A/N: As mentioned in the blurb, things get somewhat nonexplicitly slashy in this part and the next. Thought you might like to know.

Let me tell you what really happened.

For real this time?

For real. Honestly.

Riiiight...

But here's what really happened.

It had been four days. Four days of headaches and nightmares. Four days of confusion, then boredom. Then serious boredom. Then mind-numbing, put-his-head-through-the-wall-if-he-could boredom of epic proportions.

Still, Henry couldn't bring himself to touch the books on his shelf for reasons he couldn't determine. He'd memorized every page of the latest issue of his car magazine that sat on his coffee table (and mentally kicked himself for not keeping the back issues in a box somewhere). He'd made up a detailed grocery list on the pad of paper on his kitchen island (as he was very much a bachelor, this list consisted of Hungry Man meals, canned pasta, BBQ chips, Froot Loops, soda and another bottle of wine). He'd washed all of his laundry, even…the last load of towels was sitting in the dryer, waiting for him for get up off of his duff and fold and put away on the neat stack of towels in the bathroom.

But the books by the window sat untouched. As did the soap scum in the bathroom sink, and the random crud in the corners of his apartment that he just couldn't bring himself to sweep up.

Then again, he'd felt like he was in a fishbowl for those four days. He couldn't get out through his door, he couldn't open his windows, and he sure as hell couldn't think straight. Anything more demanding than doing the connect-the-dots on his cereal box required more effort than it was worth. And he'd done that on the first day.

The noise of the phone ringing by his bedside after he'd woken up didn't help matters at all. He opened the door and shuffled down the hallway.

Day five and … damn. Everything looked the same.

As he approached his front door to see if anybody was out there, he saw red letters appear across it.

Don't go out!

Walter

"What the hell…"

Who's Walter, and why does he want to keep me in here?

His fingers traced the chains and locks that adorned the inside of his door like some mockery of Christmas garlands and ornaments. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer to his question...

Just then, he heard a small crash in the hallway, and his eye moved to the peephole. He was rewarded with the sight of his neighbor, Eileen, performing the riveting activity of picking up dropped groceries outside his door. Something about a party, huh…

Henry had never been big on parties. He didn't like the forced socialization. Seemed artificial to him. He always ended up standing in a corner, nursing a rum-and-Coke, waiting for his required attendance time to end so that he could leave without seeming rude. But by this point, he'd have danced on a tabletop with a lampshade on his head just to escape this crushing boredom.

Well…maybe not. But it would be nice to talk to somebody...even if it was just for Kung Pao chicken with an egg roll and pot stickers.

Wait, what's this piece of paper under my door?

He forgot all about Walter.

But he was forcibly reminded later on, as he wandered through the subway and then through the forest and then through the other places that the hole took him to. The name Walter kept recurring, as if it was some sort of subliminal mantra or something.

That's what Andrew had called the little boy who had scared him so profoundly...Walter. Was that little kid the same Walter who'd left the message on his door? No, couldn't be...it didn't make sense. Even so...

The notes slipped under his door mentioned some sort of serial killer, or something like that. Walter Sullivan. Killed ten people years ago, then committed suicide. Seemed to have a thing for hearts and…inscriptions.

But what did this have to do with him? Walter Sullivan was dead, been dead for a while. So, somebody was playing a trick on him with the message on his door…and the notes that kept appearing under it…and the rest of it. Right. A trick. A very, very devious and complex one, but still a trick…

Henry's eyelids fluttered, and opened.

He was on the floor again. On his side, at least, sparing him the taste of damp, moldy concrete or carpet made spongy with blood.

No, this floor was neither cold nor hard. Linoleum. Above him, round lights hung from the ceiling, and a waist-high table draped with bloody sheeting loomed over him. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, still groggy.

A squishing sound came from across the room. A white curtain stretched across a corner, and shadows moved across it, illuminated from behind. Or one shadow, anyway. A man, with long hair. He was moving back and forth rhythmically, leaning forward on his hands over another body, and Henry started to lift himself to his feet.

Whoa, man. I really shouldn't be seeing this...

Oh, wait...no, that wasn't what he was doing. Only one body was moving on the other side of that curtain, and the hands were rummaging around inside...

Oh God. I really shouldn't be seeing this...this is insane...

The figure stopped moving suddenly, and turned. The curtain was shoved aside roughly.

Shit. It's him. It's the man in the coat, from 207...the one who offered me that old doll...

The dark blue coat was spattered with thick, glistening blood. His long blond hair hung lank around his face as he moved forward, hunched over, hands out in front of him. But Henry was staring at his eyes. They were a light ice color, indistinct under the shadow of his half-closed eyelids, and Henry didn't like the look in them at all...

Henry's feet nearly slid out from under him as he scrambled to his feet. He turned and fled toward the door, but slipped.

A pair of hands caught him under the armpits as he fell and hauled him back up. Those same hands pushed him against the wall by the door, face first. Henry's cheek was squashed against the cold wall, mouth mashed open. A foot nudged his apart. He was off-balance, leaning into the wall as if under arrest, held in place by a single hand on his back.

"Hello, Henry," came a voice from just above and behind him.

The man's voice was of moderate pitch, with a slight drawl. Silky smooth. The sort of voice that drew you in and made you want to...

Want to what? Buy a used car or something?

Henry was too preoccupied at the moment to think on it further.

"We need to stop meeting like this."

"That's your call," Henry mumbled through his cheek. "Not mine."

The man laughed gently. "Very good. Very good, Henry."

Then, the hand lifted from his back, and that laugh curled around his ears again.

"Don't let me keep you, Henry. You're a busy man."

All Henry could do for a moment was roll over against the wall and stare at the man in shock. Then, his brain remembered where he was, and he yanked open the door and fled the room.

Once safely on the other side, he leaned against the door to catch his breath. The bats sprawled on the floor would wait a moment if he stayed still. And he needed that moment more than he needed air right now.

What the hell was that? And why didn't he just kill me?

What does he want from me?

The question wouldn't let him alone. It hovered just out of reach, eluding him like one of the needlenose bats. Others followed in its wake.

He doesn't seem threatening when he talks to me. He should, but he doesn't. Why?

Is he the one dragging me through all of these insane places?

Is he really the one killing all of these people?

By the time Henry collected Eileen from the hospital, he had a strong suspicion. And by the time they stepped through the door at the bottom of the spiral staircase to find themselves back in the cemetery by the orphanage, Henry was quite sure.

The questions that remained, though…one in particular was dogging him.

Why didn't he kill us when he had the chance?

He'd almost killed Eileen, but the little boy had stepped in at the last minute. So, he was actively trying to do her harm. But he'd had a much better opportunity to attack Henry in the hospital, before he'd woken. It would have taken only a single bullet…

The smile that followed him had been amused, not menacing, and the look in his eyes had been…

…playful?

Was he just a toy to him, then?

If so, then why were there all of these monsters attacking him at every turn?

It doesn't make any sense.

He picked up the unlit torch from beside the flame, and held it to the flame for a moment before it sputtered to life. The forest was dark the last time he had been there, and seemed even darker now…more illumination would be a big help. Damn him for not having a flashlight or something, anyway.

Then, he heard the click of a familiar gun, and ran for the exit.

The door slammed behind him, and he ran forward. A well loomed darkly next to him. As he ducked for cover behind it, his eye caught something solid sitting just inside. He reached in and extracted…a wooden head. Like a doll's head, but life-size. It was charred and split, and gazed at him with sightless eyes.

Just then, he realized that Eileen was nowhere to be found.

Dammit. She's too hurt to get through the door by herself. I have to go back for her.

The click sounded closer to his head, and he realized that going back wasn't an option at that moment.

"Stand up," the slow voice said. "And drop the torch." He did so. The muzzle of the revolver touched the center of his back.

I'm a dead man…

He was forced up against the edge of the well, which was tall enough to keep him from immediately falling in. He gripped it with all he had. However, a good push from above…

"Turn around."

Walter was standing close to him. He was a few inches taller than Henry, and leaned over him with a calm smile.

"Mr. Townshend."

The heavy-lidded eyes looked him up and down appraisingly. Henry squirmed internally, but stayed perfectly still. A piece of hair was poking him in the eye, but he dared not move either hand off of the edge of the well to move it.

"So nice of you to join me here. I appreciate your willingness to help."

"I'm not helping you," Henry said quietly.

"Why not, Henry? Don't you…like me?"

This wasn't what Henry had been expecting. Definitely not. Another evil laugh, a swing with his steel pipe or a shot from his revolver, but not this.

Any of those would have been preferable to this…personal interest.

How insane is this guy?

"Hmmm?" Walter said softly.

"Like you? You're a serial killer. You've murdered all of those other people. I saw some of them die. You've been trying to kill me and Eileen since this morning. Damn near succeeded more times than I can remember. Why the hell would I like you?"

"No, Henry," Walter said, leaning closer. His breath was sweet. "Nobody's trying to get you killed."

"You could have fooled me!"

Walter stepped back, unfazed. "I just want to show you…how things are, and how they should be. Soon, you will understand."

"I understand everything I need right now," Henry growled. "This isn't my nightmare, and I want out."

"Soon, very soon. The nightmare will cease, and Paradise will be here. Soon, Henry."

Henry decided that if this was bad, Walter's Paradise would have to be worse.

So that's what I'm up against. Paradise. A madman's utopia. Not if I can do anything about it.

A large hand came up and brushed the offending strand of hair out of Henry's eye without touching his skin.

"Are we done here?" he heard himself asking.

Walter smiled. "For now." He took a couple of steps backward.

Henry stood up and brushed himself off.

"But you'd better keep moving, or you'll regret it. I've waited far too long."

Henry walked back to the well, and bent to pick up his torch. It lay cold on the ground. As he straightened up, he felt Walter close by… a slight breeze just behind him…

His head shot up. He was alone. He heard Eileen in the distance, crying for him. He felt dirty, somehow.

He took a deep breath and turned back to the door to the cemetery.

Walter intercepted him again as he hurried on his way down the southeast path. He heard that laugh again before he saw the blue coat, and dodged the bullets as best he could, running around behind him.

Just as he hurried past, a needlenose bat stung him on the back of the head, and he flinched and cried out, momentarily stunned. He smelled the sweet breath and felt the warm hand on the front of his shirt collar before he could open his eyes.

Warm hand? But he's a ghost, or something like it…he can't be human.

The voice whispered low in his ear. "Think about it, Henry…"

Never.

And he was gone.

All the way down the next winding staircase, the questions kept coming to him.

What does Walter want with me? This isn't about me, or about Eileen…it's his own hell…what does he want?

Was he really serious about not wanting me dead? Or is that just missing a "yet" at the end?

Why did he attack Eileen? And why are all of these things trying to kill us?

And if he's Walter Sullivan…who's the little kid?

"Henry…you're going too fast…"

He barely heard her as he stopped at the next door.

Looks like I'm going to find out soon.

Soon, but he hadn't expected it quite this soon. The heavy-lidded eyes were amused behind the muzzle of the gun pointed at his face.

"Better get moving, Henry," the low whisper came.

BANG! He felt the shot blow past his cheek. So he did. Out the door and down the spiral. The bats hummed around him, and he swung wildly just to clear them out of the way. Eileen limped along behind him as fast as she could, but still it wasn't fast enough.

He dropped Eileen off on the third floor, and hurried around, trying to find a way out of there before she got any worse. Finally, key in hand, he climbed the spiral on his way to retrieve her.

Walter caught him between the second and third floor, at the end of his gun.

"Why can't you just leave us alone?"

He knew full well that the question was rhetorical by this point…

Walter laughed again.

"You can't run forever," he said smoothly. "I'll always be there waiting for you."

He makes it sound less like a threat and almost like a promise…

No. That's crazy.

Henry swung his axe hard. Walter groaned and staggered, just long enough for Henry to make his escape.

"Not if I can help it," he called back over his shoulder.

Walter was strangely absent from the building complex that they entered next. Henry was able to leave Eileen in an elevator, in which she was unlikely to be attacked, and ran around the complex freely, dodging as needed and killing when necessary.

But as he shot and slashed his way through, he couldn't help but remember Walter's words.

It's almost as if he wants us to get through this. As quickly as possible. Why? What's going to happen when…if…this all ends?

Is he going to kill me? Or Eileen? Or…what? Before or after the end?

…What's he got in store for us at the end, then?

Every blow he struck, every volleyball or stuffed cat (stuffed cat?) he picked up brought him closer to that unknown destination.

Finally, he led Eileen into the Bar Southfield. She'd had to be by herself for a while (he still didn't see why she couldn't climb ladders with only one arm, but she insisted that it was impossible), and she was in pretty bad shape. As soon as the door closed behind them, she began to hit herself on the head with her nightstick.

"Eileen…Eileen, stop," Henry said. He reached out to grab her hand, but suddenly pain swept through his head like fire. He flinched and backed away.

…just like a ghost. She's so far gone…

She was mumbling something incoherent…but the attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and now she stood there looking around, dazed.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"You're not well. Let's get going."

As Henry swung again at the enormous golden wall-man, he thought

Yeah, Walter. Riiiight. You don't want us dead.

Could have fooled me.

Eileen flailed ineffectively at it with her nightstick. The wall-man swiped at him with a red-palmed hand, and he flew through the air, landing heavily. He struggled up painfully from the ground.

What the hell do you want?

Something hurt…hurt his head…

Henry nearly fell out of bed. The phone was ringing. His head swam as he reached for the receiver. The voice on the other end spoke low.

"I'm always watching you…"

He could almost smell that sweet scent again.

Henry dropped the receiver and stepped back hurriedly. The pain went away for a split second, but returned. He was well away from the phone…

He spun around. The picture of the Balkan Church that he'd taken in Silent Hill still hung on the wall, but the graceful taper of the church's spire had been replaced by a grinning face he'd grown to know all too well.

Like the ghostly image on the Shroud of Turin.

The receiver still dangled. He heard the voice again.

"I'm always watching you…"

Henry pulled a couple of candles from his pocket and hurriedly lit them. He set them on the floor by his nightstand and dresser. Backed up against his window, he watched them burn down. The receiver placed itself back on the hook, and the grin faded, replaced by the image of the old church.

Henry breathed a sigh of relief, and went to his front door. A single red sheet lay in the door crack. It was a list.

No. 1…Ten heart…

No. 2…Ten…

No. 3…Ten hearts…

As Henry scanned the list, he realized that it was a list of Walter's victims. Freshly updated, and apparently complete.

No. 20…Mother Eileen Galvin

No. 21…Wisdom Henry Townshend

A little too fresh for his liking. More than a little. He felt an odd relief.

So he does mean to kill us. Still, there's hope…Eileen's still alive. This isn't over yet.

If Henry had thought that keeping an eye on Eileen before had been a pain, it was nothing compared to leading her through the maze of bars and holes that was South Ashfield Heights. She was clearly out of it more often than not, and he couldn't stay too close to her in case she had another of her fits and started hurting him. But if she fell too far behind, he'd lose her.

Walter, however, had no such problem. He took a couple of potshots at them as they hurried toward room 202, but Henry was able to dodge the shots and get through the door safely. He almost got hit in 204, but managed to get in and out without incident.

In 206, he had no such luck. He rushed through the door and found himself face to face with the man himself. The familiar laugh followed him down the hallway.

Henry ducked into the first open door he found, and searched for a way out. The room was a dead end, but there was a candle sitting between the bunks. He hurriedly pocketed it, and turned to leave.

Too late.

"Hello again."

Walter stood casually, one elbow on each bunk by his shoulders, his gun dangling loosely in his fingers. His dark blue coat took up all of the space between the bunks. Henry was trapped.

"I'm afraid that Miss Galvin won't be joining us," Walter continued, looking around the room with curiosity.

"You bastard. You didn't…"

"No. She's still alive. Not well, but still alive. But we're not here to talk about her."

"Oh really?"

"Oh no," Walter said with a smile. Kindly, this time. "This is about you, now."

"I know. Just get it over with."

"What?" Walter looked genuinely confused.

"You've got me cornered. I'm out of ammo, and you can shoot me faster than I can hit you. Just kill me and get it over with…but spare her."

Walter laughed, and moved closer. Henry shrank back against the wall.

"Is that what you think? That I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm number 21 of 21. The last sacrament, right? Therefore…"

"No."

"NO?"

"No."

Henry was flabbergasted.

"I'm not the last sacrament?"

"No, you are. But I'm not going to kill you."

Walter was quiet for a moment. His fingers stroked the barrel of his gun.

"I can't let that happen. Not yet. You're too valuable to me."

Henry decided that he really didn't like where this seemed to be going.

"Did you ever wonder why I brought you to see everything that was happening? Why I let you meet Cynthia and Jasper and Andrew and Richard and Eileen, get to know them, even a little bit, before I took their lives?"

He hadn't really thought about that much. He'd had other things on his mind.

"No. Staying alive was top priority."

"You were never in danger, not really. You didn't get anything you couldn't handle. You won't."

Henry didn't like the sound of that at all.

"I had to show you."

"Show me what?"

"Them. You had missed the others. I had to show you what they were about, and why they had to die. Each of them. It was vital that you see them as they were when alive. The four Atonements are the most important parts of the Signs…but for you and Miss Galvin."

Henry found himself saying, "What about the last Sign? That 'separate from the flesh' business? Even I understand what that means."

Walter smiled. "Of course you do. I wouldn't expect any less, my Receiver."

"I…am…NOT…your…Receiver."

Walter's face was now just inches from Henry's. His voice was just a whisper now.

"You are. You will see soon enough just what your tireless efforts have meant to Mother. Now you know all. Almost all."

The pieces fell together in his head and suddenly, Henry understood. The whole plan laid itself out before him like a map unfolding. The red diary pages…the notes…Joseph's last letter…and the events he'd witnessed that would have been unthinkable before today. As Walter had done his work, had killed again and again to bring his "atonements" to him, he'd been showing Henry everything as he went, so that Henry would see, if not understand.

He had indeed received the "wisdom" that Joseph had passed along to him on the red diary pages. Madness, more like. But he hadn't realized that Walter had meant him to see and feel as well as read. Through everything, that was the one question that he hadn't really asked, not in the right way…why he was seeing all of this.

Henry thought back to the red notebook by his couch. It had appeared on the first day of his imprisonment, blood-red cover gleaming in the light of the table lamp. He had regarded it suspiciously for a day or so before opening it. It had been blank. Completely empty.

He'd started writing things in it, an account of what was happening to him. It was one of the few things that he found himself able to do within the confines of his headache. After the hole had opened in his bathroom, he'd written things down more frequently, describing everything that had happened since the last entry. It had become almost a compulsion. He didn't wonder whether anyone would ever read it…it was more for his own benefit. Writing things down made them seem more real, reassured him somehow that this wasn't all just in his head.

Henry knew that if he went back to his room right now and opened the little notebook, its pages would be filled with things that made sense to nobody but him. And he knew just as well that when he was dead, the pages would turn as red and bloody as the rest of the book, just like the notes that he had been finding under his door.

I'm the last one, though. Nobody will have to read those pages, ever. Thank God. It ends with me. One way or another.

And now, Henry was faced with the realization that it wasn't going to end just yet. Walter still had a few tricks up his sleeve…

God, I'm tired of his surprises.

"You see now."

Henry nodded. "You can't do this without me."

He and I are the only two who know just how far this goes.

"No, I can't. This is as much about you as it is about me."

"You...need me that much for this?"

"Without your Wisdom...it is impossible."

This has to be useful somehow...but I don't know how.

"I see."

"Then you will do this for me."

"No."

A rough hand came up, took firm hold of Henry's shirt collar and forced him further backwards into the wall. The muzzle of the gun slid off of one of the buttons of his shirt and moved slowly down his chest. He felt the cold metal trace down his breastbone, stopping right at the small hollow at the tip.

That sweet smell again…

"You will. You have already."

Henry was eye-to-eye with Walter's Adam's-apple. He briefly thought of reaching forward to bite at it, but he held back.

Don't lose it.

"We're almost there, Henry."

"Where?" was all that Henry could manage.

"Paradise," Walter breathed. "You and me." The voice was lower now, just above his forehead. Henry could sense him smiling…

Something in the air shifted.

"How fortunate I am, to have found you so…to have found you."

The hand on his collar warmed the fine skin at the juncture of his collarbones. Every fiber of his being was focused on one thought.

Live. Through. This.

Yet the scent of Walter's skin wafted up from the neck in front of him, and invaded his consciousness. Heat rose from the collar of the blue coat and warmed his nose and chin, so close by...

When was the last time anyone touched me there?

His mind, his damn rogue will, began to bend, seeking relief from the strain of the last five days, and he felt himself waver. It seemed so long since he'd been that close to anyone...

…someone...wanted him...needed him...

…he wanted...he needed...

What the...

Stop it. NOW.

Henry turned his head away, willing the thought away with everything he had. The ceiling light in the little room blinded him. His eyes closed against the glare.

Something warm and soft pressed against his forehead. He felt hair brush across his face.

...oh…

Oh God! OH GOD

"GET OFF OF M -- "

A hand clamped down on his mouth, and Walter put a finger to his lips.

…oh.

"Yes. Sooner or later. Mother wants it so."

Walter stepped aside, laughing softly. Henry pushed past him and ran down the corridor. He dashed through the hole in the last room, past the chair in the next apartment in which Richard had died, and down the apartment hallway. He flattened himself against the wall at the end, and listened.

Quiet.

He buried his face in his hands, but he couldn't shut out the tumult in his head…

Concentrate, Henry. You don't have the time to think about … to think now.

A soft tap on his shoulder startled him. Eileen stood in front of him, looking very worried.

"Are you OK?" she asked softly.

Henry dropped his hands and put on his bravest smile. "Yeah. Go on ahead, see if there's anything in here. I'll be there in a minute."

She looked him up and down. "If you're sure."

He wasn't, but he nodded anyway.

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know, Eileen." Which was the truth.

She limped off, and he leaned his head back. He breathed deeply, and realized that he'd been hyperventilating.

The soft laughter echoed in his ears long after the sweet scent had faded away.