Murray's Journey: Unsettlement

[Laraqua]

Murray awakens on the floor of what appears to be a janitor's closet. The room around him smells musty and faintly mildewy but there is no faint vibration of ancient fans turning nearby. There is no cloying warmth. There is just the ordinary sensation of a faintly dusty room and the sound of a radio crackling in the other room. The floor is cool and rough beneath his cheek. They certainly hadn't smoothed it out here. His clothing is roughly abraded, stained in places, but otherwise he seems intact. There is a hole in the wall that veers upward into a rusty chute. The hole itself seems roughly made, and from the outside, as though the chute itself had forced its way into this room. Murray's head aches and his mouth is dry. He's thirsty. Very thirsty. The room itself contains cleaning supplies on neat little metal benches and a large metal sink.

[Mr. Handy]

Murray drags himself back to his feet. I'm not crazy or suicidal enough to drink those cleaning supplies, he thinks. The sink is a better bet. He heads over to it and tries the taps.

[Laraqua]

The water sputters out rusty for a few seconds but it gradually clears. It tastes a little greasy, like it's been left to stagnate for too long, but seems otherwise okay.

[Mr. Handy]

Once Murray's thirst has been quenched, he goes to the door and puts his ear to it.

[Laraqua]

The soft wash of water against wooden pilings regales his ear, alongside the distant squawking of sea gulls.

It sounds more normal out there than it has in a long time.

Is this it? Has he made it?

[Mr. Handy]

After making sure the shotgun's safety is engaged, Murray sticks it barrel-first into an inside pocket of his trenchcoat, its grip sticking out where he can draw it if he needs it, so as to conceal it from view in case he's somewhere normal with people around. He tries the door.

[Laraqua]

...and finds himself on a fog-shrouded docks. He can see a figure - a woman judging by the dress - walking away from him along the wooden planks, her body a silhouette in the fog. Her gait seems familiar but it's hard to be certain at this distance.

[Mr. Handy]

Murray straightens his fedora on his head and steps outside, walking briskly after the woman in the hopes of getting close enough to identify her, yet taking silent steps so as not to alert her to his presence just yet.

[Laraqua]

The woman seems to match his pace with drifts of mist partially obscuring her here and then. She seems to be heading back toward the shoreline, perhaps toward the lighthouse whose light breaches the fog on occasion.

[Mr. Handy]

The lighthouse, thinks Murray. That's where Ash was. I wonder if maybe this is her. He continues following her.

[Laraqua]

He follows her into the fog toward the lighthouse but the fog seems strangely thicker as they approach the winding path by the shoreline and soon she is swallowed up by the fog. Moments later he stumbles at the edge of a collapsed pier, water lapping past him below. It looks to be a six foot drop and quite cold. He can hear hammering behind him and as he turns to look the fog clears a little and he can see the construction of a café on the other side of the road. There's a single builder up on the wooden lengths, wearing a stained pale yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up and some canvas trousers.

[Mr. Handy]

Murray crosses the road, looking both ways first, and approaches the construction site. "Excuse me, sir!" he calls up to the construction worker. "I'm trying to get to the lighthouse. Do you know how I can get there from here?"

[Laraqua]

"The pier's broken," says the construction worker, shading his eyes as he gazes down at Murray. The man wears neither hard hat nor orange safety vest. The scaffolding looks a bit wonky as well. He must be doing it himself as the owner.

[Mr. Handy]

"Thanks, I saw that," says Murray. "Do you know any other way to get there? Is there a place I can catch a boat or something?"

[Laraqua]

"There is a boat launch by the Silent Hill Historical Society building over on Nathan Avenue," says the fellow. "You ever been down by there? A closer point is the Lakeview Hotel who sometimes has the occasional boat for romantic Honeymoons on their little pier. That's just off West Sandford Street but it's on your way to the boat launch so you might as well stop by there and see if it's got what you need." He pauses. "Why you wanna get to the lighthouse so bad anyway? You the new keeper?"

[Mr. Handy]

"No, I'm meeting someone there," says Murray. "Thanks, I'll head down by way of the hotel. I've been there before, but I haven't been to the Historical Society yet."

[Laraqua]

Murray is already on the right road at least. It shouldn't take him too long once he passes these two building skeletons and moves on down the road.

[Mr. Handy]

Murray walks between the two buildings under construction and heads towards the hotel. I don't remember seeing any construction while I was on my way to the hotel, he thinks. The town looked pretty built up already. Of course, it's been changing so much that nothing should surprise me.

[Laraqua]

He doesn't walk far down West Sandford Street before an old car with a gleaming fresh coat of paint trundles past him. It looks to be a black late thirties Plymouth but it is quickly swallowed by the fog before he can make out anything more about it.

[Mr. Handy]

What a sweet ride! Murray thinks as he continues towards the hotel. Whoever owns that baby really restored her well. She looks good as new! You don't see many classic cars like that nowadays, more's the pity. The closest thing to it is a PT Cruiser. I ought to drive one of those.

OOC,I had a feeling! :D [b]Murray[/b]'s still clueless for now, but I'm sure he'll soon be confronted with proof he can't rationalize.