Choking on my own spit, I stare wide-eyed at the calm boy; eggs completely leaving my train of thought. "B-Big Walter l-let you in?"
"Yeah, I've been here all night."
Okay, Henry. Get a hold of yourself. Calm down, calm down – that murderer isn't here. He obviously didn't care enough to put chains on the doors, so maybe... Maybe he wants me to escape? No, that doesn't make sense... But... God. Last night really did happen. It really was him that wrote on my stomach. A killer had touched me... Alright, relax. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe-
"Do you have any games?"
I blink, falling out of my fearful stupor. "Uh... No, not really..." Should I kick the kid out? It doesn't seem right... It feels like I'm babysitting the poor boy. He didn't really have a choice, did he? That horrible man probably had thrown his child self in without so much as a word. I can't really kick the child out... Even if Walter might be using his younger self to waltz right on in.
"What do you do for fun, then?"
Fun? Such a foreign word... I haven't had "fun" in a long time. Before any of these insane events happened, my routine could be described as dull. It's not even worth going back to, though I do miss waking up in the mornings and taking short walks to Silent Hill. I'd take pictures, mostly of the catholic church, and if I was lucky, within the fog, someone would walk by. Their shadows crept the hell out of me after I looked back at the pictures, but I kept them. Creepy brought in money, so I was more than willingly to walk in a cave to take a snapshot of whatever looked spooky.
Not much of a social life. My friends all abandoned me, some by will and others by force. Most by will. It's not that I wasn't a fun person, it was just... I wasn't really much of a fun person. Okay, I admit, I was a little dull, with my personality always being kept in, but it wasn't like I wasn't trying. Conversations came hard for me. I always searched my mind for a conversation starter, but nothing would ever scratch up. Maybe I'm naturally a lonely, awkward person, and I will be for the rest of my life.
My father called in every once in a while to make sure I was alive and walking around, not a rotting corpse in a seat, waiting for my demise. Besides that, and maybe a small phone call to order pizza, that phone stayed on the hook all two years. The door only opened twice every two days – I made sure to get enough pictures to last me a week, but taking a stroll all alone did me some good. Food shopping was even a struggle, mainly from the fact that a lot of people at the counter like to strike up conversations, that of which was why I hated going out for groceries.
Not much "fun".
It wasn't like I was throwing myself out there, anyway.
"Um..." Lifting a plate from the cupboard, I scrape the scrambled eggs onto it, revealing as little emotion as I can. "Not much, to be honest." Setting bread into the toaster, I reach for more eggs. My stomach is growling the longer I take in the scent of food. Guess my appetite crawled back.
"Oh... Oh! I forgot to tell you! Walter said he'd be stopping by at noon."
Well, forget eating.
I freeze in my tracks. "...N-Noon?" In the corner of my eye, I can see the smaller version of the serial killer nod, and with that in mind, I set the carton of eggs on the counter. Trying to act as casual as possible, I gaze up at the clock, all blood and color in my face turning snow white. Grasping onto the counter to keep from collapsing, I keep my eyes fixed on the time. Eleven fifty-five. In five minutes that... monster will be tracking me here. He's going to finish what he's started, just to bring his stupid mother back. But... I won't go down without a fight. I'm not going to stand here and wait for him to chop off my head.
"Where are you going?" Little Walter questions, staring at me as I grab my keys from the counter. Placing the toast with the rest of the food, I settle the plate in front of the boy.
"No where. Uh, well, actually, I hate to go downstairs to, ah, talk with the super. You'll be alright by yourself here, won't you?" The kid watches me inch towards the door with sullen eyes and nods, lowering his gaze to his food. A small tug at my heart almost convinces me to stay, but the ticking of the clock reminds me that would be a fatal mistake. Managing to step outside into the hallway, I close the door, lock it, and give the hall a quick sweep with my eyes.
Nobody is in the corridor. I would think not – this place hasn't been the most famous live-in. I've actually witnessed parents yanking their kids out of school so they could pack and get the hell out. Lonely singles like me have been especially on edge, but most of us seem to stay for the sake of Frank. With business flying right out the window, he's at the point where he'll promise low rent to keep his apartment going. It's almost pathetic.
Hurrying down the hallway, I turn the corner, feeling a slight déjà vu power against my senses. I can almost see the fleshy, bloodied walls, promising absolutely no escape from that Hell. Behind those double doors could be unnaturally tall nurses, wielding scalpels and golf clubs. Maybe I would look back and see Eileen, in terrible shape, trying in desperate attempts to keep up. The dogs would be following up, barking and snarling, running past and ignoring her, going straight for my legs and torso. Hell, even a ghoul could be tracking us down, accomplishing its invisible list of things to do – checking off the line and going for the next: Making my life a living nightmare.
Sighing, shaking my head, I turn the knob and yank the doors open. Strange. I can't hear the usual hotel music playing downstairs-
My eyes widen. Any thought processing in my head has suddenly vanished, leaving me in a blank state of mind.
His greasy blond hair creates a barrier of shadows over his face, keeping me from seeing his eyes, though I don't think I can bear to look at those poisonous green orbs. The same exact clothes I killed him in are still being worn, the light blue fading darker and darker every time I see him. Dried blood clings to both his skin and the coat, and maybe even some splatter on the top of those dirty-blonde strands. One hand reveals a chainsaw, that damn chainsaw that I feared all through the woods, while the other loosely holds a pistol, his arm swinging a little as if it's a toy gun. The man sends me a light smirk. "Henry..."
Back away. Back the hell away.
Taking a few steps backwards, I squeeze the keys tight in my hands and twist around, dashing back across the corridor. The man at the double doors laughs, that same laugh that still haunts my dreams, and his calm footsteps advance towards me. "Henry, Henry, Henry... You can't run forever."
Yeah, but I can try, I think, switching my gaze towards the end of the hallway. Dead end. Taking a sharp left, I barge into my own apartment room and slam the door. Little Walter squeaks, still sitting in the same place I left him in, but I ignore his watchful eyes and pull the storage bin lid up. It creaks from old age – I'm surprised it opens at all. After all, I have owned this bin since I was eight...
Shaking the trailing thought out of my head, my fingers grasp onto the steel pipe. I never actually thought to wash it, and now I wish I had. The demon blood encased on it is disgusting enough, but the dead bugs warped into it is just plain sick. Shivering, I stand, hearing the all too familiar knocks on the door. "Henry... Henry..." The killer mocks from the outside, repeating my name like a mantra. "Open up, my dear Henry..."
A small bubbling fear pops in my stomach. I'm not going to be able to hold off Walter that long. I was lucky enough to bring him down in that battle. But here... He came back. This could be like the other "worlds" I went off to. I could hold him down, and he would fall. I would go into another area, and there he is again – firing his bullets into my flesh or revving that chainsaw in my ear. I'm not Superman. I need a plan.
The doorknob jiggles, causing me to catch my breath. Walking closer towards the door, I hold the pipe up, waiting in anticipation for the murderer to fall in my trap. The door pushes open, only a little, and to my surprise it closes up again. Confusion etches into my features, and as I lean against the thin wood to look through the peephole, I can only catch the smallest hint of Walter walking away. What... the hell?
Glancing over my shoulder, I spot the small boy jumping off from the chair with a paper in his hand. "Henry, I made you a picture." Handing me the white sheet, his eyes study mine critically, as if one bad emotion will ruin him.
I can easily spy myself and the murderer whom was just outside my door holding hands. Smiley faces are drawn on both of us, while Walter is holding hands with little Walter. Next to him is a... girl. A girl I've never seen in my life. Wearing a dress and a pony tail, she grins in almost a sadistic manner. Next to her is a much taller man, hand in hand with a... thing. A pyramid is in place of a head, while the body is much more "built" than the other stick figures. Above all of us, a word obviously written in a child's signature hangs from the sky. "Paradice."
Kneeling down, I point to the stick figure next to me. "Is that the older Walter?"
"Yeah. He made you happy so he was happy too." The boy explains, "That's me, and next to me is Laura."
Little Walter goes on, as if I never questioned anything, "Next to Laura is James-"
"How do you know James?" I ask, my voice taking on a more defensive tone. The boy lifts his gaze to mine, a small spark of fear in his eyes.
"B-Big Walter told me..."
I stare at him. "He... told you?" How in the hell does that bastard know who James is? "I'm sorry... Go on."
"Anyway, that's James. He's not smiling because Walter told me he never smiles. And next to James is..." His eyebrows furrow up in frustration, "I don't really know, but big Walter said he was very important. We're all in here, with Mom. I heard him talking about something called Paradise, and how he really wants it, so I think being with Mom would be Paradise. Do you like it?"
Despite my new fear and everlasting confusion, I manage a small smile. "I love it."
The boy grins, "Are you going to hang it up?"
Shaking my head, I speak before his face can fall in sadness, "No, but I'm going to keep it with me, so I can look at it while I'm out. Maybe I can show Frank how artistic this is." Or I can use this as proof to ask how in the hell that goddamn murderer knows about James. The little kid's face once again breaks into a smile, and I'm caught off guard when he hugs me.
"I like you a lot, Henry. And Walter does too..." He yawns, "I'm tired." Closing his eyes, I stay completely still as he begins to slump against me, and a few minutes later a soft snore. Pulling the boy into my arms, I straighten up and walk into my room. Tucking him in and leaving the room just as quietly, I stray one more glance at the picture.
Now, to deal with that bastard.
Picking up the forgotten pipe on the ground, I open the door and step out into the hall. It's unnaturally quiet. I can't even hear the blare of the televisions going on in the other rooms. No muffled chatter. Not even a single footstep. It's as though I'm the last soul in this complex. Shivering at the thought, I take not two steps before something collides into the back of my head.
"Ah! F-Fuck..!" I whimper, falling forward and barely catching the wall. A small trickle of blood streams down the back of my neck, and as I narrow my eyes behind me, I can see blonde. "...Walter."
"You remember me! That's good. I wouldn't know what to do if you had forgotten all about me." The fake happiness in the man's voice makes me sick. His curled lips taunt me, and as he waves the pistol, his footsteps trail towards me. "I've missed you, Henry. So much. Have you missed me?" I can't will myself to move when he finally stands in front of me, too close, invading my personal space. Intimidating, I stare up at his tall figure, almost considering pushing him off and fleeing. I almost.
"How do you know James?" I blurt out instead, glaring at those sharp green eyes. The man seems startled by the question, not expecting it.
"James... I have never heard of a James."
"You liar." I grit my teeth, holding up the paper little Walter had made, "Your child self told me you told him about James. How in the hell do you know him?" The tall blonde takes the paper from my hands and glances down at it. A scowl appears on his face.
"I've never heard of a James in my life."
This man is impossible. I snatch the drawing from his grimy fingers and stuff it in my pocket. "I want an answer."
The serial killer raises an eyebrow, his signature smirk slowly fading back in. Cocking the gun, I freeze as the cold steel presses against the side of my head. The small fear once warning me earlier comes back, much larger and powerful. "I don't care what you want. It's what Mother wants. What I want. And what I want is..." Leaning close, the man uses his free hand to rest on my chest, a different emotion hugs his gaze. I blink with wide, owlish eyes, my breath caught in my throat. What in the hell is he doing? Smirking, the man presses his lips lightly on my cheek, kissing up to my ear. "What I want," He repeats in a whisper against my ear, "is you. Dead."
A/N: ; A ; Holy shit. I actually finished this chapter.
It's evident I can't write suspense for my life. So please, don't hesitate to slam a steel pipe into the back of my head and drag my dead body off to the graveyard. :D
On a little side-note, I don't want any of you to think I'm rude by not replying to your reviews. I love all of your feedback, it's just I'm not very good at the whole, "replying" thing. ; ~ ; Don't take it personally, please. I thank all of you for your help and thoughts. Point out mistakes, please - I'll be happy to go back and fix some stuff. :)
'Till then, my pretties~ -hops on broom and flies away across the moon-