Room of Angel, a silent hill fanfic

Remember me? Ha-ha, I'm back!

I would like to say now to those who have read "Sanguine Insanity" that I'm sorry if it didn't fit the game. I've never played the game before, so all I know is the research and the screen-shots I've seen. Sorry... I just love the game! Especially Henry:hugs her pretend Henry doll:

July 10, 2005: ...Though I do have it now... :shudders as she remembers the Intro.: You can blame Cynthia with her insect-walk in the hallway during the Intro.

Now, on to the reviewers of 'Sanguine Insanity!'

SaddenedSoul: Thanks! May I say now that we've been bumping into each other for a while. I liked Cynthia and Richard a lot, and they are my favorite Sacraments besides Eric, Miriam, Billy, Henry, Eileen, and Peter. You're right; The Boogeyman IS the "Man in the Coat." I like him, too... just not as much as Henry... I'll marry a guy like him some day... I hope...

P.S.: Can I have W.S.'s coat, though?

P.S.S.: Did you know that there is a place called Traverse City?

Gaia Faye: ... I actually have my own character, its just she co-exists with the characters from Silent Hill and any other interest of mine. I just never use her in my public stories. And yeah, you're right; my irony was far from correct and it does take a lot of guts to smack a hell-demon with a handbag. I applaud her now, believe me. I didn't now how far Silent Hill was from Ashfield, and I sorta thought they were close. I also forgot about the book thing... I read the script on the Internet and I must've either over-looked it, or never saw it. Also, it's okay to be nitpicky! I am too... in different things. As for the comment on Henry's sanity... :hugs Henry:

P.S. Yes, Silent Hill's "Mother of God" is extremely hard to get. ... The only thing I get is Walter's life and his obsession with killing people for his Mother... which is a room. I feel sorry for the guy, I really do. But how cracked up do you have to be in order to believe that you're mother's spirit is an apartment? I mean, I understand that the orphanage was far from perfect, the Water Prison was pure torture, and having to remember prayers and scriptures can rack the brain, but still... Crap you, Dahlia. (She was the one who took him to the room, right? Or she at least told him about it...)

P.S.S. I read your story. The title escapes me (I know it now, its 'Impaired'), but the one about the resurrection of Henry? Update... Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease:gives puppy-dog eyes:

P.S.S.S. I wonder what Walter majored in too...

Also, I have finally started committing time to a webjournal! I am at now, under AntiSacrament. On where I store my avatars, I am under HenryT21121.

Go check it out!

Now, for the warnings: spoilers, maybe language, a bunch of torture, a bit of Walter actually wondering if he did the right thing... slight, and I mean slight slash, if any at all. It's like the size of a pumice.

Henry, Walter, Eileen, and any other item, person, place, or thing in this story belongs to Konami...

But if I did own them, Cynthia would be around more often "alive," Richard would be killed a more noble way, and Walter wouldn't give Henry such a hard time...

Also, "Room of Angel" is owned by Konami. ...Great song.

Note: Um, if the song doesn't fit the story, sorry. Also, correct me if I get references wrong. This may be considered, like semi-AU or something like that. It matters. Thank you.

"Room of Angel"

You lie... silent there before me

Your tears; they mean nothing to me

The wind... howling out the window

The love you never gave

I give to you...

He had done his 'duty.' He had destroyed the lives of twenty-one people, using the 'holy' excuse that all the blood that was spilled and the flesh that his weapon tore into was for his Mother... All for his Mother... The first ten had been simple enough; take the hearts of ten people, along with the White Oil and Black Cup. It took him ten days, but it had been done all the same. Next, he performed the 'Holy Assumption' and created worlds that not even Hell itself could have found residence in. Also, the ritual gave him immortality, making him invulnerable and invincible. Once again, simple. Nothing to stop him... Then came the other Sacraments... 'Void, Darkness, Gloom, Despair, Temptation, Source, Watchfulness, and Chaos...' They had gone down to their deaths like all the others, but with their hearts and their deaths usually brought upon by a different method. For Chaos, electricity running through his body as screams wracked his convulsing bound body... For Source, fire consuming his body as he ran throughout in a panic, searching for help and sanctuary away from the flaming buds that burned him until his form became nothing more than an ashened heap... And for Temptation, a knife plunging into her chest and other various places, her blood splattering ungracefully about the room as she shrieked in endless anguish and torment...

But, even though the first two signs had been done without much difficulty, one person decided to make it known that he wasn't going down without a fight... The valiant aggression that this one man showed befuddled him beyond any door in his mind that he had opened in order to figure the fighter out. He was reclusive, quiet, never bothered a soul except to say a kindly 'hello...' so, how was he such a nuisance? He fought with a flame that resembled the fire that obliterated the Wish House and the Source Sacrament, yet in the end, he showed sympathy and pity to the other Sacraments... as if they weren't expendable. He had a high value of life, which meant he would not clearly understand how the room he resided could ever be anyone's mother if a number of people were killed... So, in the end, the two forces clashed with such vigor and hatred that it seemed impossible to defeat him. He, the Receiver of Wisdom, however, stopped dead in his frustration and fury long enough to stare long enough with teary wide-eyes at the scene of the Mother Reborn's death. He noticed that something deep inside just... broke. That nerve that held it all together basically snapped apart and the Receiver just feel to his knees, no longer having enough sense to comprehend what was happening then. He remembered slowly walking up to the vulnerable form, which still sat on his knees, staring at the churning blades in the blood vat as bones and flesh were crushed. He remembered kneeling down and placing a knife so firmly gripped in his hand just below the Receiver's eyes, hearing only a few words before screams of agony and pain rang through the room.

"I failed... Forgive me, Eileen... Eileen... Eileen."

Really don't deserve it
But now, there's nothing you can do
So sleep... in your only memory
Of me... my dearest mother
-

Walter was now at a loss. Though the world he created was to be had served its purpose, all that happened was that it lost its demonic, decrepit creatures, sans the Siamese twin-like monster. The Sacraments roamed in their deadly forms, aimlessly floating around in order to find a purpose and the bloody walls and rusty doors were still seen as one walked down a corridor of any world. The cold wind that blew through the forest chilled him to the bone, even with his heavy coat shielding his skin. The forest that he had redone in his manipulation was the only real place that had differed before the Twenty-one Sacraments were completed. It was no longer eerie and mysterious, with a mist shrouding its landscape. There was a mourning silence covering the trees, making the Conjurer shudder more. Remorse filled Walter's ears as he walked forward down a path that varied from how he recalled it and the Receiver's death flashed in his mind with every drop of his foot. The Conjurer felt... sad. He felt guilt run rapid in his veins and in the scars of his mentality. He pondered... if he had known this would have been the outcome of the 'Descent of the Holy Mother,' would he still have done what he had done? Would twenty-one people still be alive in the real world? Would they have never met him? Would he still walk the Earth with no real conscious? Or... would have he become something more? He could have been successful, had he truly cared about his studies, but then again, all of this had happened because a woman unintentionally had a baby in an apartment building in Ashfield. If he had never been born... nothing concerning the Twenty-one Sacraments would have occurred. People would have just gone on with their lives one way or the other. Chaos would still be the 'bully,' Temptation would still strut around the subway, Source would still research Silent Hill's haunted past, the Mother Reborn would have fun with her friends, and Watchfulness would still drink about ten beers every hour... So, if that were the case, then the Receiver of Wisdom would just be alone in Room 302, wallowing in a pit of loneliness and grief over an unknown cause.

To Walter, there was a special trait each of the Sacraments had. It was these different traits that helped him decide who would die for his cause. Eileen had a motherly spark about her that most women lacked. Richard could beat up the best of them. Andrew could really make someone hate his guts, and Cynthia's beauty and 'maturity' ranked highest above all others Walter had ever encountered. ...But Henry Townshend, Victim Twenty-one, had something so distinct that Walter was drawn to him more than any of the other Sacraments. The Receiver had amazing patience. He had a will that could only be broken by something so traumatizing, most people would have tortured themselves to death so they could forget about it. But, overall, his consideration for other's problem put theirs above his own. Though the odds were so heavily against him, Henry tried his hardest to see that each victim had a chance... that they had some peace before they died.

He had held Temptation as blood loss from being stabbed so thoroughly brought her demise...

He had stayed with Source as the Wish House around them caught on fire...

He had mourned for Watchfulness, watching his dead body for a few silent moments...

He had reached for Chaos, who died from the high-watt shocks he received in the chair...

And he tried to save the Mother Reborn from her inevitable, untimely death...

But in the end, it didn't matter anyway...

-
Here's a lullaby to close your eyes
(Goodbye)
It was always you that I despised
I don't feel enough for you to cry
(Oh, well...)
Here's a lullaby to close your eyes
(Good bye)
(Goodbye)
(Goodbye)
-

But now that everything was said and done... the Receiver of Wisdom was nowhere to be found.

Walter had searched in every place he could think of and had even counted off the Sacraments to see if they were all there. All but one was still accounted for, and try as the Conjurer might, Number Twenty-one was still as elusive as ever. He had checked the Hospital, the Building, the Subway... everywhere, and yet Henry's ghost was still missing from his gaze. He had, much to his dislike, scoured the Water Prison, since it was Walter's place to torture Henry before he finally did away with him... Walter's eyes closed as he thought back... to that fateful day which held such promise for him...

-"Walter..."

Walter glanced up to his victim, who was chained to the Water Prison's rusting waterwheel, which dwelled in the Panopticon-based 'penitentiary.' After the Mother's death, Walter had stabbed Henry in the stomach (before carving '21121' just below his eyes), causing fluids and blood to escape at a rate that caused the Receiver to faint for a short time. Walter, out of pure spite, bandaged the abdomen wound enough so that the Receiver would live, but still feel the massive pain. He wanted his little toy to stay alive long enough to get some play out of him... And now that the Receiver was awake, playtime could begin.

"Welcome back, Receiver. I hope your sleep was a peaceful one?" Walter asked with a grin that Henry knew all too well. The Conjurer knew full well that Henry's dreams as of late had been nothing but horrible recollections of Walter's concoction of images placed into his mind. He never had a good night sleep since the beginning of it all... so, of course his latest 'nap' wasn't that great, either...

"What the Hell do you think?" Henry hissed as he spitted at Walter, but only managed to get it as far as the bloody tiled floor just before Walter's feet. The 'threat' didn't affect the older man in anyway and he just stared at the Receiver, who was now seething angrily between his exposed teeth. The emerald eyes showed a determination and a lush fire that burned even when Henry Townshend was at his last grain of hope. But, Walter knew he could break that hostile spirit... one way or another. If it meant psychologically manipulating his Receiver, so be it. If it's physical, that could be done just as easily.

"Do you know what they did to the orphans that died here?" Walter asked casually, as if he were starting a conversation on the street with some stranger. He could see that Henry was taken aback by the question and Walter began to walk towards him with his arms behind his back. "No? You know what they did to them, but how did they dispose of the bodies when the children died? Joseph Schreiber never answered that. Hell, he had never even thought of it. He just safely assumed that all the Order did was teach their lunatic ways to the children and lock them up at times under harsh conditions." Walter came to a stop at the short, tiled barrier between him and his captive. His head tilted upward to stare at the chained man through his greasy blond locks and he saw a streak of horror flash in the flames of emerald. "... Children died here?" Henry shuddered as he asked. The thought... it just chilled him even more to the bone than anything Walter had given form to in his alternate-reality. Even seeing the victims again after experiencing their deaths had been hard enough on him, but to hear that children had had their sanity literally destroyed by the Water Prison cells and the teachings of the Order's scriptures... That was enough for him.

"Yes. I knew a few that had," Walter said with a mischievous tone, "And now, you'll see where they lie..."

Walter left his prior space to turn to the console that controlled the giant wheel, turning on the deathtrap. Henry convulsed harshly as he heard the gears groan and squeal in protest as he felt the wheel shake behind him. He felt himself being moved counter-clockwise and he met with the ebony ceiling as he was being taken for what seemed to be the scariest ride of his life. Eventually, he was upside down as he saw the tiled junctures become rusted, bloody steel walls around him. Blood rushed to his head and he felt heavy and weak as he struggled against the chains. His body began to sag downward and he feared that he would slip and fall headfirst into the abyssal darkness below him. The squeaking and churning of the gears now almost deafened him as he finally met with the gruesome sight Walter meant for him to see and his blood ran cold because of it.

Bodies... not just any bodies, but the bodies of young children buoyed on their watery tomb as the Receiver was conveyed along as though the scene was an exhibit. Henry guessed that they weren't much older than Walter's younger half when they were unceremoniously thrown down into the still reservoir, probably still clinging to what little life the cult let them keep. Their skin as white as a sickly snow cloud and patches of their skin was missing, showing their insides. Their eyes were open, staring at him with pale eyes as their bodies still decomposed in the dark liquid that was tainted with blood. The stench hung heavily about the chaos, making Henry want to throw up on the children. They just floated there in the water... not moving, though it seemed that at almost anytime they would reach out and pull him in along with them so he could join them.

'...They were just children...'

"That poor little boy... His parents just threw him away right afterhe was born..."

"Poor thing..."

"I've gotta... I've gotta help him..."

"It's Walter... he's crying... Even finishing the Twenty-one Sacraments... It won't help that boy."

"I'm going back, Henry."

"...The only ones that can stop him..."

Number Twenty ... Mother Reborn... Eileen Galvin...

Henry's body still sagged against the chains, which were digging into his skin with their curves and links. The one that wrapped around his stomach made the wound bleed fatally once more, making the Receiver grit his teeth in pain as the sanguine poured from the penetration and into the once white cloth. Soon, though, he felt the curve of the wheel and he was taken upward again. He came face to face with Walter again, who did not have a putrid grin on his face, but a frown of bitterness and loathe. The gears once again remonstrated when Walter turned off the machine, high-pitched screams echoing off the vast walls. The air stilled around them, and Henry glared at the ceiling before moving his gaze towards the man below him, waiting for the words to come to him as if they would slap him harshly on the face. A few moments later, Henry was able to speak about the traumatizing scene that lay down below him... down to the pits of a watery mausoleum

"Do you..." Henry started, tears of lament in his eyes for the youthful lives that had been so easily cast aside. Now, to some degree, he could understand why Walter was the way he was. To go through the trials this man had gone through... the pain, the torment, the insanity of it all... and that the only thing he could cling to was the small glimmer of hope of his 'Mother...' Henry felt that maybe... Walter could've cared less about the 'Descent of the Holy Mother.' Maybe all that Walter wanted was someone that would... just try to understand.

But, it seemed Henry could not be that person. He was the last 'stepping stone,' and nothing else would matter once that step was passed. His death would play a significant part in Walter's future, so the deed needed to be done, whether Henry understood the intentions of the other man or not.

So insignificant

Sleeping dormant deep inside of me

Are you hiding away lost under the sewers?

Maybe flying high in the clouds?

Perhaps you're happy without me?

"I'm going to assume you mean 'do I feel sorry for them?'" Walter inquired, watching the fire in Henry's eyes be drenched with tears. Even though he had guessed he would've gotten a mournful reaction from Henry, he had never expected for him to cry. Especially over 'corrupted' children. Then again, Henry did have a value for life and it showed when he tried to help each of the Sacraments from Number Sixteen to Twenty.

Walter's eyes widened when he came to a revelation. "You cried for them..."

Henry blinked twice before responding; "Huh?"

"You cried for the Sacraments, didn't you?"

He saw a twinge of vulnerability on Henry's face. Sympathy for those whose lives had been cut short and embarrassment that a male would cry over death crossed paths in the Receiver's eyes and the man turned away from the all-knowing gaze of Walter Sullivan. He was pathetic... crying for people he hardly knew, but mostly that he was crying at all. "I won't lie to you..." Henry began, seizing up in order to seem bold even while he hung by chains on a waterwheel about the size of a three story building, "but I did. It doesn't matter that I did, anyway... So, why the Hell are you so concerned about it?"

Walter flinched as though the enemy in a war had found out his strategy. The enemy, in this case, being the younger man chained to the giant, corroded wheel and using what little fight that was left in him. The man in the coat stayed tense for a few more seconds before chuckling evilly. "I'm not concerned at all; I'm just making your life as much of a misery as I can before I finally finish you off." After declaring his reason, Walter could have sworn he saw unparalleled fear etch across the number-carved face of the man before him.

...That was how he wanted it.

Henry Townshend, the Receiver of Wisdom, and 'rebel' of the nightmare he was permanently dropped into, was at his last few manifolds of breath...

Multiple stab wounds covered the dying man's body and dark crimson stained his clothes even more than they already were, both making it seem that he had laid on a bed of spikes and another one was pressed against his front, squishing him between the two. His clothes were torn at various places and on his lower back, the Halo of the Sun was carved into his flesh, the symbol enflaming his skin. His grimy, sweat-soaked locks fell messily across his pain-struck face, which was just as pale as the rest of his skin was from his body losing so much blood. Tears of lament no longer fell, but were substituted with tears of suffering as Henry felt the blood-soaked knife drag along the open wound at his stomach. He grit his teeth as hard as his jaw could stand and he heard that damned chuckle once again ring through the room as his hoarse pants accompanied it.

"Where's your hope now, Henry?" Walter growled mockingly as he questioned the younger man, letting his fingers draw over the '21121' scar under the brunet's filmy verdant irises, "Where's your determination and your desire for freedom? ... Where's your strength!" His knuckles connected with the side of Henry's head, making the headache the brunet was enduring worse than it already was. The Receiver grunted painfully and his breath seethed through his tightly closed teeth.

Walter let his malicious, yet childish smile etch across his insanely pleased façade as his emerald eyes glittered at the thought of his goal as close as the perishing man before him. All he had to do was kill him, and then he could be with Mother... "Your will is broken..." Walter said with a hint of happiness mixed with spite, "and you'll die and wander my masterpiece just like the people you tried to help. They're waiting for you... Waiting for you to join them in Hell..."

With that said, Walter grunted and he stabbed out Henry's eyes, relishing the cry that emitted from the man's mouth. When the scream at last died away to loud whimpers, Walter leaned down to kiss Henry's gory forehead before whispering comfortingly into his ear as if trying to calm a scared child back to sleep after a nightmare. The greasy hair and rough chin tickled Henry's earlobe slightly, but it went ignored through the pain he was experiencing that was now centered at his eyelids. He could feel the blood weep down the empty sockets, giving him the mental image that the thick, crimson fluid was just tears cascading down his weathered face.

"No more tears... No more pain or nightmares..." Walter hissed antagonistically sympathetic, his words caressing Henry with their evil ambitiousness, "Now, die, Receiver of Wisdom... and you'll see that death isn't so bad."

He looped his right arm around Henry's quivering shoulders and pulled him towards him before readying his knife for one last plunge into his prey... Raising his bent arm slowly, he sneered at the brunet one last time, marinating himself in the soft, echoing sounds of the fearful snivels that uttered from chapped lips. "Good-bye... for now..." Walter chuckled with a malicious tone that scratched Henry's mind, making him struggle with the last remnants of fight he had left. Walter held fast, however, and sneered at the writhing man. He waited as patiently as he could, eyeing Henry's painful movements before he finally wore himself out only a few minutes later, ready to brave the metal weapon high above him. Walter smiled at his achievements before telling Henry how he felt.

"...And, no, I don't feel sorry for them."

The sickening sound of the sharp metal spearing the Receiver's throat was all that followed Walter's words and Henry Townshend gurgled as blood welled out of his mouth like a hellish waterfall of his sanguine. He went rigid for a moment, as if trying to repel death once more before fell limp in the blond's grasp, finally able to rest.

That is, until the incubus of Walter's mind brought him back... as a part of the ghostly family known as the Twenty-one Sacraments...

So many seeds have been sown in the field

And who could sprout up so blessedly

If I had died

I would've have never felt sad at all

You will not hear me say

I'm sorry

Where is the light?

I wonder if it's weeping somewhere?

... After that, Walter had carried Henry's body back to Room 302, where the police and medics searching the crime scene where others at South Ashfleld Heights had been killed had found him. Walter had heard the report on the news, hearing that Henry's body was so distorted that the experts examining him could only go by whoever lived in the apartment at the time. It was funny how even though there were such technological achievements at their fingertips that they couldn't even tell who Henry was, let alone save Eileen Galvin from her own ruin.

The blond's dark-blue coat fluttered along the soft zephyr that accompanied his walk in the forest and the man was still dumbfounded more than ever. Henry had to be somewhere... he was just hiding, too afraid to witness the evil dimension again... Though Walter had done away with Henry's sight. ... Or maybe...

No, that was impossible; to find sanctuary in a place like this... especially since Walter would know about it... He had created the worlds. Why would he not know? ...

Maybe he hadn't done the Twenty-one Sacraments correctly. That would explain why his most recent Sacramental killing hadn't showed himself in the horrid reality of the Nightmare Realm... but the Signs were done from word to word as it had been specified. So... why was Henry nowhere to be found?

Scuffing his shoe against the brownish dirt road, the blond man stopped at the remains of the Wish House, having thought he had seen something in the corner of his right eye. However, it was just the doll in the wheelchair going around, gurgling much like the Receiver had when Walter stabbed him in the throat. The rusted wheels squeaked horribly as the doll went about and Walter knew it too was looking for Henry, who, in such case, could be considered its 'Master.' A dissatisfied sigh exhaled out of Walter's rough lips and he ventured onward, hoping to find some clue as to why he could not find a trace of the brunet's spirit. 'He was rebellious... Even when it seemed there was no more hope for him,' thought the man almost exaltingly. 'Now, here I am...'

... After a few more steps, Walter decided that this search had gone long enough since his patience had finally used itself up. He growled ferociously, reading to obliterate any fragile creature or ghost that came into the path of his released rage at the moment. He threw his head upward, his hair flinging about as he whipped his gaze towards the dull gray sky and his face contorted into a menacing glower. "The second I find him he'll think twice before he ever decides to pull another one of his tricks on me!" Walter yelled furiously, raising his hand to shake his fist towards the sullied sky to imply his declaration. "Mark my words, Townshend, your head's mine the second I find you!" It was a few seconds later that Walter stopped all movement as something smacked his thoughts down from their 'righteous' podium in his mind...

But, there was one that one problem, Walter realized achingly, that Henry was dead. That now matter what he did, Henry would only brush it off and get back up, hovering or teleporting, whichever one, away. Since he had not seen the brunet, he had no idea whether or not Henry could float just inches above the restless ground or walk upon it. Walter secretly hoped he could walk, as he would relish the fact that when the Receiver of Wisdom acknowledged that he was found, he would run from Walter... thus, bringing about that memories of chasing Henry with some form of weapon on hand. But, once again, there was a problem.

Henry's whereabouts had still not been discovered.

-
Here's a lullaby to close you eyes
(Goodbye)
It was always you that I despised
I don't feel enough for you to cry
(Oh, well...)
Here's a lullaby to close you eyes
(Goodbye...)
-

It was around that moment when Walter had remembered that he hadn't gone to see his 'Mother' since the day he laid Henry's body on the living room floor to be found by the police. He had stayed there long enough to hear the report about Eileen and Henry, but never had he ventured back into the Room's womb. He had done nothing else but search for Henry after that, finding that Eileen's ghosts deviated about the Hospital and Apartment, staying around the room she once was so acquainted to. Whenever he would pass her, she would hover there, burning a hateful gaze into his striding form. He wouldn't stay around her for long, knowing how much she despised him and that she only wished that he would leave her in pitiful concord. It seemed strange that she cared for his younger, more innocent half, and yet shared unsurpassable fury at him with only a steel-emerald scowl. Sometimes, he would see the young woman smile at the young form of Walter walking about, minding his own business. He would return the sweet smile, of course, and be on his way in a matter of moments, traveling about to go see--

... He knew where Henry was at...

... That's where he was... he had to be there...

... 'Mother'...

He was with 'Mother'...

It had been as if the shadowed earth beneath his feet told him the location of the man he had scoured for for so long. He openly cursed him threw his fist into the fence beside him, causing the wood to splinter beneath his powerful attack. How could he have passed that option? It was standing there before him for God only knows how long, waving its luxuriating scent below his nose. It had even danced along beside him as he ventured through the corrupted hallways of the Apartments, pleading for him to visit the plagued Room. He could see it... His Victim curled fetal somewhere deep within the solace of Room 302, letting the soothing whispers of the room fill his ears with deceitful lies of a love that could never be found. He was allowing the infestations of the Room swirl about him, telling him that he was safe... that the corroded and ensanguined delusions were all fake... that he was just sleeping in a never-ending nightmare that threatened him, but could never harm him...

He was in 'Mother's' virulent lullaby...

-
Here's a lullaby to close your eyes
(Goodbye)
It was always you that I despised
I don't feel enough for you to cry
(Oh, well...)
Here's a lullaby to close your eyes
(Goodbye)
(Goodbye)
(Goodbye)
(Goodbye...)
-

As quickly as he could muster, he ran towards the ashy remains of the Wish House, slipping down the stairs that accompanied the trap door and ran towards the open wall, rushing down the misty stairway. Images passed him in blurs of hued darkness, but he paid no heed. A few days after Henry's murder, Walter made doorways for easier access to the worlds, seeing as Henry could be anywhere at anytime. If all the worlds were connected by one central staircase, Walter could just exit one world, go down or up a level, and reach the desired world. Despite his work, only Walter used such methods to maneuver between worlds, since the ghosts could merely seep through floors and walls to another world. He could thank Henry for prohibiting use of his full power, seeing as he pulled away Walter's more powerful abilities by thrusting the Spears of the Holy Mother into the 'other,' more monstrous Walter. One ability that was lost was the power to teleport into different worlds and move between the various places in them. Such loss meant that the Conjurer would have to walk (or run, in this case) to any certain area or world.

However, that was hardly noticed now that he had an idea where Henry was...

He was able to make out the dissimilar doors that led to another world, such as the Water Prison and the Building worlds, leaving behind with them his resonating footsteps against the metal steps. When he finally reached the bottom of the musty, spiral staircase, he stood breathless before the sordid, blanched door with the numbers '302' carved on its rusted faceplate. Walter leaned forward suddenly, resting his hands on his shivering knees as he felt a ghastly chill crawl up his spine. He shuddered a moan as he regained his breath, cursing Henry once more for making him 'human' before clasping the doorknob and turning it to proceed inward.

He found himself in the candle-ridden Room 302, staring at Joseph, Victim Fifteen, who still hung upside down from the ceiling. He seethed in a hiss as his disfigured form shook in rage, which Walter waved off easily. The discomfiture and abhorrence all the Sacraments had against him never affected him, and to the blond, it seemed pointless to keep on about it. Their glares and screams of loathe just slid off him like snow would melt off of a tree when Spring came. Nonetheless, none of them had embraced their hideously unfair fate.

As Walter turned to the left to head down the gray hallway, he heard soft, feminine whispers coming from the bathroom. He stopped, blinking several times before becoming aware that he had never heard the voice before. It was alien to him, though it did sound... assuring and loving. He proceeded to the hazy hallway, noting that it needed a color to it other than dark gray. He shrugged the tough out of his head and entered the bathroom. Nothing appeared out of order, aside from the many-lit candles and the dismembered man hanging inverted from the top of the Room. The man in the coat hoisted himself into the hole, which seem to speak more of those whispers he had found himself curious about. He struggled at first, finding that the tunnel was a bit too small for his broad shoulders, but he eventually made it halfway through, where he heard that the Siren-like susurrations had turned into a cradle-song-like melody. It was obvious that this voice singing was female, making Walter ponder which female ghost laid beyond the exit. It couldn't have been Victim Thirteen... the accent was not of Victim Sixteen... and it sounded none like Victim Twenty...

Bumfuzzled, Walter could not conclude as to who was singing the tempting hymn.

When he at last reached the end of the tunnel, he ceased his movements once more to see if he could catch any of the words of the sweet song. They were muffled, as if someone had placed their calloused hand over the singer's mouth. The song, however, kept slipping out of the lips of this unknown woman, and his vision flickered abruptly as if he lost focus and he felt himself stiffen for no reason. Something he had never encountered before waited for him... It was as if centuries had gone by and a fair maiden wished for his return, though he had never seen her before, but, nevertheless, she knew of him. ... But, her loneliness was somewhat quelled by Henry's 'presence'—that is, if the man was in there...-

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes

(Goodbye)

It was always you that I despised

I don't feel enough for you to cry

(Oh, well...)

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes

(Goodbye)

When Walter found himself in Room 302's present bathroom, he found a sight that he hadn't seen in over a month. The infection of the hauntings had spread throughout the Room, covering every inch of the apartment with blood mangled with shrieks and oxidation. The broken glass of the mirror was still thrown about the ground, its fragile, but sharp pieces cutting Walter's hand when he threw his palms out to catch himself from falling flat on his face. His flaxen tresses obscured his emerald sight slightly due to his awkward, diagonal position but with some effort-- and few cuts-- his feet stomped solidly onto the disgusting tiled floor. He stood up right, scanning around the small lavatory, noting that the almost affectionate song was close by. ... Henry was close.

Clutching the carmine doorknob, the Conjurer hesitated for a long moment, resolving whether or not he was walking into a trap that his own Hell concocted. He was vulnerable now... just as fragile and weak as Henry was during his venture through the psychotic atrocity of gore and stale corpses. Now, as Walter hoped that he wasn't going to be struck down by some gnarled claw, he understood what Henry went though. He could perceive why the brunet would curl his head around each corner, his back pressed against the adjacent wall... why his erratic pants could be heard when a ghost popped out of the air itself to puncture his chest with their fist... why fear crept its way into his verdant irises everytime he came face to face in a perilous battle with the blond...

Walter now mentally grasped dismay and dread... much to his dislike.

Languidly, he twisted the knob, a panicked gasp sharply entering his lungs as he heard a squeak squeal from the rusted hinges of the door, causing him to cough harshly. He brought a large, rough hand to his mouth, shutting his eyes firmly as his hacking finally quieted. Opening his cold eyes, he pushed open the door, stepping forward only once to scan the area, which was in the same hideous state as the bathroom. He narrowed his eyes to catch in motion to his left, but found nothing but walls, tables, and picture frames. Sighing, he turned to the bedroom, anxiety washing over his spine like icy daggers piercing his pale skin. His breathing shortened and his palms began to sweat coldly. Inhaling as much of the rotten air as he could stand, Walter opened the last door...

Before him, at the head of the scarlet-stained bed, sat a young woman on her knees with dim golden hair that flowed down her back and eyes of swirling hazel tinged with verdant. Her attire was an ebony-silk dress that literally covered every bit of her skin sans her pallid hands, neck, and face. The seductive song that twirled about Walter's ears did nothing to ease her onerous aura, which glowed brightly like a darkened ruby in the moonlight. Her hypnotic gaze appeared as if she had suffered Hell itself yet she still held a kind, motherly gaze. Her lips coiled into an odd sort of smile, as if she was offended brutally but didn't intend to show it. Her enchanting voice kept vibrating through the Room, clinging to the devastation and chaos like a lonely lover. And clinging to her, lying on his back, was...

Henry...

He seemed... alive. His chest rose and fell with his easy breaths and his eyes fluttered with every syllable that fell fervently from the woman's blushing lips. Nothing blemished his clothes or skin, making it appear that nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened to the brunet. If Walter had not watched his own hand kill the man in front of him, he would have been fooled to believe that Henry was still alive, who had his arms wrapped around the woman's neck, quietly listening to the harmonious hymn that evidently brought him a translucent form of alleviation.

Walter stood in the doorframe, awed by the scene. The Room that surrounded them moaned with despair and agony, but the two lithe figures seemed unaffected by the slithered discord that adhered to the walls and floor. They acted as if they were in a homely place that held no abominations such as those that squirmed futilely on the walls, fabricating themselves to the wood like a second skin. The blond man could've sworn that he saw a misshapen hand pull itself from the twisted wall, reaching out for the back of the woman's as the skin-like barrier stretched wretchedly with it. The exquisite female paid no heed whatsoever and the hand eventually sunk back into the wall slowly, a shuddered groan sobbing forth from the 'creature' captured in the pores of the bland walls underneath.

This woman continued her song, embracing Henry to her figure as she pulled his head to rest sleepily on her breast and she slid her nimble fingers through his hair as if he were her own flesh and blood. He just submersed himself in the protective hug, a sluggish murmur sounding at the back of his throat as if he tried to form a word, but no longer held the coherency for it. She beamed tenderly at his prone form and she inclined her head to sing gently into his ear, his brunet hair fluttering on her words of sorrow. Minutes went by and she made it seem that she only acknowledged Henry's presence, her fingers never leaving his hair. Soon, however, her smile her angelic countenance and she directed her attention to Walter, who had yet to move an inch since he found the two.

The warmth of the Room left along with her sweet suffered wonder. What came in its wake, however, was an omnipotent evil that threatened his occupancy in the Room. Her affectionate hazel orbs becoming slits of crimson darkness, her skin became a decomposing gray and her hair was messily strewn about as if she tore at it constantly for days. Wings of blood-tipped white erupted from her back, scattering bit of ebony silk onto the floor and her amicable features became so tormented and wicked that Walter found himself staring at the Angel of Death herself. Henry seemed unfazed, his body lying still except for his chest which still shifted with his even breathing. She smiled once more at her helpless prey before detaching herself from him, his form becoming opposite of what it was prior. The fetid smell that had been shockingly absent from the Room now filled Walter's nostrils nauseatingly and the urge to vomit piercingly burned Walter's throat. He quickly gulped it down when he noticed that the deadly angel was advancing towards him with a sword made of metal, thorns, and withered rose petals. All singing had stopped and her atrocious smirk cut onto her cut-up face, causing Walter to back up with her forward steps. Instinct made him want to call out to Henry for help, but when he caught a glimpse of the man, he though otherwise.

Now that the woman was no longer holding him in her deceptive embrace, Henry's body became what it was on the day of his death. The stab wounds had returned, seeping dried bloodstains into the now torn cloth. His flesh became rotted and decrepit and beneath Henry's open eyelids the number '21121' carved itself into the skin. The brunet did not hover like the other ghosts did, but he laid there on his back, his eye-less stare burning sympathetically into Walter's. The Receiver of Wisdom was in no position to help the Conjurer, since he was now a victim to the woman who was once singing in his ear empathetically.

Walter felt his back press against the bathroom door when he realized he couldn't escape. The corrupted seraph now blocked entry into the living room and Walter knew he couldn't open the gory lavatory door in time. So, he waited, his body convulsing with dread as the woman limped closer to his unguarded frame, stopping just inches away from him.

"W-Waaalllttteeerrr... " the woman hissed as though she were a serpent proclaiming its next meal before she began to raise her sword tediously, readying her blade to strike the man square in the chest. She reared back slightly before stopped slightly, noticing that something sparked in Walter's eyes. He felt as if he had known her all his life, even when he lived at the Wish House, and yet he had never seen her face before. It was as if she had hid in the shadows in the corners of the cells and rooms he had seen throughout his existence, but had never shown herself to him in a visible form. She was watching him intently now, wondering gravely had he figured out who she was. His face twitched slightly with dreadful comprehension and her stance tightened once more to finish the gruesome job before he said that one word that would have broken her will to kill him.-

Here's a lullaby to close you eyes

(Goodbye)

It was always you that I despised

I don't feel enough for you to cry

(Oh, well...)

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes

(Goodbye)

"D-don't!" she screamed desperately, apprehensive that when he lips parted that he was close to saying it... that title she loathed with a passionate grace. She grimaced, her horrible face twisting into distraught and she threw her blade forward with such unsurpassable speed that he never stood a chance. The second her sword pierced his chest, she knew the terrible deed was done and she stepped forward once to insure that the blade went through his body and into the wall. He watched her, blood dripping down his chin from his lips and the puncture where her shaking hand had left the shriveled floral sword. Her hideous features melted away into the holy being that hid itself away during the process of murdering the man who dared to trespass on her and her new 'son.' As she turned to head back to Henry, he choked a scratchy word through his bloodied esophagus, his last threads of life fading quickly. Once said, he went limp against the sword, the body slouching on the metal. She tilted her head over her shoulder, tears running down her reddened cheeks, making her skin glow with a purity that had been missing previously when Walter had showed up, much to her dismay. Whispering her song under her breath, she raised a quivering hand, letting it caress his bristly cheek benevolently, her melodious susurrations breaking slightly from the sobs that wracked her frail physique.

That damned word kept running about her head like a cursed plague that would never leave her alone for the rest of eternity. She let her hand fall back to her side when she understood her defeat for a quick moment before bringing up to cover her face as she fell to her knees, wailing out his name repeatedly. Her voice was no longer a hiss, but a full-blown cry of a woman who had done the worst sin she could have ever committed. His blood was on her hands... his face still fresh in her memory as he shook in both fear and cognition... she had destroyed the very like she herself had created. And now, she would pay for it dearly.

Before trying to compose herself, she heard his gargled voice in her head one last time...

"Mother..."

-
...Goodbye...
-
End
-
:falls over: Ugh... Can this have been any longer? And please don't say that I rushed it... even though I know I did. ...I can't tell you how many times I heard 'Room of Angel' while trying to type this story up.
The reason why this may be AU is because of the children thrown down the waterwheel scene. Also, before you say it's slash, it's not. Walter 'reveres' Henry... in a weird way. Also, I realize that Walter didn't feel a lot of... 'guilt.' This changed as the story went on. I had no intention of killing Walter, but I did. Poor thing...
There you go, SaddenedSoul... all my griping paid off. :sigh: Please review!