James is punished by his own id, and he is far from guiltless.
James had stopped at a roadside hotel on the way to Silent Hill. He'd lain in bed, unsleeping, for hours, wanting to just get back in his car and drive to their "special place". In the end, for something to do, he'd opened the drawer, picked out the Gideon's Bible, and flipped it to a random page.
Proverbs 26:11 - As a dog returneth to its vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.
James had slammed it closed, and lain back, and stared at the ceiling, and told himself that he wasn't a fool. /Mary/. He'd slept, eventually.
There was no such excuse now. He was free from this place, he'd gone through the Labyrinth and found Maria (who had hurt her, who had beaten her so badly?), and there was no reason why he should come back to that curve of sewer and that room and...
The Great Knife was scraping along the ground behind him. It was hard to carry, and painful, but that was right enough.
When he found the door to /that room/, he kicked it open. The fan was thrumming, deep, a sound that seemed to set his bones to rattling with its every beat. The cages were there, piled in the corners, hanging from the roof. The desk was there, with an outline in the dust - where the Great Knife had once rested. And...
And his radio was screaming, and why hadn't he noticed?
Suddenly something and James didn't know what and he knew very well what was grabbing his wrist, and forcing it up and pressing James against a wall with it, and James shrieked as the Great Knife fell to the ground and clattered away from him...
She was at the other end of the bed, gathering up the sheets around herself. Some kind of protection. He himself was uncovered.
The finger-marks on her wrist stood out, white and livid and accusing. But white is innocence, James thought to himself. That's what the colour means. It was probably going to bruise.
"I didn't want to hurt you," James said. "I'm sorry."
Liar, his mind crowed, knowing better.
"You're lying," Mary said.
But he wasn't lying. At least, he really was sorry. And maybe at times he did think about hurting her, great in-depth fantasies each of greater depravity than the last, but he never intended to act on them. Maybe he wanted to hurt her, yes, but he never intended to hurt her.
"I love you," he tried. And that's why I hurt you, his mind finished.
The white marks on her wrist were fading to red.
The white glove on his wrist was covered with red.
James tried to lash out at the monster, but Pyramid Head knocked his arm away, kicked his legs apart, hoisted him up by his abused wrist and threw him onto the desk. His body screamed with pain at the impact - something was surely broken, surely, probably it was his wrist - and Pyramid Head stepped up next to him and slammed a white-gloved hand (hand, was it really a hand, what really made up that creature?) into his mouth, something like a gag. James was terrified of suffocation for a moment, but his nostrils were free, he could at least still breathe. He bit down into the glove. It tasted of blood.
Pyramid Head slammed a fist into his stomach.
The pain was intense, unbelievable, and James coughed and hacked through a howl. Pyramid Head grabbed his wrist again, pulled him off the table - he fell to the ground, a limp tangle of limbs, but any more pain now was too much to truly perceive - and dragged him along the floor. There had been a bad B-movie on late night television at one point, when he and Mary were still dating, where the villain had dragged the heroine along the floor in exactly that manner. Mary had made fun of the movie, laughing heartily the whole time, but James had sat silently, hot-faced and embarrassed at his own excitement. The heroine had been very pretty - blonde hair, blue-gray eyes - and James had found himself thinking uncomfortably about that scene for some time afterwards.
Pyramid Head leaned down, and with its free hand it picked up the Great Knife, and James - his imagination suddenly in overdrive - screamed.
Pyramid Head let go of James' wrist, and James collapsed and tried to stagger away, and Pyramid Head reached around and caught him by the throat. It lifted him, nearly choking him, and slammed him against the wall again. And then, very slowly, it raised the Great Knife.
James was shrieking inside his mind, but he couldn't say a word.
The monster seemed to drag the Knife when it was walking around, as if it was too heavy even for that hideous strength, but with it in one hand, it seemed to have an almost virtuoso command of it. It raised it, very slowly, running the tip up James' leg and over his groin and up his abdomen, past his chest and over his chin, finally resting between his lips.
The Great Knife tasted just like the glove; James couldn't taste the metal for the blood, and he was well aware that some of the blood was his own. He opened his mouth as a wince reaction, trying to drag his flesh away from the sharpness of the Knife, and Pyramid Head forced the tip of the blade between his teeth. He felt it, sharp and painful, at the back of his throat, and nearly gagged - an action which might well have killed him. Pyramid Head pulled the blade out, and rested it against his lips again, but just for a moment.
Then it slashed the blade down, opening a line of blood on James' jaw and over his chest and down his abdomen and finally, resting on his belly over his left hip, thrust into him, and James tried to scream at the penetration to find, in what seemed to be the final indignity, that his voice had gone hoarse.
Pyramid Head pulled out the Knife, and stepped backwards, and - for no reason James could discern - turned, and left the room.
James pressed his hand to the wound as he fell to the ground.
It doesn't hurt much, he'd said in the past. It only hurts for a minute. Trust me.
The blood was slowing. The blade didn't seem to have hit anything vital.
It only hurts for a minute, he'd said. It's only because I love you, really. He hadn't been lying. He didn't think he'd been lying.
Even the cut was healing unrealistically fast. Pyramid Head hadn't been trying to kill him, that was certain. If Pyramid Head had been trying to kill him... Pyramid Head would have killed him. Then what had Pyramid Head wanted? To make a /point/?
I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry.
It's only because I love you, really.
I love you. And that's why I hurt you.
Blond hair, James thought, feeling the blood in his own. Blue-gray eyes, he thought, closing them.
He was out for some time, and nothing touched him.