School is starting soon, that either means less chapter updates--or more. I'm so terrible, I know. I doodle, write, and daydream when the teacher is talking. Hey lucky me, I have an AP class this year. Let's see if that will go well with all my dawdling.

I'm curious as to why Henry just doesn't AXE DOWN HER DOOR. Courtesy I guess. Damn you Henry.

Silent Hill 4: Chapter 10

A brief sense of relief hit Henry as he saw Eileen sitting off to the side of her bed, bent over as she fastened on some sort of footwear. The relief was soon gone though as he realized she was still in very grave danger. His throat tightened up when she walked by, unable to speak. Dressed in her formal wear, Eileen made it that much harder for Henry to talk to her even if she was going to be in peril.

Perhaps.

He wasn't sure that she was going to be attacked. For all he knew he was just paranoid; reading bloody writing on the wall and taking it as true. Fingers trembling, he watched as she sat on her bed, unscrewing a nail polish bottle. Painting her nails delicately, she hummed softly to herself. She must not have known what happened to Richard, at least not yet. Blowing quietly on her nails, she put her nail polish away, once again walking close to Henry, making him flinch away. Eileen stopped short suddenly, as if noticing something. He saw as she walked slowly over to her window, elbow cradled in her hand. Soon she was out of his sight, and not likely to wander back. Henry pushed away from the hole, anxious. Unable to relax any longer, he stepped into his bathroom, preparing to go through another nightmare.

The first thing he noticed was that his vomit was gone, flushed down the toilet like nothing had happened. Jiggling the handle to find that it was still broken, Henry scratched the back of his head, stumped. Just as he was about to ignore it and go through the hole, he saw something glimmer in the depth of the toilet bowl. Craning his neck forward, he tried to see what it was. Failure in doing so showed that he had no choice but to reach in and get it.

Shuddering Henry turned away. He was definitely not brave enough to do it. Monster dogs, moths, and twin monsters he could handle, possibly because it was for sheer survival. Toilet fishing was never going to be his strong suit. Things like that he left to a plumber.

Henry examined the hole. It was definitely not made by a human of any sort. It was getting even bigger and rounder, and the pattern around it was familiar yet still incomplete. Of course he had seen that red pattern painted around the holes of the other worlds, but something about it reminded him of something else he had looked at. After a while of thinking without coming up with an answer, Henry went inside the hole, wondering where it would lead him next.

--

Groggily Henry awoke, the grated floor he was laying on biting into his skin, particularly his cheek. Making himself get up quickly, he shook the deadweight feeling off, silently noting that each new world he entered had a harder hit on his body. Ignoring the dull ache from the arrival he stood up in a red hallway, seeing a man in the distance. Even though the angle he was standing at made him strain to see, he saw that the man dressed in a huge coat was standing in front of a door.

A door that clearly said '303' above a peephole.

Henry jerked when he realized he was standing in what was his apartment building. Before he let his eyes explore he kept them focused on the man. He couldn't see his face, as it was lowered, but he could almost feel his expression as he lifted a hand up and knocked on the door.

It was a slow knock, ominous and, quite frankly, a little bit scary. His knuckles hit the door multiple times, as if expecting the tenant of room 303—no doubt Eileen—to answer. Curiously though, as soon as he was done knocking, the man only stood there for a second before turning and walking away, his steps patient and knowledgeable. Henry watched as he turned the corner and left the hallway through a big metal door before allowing himself to whisper out loud.

"It looks like my apartment…What the hell is this?" Henry looked about the decrepit walls, noting how they resembled the inside of the creatures he had to dissect in biology class. (He hated that class.) Backing up slightly, he nearly tripped over a rusted, destroyed bike. Stumbling to regain his balance, he caught himself on the door of room 301. In the real world 301 was unoccupied, and it wasn't that big of a surprise to Henry when the door opened. He didn't exactly expect it to open though, so he almost lost his balance again entering the room. Brushing himself off, he sighed heavily and looked down at the floor.

His eyes were met by a picture of a very naked woman sprawled out on a bed, her breasts causing the illusion that the picture was bulging. Before he could really look away he saw another picture on the cover of a magazine, yet again a sparsely clothed woman in a seductive pose. Henry blinked, then stared in amazement at the pile—no, the mountain of porn magazines that were pushed up against the TV. In the cabinet underneath the TV were indeed, porn videos.

Fiddling absently with his collar, Henry turned around to the coffee table. On it was a diary and blank red slip of paper, not unlike those he got underneath his door. Deciding on a whim that he'd stick it underneath his door himself, Henry pocketed it and read to the diary.

The last few months, Joseph, the guy next door to me who gave me that rare porn magazine, looks like he's been working super hard. He said if he found another rare one, he'd give it to me but he hasn't shown his face around much lately. He said he was a journalist and he is always investigating stuff. But I think something strange is going on with him. He's been shut in his apartment and I can hear all these weird noises coming from there.

July 1 – Mike

Oh my beautiful Rachael, what's with the note on the red paper? I thought you'd written a note back to me…But I guess maybe it was somewhere else…He took it along with my clothes. Those were my best clothes.

July 2 – Mike

Henry felt sympathy to the journalist Joseph from the first entry. He guessed that he was the exact same man that had been giving him red diary pages through some sort of otherworldly force. The second entry was a little more confusing, but probably important nonetheless. Sometimes, he had found, the strangest of words were the best of advice.

Reminded of Jasper, he gathered up Mike's diary, taking the important pages and stuffing them in his pocket. The entire book did not fit anywhere on him and it would be quite inefficient to carry it around with him. Henry left the living room and headed down the grime-covered hallway, the walls replaced with iron bars. There were two rooms open—one that was more of a single person cage than a room, and another that was also stacked with, yes, porn. Feeling a distant sense of unease, he directed his attention to the walls, where vibrant black and red pictures hung loosely on nails.

The first picture looked a lot like the superintendent, Frank Sunderland. He had been here since the building was built of course, it shouldn't have been that odd. It was a little hard to recognize him because he looked so young. His hair was dark and his face hadn't yet been worn with worry and sadness. Henry thought it was sad in a way. He figured the disappearance of his son and daughter-in-law had a big impact on him.

The head of his axe accidentally brushed on the picture's side. Before Henry could know it and stop what was happening, the picture toppled from its nail to the floor. Fumbling madly for it even as it hopelessly tumbled from his fingers, he winced as it made a solid sound dropping to the floor, as if he was a guest at a house and he had just made a big mistake. Skipping backward as the picture landed on his foot, he saw something strange as it fell forward, exposing its back. Taped to the cheap cardboard backing was a key. Peeling it off, taking a thin shred of cardboard with it, he replaced the picture and looked at the key. 105 was scrawled into it, resembling the key he had for 302. Rubbing the dust off of it, he put it in his pocket. On the adjacent wall was a similar red and black picture, this time a photo of a nurse he did not recognize.

Scrawled on the photo with a fat sharpie were the words 'I love you.' Having a hunch he lifted the photo off of the nail, finding a key on the back. Taking it, he saw it was a locker key for room 106. Replacing the photo he saw a magazine lying open on a table—and not a porno magazine either. Stepping over the stacks of magazines that did sport such nudity, he read the article that the page was turned to.

Teaching Despair: "Wish House"

Henry paused before reading more. The orphanage from that forest?

"Wish House," an orphanage on the outskirts of Silent Hill. But behind its false image is a place where children are kidnapped and brainwashed. Wish House is managed by the "Silent Hill Smile Support Society," a charity organization sometimes called "4S." It's true that 4S is a well-respected charity that "takes in poor children without homes and raises them with hope."

But at its heart, it is a heathen organization that teaches its own warped dogma in lieu of good religious values.

Mr. Smith (temp), who lives near "Wish House," had this to say: "Sometimes at night I can hear their weird prayers and the sounds of (children) crying. I went there to complain one time, but they ran me right out. Since then, it hasn't changed a bit." In fact, this reporter was refused admission when he attempted to take photographs in the facility. What exactly do the folks at "Wish House" have to hide?

During my investigations, I was able to discover, however, a suspicious looking round concrete tower which appears to be part of their facilities. Unfortunately no one was willing to tell us what the tower was used for. But it seems unlikely that it has anything to do with the business of raising orphans. It may in fact be a prison, or a secret place of worship. The cult religion that operates "Wish House" is known by the locals simply as "The Order." It's a religion that is deeply interwoven with Silent Hill's history. But its worshippers' fervent belief that they are among the elite "chosen people" has a dark and dangerous side.

I intend to continue my investigation of "Wish House" and the cult behind it. I've always believed that "telling the whole truth" and showing the children the true path, is our most important duty.

Joseph Schreiber

Henry had more than a few pieces of evidence to conclude that this Joseph Schreiber was the man who had been giving him the red diary notes. The writing style was very similar, as well as the fact that the man named Mike mentioned something about a man named Joseph living in Henry's room before him. Rolling up the magazine, he put it in his back pocket. Gingerly stepping around the centerfold displaying a fantastic naked lady—Henry wouldn't lie—he left the room. Stepping out in the hallway he walked down into the living room, met with a headache. Grasping his head, he looked in disbelief as a ghost—the elderly lady one from the subway—floated in the kitchen. Henry exited into the main hallway before she could start pursuing him.

Heaving a huge breath, he walked down to room 302, seeing that it, unlike the rest of the apartment, was painted its normally dull colors as well as still having the checkerboard linoleum bordering the bottom of it. The boy, Walter Sullivan, was standing in front of the door, knocking on it almost furiously. He was asking for his mother to let him in. When Henry approached, however, he disappeared. Stepping over the random dog corpses littered about, he figured it wasn't that big of a deal—he had vanished once and was bound to do it again. Reaching the door, he jiggled the handle out of false hope, expecting it to be jammed. Just as he thought, of course. He bent down and took the blank red sheet out of his pocket, slipping it in the crack of the door next to another red note. Standing up, he looked down the hall, reminded of Eileen.

Spurred into a light jog, he came up to her door, turning her knob. It was locked. Henry stood in front of her door. What was that guy doing there? Was he the next victim? Or could it be…

Gulping, he gathered up his courage and raised his hand. Softly he knocked on her door, rapping quietly with the knuckles on the back of his hand. Swallowing hard he called, no, whispered at the room number that was staring back at him.

"Eileen…?" He paused and knocked again, "It's your…," It's your neighbor, Henry. Townshend, yeah. I've been locked in my room for a while and I think you're in danger and I'd like for you to stay with me so you won't get hurt.

Yeah, right, he was going to say all that. Very quietly he murmured a 'nevermind' to the glaring numbers on the door, turning on his heel and walking away. After a few paces he cursed himself and broke out into a run. He didn't bother checking the doors along the way; he knew that most likely they'd be locked. Only having two keys with him, he knew that there was only one place to go. Directly to the super's room. He exited the hallway through the door to the main stairwell. Sitting on the blood-spattered stairs was the man in the coat.

His hair was blonde, but so grimy from oil and filth that it was somewhat hard to tell. In his hand he held a worn yarn doll, probably once loved dearly by a little girl. The white of the doll's face had grayed from use. The man in the coat seemed to sense that Henry was there, because as soon as he started to descend the steps the hand with the doll rose up, showing him the expressionless face sewn into the yarn.

"I got this from Miss Galvin…a long, long time ago…," The man had a young voice that suggested that his mind was definitely elsewhere—a bad sort of elsewhere too. He looked at Henry with big, light green eyes. Henry stiffened when he saw his face and lapels splattered with fresh blood. The man didn't seem to care about his reaction as he kept on talking, shaking his head.

"She was younger than me back then…," The man took individual strands of black yarn that portrayed the doll's hair, stroking them with care, "She looked so happy, holding her mother's hand…," The man glanced up at Henry, setting the shabby doll on the seat next to him, "Here…I'll give to you…,"

Henry's chin touched his collarbone as he stared down at the doll. Eileen was once the little girl that cherished the doll so. And somehow, she passed on the doll from her care to the blood-splattered man with the coat.

And somehow, Henry didn't like it. It had a strange, tattered aura about it. It seemed innocent enough, but he had a feeling it contained a bombshell within. With some guilt Henry left the doll on the steps. Thankfully the man didn't stare at him as he left, alleviating more possible guilt. He got to the landing and turned his head around, only to see the man gone.

She looked so happy, holding her mother's hand…

Following the staircase all the way down, he walked up to the small table. The light from the lamp illuminated the personal mail lockers for the tenants. Fishing for the 106 key, he took the small thing out and inserted it into the lock.

Letters upon letters that were overflowing the locker were finally set free, scattering about the floor. Henry stepped back, waiting until they had all settled down before crouching down to read the envelopes.

I love you Rachael…Mike.

Every letter in there was a love letter from Mike to Rachael. Henry was beginning to wonder if Rachael loved Mike back, or if he was a stalker. There were multiple mountains of porn in his room, Henry didn't believe a girl fell easily for something like that. Leaving the letters where they were, he tried the door to the outside. No such luck. He felt no disappointment—he was getting used to it. Entering the door that led to the hallway where room 105 was, he prepared for the worst.

The kitchen was barred off. Apart from that this room was slightly less decrepit than Mike's and the entire building. Walking forward next to the book case, a sharp, stinging smell pierced his brain, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. Avoiding the book case, he located the smell, noticing it came from a small, red box. Leaving that alone he turned to Frank's desk. Four small TVs sat on it. The top two were labeled 'parking lot', while the bottom were simply labeled 'front.' An open box on a case next to the desk held red paper. He took the two pieces even though one was torn and put them in his pocket. Next to that box was a hastily scribbled note. Henry couldn't read some parts of it, it was so sloppy.

Found by Nurse Rachael. Return it to Room 302…together with the part. Her boyfriend (Mike?) tore off…

Leaving the note where it was, Henry looked up at the wall, brightening up when he saw a key ring with lots of keys hanging from it. Taking it off the hook he fished through them. His heart sank though when he found room 303's key to be missing. Figuring he was up for another long journey, he put the keys away in his shirt and went down the hallway into Frank's bedroom. His bed was covered with quite an ugly green quilt. It had the sense of age and smelled somewhat of must. Still Henry sat on it as he took the diary up from the end table, reading the entry it was open to.

The red box seems even stranger today. It's giving off a terrible smell. It's disgusting, but I just can't throw it away. It must have been around thirty years ago. That young couple was living in the apartment, but one day they just suddenly disappeared. Ran off just like thieves in the night. I don't know why. It must have been money troubles, or maybe they got themselves into some kind of danger. The problem came after that. They left their newborn baby when they took off. I even found the umbilical cord. I called the ambulance right away and I heard the baby survived, but I don't know what happened to him.

Although a few years later, I often saw a young kid hanging around the apartment. One day he just stopped coming by. But now that I think of it, I'll bet he was that abandoned baby. It's a horrible story. Abandoning a newborn baby…That all happened in room 302…And the umbilical cord I found there…Well, I can't seem to get myself to throw it away.

Henry tore out the pages and stashed them.

Say…you look a lot like a little punk that I once caught sneakin' around there…

Somewhere in the back of his mind, things were becoming clearer. He still thought it was incredibly strange for Frank to keep the umbilical cord for what was it? Thirty years? That must've been what the red box was. He was right. It smelled terrible.

Leaving the super's room he walked over to room 106. It was surprisingly empty with a hypnotic pattern on the wall. There was nothing much here at all. Heading down the hallway, he entered the bedroom. On a bed with no mattress and broken springs was a nurse's dress, the name on the lapel saying 'Rachael.' Lying next to the uniform was a portable first-aid kit. Seeing that as extremely useful while the supplies lasted, he grabbed it and turned to the table pushed to the side. A phone was set on it, with a notepad next to it saying 'My darling's number.' Pressing the keys, he could hear, very, very faintly, a phone ring in the distance. Tapping the table a few times, he left.

The 04121 ghost met him in the nurse's living room. He bolted through the door before it could do anything once again. Sooner or later he had to figure out what was triggering all these random appearances. Rubbing his eyes, he decided that the next hole he found he would be going into.

Another ghost began to slime out of the wall when he re-entered the hallway. Henry pushed himself into a run before it could completely tear away from its confinement, and entered room 107. He almost groaned when he saw the 04121 ghost again, floating in the middle of the living room. Quickly scanning the room with his eyes, he hoped that nothing important was in here, because he wasn't going to stay. All he saw were lots of music records and a turntable. Henry left the room just as the ghost hit him across the back with a trowel. He cried out in pain just before he managed to close the door. Shoulder blades throbbing, he ran down the hallway, having checked every room there was. It wasn't long before he was pursued by another ghost. Trying desperately to ignore it his feet padded wetly on the ground in a sprint, kicking up bits of red as he went.

Panting hard, he slowed to a stop as he hit the lobby. Feeling a lukewarm liquid dribble down his back, he looked up, seeing a hole in the lobby wall. Thankful, he approached and entered it, not willing to run all the way back up to 302 to slip the notes he had under the door. His shoulder blades weren't happy with him as he clambered through. They'd be healed soon enough.

--

Grateful that the pain on his back was ebbing away, Henry left his bedroom to go check the notes under his door. As soon as he left the hallway a strange puttering sound interrupted his steps. He waited until it sputtered and died off before he poked his head out into the main room, looking for the source of the sound. Finding no evidence of anything that had been moved, he turned to the broom closet. Apprehensive, he opened the door. It was a rather big broom closet for an apartment, but it suited him just fine as extra storage space for miscellaneous tools, a tank of oil, and his washer and dryer. In fact, the first thing he saw was his dryer, the door wedged open. Henry stood in the doorway, staring in a distant sense of horror.

The dryer had spewed blood everywhere, soiling the carpet, walls, and, as Henry gingerly pried the door open further to see the damage, his clothes as well. He had some clean clothes in the hamper, and some in his closet in the bedroom, but it wasn't that much.

A thought jarred him in his chest as he saw blood spots on a cardboard box. Suddenly frantic he tore the box open, biting his lower lip. If what he had in this box was ruined, he'd be ruined. Flinging the spattered foam packaging carelessly behind him, he dug down until he found what he was looking for.

Relieved beyond belief, Henry removed several untouched manila envelopes from the box, as well as a few film canisters with used film and some that were still new. The envelopes carried several pictures he had recently developed. Carefully handling every item from the box in his hand so they wouldn't get dirty from the blood off of his shirt, he reached in and pulled the last item out of the box, inspecting it carefully as he did. There was his camera—his backup camera in case the old one he inherited from his grandfather broke. He had bought it himself as a little present for graduating college. Still he used his grandfather's camera most of the time; that one was packed in his plastic armored briefcase in his room. Cradling everything in his hands as if it were a newborn baby, Henry left the closet and headed for his bedroom. The box it was in was soaked on the bottom as well as being splattered—it was now rendered useless for its purpose.

Opening the drawer on his end table, he carefully piled everything into it, setting the camera on the table since it didn't fit. Feeling a small sense of happiness in knowing that nothing had been harmed, he returned back to the front hallway, crouching down and taking the notes from underneath the door.

I figured out the riddle behind the numbers. '01121' is actually '01/21.' In other words, one out of twenty-one. So Walter was planning on killing twenty-one people…? But he never finished the job. He was convicted for the murders of Billy and Miriam Locane, the seventh and eighth victims. Afterwards, he committed suicide in his jail cell. The grisly mass murder of ten people shocked the world and came to be known as the 'Walter Sullivan Case.'

There are two big puzzles here. The first is: What was the motive for the murders? The second is: Why did he kill himself before completing his task? Was he simply insane…?

May 2

Henry stared at the paper long after he was finished reading. Someone had definitely been carrying out what Walter had started long ago. Cynthia had been the sixteenth victim, Jasper the seventeenth, Andrew the eighteenth, and Richard the nineteenth. In fact, the strange murders that Walter had started were almost complete. Whoever was finishing the job for him was just as ruthless—if not more—than Walter himself. And still there was what Andrew had said in his cell. He knew a man named Walter was going to kill him, and he cowered before the little boy bearing the name Walter Sullivan. But from the way Joseph wrote, he talked as if Walter was a grown man. There weren't just two puzzles here, but many. Uncountable, even. Henry picked up the next note and continued to read.

It was four years ago that they discovered the body with '12/21' carved into it. Right away I had this terrible feeling and couldn't stop shaking. The victim had been murdered six months earlier, but Walter had been dead for seven years, having committed suicide three years before the murder. The police think it's a copycat crime and are calling it the Sullivan Case Round Two. But something about it bothered me…

May 14

Folding the two pieces of the red diary together, Henry kept them in his hand as he stood up. Before he put them away in his scrapbook, he crossed the living room to the wall, wanting to check on Eileen before he left. He sat there in front of the hole and waited. After a long time a sense of fear gripped him. He didn't see her at all. Could something have happened to her?

On the edge of panic, Henry returned to his room, unloading his pockets of everything he collected for the scrapbook. Placing them properly in there, he noticed his hands were slightly shaking. To keep his mind off of it, he decided that he simply had to move forward, and entered the bathroom.

Placing the portable medical kit in the shelves where the hydrogen peroxide used to be, he took in a deep breath to calm himself. Ignoring the glimmer in the toilet, he entered the hole, hoping that Eileen was safe and possibly already at the party she had been preparing for.

--

Stretching his limbs out when the hole placed him in the lobby, he continued to search the first floor. When he entered the last hallway, he was surprised to find a living dog pacing around, as if waiting for him. Raising the axe, Henry found it quite simple to take the dog down if he gave it his best swing. He liked the axe, it made combat with the monsters less dangerous and long. Still, he was thankful that someone had killed most of the dogs that had inherited this world. All the corpses proved that. Taking out the key ring, he entered room 104.

Across the cell-like room he saw four, no six moths crawling along the wall. Readying himself, he waited until they came to him, buzzing angrily. They had swarmed him easily, but he didn't have trouble in disposing of them. Finding nothing else in this room, he went back out into the hallway.

Room 103 held nothing for him, just a cordless florescent light that gave somewhat of an eerie glow. Before he could venture further down the hallway he was met with another dog that was taking care of quite quickly. Upon entering room 102 he saw a horde of white slugs crowding around the refrigerator. Along with the slugs came a familiar rotting smell. Wrinkling his nose as he stomped the colony of slugs, he approached the fridge, distastefully reminded of his awful nightmares. Opening it up wide, he looked on in pity at what he saw.

Wrapped up in torn, bloody jeans was a furry dead body. Closer inspection revealed it was a creamy tabby cat. In the pocket of the jeans that was near the cat's head was a torn piece of red paper. Feeling sad more than sick, he eased the paper out of the pocket. Finding nothing else in the room he left, having one room left to check.

The first thing he noticed in room 101 was that there was a shotgun lying on the counter. Henry's eyes widened, but further inspection just proved that it was a model, along with every other gun in the room. Disappointed, he picked up a box of pistol bullets when the 04121 (or 04/21) ghost appeared right next to him. Once again Henry got hit with his trowel, this time in the ear. A bolt of pain accompanied the spray of blood. Something felt oddly loose, and Henry clasped a hand to the side of his head, running down the hallway into the gun fanatic's room. There was nothing there but books on guns, but something had been written on the back of a hunting magazine. Henry read it quickly, pressured by the ghost that was ever so slowly creeping up on him.

My eyes and skin are so itchy! That stupid cat next door made my allergy to crazy. I was so pissed off, I took my converted model gun and blasted away at the thing at point blank range. It was way cool. The thing just dropped like a stone.

By the way, that revolver that Richard in 207 carries…it's the real thing. That guy's dangerous…

Henry put the magazine down just in time to narrowly avoid another swing from the trowel. Keeping low he just managed to avoid the ghost, able to squeeze his way out of the gun fanatic's room. It made him felt sick. If he never had to go in there again, Henry would be happy.

Leaving the first floor, he climbed up the stairs. On the second floor landing the ringing phone was loud, somewhat annoying even. Deciding that he wanted to slip the pieces of paper under his door first, he ran all the way up to the third floor. He was planning on a straight arrow mission to his door and back, but something made him stop dead in his tracks right outside room 303.

Frantic pounded smothered the door, accompanied by the occasional cry from Eileen. The door rattled as she pounded, but it seemed as though she was hopelessly trapped, like Henry. Though her cries were muffled they were obviously loud and afraid. The thing that bothered Henry the most was that she wasn't screaming out comprehensible words or shouts for help. It was as if she had been handicapped, gagged even. The pounding was endless and useless. There was no way for her to get out.

Grasping the key ring in his hand so hard he almost cut his palm, he sank into a pool of desperation. He did not want another dead body on his hands, he did not want to witness another innocent person die, he did not want to remain helpless as another person fell victim to a serial killer. Even though he knew it wouldn't work, he tried the keys. Every key, from room 302's to the super's key, didn't work. Henry had a short moment of rage and quite audibly cursed. As if it was in response, Eileen cried out desperately. Shutting up, Henry pressed his body against the door, sweat beading on his forehead. Nothing was working. Sooner than he'd like, the rattling of the door stopped, and room 303 fell quiet.

"Eileen…?" Henry called just as quietly as before. When there was no answer, he felt a sense of failure and stepped back, shoulders hung low.

"Eileen…,"