Sacrament
"So, I guess you're really leaving, after all, eh?"
Eileen stopped on the landing of the stairwell, resting the basket of laundry on her hip as she turned back. Frank Sunderland paused his sweeping and stared up at her from the lobby, his worn lips mustering a tired smile.
South Ashfield Heights was quiet, peaceful. The sounds of the city reached them through the silence.
Eileen smiled. A swab of bangs, light and frizzy, smelling of shampoo, fell over her eyes. "Yeah," she said, blowing them out of the way and adjusting her weight again. "I think it's for the best. Too much—baggage here, you know?"
Frank nodded. "I don't blame you, that's for sure. I'm just glad you're all right after what happened."
"Yeah." She tried to affirm the smile. "Me, too."
They remained like that for a short while, regarding each other awkwardly. "Well, uh, don't let me keep you," Frank said. "That must be heavy."
"Yeah, I guess it is. I'll see you later, Mr. Sunderland."
"See you, Eileen."
She hurried up the stairs, careful not to lose her footing, and rounded the corner, heading for her room. She paused outside the door, planting the basket between her leg and wall, fumbling around for her keys, when she glimpsed the door to room 302 ajar. She bit her lip and then peeked inside.
The room was flooded with light from the open windows, the curtains billowing, the noise of traffic finding its way inside. The fan spun slowly, lazily. Eileen nudged the door aside, momentarily struck by the sight. It was almost saintly.
A door shut. She turned to the hall to find Henry emerge from his bedroom, a cardboard box of photographs between his arms. He stopped, surprised to see her, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. Her lip quirked—he looked better shaved.
"Uh, hey," he said, smiling, looking at his feet. "Did you need something?"
"No," she replied quickly, nervously, twisting her heel into the carpet. "I just saw your door open, so I—walked in." She laughed. "I don't know. I mean, I'll leave—"
"It's okay." He set the box down onto the sofa and let out a sigh; around them were stacked other boxes, most of them taped shut, some still with their flaps jutting forth. "I'm just finishing up packing."
"I can see that," she said, looking around. "You know, for just one guy, you've got a lot of stuff."
"Well, uh—it's not really that much." He cleared his throat. "Some of it I'll probably give away. Books and things like that. You know."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
They stood like that, him appraising the apartment, she fidgeting, shifting the basket of laundry from one side to the other. "Do you want something to drink?" he asked suddenly. "I don't have a lot. There are a couple of sodas, or—"
"Water," she said. "Water's fine." She stared at him, blinking. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Um—all I've got is the tap. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
He walked over to the sink and fished a glass out of the cupboard above. Eileen meanwhile sat down on the sofa, setting her laundry beside her. She glanced into the box of photographs, more fascinated by her own reflection, pristine and unblemished, than the pictures within. She turned away.
"Here." Henry handed her the glass.
"Thanks," she said, watching him sit on the chair nearby and pop open a bottle of soda. As he raised the bottle to his lips, she spoke.
"This might sound a little weird," she said, "but—I feel bad that I never talked to you before. You know." She covered up with a nervous smile. "Henry."
He gulped down some soda and then looked at her, a smile of his own playing on his face. "That's not your fault," he said. "I'm not very—I guess approachable. So even if you had said something, I probably would have just blown you off." He hesitated and then added, "No offense, though, I mean—"
"None taken." She sipped the water. "It wouldn't have been the first time a guy ignored me." Another awkward bout of silence overtook them. "So, when do you plan to leave?"
"In a couple of weeks, probably," he answered. "What about you?"
"I'm still looking for a place. But the sooner the better, I guess—the sooner I can put all this behind me." She peered down into the water and sighed. "It's been forever since I've gotten a good night's sleep. It's always coming back. If it's not one thing, it's another." She rubbed her eyes and drew a breath. "I just want to forget already."
Henry bowed his head, rolling the bottle between his palms. "I don't think you'll ever forget," he said quietly. "I won't."
"And you're okay with that? You can just go on like it's nothing?"
"No," he said, looking up at her. "That's not what I mean. It's just—that's the way it is. We're the ones left behind."
"I guess so." Suddenly she placed her glass down and stood up, stretching. "Well—I should probably go. Sorry about the water." Henry watched her gather up her laundry and head for the door.
"Eileen, wait."
She turned back expectantly, leaning against the doorway, eyes faintly glistening. "Yeah, what is it?" she asked.
Henry licked his lips, looking for the words. "If you need to talk," he said slowly, "if you ever need anything—I'm here." He smiled. "You're not alone. Remember that."
"Yeah." She propped a slender wrist against the doorway and rested her head against it, eyeing him. "You're sweet, Henry, you know that?"
He shrugged, and she stepped back, smiling. "Well, thanks. I'll see you later." She turned, closing the door behind her, and entered her own apartment. The air was thick with the smell of flowers, and she scrunched up her face at the bouquet arranged on the table. She dropped the laundry and threw herself onto her bed. No. She wasn't alone. But it still smelt like blood.
Silent Hill and all related materials are the property of their respective copyright holders.
(A/N: I found this lying around unfinished from late 2009, so I figured I'd do something with it.)