I wrote this based on events between games 1 and 3. I love Silent Hill and the relationship between Heather and her father Harry. I pretty much love all of Silent Hill and the universe. I would love to make a psychological story like that. Anyways, that's neither here nor there. For now, here's what I wrote.
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Harry stared blankly at the TV where some show--sports or something--was on commercial break. He was slumped in his old arm chair glancing anxiously at the door every few seconds. She should have been home by now. The show's announcer shouted words that held no meaning for him as a crowd cheered. He turned the power off and rushed over to the phone. He would start down the line. There was a list of numbers he would methodically call whenever she was late. First was the local police and then the hospital, followed by the mother of some friend. Last was the police station in Brahams. He had never had to call down to that number and prayed he never did because if he did, it would probably be too late.
"Hello, Ashfield Police," the voice on the other end answered, sounding bored, "how can I help you?"
"My daughter's missing. She was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago." Harry said urgently into the receiver.
"Sir, we can't file a missing person's case over just twenty minutes. How old is she?"
"My daughter's sixteen and--"
"Oh, a teenager," the police officer on the other end chuckled.
"You don't understand. Heather's not like this." Harry leaned against the wall.
"Sir, every parent doesn't want to think their child could be a wild party girl, but trust me, she's probably so busy hanging out that she let the time slip away. If you don't hear anything in another hour or so, then you can call us again."
"Hey wait!" Harry shouted as the officer hung up. He growled in frustration and began punching in the numbers for the hospital. The phone had started to ring when the door handle turned and in slinked his little girl.
"Hello, Ashfield general," another bored voice asked. Harry placed the receiver back on the cradle and glared at his daughter with narrowed eyes.
"Sorry Dad," she looked away, shifting under his glare uncomfortably. "I missed my bus because I dropped my bag and the wind decided that it would steal my essay." Heather laughed nervously.
Harry sighed. It wasn't her fault that he was so uptight. He reached forward and pulled her into his embrace. She breathed in deeply, hugging him back. "It's okay. I just worry about you."
"I know," Heather said as she turned towards her room. "Oh, the library had pizza for the children today and I stole a few slices, so you don't have to worry about making dinner tonight." With that, she entered her room and closed her door behind her.
Harry couldn't help but smile. She was always looking out for him as much as he did for her. It wasn't either of their faults that they were in the situation they were in even if in the begining he had blamed her. This child had come from the world of someone's nightmareish delusions brought to life and it was his job to keep her safe. He may have hated her in the begining for not being his little Cheryl, but now she had grown to be something even more and he loved her more every day. Her spirit shined through and she was a daughter any father would feel lucky to have, especially him, especially after what it took to get her.
Harry began whistling to himself as he pulled a microwave meal from the freezer.
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