation, no reasoning, nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair as he trifled with the sizzling eggs in the pain, paying little attention as he got lost in his thoughts about the night prior. He'd arrived home a little later than usual, paperwork from the office had seemed never ending. Crime didn't sleep, but Douglas knew too well that he had to rest himself if he could ever hope to put away bad people. Not to mention, he had another mouth to feed now, too. He didn't mind, however. Ever since his son was tragically murdered during a botched robbery, Douglas deeply missed the sounds of life in his home. When it was just him, the silence seemed almost overwhelming. His boy may not have been the best son in the world, but he loved him no matter what. Without him, his home seemed alien to him – almost hostile. The emptiness reminded him time and again, when his footsteps sang a duet that had no other partner, that his son was gone and there was no bringing him back.

But then some strange woman offered him a job, and that job led him to a young girl, and through events nobody except the two of them could possibly hope to comprehend he was now her guardian. At least, that's how he felt. He sometimes wondered what she really thought of him, but he didn't press. She'd suffered enough damage. Now, he was just happy to hear footsteps that weren't his own in the new apartment they moved into together. So it was just a little bizarre when Douglas made it home last night to find not one, but two of the young girl. He thought she might have been some long, lost twin and instead was told that she was some past life, or something? He didn't really question it, even if this revelation kept him up the rest of the night. At the very least he could hear her out.

A splash of hot grease crackled and splattered on Douglas' skin, the burning snapping him out of his head and alerting him to the fact that the sunny side up eggs had now become scrambled thanks to his daydreaming. Removing the pan from heat, he carefully placed them in a small bowl and dug a spoon out of the drawer. He could hear some commotion from Cheryl's room as he placed the last of the meal on the table and seconds later both girls emerged. "You girls go ahead and take a seat, I'll get you some plates." Cheryl took her usual spot at the opposite end of the table, while Alessa sat in the seat next to her. Cheryl's mind couldn't really think at the moment, there was just so much to process. It didn't help matters that her head was pounding. She asked Douglas for a particularly large glass of water, and some aspirin when Alessa immediately volunteered to help. Assured it was fine, and that he had everything in hand, the girls began helping themselves to the piles of food on the table when Douglas placed the glass next to Cheryl's plate along with three white tablets. Cheryl's brusque display of thanks didn't affect him, he was used to it. He'd usually find her slumped over at the table with one of her father's books open, and beneath her face. He worried for her, but he kept such sentiment to himself. He knew how much her father meant to her.

Cheryl downed the aspirin with several swallows of water and immediately felt nauseous when her eyes gazed over the mounds of food in her plate. She thought she could eat such greasy deliciousness, but with all the alcohol circulating in her blood she barely had the appetite. A gingerly grasp on a non-buttered, plain piece of toast, Cheryl's mouth opened with some reticence as she angled it inside and bit down. Seconds later, the effect rang true. The texture, the crispness of the piece of baked bread moved around in her mouth mixing with her saliva. Her eyes closed, and her jaws opened for another piece and she gladly masticated. A chunk of it swirling in the corner of her mouth, she felt peaceful for whatever reason. She looked around the table. Alessa was methodical, a fork in her left hand and knife in her right as she deliberately and neatly steadied, sliced, and ate each piece that was on her plate. Cheryl swallowed and looked over at Douglas, face shrouded by the morning newspaper he so often liked to read before work. She took another bite of toast before placing it on her plate and giving it a slight shove.

The newspaper lowered, "finished?" Cheryl nodded her head. "But you've barely touched your plate, kiddo..." Douglas knew not to push too much, and left it at that. Alessa placed her utensils in her plate. "That was really good, Mr. Cartland. Thank you so much." Douglas simply waved, and when Alessa offered to wash the dishes he insisted that it wasn't necessary and he'd see to the clean-up. Cheryl noticed Alessa's head nodded once or twice before asking if she was alright. Alessa smiled and let out a small laugh "Oh, yes, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired, that's all. I watched you all night to make sure you were okay. I'm sorry if I seem a bit strange at the moment." Before Cheryl could get a reply out she heard the crinkling of Douglas' paper "If you want you could rest in Cheryl's bed, I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Douglas' gaze shifted to the young girl and immediately felt what must have been tens of thousands of daggers being relentlessly hurled in his direction. Cheryl looked at the other girl and noticed a muted desperation in her eyes. A sigh escaped from Cheryl's lips "Yeah, that's fine." Arms suddenly flew around her neck in an embrace as Alessa profusely thanked her. Before Cheryl could pry her off of her Alessa had made her way back to the room she stood watch, and Cheryl removed herself from the table as she followed the girl.

It was minutes later when Douglas heard the sound of running water, and shortly after Cheryl had made her way back to the table where she sat and quietly fidgeted with the same piece of toast before she opened her mouth to say something, only to be stopped by Douglas.

"I know you've been drinking."

A red hue plastered across her face, as her mouth curled in bewilderment and she felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. A few moments of awkward silence passed before Douglas looked at Cheryl and continued.

"We'll talk about it later tonight, okay?" his voice had softened, leading the girl to believe that her swift demise on some darkened road had been stayed for the time being. Douglas was like this – stern, possibly even aloof at times but she knew he always meant well. She looked down, and in her embarrassment simply nodded in agreement.

"How's the girl doing?"

Cheryl looked up at Douglas before informing him that she had managed to find some clothes that fit her for when she exited the shower. Cheryl may have been wrangled into sharing her bed, but she wasn't going to allow someone in it without being clean. Much less a stranger, and much much less some...thing that wore her face, and shared her existence. For Christ's sakes, Cheryl wasn't even sexually active at the time. Boys might have been an interest once, but that was so far removed from her life at this point in time she hadn't humored the thought since Silent Hill. Cheryl found herself forcibly removed from much of humankind as a result, separated by some vast ocean that found her staring down the pitch black of non-existence; her legs dangling off the edge, like a kid's on a back porch one Summer evening.

Satisfied with such a response, Douglas gathered his things as he got ready for work. She promised him she'd clean up the kitchen so he wouldn't be late, as she sipped the remains of the glass of water. Douglas was halfway out the apartment door, when he stopped and turned. "What are we going to do about her?" Cheryl downed what was left, and after a brief pause she looked up at him.

"We'll talk about it later tonight."