Three knocks at the door echoed through the apartment, loud and clear. Henry's small body was shaking on the couch, not daring to open it. He had no holy candles with him, and even if he did, he was too afraid of the squirming babies on the wall that made him try to empty the contents from his stomach when he got too close. Walter entered the room, closing the door slowly, chuckling in that small way he did when he got his way. Walter always got his way, in his world. He paced to Henry, and sat down at the end of the couch. Henry stared like a deer in the headlights. Some unintelligible babble ran from his mouth as he sat up and tried to push himself away from the murderer with his feet. Walter just smiled. He grabbed Henry's knees and wrenched them open, making the smaller man whimper and grip the couch cushions. It was too late to fight back. Walter groped Henry's crotch with one hand and unzipped his fly with the other, ripping off the button on his jeans and tugging them down to his thighs.
"Nononononono-" Henry mumbled to himself, but with no motivation to get up and save himself from the blond man. He fumbled with his underwear, trying to hold it up desperately, but Walter pulled that down too. Henry sobbed and let the tears cloud his vision, anticipating death like a special gift.
Eileen tried to pull off the mans pants entirely, stroking his thigh. It was so heartbreaking to see Henry like this, sobbing and flailing like he was five years old. But Henry went insane some time after the whole ashfield incident, and Eileen was his only friend to help him get better.
Not that he ever would.