Being Called a hero
Townshend.
The name echoed on every radio station and every TV news channel. It was written all over South Ashfield's newspapers, just like a hero would be exposed after saving thousands of lives.
The remaining inhabitants of the apartment building praised and acknowledged him for his courage and heroism. The survivors even wished to meet him personally to express their gratitude.
The mysterious and quiet guy from Room 302 in South Ashfield Heights basically saved the whole city from Walter Sullivan's evil torments.
What struck people the most was that, supposedly, the guy survived Hell itself. He fought his way through Other worlds without any technical knowledge of combat and self-defense. He endured the rusty iron smell lingering into the dense air, as well as the blood stained and flesh walls. He endlessly fought the evil, pouring every inch of his energy into battles against gruesome monsters and stalking ghosts. Ultimately, he slayed the Conjurer and exorcised Walter's evil spirit.
Henry Townshend was South Ashfield's hero.
His uncanny heroic image broadcasted by the media became a source of inspiration for many men and women. Some even entitled him Super Henry. Trivial magazines displayed cheesy titles on their covers such as "Super Henry VS Sullivan" or "Townshend Slays the Evil!" - Much like any other admired hero, he was followed by many teens who aspired to become like him; Henry even had to dismiss numerous messages from women in their twenties asking him out for dates or coffees.
Some skeptical articles would dare suggest that Henry was insane and could not distinguish fantasy from reality, hence justifying his surreal talks about the room incident. These people believed that Walter Sullivan was a conspiracy induced by the government, and that Henry's exploits were fake.
In more serious papers, specialists would discuss Henry's mental health. Psychologists would assert that fragments of his memories may be distorted, due to traumatic experiences; he would be suffering from a post-traumatic stress disorder following the horrifying encounters. What had happened in these other dimensions may have been too much to handle, the brain being unable to process the amount of surreal images; while specialists didn't deny Henry's claims, it was impossible to find proof.
Henry also received multiple requests to attend interviews and talk shows, which for the most part he declined politely. Only twice has he accepted to show up, the reason being that he knew the hosts for not asking awkward and dumb questions. During the interviews, Henry remained distant, replying the obvious without going in too much details. He just did not want to talk about it in depth with the public, which was totally understandable.
The image the media created of Henry was just an illusion. It was artificial and purposefully modified to fit the audience's interests; it was a by-product of the overly gossip society we live in. Henry was never left alone, always called and pressed to answer questions about his experience with the supernatural. The worst thing was, he knew that all of this attention would be over in about two weeks. This only served him as a confirmation that fame was a short term wicked pleasure. Not for himself, but for the buzz-craving people.
People believed they knew everything from what they heard or read. But little did they know what truly happened. For most of them, it all came down to just another story generated by the media with the main subject being the supernatural. It was different from the usual political debates and the environmental advocating; it acted as a distraction from their daily lives. From afar, all the public saw was some person saving the world from some abstract and mysterious evil force, without realizing the true agony the person has been through.
But I know exactly what happened, because I was there, trailing all along. I have seen disfigured and dismembered bodies covered in blood. I have felt the living flesh squirming from decaying walls with my own fingers. I have tasted the pain of a sharp knife cutting through the skin of my back. I have been possessed and tortured.
In the Other worlds, I have been suffering both physically and mentally, just like him. I have stared into his tormented and fearful eyes. I have held him in states of panic and helpless distress. I felt so powerless back then, when he shivered in my arms for a few minutes before calming himself.
Nobody except myself could understand the pain he has went through. I remember the sadness and hopelessness in his voice when he described the guilt he felt when he failed to save the previous victims. It stung my heart.
When you think about it, there's really nothing to do, nothing to say. Journalists will stop at nothing to share what they think will gather the attention of the public. They seek phenomenal titles with shocking news.
In the end, being called a hero doesn't mean much to the public's eye. What is a hero exactly? A figure to which people can look up to? Someone with God-like powers? The ultimate role model?
I, Eileen Galvin, was a burden to him, but he still went on, carrying me with him.
When I hear Townshend, I can only hear cries of pain and despair. I hear Walter Sullivan's threatening steps crawling closer. I hear my sobbing and Henry's breath getting shorter.
He's not a hero, he's a victim who stood up for himself, pushing his limits and his fears.
He didn't want all this attention, he only wanted some peace.
But the world will never understand, looking from that far away, through the eye of the media.