Dark Nights, Black Days

By diddly day

Note to the reader: Man, I really need to finish "Darkest Hour" but I'm hooked on this story. Not to mention all of the angry Quall fans sending me angry reviews. Which I have deleted, by the way. This chapter is. . .very important. Well, most of my chapters are important in someway, but there really is a character in this story that makes a big splash!

No, it's not Walter.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I may seem a little rushed, and a little long at times, but just bare with me.

Chapter Six:

Henry stood in the bathroom. His body was trembling so uncontrollably, that the sweat on his skin dribbled from his chin and into the sink. Gripping the sides of it, he tried to slow his heart that was still beating with rage.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Do you know what time it is?"

"What's wrong? Is someone hurt?"

"I have to get up a two hours, you know!"

"Look, I"m sorry, all of you. It's my wife. She has night terrors."

"I don't give a damn!"

"Night terrors?"

"I apologize, but it really isn't her fault. She's been under a lot of stress lately and – "

"Well, your wife scared the shit out of me with her shrieking! If she has nightmares, you shouldn't bring her to a motel!"

"Yeah!"

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Please, I wish I could help her, but it's really quite complicated. I can assure you that everything's fine. She'll be okay. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you – "

"You can shut that bitch up!"

The next thing Henry knew, was that his hands where on the short, pudgy, sandy haired man's collar while staring him down. Gazing all the way into his pig-like, beady eyes, Henry's long nose breathed hot air over the plump mans skin.

"Say that again," Henry whispered.

The man pressed his mouth into a fine line. Henry found himself wishing that this ass would say something. After all the crap he, himself, had endured. After all the nightmares he had hid, all the images that had flashed inside of his head. All the times he wanted to release some of his terror. After the scare that Eileen suffered tonight. And after that terrible fight, he hoped to hell that this shithead would open his trap, and repeat what he had so liberally voiced earlier. Henry hoped, so that he could beat this guy to nothing but blood and bones.

But the man said nothing. And Henry could feel his fingers slipping from the guy's oversized shirt. He was gone before any of the other residents of Jack's Inn. The two other men who had complained hard and loud before soon left also. Only a young woman stood standing before their room. She looked no more than twenty.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" she asked with uncertainty. Her light brown hair was disheveled, and her eyes were red from lack of sleep.

"Yeah." Henry could still feel the fire in his blood. "My wife just needs rest."

Now he was here. In the bathroom. Trying his best to contain himself from tearing the sink out of the wall.

This can't keep happening. She can't go on like this. She's going to drive herself insane. She's going to drive me insane.

But she wasn't insane. The things that she had seen were real. The nightmares, and everything in them, were real. She never talked about her attack, or the events after her attack. How could she? Eileen didn't remember them. However, they were there. Inside of her mind. And just searching for anyway to escape.

He always knew why she had the nightmares. She had never dealt with the journey that they both had endured. Sure, neither had Henry in the normal sense. However, he did think about it. He sometimes wondered about Walter Sullivan, and about Joseph. Henry would find himself pondering the incidents over and over again in his mind. Breaking them down, and analyzing them piece by piece. When he put them into a sequence of events, he could better understand just why everything had happened to Eileen and himself. Perhaps that was the reason why he could get through the day. He had is own odd way of dealing.

Eileen, sadly, did not have that luxury. Because she didn't remember, she couldn't deal. And just because the memories were repressed, didn't mean that they were gone. Only after three years, they had finally found a way to manifest themselves. Finally, they had found a way to fully break from her subconscious.

Only now, they weren't staying inside of her head anymore. They weren't just dreams. The memories were becoming real. Like a picture rising off of the page, they were swallowing truth. And how? The answer to that was easy. It was because of this place.

Because Henry and Eileen had come back. . .

I I I

She recalled the first time she had seen him. His image was rather small from her third-story window as she watched him unload a few brown boxes from an old, gray pickup. Eileen was only able to make out his dusty black jacket in the evening haze. Frank told her that he was now her new neighbor. So, when she stuck her head out of her apartment door to get a look good at him, it surprised her that he ducked quickly into his room at the sight of her brown hair. That didn't bother her too much. It was his loss. He was probably some antisocial weirdo, anyway.

Eileen did, however; have her first proper encounter with him two days later, when she came home from work to find a young man at the front door. He was trying to get his key into the main lock with one hand, all the while balancing a paper bag of grocery's with the other. She hadn't recognized him at first, since all she had seen of him was blur of dark hair from when he had disappeared into his apartment a few days earlier. Also, he was dressed differently. A dim blue button-down shirt hung from his body and tucked into a pair of black trousers. He further sported a very ugly blue tie that was probably about ten years out of date.

"Here," Eileen said as she fished her key from out of her purse, "I'll let you in. The lock has been giving all of the residents problems. You have to jiggle your key a certain way."

He stood aside, clearly embarrassed as she squeezed past him to unlock the door.

"Shit, see? It's not working for me either." Eileen inwardly scolded herself for swearing in front of a stranger. A handsome stranger at that. Well, she didn't have much charm, or tact, at any rate. "So, you live here? I've never seen you before. What's your name?"

She glanced to her left at the man who stood with his grocery bag held firmly at his elbow. He pointed at the buzzer to the name three rows down. The writing read: TOWNSHEND.

"Townshend? Odd name," she joked, hoping to get his first name out of him. "You're parents weren't hippies, were they?" The stranger didn't smile. Eileen cleared her throat and turned her gaze to the lock she was vainly trying to open.

Mr. Talkative, eh? It seemed as though Eileen received only two reactions with men. Either they put their arms around her, swearing nonstop, while making sleazy innuendoes. Or, they held their breath until she walked away. Well, it seemed as though Mr. Talkative was due to pass out soon.

"It's Irish," she heard him say softly over her shoulder. "Well, my family is Irish. I'm Henry. Henry Townshend."

"Ah," she smiled without looking at him. "Nice to meet you, Henry." She chanced a peek at the buzzer again. He lived in room. . .302?

"You're my neighbor?" Her tone was not flattering. Since her previous encounter with him, she had pictured her neighbor as a sort of middle-aged, city version of Norman Bates.

Henry stared back at her. His expression stunned and his eyes gazing at Eileen as if she were bound to jump on him, and rip his throat apart with her teeth at any moment.

"I – Well, I live in apartment 303. That's all," Eileen quickly added.

"Oh," he replied softly. "So you're. . ." She could see him squinting at the list of names. "Galvin?"

She was about to respond when she heard a high, muffled, whiny voice.

"Eileen! What the hell is wrong?"

It was Mrs. Larson. A stout old woman who lived in South Ashfield Heights. Eileen cursed under her breath, and pulled her key from out of the lock.

"What are you doing?" Mrs Larson questioned, she was inside of the building. Her voice louder than normal to speak through the glass door. "Hold on, I'll let you in."

"Thanks."

"I keep tellin' Frank to get this stupid door fixed," she went on as she opened the door, "but the son of a bitch won't listen, he just keeps sayin — Who the hell are you?" She had now noticed Eileen's male companion.

"Henry," he answered rapidly, obviously caught off guard by this curt woman. "I just moved in."

"Well, Henry-who-just-moved-in, get your ass inside!" And not picking up on her kidding tone, Henry jetted into the apartment without hesitation.

"I don't think he got your sense of humor," Eileen told Mrs. Larson once they were both inside.

"Eh, by the time he's been living here three weeks, he will."

After living there for two years, Henry had always left abruptly whenever Mrs. Larson appeared around the corner.

Henry, later, confessed in a joking way to Eileen on their honeymoon that he was shy around new people, and extremely shy around pretty women. Eileen told him it was understandable to be shy around a stunning lady, such as herself.

"Not you, sweety, I was talking about Mrs. Larson."

Eileen had smacked his arm rather harshly, before letting herself laugh at his joke.

That time at the door had pretty much been the existent of their conversations. However, they had always at least nodded at each other in the halls, or smiled when they checked their mailboxes. But basing from her first meeting with him, Eileen had come to the conclusion that he was not friendly and most likely an ego maniac.

And how did she come to that resolution? Simply put: all handsome men were.

But asshole or not, after two years of seeing him pass by her peephole everyday, Eileen finally cracked to get his attention. Daniella was having a party, and Eileen hadn't had a successful date in ages. She had never thought of asking him out, he wasn't her type. Nonetheless, it was either him, or Eileen would be attending the party alone.

She hadn't seen him in a few days, but that wasn't at all unusual. Grabbing her bag full of light snacks to bring to her friends, she headed over to room 302, with her glass bottle of Dr. Pepper tucked under her arm.

It was a simple plan. All she had to do was drop the bag. He'd hear her cleaning, and come out to see what the problem was. If she was lucky, he might even help clean up the mess. And when she thanked him, she would casually slip in that she needed a date, and ask him to the party.

That wasn't at all what happened. When she dropped her bag, her arm moved, and the fragile bottle of Dr. Pepper plunged to the ground and shattered making dark cola sputter everywhere.

"Crap."

She bent down and put the wet concealed items that weren't ruined by the drink into a soggy paper bag. Worst of all, Mr. Townshend hadn't come out. . .not even to see what was wrong.

"I hope my luck changes before the party," she muttered to herself.

As she turned to leave, she was almost positive that she heard something from behind the door to room 302. Pausing, she stopped to listen. At first, it was hard to tell what was projecting from behind the door. However, as Eileen stood there, it became slightly louder. It was a metallic sound. Almost a. . .grinding.

Walking backwards, she carefully avoided Henry's peephole, and ducked underneath so she could press her ear against his door. The wet items in her sopping bag drooped in her arms, and she cradled them to keep them from spilling everywhere again.

What the hell was he doing in there? Was he wrapping chains together? It was only for a second, but Eileen thought she heard someone speak inside the apartment.

"There's s. .me. . .wro. . . is. . .room!"

Eileen pulled back her head sharply, afraid that he had seen her outside of his door. Scrambling on her knees to her own apartment, he sighed and jetted into her room. What had she heard him say?

"There's sme wroisroom?" No, that couldn't be it. "There's so me wrought doom?" She shook her head. That didn't make any sense.

Perhaps he was just watching TV, and the sound had drowned the words out. It was probably some character off of a sitcom, and Henry was most likely making a smoothie. That's all it was. That's what was causing the loud racket. And that's why he didn't come out to help her. After all, she had no idea what the hell was said behind his door. So, of course he didn't hear her.

"There's something wrong with this room!"

The words came to her. As if someone had spoken it over her shoulder. Eileen shivered and looked behind her to make sure no one really had whispered in her ear. It was such a little sentence, but it made her insides squirm and a cloud of fear moved over her.

Was there something wrong with his room?

That was ridiculous! Eileen tried to push that thought out of her head immediately. She'd try to go over there again, and get him to come out. If he didn't, she go ask Richard if he saw anything odd from his window. Mr. Townshend was fine, and hopefully, he'd be her date for tonight. That is, if he wasn't a bastard like most men.

When Eileen went back to clean up, she prayed he's step out then to see what all the noise was about.

He didn't.

Bastard.

And later that night, as her face was smashed against the mirror. Blood spraying from her mouth in fine drops as she screamed and pleaded for Him to stop cutting her, Eileen wondered why she had wasted so much of her life worrying about such foolish things.

Following the searing pain, and the thick blackness that engulfed her, she opened her eyes to find herself in a white hospital room. Physically, the pain was gone from her body, but emotionally, Eileen felt more exhausted than she ever had in her life. As though she has passed through Hell itself just to wake up in the warm cot supporting her back.

Then, to her amazement, her first visitor wasn't even her parents, friends, or coworkers. It was Mr. Talkative, from room 302, and even more astounding, he had brought her flowers. His expression soft, weary, and worried. He looked as if he has spent the entire night by her side.

However, the most dazing thing of all, was that she felt like she had known him completely for those two years in South Ashfield Heights. The bond was so strong, Eileen wondered if the two of them had actually spent days visiting each other. Eating in one another's kitchens, telling dumb jokes in the hallway, flirting in the foyer, and spending the night in each other's beds.

It was the first time that Eileen wondered what was real, and what wasn't. How could she feel so intimate with a man who she had barely spoken with? Were they lovers? Was memory of him stalking past her door, hardly able to look at her only dream that was caused by her coma?

She knew it wasn't.

Except, when he handed her the flowers, and when she stared into his eyes that were so tender, her skin flushed and her fingers trembled in a way that they never had before. A thought flew into her mind, and she couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop it because she knew it to be true.

I think I love him.

She didn't know how, or why. The bursting sensation of affection overwhelmed her. Eileen had always been vaguely aware of revelations. Small wonders of déjà vu sometimes struck her at the most mundane moments. And on one or two occasions, she could remember sentimental epiphanies in which her soul would grow slightly. However, those small experiences were tiny shocks compared to this lightning bolt of amour. It was all she could do to make conversation with him without blushing.

Now, three years later, she lay between the cool sheets of their motel room. Her mind trying to comprehend how she had gone from an unlucky flirt turned bitter, to a wife. It all seemed to happen so fast. The last three years had seemed to flash by, and then again, she felt twenty years older than she had been on her wedding day only two years ago.

Five years. I've known him for five years. Two as neighbors, one as friends and lovers, and another two as his wife. And yet, sometimes I feel like I've known him all my life. While other times, I believe I'm married to a stranger.

Like tonight. When he almost had a nervous or metal breakdown.

Let it go a little voice said. He said he was sorry, you need to forgive him. You know how hard he is on himself. You know how he needs you. You know him.

Eileen bit her lip.

I've never seen him so upset. What if he gets worse? What if he starts to act like that all the time? He was so mad. So full of frustration and fear.

She could hear Henry sigh in the bathroom.

Can you blame him? the voice argued. You scared him. If in Henry's shoes, you would've been upset. Don't deny it.

Nodding inwardly, she ran her hand through her hair.

But – I never knew he could get like that. I feel like I'm losing him sometimes, and when he doesn't let me in, it builds and builds and builds until it explodes. . .like tonight. What if he realizes that I'm making his stress worse? What if he pulls away? What if he does become a stranger and stops. . .loving me?

Somehow, she felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Laughing bitterly at the ridiculousness of her worries, and weeping because despite the fact that they were ridiculous, they seemed possible.

After being chased by Robbie the Rabbit, anything seemed possible.

What if? What if? You could lay awake all night asking the "what if" questions, convincing yourself that anything could happen. But just because something could happen doesn't mean it will happen. Henry's not the runaway type. If something bad does occur, it's possible he could leave you, but he won't. That much, you know. You know because of the intimacy you feel on those occasions when you're sure you can see inside of his mind. It's very rare when you aren't certain he's your husband, but when you are, you know that he would never abandon you.

The voice was right. Eileen was rushed with gratitude at knowing that it wasn't actually a voice speaking inside of her mind. More inside of her heart. At the moment, she was very glad that her heart seemed wiser than her mind during this dark night of contemplation.

Eileen felt slightly dizzy. Henry had lectured her earlier on things that could have been. Asking her "what if" and "how". Yet, she knew she could worry and obsess over what might become. Both she and Henry seemed to make sense, even though they disagreed.

There has to be a happy medium.

Looking at the other side of the bed, she wondered if Henry would be joining her. He had been in the bathroom for a while now. After the mob that had yelled at him because of her screams, he walked briskly into the bathroom, and hadn't made much noise since.

Getting out of bed, she decided that he would not be returning to bed anytime soon.

"Henry?" she asked as she gently knocked on the bathroom door. "Come back to bed."

When he didn't answer, Eileen gripped the knob and turned it. As the door swung back, she saw him leaning over the sink, his entire body shaking. She hesitated. Was shaking because he was scared or angry? Closing her eyes, she thought a silent prayer. Upon opening her eyes again, she stared at him. He was still shaking, and Eileen knew why. He was in pain.

"Henry," her voice was soft and she stepped closer to him. Placing a hand on his back, she could almost feel the emotional torture he was experiencing.

"Oh, Eileen, I can't. . ." He shook his head and gripped the sink harder.

She didn't know what it was that he couldn't do. Even so, if he couldn't do it, then it must be a terrible task. Pressing her lips to his shoulder, she rubbed her palm up and down his back.

"Then don't."

I I I

"Why don't we leave today? Or tonight?"

Eileen considered his proposal deeply as the both of them walked down the sunny sidewalk. It was refreshingly cool. Autumn was new, and soon the walk would be littered with children Trick or Treating in a few weeks.

"I think that's a good idea."

Henry stopped walking, his face surprised.

"Really? I thought you would put up a fight," he hushed, clearly pleased. Eileen forced herself not to roll her eyes.

"Well, after last night, and the night before, I don't want to risk another nightmare. The first one was bad. But the second one. . .If I have another terrible dream tonight, our motel manager might call the fire department."

He laughed, which made Eileen smile herself. She liked it when he laughed. He did it less and less now these days. . .which was bad since he didn't do it much in the first place.

"So, we'll leave then?"

"Don't hold back your excitement." Eileen answered, not hiding her sarcasm. Henry forced himself to scowl.

"I'm sorry. I mean, we'll go. If you want." She could tell he still felt like grinning. Taking his arm, they began to walk. The fabric of his shirt felt good under her fingers.

"Tonight. I still want to see more of the town. In the daylight, that is."

Henry nodded. She didn't bother to tell him her main reason for wanting to leave sooner than planned. Silent Hill didn't feel as warm as it once had. Her past memories had been so wonderful, but this trip, one bad thing seemed to happen after another. Eileen was scared to think what could happen if they stayed one more night.

I'm not superstitious, so why am I so afraid?

Henry had stopped walking. She only noticed when her had was pulling at his sleeve. Turning her eyes in his direction, she saw that he was staring at a very old church.

"I've seen that church before," Eileen exclaimed. "Don't you have a picture of it? I swear I've admired the photo from your collection."

It took a moment for him to answer her.

"Yeah – I took it last time I came here. It hasn't changed in four years."

It was hard to believe, but Eileen was certain that Henry was not drawn to the beautiful building as she was. Perhaps it was just her imagination.

"Do you want to go inside?" she asked. His eyes found hers.

"No, not really, actually," he muttered honestly. She frowned. It had not been her imagination after all.

The old doors to the church flew open as if on cue, and a woman came hurtling out of it like a tornado. She wore an oversized old sweater, and a cheap, black skirt. Her hair fell from the clip in her hair and hung into her eyes. At first glance, Eileen thought the woman was merely angry. But gazing at her a second time, she saw that the stranger was in tears. Her swollen, red face visible from behind her dark, almost black, wavy curls.

As a matter of fact, the woman was so distressed, that her heel broke one the steps in her haste, and she propelled down the remaining stairs. . .towards Henry.

"Oh!" she yelped as Henry caught her small arm in his large hand. He had just saved her from face planting it on the concrete. Nonetheless, her knees smashed helplessly to the rough ground.

"Are you all right?" Eileen hushed as she darted forward to help the woman. Henry set her to her feet.

"My knees. . ." she whimpered in pain.

Eileen found her gaze to her knees. They were covered by the long skirt, but two messy streaks of blood were leaching down the visible part of her legs, towards her ankles.

"Do you need help getting home?" Henry questioned, staring at her white skin that was now blotted with red.

"No, I'll be fine," she gasped, trying her best to push past the young couple. More tears fell from her eyes.

"Wait!" The woman stopped at Henry's voice. "Is there anything we can do?"

Turning around, she stared at Henry and Eileen. Her misty eyes so full of anguish that it broke Eileen's heart. Trying to hobble back to them, the weeping stranger tripped on her fractured heel again, and collapsed, sobbing shamelessly. . .or shamefully.

Eileen and Henry knelt on either side of her before she could get up and run away again.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I must look so pitiful."

She didn't. But neither did Henry or Eileen say anything.

"Can we help you?" Eileen whispered concerned. The sorrowful lady finally turned her eyes to Eileen. She looked as if she were in her mid to late thirties. She would've been very attractive had she not been bawling and her makeup not smeared.

"Yes, yes. . .please." The two of them lifted her off the sidewalk. Her body shook slightly as she brushed her now messy hair out of her eyes.

Henry and Eileen stared at each other. Sharing a moment of sheer bewilderment.

"My name's Eileen," she squeezed the woman's hand. "And this is my husband, Henry."

Henry nodded and tried his best to smile.

"I'm Helen. Thank you for. . ." another sob caught in her throat.

"Let's get you home," Henry grabbed Helen's other shoulder gently, and tried to help her walk.

She let them walk her a few steps, not telling them if they were going in the right direction. She seemed to overcome for words. Finally, Henry and Eileen sat her down on a nearby bench, hoping that she would calm down.

After a while, Helen looked up and stared at the two of them. "I'm usually not like this," she explained. "It's just one of those days."

Wiping her eyes, he put her knuckle of her index finger to her lips. She bit it lightly. Probably to keep another sob from escaping.

"May we ask what's wrong?" Eileen sat down next to her. "I know you may not want to talk to strangers. But if there's anything we can do – "

"No," Helen cut in sharply. "There's nothing that can be done." Her expression softened. "There's nothing that can be changed."

For the first time, Eileen noticed something. Clenched in Helen's hand protectively was a long, faded, ribbon. It was probably once beautiful before time took away it's vibrant color. Not understanding why this woman was holding something so dull, her mind drifted back to the blood on her knees.

More silence passed between them. Then, Helen beckoned for Henry to sit down next to her, too. He obeyed, and sat down on the cold seat. Parting her lips, they trembled but she got the words out.

"When I was seventeen and a freshmen in college, I fell in love and got married. Not soon after, I had two lovely babies. Twins."

Henry awkwardly patted her shoulder, urging her to continue. It seemed impossible for her, but she did when she was ready.

"They were so wonderful. I never knew I could love something so much. I never knew mother's could possess such love for their children. One day, they went out to ride their bikes. And. . .and. . . and they never came back."

Eileen exhaled. She wasn't aware that Helen had gripped her fingers roughly with pain.

"Five hours later. . .the police found them."

No wave of relief swept over her. Eileen wondered why. The answer came quickly. If the children were okay, why would this woman be so upset?

"Well, not all of them," Helen finished. Henry's eyes grew wide in horror, and Eileen forgot to breathe. "They were found in the bushes. I could only imagine what they went through. . .Someone took them. Someone murdered my babies." Her voice came out wispy and strained.

Eileen now deeply regretted asking her what was wrong.

"They were only seven years old. . ." Helen then broke down completely.

Eileen grabbed her one hand with the both of hers. Helen turned her face into Eileen's shoulder and wept. Fighting back her own tears, she gazed at her husband. Henry sat on the bench. His eyes large and lost. His lips were pressed together. He looked so disturbed that Eileen fought back the urge to wrap her arms around him as well. Helen's cries were earthshattering. As well it should be. A mother should never have to experience that. She should never have to deal with such a tragedy. . .Such evil. Biting her own lip, Eileen tried not to sob with her.

"Shhhh." Eileen soothed. "Let it out." She rubbed Helen's back. It seemed like forever before Helen's cries stopped..

"I shouldn't have told you this," she muttered as she pulled back and tried her best to compose herself. "It's not fair to have you deal with it. It's very rude to burden a nice young couple such as yourselves. After all, it was fourteen years ago."

"That still won't heal the pain," Eileen responded wisely.

"No, but I'm a little better now than I used to be. I can function for the most part anyway. It's just. . ." she broke off.

Eileen waited patently for Helen to finish. Henry was still staring serenely at nothing.

"I come to the church every week to pray for my children," Helen sniffed. "Every Sunday, I pray for comfort and hope. Both for myself and for them. It's usually very emotionally draining. But today – "

"It was worse?" Eileen finished after Helen didn't. She nodded.

"I was almost finished with my prayers when a man walked up to me. He just stared at me for a moment. Then, he parted his lips and spoke. 'I think this belongs to you.' And he handed me this." The purple ribbon drooped from her hands as she raised them.

"That?" Eileen touched the soft material of the ribbon with her fingers.

"Yes," Helen was beginning to cry again. "It belonged to my child. It was Miriam's ribbon that she used to wear in her hair. She was wearing it the day she died."

Eileen stared at the ribbon. A picture of a little lamb was engraved into the material. Her daughter was most likely as soft and as cute as that lamb. Eileen could feel the corners of mouth start to shake.

"It was her favorite. It wasn't found with her remains. I hadn't seen it in fourteen years. Until today."

There was no holding it back now. Eileen let her own tears fall freely. "Was the man. . .was he?"

"I don't know," Helen admitted miserably. "They caught the bastard who did it. He even confessed. Said he was crazy. You'd have to be crazy to kill little children. That or evil, or both. Killed himself later. Took the easy way out, the son of a bitch. When I pray for my children, I also pray that he burns with all of his sins in Hell."

"I'm so sorry," Eileen whispered through her grief. Helen, for the first time, smiled. It was slightly bitter, and it quivered a great deal. But it was still a smile. And it made her look ten years younger.

"I ran out of the church when that happened. Right after he dropped the ribbon into my lap. And I couldn't deal. I couldn't be there. Not with him. I couldn't even ask him where he had gotten it. I was too afraid. Afraid of what the answer might be. His face was so terrible. . .happy. He looked so damn happy. Since I've sat on this bench, I've wondered if it was the devil himself. When I looked up, he was gone. And I ran."

"Do you think he's still there?" Henry, who had not said a thing, spoke up in a very soft voice.

"Probably not."

A gust of wind blew past them, and chilled them to the bone. Standing up, Henry grabbed Helen's hand while Eileen steadied her.

"Where do you live?" Henry asked.

"Over there." Helen pointed to a small neighborhood down the way. "My husband should be there. He'll take good care of me. He always does. Even though he can't bare to come to church to pray with me. It's too painful for him, I think."

"Who is he?" Eileen asked. They were all ready walking toward her neighborhood.

"William. He runs a little shop not too far from here. Locane's Auto and Radiator Repair Shop. Have you been there?"

They both shook their heads no.

"You should go, he's the only honest mechanic in town."

The three of them slowly helped her thin frame down the road. The drying blood on her skin made Helen's healthy legs stick together as she walked. Henry said nothing more. But as Eileen eyed him, she saw that he was sweating so bad, that his shirt stuck to his skin in the cool weather.

To be continued. . .

Note to the reviewer: Well, I hoped you guys liked this chapter. Guess what? THERE'S A DELETED SCENE! Well, more of an extended scene. I was writing, and I just felt an urge to write what I wished I could put in the story. Now, I very much liked what I wrote. However, it felt like it didn't fit. I know that many people would like it, though. So if you wish to read it, I'll post it as an extra feature.

Also, there is a character in this chapter that is based on me. BIG kudos to anyone who can guess who it was. I was writing, and a little image of me popped into my head. Who could it be? Don't look in the reviews for hints or help. No cheating!

Thank you.

Master Crocuta: Well, thank you! I'm glad you liked my review, and my first chapter. I will have to review your other story as well. Because I liked what I saw in your other fic. You know, someone else said that they liked that same quote in my story. You're not the first to say you enjoyed it. I was very flattered. If I ever become famous, I'll have to reuse that line in one of my books.. Thank you again for the review!

Literary Alchemist: (Laughs) Well, I'm happy to see that you read "Darkest Hour." Or at least a little bit of it. But I'm not sure I will be killing off Eileen in this story. . .yet. To be honest, I hadn't even thought of using the Samael vs. Metatron idea. So I can safely say that I am not going in that direction. See, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. But thank you for the review. That means a lot coming from you. It appears that you are a very renowned writer on this little website. I was happy to hear from you. Thanks again.

Bad Guy: I probably won't say much, since I know that there are people who do support those pairings. But I do agree. I think that some people write that kind of stuff for shock value. As I've come to be familiar with fanfiction, I've seen some very odd parings. I'm all for unconventional. I'm a Squall/Quistis fan. And the slash stuff, even though I don't like it, I can see why other people would like it since homosexuality isn't new to our world. But the murderer-and-the victim thing is pushing it, in my opinion. But, I'm glad you reviewed! And I'm also glad you liked Leon and Claire! You should read Sometimes they Come Back if you like them. Ada does suck. You seem cool! Thanks again!

Evil: Well, after reading a lot of stuff, I can see why some people might like Walter. However, I still don't. I agree with pretty much everything you said, and I'm relieved that I'm not the only one who feels that way. I read a lot of people saying "I see a lot of myself in him." What I believe is that people, and teenagers, admire Walter because he was oppressed, and now he is taken seriously. Most teenagers want to be taken seriously. They see that he get's things done through violence, and a lot of people wish they could act on their adolescent rage. He's kinda like a nerd's alter-ego. They want to see themselves in him. But the only similarities they have with Walter is that they are quiet, and they might have neglectful parents. Unless they're brainwashed and killing people to uphold a deadly ritual, I don't think they have much in common. Then there's the pity/badass factor (hell, even I like Wesker) But that just proves my point. You admire a badass because on some level you wish you could be more like them. I still think you are pretty nice. You may be honest, but really that's the best thing you can be. And I also was happy to read that you liked how I made Henry mad! And why I made him mad. Well, that was probably the best things I've read for a long time. Thank you.

Dark Lord: Well, I'm not really a Star Wars fan or Lord of the Rings fan. But I appreciate them both. However, I am a nerd when it comes to Harry Potter. I'm glad you liked the story. "U" is a nut? I'll have to watch out of him. . .her? Thanks for the review!

big harry potter fan: I love you for your enthusiasm! What a nice review! And as I said in the response above, I too, am a big Harry Potter fan as well. I hope you get a chance to read this, because you rock! Thanks again!

Rodarian: It doesn't matter to me if your reviews are short, or long, fat or skinny. I'm just happy that you read the chapter. I'm happy you even clicked on the story! You just seem like a very smart person from your intelligent replies. And I can tell you either read or write a lot, which is something I greatly admire. I'm also glad that you got the dream. I was really worried that it would be confusing. But of course you understood :) Oh, yes, the residents did have a bad night, didn't they? I hope you get to read this. It would be a shame not to hear from you. Thank you, and cheers!

SageoWind218: That makes me very happy that you said that. Henry does get mad at Eileen. But hey, I know I would. Don't stop writing that story, you hear? I still want to have something to read. I'm going crazy with anticipation! Thanks!

Kronos106: I know, it was long, I'm sorry. I was reading "The Historian" which was a wonderful book, but she kinda went on and on about certain things. I found myself saying "Yeah, yeah, yeah." But you made it! You read the whole thing! Which earns brownie points from me to you. I thank you a hundred times over for the nice things you said. Not being redundant is difficult. I have to have a good mix of "She" "Her" and "Eileen" as well as other words. And it's also difficult because while I don't want to drag anything out, but I certainly don't want to rush it either. You haven't updated? Get on the ball, man! I gotta read your stories. But you are the King of Procrastination, however, I am surely your Queen. (Are you a dude, or a chick?) Thank you so much!

Gaia Faye: Well, coming from a big fan of your work, I appreciate your reviews. I may not enjoy the WalterXHenry thing, but I do understand why other people would. We're all different and we have our own literary interests and ideas. I'm glad that you feel the same way about sex scenes as I do. But still, sometimes I know I could write a good one. I won't though. Fight the temptation! I think Henry is getting close to his breaking point. But just for fun, let's see how long I can torture him without him snapping. Eh, he's tough, he can take it. Thank you for the review!

Saddened Soul: You gave me a good reason as to why you like Walter. I respect that. And I did too pity him. PITIED HIM BEFORE I SMASHED THAT MUTHA! He was hard, though. I usually beat the Silent Hill bosses fast. That's probably because I at first play on easy. What can I say? Still love your writing. Did I review you last story? I think I did, but I'm not sure. I'll have to go back and check. I try and review every chapter, but sometimes, I lose track. You are very gifted. No matter what anyone says. And you'll only get better as long as you keep reading and writing. I know it took a lot for you to put yourself out there. It takes a lot for most people. I'm sure a lot of readers won't like this chapter. But, oh well. I can only do so much. Thanks for the review! And yes, he does have a creepy smile.

ShGr::LOL, you know, you'll never guess why I called myself "diddly day" It has to be the weirdest pen name. But thankfully, not many authors or readers have asked questions. But thank you. I was really afraid I was going to get angry reviews from people saying that I made Henry too OOC. But I knew he seemed a little different in that chapter. When I read what you wrote, I practically wiped the sweat off my forehead in relief. You are very kind. And I appreciate the patience for this story. Thank you so much!

PJ: Phew! I'm glad you thought it was worth the wait. Yeah, when you put it that way, it's kinda hard to argue about Walter. "If only" perhaps under different circumstances. Maybe he and Cynthia could've even gone on a date. Er... no. I don' think so. Thank you again! You are awesome!