((This took me WAY too long to get out. _ I promise I'll be faster next time, guys.

Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill 4, the characters, or the story. I don't intend to profit from this. Please don't sue me.))

It was a near miss. Henry could feel the wind from the offending bandages brushing by his face. Now, they were embedded in the wall next to the super's room, tugging their way out.

Henry didn't have to…fight her, did he?

"Eileen…" The brunette got to his feet, making sure the bandages were still prying themselves from the wall, then started toward his once-living companion. He didn't get much of a response—just another one of those laugh-cries as he heard another sound behind him.

This time, he wasn't given the chance to react. He could feel the strips of fabric as they wrapped themselves around his body, tightening almost immediately upon seizing their prey.

He didn't have much body movement to work with—both his legs were ensnared tightly by the appendage-like bandages, and one of his arms was trapped as well. And his gun was on the floor behind him.

By now, Henry knew that Eileen was under Walter's control. The sick bastard probably sent the poor girl to do his dirty work. In Henry's opinion, it was the most selfish way to go about things—if it were even possible to call Walter more selfish than he already was. After all, he'd set out to kill twenty one people—regardless of what their families and friends thought—all to bring back his mother who was apparently Henry's former apartment.

Henry's thoughts were interrupted in the form of a painful pressure on his free hand. Glancing over, he noticed that another of the bandages had seized it and were now tightening around it. He could move it a few inches around, but not much. For bandages seemingly suspended in the air, they were sure powerful.

He heard it before he felt it—the snap that came from his arm and made him feel sick to his stomach. Half a second later, he was screaming in pain, watching through squinted eyes as his arm was broken at the forearm. If the pain wasn't enough, the sight of his own arm dangling oddly sure made him want to retch. But he didn't have time for it. He wasn't sure how far Walter would take this, so even as the bile rose in his throat, he knew he needed to find a way out of this before it resulted in his death.

But just as he was beginning to come up with ideas for how to get out of this mess, the bandages loosened and his body slipped through their grip and onto the filthy apartment floor. He didn't have time to wonder why he'd been released, because Walter's voice filled his head again.

"That's enough." The headache was back, and Henry's vision was fading. The pain in his arm didn't make it any better, and he quickly found himself falling back and into the depths of unconsciousness.

"Isn't this fun?" Walter knelt before Henry's shivering frame, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the side. "Just the two of us, in this room together…"

Henry wasn't sure if it was the words that Walter had spoken or the way with which he'd spoken them, but something about them made him nervous. What exactly was this guy going to do to him?

The blonde's hand found Henry's face, running along the stubble on his chin, then back up to his cheek, causing the brunette to shudder and turn away. "Don't touch me." He managed, but in a quiet voice that held no firmness whatsoever. Henry was completely at Walter's mercy, and he knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

"You don't like it?" Walter questioned, as if his cold, blood-stained hands actually felt nice against Henry's skin.

He was tempted to scream as loud as he could or shove the other back, but his body wouldn't move. He was frozen and at the will of the other's touch. So instead, he managed, "What're you doing?"

"Touching you." Walter quickly answered, a calm smile on his face. "Your skin's so soft. It feels nice."

Every word made Henry ill to the very core, but he found he didn't have much time to react when he was pressed backward and onto the ground, Walter now hovering above him on his hands and knees.

His vision was blurry, but Henry could tell he was staring at the ceiling of those disgusting apartments. There went all hope of this being a nightmare.

Nonetheless, he forced himself up into a sitting position, greeted by the searing pain of the limb that had been broken earlier. He glanced at his arm, then ran his other hand over his sweat-covered face as he bent his knees, getting to his feet. The pain in his arm was more intense with each tiny wave that the limb gave when Henry attempted to move any other part of his body. But he couldn't just stand there. He had to do something about it.

That in mind, he turned around and started back toward the super's room, the door which Henry now noticed was open—cracked by six inches or so. Maybe he'd find something in there, but knowing Henry's luck, he probably wouldn't. And even worse, he probably wouldn't find anything anywhere to help.

Regardless, he headed into the room, using his good arm to open the door, and made his way inside. It looked the same way he'd seen it before, save for a lot of extra dust. It must've been uninhabited for a while. Henry wondered if Walter had killed Sunderland too, but didn't bother much with the thought as he headed into the bathroom and searched for a first-aid kit—not that it would really do a broken limb much good. On the other hand, painkillers wouldn't be a bad idea.

That in mind, Henry seized a bottle of ibuprofen and opened the bottle, downing four of the little reddish pills, then shoved the rest of the tablets into his shirt pocket. He knew he'd need them later on.

He needed to look for that key.

As much as his arm hurt, Henry left the bathroom and began searching the rest of the super's apartment for any sign of a key. Last time, he'd found an entire set of keys for the apartments, but he figured he wouldn't be so lucky this time.

"Oh!" Henry spoke in a mixture of surprise and relief when he spotted what appeared to be the clean white fabric of a shirt on a nearby chair. He was never good at making things from scratch, but Henry figured he could come up with a sling of sorts. That way, his arm wouldn't move so much.

He made quick work of doing so. One thing Henry had learned from his previous experiences in this world was to not take too long on one thing. You never knew when something would pop out of seemingly nowhere and try to hurt you.

It was a decent sling for less than a minute, Henry figured. It held his arm, which was starting to grow numb from the painkillers, firmly enough so that he could move around without flopping it about like a dead fish, and that was what he needed. He couldn't procrastinate any longer.

With that in mind, he resumed searching the room for a key, heading into Sunderland's bedroom. He was surprised nothing had attacked him so far, especially after what had happened with Eileen's ghost. It was deafeningly quiet now, and Henry's eardrums felt like they were going to explode from the silence.

He cursed under his breath when he found nothing of importance in the super's room. But he did have several other rooms on the first floor he could explore.

Henry started out the door, quickly heading back down the hallway and grabbing his gun. He had to fire with his left hand, now. His aim would be off, by a lot. But things were pretty quiet right now. Maybe they'd stay that way.

So much for wishful thinking.