I seriously have to stop watching Game walkthroughs…it's going to be the death of me, or at least my much needed sleep. I am writing two fan fictions as of now and updating will be even between both, wish me luck on my first Game fanfiction; let's hope we can get through this. I do not own Silent Hill 4 – The Room.
Bloody Chains for Beautiful Hands –
He was stuck in that room, the chains that reached from the ceiling to the floor with no way to getting out, he had thought of jumping from a window but those were sealed shut. He was still in this hell; he was still in his game. He had saved Eileen but it was as if he didn't exist. The peep hole to her room was gone as if it had never been there; no one came to his door to check on him. The bloody hand prints that you could see through the small glass hole in the door were now gone. He was trapped in his own personal hell with no way out.
Henry Townshend had defeated the dark forces that had taken over his apartment almost three days ago. He had woken up in the dingy old apartment like he did many times when he had entered the hole. At first he though he must be dead but as he shifted his weight rolling off the bed onto his feet and stumbled out into the living room he realized that everything was spotless. No ghosts coming through the walls, no blood stains, not even a rust spot in the sink, his whole body quaked as his eyes slowly moved toward the door that had chained his escape. Then his heart dropped, the door was still chained he shifted moving to the door his hand moving along it as his lips pierced together. He looked through the glass orb looking into the hall. A few people passed by and on the opposite wall all the hand prints were gone. Then why was he still here?
Townshend backed up his hands grasping the chains and yanking on them with a desperate cry wondering where Eileen could have gotten too. He had saved her hadn't he? Yes he had defeated that man, that killer, that psychopath, Walter Sullivan at his own game. Henry tried to keep calm as he let go of the black chains and moved back to the living room moving to the peep hole, where was it again? He looked around thinking maybe he had forgotten its exact spot but on closer observation there was no peep hole, nothing, just white washed paint.
He sank to his knees against the wall looking at the ceiling, there was no Joseph Schreiber trying to help him from beyond the grave, there was only him, Henry, the man who had survived hell itself and possibly saved the very fabric of earth. Yet he was still stuck in this godamn room. Why had this happened to him? He had thought as soon as he had destroyed the Cults god that everything would sort of return to normalcy. Well it had, just it hadn't waited up for him. With a sick groan he pulled himself to his feet, there was only one more place to look, and no matter how sick it made him he would have to go see if that still existed.
Henry made his way to the bathroom opening the door very slowly and peeking in. His heart stopped beating for a few moments as every fiber of hope in his body withered away. The hole, that damn hole was there, staring at him like a giant eye. It was back to its original state and even had the lead pipe back where it had originally been. His knees began to shake and his head began to spin as he took a step forward. He had to go back. He had to go back didn't he? There was no way around it. He took a large breath and stumbled toward the hole his hands hitting the stone as he looked into the darkness his eyes dilating to large spheres. And he crawled in, he took the pipe with one hand wishing he didn't feel like this was a nightmare starting all over again, but this is what had happened before, what if Cynthia was there? What if he was just reliving this over and over again?
A warm breeze caressed his face as he climbed out of an earthy hole on the other side. He wasn't in the subway, which startled him at first. No instead he was in a meadow, the sun beating down onto his back. He pulled himself fully out feeling almost like Alice, which bothered him more than the subway had. This wasn't normal in his eyes and for some reason he would have rather had gone face to face with Walter all over again. He stood in the meadow, warm grass waving in the breeze that whipped around him. Above him was a blue sky that was as clear as he had ever seen it.
He jammed the lead pipe in the ground next to him as he tried to see past the meadow but it seem to stretch for miles and miles until it just seem to dip as if it was going straight off a cliff. Where was this place? And why was it so quiet?
Henry shifted thinking maybe he had finally lost his sanity or even worse had really died and now he was in some kind of area that was neither for the saints or the sinners, but for people just like him. He was about to move gripping the pipe to yank it out of the ground when a voice reached him. That very voice sent a shiver quivering throughout his body from his feet to his head. He knew that voice almost better than any other.
"Your here" Was what it said. Henry Townshend turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin when his eyes traveled up to the face of Walter Sullivan, the killer. He wore his trench coat his blonde hair still stringy and hanging down in his face, his emerald eyes still dark and brooding but he wasn't covered in blood and his face didn't read hostility which honestly confused Henry at first.
"H-here?" Henry wasn't sure why he was talking to this man. For all he knew his throat would be slit before he could even ask another question.
"Paradise of course" Walter hands rose as he spun around in a circle looking at the sky. "What else would it be?" His voice was strange, it didn't have the, darkness like it had had before, and instead it sounded like any old Joe Henry might have been friends with.
Townshend gripped the pipe his knuckles turning pale as he watched."Paradise?" Walter stopped spinning standing in front of him once more. He stepped back almost falling as Walter raised his hand to his face using his pointing and index finger to draw an imaginary line from his forehead down to his nose and off the side to his left cheek. "Don't touch me!" Henry snapped stepping back and yanking the pipe from the ground wielding it in a defensive grip.
"But in Paradise we should be friends Henry Townshend." Walter replied tilting his head to the side frowning slightly. Henry was still confused, why was this man not killing him? Or worse yet making him go through hell all over again? Or was this his new version of hell?
"Whereas Eileen?" Henry sputtered.
"She's here; I can take you to her." Walter turned his coat flowing behind him. Henry was reluctant to follow even though Walter had just basically told him Eileen was alive. He held the pipe taking a few steps forward watching the swaying walk of the man who he had killed a few days ago.
"If this is Paradise…does that mean you killed me?" Henry asked quietly as he stayed quite a distance from the man's gaping footsteps. He had remembered watching Walter die, and him and Eileen had made it out, so then why?
"I didn't kill you." Walter replied very generally. Now Henry was truly lost. What did Walter mean? This couldn't be Paradise, this was just another vision. Some sick twisted vision
"Why aren't you trying to kill me? Why aren't there any monsters? Why….why is this place here?" Henry hated talking to this man, but he was the only one here, and he wasn't being hostile at the moment and to be honest Henry didn't think he could out run the man or even get to Eileen without his help. He nearly ran into the man's back when he stopped and he reeled back as he turned on one foot looking down on him with his dark green eyes.
"I have no reason to kill you. What monsters are you talking about and as I said before this is Paradise."
The very calmness of his voice was creepier then the man. Henry stood there shaking as he stared straight into the man's eyes. His voice echoing in his head, I have no reason to kill you.
"But the 21 sacraments….didn't you have to kill me and Eileen to complete them?" Henry hated arguing over his own life, but if he had understood right in order for Paradise or whatever hell they had thought they were creating was real then shouldn't he be dead?
"There was no reason to complete them, I discovered my own way to Paradise, mother told me how." Henry dropped the pipe then the shock clearly displayed on his face. There was no way this was real, if this was real then that meant he hadn't killed Walter, and the war to save earth wasn't over. This wasn't Walter, this was some fabrication of him, maybe how he would have been if it wasn't for his psychotic mind and abuse as a child.
'You're not real." Henry mumbled to himself as he stepped back. Walter turned fully around looking at him his eyes shifting."I know you're not, this is exactly how I imagined my death would be, without you of course." Henry took another step back as a sick grin up turned on Walter Sullivan's face."Get out of my head!" Henry screeched as he sank to the ground holding his ears as he shook his head back and forth.
"You didn't save here Henry Townshend, You are the Receiver and you will die." Walter voice still penetrated his mind as he felt everything around him fall away.
Henry jerked awake nearly falling out of his bed. He groaned as half his body lay on the floor the other resting on the edge of the bed. He knew where he was. He could just feel it as his eyes opened into his new house's bedroom. It was clean for the most part he had only moved into it a couple weeks ago. He pulled himself off the floor as he slunk into the bathroom rubbing his eyes. He was beginning to have a hard time telling real from the unreal. His dreams became his reality and his reality became his dreams. That had been the fifth dream that had ruined his night of sleep. He had killed Walter and yet the man still haunted him. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the dark circles under his eyes. What was he suppose to do? Sleeping pills didn't work. There was no way he was going to a therapist. And he felt if he killed himself he would go somewhere that he did not want to go. He sighed to himself and went to turn on the shower. He waited till the water was just hot enough for him to step in without it scalding his body. He took off his clothes slinking in as he rested his forehead on the dark green tile as the water fell across his thin frame. His head rolled as the sound of just water slapping onto ceramic entered his ears. He had secluded himself from family, and others he knew. Eileen, Richard, all of them was dead and gone and he was the only survivor and no one would ever know.
Henry closed his eyes his fingers drumming on the tile in a rhythmic pattern. This is how it always started, everyday sense he had left room 302. He would awaken from a dream that would either be as hellish as what he had experienced or something that almost reached heaven. Then he would get a shower and usually fall asleep or maybe he didn't he couldn't tell but something always happened and even though he wasn't sure who, he had a sickening idea who was doing It to him.
The first time it had happened he had screamed and fallen back hitting his head and passing out in the shower for a few hours only to wake up with cold water pelting his body. The next time he took a bath and weird things happened like the whole house would shake or maybe the water wouldn't run so he had to go back to showering trying to ignore the abnormal occurrences. But it kept happening, sometimes it wouldn't but it happened a lot. And you're probably wondering by now what Henry was experiencing. It was simple.
Townshend's breath caught and his fingers stopped drumming as he felt that sickening feeling come over him as a hand smoothed over his unmoving hand smoothing over his fingers. Then he felt the other hand go over his quivering stomach as he was pulled back into someone's warm clutches. He had experienced this three times already and every time he felt it grow stronger and when he pulled away the presence would vanish and he be left in a empty shower with cold water as if he had been in there for hours. He breathed out as he leaned his head back his hair grazing someone's shoulder as he bit his lip. He knew who it was, there was no mistaking it. The fear had long passed, it seemed strange that he didn't feel the fear; it wasn't feat that made his mind turn cold. Instead it was dread, dread that this would become truly real, that he hadn't killed the man that he had done everything for nothing and he would be stuck with this demon for the rest of his miserable life. The hand on his stomach moved up to his chest the arm coming around him almost protectively or maybe possessively was the right word. His eyes shut willing the phantom to go away but the hand now gripping his only tightened and he let out a agonized sigh.
"Why don't you except me?"
Henry's eyes snapped opened as he turned to move but he fell against the tile and found again, like always he was alone. He was alone, of course he was. That was the first time he had heard a voice, and not anyone's voice, it had been the man he was supposed to have killed. It had been warm and inviting. He was really losing it. He stepped out of the shower going to his room and grabbing out clothes. This had never happened while he was awake before, he had never heard voice while he was awake. This scared him as he went to his kitchen pulling out a jug of milk. He couldn't believe this. Did this mean that man, Walter, he shivered as his name entered his mind, was still alive. He sighed drinking a glass closing his eyes trying to pretend he had imagined it. He placed the glass in the sink with the rest of the quickly piling dishes. He needed to do them. He figured it take his mind off it. As the sink filled up Henry traced the metallic insides of the dish rack wondering if he should just end it all. He didn't have anyone to miss him; he didn't have a life except one of solitude. He shook his head and plunged his hands into the soapy warm water beginning a meager task. It was the only thing he could think of at the moment.
He was half way done and beginning on another plate as he felt something. The plate shattered in his grip as he felt arms snake their around his waist. He let himself let the broken pieces float into the water as his hands just dangled in the sink his breathing shaking his chest.
"Things aren't the same anymore." Henry could feel the warm breath on his ear. He could smell the faint lingering of peppermint and tea. This was to real, this was to familiar. He didn't like it.
"Leave me alone." Henry felt like was talking to himself but he didn't know what else he was suppose to do, the phantom that man would just keep coming back if he didn't try something.
"But I love you Henry Townshend" Warm lips grazed the back of his neck and then suddenly the arms, the scent everything vanished and Henry blinked as he pulled his hands and arms out of a pool of cold sink water, the soap had all evaporated and now his fingers had turned all wrinkly. He looked at them and sighed lightly to himself shifting and moving out of the kitchen living the sink a quarter full of soaked dishes. He just couldn't handle this. He just didn't understand why. Why was he being haunted like this?
Henry sank onto his couch running his fingers through his brown hair. It was true; he had finally lost touch with all reality. He was now chained to the world that had nearly cost him his life and had killed so many others. And his only comfort, his only human feeling was the very thing that had come to haunt him. He had to go back to the room. Apartment 302. He had to find the key to his chains.