Everyone always told him as a child, 'curiosity killed the cat'. It was good advice, he knew, but advice he seldom followed. Henry Townshend was a curious man by nature, always seeking things he had never seen before, trying to capture that sense of discovery in prose or photograph. It wasn't outwardly obvious, for what little acquaintances he had whom he could call friends would hardly describe the quiet man as 'adventurous'. The depth of his curiosity was truly his best kept secret under a placid surface of disinterest.
There was little left to be curious about in the lifeless state of death. Still, he remained in a place he once felt welcome, a place he once called home. A place where he had been entrusted with the sickest, darkest secrets. The only things he had no curiosity or interest in, yet those ideas were thrust upon him in the worst way imaginable.
Nothing was beautiful anymore. There were no trees to take photos of. Just fog outside of every tightly sealed window. There were no longer dreams to chronicle in a half-blank old journal. He'd ran out of paper trying to vent his emotions and frustrations before he even realized he no longer slept.
His eyes always felt heavy when blood didn't seep down from his aching tear ducts. He bled a lot, but there would be no death by blood loss. There was no death in that world, just imprisonment under a cruel and tyrannical king.
As he picked at the scabs forming over the scarred, torn flesh of his forearms, Henry could hear that very tyrant behind him, separated only by a thin wall. The sick King Oedipus and his Queen Jocasta, Henry thought scornfully. He could have never imagined he could grow to hate his beautiful neighbor, Eileen Galvin so. Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was the fruitless battle he waged against their world's perverse god only to have her turn against him and throw away the very life he sought to protect... He'd spent days upon days upon many more days contemplating just what he felt for her.
By that point, he had resigned to call it indifference. What she chose in the afterlife didn't matter to him. If the Queen could keep the King happy, the Jester was spared another day. That's all he had become, he knew.
She was getting louder and louder... Henry scratched at the deep scars covering his disfigured face. There was little that remained of him that anyone could distinguish as the man who once lived in Room 302. After suffering a death by wounds meant for Eileen, he was mutilated beyond recognition.
She always looked away when he saw her in the halls. She carried on, averting her eyes. He knew she felt guilt. But there was more sympathy for their King, her Oedipus, than there was for the lowly jester who once fought for her very life.
What a selfish girl, but there was no point in holding grudges.
After all, eternity was a long time to harbor ill will.
"Ahh... ahh... don't... don't stop..." He could hear her voice.
Despite the bitterness, he couldn't help but take interest in the way she sounded. He could only imagine what it could have been like to be the one making her cry out in such ecstacy. Often times, he would sit there, on the couch, and just listen, sometimes pretending he was there with her... but his thoughts were oft broken when she began to cry his name,
"Walter!! Ahh... Wal...ter..."
It made Henry shudder slightly, with a mix of disgust and jealousy. It reminded him how that world was a sick place when Walter would cry out loudly in response, "Mother... Mother!"
Her cries had lowered to sharp breaths, laced with the slightest, most tantalizing hints of pleasure. Henry could hear Walter's voice, moaning rhythmically with each thrust. He was curious as to why Eileen had gone so quiet. She was usually so loud.
Henry sat up, dust rising slightly from the aged, dark couch. There was still that hole in the wall that remained from Joseph Schreiber's desperate attempt to reach out to the girl in Room 303. Kneeling down before it, hearing their quiet moans, he looked into Eileen's bedroom.
As he thought, he saw the two, tangled together upon Eileen's bed, bare and moist with a thin sheen of sweat. The tall, long haired man was atop of her, kissing her deeply. That was unusual... he was usually so rough with her... Henry began to wonder if there was something he had missed in the sick thing that could be called their 'relationship' to warrant his sudden gentle behavior.
Henry watched as their bodies moved, grinding slowly against each other and sighing softly as if drowning in their own world where only they existed. Eileen's arms were wrapped loosely over his shoulders as she gazed up at him with those beautiful emerald eyes. He hovered over her, close enough that the tips of their noses touched, gazing back into her eyes.
One hand held himself up over her, while the other was placed firmly on her hip, slightly squeezing her thigh. The area had small purple bruises and dark pink cuts where he normally dug his fingers and long nails in so hard her skin broke and bled. For a moment, Henry was distracted by the painful-looking red symbols scarred (or even burned) and painted into Walter's shoulders. It was similar to the markings that encircled the holes he was once able to traverse the nightmare world through... but he knew it was a different mark, one he had never seen before.
Walter pushed her leg back down against the bed, unknowingly giving Henry an open view to their bodies connecting at the apex between her thighs. The voyeur was both disgusted and entranced by the sight. Soft lips, slippery and wet with sweat and lust, hardly obscured by short brown curls... penetrated over and over by her assailant's hard member. Henry scoffed in a mix of slight amusement, catching himself mentally comparing Walter to himself.
"At least that fucker can't say he's bigger than me." Henry thought before chuckling, "Who the hell am I kidding? She wouldn't care. All she wants is her 'baby boy'... they're both fucking sick."
Walter always breathed rather loudly, Henry had noticed over the passing monotonous days. It was just one of the many things he noticed when being confined with another human (or what was left of a 'human'). When lost inside of his beloved 'mother' beneath him, Walter only breathed louder. Everything about him made Henry angry. The way he moaned just slightly with every dip into her, the way he quietly hissed, "Eileen...", the way he... wait...
"Eileen... Aahh..." The blond man sighed against her lips.
It was then that Henry realized Eileen was crying. His curiosity was caught instantaneously. Something was definitely either wrong or just severely different.
Walter's hand moved up the side of her body, as if teasing Henry to her soft, pale flesh. Eileen caught his hand in hers, holding it tightly before they began to kiss once more. Henry could see their tongues pressing together, sliding and rolling much like their bodies.
"Why isn't he moaning for his mom like he always does?" Henry thought mockingly.
He broke their kiss for only a moment to whisper something to her that Henry cursed himself internally for not catching. Eileen nodded, before planting another kiss over his stubbly chin and leaning back with a sigh. Once more, their cries were growing in unison to that irritating volume they always reached. Although actually watching them in the act suddenly made it much less irritating. Henry knew by the growing tightness in his pants that he was enjoying this little game of voyeurism.
With low growls, the long haired man slid into her, his nerves on fire with lust and pleasure. His green-eyed lover held him tightly, her voice first to reach a level that could be described as a 'cry'. She was soon grinding her hips against his, breathlessly voicing his name, "Walter... Walter..."
As if he could hear everything, Henry found his own two senses of sight and sound heightened as he watched oh so very carefully. He wanted to touch his throbbing cock so badly, to just stroke it a little if it could relieve the sudden interest. But his morals and reason fought against it. But watching her slender body, her porcelain skin with the slightest hint of freckle and blemish squirming beneath Walter was intoxicating in itself. Henry cursed mentally, thinking how lucky Walter was to feel her body gyrating against his, to feel her soft mounds and erect nipples brushing up against his chest.
"...fucker." Henry muttered quietly.
He brought her legs up around his waist, and she moved willingly to allow him deeper penetration. He began to move faster as she pulled him into her with her thighs tight around his hips. Her back began to arch as her fingers curled against his back, leaving soft scratches on his skin that made Walter shiver. Henry caught sight of Walter's tongue darting out against her neck before disappearing once more as he suckled hard enough to leave bruises.
They were moving hard into each other, Henry could hear Eileen's bed squeaking loudly and their bodies colliding wetly beneath their pleasure-laced voices. Time was lost to the three of them. Walter never wanting their moment to end, to feel lost inside of his beloved Mother Reborn forever, Eileen lost in a flurry of emotions somewhere between 'love', 'Stockholm Syndrome', and a desire to give him the happiness and love he never felt in life. Henry was no longer angered or even thought remotely about his previous distaste for the woman he once attempted to save. He wanted to see them both come undone in climax, and he wrestled internally over the urge to give himself release.
Walter leaned back, picking up the slender woman and pulling her onto his lap as he sat on his knees. The two were face to face, and once more with lips tangled in a lustful kiss. He held her tightly, fingers gripping her back hard enough to leave bruises like the ones on her thighs. Eileen breathed heavily as she took one of his hands in hers once more, entwining their fingers in a loving way. It was then that Henry heard Walter whisper to her, "...is this right...?"
To which Eileen nodded and smiled, looking down at him lovingly, "Yes... don't let go of me..."
The long haired man nodded in response, letting his eyes slip shut. He rested his forehead against her shoulder as she rose and fell slowly on his lap, letting her head fall back lazily.
"I won't let go... you're all mine..." Walter sighed.
Eileen made a sound somewhere between a moan and a giggle, replying, "All yours... ahh... ahh... I... I love you..."
"Mmm... Mother..." Walter sighed, "I love you..."
Their exchange didn't exactly entertain Henry who just gave a quiet groan of disinterest. His attention was soon caught again as Walter moved up, taking her body against his and speeding up once more, creepily groaning, "Mother... Mother...!!"
Eileen was far gone as she arched her back and on the very brink of release. She cried his name as he moved forward. He pinned her body harshly against the wall as he took her thighs in his hand, spreading her legs for deeper penetration with shorter, faster thrusts. She held him for dear life as she cried out, "Harder!! Oh god... yes, yes, yes, fuck, fuck... Ahhhh!! I'm coming... oh god... Walter...!! I'm coming!!"
"Mm... Me too... Mmm... Eileen!!" He shuddered against her shoulder.
"Ahh, come... come in me, ohhh...!!" Suddenly, Eileen's eyes widened as she felt a familiar burst of heat inside of her body. The sensation pushed her over the edge, the mix of his member pushing deep inside of her against the most sensitive nerves, the sound of his voice in her ear crying her name, all of it caused her to climax. Her muscles tightened around his throbbing member, all of her senses simply breaking in a flood of euphoria as her womanhood squeezed hard on his cock, taking all of his release.
His body slowed down and his grip on her body became loose. Still he held her close, not willing to let her come apart or fall back to the bed without him. With an exhausted sigh and a smile on his face he guided their bodies back to the mattress and tangled blankets. He lay on his back holding her body atop of his, arms wrapped around the slender woman lovingly.
For the longest time, Henry watched them just lay there together. He could have never imagined Walter to ever have such a look on his face. Eyes shut, facing the ceiling with a euphoric smile on his lips, holding a beautiful woman in his arms no less. It was far from Henry's idea of a serial killer...
Eileen moved up slowly, crawling over his body.
"She looks so ...cute..." Henry thought wistfully as she planted a gentle kiss on the killer's lips, smiling as well. At first glance the two could very easily pass for a completely normal pair of lovers or even something like a married couple on their honeymoon. None could have ever thought that he was a psychotic, self-absorbed murderer with an Oedipus complex and that she was an dependent, over-sympathetic, eccentric oddball with an apparent thing for serial killers with oedipal tendencies.
Henry had always watched them. Learning about them, always there to receive the new 'wisdom', or rather, 'knowledge' of human contact that Walter had never before known, and to see just how plainly obvious Eileen's own peculiarities had been. There was little else to do in that hellish prison. Even if to them it must have been heaven.
Perhaps that was why he no longer bore a grudge against Eileen. She sacrificed her life out of love, and a desire to be loved. Perhaps she knew that as the very special 'Mother Reborn' Sacrament, life after death held promise of the love she yearned for as a lonesome woman. And there they were. It wasn't just lust either... Henry never wanted to admit it, but he could see it in the way they were always together. She could leave her room because he would always be there to protect her from his legions of nightmare creatures. The demonic serfs to the King Oedipus-- they wouldn't dare harm his beloved Queen when he was at her side.
Fucking happy. In all their twisted 'glory', they were happy. Walter, the child ghost who slept in the bedroom down the hall that was once Henry's room was happy enough to be reunited with the apartment called 'Mother', and Walter, the man who held the flesh vessel embodiment of his ideal 'mother' was happy enough to finally feel desired and wanted by someone.
Henry stood, looking down at the hole in the wall. His curiosity was satiated for the moment. At least until something else interesting came along. After all, he was there to receive wisdom. To know 'his' story. He began to feel less like the court jester and more like the King's scribe.
Maybe he'd just been there far too long... but that idea was enough to give him a tiny shred of contentment. For the first time in the countless days he had spent in that world, he felt at ease with eternity. He had something now he never felt in life-- a purpose.