Warning: Eileen has some Molly Weasley-esque moments towards the end here.
And yes, I did spend half the chapter on character development. Why yes, Eileen is my favorite character, thank you for asking! And yes, you are the victim of my negligence. Second half of this chapter is much less edited than the first.
I fiddled around with a game over type situation, wondering what would I could do with it without starting over and repeating some of the stuff I've already covered. (Starting over again is another idea for a different fanfic)
So yes, essentially, Henry dies.
Chapter 21
Blood sprayed into the icy wind and she screamed.
The harsh grating bit into the soft skin on Eileen's feet as she raced forward to where Henry collapsed. Neverminding the blood that seeped from the cuts, she gripped Henry's collar fiercely and yanked on it. Henry choked and pawed weakly at the air.
"Get up!" she screamed, "Get up, Henry! Please!"
Oh thank god, he was still somewhat conscious.
Eileen wasn't willing to take her eyes off Henry, but in her peripheral she could see Walter, the man in the coat, leisurely walk to where they were. Henry coughed as he struggled to pull his feet from underneath him. Releasing his collar and grabbing his lapel instead, Eileen tugged again, harshly, and pulled him forward. He stumbled and struggled to catch himself before he fell again, but his knees refused to hold him.
"Come on, Henry!" Eileen encouraged breathlessly, pulling him forward again. Waiting until he was close enough, Eileen ducked under his left arm and pushed him close to her. Under her shaky support, she urged him forward as more gunshots buzzed by.
"Come on, Henry, almost there!"
The door was barely in sight around the curve of the cylindrical building, at least, and that was close enough for Eileen to at least grasp some hope. Though Henry dragged his feet clumsily across the grating, she kept him moving with bursts of adrenaline she thought she had lost long ago. Part of his shirt was warm, wet and sticky, but she was forcing herself to not look at the damage now. Right now she needed to move, and to do so she needed to summon every last bit of strength, stamina, concentration, and anything else she had held in reserve up to this point.
Henry gurgled something, perhaps a warning of some sort that he failed to communicate just before he crumpled and fell. Eileen cried in pain, shock, and fear as he tumbled, taking her with him. A gunshot whizzed overhead and suddenly Eileen was more grateful for the setback than she would've been had she not seen her life shiver before her because of the missed bullet. Regardless, she was still desperately screaming at him.
"No, Henry, no no no! Get up, c'mon, almost there, almost there!"
Henry's face contorted, and he clutched his side fiercely as Eileen helped him up. Keeping their heads down, they sprinted forward, huddled close together. Cowering before the never-ending gunshots that kept impossibly missing them, they reached the door just as Walter rounded to meet them from a line of sight that allowed for no mistakes. Eileen's heart raced, and she pushed Henry into the far door before she dug her already bleeding feet into the sharp metal. Despite the weight of the door, Eileen was able to one-handedly swing it open just far enough and fast enough to provide a flimsy shield between them and the bullets. Pulling Henry by the lapel again, she pushed him into the building, slamming the heavy door behind them. Panicking beyond reasonable thought, Eileen didn't stop to sight-see as she selected the first cell she saw. Henry was starting to slump against her and she knew that there was no second burst of energy behind this one.
Flinging the cell door open, she clumsily tumbled inside with Henry awkwardly twisted under her arm, crossing the threshold into the small room just as a twin-faced demon launched itself onto the floor where they had been moments ago. Eileen slammed the door shut after inhaling sharply in surprise. Way too damn close.
Henry coughed and sputtered, calling Eileen's attention as he slid down to the floor. She clenched his shirt, pushing him forward to the sparse cot against the wall.
"Oh no, no no no, Henry, stay with me...!" she whispered to him as she helped him slide crookedly onto the cot. He cried and choked in pain as she adjusted his body until it was comfortably on the bed. His back arched to combat it until he lost the energy and deflated.
"No," she gulped, keeping her gaze on his face, "See, you're safe now, we made it,"
Henry sputtered, spraying blood. Swallowing, Eileen tenderly lifted his hand from his side. Losing her breath, she gripped his bloody, slippery hand fiercely as she stared at the grim wound. It wasn't in an entirely fatal place, but Henry wouldn't last. Blood, dark and in complete contrast with his shirt, pooled around the wound and stained both sides, gleaming in the harsh light. The bullet had ripped right through him as though it was child's play. It didn't look like it had hit any bone, but Eileen had no idea if it was as bad as it looked or not. Judging by how swiftly Henry was fading, Eileen had to struggle to accept that this was worse. Not that she knew or anything.
She closed her eye and repeated that phrase in her head. That's right, she didn't know. She didn't know how bad it was. Maybe he just needed to rest.
Eileen opened her eye again and reinforced the vice-like grip she had on his hand when she saw the bullet wound again. His fingers twitched and closed around hers. There was some squeeze to it, but it wasn't very reassuring at all. Ignoring the blood on his hand, she brought it to her lips and closed her eye again.
"God, Henry," she whimpered into his hand. Pressing it to her face on the off-chance it would bring comfort to at least one of them, she muffled her resurfacing tears. Henry's clean hand shifted to cover the gruesome wound, more for Eileen's sanity than to stanch any blood. He winced quietly in poor substitute for speech, and she looked over at him.
His gaze was weak, but it was there and genuine and Eileen was terrified that it was going to be the last time she was going to see a sane person's eyes. The fear must've been easy to read on her face, because Henry struggled to speak, opening his mouth to reveal teeth stained orange from the blood. How had the blood gotten there? Did that mean that the bullet had hit a truly grievous organ, such as the lungs?
"No, no no, shh," Eileen silenced him as knots tied more knots in her stomach. Rising until she could sit on the cot next to him, she placed her hand against his cheek. "Henry, shh, it's all right."
She fought down a choke. That was stupid to say. Everything was not alright and they both knew it. That was entirely stupid. She was so stupid. So stupid.
So stupid.
She buried her face into his neck, fitting the bridge of her nose against his skin with practiced ease. His breath sharpened and ran irregular, which was surprisingly comforting to Eileen. At least he remained to be the most awkward man in the world. Being careful not to press too hard into his skin (for both their sakes, his stubble was sharp and prickly against the pink, raw flesh on her nose) Eileen sobbed quietly as the sharpness of his breaths weakened with each passing second.
"Don't die on me," she pleaded, "Don't die on me, don't leave me like this, I...I can't survive this without you I...,"
It was painfully obvious that her pleas were not anchoring him here with her, and she rose up to look at him in the eyes. He was struggling to stay awake, but his vision was obviously growing fuzzy.
"I-I was selfish! I was selfish, alright? When I didn't—no, from the beginning, I was selfish! I'm sorry! I really am! Just please don't...," Eileen choked and sobbed pitifully. She knew she didn't look pretty when she cried, her face puffed up and her skin blotched and the damn freckles on her nose she never really liked showed up like beacons in the night. Along with all that, she was still beaten to hell and she was starting to feel all the glaring pains she had gained from hauling Henry to safety. She felt god-awful, and meekness began to overtake her as Henry faded away.
"Please don't die...Henry, please...," Eileen whispered to his increasingly still face. Her hand gripped the lapel of his shirt, kneading it gently. She audibly gulped down saliva, grateful that his chest still rose and fell against hers despite how slow and weak it was.
"Please don't die...,"
The cell was quiet save for Eileen's quiet sobs and Henry's very detached breaths.
Her body ached and began to scream at her. The cuts on her feet, especially, began to sting and shriek. She wouldn't be surprised if they became infected, looking at the floor of the cell and remembering whatever she recalled from the brief moment she was in the hallway. On the cell floor, she noticed, was a prisoner's shirt. It was colored grimly, and it reminded Eileen of various photos she'd seen of the victims of the Holocaust.
She contemplated for a moment, then slid away from Henry's still form, reaching down to pick up the shirt. Eileen frowned. It was a rather small little thing, and could only fit a child that hadn't even reached the age of twelve. Giving a quick, second glance around the concrete cell, she shuddered. What was this place?
And why, why was it so familiar?
Her brain knew she had never been here before. Hell, she'd never even been to any of the concentration or death camps she thought of earlier. Not even to a modern prison, though Eileen reflected that modern prisons were tens of times better than this. Probably. She didn't really know.
Brushing as much dust and dirt off as she could, she silently apologized to Henry for using such a dirty rag on an open wound, but she couldn't leave the thing to visibly bleed out anymore. Quietly whispering to him as if he could still hear her, she murmured various encouraging and motherly things as she carefully grasped the hem of his shirts. Gently rolling them up, Eileen eased the fabric up until they were just past the wound. Eileen gagged, and tried to hastily get used to staring at all the blood, marred skin and scrambled tissue. He was going to be okay. He had to be okay. Because this was too violent to be real. Too violent to be real.
Oh, but everything was so real here.
Balling the prisoner's shirt up, she tentatively dabbed at the blood before giving him a very improvised bandage. Henry grunted pathetically in his sleep, but he did not stir. Eileen smoothed the bandage out, dully watching as the prisoner's shirt slowly turned red. Her throat and chest burned from crying. Everything about her ached for some other place different than this. Eileen ran her fingers over Henry's soft belly, taking in an almost fastidious amount of detail. He was thin and tender, there were no defined muscles of any kind, wiry or body-builder. The only thing defining his stomach was a line of dark hair tracing his midriff, circling the inward-set belly button and traveling on to...other places. Eileen sighed lowly and rested her head delicately on his chest, keeping her face away from his and her fingers on his stomach. Tracing his skin absentmindedly, she became lost in thought.
It seemed years ago that she was sitting in her apartment, laughing at sitcoms in her room, doodling in her diary, talking to her friend on the phone about going to the party despite feeling rather horrible and trapped herself. A week before the party she was supposed to go to, she and her boyfriend had a brutal break-up. He had torn her heart to pieces and thus she left him, and though he was going to make an appearance at the party she still agreed to go—her friends were there and could support her if they decided to exchange some final bitter words. In reality, before the attack her confidence in her friends had been shaken anyways, and she didn't want to go to the party alone. The day she dropped her groceries in front of Henry's apartment was the day she contemplated asking him to the party. Not for any romantic reasons, no, she just wanted some outside protection and she felt that he could provide it if he agreed. She thought herself foolish soon after the thought; she only then noticed that she had not seen his face for just over four days at that point. Probably was moving in with some other girl, she had thought at the time, Most likely she has a better place than this apartment.
But then the noises came, and she decided to gather up the courage to ring his door bell anyways. If he answered, she'd ask him to the party, if not, then, well, she'd take up Richard's advice and call the super.
That was so long ago. She thought she had been broken and life was complicated then. It's true that she didn't know anything back then. Eileen would rather have a hundred miserable break-ups with boyfriends rather than go through this hell again.
She squirmed as Henry skipped a breath. So selfish. Her next door neighbor was dying underneath her cheek and hand, and she was fantasizing about past boyfriends and parties she would rather go to. Poor Henry didn't have an inkling of an idea how much she would give up to just get herself out of this place with no thoughts as to where he would end up. She wasn't giving a damn about him whatsoever—after all, why did she save him? To actually save his life and nurse him back to health, or to keep him as a toy wrapped around her finger, taking all the bullets for her and leading her through until she was alive again and could just leave him behind?
Maybe he did know. He had proven before that he listened and saw more than she ever thought he had paid attention to. It was incredibly possible that he very well understood how much she hated this place, how much she wanted to give away and how much she was going to give up just so she could live again, with or without him. Maybe he understood how much he didn't matter in her eyes because it was all about her own survival, wasn't it? Walter's attack had turned her into a selfish, childish little girl, whining for milk and dependent on one single man to protect her against hordes of monsters and nightmares.
And yet he still cared for her. He didn't even have to, but he did. Guiding her hand through the blood and gore, past the trauma and through the nightmare until it was hopefully over. What kind of life had Henry led that gave him such unbelievable amounts of altruism? Eileen had always found it easy for herself to care, but if she had seen many people die and one almost die, she would lose hope for survival and lag behind until she withered away. Hell, that's exactly what she was doing now, and would've died alone a long time ago had Henry not been there to pull her up onto her feet again.
Reveling in the warmth that his body still gave off, she turned her head until she faced him. What would she do and where would she be if he died now? What could she do? She'd be waiting her turn in this abominable cell, waiting to die at the hands of the man in the coat. She couldn't lose him at a time like this, they both shouldn't die after coming so far. He had guided her through everything and she had yet to return the favor to him—if he died now, she would never get that chance.
Then again, if it weren't for her, he would be curled up on the edge of the grated pathway, bleeding through the gaps of the metal links and slowly dying as Walter approached him to finish him off. Perhaps Walter would've kicked him off the edge so he would've fallen into the white abyss, falling forever until he died of blood loss. Perhaps he would've opted for a much more cruel death, shooting Henry in the foot, the knee, the elbow, the shoulder, and then finally the face. Eileen scrunched her eyes shut and whimpered at the vision. Pushing her nose into Henry's side, she wept quiet apologies to him for the gruesome pictures she imagined. The burned tip of her nose hated the cotton fabric of Henry's shirt, but she did not move. Physical pain was becoming so distant to her now that she faced the death of a friend.
A friend.
Jesus Christ, was that all he was? A title of 'friend' hardly described him. In fact, it was practically spitting on his feet to call him just a friend. But there was no other word Eileen could find that fit what he meant to her. Protector? Guardian? Those were all too concrete, too brick-like. They fitted a man who was there to fulfill an occupation, a man whose sole purpose was to guard. A man who was stone-cold and had the nerves and muscle of a rhino. Henry couldn't possibly be one of those. He was soft, remorseful, humane. In times of trouble he became utterly human, showing desperation and frantic thoughts about how to survive. About how both of them would survive. Instead of protecting her because he had to, he protected her because he cared, he wanted to protect her. No, he had to be something more, but no words could express it to her in her head.
How about Receiver.
NO. Eileen dug her fingers into his stomach as her face scrunched up in anger and fear. Those thoughts! Where were those thoughts coming from? Whimpering again, she pawed at Henry's shirt as if he could provide protection for her mind. Oh yes, she knew exactly where those thoughts were coming from. But she wouldn't speak his name out loud.
"Henry...," she whined, high-pitched and frightened, "Please wake up, I'm...,"
His name is Receiver.
Receiver of Wisdom.
"I'm going to go insane...,"
–
Why am I seeing red?
Is that the ceiling fan in my room?
Was this all really just a dream?
Wait.
I thought I had left the fan on.
Why isn't it moving?
I...am I really...dead?
–
Hours, eons later, Henry could feel an irregular weight on his chest. He couldn't name it, nor could he bring himself to wake enough to see what it was that was moving with his breaths and yet pressing him down into the thin cot beneath him. It was more comforting than it was disturbing, and Henry made no attempt to push the weight off as he lied there.
Not that he could actually push it off if he wanted to. He felt immobile, and a dull pain wracked his body. Unable to shake it, he simply let it stir in his core, feeling the pain with each slow pump of his heart. He welcomed it, in fact. For he knew that he was dangling off of the bridge of life and the only thing that kept him certain of his life was his continued suffering. Then again, being in a place where suffering spanned multiple dimensions, he, in actuality, couldn't be sure he wasn't already dead.
A woman's voice spoke quietly to him, whispers of breaths or words that tangled together in worry. He wondered why it was speaking, and why it was worried over him. Nobody had worried over him, not since the last time he had seen his aunt when he was four days away from his twelfth birthday. Nobody gave a damn about Henry Townshend, the man that nobody remembered to begin with. Twenty-seven years was a sufficient amount of time to get used to being forgotten, even with the one person who remembered you when you were a child. Nobody even remembered him when he disappeared, until of course strange noises started emitting from his room, or so he heard tell from his next-door neighbor.
His next-door neighbor.
Eileen.
So now he was really starting to remember all that he had forgotten. He felt weak, damn weak, but the memories trickled in, drop by drop as he slowly began to realize he was lying in a dank place, full of mildew and soaked, diseased smells. Yes, Eileen, the young woman living in the apartment next to his, the chipper, kind, caring woman who was one day going to go to the Peace Corps.
How did he know that?
The broken porcelain of her skin that spilled blood as she gurgled and writhed and drowned, and Henry falling to his knees into the pool of the blood she was sinking in. She had almost died, and now she doesn't want to go to the Peace Corps. Hell, maybe she had died, though her physical body still walked and talked.
The pain in his side sent his brain on wildfire as the levee on his memories broke and suddenly he remembered everything. The gun shot, the sight of Eileen still there and in danger, and her fierce bravery (stupidity?) as she dragged him away from the man in the coat. But were they still in danger? What about Eileen, had she wandered off to find something to help them? Had Walter caught her while he was unconscious?
Henry tensed and stirred, forcing himself to choke down the pain as he fought to rise to the surface. The weight on his chest shifted, and soon he felt something—yes, a hand on his cheek, followed by blinding light as he opened his eyes, squinting in unfamiliarity. The light was too harsh, too bright, and Henry started to feel fear crawl up his throat. Was he dead? Was he really dead? Did he wake up into a reality he didn't want to wake up in? He struggled to speak, wanting to ask questions as to his whereabouts and if he really was as gone as he felt.
Eileen stroked Henry's cheek, eager that he was waking up but gently coaxing him to take his time. He seemed to be troubled by something as he woke, and sooner rather than later his eyes fluttered open, flinching against the bright light. For a moment his eyes roved frantically, as if to reassure himself of his surroundings and companion. He seemed to skip over her though, and she let him, gently pushing strands of his hair back until he finally seemed to calm down. Struggling to speak past far too many dams in her throat, Eileen gulped down saliva before opening her mouth.
"Hey...," Henry blinked, and finally rested his eyes on her. Her heart leaped into her throat and she found it hard to remember what she wanted to say, "How do you feel?"
"Awful," he gurgled after a while, still panting heavily. Eileen looked as though she was about to cry again as she ran her thumb over his jaw.
"Henry?" she asked, voice wavering. He looked at her and waited for her to gather up her voice again, but she was finding it hard to have the strength to explain that he shouldn't be alive. Glancing down at the bullet wound only seemed to prove it more. He shouldn't be alive. Henry followed her eyes to stare at the scrappy bandage. She blinked, and turned away, concentrating as she meticulously rubbed her nails together, the purple nail polish flaking off with ease.
"Tell me," she finally said, "Tell me everything."
Henry spoke. His story was rickety at first, but the more comfortable he became the calmer he felt speaking to her. Eileen listened intently to every word he said, noticing that he never mentioned the names of the victims, though she doubted he would ever forget them. Protecting their dignity, perhaps. He seemed to be surprisingly emotional over everything, though the more he spoke Eileen noted that it was most likely that she was getting so used to his mannerisms that she could pick up on the subtle tints and shades of his tone. Sighing deeply, she continued to comprehend his words though they all started to blend together into a quiet drone that brought her tensions down from the high cliffs they were dangling from. It wasn't long until he finished his tale with a very hesitant recollection of finding what remnants of her remained after Walter had attacked her. After that, the two of them drifted into a heavy silence. Water trickled down a far corner of the cell, the bleached concrete dark and green as a result of how long the stream had been eating away at it. The constant sound of water was both borderline maddening and yet naturally cooling as they rested there, Eileen sitting on the edge of the cot, and Henry weakly lying on the thin mattress.
"I'm sorry," Eileen breathed, pain rising in her chest. Henry shifted to stare at her, but she didn't meet his gaze.
"I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier...," She trailed off and swallowed before continuing, "If I had realized you were stuck in your apartment then...,"
"I—," Henry interrupted, "It's okay...I'm used to it."
Eileen looked at him incredulously, wondering how he could ever get used to something as lonely as that. But she could tell that he wasn't lying, and she broke from his gaze to stare at her hand again. Her eyes drifted from her hand to the cast, and suddenly the pain in her chest sharpened until she found herself crying again. Burying her face in the heel of her palm, Eileen's shoulders shuddered as she broke down into uncontrolled sobs. What exactly triggered the breakdown, she didn't have any idea, nor did she know if it was ever going to stop despite her efforts to muffle the noise.
Henry's heart wrenched and he looked away as if that was going to give her space to cry. The more she cried the more guilt clawed its way into his lungs, and he winced. There had to be something he could do, something that would get her to hopefully calm down again. (Or at least, as calm as one could get in a hell like this.) Ever so carefully he tried to sit up, leaning against the near wall for support as his side blazed in impossible pain. He stifled a grunt and pulled his legs closer until another bolt of pain caused him to crumple. Throwing out a hand, he grabbed Eileen's shoulder to steady himself before he toppled down. Eileen shrieked and jumped, turning towards him.
"Oh no, Henry," she bubbled between sobs. Easing her good shoulder out of his hand, she gently wrapped her arm around his torso, gripping him as tightly as she dared as she lent whatever support she could offer, "Here, lay down, you shouldn't sit—,"
She was cut off, silenced as with one more shift Henry sat up straight, causing his chest to press against her face. The two of them froze, Eileen's fingers trembling insecurely against Henry's back. Henry wasn't sure what hurt more between the bullet wound, his broken tailbone, or the amount of heat that had rushed to his face the moment her nose and forehead tenderly brushed his chest. He squirmed, and was just about to shyly pull away when Eileen's fingers suddenly dug deep into his back. Pulling him close, she pressed her face harder into his chest. Her shoulders trembled again, and she resumed sobbing as though it were renewed at his touch.
Henry relaxed, tensed, then relaxed again. She wasn't going anywhere, and she damn well wasn't going to have him go anywhere either. And besides, this was what he was trying to do in the first place, wasn't it? That is, if this was really comforting her.
Shifting until his weary spine rested against the wall, Henry tentatively placed a hand on the small of her back, afraid to touch any other place. The red scars bridging over her shoulder blades barred him away, and anywhere else seemed too damaged or too intimate to place his hand. She had flinched, yes, but it was only minute, and she surprisingly allowed his hand to rest there without any trouble.
Eileen's tears seeped through his shirt as she huddled against him. Resting his head back, Henry let her cry. If she needed this so much that she was pawing at him for comfort...well, then, she had never needed something more than this. Still, it seemed like an unexpected turn of events. It seemed only hours ago that she was choosing her steps carefully, keeping far away from him should he suddenly and unexpectedly turn on her. It wasn't that long ago that she batted his hand away when he was concerned over a new wound she had gotten. Henry wondered what had happened, what process her mind had gone through to end up at this conclusion.
He hurt. All over. He couldn't locate a part of him that didn't hurt. And when she pressed herself to him he hurt even more. But he sucked it all in, for her sake. How long had he been out? How long had she, technically, been alone in this place? It wasn't the first time that he was knocked unconscious in this world and she was left to fend for the both of them, but it was the first that his life was truly in dire danger. Perhaps that's why she was clinging to him so desperately now. Henry had discovered that he was surprisingly hardy after all the bumps and bruises he had gotten, but even he knew that he was limited to so much life. That bullet should've done him in, but here he was, sitting up against the wall while Eileen huddled against him, weeping. Hell, even his tailbone didn't feel as hurt anymore. It was like he was waking up in his room again before he had started to escort Eileen through these nightmares. He shifted and uneasily stretched his muscles, relishing in some of the pain he had somehow lost.
Eileen's sobs had died down to a wavering whimper, though she still kept herself warmly pressed up against him. Curled up as much as her aching body would allow, she rested her forehead against his shoulder and breathed deeply, shuddering with each breath. The imaginary second hand of a clock ticked away in the silence, pacing their breaths together even though they were out of time with each other. Suddenly Eileen inhaled sharply and pulled back, lip quivering. Henry's hand fell from her back as he too retreated, slower and meeker than her.
"I'm sorry," she blubbered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—are, are you hurt? I just...I couldn't hold it back...," she stared at him, her anxiety soon removed with an overwhelming sense of forlornness, "I guess...," He held the courage to stare back, probably only due to how exhausted he was.
Eileen was two steps short of astounded that he didn't turn uncomfortably away from her gaze, even when she kept hers on him. In truth she could barely see his eyes behind the matted curtain of hair that covered them, but she could see enough. They looked soft. Tired. Honest. Kind. She had a strong urge to reach out and brush his hair back so she could see them better, but she caught herself before she raised her hand. No. Not a good move. You're not...close to him.
Eileen blinked at the thought. Henry tipped his head in small confusion at her, and she blinked again, multiple times before lightly shrugging it off as nothing. Yes. Nothing. Nothing at all...just a fleeting thought.
She stole glances at him, trying to catch a better glimpse of his eyes.
Those fleeting thoughts weren't stopping.
–
Henry paced the short length of the cell many times until he felt okay enough to travel. Perhaps not in the best shape to fight, but there was no healing that. He hadn't been in the best shape to fight since the very beginning, anyways. Reluctantly, Eileen nodded in approval, gnawing on her lip as he placed his hand on the door. The axe was lost for now, unless by some unknown grace it was still out on the walkway and not in the great white abyss, they had to make do without it. He had mentioned that he had other weapons in his apartment, but none were as good as the axe. As well, he didn't remember there being a lot of holes around this world, and the nearest one that allowed for the least amount of contact with Walter was very far down the path.
"There's...one of those two-faced monsters out there," she warned just as he was about to turn the knob. Henry glanced at her to give her thanks, and cautiously opened the door. It wailed on its hinges, the noise barely drowning out the soft unmistakable whisper of the twin demons.
"Receiver...,"
Looking left and right, Henry jolted back just as a pale white hand slapped on the concrete, inches away from his nose. Pulling the fully-loaded gun from his waist, Henry shot the hand. The monster collapsed in pain, making an easy death as Henry put it out of its misery with one well-aimed stomp. Gingerly climbing over the corpse, they stepped out into the hallway, cautiously entering the next room. Other voices whispered in the halls though they couldn't see the owners, all proclaiming the same title the other one was. Henry grimaced and opened the next cell.
Growing fungi spun eagerly in their race to the top. Eileen gagged as Henry quickly and efficiently scanned the room to see if there was anything useful. Seeing that there was not, he turned and left with her, opening the next cell door just as another twin-faced demon spotted him around the corner. There was nothing there but a hole; the cot wasn't even soaked with blood as was the signal for Henry to progress last time he was there. If it weren't for the immediate danger in the hall, he would resort to peeking into the cell before he opened the door, but any rest was needed especially now that they were constrained to a limited supply of bullets for protection.
Telling Eileen to plug her ears for the upcoming gunshots earned him a think that through again look, but she obliged nontheless the best she could. Tensing in anticipation, she covered her one ear and waited as Henry squeezed the trigger.
The bullets sent enough recoil that when the monster started to charge it couldn't travel more than a few steps. By the time it fell it laid perfectly at Henry's feet. He ended its life, but he was not happy. That had taken too many bullets, and if they were to survive the rest of the way he would definitely need to conserve. That meant he couldn't take chances, and they would have to avoid more monsters than kill. Once upon a time, the option to not kill was the heavenly, moral option that he would've wished to take. Now, however, Henry's stomach turned at the thought.
Peering into the next cell door though there was one last whisper bouncing off the round walls, he dismissed the room and looked into the next room. A Holy Candle rested on the tiny desk. Entering and sticking the candle in his pocket, he kept Eileen behind him as he peeked around the central wall. He could just barely see an arm from another double-faced monster. He carefully shut the cell door and backed away into the room, looking at Eileen.
"There's no way I can get them all," he breathed, worried.
"What do you want to do?" she asked, sharing and understanding his concern.
Henry gazed out the tiny window in the door, "Run."
His voice was regretting it, but there was only way to escape. True, there could've been very useful items hidden in the cells, but their lives were worth more than the petty things he somehow knew he would find.
Eileen glanced around the dirty walls and spoke before he reached for the door, "Could this be that Silent Hill cult? The place where they kept all those kids locked up?"
He stared at her, somewhat afraid. Swallowing hard, he looked down at the floor.
"How...did you know?" he whispered, disturbed more by the truth than her. Eileen gestured gently to the splotch of blood on his shirt. The prisoner's shirt she had used as a temporary bandage was long since discarded as it wouldn't stay on if he moved, but she still sharply remembered how small it was.
"The shirt that I used...it was too small to even fit a teenager. And...and I guess there are other things that...helped me realize this," she muttered. Henry tried to passively get her to talk more, as it was clear she was not okay with half of what she was saying (and he didn't have head or tail of what her second statement meant) but she squished the links of the chain in the palm of her hand, the metal links chiming merrily in high contrast to the pained look on her face.
Henry hated himself for letting it go, but he turned to open the cell door anyways.
"How could they do this to children...," Eileen whispered angrily under her breath.
Softly shuffling into the hallway, they made their way to the exit as quietly as possible so as not to upset the last monster. The blaring sound of rushing water covered any noise they did make, and they reached the big metal doors without harm.
"Wait," Henry stopped, "He's out there."
"Yes," Eileen noted, staring at him, "Do you have another way out?"
He winced, "For me, yes. But...not for you. But you'd be safe! Until...I found a way to get you out...,"
It was obvious that he didn't sound sure, but Eileen paused and asked him to clarify. Describing the significance of the holes in the floors of the cell, Henry told her of the quick passage to the basement. Though she was interested and agreed that that was their most possible way out, she knew she wouldn't be able to follow him down. The staircase to the basement was her way out, but getting there was barred by Walter's presence just outside the door. Eileen chewed her lip as she thought, an unappealing taste of lipstick, blood, and flaked skin hitting her tongue as she did so.
"We don't know that the door to the basement is locked," she sighed in dismay, "Let's...Let's go there first,"
"I can't—,"
"Henry," Eileen interrupted him, placing her hand on his arm, "It'll be okay. Maybe...maybe you have nothing to worry about. Maybe you're safe"
Henry's face twisted as he whispered lowly, turning away from her, "I might be dead already...,"
She heard, and said nothing. The thought had crossed both their minds, especially Eileen's as they struggled through the corrupted worlds. It would be such a release to know for sure if they were dead, because then all worries they had carried would dissipate as they would no longer matter. But if they were dead then this was most certainly Hell, and thinking about living eternity in this place was a torturous thought. If they both were still alive, though, the fight to stay that way seemed almost futile.
Knowing that there was no way to steel themselves for the cold winds outside, Henry wasted no time as he pushed against the heavy door. Cautiously stepping onto the pathway, they closed the door behind them just as calm footsteps approached. Eileen swerved to face Walter just as Henry tugged her back, grasping her firmly by the arm. Taking off at a stumbling run before Walter could aim at them, Henry led her down the winding pathway to where another set of identical double doors were placed directly below the last. Walter followed, as calmly as ever, always close enough behind them to instill panic and never too far away to give a false sense of security.
Pulling the heavy door open, they clambered into the second floor hallway, stopping only to pick a cell that didn't look like it was infested with monsters, and found small refuge in the cramped space. Eileen panted and sputtered, wincing and flinching until she sat herself down on the cot.
"Okay," she rasped, making a point to keep her feet off of the floor, "I-I can't do that."
Henry grimaced at the thick blood dripping from the soles of her feet, splatting stiffly on the floor. That was too harsh for her, but there was nothing else he could do. If she had kept her heels, she would be tripping and falling so much that Walter would've caught up to him. But now because she had discarded them, she wasn't able to run on the grated pathways due to gritty metal cutting into her skin.
"And now we're stuck," Eileen muttered before cursing. Giving her a sympathetic gaze, Henry waited, desperately trying to devise a different escape route that didn't exist. Breathing hard to fight back the pain, Eileen uneasily lowered her feet, resting the very edge of her heels on the cool concrete.
"I don't suppose you have any shoes back at your apartment," Eileen said, half-laughing through her nose before wincing again, "Size eight, womens?"
Henry shook his head, taken aback and a little nervous at the question though it was obvious the answer would be no anyways. Eileen smiled despite his answer, and looked down at her calloused, bloody feet, tentatively stretching her toes. Spreading the pain out by gently rocking her heels back and forth, she was about to invite him to sit beside her if she wanted when the back of her heels brushed against something.
"Henry," she whispered urgently. He perked his head, alert as she continued, "There's something underneath the cot,"
Ever so slowly she lifted her feet, easing them up until she folded her legs in front of her. Henry dropped down to his knees, reaching his hand under the bed. Eileen warned him to be careful, as there was too little light to see and it could've literally been anything underneath there. Groping blindly in the dark, Henry sniffed as he grasped something smooth and sharp. Sliding it out from under the cot, he rose to his feet, wiping the blade of the Sword of Obedience with the cleanest corner of his shirt.
"What's something like that doing there?" Eileen asked, unfolding her aching legs. He shrugged in response, holding it in his left hand. It would become useful soon, he knew, and at the moment he didn't care where he had found it or why it had been in one of the kid's cells.
"How much farther is the basement?" she ventured as Henry peered out of the small window. He answered, it was just another sprint like the one they just had, and though he tried to sound reassuring there wasn't much to add to the truth that would make it seem any better. Still, Eileen nodded, and stood up, tottering a little as she exhaled through her teeth. Henry asked if she was really ready to go out again, but she simply, somewhat bitterly confirmed that she could never be better in this state, and waited for him to open the door.
He reluctantly obliged, stepping quietly out into the hallway to avoid any other two-faced monsters, and carefully turned the handle to the outside.
The door swung open and Walter's grimy hand grabbed Henry by the neck. A scream caught in his throat and Henry choked as Walter pulled him forward, the butt of his gun jamming into Henry's bullet wound. He gurgled and cried as pain blotted out his vision, and as he crumpled Walter flung him out into the cold air. Crashing onto the grated walkway, he heard Walter cackle in delight. Coughing and sputtering, Henry's head swam with various curse words and pleas. Unable to get up, he floundered on the grating as Walter approached, guns in hand.
"You...you...you motherfucker!" Eileen screamed in rage. Walter's face contorted in confusion, and he turned on his heel.
"How could you speak about Mother that way?" he yelled, pained by her word, "You...You are the Mother Reborn! How could you?"
The chain clinked in an almost bloodthirsty manner as it whipped his face. Walter recoiled and Eileen charged.
"Leave him the hell alone, you son of a bitch!" she roared, driving him away from Henry, whipping the chain furiously. The chain back-lashed at her, clipping and bruising her chin, but she shrugged it off in her rage. One of the guns in Walter's hand discharged and ricocheted off the side of the building, mercifully missing both Eileen and Henry.
Chased to the edge of the walkway, Walter's feet were scraping along the edge of the grating, threatening to drop off into the white abyss. Face bloody from Eileen's assault, it looked as though he was about to be beaten off the edge when, in one smooth motion, Walter brandished the butt of his gun and struck Eileen across the face. She screamed and stumbled backwards, caught by the neck before she fell. Bringing her close to his gruesome face, he sneered and spat blood in her eye. Eileen, struggling helplessly against the firm grip he had on her soft neck, returned the favor. He growled and dug his fingers into her flesh, causing her to wince and choke though she did not regret her actions.
"Mothers aren't supposed to be that way," he chastised with a snarl. Eileen blinked the blood and saliva out of her eye and glared at him.
"I'm not your fucking mother," she rasped in hate, "And he isn't your goddamn Receiver, whatever the hell that is,"
Walter's face darkened until he looked more devil than human, and Eileen's legs trembled and threatened to give way as he closed his hand around her, pulling her toward the edge. Paying no heed to Henry, he growled in her ear, his rotten breath wrinkling her nose as he spoke.
"You have to learn how a Mother acts, and I will show you," His eyes gleamed in long-anticipated glee, "I am going to show you,"
Eileen gurgled, and though she was trying to sound fierce tears were streaking down her cheeks as she felt some unknown, black force prodding against the will in her mind. She squirmed and cried, flailing until she found the grating beneath her feet again. Clinging to the walkway with her toes as though it was warm, soft grass, Eileen steadied her weight, snarled one last profane insult, and shoved.
Whatever was trying to get into her mind retreated in fright, and Walter teetered over the edge until he toppled. The grip on her neck only intensified, and she felt her body follow his down into the abyss until two arms wrapped around her waist. The fingers fell from her neck as the arms pulled backwards, causing her to tumble and roll in confusion until she found herself panting shrilly on the walkway, Henry's arms gripping her as though she were the lifeline as he coughed beside her.
"Henry?" she asked to reaffirm he was there as she struggled to retain her senses, falling down from the adrenaline rush the rage gave her and tumbling back into her own abyss of despair. His arms squeezed around her, this time much more reassuring than could be possible as she continued to cry.
"Oh god...,"