Doll
Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill 4
Ok, so this story's basically about how Eileen gave Walter her doll when they were younger. Sorry if it's inaccurate, I kind of just went along with my thoughts.
Blood slid soundlessly down her pale arm, a thin line of crimson that jumped out against the light color of her flesh; flesh that had been so mutilated and turned pallid from blood loss. Blood…This thin jagged line was her life falling from her, draining from her slowly but surely. She wished she could suck it back up in her body, but by now she knew it was futile; there was no longer anything to do but just let it fall, drip by drip, onto the hard floor beneath her, adding even more violence to this already distorted world.
This place…She did not know where it was, and did not want to know. She saw only three colors, always there: black, red and grey—darkness, blood and stained walls. Odd sounds, unintelligible sounds not meant for mortal ears, ungodly wails of torment and the tearing of flesh, the last breath of a dying man that they could never see.
The walls breathed. In and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly, shallowly, as though they were that dying man, gasping for air in such a polluted, god forsaken place. She watched them breathe, those red fleshy walls, and allowed her blood to flow freely around her, caking to her like a second layer of skin, tarnished brown and red and hiding that paleness, her once so smooth and soft flesh. Slowly being covered like a sheet over a dead body, slowly being placed in the ground in her coffin. She heard whispers that were not her own, a dark, sinister voice that repeated the same phrase like a prayer, like it was something so holy when in actuality it was so far from that.
The Mother Reborn, the Mother Reborn…The Mother Reborn…
It made no sense, but she was powerless under it; a part of her, that dark part that voice possessed, knew what it meant, fed her the images. A little boy in a striped sweater, looking so lost at the foot of the stairs leading to the third floor. His wide blue eyes had transfixed her, as had the odd glimmer they had held. This boy had been different; there had been something about him, something inside of him… She had been too young to recognize evil in its innocent form, and the boy had been too consumed with the lies he had been fed to see the monster forming inside of him.
She had given him her doll as she had passed him, her hand in her mother's, a smile on her face, so young and pretty, just for him. She had not known what that would lead to, that simple kind gesture to reassure such a poor looking individual. Kindness had a price, and Eileen was now paying it, several years later near the same spot she had first saw that boy as her blood made a red trail behind her.
She moved without thought, one foot in front of the other, until she was there, on that staircase now made of rust and blood, and waited, stopped. She knew he was coming.
He clutched the doll she had given him in his hands, the hands that had ended nineteen lives for the sake of a false hope. She had always felt pity for that boy, and to see it in the hands of this madman… Pity too soon turned into hate.
She wanted to rip the doll from his hands and hurl it into the darkness where she could never find it, wanted to go back to that moment, so very long ago, at this exact spot and walk right past that boy, clutching the doll he now held to her own chest. She never wanted to have seen, that poor little boy, as much as she didn't want to see this man now, standing so bloody and happy before her, grinning manically, holding her doll.
But she couldn't.
She had become his doll now, this bloody, demented doll that he morphed, from the demented corridors of his mind, into his Mother Reborn, his twentieth victim, the girl who had shown him the first bit of kindness in his life. She was disgusted with herself, but knew she had no reason to be; she had not known, never would have guessed, that it would end like this, that that sad boy would become the infamous Walter Sullivan, and that her little act of kindness would be her downfall, the cause of her demise.
A sad, little dolly, resting in the hands of a madman…
"Mother…" He smiled at her, knowing he had won, knowing that she was helpless, had sealed her fate long ago. "Do you remember this doll? I quite like it…I'll never give it up."
And then he threw back his head and laughed a deep, chilling laugh that she wished she could recoil at, flinch from. But no, dollies did not move, and she was stuck, bleeding and getting oh so cold as she stared into his bloodshot eyes, and tried to search for that little boy she was to be ending her life for. But he no longer existed, not in this bloodied man. He did not exist, but her doll did, her doll always would…
Even after she was gone, her doll would still exist.