When Henry woke up, he was seated by the Hole in the ladies' restroom. It took a moment for him to register that. He was seated. On the floor. Of a public restroom. "G'AH!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "There's pee-pee on the floor!" He then noticed the cubicle beside him was occupied. "WAAAHHH!" he shrieked, flinching away from it.
When he found himself not being beaten senseless with a handbag after a few seconds, he looked to see that the figure in the cubicle was just a mannequin that bore a striking resemblance to Samantha, its face frozen in the midst of a Super Mega Retard Moment. "Amazing resemblance," he said as he examined it, "right down to the fact that it's a dummy." He saw its hand was smeared with a red substance and holding out a token in the upturned palm. It took a moment, but Henry eventually put two and two together and understood what Samantha had meant when she called him on the phone. "Oh, I get it," he said as he took up the token and examined it. It had lipstick on it that had apparently been transferred from a pair of puckered lips. "Must be a token of her affection, or something…" he said as he pocketed the token. He turned to leave, but then turned back to face the mannequin and ran his finger across the red substance on its hand. "Mmm!" he said as he tasted the substance. "Strawberry jam! And it actually tastes good this time!" After licking his fingertip clean, he exited the bathroom.
He proceeded down the hall and made his way to the turnstiles. He thought he'd be able to get through without any hassle since he had a token, but he was wrong. It seems that, in his stupidity, he allowed the turnstile to give him the runaround for a few revolutions before throwing him down the stairs like a bouncer giving a destitute drunk the bum rush. Henry now laid there, a battered, dizzied man on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Fortunately, his bottle of wine was still intact, and he took a swig to dull the pain as he staggered to his feet.
No sooner was he upright again than he was suddenly struck with an incredible headache. "Aww, hell!" he groaned, holding his hand to his head. "I can't be hung over already!" Unfortunately, he was right. On the wall directly in front of him, a familiar black sludge began to bleed from the wall, and from it emerged a familiar-looking bald spook. "NOOO!" Henry yelled. "NOT MR. CLEAN AGAIN!"
"No," the ghost said genially as it floated over to him, "just your friendly traveling salesman!" To Henry, this was even worse, and his headache intensified at the fact that, even in a different world, salespeople just staunchly refused to stop haranguing him. "Now," the ghost said as it hovered over the writhing Henry, "could I interest you in--?"
"I AIN'T BUYIN' NOTHIN' FROM NOBODY, SEE?!" Henry shouted at the top of his lungs as he beat the nuisance back with his steel pipe, then ran the rest of the way down the stairs to the Hang Street Line boarding platform, where he saw two trains stalled on the tracks, and Samantha trapped inside one of them.
"Get me out!" she screamed as she pounded on the door. "This isn't my train! I don't wanna go to Pleasant River!"
"Wait here!" Henry said. "And if you see a floating guy come along, hold him off for me!"
"Henry! Get back here!" she shouted as he took off down the platform. "Don't make me kick your ass!" But Henry was too far away to hear as he dashed toward the other end of the train. It wasn't long before he came to the foremost compartment, which housed the driver's cabin.
He entered, but just stood there for a moment, looking around. "Now, what did I come here for?" he asked himself. Then, he saw the control panel, where he saw a large, red button with the words "DO NOT PRESS!" printed on it. He grinned as he approached it and gleefully began rubbing his hands together. "Once I press this bee-yoo-tee-ful red button, this jolly, candy-like button…" He was interrupted as Samantha's voice crackled over the intercom.
"Push the BUTTON, Henry!" she shouted. Henry just shrugged and followed through with pressing the button.
DING-DONG!
A doorbell rang, and all the doors on the train opened as if by some automated system triggered by the press of a button. Henry stepped back out and noticed Samantha running toward him at an incredible speed for someone wearing those blocky, high-heeled sandals. Immediately upon getting within range, she started pounding on him with her fists. "Why did you leave me, dammit?!" she yelled as she continued to hit him. "There's a thingy following me!" Henry looked past her to see the salesman ghost lazily floating along in their general direction with a huge-ass knife in hand, all the while incessantly rambling on with his sales pitch.
"Could I possibly interest you in this fine execution tool?!" he offered as the blade of the knife scraped against the ground, slowing his floating speed considerably as he dragged the heavy weapon along behind him.
"Dammit, I told you to hold him off!" Henry yelled as he took Samantha by the wrist and started running.
"Stop, you idiot!" Samantha shouted, still pounding on him as she tried to get free of his grasp. "You're running towards it! I appreciate your chivalry, but let go of me first, dammit!" Henry did no such thing, and they both charged their way past the painful annoyance, clipping him in the process and sending it spinning in place as they continued their flight.
"But wait! There's more…!" the ghost said as he shoved the knife in his pocket and withdrew a spear, which he began to wave above his head. "I will also throw in a matching set of these fine skewering implements absolutely free!"
Henry and Samantha entered the train at the back end and began weaving in and out of its compartments. "What the hell are you doing?!" Samantha yelled.
"Running the slalom!" Henry answered.
"Why?!"
"Because these train compartments are poorly designed, and it's more annoying that way!" They continued their way until they crossed over to the second train, where they stopped for a moment.
"That was close," Samantha panted, then turned to Henry, who was chugging wine to refresh himself. She didn't wait for him to finish before kicking him in the ass, which caused him to spew the fermenting grape juice from his mouth.
"Ow!" Henry complained, massaging away the pain in his rear end with his free hand as he wiped his mouth with his other wrist. "What the hell was that for?!"
"Just making good on a promise," she said. "Now, at least we lost that thing…"
"Not likely," Henry replied.
"How do you know?"
"I still have a headache…" Henry answered, rubbing his temples.
"You sure you're not just hung over?" Samantha asked. She then let out a shrill, abrupt scream as she felt something grab her backside. They both looked behind her and saw another figure, a black guy with very little fashion sense, wearing a tacky ensemble of an orange shirt with a white vest, both quite dirty. At present, he was floating in place, holding his hands behind his back and innocently whistling to himself as he shot glances all around the compartment. He then noticed he was being stared at and faced Samantha and Henry.
"What?!" the ghost demanded with a shrug.
"Did you just grab my ass?" Samantha demanded accusingly, her eyes narrowing.
"Uh, no…" the ghost replied, though his poor poker face stated otherwise. Samantha gave him a hard slap. "What was that for?!" he protested.
"I'm not some typical, everyday whore that you can just feel up!" she declared as she repeatedly jabbed her index finger into the ghost's chest.
"That's right!" Henry concurred. "She's a very special whore!" Samantha elbowed Henry in the ribs for the remark.
"Look," the ghost said with an indifferent shrug, "if she's with you, that's fine with me. She's a little old for my tastes, anyway." Samantha's eye twitched and her body went rigid at the remark. Henry, in an uncharacteristic display of discretion, decided it would be wise to take a discrete step back and did so.
"What did you just say?" Samantha demanded through grit teeth, her eye continuing to twitch as she glared murder at the ghost.
"Uh…" But the ghost couldn't finish before Samantha dove on top of him with a primal war cry. Henry could do nothing but just stand by and switch between wincing in sympathy and gaping in awe as Samantha administered a thrashing so severe, it violently shook the very train they were in. When she was done, she approached Henry, clapping the dust off of her hands before brushing away a stray lock of hair that had managed to escape the bonds of her hairdo. Other than that, her appearance was completely unaltered, which was more than could be said for the pervert, who was now lying in a battered, broken heap on the floor. Henry just took a swig of wine.
"Feel better?" he deadpanned.
"Yeah!" Samantha replied cheerfully. Henry nodded.
"Then let's go," he said, dumbly jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door before turning to pass through. 'Note to self,' he added inwardly, 'in the event we get out of this, have the bitch spayed…'
They proceeded through the remainder of the train until they found a door allowing them to debark on the opposite platform, where Samantha immediately started to get clingy. "Oh, Henry," she said, laying it on real thick, "I was so scared! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"
"Uh, yeah…" Henry said, rolling his eyes as he tried to pry his arm out of Samantha's viselike grip. "I'd say you handled yourself well enough back there…" Samantha looked at him with a naughty glint in her eye.
"How 'bout I handle you next?" she said.
"Hey!" a nagging voice shouted at them, and they turned to see an old woman in a black hat hovering right next to them. "Quit spooning in public! It's annoying!" Henry and Samantha exchanged glances.
"Care to take this one?" Samantha offered.
"It's really not in me to beat up old ladies," Henry replied.
"Then, RUN!" They both made a mad dash south, Henry taking the lead as they approached a door with a red light over it at the end of the platform. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him as he entered. He then heard a thump and a muffled grunt of pain on the other side of the door, and he suddenly realized he'd shut the door on Samantha. However, when he opened the door to let her enter, she wasn't there.
"Dammit," he muttered, "where the hell did she go now?" Deciding he didn't feel like searching for her, he shut the door again and headed back into what was obviously a maintenance area. "Hmm, must be a photo development lab," Henry said, the red light illuminating the room throwing him off. He saw a Hole in the wall, but there was also a ladder leading to a lower level, and after weighing up his options, decided he wanted to explore the lower level.
The ladder descended into an old, seemingly disused service tunnel, which Henry followed along until he got to a door that opened out onto the Queen Street Line boarding platform. The first thing he noticed was one of those Whiffy Dogs sniffing around. After beating it to death, he continued his way west until the public address system crackled to life.
"Is this on?" Samantha's voice echoed through the station. CLICK! "Is this on?" CLICK! CLICK!
"Yes, it's on!" Henry answered.
CLICK! "Henr--" CLICK!
"Yes, I can hear you!" Henry shouted.
CLICK! "Hello?" Samantha called, followed by three abrupt noises that were probably the result of her tapping the microphone. "Is this on?" CLICK!
"Go ahead!" Henry shouted again, growing more annoyed with Samantha's antics.
CLICK! "--at you Henr--" CLICK! Henry just slapped his forehead. CLICK! "Hi, M--" CLICK!
"What the hell's she doin'?" Henry muttered.
CLICK! "--ing is broken. I thi--" CLICK!
"It's not broken!" Henry shouted. "Just keep the button pressed in!" There was a long pause.
CLICK! "--broken!" CLICK!
"KEEP THE BUTTON PUSHED IN, DAMMIT!" Henry finally snapped.
CLICK! "Okay, I think I got it," Samantha said. "Henry, clean up on aisle eight!" She began laughing at her own half-assed announcement. "This intercom thing is fun!" Henry's hand started shaking as his grip tightened around his pipe. "No, seriously, Henry!" Samantha shouted, "I found the exit! Come to the turnstile!" Henry's eye twitched.
"She found the exit right where we started," he muttered to himself. He felt like beating himself over the head with his own pipe, but then decided to take out his rage on the pack of Whiffies roaming around a solitary train stopped on the tracks by the platform. "PETA, kiss my ass!" he said, tapping the pipe against his palm as he approached the dogs.
Before long, Henry was standing over a stinking pile of dead Whiffies. "Pet Sematary," he said as he surveyed his handiwork, "further proof that King Street is named for Stephen King!" He thought about that a moment and he suddenly realized. "Oh, wait a minute, this is the Queen Street Line. I guess that joke was pretty much wasted, then." He just shrugged and decided to investigate the train. Inside, he found a golf club lying on one of the seats in the first compartment. "I guess this must be the 'club' car," he said as he took it up and examined it. He then triumphantly held the club over his head. "Now, I wield the Mighty 9-iron!" His victory speech was subsequently cut short by the PA system crackling back to life.
"Henry!" Samantha yelled. "Quit screwin' off and GET THE HELL UP HERE!"
"All right, all right all ready…!" Henry replied as he slowly lowered the golf club, his thunder having effectively been stolen. "Bitch…" he added under his breath.
"I heard that!" Samantha announced over the PA system. Henry just deposited the club in his pocket and, after taking a celebratory swig of wine, exited the car.
As Henry approached the escalator, a familiar series of black splotches bled from the wall, and out came his old friend, the obnoxious salesperson. Before the ghost could start advertising, Henry wound up and hit the ghost over the head with the wine bottle as hard as he could. This stunned the ghost into silence, but it also shattered the bottle, spilling the remainder of its contents onto the floor. "NOOO!" Henry cried, watching as the only thing that had kept him going thus far soaked into the concrete. "How dare you deprive me of my alcohol!" he seethed. "That does it! I'm gettin' stabbity on yo' ass!" He immediately made good on his threat and began stabbing the ghost with the broken bottle until it fell to the ground, then continued doing so after it was down, almost as though he were possessed by the obsessive-compulsive spirit of Harry Mason.
The PA system came online yet again. "Henry!" Samantha cried, her voice more urgent. "Hurry it up! He's coming!"
"Her and her 'special favors'…" Henry muttered as he dashed up the escalators.
As he ascended, he was surprised to see the wall bulge out and take on the form of a stick figure's upper body, swiping at him as he approached. "D'AAAGH! Stick Ninja!" he cried as he began beating the flailing Ninja with his pipe. It went down after a few hits, but then, another emerged after that one. "You too, huh?! Well, get yourself some blunt-force trauma!" After beating that one down, even more emerged from the wall further along. "Son of a BITCH!" Henry cursed as he lathered, rinsed, repeated.
When he reached the top, the first thing he noticed was a number of articles scattered before the turnstile: lipstick labeled Smack-Tart, eyeshadow labeled Face Hit, a pneumatic hammer labeled Makeup Remover…all Samantha's, no doubt, and all were smeared with strawberry jam. He followed the trail of red substance to a door that had a pinkish placard with the image of a woman and the word "Enticement" carved on it. He took the placard and passed through the door into the station master's office.
Inside looked like the scene from an over-budgeted Hollywood horror movie. Papers were scattered everywhere, strawberry jam was splattered all over every surface, and in the midst of it all was Samantha lying on the floor, her body covered with paper cuts. Henry immediately rushed over to her and knelt down beside her. "Are ya dead?!" he asked, lifting her head off the floor. "What the hell happened?! Was it Yomiko Readman? You're not illiterate, are you?" Samantha just responded by raising her hand and slapping him across the face, smearing him with jam in the process.
"Maybe I…shouldn't have done that White Claudia stuff last night…" she said weakly. "I never got to show you that…tattoo on my ass…"
"That's okay," Henry assured her. "That one on your, uh…'asset' is just fine!" He was referring to the numbers printed on her chest: 16121.
"Am I dying?" she asked. "Give it to me straight, doc…"
"Nah!" Henry shook his head. "You're just trippin'…"
"Well, that's a relief!" Samantha sighed. The last thing Henry remembered was hearing the clattering of metal as Samantha's foot struck a nearby bucket and sent it tumbling across the floor.
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Hell Count: 7
Total Hell Count: 20
A/N: Bonus points to anyone who understands that ending.