Wasn't quite sure where to end this chapter, so I just did. By the by, I like toying with Eileen, so you might see multiple little plugs for her. This is why I like third person. (Don't you think this is a coincidence it's 'unlucky' 13 this chapter, where all the hauntings might start?
Also if you guys have seen my other oneshot SH4 stuff, you might noticed that I was visited by a flamer. :D Have you guys read that? Isn't that HILARIOUS? Oh god I nearly fell off my chair in sheer laughter. I laughed so hard I couldn't drink my tea. They put question marks and exclamation points that stretched the length of California, and swore at me with such creative words that they stuck in asterisks for. Oh man, it totally made my day, you have no idea. Don't get fired up in anger about it guys, because I'm sure not. XD They certainly know how to make me laugh.
Another big thank you to my friend HopelessIdiot. :D Yes, the Eileen's dog being named Hairy was totally done on purpose. WE LOVE YOU HARRY.
Silent Hill 4: Chapter 13
Henry approached her warily, apprehension making his heart pound. There she was, still dressed in her formal wear. Various bruises and cuts violated her skin. The make-up she had put on to go to her party was slightly smeared, but still presentable. There was a nasty scab at the corner of her lip, it looked like it would hurt to talk. She had been bandaged up in the most important places; her forearm and shin were wrapped soundly with temporary gauze, while her entire left arm was encased in a heavy cement cast. Her right eye had been covered up by a soft band-aid. It wasn't enough though. The filthy mattress had still been stained ever so slightly with the blood and pus that was still oozing out from her uncovered wounds. It was clearly a miracle that she had survived.
Her head had been turned away from him, resting to the side as she slowly took in breaths. They were calm and rhythmic like sleep, but every once in a while an abnormality would occur, making the sleep uncomfortable. Each breath she took was shallow, her chest only barely rising and falling. Henry stood over her, watching her struggle to sleep. He wasn't going to wake her up, he didn't have the heart to do it. For now he would stand here and if anything came to finish her off he'd make sure it didn't get farther than the door. Eileen was alive. That meant more to Henry right now than anything else. He had failed five times before, he wasn't going to fail again.
Gently Eileen turned her head, facing straight up. Soon after her eyebrow knitted at the bridge of her nose as her mouth tightened. A small groan emitted from her lips as she stirred, and she turned in Henry's direction, moaning and opening her eye a crack. Henry flinched, anticipation causing him to shiver. Eileen stared at him sleepily at first, then in sheer terror.
It didn't occur to Henry until it was too late, but what she saw was a scruffy unfamiliar man standing over her, his height casting a shadow that blotted his facial features out. He was holding an axe that was coated to the handle with fresh blood, and his clothes were splotched everywhere with more blood, both old and new. And he was staring straight into her uncovered eye, steadily, as if contemplating something. There were many things he could be thinking about, and to her, 'murder' was one of the higher possibilities. He was nothing but a threat.
Things happened so quickly he didn't know what was going on until it was over. Eileen tilted her head upward as her pale green eye flew open in shock and fear. Her scream started low, escalating as she pushed herself up on the bed, scrabbling away from him. As her scream grew louder Henry's eyes flew open themselves as he immediately realized what he looked like to her. He threw up his hands, hoping to establish some sort of innocence with her.
Instead, Eileen's cry jumped to a desperate shriek as she sat up and wriggled brokenly towards the wall. Henry stared at her for a split-second, wondering what had happened, then remembered the bloody axe that was still in his hand. That was a fine way to 'establish innocence.' He swore at himself, his profanity drowned out by Eileen's screaming.
She grabbed the medical pole by the bedside, using it as leverage to pull herself up to huddle against the wall. Screaming her lungs out as her only defense, she prayed that someone would hear her and rescue her. Right now she was defenseless, a mere shell of what she used to be. She wouldn't survive whatever he was going to do to here with that axe. Beginning to shiver uncontrollably, her imagination took over.
Henry dropped the axe on cue, nearly jamming his foot. Everything was happening so fast and awry he wasn't thinking straight. Her screaming urged him to do something to get her to calm down, and on pure instinct he ran to the bed, sliding onto it to reach Eileen. He wrapped his arms around her grabbing her to try and calm her down. She was moving so much that he simply reached out and held her, one arm around her waist and the other spanning the front of her shoulders. Pulling her body close to him, he made her scream louder and higher. She jerked away, throwing him forward from his grip on her, pushing his weight onto her back.
Her shrieks now beyond the realm of terrified, Eileen desperately tried to shake him off, wriggling her body back and forth with as much force as she could muster. Henry was persistent though and held onto her firmly partially because he lost his balance and partly because he was stubborn. His ears split from the decibel of her screech, causing him to narrow his eyes against the pain. Gathering up the voice power he never used, he shouted at her, hoping she could hear him past the din.
"Eileen!" he cried, inadvertently pulling her farther away from her safety against the wall, "Eileen, relax!" Eileen kept her grip on the post, pricking the palm of her hand on the rust. Thoughts running wildly and disconnected, tears started spurting behind her eyes as her mind cried.
He knows my name!! He knows my name, he's been watching me, he knows my Goddamn name!!
Eileen kicked out at him, desperate to fight him off. He kept his hands where they were, softly so he wouldn't harm her but firmly so she couldn't squirm away. The feel of his hands on her body sent shivers up Eileen's spine, just imagining what harm he had done to other people and what he was going to do to her. It eventually became clear to her that fighting him was hurting her more than him. Starting to curl up into a feeble ball, she remained tense although she let herself go limp. Letting go of the pole, her hand trembled as she brought it to her chest, grasping Henry's arm. It was the last thing she could do to get rid of him before she'd have a break down and forget how to defend herself.
Henry was surprised at the force in which she gripped his arm, her nails digging in as her last breath of fighting spirit. Weakly she pulled his arm out and away from her so he couldn't touch her. Getting the message he pulled his arm away, to which Eileen gave a short burst of a scream as she wasn't expecting his movement. Carefully he edged to the end of the bed, slowly coming to realization that he really should not have done that. Eileen dissolved into a pitiful mass of sobs, rocking back and forth to comfort herself. Henry stood up, letting one hand linger on her back before pulling it away. His fingers grazed the numbers that had become her scar, and the touch of them made him feel caught like a fish on a hook by a deep sadness.
Her skin was not mending itself well. The numbers were fissures, scars of the earth that could never be perfect again. Henry slid his hand off, eyes drawn to the scarlet numbers on her back as she sobbed, cradling herself. He stood back, waiting for her to gather her composure. It could take a long time, but he was willing to wait. Lowering his head, he knew such traumas did not heal quickly, and he should've been thinking about that before he had mindlessly reached out and grabbed her. Making that move most definitely made it worse, and it would take even longer now for her to feel comfortable enough to talk; to turn around, even.
Eileen glanced quickly back with her good eye, looking down and away to remove the remnants of her sobs with her shoulder. Looking up again she stared at him, easing her body into a more comfortable sitting position. At first she was going to face him full on, but she didn't fully trust him, so she stopped and merely faced him with her shoulder. He could see her incessant trembling as well as hear it in her voice when she finally spoke to him.
"H-Henry…? From next door…," Sniffling, she kept her cast between her and him lest he did something. Henry was at least relieved that she recognized him through the blood and grime that caked his hair, clothing, and face. Trusting him, however, was a different story; he could see it in her eye.
"What are you doing here?"
Stiffening, Henry mentally cursed again. To get her to trust him he'd have to tell the truth, and the truth is, to say the least, very stretched. And, in order to tell her the truth, he'd have to rely on his dusty social skills—skills he rarely shared with women, and skills he rarely shared with formally dressed women. To top it off, he was standing in front of her soaked in blood that wasn't all his own, and his well-used axe was on the ground next to his soiled shoe. She looked at him expectantly. A fleeting thought ran through his head as he stood there, seeing it as a possible escape route. Maybe I can pretend I'm mute.
The thought was scratched as she knew he could speak. Hadn't he just screamed at her to relax?
"I don't…," he muttered, shaking his head, "I don't know where to start…,"
Start at the beginning, Townshend. He told himself, walking his way through this. There was no way in hell he was any sort of psychologist, if anything, he would be the first in a hundred people to misinterpret someone else's feelings. He just wasn't a people-person, and nothing would change that, hence why he continued to talk long after Eileen looked at him, utterly frightened.
"There was this…strange hole in my room," As soon as he started, he couldn't stop, and soon he was babbling, "I-I saw people getting killed…all these…weird other worlds…," He paused for a moment, never noticing that Eileen raised a scared eyebrow at him. The message flew clear over his head. She dipped her gaze down so she wouldn't have to look at him, raising a hand to feel the bump on her skull. Is he simply insane? What does he mean by 'saw people getting killed'?
"And I saw you get attacked too…," he said, pausing again. He bent down to catch her eye, straightening quickly back up when she whipped her head around, sending a warning signal to him. Once more he became sorely aware that he shouldn't have done whatever it was that he did. His stomach flipped over as she spat venom at him as a defense.
"What are you talking about?" she sneered, tears still caught in her voice. Forcing strength into her throat she stared directly at him, glaring, "I'm supposed to believe that?"
You're screwed, Townshend. Henry grimaced. Putting a hand out to emphasize the truth in his point, he bent towards her. Eileen shifted her position, squirming away from him. Though there was strength in her voice the fear was still very much alive and thriving within her. Henry saw it; she was terrified of him. He was caught in a sticky situation, and if he couldn't get out they might as well be confined in that very room for a long time, if not the rest of their lives.
"But it's true…," he protested, thinking quickly, "And…there was a kid with you," he added, his mind racing. He braced himself for Eileen's recoil, knowing full well that a little statement like that couldn't prove anything. Biting his lower lip, he watched Eileen's expression even if he couldn't interpret much.
Her eye suddenly became distant and thoughtful. She looked down at the floor, fingers kneading the thin mattress. Looking in the other direction, she continued to fiddle with the filthy cloth, fingers swathed up to the knuckles.
"I remember now," she murmured very softly, slightly embarrassed, "I was getting ready to go to my friend's party…," She looked up at Henry with a wide eye then glanced down, still not ready to meet his gaze. Unlocking her fingers from the mattress she raised a finger to emphasize a point and help her remember.
"The boy protected me from the man with the coat," she recalled, shaking her hand as she was reminded of the incident. She sighed and dropped her free hand back to the mattress to help support her. Everything hurt, and it was exhausting just to sit up. Letting out a few breaths through her nose, she tried to calm her mind. It was still riled up from the attack and waking up to find a stranger standing over her.
Henry readjusted himself when she spoke about the boy. So young Walter Sullivan wasn't doing these things, and the man with the coat was? That was good, or, better. Still, something didn't seem right about everything he had learned about the murders. Trying to keep his mind off of it, he made sure the fear and worry didn't cross his face. Eileen turned her head away from him, feeling awkward. Keeping her sight down at the mucky tiles she apologized to Henry.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you…," she said sincerely. Shrugging her shoulders she stared off into the distance, sad, "I guess there's something wrong with me…," Eileen looked up, expecting some sort of reaction from Henry. He simply blinked. There were things he could say in response to that, lots of things, but he just simply couldn't speak now. Letting herself talk her out of her awkwardness, he said nothing because he sure as hell wouldn't make it any better. She glanced back down again, a lump beginning to form in her throat.
"I just feel so scared," she quietly confessed, her voice squeaking. Henry's eyebrows pushed together in a wince, and he blinked again, slowly. Eileen had quickly given up on looking to Henry for sympathetic words and expressions, figuring that she wasn't going to squeeze anything out of him. Her heart gave a quarter twist as it debated over why that was.
"This place…," Eileen continued, "what is it anyway?" She picked herself up and turned to see a tray near the door where dirty scalpels and instruments laid. They shouldn't be there, both of them knew. This was not an operating room.
"I don't know either…," Henry spoke finally, looking around at a bowl full of cool water where a skuzzy bandage soaked, "But I do know," he said, turning back to Eileen, "that if you get killed here, then you die in the real world too,"
Eileen hugged herself, sorely troubled.
"Anyway," he continued, turning her attention back to him and away from being afraid, "the only way out of here is through that hole."
"Okay…," Eileen whispered, hesitant. Reaching her good arm out, she placed her fingers in Henry's hand, his bulkiness taking her delicate fingers as lightly as possible, "Okay. Take me with you." Standing up, she fought back a wince as pain shot up through her legs. Gritting her teeth she waited until the pain died down from a howl to a muffled murmur. Once she had found her footing Henry let go, dropping his hand to his side and rubbing it anxiously on his jeans. Slightly miffed, Eileen stood there and watched as he bent down and picked the axe up. Wrapped around the handle of the axe were the straps of her purse. Henry untangled them and handed the purple handbag to her.
"Um, thanks," Eileen said, barely noticing the purse in her hand as she was eyeing the axe cautiously, "Why do you have that?"
Henry glanced down at the axe then back at her. After a while he shook his head. There simply wasn't a way to describe it. The monsters were too bizarre and haunting, all the way to where they would be the sole cause of insanity. If he could, he wouldn't allow Eileen to see them. A rock in his stomach told him that it wasn't possible.
Eileen stared at him. The trust wasn't there yet. As soon as they went through this 'hole' or whatever, she was gone. This man seemed dangerous, and though he may not be violent to her yet, it could happen at any given moment. She had just recently learned the hard way of how quickly bad things happen. Once upon a time she'd have no trouble in trusting someone who offered to take her out of a nightmarish world, but now she wasn't going to take any chances. If her neighbor made any strange moves for the shortest fractions of a second, she'd do something to either put him back in place or to get herself to safety. He had handed her the purse, she could use that to her advantage if she needed to stun him for a while. In the meantime she'd be extra cautious around him—you just don't walk around blood-stained with a bloody axe and have the general public consider you normal and sane. Trust was not something she was going to give him. She wasn't going to give him anything if she didn't have to. And she'd always, always follow behind him, never in front. In fact, she was glad when he opened the door first, carefully checking to see if the coast was clear by sticking out his head before walking out. She limped behind him, keeping close but not too close.
Henry was slightly confused. Every wheelchair that had once raced down the hallway was now gone. He stepped out, looking down the longest part of the hall in wonder. Though he was glad he wouldn't have to guide the injured Eileen through the tangle of wheelchairs, it was still curious. Usually when one thing disappeared in these worlds, it was replaced by something that was more horrifying and usually deadlier. Eileen stepped out behind him and shut the door quietly. It was then that he heard the sound of footsteps from a second party echoing in the hallway, and when Eileen gave a sharp gasp he whirled around, seeing two acidic pregnant patients that were almost upon them. Eileen froze next to him, staring in shock at the mutated bodies.
Shaking the surprise off easily he leaped forward, using his body to gently push Eileen to the wall as he did so. Bringing the axe upwards powerfully in a vague uppercut, he cleaved the closest patient, splitting open her bloated abdomen. Worm-infested acid sprayed everywhere as the patient undulated in a spastic manner, the bile literally spewing out. Flinching Eileen brought her cast up to her face, protecting herself. Henry skipped out of the way before he was completely covered, watching as the patient fell to the ground, convulsing rapidly as the last of the acid trickled out into a sizzling puddle that ate away at the tiles. Soon it ran out of life and merely twitched on the floor before lying still.
Frozen in fearful awe, Eileen watched as Henry turned and swung the axe, hacking away at the other patient who wasn't flinching. Right before the abomination was about to swing its weapon down it collapsed. Henry stomped its neck, shattering it to ensure death. Eileen huddled against the wall, shivering. She was staring in disbelief at the corpses, seeing the worms in the acid wriggle and perish before long, her eyes seeing everything but gazing into distances farther than the back wall. Henry didn't look back at her. He simply stood over the dead bodies, regaining his breath. He didn't want to see her reaction, he didn't want to blankly look at her fear, the fear that used to be on his face when he first saw the demon dogs back at the South Ashfield subway. He didn't want her to see the indifference in his face that had built up constantly ever since he began to realize this nightmare may never end. His attitude towards killing the monsters had gradually been changing, from survival to it becoming a chore to just a daily life feeling; and it was showing.
Words skittered about on Eileen's lips as questions floated in her head. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the corpses no matter how hard she tried. They were abominations that vaguely resembled women, pale and plagued into some kind of malevolent creature. Nothing in this world's imagination could possibly create this, even with the most twisted of minds. Soon she gave up on saying something, having found that there were no words in the English dictionary that could be said at this moment.
She flicked her eyes to Henry, steadily staring at him before dropping her gaze to her cast. Gently she massaged the thick cement, focusing her mind on that and nothing else. Truly in awe at Henry's blunt display of skills, she felt somewhat guilty for accusing him wordlessly of treachery. Even though she felt sorry for that however, she was still far from letting him have her complete trust.
Without looking up Eileen listened as Henry's footsteps drew nearer until they stopped, a few paces away from her. She glanced up quickly to see him staring at her, then refocused herself on her cast. After she was done aimlessly fiddling with it, she pushed herself away from the wall and nodded, keeping her eyes low. She followed Henry closely now as he walked slowly down the hall.
Limping always disables a person's walking ability, and the person is dramatically affected depending on how bad the injury is. Eileen had dealt with worse leg injuries in her life that had put her on crutches for a week, but what she didn't take account for what was the luxury of her sneakers. Her high heels literally made it hell for her to walk, and to keep up just with Henry's slowed pace she nearly had to jog. On top of that, each step she took sent shrill bolts of pain up her leg, in waves that varied in intensity. There was absolutely no way she could currently dull the pain except wait for her body to get used to it; but with as much pain that pulsated through every part of her body it felt as though it was impossible to gather enough strength to push the pain back. Walking differently proved to be of no help: sometimes it would hurt less to walk a certain way, sometimes it simply blinded her with excruciation. And hell, she didn't even know what kind of injuries she had. Eileen countered a wince with a strong puff of a breath, diligently following Henry to the end of the hall, where a door to the stairwell stood adjacent to an elevator that looked like it had punched its way into the wall.
She had kept her focus on the back of Henry's neck—the only part of him that didn't seem to be covered with blood, acid, or other internal juices from the gut of some monster. Distracted by the elevator's abnormality, she lost her rhythm of walking and tripped.
Henry was in mid-step when Eileen tumbled forward. Caught by surprise as she didn't even utter a cry, Henry lost balance and stumbled forward, feeling Eileen's cast on his back bluntly and clumsily scrape down his spine. Shortly crying out in pain rather than surprise, he caught himself against the wall, pushing the panel for the elevator. Hearing a disconnected scrambling behind him he quickly turned on his heel, concerned for her well-being.
Eileen sat disgracefully on the grimy floor, legs splayed out in opposite directions behind her. Huge tears poured from her uncovered eye that was wide open in terminal shock form the unbelievable pain that was no doubt tearing at her. Henry had heard how disjointed and uneven her steps were. Although he didn't quite know how much she was struggling, he had a vague idea of how easy it was for her to slip up and hopelessly collapse because there was too much pain and trauma to deal with. The elevator behind him jerked and moved as he walked up to her, quickly at first but stopping abruptly, standing over Eileen and waiting for her acceptance of his help. Kneeling slightly he reached down his hand to her, making her jerk in surprise when his fingers entered her vision. She looked up, her upper lip trembling while her bottom lip tucked into her mouth as she fiercely bit down on it to dull the pain. Shaking, she raised her good hand up and grasped his tightly. Henry braced himself and pulled her up.
Fighting back cries, Eileen did her best to put her feet underneath her again. It was sloppy and harrowing, especially with high heels tied firmly to her ankles. She had to eventually let go of Henry's hand and clutch his elbow firmly to gain more leverage. His hands twitched, wanting to help but unsure of how to do so without further hurting or upsetting her. Awkwardly she hung onto him, at one point pushing her forehead into his sternum as a means of helping her stand. Henry uttered a few unsure sounds in his throat and simply stood his ground, planting his feet so they wouldn't move. Straightening herself out Eileen gave a determined sob before she stood on both feet, panting heavily from the strain. She let go of his shirt and stepped back, wanting to express her thanks but unable to from her throat being blocked.
Neither of them really registered that the elevator's doors opened, flooding the hallway with white light. Henry simply stood with his back to the elevator, one hand still reaching out towards Eileen in case she still needed help. The back of his mind told him he looked like an idiot with his hand out, and the further back of his mind told him that he should turn around and turn around now. Eileen pulled back a lock of hair behind her ear to keep it from sticking to her mouth and looked up to at least get her gratefulness across with a glance.
She looked up just in time to see an infected woman step out of the elevator car, weapon raised and ready to split Henry's skull. Immediately she fixed her eyes on it, the lump in her throat swallowed as she blurted out a warning.
"Henry—behind you—!"
Blinking Henry turned his body, moving out of the way instinctively as he did so. The patient's makeshift club swung at him, catching his shoulder. He stumbled back, sputtering. Eileen watched in horror as for a moment the woman seemed to tower over her, choosing her as her next victim. Then the demon turned, swinging the weapon madly towards Henry, creating an impenetrable whirlwind. Henry raised his axe to counterattack, a thin scowl on his face.
Through her stupefaction something clicked in Eileen's brain. Her fingers around her purse tightened as a certain exhilaration filled her limbs. She stood frozen for a moment, watching as Henry sloppily blocked a hit with his forearm, unable to get a proper hit in after being swamped with the monster's barrage. Fighting back the restraints of her pain, Eileen stood up, brought her purse up and swung it downwards as fiercely as possible, catching the demon woman on the shoulder.
The woman didn't flinch. It simply stopped its attack and turned its head without moving its torso, looking back at Eileen with a bloated, diseased eye. Eileen froze as its empty gaze locked with hers, the realization coming to her that the patient's diseased eye was the same eye that she herself had bandaged. Through its inhuman sight the demon continued to stare at her, emotionlessly but in such a way that Eileen knew she had inflicted rage within it. The rest of the world was shut out from her as she continued to be entwined in its trap. All noises and visions were cut off save for the demon in front of her, capturing her indefinitely. She fell deeper into the void as the seconds ticked away, deeper until the world rocketed back to her as the demon faltered with a throaty yelp, momentarily brought down by the blade of an axe.
Eileen blinked, snapped back into exhilaration. Without a second thought she swung the purse again, catching the patient by the cheekbone. Henry took the opportunity and swung the axe down, making the monster collapse to the ground. He gave it a stomp to double check, and stepped out and away from the newest body, shaking the excess meat from his shoe.
The exhilaration that had filled her body left her as quickly as it came, bringing the pain back. Faltering for a moment she politely waited for Henry to take the lead, ignoring the closing elevator for somewhat superstitious reasons. Though an elevator would've been her preferred way to get around, she understood why he avoided it, perhaps in such a way that her superstition was far more magnified than his. He at least was hiding his fear, unless he simply did not have any fear to his name. From how decrepit everything was at the moment Eileen found it hard to believe, yet there he was.
Henry held the stairwell door open for her, stiffening slightly as she passed. Though she smelled of pus and blood he could still catch a whiff of the perfume she put on to go to the party. Relaxing as Eileen stepped off to the side, he closed the door and descended one step, turning to look back at her. She looked very hesitant for a moment, eyeing the stairs as if they were a rotting bridge spanning a bottomless chasm.
Patiently he waited for her, willing to go at her own time. He was slightly infatuated with her—not her as a person but her as a concept. She was the one, the only one out of five gruesome attacks that survived. Even though he didn't save her the mere fact that he could redeem himself for the failures and mistakes of the past five other worlds sent him flying. Her simply being there put Henry in such a high that he nearly reached cloud nine.
Nearly. They weren't out of this yet. He had to keep his mind focused on the task at hand; to get Eileen (and himself) out of here. As long as he kept her safe until they reached the hole she could plausibly stay that way until he figured out how to wrench them both out of this nightmare.
Eileen refused his offered help, using the wall and railing if she needed to keep her balance or rest a bit. Sheepish, Henry withdrew from his helpfulness, merely leading the way for her. The last impression he wanted to give was that he was forcing himself on her. That wouldn't go over well with anybody.
At the bottom of the staircase Eileen was panting. His willingness to help conflicted with her previous refusal, so he stood there, back turned to her as his hand hovered over the door knob. He listened to her wheezing, lips curled in a silent wince. When her breaths were no longer quite as desperate he opened the door to the lower emergency wing. Dazed almost, she followed, her off-step corresponding with her involuntary rasps. Closing the door he turned and looked.
Eileen sucked in a breath and bent into a readied stance. Henry raised the axe, and even with the little preparation time he had, the patient approaching them was down in a relatively short time. Hanging in the back, Eileen watched as he didn't stop after the patient was dead, quickly taking care of a second one that was farther down the corridor. He didn't relax until he was sure there were no more creatures there. Eileen waited until he lowered the axe until she limped up to his side, making sure to avoid the puddles of blood on the floor.
Henry stood still for a moment, recalling a mental map of the area. Briefly interrupted, he turned back to Eileen for a moment as she spoke, head down.
"This is a nightmare," she murmured, "It can't be happening…,"
Giving her a long stare, he understood more to what she said than just the words. Mostly because there were no words. Pinpointing the washroom's door, he tentatively took her hand despite the startled jolt that she gave when his fingers carefully took hers, never daring to squeeze her hand even in the smallest way. She followed him into the washroom, gaze to the floor as she was fixated on the drain that was set in the floor's indentation, a dried stream of blood streaking down to the drain's center.
Henry gently took more of her hand in his palm, striding across the length of the washroom to the far wall. Eileen followed even though she was confused. All she saw was a concrete wall, smooth, thick, and most definitely impassable. A bad presence of unknown origin slowly filled her chest, sending panic to her brain that escalated with time. Henry kept going as if a horse for the barn. Squeezing his hand, she uncertainly stood there, the panic building up and putting a name to the origin of her uneasiness: Fear.
Looking back, Henry gave her whatever reassurance he could pass on with just his eyes, and stepped up.
Horrified and mystified at the same time, Eileen watched as he simply disappeared into the wall, vanishing into the concrete. Staring in a blank gape, she stood there, her hand still reaching out. It felt as though his hand was still cradling hers, until the feeling was pulled away, sucked into a vortex and leaving her alone. Her fingers twitched, painted nails scraping along the solid wall. Lips trembling, she stared at the stone that was caked with grungy dried fluids.
"Henry…?" she whispered hoarsely, frightened. When nothing answered her she called out his name again, still at a whisper but with tears added. Her voice didn't even echo off the walls whenever she spoke. Terrified she stepped back, retreating her hand and inhaling sharply. Her loud breaths were the only things that passed through the silence as she clenched her hand into a fist.
"Henry!!" she suddenly screamed, sadness, anger, and loneliness crashing past her lips in a massive outburst. Tears spurted from her eye, enticing her to sob. Stumbling to a different footing she buried her face into her arm, feeling the wet scratchiness of her bandages against her forehead. Thoughtlessness dominated her as she began to cry until her conscious regained control.
You aren't going to cry yet.
Eileen suck in a loud sniff that was un-ladylike, and violently rubbed the tears away, raising her head.
You can't cry. Not yet.
She was simply left alone. All of the demonic creatures outside the washroom had been slain, and she had some sort of makeshift weapon to at least protect herself should she need it. Things could be much worse.
Then again, things could be much better too. She could be home—not room 303 home, but home home, with her mom and dad, engulfed by a comforting easy chair with a cup of her mother's homemade tea. The fireplace would be sparking quietly and joyfully as outside the snow blanketed everything for Christmas Eve. She'd be wrapped in warmth without the need of her fleece blanket. Hairy, the dog she had since she was in first grade would still be alive and would be curled at her feet, snoring rhythmically in content.
And above all, she'd be safe.
She felt herself begin to cry again. Digging her nails into her shoulder she forced it to stop. To put her mind off of everything she began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth between the lockers of the now cramped washroom. Her high heels clopped on the tiled floor, giving a steady beat for her relaxation. Each step she took brought pain to her body, but she did not quit. Walking helped her keep herself in check, and she was also bound and determined to blow the damn pain off to get used to it. While she paced she thought, and while she thought the pain momentarily left her.
Henry would come back for her—she was almost certain of it. Even if he didn't own her trust she knew he'd come back for her somehow. She wanted him to come back. He was there as an anchor for her. Perhaps he wasn't entirely sane, but he seemed to be the only other human here in this hellish pit. And, at the moment, he wasn't hurting her. Eileen twisted her mouth as she remembered her mother's words that had become a natural moral of hers. There was something to be thankful for in every body; so far with Henry it was him just being there in the same boat as her. He'd be back.
Eileen picked up her pace, speeding up the rhythm of her footsteps. If he didn't come back, she'd wait for someone else or until her wounds healed, and then fight her way out of here. It wasn't impossible, she was strong, she could definitely do it if she was given the time.
She stopped suddenly in the middle of the room, squeezing her temples between her fingers.
If he didn't come back.
What if he didn't come back.
--
Henry woke up on his side with a small jolt. His open closet greeted him with darker shadows than usual. Lifting his head up with the help of his hand, he blinked away the unconsciousness. Hesitant, he glanced over his shoulder to the unoccupied side of the bed, goose bumps forming on his skin. Blinking again to make sure he was really awake, he scanned his bedroom.
Eileen…she's gone.
There was a possibility that she woke up in her room. Though as Henry slid off the bed he figured, no, knew that it wasn't so. Sighing heavily in a defeated manner, he went to exit his room.
He didn't get two steps before something crashed and shattered in the living room, making the goose bumps on his skin intensify. He froze, staring at the door. His nose was stuffy, and for no reason, the air in the apartment had never upset his sinuses at all. Very slowly he turned the knob, slinking out into the narrow hallway. The air in the room felt extremely heavy and malevolent, if there was such a feeling one could get from just the air. Henry walked out to where he heard the noise, and stared.
The ceiling fan that used to hang over his coffee table had crashed onto it, chipping and ruining half the table. The blades of the fan were bent, the light in the middle shattered into a million pieces. Part of the car magazine he had on the table was shredded, and the remote control was most likely destroyed from the brunt of the fall, as he couldn't see where it was.
Feeling oppressed Henry did a full 360, standing in the hallway intersection. The pain that used to be relieved by his trips back to the apartment was not going away. As of now, he was going to be running on empty fuel.
There was a filthy red envelope stuck underneath his door. Pushing a dangling chain away, he wriggled it out from the crack, opening the wax seal and taking out a letter and a small key.
You've seen that world as well…That horrible nightmare. But if you get sucked into it, it's not just a nightmare. Don't get lost in there. If you get pulled in, you'll be killed. But there's still hope. Maybe this small key will guide you. If you've seen the door with the placard set in it, look on the other side of the door. Then keep going down. To the deepest part of him.
And look for the ultimate Truth.
July 20 – Joseph
Henry put the small but ordinary key in his front jeans pocket. The air of the room weighed down on his shoulders, and it was almost a chore for him to straighten up. Coughing, he looked over to the other side of the room, where at the corner of the window and the bookcase were more notes. Stepping over the damage done by the fan, he carefully picked the disoriented letter fragments up, sitting on the sofa to read them.
How long has it been since I left this room? I can't tell if it's been days or hours…But during that time, they've found the body of "14/21". I've been having hallucinations lately. I think I'm losing my mind.
There wasn't any date written at the bottom. A sinking feeling pulled Henry further downward with his fear. Mostly because what he had just read on the note were the exact things he himself had been experiencing. Hell, had he written the note himself? Stuffed it behind the bookcase during one of his interludes between worlds? Trying not to dwell on any thought, he read the next one, palms sweaty.
Walter Sullivan did kill himself. He died in his prison cell of blood loss after he stabbed himself in the neck with his spoon. His body was buried in a cemetery just outside his hometown of Silent Hill in an unmarked grave. After that, his name became famous all over the world and it looked like his string of mass murders was finished at ten out of twenty-one. But three years later, they found a corpse that had 12/21 carved into it. The corpse was from six months earlier. In other words, the person was killed two and a half years after Sullivan committed suicide. The MO was exactly the same as Sullivan's. Except for one thing.
All of Sullivan's victims were found with their hearts cut out and their chest wounds sewn together expertly with thread. On the other hand, the 12/21 victim still had their heart. Naturally the police think it's a copy cat and are proceeding on that basis. But they haven't made any progress and recently discovered victim number thirteen. This corpse also had their heart intact. The police still haven't even identified a suspect.
I've got a working hypothesis. Very few people knew the details of the original crimes and would be able to copy Sullivan's MO so precisely. First I'll head to Silent Hill…To the graveyard near that beautiful little lake. Maybe I'll find the answer there.
June 11
The weather that day was very strange. Even though I avoided the earlier storm, there was still a thick fog clinging to everything. Fortunately, that allowed me to avoid being seen and get right to work. The police are still stubbornly acting as if it's just a copycat case. So I figured things probably hadn't been touched here.
But I was wrong. I should have come sooner.
The cemetery was in such bad condition that it was almost sad. The storm must have raised the sea level. Anyway, that's how it was when I found Walter Sullivan's grave.
The diary was too damaged at that point, and Henry couldn't read anymore. He turned the paper over to the other side to read the rest of the entry.
I'm still in shock…There was no body in the grave…And on top of that, written on the coffin were the numbers 11/21…
June 14
Henry shivered holding the paper. Was that the beginning of Joseph's spiraling madness? Not that Henry distrusted him because he was going insane, in fact, he wouldn't trust him as much if he was fully sane. He glanced over to his red diary on the table. Figuring it was for better and not for worse, he picked it up and gave a brief summary of what had happened, his handwriting shaky in some areas. Before the ink of his pen gave out, he managed to put one last line.
I'm going back. Eileen isn't here, which means she's back at the hospital. I'm not letting this chance go away. I don't think there's a huge reason why she survived, but she did, and now I'm going to ensure that she does. Even if I don't…
Henry shut the book. Mentioning his own death meant nothing to him now. He had figured it out not too long ago that the chance of his own survival was insignificant. It would take a miracle for him to make it through, even a bigger miracle for both him and Eileen to find a way out. But Henry wasn't a firm believer in miracles.
Right now, the only thing he believed in was bestial and crude. Now the only thing to believe was to survive, by any means possible. If you don't survive, it's game over, and you're bringing Eileen down with you.
Climbing into the hole, Henry felt the oppression follow him into the other world. He knew that it was there to stay.