Chapter 52: Despair
Sometime after reading the books, and after recomposing ourselves, we went down the hall, which was lined with more candles. The bathroom door was open, so I peeked in and saw a hole identical to the one that was in my bathroom, only this one hadn't been filled and was surrounded by even more candles.
We entered the bedroom, which was also filled with lit candles, along with unlit ones which were scattered on the bed, haphazardly. The bed was in the same place as mine, and there was also a writing desk like mine in the same area. On it was a red typewriter.
Red typewriter—why does that seem familiar?
Scattered on the floor were red notes, cluing me in to the fact that this was Room 302 of the past, during the time that Joseph lived there. I picked up the note nearest me and read it … but as soon as I recognized the words, I became silent.
What's with this room? It's covered in blood and rust … This is my room … But what the hell has happened to it? This room … Is it really my room? … It's in terrible shape … The air is so heavy … My head hurts … Creepy … It looks like a face.
What the hell am I writing? August 2 -Joseph
I backed up until I was in front of the chair beside the writing desk before my legs gave and I fell into it.
"Henry," Eileen said, obviously alarmed, "What's wrong?"
"I ... I was ..." I took a deep breath, and collected my thoughts. "Remember those nightmares I kept having when I was locked in my apartment?"
She nodded.
"I think … in that dream … I was Joseph. It was my apartment, but I didn't recognize it … I wondered where my red typewriter and record player were … and this," I said, as I held up the note so she could see it, "this is what I was thinking. Then I saw that face on the wall, and …" I was back to rambling again, but hopefully I was getting the point across. I shook my head and stopped myself. "I thought that dream was a premonition, but … I think … I was experiencing Joseph's last moments." It was most likely Walter's doing, probably to taunt me, and begin the process of breaking me down,
What I didn't tell her was exactly why it disturbed me so much—since Joseph and I had lived in the same apartment, and had some of the same experiences … I feared that whatever happened to him would happen to me. All the talk of headaches and fear … he must have been so confused and terrified. And I could easily picture myself walking the same path, ending up the same way, feeling trapped and hopeless and in constant pain.
I sat silently for several seconds, just staring ahead at nothing. Eileen put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, then began stroking my hair—whether she understood the full meaning of what was bothering me or not, she was concerned and attempted to comfort me.
Get a grip, Henry, I thought, and somehow shook myself out of the state I was in. I picked up the other three notes that were on the floor and read them. Fortunately, they were all brief, so I just flipped through them and read them quickly to myself:
I can't break down the wall. August 3 - Joseph
When the bell rings, Eileen (equals) mother's body, blood. August 4 – Joseph
The Crimson Tome: "Bury part of the Conjurer's mother's flesh within the true body of the Conjurer." Part of the flesh (equals) super's room? August 5 - Joseph
"What do they say?"
"Oh, it's mostly nonsense," I said. I knew they were clues of some kind, his attempt at translating the vague directions that were in the Crimson Tome, but at the moment, they didn't make sense. All that was true, but I didn't want Eileen to know that her name had been mentioned for fear that it might freak her out, which is why I made it a point to devalue them so she wouldn't worry about what was written. I folded them and stuffed them in my back pocket when she wasn't looking.
As we left the bedroom, I suddenly noticed that the wall on the left, the space between the bedroom and bathroom, was cracked and broken, but not all the way through. This was another thing that set this version apart from mine.
On the left and right walls, respectively, were writings in red: The gate to Hell, and Why must I destroy this wall?
On the way back to the living room, I noticed a black stain on the carpet and saw that more black liquid was dripping from the ceiling. I looked up and saw what looked like a wall monster coming out of the ceiling, but this one looked more humanoid and fairly non-threatening for what it was, but I grabbed Eileen and pulled her away from it just to be safe.
Eileen gasped. "Wait," she said, "it's him!"
I looked closer and saw that the "monster" looked like a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, wearing a shirt not unlike mine. Then it spoke: "You've done well to make it this far." It had a strange, deep, echoing voice and it spoke slowly.
Oh my God, I thought, It's Joseph Schreiber … it has to be!
Of course it was, it was his apartment after all, and how else could Eileen have recognized him? I suddenly felt an almost inexplicable wave of terror, and I reached to my left and grabbed Eileen's hand tightly.
"Let me tell you something about him, Walter Sullivan," Joseph continued. "When he was a little boy, he began to believe that my apartment was actually his birth mother. He decided to 'free' her from the stains and corruption of this world.
"At the orphanage, he learned of the '21 Sacraments,' the only way to purify her. He then performed the ceremony of the 'Holy Assumption' and created this … twisted world."
As he spoke, his lips never moved, but the sound was still coming mostly from him—the effect was disturbing. He looked more like a statue then anything, having taken on the texture of the ceiling the way the wall monsters did. What a terrible fate to be condemned in such a way—not being able to move or express yourself aside from speaking, and even that seemed strained. A fate he didn't deserve, I'm sure.
"Now … he's become nothing more than an inhuman killing machine," Joseph continued. "Well, he's dead now … but he's still trying to complete … the '21 Sacraments'. His boyhood desire … to return to the bosom of his birth … has divided him. Now his child self … has manifested itself in this world. And soon, he is planning to finish his work: the … 21 … Sacraments."
Even though this was mostly a re-iteration of things we already knew, hearing him say it caused a chill to run up and down my spine.
"Number 20 … The Mother Reborn … Eileen Galvin …"
I looked at Eileen. She looked back with a sad and scared expression and squeezed my hand a little tighter. Poor Eileen—once again, it wasn't anything we didn't already know, but having it spelled out like that must have been terribly upsetting for her.
But it was what he said next that really blew my mind.
"Number 21 … The Receiver of Wisdom … Henry Townshend … even now … it may not be … too late."
My heart nearly stopped upon hearing "The Receiver of Wisdom", the phrase that I'd come to recognize as a title that was forced on me, but it was hearing my full name uttered that really hit me hard and nearly caused my legs to buckle under me. I managed to hold myself together, but my mind reeled. Number 21. Me. I was to be the last victim of the 21 Sacraments. Of course, there had been plenty of signs that I should have caught (You're not going to die—I'm not prepared for you, yet … prepare for the Receiver of Wisdom … If you are the Receiver of Wisdom, you will understand my words … I may not be ready to kill you yet, but I can make you wish you were dead), but I somehow felt disconnected from his plan, as if I just happened to be there, or that, arrogantly, I had some greater purpose, like saving the victims. Or maybe my mind just refused to see what was right in front of my face, in an attempt to protect my psyche. I kept wondering how I had gotten into this, but now I knew at least part of the answer: I was chosen to be his final victim, The Receiver of Wisdom.
"Follow the … Crimson Tome," Joseph continued. He was talking slower now, as if doing so was a struggle. "Stop him! If not … wherever you run … he will catch you."
I shivered at the cold terror brought on by that concept. There was no turning back now, if there ever was.
"Find … him. His … true location … it must be nearby. You must kill … him … You must kill him … Kill … Kill … Kill … Kill …"
I bit my lip, anxiously. All this time, I had been trying to avoid Walter Sullivan ... I should have known that I'd have to face him eventually, and it was "kill or be killed" at this point. I didn't know how it would be possible, but I did know that there had to be a way.
"Hurry … she's being taken over. She's Number 20 … The Mother Reborn."
Of course ... Eileen was being possessed by Walter Sullivan. If killing him was the only way to save her, then I'd do everything in my power to make it so.
"The Crimson Tome … obey the Crimson Tome … Kill him … Must … kill … him … Kill … Kill … Kill … Kill …" And with that, he was silenced—now reduced to nothing more than a statue that protruded from the ceiling like some kind of abstract piece of art. I wondered if he was still aware of his surroundings, and I shuddered at thinking what it must be like, being forever trapped in Room 302 like that.
I didn't know how to react to all this. I was somewhere between inspired to go on by the urgency of his words, and afraid to at the same time. Walter Sullivan instilled so much fear in me, it was almost surreal ... even if the Crimson Tome did have the information on how to kill him, it didn't change the fact that I'd still have to face him somehow—actually seek him out and kill him, something I didn't know if I could do. To say I felt overwhelmed would be an understatement.
"Henry?" Suddenly, I felt Eileen embracing me, probably sensing that something was wrong. "You okay?" I could tell by her voice that she was distressed as well, but as usual, her main concern was me.
"I ... wait." I happened to be facing the right way at this point that I was able to spot something at the very end of the hall that wasn't there before. It wasn't there because I wasn't meant to use it yet. I gently pulled away from Eileen and went to get a closer look.
As I approached the end of the hall—the space between the bedroom and bathroom—I saw that there was something sticking out of the area of the wall that had been hacked away at.
It was another pickaxe.
I grabbed the handle and gave a good pull—at first, it wouldn't budge, but when I gripped it tighter and yanked hard, it finally came free. As I held it in my hands, I looked at it, then at the wall where it had been used in an attempt to make a hole. I looked at the words inscribed on the wall to the right (Why must I destroy this wall?) and recalled one of the memos I'd seen in the bedroom (I can't break down the wall).
"Maybe he wasn't supposed to," I muttered. "Maybe ..."
And just like that, I knew what it was for. I didn't know where it would lead, exactly, but I did know what I was supposed to do. I turned the big heavy tool over in my hands and I wasn't at all surprised at what I saw inscribed on the handle.
HOPE.
I turned to Eileen, who had followed me silently down the hall. "It's weird, but I think ... somehow ... this will get me out of my apartment."
She put her hand on my shoulder, stood close, and looked at me anxiously. "Go find out, then," she said. This was the first instance where she let me go back to my apartment without it bringing her down.
I don't know if it was the positive feeling I was getting from knowing I was on the right track, or the fact that Eileen appreciated the urgency, or both, but I suddenly felt compelled to do something very uncharacteristic of me. I actually leaned forward and kissed her.
This time, she was the one startled, but she didn't mind. I kept it brief, but when I pulled away, she was looking at me affectionately, albeit surprised.
"I'll be back."
I took a deep breath before making my way to the bathroom where the portal was.
