CXXI
The creature in front of him smiles with teeth blackened and eaten away by the passage of time and the hostile dimension. Henry, for his part, is not interested in mincing words.
"You were spying on me," he says, knowing it's the truth. Because?
That horrible grin does nothing but get wider. In response, Henry extends his arm toward the monster. "If you're not going to answer me, there's no point in keeping you alive."
"Wait." Despite the request, he does not notice any urgency in its words. "As you see, I am badly hurt." It directs its gaze toward the burn marks that disfigure its abdomen. "Besides, I have no interest in fighting with you."
"Then we are in agreement," Henry replies with a beatific smile on his lips, but without lowering his arm. "If you don't want to fight me, start talking. Now."
Far from appearing intimidated, the monster responds: "I will do better than that: I will show you everything."
He feels it instantly: a polite intrusion, like someone knocking on the door of his mind.
It shares… my skills?
"I share much more than that with you, Henry," the being responds, obviously having slipped behind his mental barriers due to his surprise.
What…?
And then, with the crushing force of a tsunami, Henry sees it all.
The first thing that floods his mind are his own memories: the moment Eleven disobeyed him and caught him killing the other test subjects.
The moment he extends his hand towards her.
"If you come with me, for the first time in your life, you will be free."
Eleven's brown eyes never leave him. This is good: he'd rather they stay there instead of wandering around her siblings' corpses.
"Imagine," Henry continues, "what we could do together. We could reshape the world, remake it however we see fit."
Now or never, Henry.
"Join me."
However, when Eleven looks up and meets his eyes, almost unafraid—because of course it'd be unreasonable to expect her to remain unfazed after such a display of power and, on top of that, they are both still standing there surrounded by the wreckage and the corpses, so many corpses, of the other test subjects sprawled about the room—the "yes" that Henry expects never comes.
Instead, she chooses wrong.
"No."
Years of loneliness, of suffering. The pain is disabling and does not stop; he simply gets through it.
The only thing keeping him afloat is the thirst for revenge that consumes his mind as he builds a monument to what they could have achieved together.
Eleven.
It's the face that Henry knows and, at the same time, no. The Eleven that reacts with hatred and disgust to each of his incarnations, those that seek to approach her and devour her.
In these memories, Henry experiences a voracious hunger: the hunger to make her part of himself, even if it means cannibalizing her.
Still, despite the pain these memories inflict on him, Henry can't help but feel relieved every time Eleven tears him to pieces. Every time Eleven survives him.
The closest thing to happiness he experiences is when he manages to steal her powers and trap her in Max's battered mind. When he has her in front of him again—or, at least, in his consciousness—without tricks, without borrowed bodies, tears in her eyes when she sees her best friend in his clutches.
The way she tries to appeal to hopes that have been dead for years repulses him. It harms him even more. Yes, Brenner has hurt him, of course: but what about her?
She should know.
And that's why he tells her.
"Don't you see it, Eleven?" Henry inquires in this monstrous way, each word burning in his throat. "He didn't turn me into this; you did."
…
When he returns to the physical world, he is being attacked by two boys he doesn't know—and Nancy Wheeler? This leaves him on the verge of death; he barely escapes.
But I will return. Yes, of course he will. And I will take over everything and everyone.
When his eyes are once again open, Henry doesn't hesitate: with his powers, he squeezes the neck of the creature in front of him.
"What are you?"
The monster doesn't flinch, but instead slides his eyes to his left arm. "I am…"—the vines retract from the skin there. And even though Henry already knows what he'll see under the rotting skin, that doesn't make it any easier— "… you."
Still, it's not in his genes to be intimidated. "I saw the memories you so kindly shared with me," he insists without loosening his grip. "However, that doesn't answer my question: what are you?"
For the first time, the creature seems to hesitate: "I suppose… Another version of you."
"And how is that possible?" Henry demands, deciding to undo his hold and lower his arm upon noticing his cooperative attitude. "If you're so calm in my presence, you must have a pretty good idea of what's happening here."
The being does not try to deny it. On the contrary, he huffs and responds with a tone between curious and dissatisfied: "I started to feel your presence recently… Like a stain at the edge of my consciousness. If I must conjecture… I suppose that in this dimension the boundaries between… universes… are less rigid."
Henry understands what he's saying. And the prospect is… disturbing, to say the least.
Because if that's how things are, what he has in front of him is nothing but a reminder of Eleven's alarming potential.
And the possibility of finding himself on the receiving end of it.
His other self seems to read it in his face: "Are you worried about what Eleven might do to you?"
If he knows of his relationship with Eleven, it is logical to assume the connection from minutes ago had gone both ways. "I don't remember giving you permission to delve into my mind."
The creature laughs, then. A deep, unfathomable, and bitter laugh. "When have we given something without taking anything in return? It is not in our nature."
Henry grimaces: he can't deny it.
"Eleven said yes to you," this version of him then murmurs, and Henry hears traces of melancholy in his voice. "Why?"
Why, indeed? There is no palpable difference between their memories, and they both know it. They observe each other in silence, two predators analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of an unexpected threat.
"How does it feel? How does it feel to get what you wanted?" the other Henry then questions. "Having her by your side, while I plan to consume her…"
Like everything I wish for is possible.
Nonetheless, he only says: "That sounds like a terrible plan."
"One that you are incapable of putting into motion. But I understand: you're weak. Weak for her."
Now it's Henry's turn to laugh. "I think I know where you went wrong." At the monster's icy gaze, Henry replies: "You underestimated her."
Henry reacts just in time to stop the vines that threaten to close in on him. He clicks his tongue and looks mockingly at the being in front of him.
"Did you change your mind about fighting me?" he rebukes him.
The other version, however, seems to have calmed down: the vines retreat silently. "In truth… I don't think I underestimated her. No: I think I have overestimated you."
He doesn't succumb to the provocation: "Hm, is that so?"
"Indeed." The monster exhales a breath of air and adds: "Even if you think you dominate the mirror dimension of your universe… That is untrue. You are incomplete. Defective."
Henry must admit he knows what he means: this version of him has become one with this dimension, a symbiotic being. Even if he could confront him, he doubts this would be the moment, surprised and surrounded by a dimension tamed by another.
"But you're hurt," he reminds him then, putting his hands inside his pants pockets. "In the event of a battle, the odds are in my favor."
The other Henry does not contradict him; he just stares at him, unwilling to let him out of his sight.
Perfect.
"Why don't we make a deal?" Henry proposes then. "I stay in my universe, and you in yours. There is no reason why we should clash with each other."
It's a lie, of course: this creature is too big of a threat to be allowed to live.
However, the Henry in front of him responds to his suggestion with a smile and a lie of equal caliber to his own: "Agreed."