Silent Hill
Living Dead
Every step he took squelched and squished on the floor as Henry Townshend barreled across blood covered tile, running for his life.
He'd left Eileen back at the elevator, with his gun to protect her; but now he was the one in need. A deep, twisted laugh echoed all around and Henry's heartbeat spiked. Breathing erratically, the man forced himself to keep running, ever onward.
A gunshot rang through the area, and Henry gasped, but it didn't hit him. Run, keep going, going...
There it was! A hole, his salvation! The man felt his fingers tremble as relief soared through him.
But, as suddenly as it came, it was ripped from him. A hand descended on Henry's neck, stopping his moments, as he was lifted into the air. Hot breath brushed against his ear as Henry grasped at the hand and helplessly kicked your feet.
"I... I..."
"What is it, Receiver?"
"I... I love you..."
A wicked grin came across Walter's face. "All the better to die for me..." The man was thrown to the ground, hitting his head hard against the pavement, as something in his shoulder cracked.
Then he heard the chainsaw rev.
"AH!"
Henry snapped up, sweat pouring down his brow as his chest heaved in and out. The man glanced around frantically.
Safe: he was safe. Simply had been sleeping, just dreaming.
A trembling hand came up to cradle his face as Henry bit his lip to keep from sobbing.
Just a dream...
/302\\
What could one call life that continued after death?
Henry supposed the religious would say everlasting life, eternal life. But then, those sorts of things usually required God, and being allowed into the Kingdom of Heaven, or something like that. The brunet hardly knew or cared, as religion hadn't ever interested him. Not much.
This life that he was currently leading... it felt different anyway. An everlasting life spent in the light of God: Henry imagined that sort of life felt weightless, warm, like being held in an never-ending embrace. This life felt much, much heavier. For instance, stress still remained, along with its siblings conflict and anger.
"There is no way in hell I'm sharing this place with that fucking bastard." Richard Braintree shouted viciously, spittle flying across the room. Henry was very glad it hadn't hit his face, or he might not have been able to keep from punching him.
"Richard -" Eileen, as usual, tried to play mediator, but Richard ripped his arm from her comforting grip.
"The insane fuck killed us all! Electrocuted me, beat her to death -!" Gesturing madly around the room, Richard turned a deeper and deeper red as Henry clenched his shaking fists.
"You really have to bring that up, don't you, asshole?" Cynthia sneered from across the room, sitting with little Walter on her lap. He looked terribly frightened, eyes wide and transfixed on Richard's enraged form.
"Richard. Richard!" Henry grabbed his shoulder and shook him, until the man finally turned to look at him. "Calm down. I get what you're saying, but we've got to work together here. We're all trapped together, getting angry isn't going to solve anything." This only seemed to fan the flames, as Richard's blazing eyes stared hard at Henry. The smaller, younger man refused to back down.
"I'd rather face hell out there than sleep under the same roof as him!" Fuming, Richard turned and rushed out the door, slamming it hard behind him. Henry winced, for a moment wondering if Walter would leap out of the woodwork and angrily attack the man for "hurting mother", but nothing happened. The tension temporarily gone, Henry brushed a hand over his forehead and looked up, eyeing his other problems.
The day he'd died, Henry had apparently fallen into some kind of ghostly stupor, until Walter found him and brought him back to 302. After that, Eileen had woken up, there was a tearful reunion... and then the new arrivals began showing up.
All the different worlds of Walter's memories still existed, and were just as monster infested as ever - making the only real safe place Room 302. Most of the ghosts, now free of Walter's control, quickly made their way to Henry's apartment, and the man was beginning to see a big problem: space.
First came Cynthia, who had wandered from the subway, and immediately threw her arms around Henry's shoulders, screaming through tears about the man and her strange dream and never having given him his treat. Blushing, he brought her into the apartment.
Next had been the college student.
"... Hi." Henry muttered. Jasper waved a little, his skin still cracked and burnt, but quickly moved from paying attention to Henry to marveling at the Room.
"This is it... the real deal..." The man looked as happy as if he'd found a warehouse full of chocolate milk. The owner stepped aside and let the occult junkie have his fun.
Joseph had shown up one day, too; but, he left soon after. The man only stopped for a brief moment to speak to Henry.
Now that he was down off the ceiling, with a true human appearance, the old writer looked very tired and humbled. "Henry..." The man murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I wanted to thank you. What you did was very kind, and very difficult. In your place I would likely have killed him and been done with it... you're a good man." Then, he smiled, his hand slipped away, and Joseph turned to walk down the blood red, screeching hall.
The pet shop owner, Steve Garland; Eric Walsh, the man murdered on his birthday; Peter Walls, the stupid druggie beaten to death; Sharon Blake, who lost her family, then her life to the cult. They all came along sometime after, not to mention Richard, who left as soon as he came... once he found out Walter Sullivan was staying in the apartment as well.
Where else would he be? Henry thought, arms in his pockets, a dull smirk on his face. After all he did, of course this is where he'd be.
Room 302 had great power, and so did Walter; and some combination of those two made it possible for Walter to create a door at the end of the hall, which connected to the storage room. That was usually where he stayed during the day, while the others were up and about.
Henry knew Walter didn't like having all these people, some who he considered far below him(and sometimes Henry agreed), taking residence with his mother. In fact, Henry was shocked he hadn't refused to let them stay, or at least said something about it. Henry decided not to ask, counting his blessings.
Eileen, Cynthia, Sharon, and little Walter had the bedroom, while the men, minus Henry and Walter, were camped out on the floor around the bookshelf and TV. Eric had the couch, Steve the love seat, Jasper the floor, and Henry... he had the bathtub. Walter, meanwhile, hardly left his room.
It was a uncomfortable situation all around, especially the emotional tension.
No one wanted to walk up and knock on Walter's door, not even Eileen or Henry, because it was always best to leave sleeping dogs lying. But most of the denizens of the room felt it very uncomfortable, even cruel, to have to spend eternity with the man who murdered them. In a capacity Henry understood: but he would never ask the struggling, pained man to leave the apartment, to leave his mother.
"This is my place; dead or not, my name's on the lease." Henry had told them all one night. "If you don't want to stay, feel free to go."
They had stayed.
During the day, the group would sometimes wander in the worlds; they had found the many locations much safer during daylight, but the danger came at night, when the world shifted.
On one such a night, Henry Townshend was standing in the kitchen, watching the last few stumble in before Eileen went to shut the door.
"You know, I had sort of expected more people." The woman admitted as she shut and locked it. "21 people died... but there are only about ten here."
Henry nodded. The woman turned and crossed her arms.
"I know that guy Andrew has to be around, we fought him in that prison. Don't you think there would be more ghosts out there?"
Taking a sip of the mug of tea in his hands, Henry muttered. "There's Richard."
"Yeah, but," The woman sighed and threw her arms up, approaching the counter. "... I don't know. I just feel like something's missing."
Henry was staring at the door.
"Henry?"
The cup was hastily set on the counter, as Henry walked around his friend and approached the chest. Jasper scooted out of his way as he knelt, opening it to reveal his remaining weapons.
"What are you doing?" Eileen was over his shoulder as he removed his gun and some ammunition.
"Richard's out there." Henry said quietly, standing. The idiot's out there without a weapon.
"You're really going out there? Now? It'll be dark soon!" The woman followed him to the door. "You're injured, Henry, you can't do this right now?"
Still, he turned the door knob, opened the door, then smiled at her. Then he was gone.
/302/
In retrospect Henry had a feeling he should have listened to Eileen.
His wounds, which were numerous and mostly centered around bullet holes in his arms and shoulders, made it very difficult to fight efficiently. Not to mention he had no real idea where Richard was supposed to be. The man was wandering the Apartment world, racing from enemies, shouting for Richard, which in turn drew more enemies.
"Damn..." Henry raced into the elevator, relieved to hear the doors slam shut behind him. The little buttons remained untouched as Henry slid to the ground and groaned. How many hours till sunlight?
"... you are... we..."
Blinking, the tired man sat up.
"What're you..."
Where those voices? Slowly and quietly, Henry scooted towards the ladder at the back of the elevator, leaning so his head was by the opening.
"... what do you think I am?"
That sounds like Richard, Henry realized, tightening his grip on the edge.
"Perhaps a man who is not to be taken lightly."
That one Henry did not recognize, but it was an older male, with a raspy voice. A third voice picked up.
"This will benefit us all."
Richard gave a sputtering laugh. "I may look stupid, but last I checked what you're talking about would screw it all up."
Talking about what? Henry frowned, trying to lean even closer; he was about to fall off the edge. And what would it screw up?
"Do not be afraid. All we require is a small task, and then we shall all be free, and be avenged."
Vengeance? Henry's mind flashed to Walter.
"I'm not afraid, you stupid fuckers. I'm moving."
Footsteps led away, past the ladder, then further down.
"... will he speak against us?"
"Unlikely. He is not our ally, but neither is he there's. He stands against the Assumption as we do."
Assumption... Henry's heart sank low as his fears were realized. They're after Walter...
"We must turn to someone else."
"Perhaps DeSalvo?"
"No, they trust him as little as we do. He remains in the tower."
The voices began to fade as footsteps led away. Panicking, Henry turned and sat up, reaching for the ladder to follow him. He had to know what they were planning. Blood pouring from his shoulders as he reopened old wounds, Henry rushed down the ladder, into darkness.
When he came to the bottom, no one was there, and the man found himself facing a new decision. Richard's footsteps went off that way... but the other two went that way...
His harried thoughts were interrupted by another set of steps coming up right behind him.
/ 302 \\\
Eileen stood in the kitchen, staring at the large, talkative group in the living room, with two great worries in mind. Every so often, her eyes would dart to the hallway, to the door at the end that hadn't opened in days. Then, they would flit over to the front door, which had been heavily locked and bolted.
Biting her lip, Eileen glanced at the happy group again.
"We had this cat - a calico, I think - my kid got it from her piano teacher and it was named Shosta. Short for Shostacovitch, I think he was a Russian composer or something -"
"Certainly sounds Russian."
"Well, this cat could answer the phone." Eric paused in the retelling as Steve Garland leaned over to him.
"That's actually not very surprising, cats are very intelligent creatures." Eric nodded and simply continued.
"He would knock the phone off the hook whenever it rang and meow into the other end like he was talking to you -"
Smiling, Eileen turned and left the kitchen, walking down the hall, away from the cheerful group. I'm glad they're happy, she thought demurely. But she couldn't help but be drawn away from the festivities. Those she truly cared about weren't involved in them.
More voices were coming from Henry's bedroom - a woman's and a child's. Eileen turned and leant against the doorframe, watching Cynthia and little Walter putting a puzzle together on the bed.
"See, this one matches blue, it goes here -" Cynthia stated, but Walter stopped her hand.
"No, it doesn't, see, the edges don't match."
"Oooh!" The woman replied, exaggerating her surprise as she shared a secret smile with Eileen. "You're such a smart boy, Walter!" The boy flushed with pride as he showed her where to place it.
To Eileen's great surprise, Cynthia was very good with children. The two young women had teamed up to take care of the boy and make him happy, taking turns playing with him and watching out for him. Leaving little Walter (who some had started calling Walt) in her capable hands, Eileen turned and approached the last door.
She hesitated for a minute or two, staring at the painted wood. Finally, she lifted her hands and knocked.
In her nervous state, Eileen hardly realized the rest of the apartment had gone silent, many staring down the hall to stare at Eileen and what she was doing. Everything seemed to have frozen, all eyes on the ominous door. For a moment, nothing happened.
Creaaak.
The door opened but a crack, and vibrant green eyes came into view. Eileen looked up and gave her best smile. "Hello, Walter," She said sweetly, "May I come in?"
He remained stock still for what felt like hours, before the door opened just enough for Eileen to squeeze through. Walter remained where he was, so the woman had to scoot between him and the wood. The others stared as Eileen walked under her killer's arm, into his room, as he shut the door behind her.
Eileen hadn't seen his room before the end of the Sacraments, so she didn't know how much it had changed - but the place was entirely new. Bookshelves lined the walls, a desk took up the far corner, with a lamp and stacks of papers. The air smelled clean... like detergent and air freshener.
Suddenly, turning to gaze upon the man who towered above her, and was perhaps twice as broad as her, the woman felt nerves creep up her throat and tighten her voice. For a brief, frightening instant, she was back in her apartment, on the floor, his eyes leering down at her... she forced herself to stop shivering.
Walter's eyes flitted down, and he took a step back, surprising Eileen with what emotions briefly showed upon his face. Was there fear? Guilt? Heart warming, the woman took a step towards him, then another.
He didn't move again, but he never looked back up. Walter didn't know Eileen was next to him until she wrapped her arms around his waist. The man froze, eyes widening, as the woman sighed and rested her head against his bloody jacket.
Did anyone... ever hold you like this? She wondered, tears in her eyes. Anyone at all?
"How've you been, Walter?" The woman whispered, leaning slightly away. "We haven't seen you all week. Henry's been worried."
The man looked up a little, and Eileen could've sworn his eyes softened. "... I have been fine."
Eileen showed him a grin. "I'm glad."
They remained beside one another for a few minutes, Walter awkwardly standing in her embrace, until Eileen finally backed away.
"I'll admit, this isn't just a social visit." She stated, hands behind her back. Worry shone in her eyes as she bit her lip. Walter simply watched quietly, having hardly moved the whole time. "... Henry's gone." His eyes flashed. "He went out looking for Richard an hour ago; I'm really worried." The woman glanced away, clenching her hands. "I would go out looking for him, but..." I'm afraid to leave the others with you. She wasn't scared of what he would do to them... but what they might try.
A door slammed; Eileen's eyes flew up as she saw the door to the room shut, and Walter gone. Rushing out, she entered the hall just in time to see Walter enter the bathroom and climb through the hole.
/302\\
Footsteps approached Henry from behind. With a grimace, the man clutched his gun tighter, then spun on his heel, fulling prepared to shoot down whatever monstrosity was stalking him. Instead, the sight shocked him so, his gun clattered to the floor.
"W - Walter?" He left his room? He hasn't been out all week!
The man sauntered forward, eyes burning like molten suns, and Henry was almost alive again, running for his life, being hunted. Gulping, he held his fear down as Walter came closer.
"What are you doing r... Henry?"
He caught the stumble, and was surprised Walter hadn't referred to him by that other title. "Richard..." He muttered. "He's still out here." The man tried to kneel to get his gun, but his body protested and a sharp cry escaped his throat.
A hand took his gun before he could. Walter stood and held the gun out to him. Henry nodded, throat drying. He looked up towards the path the two strangers had taken. "These men..." He began quietly. Henry turned to Walter. "They were talking about you. I think they're trying to get to you." The man turned to go that way, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Surprised, Henry turned his head.
"You're wounded, Henry." Using his arm, Walter pulled him back to face him again. The man frowned. "You've reopened them."
Sure enough, Henry realized, blood was pouring down his front again. A raspy gasp left his throat as the skin began to burn. "But what about..."
Walter shook his head, putting his other hand on Henry's other arm, and pulling him back towards the ladder. Henry shook his head. "Richard's still here -"
A sharp look made Henry's voice fall silent. Walter pulled him to the ladder, looked at it, and frowned. He then turned to the wall.
Letting go of Henry, he approached the dingy surface and placed both of his hands on it, eyes closed. The photographer watched in awe as the stone began to melt away under his hands, peeling like paint, until a dark and vacuous space appeared - a hole.
Walter turned an extended a hand, beckoning Henry. The brunet frowned, but he knew when he was beat, so he shyly took the hand and let himself be pulled into the hole.
/302\\
Returning home found Henry being verbally abused by at least two overly protective women, and a fearful young boy.
"Henry, you idiot, what are you doing?" Cynthia shouted, arms on her hips. "You want to get even worse, is that it? If that's what you want, I'll hit you right here -!"
"I know you were worried, but a corpse can't help Richard!" Eileen added, and it took all of Henry's self control to keep from mentioning they were already dead anyway.
"Are you okay?" Little Walter asked, holding onto his jeans as he trailed behind.
It had been a long time since anyone had fussed over him in such a motherly manner, and in a strange way, it warmed his heart. So, the man let himself be pulled by the two women to his bedroom, little Walter following.
As they laid him down and changed his bandages Cynthia smirked suggestively.
"He's quite fine looking, isn't he?" She crossed her arms and grinned at Eileen while Henry's skin flushed.
"He really is," She smiled at him and winked. "But I'm afraid it's a lost cause."
Cynthia blinked, hand on her hip. "No one's a lost cause for me, darling."
When Eileen chuckled, Henry knew he was doomed. Curse women.
"Trust me, this one is." She turned and gave Cynthia a meaningful look, while the other woman turned and glanced over Henry with new eyes.
"He isn't?"
"He is."
"He is!" This revelation seemed to excite her for some reason, while Henry groaned and let his head fall back.
Take me now. Can I die of mortification after I'm dead?
The giggling girl sat on the other side of the bed, grinning down at him. "Aww, Henry, why didn't you tell me? That's so cute!" Henry was quite pink, glancing down.
"... it is?"
The woman just grinned. Eileen leaned back, bandages fixed, and crossed her arms. "Sure it is! Every woman has to have a gay best friend." She joked. Cynthia and Eileen shared devious, girlish grins, and turned back to him.
"I guess we'll just have to share!" The woman winked.
Oh, great.
Despite the furrowed brow and aggravated gaze, Henry was happy. The women treating him like a cute child, that was strange... but it was perhaps the kindest reaction he'd had to revealing his sexuality his whole life.
/302\\
His wounds were healing slowly - but faster than the emotional wounds of those around him. Richard still hadn't returned, and though Walter was now spending more time in the rest of the apartment, hardly anyone would even look at him, or remain in the same room as him for long. Henry had known it would take time, but... he was getting impatient. The man frowned, watching as Walter stalked away from the kitchen, past him, towards his room. The brunet was getting tired of watching the blond walking around with his eyes lowered.
It surprised him greatly how aware Walter seemed to be of how uncomfortable he made others, and how he truly seemed to try and keep away from them so he wouldn't hurt them with his mere presence. It was the kind of forethought and kindness he hadn't thought Walter would show, and it warmed his heart.
He wished he could spend time with the man anywhere other than that back room. Having avoided it since he'd last gone in, when it had been blood splattered and reeked of decay, part of him still feared going in and seeing that poor, desecrated body - which represented Walter's pain in the greatest degree. If he saw it again, he might weep.
But, he found it almost impossible to get Walter to stop and talk to him in the other parts of the house. If he even tried, Walter would simply glance up at whoever else was there, then guiltily glance away and sulk off.
It was beginning to irritate him.
I died for you, bastard, the least you could do is look at me! He wanted to hit him just to get a reaction. Where had old Walter gone?
Okay, so I don't really want all that back. But other than the psychotic parts, Walter's strength, confidence, the gleam in his eyes was just gone. Like he'd been broken all over again. It made Henry want to curse the sky in frustration.
Everything I do makes it worse.
Instead, he cowered like a fool in the other parts of the house, watching the man from a distance, wondering if his death had only hurt him more.
/302\\
"So... you and Walter."
Henry spit his water halfway across the kitchen counter. Sharon happened to be sitting on the other end, reading, staring at the boy as if he needed to learn some manners. Scarlet faced, Henry hurried to find a towel and clean up the mess. Cynthia followed him.
"Come on, Henry, it's sooo obvious." She crossed her arms under her bosom and smiled at him. "You're always watching him - I want to know when you're going to finally make a move."
Heart pounding in his chest, Henry hurriedly cleaned the mess, then tried to leave the kitchen. Cynthia moved in his way.
"Come on, Henry, talk to me."
The man glanced away. "... doesn't it bother you?"
The woman blinked, then smirked. "What? That it's Walter?" She shrugged. "I've been talking to Eileen - and I -" She paused. "I feel a little guilty besides."
"Guilty?"
But she shook her head and held her arms up. "This is about you, Henry, darling. You and your dearest."
He could feel the blood rushing in his ears. "That - I'm not -" The woman simply cocked an eyebrow while Henry feebly tried to come up with an explanation. His attempts failed.
"Don't worry Henry!" Cynthia grinned, sliding an arm around his shoulder. "I'm very talented with these sorts of things, I'll help you. He'll be yours in no time." That truly offered him no comfort, as the man flushed and put a hand over his face.
At the end of the hall, green eyes flared angrily, watching through the crack of a doorway. Then the door slid quietly shut.
/302\\
The group was crowded into the living room, sitting scrunched up in front of the TV. Every few days the group made it a habit to get together and watch TV, or put on a movie, or play a video game together. There wasn't much else to do anyway, and Eileen thought it would be a good way to bond. So, after dinner (no, they didn't have to eat - but Eileen thought it would help little Walter grow up normally to have a routine) they gathered on the couch and the love seat.
Eileen was lying on Henry's right arm, gently, and Cynthia had her arms wrapped around his other. They were in the center of the couch, watching a movie Henry was only half into. It was hard to pay attention with thoughts rolling through his mind.
On Henry it could be considered a deep and forlorn frown, which on other people looked apathetic; on him, it was the slight turn of his mouth, the lowered brow, the darker shade of his eyes. If one knew what to look for, reading the man was all too easy.
Had anything been changed?
The ghosts were trapped in Walter's worlds, as much at peace as Henry supposed they could be. But what of Walter? Did I ... did I help him at all? Sighing, Henry closed his eyes.
"Henry, you okay?" Cynthia whispered against his shirt sleeve. He nodded. "Maybe you should get some rest, you look tired." The brunet didn't reply, glancing over at Eileen. A smile graced his tired face; she was fast asleep.
The sight of her, safe, comforted him a bit, so he turned back to the movie and tried to watch.
It was about ten minutes later he started feeling her move and twitch a bit. He paid a little attention, but she seemed fine... just normal dreaming habits.
"Nn... Nn..." He glanced at her again when she started mumbling. Her face was contorted in a fearful grimace. "... No! NO!"
Suddenly Eileen started to thrash, startling little Walter and throwing him from her side. Screams erupted from her throat as she kicked and threw her little arms and shook her head violently.
Henry turned and grabbed her wrists, trying to pull her panicking body to his side. "Eileen! EILEEN!"
Everyone in the apartment, those who'd been in the room, and those not, rushed to them, fear and confusion inherent. Eileen's screams could be heard down the whole hall, as Henry tried to get through to her.
"NO! GET AWAY!"
"Eileen!" Pulling her arms, he tried wrapping them around his shoulders. "Eileen, it's okay! You're safe!"
"H - H - He's c - c - c - coming..." Entire body wracked with sobs, tears pouring from her red eyes, Eileen finally began to wake, and seeing Henry before her. "O - O - oh god... I - I hear him... h - h - he's c - c - com - coming!"
"No one's coming, Eileen... we're safe now... no one's there..." He whispered repeatedly against her ear. Arms wrapped around the petite woman as she sobbed. Friend fell against friend as the two enveloped one another in their arms.
Eyes were on them. Henry glanced up as his friend cried into his chest. All their friends were present... and standing in the hall... was Walter.
He had left his room when he heard Eileen's calls; there was an ax in his hand. Perhaps he'd thought some creature had gotten into the room and tried to get her... though, knowing him, he could have easily thought one of the ghosts was being cruel to her.
But now, his pale face was ashen white, green eyes wide and mouth agape. The ax fell from his limp hands, and that was when the rest of the room finally noticed him.
They all stared, as Eileen continued sobbing so loud she was wailing.
"Why can't you leave us alone?" Steve Garland whispered, eyes to the floor, fists clenched. "You already claimed our lives... do you have to torment the dead?"
Walter's face remained unchanged. Slowly, he began stepping back, away from the group, back into the shadow of the hall. Henry tried to catch his eye, tried to get his voice to say something, anything, but he couldn't think of words to comfort. Eileen's wails were still just as sharp as the door to Walter's room shut.
/302\\
Henry couldn't sleep: voices were echoing in his ears. Voices that promised violence against Walter Sullivan.
The photographer had spent most of his time during the day out in the worlds, searching for those two voices he had heard. His searching was always fruitless; he could never find them, or Richard, or anyone else. Disappointed and tired, he would return home to crowded rooms, with the one person he truly wanted to see closed off entirely. Walter hadn't left his room for days.
Depressed and exhausted, Henry came home one night, turned down the hall to go straight to bed, and was stunned to see the door to Walter's room partially open.
Voices were echoing out of it; Henry approached slowly, hearing the dull baritone of number 11, and the motherly tone of 20.
"You can't hide forever." Eileen murmured, back against the far wall of Walter's room. Henry could barely see her, and then she disappeared as Walter's back blocked his view.
"I'm not hiding."
"Yeah, you are - admit that at least." The woman sighed. "I know this is a difficult time for us all but it's not going to get better for anyone if we don't at least try."
"It seems to be getting better for some." The man spat suddenly. Dark anger seemed laced into his words. He moved, and Eileen's concerned face came into view.
"What are you talking about?"
A chair creaked as Walter sat. "Nothing." They remained quiet for a moment.
"... you can't hide from him forever."
A snort. "What? The fool? I don't hide from him."
Who was the fool, Henry wondered. And why would Walter hide from anyone?
"He's not a fool." Eileen crossed her arms, standing away from the wall to approach Walter.
"He is foolish, naive, and weak." Walter insisted. Who are they talking about? "He spends day after day removed from everyone, speaking only to you and that other woman -"
"Cynthia."
" - and you expect me, what? Befriend him?"
A cold, bitter rock slid down Henry's throat, into his stomach, dragging it down.
They're talking about me.
"After everything -"
"I'll have nothing to do with him." Walter spat suddenly. Henry had never heard him so talkative, so animated. He and Eileen must've gotten close when I wasn't paying attention..."Nothing to do with... anyone."
"Henry -"
"No."
Unable to take anymore, Henry turned and entered the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. Feet sliding out from under him, the man bit his lips as bitter tears flooded his cheeks.
I should've known... I'm useless. When have I ever been loved by anyone? Why would I think they cared at all... when have I ever deserved it?
A deeper darkness than he'd ever known swallowed Henry Townshend up as he curled up on the floor, sobbing silently, until he'd cried himself to sleep.
/302\\
Henry had begun spending most of his time in the Otherworlds. The wounds in his arms had almost ceased healing, but he mostly ignored them, the wounds in his heart burning much more fiercely. The man hardly ever went back to the apartment anymore, but for more supplies. Always he carried with him a gun, and his camera.
The camera he gave me, the man thought darkly, looking over the thing. If he squinted, he could see it as it once was - blood drenched, gripped in a violent hand, falling down from the sky upon his vulnerable skin, upon his mother's -
Throwing the painful memories away, Henry kept moving.
He spent his time avoiding his thoughts by practicing his art; taking photos of everything, even the sickening monsters which stalked him. It was easy to remain far away and take the image, shooting the beasts before they could get very close. He likely had hundreds of new photos from his wandering.
Night was descending, and Henry was looking for a place to sleep. He almost considered returning to the apartment... he wondered how they all were. But he threw the thoughts away and steeled his heart.
They're better off without me.
So, instead, he headed towards the haunted apartment building, looking to find a room that was vaguely safe and somewhat clean. Dragging his weary feet, he was about to walk up the stairs when something echoed around him.
"... must begin soon..."
"... time must..."
Pausing, Henry perked his ears. The same voices...
He only hesitated for a brief instant before moving his foot from the stair and approaching the hall the voices came from.
The left hall had these eerie sounds, and some kind of light filtering through the darkness. Henry slowly and quietly stepped through the doors, keeping his back against the wall. The voices were getting closer.
"... almost complete..."
What was? Frowning, Henry glanced around the corner, then whipped his head back.
Two men in long brown coats were in the hallway, one on his knees on the ground, the other standing with a book in his hands. The light was coming from a bunch of candles lying around them, almost twenty in all. Slowly, Henry glanced back, and saw the man on the floor was kneeling inside a circle. There was some kind of lump nearby... Henry realized it was one of the monsters, stomach split open, body thrown onto the floor.
I don't like the looks of this...
Now, fully able to understand the voices, Henry remained in the shadows and waited.
"Shall we commence the first act?"
The second person grunted. "Perhaps. We could linger; without the final piece, all is for naught." There was a sickening, toe curling squelch.
"But if we perform the summoning... perhaps He can aid us in this final step."
"He would not lower himself so. You forget that I am of His fold, and I know His work... we may only summon Him when it is time for the final act."
Who was this person? Frowning, Henry tried to catch another glimpse again. The man with the book was flipping through pages. "Then we will have to improvise. Without a willing aid, we will have to find someone to coerce. That man Richard?"
The other shook his head, leaning forward to draw something with his finger. Was that... blood?
"He is too strong; we need someone weaker, someone with less inner strength, less confidence." The man muttered. Suddenly, the man's hooded head turned, and Henry ducked back behind the wall. "... I may have found someone."
Without waiting to hear anything else, Henry turned and raced out of the hallway, barreling through the doors, his only thought to get out. He glanced around frantically for a place to go, anywhere to hide. Behind him came raised voices, dark laughter.
He raced across the floors to the stairs, taking them two by two, and then turned right into the second floor hallway. He slid to a halt as soon as he entered.
It was eerily empty; what usually crawled with dark horrors was instead utterly still. Something was off. Fear crawling up his spine, Henry gripped his gun hard, and forced himself to move. He had to find a room with a hole, and he desperately hoped there was one here.
Rushing into the first room, he glanced around and saw no such thing, so he ducked back out. As he ran to the second room, a gunshot rang out. Henry gasped and barreled into the doorway to the apartment, as villainous laughing trailed behind him.
Heart hammering in his chest, he pressed his body against the door and tried to breath. He could hear the voices getting closer. The man rushed into the room, searching desperately for a hole.
There it was! At the end of the hall, just out of reach. With adrenaline pumping hard through his veins, Henry grimaced and ran as his life depended on it. It was so close... so close...
Suddenly, a loud and terrifying groan raced through the air, and the room shook; Henry lost his balance and tumbled forward, hitting his head hard against the floor. The disgusting sound of ripping flesh burned his ears as he looked up and saw chains erupting from the floor. These chains raced up the wall, running criss cross over the hole, until it was impassible.
Footsteps came behind him. "Good evening, number 21." The man with the book murmured. Henry turned, wide eyed, as the other man began to laugh. In his hands was a blood dagger, with runes carved into each side.
Henry lifted his gun and fired - the shots hit their marks, blood spurting from the wounds - but both men simply grinned, lifting their hands to lower their hoods.
Once again Henry let the shots ring out, hitting them in the heads this time. With sickening thunks the bullets sunk into flesh - but the effects were short lived. As the photographer leapt to his feet, his now empty gun useless, the others approached. Even as the bigger one lunged at him, Henry lifted his gun to bring it down on his face. Instead, a knife came up and imbedded itself in his side.
"AUGGHH!"
The gun fell from his limp hand as he fell to the floor, in pain. Gasping and bleeding, Henry's trembling hands attempted to remove the camera from around his neck, as a hand grabbed him by the collar. The camera came smashing down on the other man's face, who gave out a cry as his nose cracked, but then a fist collided with Henry's gut and the camera fell from his hands.
The next blow came down on his face, and then, he was out.
/302\\
A migraine of epic proportions awoke him, along with blistering pain on every part of his skin. The man would have screamed if tape hadn't covered his mouth.
Slowly, the man lifted his trembling head to look at his cage. Bars surrounded him, making a circle about ten feet wide. He was in a dark room, lit only by candles, tied up to a chair. Lumps of flesh lined the outside of his cage, ripped and torn carcasses of monsters that only barely looked human. Eyes moving down, Henry's gaze fell upon the Order circle drawn below his feet in blood. In the distance someone or something was screaming. Chest tightening, Henry felt fear choke him as footsteps approached.
"Welcome, Henry Townshend" Jimmy Stone began as he wiped his bloody dagger with a dingy rag. "To Silent Hill."
/302\\
Eileen raced to Walter as soon as he left his room.
"Have you seen Henry?" She asked worriedly, eyebrows furrowed. The man shook his head. Frowning, the woman crossed her arms and looked out the window, fear choking her heart. "It's been days since I last saw him... I'm worried."
Walter's mouth twitched slightly, which Eileen knew was a sign of disgust. "Perhaps you'll find him with that woman."
"Woman?" Eileen blinked. "... You mean Cynthia? Cynthia's with Walter; the other one." At the mention of that, Walter's eyes flashed, and Eileen frowned. "Don't start with me."
"I stand by what I said."
"He's a kid Walter - he's you. How can you be so judgmental?"
"Everything I said was true. He is - I was naive, foolish, weak. I gave in to darkness and through me, more darkness was born." He looked up at the Sacraments in the room and frowned.
Softened eyes gaze on him. "He's a kid. He's what you were never allowed to be. If you would just spend some time with him, you'd see that he's a good little guy."
Walter grunted, before glancing back up at the woman. "Has Henry been disappearing often?"
She nodded. "He hardly stays here anymore. I worry about him... where's he been all this time?" As she wondered, she heard Walter step away, towards the front door. She spun around. "When you find him, tell him to check in once in a while." Back to her, Walter missed Eileen's knowing smile.
Those in the living room glared slightly as he walked by. Walter ignored them, moving to put his hand on the doorknob when it suddenly opened.
"Henry!" Eileen raced around the stunned blond to wrap her arms around her friend. The man seemed stunned, hesitating a full minute before putting his arms around her. The woman leaned back, eyes perplexed. "... you all right?"
He nodded slowly, moving out of her embrace to step into the room. Walter's eyes narrowed - but he glanced at the group around them and gave a quiet grunt. His eyes went back to Henry and stayed on him, but he didn't move.
There was hardly a shade of difference. But as Walter and Eileen shared a look, as Cynthia crossed her arms and frowned, the few who knew him sensed the oddity. Henry smiled briefly at his allies, before turning his stiff frame to walk down the hall. He was halfway there when a voice called out.
"Henry." The man paused, and turned his head. Walter was watching him, eyes alight. The blond approached him and a hand came onto his shoulder. "Come with me." The dark voice demanded.
Henry's brow furrowed and for a moment he seemed frozen and ready to refuse. But the inside did not match the outside.
Walter! Walter, come on! The mind of the man was frantic, in a state of confusion and fear. I don't know what they're making me do, but stop me before I do it!
Though glad to see Walter sensed something was up, Henry couldn't help feeling revulsion clutch his gut. Stomach twisting, pulled along by the hand, Henry was led into the dark, foreboding storage room by Walter Sullivan.
BAM. The door slamming shut echoed all around, and within stood Henry, trapped in his own mind and staring at the storage room as bile rose in his throat. This place... he'd never wanted to see it again. Now it looked like an ordinary office, but he could never forget its true face.
"I know you do not think I am that foolish." Walter's rumbling tone interrupted the silence. Anger boiled under that tongue, and Henry felt a sickening new fear take hold of him.
Anger: his weakness, his torturous nightmare. The fists of the enraged seemed ever poised on him...
The man found his body turning towards Walter as the tall blond glared angrily at him. A knife was in his hands. "Surely you don't think that. You taught me better..." The dangerous glint in Walter's eyes was back as he ever slowly sauntered forward. Hair over his eyes, head leaning forward, a bloody knife in one hand.
Run, run, RUN!
Of course his stolen body did not heed him. It remained still as Walter came closer...
The controlled face began changing to a twisted grimace. "How dare you... with your disgusting hands... touching this pure soul!" Walter snarled, voice rising. "How dare you sully him with your filth!"
Henry's heart stopped as sweat poured down his brow. Wait... is he talking about me?
The blond continued his irate tirade. "Remove yourself or I will find you and do worse to you than I ever could have when I was alive... and you will suffer..." The hand with the knife was raised. "Let him go now! Release MY receiver!"
Outer Henry remained stoic and unconcerned. Inner Henry was pink.
M - M - My receiver?
A hand grabbed his collar suddenly, and next he knew the knife came down. A slash, then another and another - then his white shirt fell to the ground in tatters, revealing the mark beneath. A circle, with three more circles drawn within, drawn with a bloody mix of his, Jimmy Stone's, and some monster's flesh. Then it was cut into him with the dagger, dragging it deep into his skin as he writhed in agony. Walter looked upon the mark with an upturned sneer.
"... STONE!" The roar that tore from Walter's throat shook the house, a tone enraged and promising pain.
But Henry wasn't scared. Inside, he marveled in awe at this sight of the angry blond which usually would've terrified him. Now he understood.
He's angry because of me... because they hurt me... He could hardly believe it.
No one had ever become angry for him. Because of him, oh yes. But never for a wrong done to him, or some such pain. No one had ever become enraged and defensive for Henry like Walter was now, clutching his shoulder tightly, eyes smoldering. His mother hadn't even become angry for him... not once.
Suddenly, Walter flipped the knife around so it was hilt first, and slammed the hilt against his stomach. A choked cough escaped the brunet as pain erupted in his gut. Fire arose in his throat.
"Don't fight it." Walter ordered, steadying Henry with both hands on his shoulder. The man kept choking, gagging on this... this thing... Did they put something inside of me!
A moment later his mouth expanded to let this thing out, and he retched it onto the floor. As soon as he did, Walter stood, and a black boot descended on the squealing thing - It was alive!
Coughs wracked his burning chest as Walter knelt by him again. The man flipped the knife back, then used it to slice open his left palm. This hand descended on Henry's naked chest, onto the numbers on his skin, forever marking him as a sacrament.
Eyes drooping, Henry gazed down and watched as the numbers began bleeding. It didn't hurt - he wouldn't have known it was happening if he hadn't looked. As Walter's blood mingled with his, falling over the circle drawn on his chest, the mark disappeared. The wound sealed up and went away completely, and the drawing faded.
Outside the room, all the denizens of Room 302 were gathered, chattering and shouting as they stood around the door.
"What do you wanna bet he's killin' him?" Peter Walls added helpfully in a low tone.
"He's already dead! We all are!" Cynthia retorted, trying to fight her way to the front.
"I bet he could kill us again!" Jasper almost seemed excited at the thought. "The A - Assumption is the - the most powerful..."
Eileen stood by the door, a hand on little Walter's shoulder as the boy stared at the door, confused.
"He let Henry in the room..." The boy muttered. He glanced to his guardian. "Why won't he let me?"
As the shouting and fighting continued, something slipped unnoticed into Room 302. It was only for an instant - the black wisp slid through the door, still partially open from Henry's arrival, skittering across the floor to the chest by the hallway. In it went, grasping something... and then left with its prize.
/302\\
Henry's body was his again - and the pain was gone, but for his raw throat. Gasping for air, Henry glanced up at Walter, who was taller than him even when kneeling. He nodded tiredly.
"T - Thanks." Walter nodded in return. He didn't move, watching intently as Henry caught his breath. When the brunet looked up, he saw the anger was still there, lighter, but burning.
"This would not have happened had you not wandered out foolishly in the dark." The blond seethed, voice deep and tumultuous. The sultry baritone sent a shiver through the brunet below him. Henry would've laughed if he hadn't thought Walter might snap and hit him. "Mother says you have not been here in days."
Halt that thought.
"Mother?" Henry gaped, mouth suddenly dry.
Walter didn't seem to catch the slip. "The Mother Reborn." He clarified, perhaps too angry to realize he had referred to a real human being - and not a room - as his mother. "Why are you not staying here, Henry?"
The best answer? A lie. "I - I -" Henry glanced down, flushed red. "The apartment is crowded. I - I didn't want to take up space."
Walter stared, fury held back, as Henry desperately hoped the man bought his lie. The blond merely stood and approached the nearest wall. Henry watched as he placed his hands against it, like he had when he'd made the hole. Palms flat against it, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, something felt different.
Walter stalked to the door and threw it open - luckily it opens inward, or else many people would've been beamed in the face, they were so close to the door. The blond looked out over them.
"The Apartment complex is now safe. Take whatever refuge you wish."
The group stared in awe - and so did Henry.
"You - You can do that?" Eileen muttered.
"Why the hell didn't you do it any sooner?" Demanded Steve. Walter's burning eyes fell on him, and the shorter man's anger diminished a bit.
"No one asked."
Then he shut the door in their faces.
The two men remained still in the room, Henry staring at Walter's back.
"Now you will have space." The blond explained. "You can live wherever you want." he turned and approached his desk, leaning against his surface with his back to Henry. The other remained stationary on the floor. "Though I'm shocked those two idiots got you. You eluded me for so long... I thought you were stronger than that."
The brunet felt his heart twist and twist until the agony threatened to explode.
"Forgive me." Henry spat, feeling weaker than he had in days. "I guess I must be... too foolish, too naive and weak..." Emphasizing those familiar words, Henry turned and trudged to the door. With his back to Walter, he didn't see the blond turn with a puzzled expression on his face.
I can live anywhere I want? Thought Henry dimly as he left the room, joining the mob outside. They were bombarding him with questions he barely heard. The only place I want is in your arms... the one place I can't have.
/302\\
The family that had begun to grow in Room 302 parted the next day.
"You sure you're not coming, Henry?" Eileen was staring expectantly at him from near the door, holding little Walter's hand.
"Anyone of us would be happy to stay with you. Come on, kid." Eric waved for him to follow, a small smile on his face.
"Can I stay?" Jasper whispered pleadingly, but his plea was ignored as Steve dragged him out the door.
Henry smiled at the amusing sight, then shook his head. "I'll stay."
"Be careful son." Sharon stated as she headed for the door, placing her hat on her head. "I don't know what's in your head, but... mind yourself." Then she followed Steve and Jasper out. Peter waved dully as he stepped out.
Suddenly arms were around Henry's waist. "Gimme a call if you're ever lonely, Henry." Cynthia smirked into his back, her breasts pressed against him. All the good it did - he just smiled and turned to look at her.
"Sure." The woman had gotten used to her charms being ineffective against him, but she still frowned and shook her head.
"Later, darling." She waved behind her, hips swaying as she sauntered out the door.
That left Eileen, little Walter, and Henry. The boy let go of his mother's hand and raced towards him suddenly, barreling into his legs. Shocked, Henry almost fell over but managed to grab the counter.
"Take care of him." Watery green eyes met him. "Mom says he's like my big brother - which makes sense cause we have the same last name. Can you watch out for him for me? I wanna stay with him... cause I never had a big brother before... but I don't think he likes me."
Wide eyed, Henry stammered to say something. "Walter -" But the boy had already run back to Eileen.
"Take care, Henry." She smiled, and took Walter's hand, leading him from the room. Henry watched as the little boy turned to stare at the apartment again - but his eyes quickly returned to Eileen.
Seeing her when he first came in here... that completely convinced him that she's his mother. Henry thought. Too bad big Walter can't come to a similar conclusion...
Sharon took a room on the third floor, sharing with Eric and Steve. Peter and Jasper shared a room as well, on the same hall, while Eileen, Cynthia, and little Walter took refuge in 303.
Henry remained in 302.
He supposed he must be a masochist of some kind. Surely falling in love with a serial killer, the man who had many times wounded and tried to kill him had to be a sign he was secretly the twisted sort who enjoyed pain. Pain was all Walter Sullivan seemed to cause him... but whenever he tried getting his feet to move out the door, Henry found himself frozen.
Love had, literally, killed him, and now that he was dead, it would torment him for eternity.
/302\\
"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on... when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are somethings that time cannot mend... some hurts that go too deep... that have taken hold."
Henry was sitting on the couch, alone, eyes glued to the movie on the TV. He hadn't picked it though it was one of his favorites. Maybe the apartment just knows me by now. For perhaps the twentieth time in his life, Henry was watching Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. It had hit theaters around the same time he'd moved into Room 302. As a child,Lord of the Rings had been his favorite book series, and seeing them brought to life on screen had thrilled him, even as an adult.
Frodo was someone Henry had felt kinship to; a quiet hobbit who had always dreamt of adventure. The man supposed, with a dark chuckle, that the two were more alike now than they'd ever been.
Both had wished for something greater... and had found themselves thrust into a terrifying conflict that had life altering consequences. And at the end, finding themselves irrevocable wounded by fate, the hero they'd become crashed to the floor and shattered.
/302\\
Tears painted his cheeks as Henry dragged himself to his room. The apartment was his again, but he had never felt more detached to the world.
Walter's door was gone; the room was permanently sealed off, with the man still inside. Henry set his hand against it, then his forehead, breathing deeply and slowly.
After everything he'd come through, what he wanted seemed always a bit out of reach, just beyond his grasp. A dead man with no future or comfort to think of, with only a few friends to his name, Henry was lost. Grasping for straws, for anything to stop the pain, the man tried forcing his love for Walter to disappear.
It never worked. Sobs wracked the man's throat as he lay against the wall. How to tell the heart to stop beating? Henry could no more stop loving Walter Sullivan than he could convince his internal organs to simply cease their functions. It was a part of him that would never die.
Tears done for the day, Henry tiredly wiped his eyes and turned into his room. A laugh quietly escaped him as he glanced up and saw that Walter's picture was still there.
His red eyes settled on it.
"Why can't I hate you?" He whispered. "By all rights I should." With a sigh he turned and threw himself on the bed. He did not fall into sleep, but into despair.
/302\\
Henry was in the kitchen, eating breakfast because of boredom, when Walter suddenly appeared out of the hallway. His spoon fell out of his limp hands as Walter looked up at him and blinked.
"... why are you here?" The blond muttered. Embarrassment colored his face as Henry rushed to get off the stool.
"I - I-" Red face, Henry looked down and moved around the counter. "I - I'll go -"
"Henry." The wonderful voice saying his name... that halted his steps. But he didn't look up. "You don't have to go."
Slowly, hesitantly, Henry glanced up. Walter's vibrant green eyes were fixed on him, and a slight smile graced his full lips, but it was gone in a quick flash. "You can stay."
Henry had found it: the straw he was grasping for.
Hope.
/302\\
I don't like this chapter as much as I did the past two, but I hope it is on par with them at least a little. This one had to set up the scene and set the plot rolling, but very little really happens... poor Henry is about to drown in self pity. But don't worry! Starting next chapter, things will go up for Henry and Walter!
... though it will still be a dark/sad story in many points. I mean, this is Silent Hill.
The next one ought to be out soon; expect it within the week!
Oh - and if you haven't noticed, both of the previous chapters had song lyrics with them. I'm going to continue doing that - this one doesn't have that because, instead, the movie quote from LOTR represents the overall meaning of the story.
SULHADAHNE