A/N: I was requested to write this story months ago, and it's been very hard business. Not only was it quite difficult emotionally to write, but I also had a lot of other complications that stopped me from getting it done. But here it is now, and I hope all that has paid off. I feel very sorry for poor Eileen now! Anyway, please Read and Review. I hope you enjoy the story x
The hollow click of Eileen's heels echoed through the empty subway, breaking the deep silence with every step. The strange hush of the area unnerved her. She hadn't seen anyone since she'd arrived, not even one of the homeless people whom regularly shuffled in and out of the doorways. Today, she was entirely alone. But, although she knew it was silly, Eileen felt the presence of another person. Watching her.
Their hard gaze burned the back of her neck as she crossed the deserted platforms. It travelled down her back, her rounded hips, her pale thighs. The intense scrutiny left Eileen feeling soiled and uncomfortable. She was no stranger to being stared at. In her old apartment, she'd felt eyes almost constantly. But somehow this was different. The presence there seemed benign, whereas this one was not. It had a perverse, disturbing quality Eileen found impossible to bear.
She upped her pace, clutching her purse tightly to her.
She missed Henry. He was probably drinking coffee alone in his room, quiet and withdrawn. They'd grown close since the incident- or as close as his introverted personality would allow. But although he was so subdued, Eileen knew he adored her- and she liked him too. He'd saved her life, after all.
He couldn't protect her now. Not down here.
Eileen shivered in her thin party dress. What was wrong with this place? It had deteriorated from its usual cleanliness into something straight from a nightmare. The floor was piled with rotting garbage, and the rusted walls were streaked thick with blood. This offered Eileen an unpleasant reminder of the Incident all those months ago. That experience wasn't something she liked to recall. It was all too fresh in her mind, like a dream that refused to go away. But it wasn't a dream. It was real, and she desperately wished it was not.
Eileen flinched and jerked her head around. She could have sworn that, for a second, she had heard another set of footsteps behind her. Her eyes took in dirty bricks, old newspapers, crude graffiti that seemed to crawl across the walls in the meagre light. Aside from that, the platform appeared to be empty.
There was nothing here. Nothing that lived.
A chill scuttled down her spine. The subway tunnel had become a thousand times more sinister.
Damn it, nobody's here, she told herself. Nobody can hurt me.
All she had to do was find the subway train and she'd be out of here. No more hidden eyes, no more worrying. She'd be above ground again, with people, sunlight and safety.
She forced herself to keep going. Puddles of filthy water splashed up her legs. Once or twice she even slipped, but she didn't stop. She pressed onwards as if her life depended on it. She shivered constantly, exhaling clouds of white mist. It was so cold down here. Usually it was sticky-warm from the masses of people crowding on the platforms. Now there was a frosted breeze that raised the hem of her skirt and made her teeth chatter. It teased the pages of abandoned newspapers so that they rustled eerily. Eileen made herself ignore them. In the gloom ahead, she could make out point at which she always waited for the subway train. There was the familiar bench, the peeling sign. She had the urge to rush forward and to sit down at once. But instinct held her back.
Something wasn't right.
"What's going on here?" she muttered softly. Her scalp had begun to prickle, as if something was crawling on its surface. Lice, perhaps, or creeping disease. The idea was more than disgusting. Eileen reached up to scratch it but paused at once, leaving her arm poised in mid-air. There was a heavy shadow pooled on the ground ahead. It towered over her, black and ominous, swallowing hers in its infinite darkness. Eileen blinked at it, momentarily stunned. It appeared to be moving, swinging back its own arm behind its head. It was then she realised what was happening.
But by that time it was too late.
Her head exploded with pain. Within moments Eileen found herself sprawled across the filthy floor, contents of her purse scattered everywhere. Gasping, she tried to drag herself back onto her feet. Her knees buckled weakly beneath her, scraped raw from the fall. The shock of the sudden blow had disorientated her. She was physically unable to stand up.
"Help me!" she screamed in desperation. The words had scarcely left her mouth when a foot slammed into the small of her back, knocking her several metres across the ground. To her horror Eileen saw that she was sliding towards the edge of the platform. She snatched at it in an attempt to stop herself falling, but it was no use. She toppled through the dark, shrieking wildly, and landed with a sickening crack on the subway tracks.
She lay there, beaten and winded, fighting the strong urge to weep. Her ankle throbbed with a steady, swelling pain. It was most likely sprained or broken from the fall. Her ribs too felt wounded, but Eileen forced herself to ignore them. With a harsh grunt she rolled herself onto her back and stared up at the platform.
She froze at once, gripped with an almost crippling horror. For, standing in his full glory on the edge of the platform, was the demon of her every nightmare.
Walter Sullivan.
Fear and disbelief consumed her, eating her alive from the inside out. Every sane and sensible thought she'd ever had seemed to melt away in the face of this loathsome memory. This thing, which had no right to live.
Three words swept through Eileen's mind-
I'm going mad…
-Before they were swept away by the tides of terror that had so swiftly engulfed her.
She wondered briefly if this was some vivid nightmare. Walter Sullivan was dead. Henry had murdered him, yet here he was in the flesh. He was exactly the same as she remembered him. Pale face, ruggedly handsome. Jagged stubble and lank, shoulder-length hair. A coarse blue coat, rough and filthy with age. And that mouth- that knowing mouth- smirking with ungodly pride.
"W-Walter! You… you're dead!" stuttered Eileen. She dragged herself up on skinned elbows, dragging her body a few inches back. "I don't understand. I thought… you were gone. You died. Oh God… this has to be a dream!"
"No dream, Eileen," said Walter calmly. "This is as real as the day you gave your doll. Do you remember? No, I guess you don't. But you did, and I kept it with me ever since. Well, for a while, anyway. I offered it to your friend, but he refused to take it. Sad, isn't it, that everything has to end. Even tokens of kindness."
He climbed down onto the subway tracks, expression cool and collected. Eileen tried in vain to evade him. Walter sauntered over and placed a foot upon her wounded ankle.
Crushing it.
Eileen bit back a screech, driving her teeth deep into her lower lip. The merest hint of a sob wheezed from her throat, which appeared to satisfy Walter. He dropped into a low crouch beside her, the hem of his coat trailing in a puddle of stagnant water. A glint of silver caught Eileen's eye. Walter was passing a knife deftly from palm to palm. Eileen's throat tightened as it flashed between his fingers. It was the very same knife that had carved the numbers into her back, those that had never quite faded away. How it hurt as they scored her skin. How it burned as Walter's fingers traced the wounds, fervent in their mocking caress.
Eileen winced, almost reliving the experience.
"The Mother Reborn," murmured Walter abruptly. He touched her pallid cheek, almost gentle. "You were beautiful, you know. Lying there in your own blood. Your screams, too… faded away forever. Such a shame. Still, we could have that again. For old time's sake."
"No!" said Eileen. His words frightened her, for he knew he said them in all seriousness. "Please, Walter. Don't. Think about it. Would your Mom want you to hurt me?"
Walter flinched. He grabbed the front of Eileen's dress and yanked her forward, his breath hot on her face.
"It's Her will," he snarled. "You and Henry Townshend tried to stop me from awakening Her. For that, you deserve suffering. I know that were good to me once, but that won't save you. Not from the outcome of your sins."
Eileen saw something flicker in his eyes. Madness, sorrow, childish hate. This was the tantrum of an overgrown bully, intent on extracting revenge upon those who had crossed him.
This knowledge did not make her fear him less. If anything, it drove her into an even deeper level of anxiety than before.
"No, Walter," said Eileen. "I didn't want this to happen. You know I didn't. So don't hurt me. Please…"
Walter shook his head, smiling cruelly. He reached as if to strike her, but this time Eileen was ready for him. With a strangled cry, she slammed her purse into his skull and leapt unsteadily to her feet. Walter lay flat on his back, perfectly still. Blood oozed from his temple. Eileen did not wait to see if he would recover. She turned and ran down the length of the gloomy tunnel.
Her breath rattled in her chest, burning her lungs. It was difficult to maintain a good speed with such a swollen ankle, but hope of escape was fresh inside her. In the distance the blocky shape of the subway train awaited, waiting to pick up passengers. Just the sight of it soothed her frantic heart.
She stumbled onwards, purse thudding constantly against her left hip. The subway was echoed with footsteps and ringing silence. But it didn't bother her anymore. As long as she couldn't hear Walter that was all that mattered. On and on she ran, muscles burning with effort. Then she skidded to a sudden halt, and her open palms slammed against solid metal. Her gaze travelled upwards, slow and steadily dismayed. There had clearly been some kind of accident. The subway train had been upturned, cast on its side in the centre of the track with its contents spilling out like innards.
Eileen could scarcely believe her misfortune. She checked every part of it, making sure that there was no way in or around it. But her exploration was listless, without expectation. She was trapped, and she knew it.
And there was no one who could help her.
"Eileen…"
She whirled round. The tracks ahead were empty but the soft, taunting voice of Walter Sullivan came clearly down the tunnel.
He knew this had happened, thought Eileen. He had me pinned from the start.
She felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. Fiercely, she scrubbed them away. Damn it, she wouldn't cry. She couldn't let Walter see how badly she was frightened. Yet, despite her efforts, her vision blurred into vague smears of colour on her retinas.
"Look," said Eileen. "Give me a chance to make up for what I did. I was dumb, I know that, but if you just let…"
"It's too late, Eileen," said Walter. "Don't try to reason with me. I have to punish you for Her sake, not mine. Besides… there's something I want from you."
A grim silence fell. Beads of sweat trickled from Eileen's forehead, condensing on her upper lip. She made no move to wipe it away. She simply stood there, shivering pathetically in her skimpy gown.
"What do you want, Walter?" she asked eventually.
There was another heavy pause pregnant with unease. Then suddenly he was beside her, forcing her against the subway train. Cold lips brushed against her ear.
"I want…" Walter began, and never finished. He thrust himself against Eileen's body, offering her his cruel lust and obscene arousal. She fought in his grip, both disgusted and alarmed. In the wild scuffle he managed to wrest the purse from her and toss it away over his shoulder. Eileen mourned its loss briefly. She was defenceless now. Just like she was on the night of the Incident. Only this time, she realised, Walter wasn't trying to kill her. Not yet. He was going to do something much worse.
Eileen tossed her head wildly. Her short hair whipped the sides of Walter's face, half-blinding him. It riled and distracted him, keeping him at a distance. But this measure was short lived. Walter, tired of these struggles, caught Eileen's jaw in one calloused hand. Then he tugged her face towards him and kissed her with a strange and violent tenderness. Eileen gagged. Walter's tongue entwined with hers, warm in the icy cavern of his mouth. It was disgusting; a wild, intruding mass of flesh hot with desire. Eileen hated it. She caught it between her teeth and bit down, hard enough to draw blood. Walter grinned into her lips. He broke the kiss, moving his grip to either side of her skull. He caressed it gently as a lover before smashing it back against the subway train with a grisly crack.
Eileen crumpled onto the tracks, clutching her head in both hands. It was filled with splinters of agony that screamed on and on and on inside. She tried to scream too, but all that came out were sobs. Walter stood over her like a God of Death. His mouth was twisted into an ugly pumpkin leer of victory. Eileen moaned softly. She was so panicked, so broken, that even this simple gesture terrified her.
"Shhh, Eileen," murmured Walter. He climbed atop her, straddling her wide hips in order to pin her down. It finally struck Eileen that this was real, not a dream. She was actually going to be ravaged in this filthy subway without a hope of salvation. The thought caused fresh tears to fall. They spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the blood there. Walter's tongue slid across them, tasting their sweet bitterness.
Eileen whimpered in her cocoon of misery.
Calloused hands fumbled beneath her of skirt, pinching her inner thighs. A thumb caught the edge of her underwear and Eileen's hips jerked upwards in a startled spasm. In doing so, they met Walter's… and something else. Something hard. Through the pained mist of her vision her eyes met his, and Eileen saw the lust stirring in their shadowed depths.
It sickened her.
She turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the hard, unforgiving edge of the subway tracks. Now there were teeth at her throat, biting, sucking, and Eileen became acutely aware of everything around her. The coarse rub of his stubble, the rough, chafing feel of his coat. The perverseness of his hands, snapping her legs wide apart.
She gasped, the one heel breaking off on the ground as she tried to keep them closed.
"Walter!" she cried hysterically. "Please, don't!"
Her words went unheeded. Eileen wept wretchedly as the bodice of her gown was torn away. In her head she tried to pretend she was somewhere else, but she couldn't do it. Walter wasn't just on top of her, he was in her, too. His harsh kisses covered her breasts, he stomach, her shoulder blades.
His fingers, too, invaded her.
They slithered upwards, sneaking, sliding, seeking her most sacred place. Eileen stiffened, horror-struck. Walter didn't seem to notice her discomfort. His breath was shallow, head tilted back in an almost religious ecstasy. To him, she was the Holy temple, the place of worship. She was the house of God, and he was desecrating her.
"Eileen," he breathed. "You're beautiful."
His reached down, fumbling the front of his pants. Eileen's stomach turned. Suddenly all she could think of was Henry, dear Henry, that poor quiet man who had protected her for so long. She wanted him to find her, to find her again, to kill this monster and take her away. He had to. She couldn't bear any more of this torture.
Please Henry I don't want him to do it don't let him please come down here DON'T LET HIM HURT ME...
Walter snatched a handful of Eileen's short hair and forced another kiss on her tightened lips. He tasted worse now than he had before; tears, sweat and blood mingling into his saliva. She wanted to spit, but she couldn't. His tongue was in her mouth, and his grip strayed at her waist, and there was no way of evading him. He was on her, and above her, and then, with a brutal thrust…
He was in her.
Eileen screamed.
She had never known such horrendous pain. It filled her abdomen with needles of fire, drowning her in an overwhelming torrent of agony. It shattered her, blinded her, swallowed her whole. The tears were acid now, her screams shards of glass in her throat. Everything hurt. It wouldn't stop. It only got worse as Walter moved upon her. He seemed to bask in her despair like a serpent in sunlight. He was made handsome with rapture, nightmarishly so. Eileen couldn't bear that he be beautiful in this moment of Hell. She felt him buck and writhe atop her and hated him, hated him so much.
He uttered a lecherous growl of pleasure, driving his solid rage into her doll-like being. She was a puppet in his hands, a toy of rape. He could play with her forever, for she was his now. A child with a room for a mother could lay such claims, it seemed.
Eileen felt crazed, delirious now. She could feel nothing but Walter, filling and dominating her. Spasmodically, her legs twitched on either side of him. Her hands scrabbled at the subway tracks. Helpless, useless. She felt like a butterfly, pinned to a board in a box of glass.
Trapped. Fragile. Bleeding.
Nausea savaged her insides. Eileen turned and retched onto the subway tracks, stomach squeezing. Walter clapped a hand over her mouth before she was quite finished and whispered to her, voice hoarse and punctuated with bestial grunts.
"Oh, I've wanted you, Eileen. I've wanted every inch of you, bloodied and broken and beautiful. Yet I've kept away, only touched you in an effort to kill. But now, I have what I wanted. And isn't it a shame dear Henry couldn't see this moment? You wanted him here, I know you did. Well, it's just the both of us alone now. No Little Walter to intervene. Oh, Eileen. You are good."
He bowed his head, shoving it into the crook of her neck. Eileen felt bile trickle from the corners of her lips and wondered how much she could take before she went mad. Her guts were wriggling now, for they were the butterflies, and she was their cage. Walter, then, was the key. And as he rammed into her again and again, she opened to him like the bud of a rotting flower.
Her palms ground against the subway tracks, and she thought of Henry.
Henry Henry Henry please stop him please I can't bear it kill me kill the butterflies stop the pain just stop it...
"Mother…"
Walter wrapped a hand around her throat, bumped a voracious kiss against her cheekbone, and thrust into her one final time. Eileen's shuddering limbs encircled his body in a desperate cage. She wept into his coat as he came, letting her tears soak into the hated blue. She was soiled now, a doll left out in the rain. Filth spilled down her naked thighs. Walter looked at her, and Eileen could have sworn that for a second he seemed almost ashamed. But then he grinned and arose, fastening his zipper with wicked casualness.
"Goodbye, Eileen," he said. "I'll remember you to my Mother."
He bent over her to give her one final kiss before turning and heading away towards the platform. As soon as he was gone, Eileen opened her eyes again and stared into space, unsure of how to feel anymore. She couldn't cry- there were no tears left in her to do so –and there was nothing more to fear. All that was left was a strange, numb hysteria close to insanity. She found herself laughing, laughing, just to fill the emptiness inside her with some feeling. But her mirthless giggles just made her feel even more worthless, like a talking doll having its string yanked by an angry little girl. She tried to stop herself, putting a hand over her mouth to choke the sound. In the end she lapsed into a peculiar, choked gasping. She supposed she was having some kind of attack, or hyperventilating from shock. Either way it didn't matter. She was dead, in a living sense, and utterly despoiled.
Henry wouldn't want her anymore.
Nobody would.
There would be guilty looks, and flowers left on her doorstep, and murmured apologies from those who didn't understand. Unsympathetic police officers asking question after question, shunting boxes of tissues towards her across polished desks. Nobody would honestly want to know what had happened, or want contact with her after that. She was tainted, diseased, a leper hewn from forced sex. What sane person would want that on their minds? Not Henry Townshend. He was shy and awkward as it was. How could he bear coming down here, lifting her stripped body and caring for her all over again? How could he look her in the eye knowing his enemy had taken her in the most intimate of ways, and made her his own? He wouldn't want her anymore. She would be like her own beloved Robbie doll, sweet and smiling but vaguely creepy. He'd always hated that stuffed rabbit. Now he'd hate her too, and that thought stung more than the flames between her thighs.
"Henry," wailed Eileen, finding her voice again. "Don't hate me, please!"
And although she knew he couldn't hear her, she begged for his pity. Down there in the dark, she curled upon the subway tracks and lamented as old tears congealed on her eyelashes.
She was alone in her unhappiness.
Alone, and forgotten, like a doll boxed away in a dusty old attic.
Broken.