Eileen walked back through the damp, humid halls alone this time. The blood squirming on the walls and the sound of soggy, flesh-like material on the floor where tile once was made her blood run cold. She was terrified of being by herself in the hellish nightmare world, but she knew she was that poor boy's last hope. Perhaps, she thought, after all that she had learned, she would be able to help that boy rest in peace.

She couldn't help but smirk, chidingly thinking, "And what exactly do you plan to do when you find him? You might not even find that boy in front of Room 302, you might run into that man again. Then what would you do, Eileen?"

In all honesty, she wasn't sure what she would do if she ran into the gun wielding psychopath before she found his child self. There wasn't much she could do simply running… with her body as broken as it was, he could easily catch her, kill her, and leave Henry as the final victim. If that demonic ritual was completed, there was really no telling what hell could fall upon the real world. Staying with Henry was starting to sound like the smarter idea… but on the other hand, she thought, other than their fateful meeting in her apartment, the killer hadn't exactly been targeting her anymore. In fact, whenever he was around it was always Henry…

"Why would he want to kill Henry first? It would put things out of order, wouldn't it? I'm number twenty, and Henry's twenty-one, right?" She questioned.

She was climbing the stairs now, finding herself a little lost and unsure which way Henry had taken to lead them to the first floor. Each upward step she took felt like she was carrying heavy weights on her body. She was so tired, so very tired and she truly wanted everything to be over. She looked down at the stairs as she climbed, seeing the pulsating red skin squirming beneath her high heels. At first the smell of death in the macabre interpretation of North Ashfield Heights was enough to make her wince, but now she found herself strangely 'used' to the world. It had been that way through all of the nightmarish worlds… repulsion, and then almost a sense of comfort.

It had to be because of him, she thought, having experienced many bouts of what Henry explained as 'possession'. To him, it was a violent outburst, but to Eileen, she had become closer and more understanding of what the boy had gone through. So many painful memories, all culminating to these final moments. What she had reasoned was sympathy was what any normal person would call Stockholm's syndrome. Even she could recognize it, but it didn't matter. That boy wanted some shred of love from 'mother'—and this is where she decided she would step in. If nobody was going to take that boy and give him the love he deserved, she would. She would gladly pull the little boy into her arms and let him call her 'mother'.

"You came back."

Eileen stumbled and screamed, having been lost in her own world until hearing the killer's voice. He sat on the stairs between the second and third floor, looking down at her calmly. In his hands was a dark haired doll she recognized from her childhood.

"How could he have my old doll?" She stood her ground, but watched him carefully, ready to run at a moment's notice.

"I knew you would." He said, looking back at the doll and tenderly stroking the doll's ebony hair, "Why, though?"

"Why what?" Eileen replied slowly.

He looked up at her with his clear, hazel eyes, "What?"

Eileen found herself at a dead end and shook her head, "…I guess… it wouldn't help much to just ask you to stop, huh?"

Walter smiled slightly, his attention returning to the doll, "No, not quite. Although for you, I'd at least let the thought cross my mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're very special to me, Miss Galvin." He said quietly, still looking at the doll.

Eileen wasn't sure if she should take it as a good thing or not. Her last run-in with him in her apartment proved well enough that being 'special' to a serial killer wasn't a free ride off his hit list. Still, though, she walked up the stairs slowly, coming closer to him, "Special to you, huh? But I still get nearly beaten to death."

"I'm sorry." He sighed, "But I want to be with Mother so badly… you were in my way."

"Walter… where's… where's the little boy?" Eileen asked.

"He's around."

"Thanks, but that really doesn't help. That kid's a hell of a lot more approachable than you are." Eileen thought. She was just a few stairs below him at that point and with an almost defeated sigh, she stepped up and took a seat beside him. He seemed to grow wary of the woman and watched her from the corner of his eye like a shy, prepubescent boy.

Eileen looked at him for a long time, watching as his eyes dart back and forth between the doll and the corner to look at her uncomfortably, all while trying to act nonchalant and like he wasn't watching her. He cleared his throat and began playing with the doll's hair again. He had suddenly become so tense when she sat beside him…

"Where did you get that?" Eileen asked.

"…you gave it to me. It was a long, long time ago. You were younger than me back then. Do you remember?" He spoke slowly, and toward the end he glanced over at her.

Eileen wasn't sure she wanted to be caught in his gaze, and averted her eyes, looking down the stairs at the blood covered stairs and walls, "I… no. I don't remember much before I was about seven. I wish I remembered though."

"You do?" He asked, still watching her.

"Yeah. Then we could talk about it, I guess." Eileen replied quickly, "…I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Walter sighed, sounding a little disappointed, "Most people do not remember such unimportant things."

"I don't think it was unimportant." Eileen said nervously, "…I don't think I ever really forgot you. When I saw you back in my apartment, I knew I'd seen you somewhere before. I just couldn't remember the place."

"You do not have to lie to me, Miss Galvin."

Eileen looked at him, feeling like she just got hit in the gut and the wind knocked out of her, "Lie to you? Why would I lie?"

"Everybody lies." He said calmly.

She looked down the stairs once more, feeling hurt, "…I wouldn't lie to you."

"Of course you would. Anyone would lie to stay alive."

"If I were so desperate to stay alive, why would I be sitting here with you?"

Walter looked back at her again, "Yes. Why did you come sit beside me? You are aware I could kill you, correct?"

"Yeah. But even if I just ran away again, you could still kill me." Eileen looked up at the ceiling, seeing another one of the demonic creatures hanging in what looked like a full-body straitjacket. It was a disturbing sight, but then again, everything thus far had been. "No matter what I do, you would kill me. I'm your next target."

He continued to watch her quietly as she spoke, "…you kept the doll all these years? …I never knew something I could do could affect someone so deeply. I just… I don't know, I guess I just always felt like no one cared when I told them, 'It'll all be alright' or 'Get well soon'. People take that sort of concern for granted. Even though you may kill me… I'm happy that something I did made one person smile."

Silence fell over the two for a moment. All at once, Walter began to feel immense guilt for trying to cut off the emotional ties he'd built for Eileen Galvin—all manifested in the attempt to give Henry the doll before his visit to her in apartment 303. He was so very glad at that moment that Henry chose not to take that doll, his most precious possession, and was instead able to find it right where he left it when Henry had departed. It wasn't until he parted with the small child's toy that he realized how much he missed it and how dear it was to him. Everything about it symbolized that at least one person in that damned world of sinners had cared for him. Despite being saintly material, despite being a martyr in her own right, even his beloved Miss Galvin was one of them. Just another sinner… but oh, how she made his emotions swim and curl. Had she truly been just another sinner, he would have finished the job when he had the chance—and now, all because of what any normal human would label 'love', his intricately constructed plans had begun to derail.

A part of him hated her for that—the part that saw her as another obstacle to being with Mother. But another part, perhaps whatever was left of him that felt shreds of guilt, snippets of sanity, and still yearned for the love of a woman was grateful that he had spared her.

"You said I was 'younger than you' back then… just how old are you?" Eileen asked.

"Why would she even care?" Walter thought, hesitant to answer and going back to the doll in his hands, "…if I were still alive, I'd be thirty-four. …But I'm twenty-four."

Eileen smiled at him, "That's kind of mean. How old do you think I am?"

Walter felt his cheeks going slightly pink—he may have been technically a 'ghost', but he found over the last ten years of being dead that his body sometimes reacted as it would if he were alive. Even as a human, he had been the shy, super-sensitive type… and it didn't take much for an overly aggressive or flirtatious woman to get him bright red with nervousness, or a slight stumble on an uneven sidewalk to make him cringe in embarrassment. "Um… …twenty-five?"

"I'm twenty-three." She shook her head, "I don't even turn twenty-four until the summer."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I just feel old now." Eileen joked, before her voice went soft and a little more serious, "…Walter, I want to find that little boy. Can you tell me where he is?"

The long haired man knew exactly where the boy was—standing outside of Room 302, knocking away until his knuckles bled. He had so many memories of that, and the boy was just there to re-enact them all. It was a sad fate the boy was damned to, and something he could only change with the completion of the 21 Sacraments. He knew that if he told Eileen, she would just leave him… and he found himself not wanting her to go. Death was a lonely thing, and his loneliness was a testament to how sorely misery loved company.

"If you stay with me… just a little while longer." He replied in his quiet, eloquent voice.

Eileen nodded, "Sure. I'll stay with you."

She had no idea just how much it meant to him to hear her say those words. If he weren't so tense at the moment, he would have smiled in joy. But he wasn't ready to expose the soft core beneath his hard shell just yet.

"…what did you do when you were still alive?" Eileen asked, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"Like for a living? Did you work? Did you go to school?"

He thought for a moment, and replied quietly, almost too quiet to hear, "…I worked at the sport's shop, and I went to the university in Pleasant River."

"What did you study?"

"Why was she asking so many questions?" He thought, unused to anyone taking such interest in his life's mundane details, "Uh… I never really chose a major. I just kind of took a little of everything. I suppose I enjoyed art and medicine the most."

"I went to the same college as you. I focused on archeology. I'd love to see old ruins. One day, I'm going to see the excavation sites in Cairo—" Eileen began, before remembering that she may not even make it out alive… and she was telling this to the man, the very reason she may not be alive, "…I'd love to. I love archaic languages too."

"I… would have enjoyed becoming a surgeon." Walter replied, still careful not to begin disclosing too much about himself.

"What kind of surgeon?"

Again, he was caught in her net, wanting desperately to reply with every detail of all his dreams and the aspirations that were pushed aside in favor of Mother and the will of Valtiel. He too, had a life, and goals within… goals he always knew he would never achieve, "…nothing really specific."

Eileen noticed that he was starting to think deeper about that… his pained expression gave him away, "You would have been good at it, I'm sure."

"It never would have happened. I was fated to become the Conjurer from the very beginning." Walter replied a little sadly, "It was pretentious of me to even think otherwise."

"…Walter… I'm so sorry." Eileen spoke quietly.

"I do not need sympathy. Just Mother."

Eileen fell silent, as though pushed away when trying to comfort him. There really was no comforting him. He was beyond the point of empathy.

"I wish I could have helped you, somehow." She sighed, feeling empathetic tears welling up, "I… I just… If I could have done something, anything to make your life better, I would have. I didn't know… I didn't know…"

"You did not know. So do not worry about it. You will have your chance to help me soon enough." Walter was now thinking of that ritual, and it wouldn't be long until he relapsed into the violent killer that had harassed she and Henry earlier on. He had never been mentally stable, even as a human—and in his afterlife, it had only worsened. Something between a kind of manic bipolar sickness, and just simple lust for blood… he often went from calm and collected to aggressive and murderous, from one end of the spectrum to the other.

Eileen looked over at him, watching carefully as he tugged at the end of the doll's skirt. He certainly looked like he was becoming more depressed and upset, and as she wiped her own tears on the back of her hand, she worked her hardest to lighten the mood—helping others had always been her strong point.

"Do you… do you like ice cream?" She asked, picking the first random thing that came to mind.

He paused for a moment, just as caught off guard by the question as she was asking it. He shook his head, "No. I don't care for dairy. I do enjoy cake."

"What kind of cake?"

"…chocolate."

"I should make you a chocolate cake then." Eileen smiled, sniffling, "I make really good cake."

Still not looking back at her, Walter couldn't fight back a smile of his own as he replied, "I would love that."

"Do you like anything else on it?"

"…uh… I guess… candles."

"Candles? Like a birthday cake? …I should make you a birthday cake. When is your birthday?" Eileen moved a little closer, and for once he did not feel uncomfortable.

"Not until July."

"When in July?"

"…21st."

"So you're a Cancer?" Eileen laughed, "I am, too."

Walter looked over at the woman beside him. Her body was so lithe and wonderful—he would have loved to pull her into his arms right there. He noticed she had moved closer. Just what was she trying to accomplish?

"I always felt more like a Leo." Walter replied, "Lions are more appealing than lobsters anyway."

"It's not a lobster, it's a crab. Cancer's way better." Eileen grinned, "I'll make you a birthday cake, Walter. It'll be the best birthday cake you've ever had."

"…I've never had a birthday cake. Or a birthday, really."

"Then I'll give you one."

"Miss Galvin… thank you." Walter said, bringing the doll close to him, as if embracing it.

Eileen watched as he leaned forward, his hair falling over his face. She wasn't sure if he was upset again or not. Unconsciously she rested a hand against his shoulder, rubbing softly, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded a little strained as he flinched when she touched him, "Y-Yeah."

It was then that she realized he was crying. It really broke her heart to hear his pained sobs, but she didn't feel his pain like when she was with Henry in the super's room and knew Walter was weeping. These tears were different.

"The boy… he's down the hall, in front of Room 302. You may leave now."

"…are you sure?"

"Go."

Eileen sighed, and reluctantly stood. Up the rest of the stairs she went and she stopped at the double doors to the third floor hall when she heard Walter's voice, "Miss Galvin… the reason I couldn't… couldn't kill you…"

She looked back at him, seeing him still hunched over and sobbing.

"I couldn't do it… because… I loved you. I love you," He spoke, guilt tearing at his heart—love was reserved only for Mother, he chastised himself. But still, he went on, "…Eileen."

Eileen felt tears threatening again to spill over. He was full of so much pain… She wasn't sure how to react or respond. Should she leave wordlessly? Did he even want a response? What could she say that wasn't an amorous falsity—she hardly knew him as well as he knew her. It was totally likely he even stalked her, or learned about her just as he did with the other victims. He was more at liberty to say he felt love for her than she was… she hardly knew him.

"Little Walter is waiting for you. You should go now." He said, voice a little calmer.

She looked down at the doorknob for a moment, unsure whether to go or not. There was still much she wanted to say. For a split second, the 'real world', where she too, was just another unloved, lonely woman didn't seem as appealing… but the thought, the possibilities were all gone as fast as they had come. She turned the handle and walked into the hall, letting the door shut behind her.

Chapter End Notes:

I took a short breather from "This is the End" and this flopped out, all gooey and covered in amniotic fluid. Ah, well. It's kind of cute, so I guess I'll keep it. Poor Eileen. He may want her ass, but that's not gonna stop him from throwing her in a handy-dandy Eileen Juicer 9000(tm). Yep.