Love was something for other people, but not for her, Eileen always thought. It wasn't to say she had given up on it-- like any other twenty-three year old woman, she had her fair share of heartbreak, but she also knew that there were many other fish in the sea. Love was a word she had come across in one of Henry's old books she had, in boredom, pulled from the shelf in his living room. She read it quietly as Little Walter hummed and drew in an old sketchbook nearby.
Illuminated by the foggy light coming in through the window, Eileen had taken a reluctant liking to the grocery store romance novel she had found. She knew that Henry had to have come across it by pure accident-- perhaps one of those things that just showed up in your moving boxes that you didn't remember having and possibly took from a sibling or roommate? It wasn't in his taste-- especially after she had found so many books on photography, travel, journalism, a few old stacks of National Geographic magazines in one of the laundry room's cardboard boxes. In her infinite boredom, she had followed the tale of a maiden in the middle ages who had been forced to marry a baron for the sake of her family. Over the course of 270 pages (with another 400 to go, she shuddered), the maiden was beginning to question her feelings for the once-cruel baron.
Such a horrible play on a Stockholm Syndrome plot device, Eileen laughed in her mind. Although it was coming across that word that made her stomach sink. When she had come across that word, she only then connected the dots, realizing that she only read on because she related to the maiden's situation of captivity... and she was beginning to relate to the trapped girl's change of heart toward the heartless captor.
Eileen looked over at the door-- Walter had left before she woke up. He often did, and she could care less where he went every day. With the way blood always stained his jacket, fresh and crimson when he returned, she knew he most likely took his own boredom out on the demons of his world. In this man-made hell, he was the king and the legions were at his mercy. The tale of Hades and Persephone came to mind as she looked back at the old, paperback book. Both in analogy to the characters of the novel in her hands and to her own entrapment in his underworld. Except, unlike Persephone, Eileen didn't get to return to the world of the living, not ever. She was there, with him and the child and his legion of undead atrocities forever.
"Mom..." Came the child's voice. Eileen looked over as Little Walter stood, bringing his sketchbook to her nervously. He smiled, and his cheeks glowed pink as she turned the book to face her, "I drew you, mommy. Do you like it?"
Eileen smiled warmly. The boy always brought so much joy to the cold life she lived in that world. He sat beside her and she took him into her arms replying, "I love it, it's beautiful."
Little Walter grinned as he looked up at her, "You're beautiful, mommy."