"Laughing Time is Over" for EVOKERS
Title: Laughing Time is Over
Form: Fanfiction
For: evokers
Prompt: SH4 : Walter/Henry - Darkfic. Living together - Walter is hostile, Henry has headaches.
Laughing Time Is Over
Headaches are so not cool was Henry’s first thought as he opened his eyes. His head throbbed continuously like one giant pulse, and he had to fight the groan that threatened to come out when the sunlight hit him dead in the face. He ran his hands through his hair and sat up slowly, blearily taking in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom.
His bedroom…
“Eileen?” he jumped up instantly, actually half expecting her to be lying on the bed next to him. When he turned around however, all he saw was a giant empty space.
This wasn’t right.
Well, things hadn’t been right since the day he was locked inside his own damn apartment, but considering he had adapted quite well to the bizarre situation, he could deem this as being a little out of the norm. He was back in his apartment, even when he hadn’t gone through any giant holes, and Eileen was nowhere to be seen.
It had to be a joke. Maybe something was playing with him, making him think things were different, just a mere trick on his already tricked mind.
Yeah, Henry nodded. That sounded pretty plausible considering.
Except…
Who was whistling?
Henry licked his lips, wondering if he had been doing it subconsciously, but the sound still continued even as he moved his own mouth. Henry frowned. What the hell?
There was a loud crash from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a bark of “Ah, damn it!”
He practically ripped his bedroom door off in his haste to find out just what the hell was going on. The sweet smell of pancakes was the first thing he registered, followed by the fact that a man - who was actually wearing a pink apron - was in his kitchen.
Then he recognized the dirty blonde hair.
The face.
“Oh hi,” Walter grinned up at him from his crouched position on the kitchen floor. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
What the hell?
“What the hell?” Henry repeated out loud.
Walter rose to his feet and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m making breakfast. Or…” he looked down at the fallen pan and pancakes at his feet. “I was making breakfast. I don’t think you’d like eating floor pancakes.”
Floor pancakes? Henry frowned again. “What…”
“They’d probably have all kinds of things on them,” Walter grinned again, staring at the pancakes as if he was talking to them instead of Henry. “Well, extra toppings I guess. But when was the last time you cleaned this floor?”
“…the hell?”
Walter was in his apartment.
Walter was in his apartment.
Making pancakes.
Caught between bolting for the door - which was mysteriously chain-free - and going back to bed to lie down from sheer confusion, he settled for rushing into his laundry room to grab a broomstick, brandishing it threateningly as he came back out.
Walter merely frowned at him. “Henry?”
“Get the fuck outta here!” Henry yelled back. He held the broomstick up high. “I mean it. I’ll club you with this if you don’t get out!”
“What are you talking about?”
What was he talking about? He nearly burst into mad laughter right there because the look of confusion on Walter’s face was absurd. Walter was never confused. Psychotic? Definitely. Amused in his own sick way? Sure. But not confused.
“Henry,” even stranger than looking baffled and making pancakes, Walter was holding his hands up pleadingly. “Put the broom down.”
Henry snorted. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? Carve me up like some piece of steak?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, sure.” This had to be one giant joke. Really, it had to be. Because nothing could be this damn weird, not even in bizarre alternate worlds with ghosts chasing you while they moan like zombies. Nothing could be as strange as brandishing a broomstick of all things to a genuinely terrified looking serial killer.
Henry licked his lips. “Where’s Eileen?”
Walter’s eyebrows practically reached his hairline. “Henry? I think you should go back to bed. You’re…clearly not in your right mind right now.”
All right, that was it. “In my right mind?” Henry hissed as he got up and close in Walter’s personal space. The man actually took a step back. “Oh, I’m in my right mind alright. I’ve been attacked by Resident Evil style dogs, weird apes, ghosts, slugs, nurses, I’ve seen so many people killed by you, fucking faces have been coming out of my walls, but I haven’t lost it yet, thank you very much.”
Walter looked down as Henry pressed the hard end of the broomstick into his stomach. He raised his head again, eyes serious.
“Now, I’ll ask again,” Henry continued. “Where. Is. Eileen?”
“Henry!” Walter shouted suddenly. He reached out and grabbed Henry’s shoulders. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s Eileen? What’s going on?”
Ha-ha.
Seriously, this joke? Was beyond funny now.
Henry licked his lips again, his mouth suddenly drier than a desert, and asked, “Are you serious?”
Walter nodded so fast it made his hair fling around ridiculously. His expression was somewhere between concern and bemusement that it made Henry feel sick to his stomach. “I’m serious, Henry,” he murmured. He didn’t really want to mull over it, but Henry could have sworn he felt Walter’s thumb stroke his neck gently.
He managed to swallow past the lump in his throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here!” the blonde replied, bewilderment taking over the concern. “Seriously, Henry. Are you alright? Have you hit your head?”
Walter…lived…with him? Like actual roomies? Insane serial killer with the quiet photographer?
Forget monsters, ghosts and other worlds. Forget grizzly murders with numbers carved into bodies and chains locking him inside his own apartment.
This was fucked up.
Not knowing how to handle the situation, Henry promptly turned around and walked back to his bedroom. “I need to lie down,” he mumbled. He hoped Walter wasn’t following him. He didn’t want that man coming into his own bedroom with him. In fact, where did Walter even sleep? On the couch? Or…
Henry shuddered.
Unfortunately, the other man was following him. “Do you need a doctor? Are you unwell?”
The mere fact that Walter was concerned about him was more disturbing than watching murders take place before him, was more frightening than seeing a face fall from the sky inches away from his living room window. Hell, it was more creepy than the fact that Walter believed they were living together like some twisted episode of Friends.
“I just…” he realized he was still holding the broom. He handed the object to Walter, avoided the other man’s gaze and said, “I just need to lie down. Leave me alone.” He then shut his bedroom door in the killer’s face and let himself drop back down onto the bed.
Yeah, something definitely wasn’t right.
* * * *
So, they actually sat down together. With pizza. To watch CSI of all things. Henry despised the show, always had and always would, yet Walter seemed to hold some fixation with it, his eyes never leaving the television screen as he crammed a slice of pizza into his mouth.
Henry wondered if it was his murderous side that loved the show. Then again, why would he watch a television show where the cops always apprehended the murderer?
Weird.
Henry chewed on his own slice of pizza slowly. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, but after his reaction before, he wasn’t going to let Walter “worry” over him and what he might be thinking. Instead, he would keep up the charade for as long as he had to. Anything to keep the other man away from his personal space, not to mention it would give him time to plan his escape and think over how to get to Eileen. Where the hell was she?
Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache from before had only grown worse over the hours, and all of the thinking and planning he was doing couldn’t be making it any better. If he was going to get out of here alive - and in one piece - then he needed a clear head. He needed to be stress free.
Beside him, Walter burst into laughter.
Sitting next to a laugh like that, it was hard not to get stressed.
“Hey,” Walter said suddenly. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Henry answered curtly. “Just a headache.”
The other man tilted his head with a smile. “Want a beer? It might help you relax.”
Sure. Like I can relax in this situation.
Then Walter’s hand suddenly landed on his knee, squeezing, and every thought went out of the previously locked window. Henry stared at the hand in silence, taking in the curves of bone, the prominent knuckles, the long fingers.
Get your hand off of me.
“Henry?” Walter’s smile was widening as if to say he was thinking that Henry was just the cutest thing ever. “Do you want a beer or not?”
Henry nodded slowly. “Sure,” he said with a fake smile. I’m gonna smash it over your freakin’ head.
* * * *
The remains of the pizza lay in the box on the kitchen counter. The smell lingered through the whole living room, but Henry found himself not caring about it. It was better than that awful decayed stench that accompanied the various hauntings that liked to plague his apartment.
Walter was having a shower. Henry found that even more bizarre than the whole situation, because serial killing people like Walter didn’t seem like the shower type. Despite how weird it was, Henry took the opportunity to search through his chest to see if any of his weapons and items were there, only to find that they had all vanished like none of it had ever happened.
Then he marched over to the cabinet next to the wall and pulled it out, searching for the hole in the wall that had let him view into Eileen’s bedroom - as sick as that sounded.
Again, there was nothing. No hole, no writing on the wall, nothing that proved any of what he had been through so far had actually taken place.
Well, hey. The person - or thing - that was playing this joke on him? Had really thought the sucker out. He had to give them that much.
Henry slammed his fist into the cabinet and rested his forehead on the cool, wooden surface, trying to think of a game plan. It had to have been real. His memories of everything were too vivid to have been his imagination or one big nightmare.
Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he was having delusions or something to that extent. Yeah, Henry chuckled to himself. That could be the reason behind all of this. He could get himself locked up in some hospital and be safe from alternate worlds and decayed creatures. He would just be Delusional Henry - Master of the Zombies.
Henry shook his head. “Okay, now you’re really losing it,” he muttered to himself.
“Losing what?” Walter said from behind him.
Henry let out a surprised yelp and got to his feet, whirling around to see Walter staring at him. His blonde hair was still wet from the shower and he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. He looked odd in normal clothes, Henry mused to himself.
Then he realized that Walter was expecting an answer. So he forced out a laugh and said, “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Walter grinned back. “The first sign of madness.” He then turned away and walked over to the windows, rubbing his hair with a towel.
You’re one to talk, Henry glared at the other man’s back. He wondered if he stabbed Walter in the back now would the serial killer put up a fight? Walter was definitely bigger than he was and would be able to pin him down easily, but he seemed to be weaker minded than before, didn’t seem to want to cause any violence or harm.
“Hey, Henry, take a look at this.”
Ignoring his violent thoughts for now, Henry approached Walter and looked out of the window to where the other man was pointing at. He was pointing at the moon, as well as several shooting stars. Henry nodded, uninterested, and said, “Nice.”
“Yeah,” Walter agreed quietly. “It makes you think.”
Henry frowned and stared at him in confusion.
“You know…” the serial killer grinned at him. “About the universe and stuff.”
Walter actually thought about things like that? Henry smiled faintly and nodded, turning back to look at the starry sky. “I guess.”
It was odd to be sharing such a quiet, almost peaceful moment with the man who had laughed while he terrorized both him and Eileen. Bodies had been racking up, people being carved up, set alight, electrocuted, and all by this blonde man standing right next to him with a small smile like he was content with the world.
Yeah. It made him think, alright.
“You’re really quiet,” Walter said, and Henry jumped at the proximity of his voice, feeling the hot breath on his ear.
“Uh…” he looked up to see Walter’s face disturbingly close and took an unconscious step backwards. “Yeah, just thinking.” He stumbled out. His face felt suspiciously hot. “About what you said.”
Walter wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t sure what had happened to change the man’s mood suddenly, but Henry didn’t feel too confident in staying with him while he had that expression. He turned around to leave, but a large hand caught his wrist and held on tight, pulling him back so that they were standing close again.
“Henry,” Walter said quietly. He sounded serious. Dangerous. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’d better stop now.”
Henry swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Acting like you’re nervous, you’re acting suspicious.” Walter ground out. “It stops now. Okay?”
Well, so much for quiet, peaceful Walter. Henry bit his lip and pulled his wrist away from the other man, backing away. “I’m gonna go to bed,” he rushed out, and left for his bedroom before Walter could even think about objecting.
* * * *
He wasn’t used to having someone else in his apartment with him. Considering he had been living on his own for the past couple of years, it was understandable. He preferred living on his own, and he always would. It was quieter that way, a lot less to deal with, and he could think about things without being interrupted or being told that he was stupid for thinking too much.
The fact that Walter of all people claimed that he lived with him was just downright confusing. Especially after everything that had happened so far.
And he definitely wasn’t acting like the Walter he had come to recognize. He was…nice, despite his little outburst before. Walter wasn’t nice, unless shooting and murdering people while laughing insanely counted as being ‘nice’. He was looking at shooting stars, thinking about the universe, smiling like they were old friends, getting up and close in Henry’s personal space. It was just…twisted.
Henry groaned and covered his face with his pillow. Maybe he could just suffocate himself and not have worry about anything anymore. No more ghosts, no more headaches, no more pancake-making-stargazing-Walter-Murderous-Sullivan.
Walter…who now appeared to be talking to himself.
This just keeps getting better and better, Henry sighed. He tossed the pillow aside and got up, approaching his door slowly to hear what Walter was saying better.
“I know…” Walter was definitely talking to someone, if not himself. “I tried….he just keeps shutting me out…yes…I don’t know…”
Henry frowned. It sounded more like he was in the middle of a phone call, but his phone was in his bedroom, right? Henry glanced over at the bedside table, and sure enough the telephone still rested there.
He opened the bedroom door quietly, creeping out into the hallway as Walter continued his bizarre conversation.
“What?” Walter asked sharply, his voice conflicting between shock and despair. The man sighed. “Okay…”
Henry walked as quietly as he could towards the living room, listening as Walter’s voice grew closer. He could see the man now, crouched down in the middle of the living room, his head hanging low. He was wearing the blue coat again, the one that was stained with either his own blood or from various victims.
And he held a gun in one hand.
Shit, Henry bit his lip and held his breath.
“I’ll do it…” Walter said quietly. “Yes….yes, Mother.”
Mother?
Walter turned around suddenly, eyes locked onto Henry as if he knew he had been there the whole time. He stood up with a slow confidence that only a deranged serial killer could have, gun firmly gripped in one hand. “I’m sorry, Henry. But Mother told me to do it.”
He slowly raised the gun.
Henry suddenly missed the friendly Walter.
“Mother wants this. That’s all.”
Henry ran for the bathroom just as Walter started pulling the trigger. In the small apartment, the gunshots were much louder than before, almost deafening even, and he covered his ears to stop the noise from further aggravating his already aching head. Henry ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door closed right in Walter’s face, shoving the lock into place and listening as the other man started beating the wood.
This definitely wasn’t good. Wasn’t it only around half an hour ago that Walter had been staring up at the moon and stars, smiling and thoughtful?
“Henry!” Walter yelled as he hit the door again. “Open the door, Henry.”
“Yeah, like that’ll happen.” Henry mumbled and rubbed his forehead. He was getting a little tired of headaches. Whether it was from ghosts being nearby or just plain old frustration, it was getting old now. If he didn’t develop an aneurysm and died soon, then he was just going to rip his own brain out to stop the pain.
Walter continued beating the door. “Henry!”
“Keep the hell away from me!” Henry yelled back. He noticed that the bathroom was back to normal. There was no blood in the bathtub or on the tiles, and the hole had disappeared completely. It looked like it had never been there before. That took away the chance of escaping the killer by going into another alternate world.
“Open the door!”
“I mean it!” Henry punched the door. “Keep the fuck away from me.”
Walter growled. “Don’t cuss, Henry. Mother doesn’t like it.”
There he went again with the Mother stuff. What the hell was up with that? “I don’t see your mother anywhere,”
Henry snapped. “What the hell are you talking about, you crazy bastard?”
“She can hear you and she doesn’t like it, so shut up!”
Then it clicked. Like a piece of a puzzle falling into place, he realized what Walter was talking about. After all, hadn’t one of the red notes said that Walter thought room 302 was his mother?
“Ohh,” Henry chuckled, genuinely amused. “Are you fucked up or what?”
“Henry!”
Henry grinned and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs as he stared at the door with a grin. “So, this whole apartment is your mother, huh?” he nodded to himself. “I guess it makes sense. The living room is…the heart? The bedroom could be the brain.”
“Shut up.”
“The kitchen is the…stomach? And I guess the bathroom is the FUCKING VAGINA!” he slammed his foot into the bathroom door, because who cared if it helped Walter get access to him, who cared if he was slowly losing it. This whole situation was one giant mess, and there was no doubt now that someone was playing a trick on him.
Henry reached up and ripped the towel rail off the wall, brandishing it as the door finally crashed in to reveal a sweating, heavy breathing Walter. Before the older man could use the gun again, Henry swung his new weapon, hitting Walter sharply on the side of the head. The killer stumbled to the side, grunting, hand pressed to his head protectively, and Henry lunged for the door, racing out into the hallway.
An odd thought hit him then, so much for pancakes, and then he was being bodily slammed into the wall.
“Get off of me!” Henry tried shoving Walter, but the man was a lot bigger than he was, a lot stronger, and he was pinned with his arms held above his head. The gun was nowhere to be seen, thank god.
“Henry,” Walter clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Henry, stop struggling.”
And then Walter kissed him.
It was so unexpected that all Henry could do was stare at the closed eyes just inches from his own. Never mind that Walter was doing some disgusting thing with his tongue, never mind that Walter was a man and he was kissing another man, never-the-fuck-mind that Walter’s breath was horrible…
Walter was kissing him.
Okay, forget pancakes. This was crazy.
Henry had come across so many fucked up things lately that there probably wasn’t anything left in the world that could shock him. Although, really, he should have expected this, shouldn’t he? Walter had been touching him after all. He had grabbed his knees, touched his shoulder, got up and close in his personal space as if it was natural for them. Oh god, Henry thought, I hope he doesn’t believe that we’ve been doing other things in this apartment, not just living together. With that thought stuck with him, he pulled his head away so sharply that he hit it off the wall behind him. The stinging pain did nothing for his own headache, but it helped to ground him.
“Don’t do that again,” Henry whispered.
Walter grinned dangerously, madly, and pressed his body up against Henry’s. “Or else what?” He pressed his lips to Henry’s again, shoving their bodies together until there wasn’t a gap between them. With his hands still pinned tightly above his head, and Walter being much stronger, Henry had no choice but to go along with it, to deceive the killer into the perfect moment when he could get the drop on him.
So he kissed him back. It was disgusting and he was trying not to cringe through it all, but Walter seemed to enjoy it, moaning and doing some rolling thing with his hips. The killer then moved his lips down Henry’s chin, making a trail of light kisses to his throat.
Now. This is the moment. Henry sighed, braced himself, and quickly slammed his knee upwards into Walter’s groin. The other man instantly fell away to the floor in pain, holding his crotch with both hands as he moaned pathetically. Henry took the chance to race to the front door, pulling it open out into the hallway that he hadn’t seen in days.
His first instinct was to run and kick down Eileen’s door to make sure that she was alright. But he didn’t want Walter anywhere near her, and since he seemed to be obsessed with killing Henry right now, the best thing to do was lead him away.
“Henry!” Walter yelled and stumbled out of the apartment.
Henry ran.
“Henry!”
He ran as fast as he could down the hallway. One glance over his shoulder showed that Walter was chasing him, and quickly gaining distance between them, and just how freaking long was this corridor?
Henry frowned and fought from screaming what the fucking hell as the corridor seemed to stretch before him, growing longer and longer with the more distance he covered. He kept running, because stopping and facing a now back to normal Walter was suicide, and really this wasn’t the strangest he had ever seen, was it?
Except, the walls were changing. While they had been a faint grey before, they now changed into a light pink, getting darker and darker until the walls were a blood red, things that looked far too much like flesh starting to bubble up like the walls were boiling. Henry looked down and saw that the floor under him was slowly changing from tiles into grating.
“Henry!”
Walter’s voice echoed around him, bouncing off the walls until it sounded like five voices were calling his name. Henry froze in his tracks and whirled around, fully expecting to be pounced on by Walter.
But no one was there. All he could see was the muscle-like corridor, back in the normal length that it had been.
He was back. In the alternate world. It had been a trick; the whole thing had just been some game being played on his mind, on his sanity.
Walter’s laugh suddenly came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Amused, mocking, everything that grated on Henry’s nerves. As if he had won.
Too relieved to find out that everything had been just some sick joke, he collapsed to the floor to catch his breath back, to take a moment to regain his composure and sanity. He could still feel Walter’s lips on his own, could hear the heavy breathing, and fought back a shiver. He hadn’t been sure if the plan would have worked, if could get away from Walter like that, but it had and thank god, because now he was back. Alternate worlds he could deal with, even zombie dogs, but a friendly Walter who was attracted to him was completely different.
Henry shook his head slowly and got to his feet. “You’re going down, Walter,” he muttered to himself, and continued walking down the corridor.
He had to find Eileen.
Form: Fanfiction
For: evokers
Prompt: SH4 : Walter/Henry - Darkfic. Living together - Walter is hostile, Henry has headaches.
Laughing Time Is Over
Headaches are so not cool was Henry’s first thought as he opened his eyes. His head throbbed continuously like one giant pulse, and he had to fight the groan that threatened to come out when the sunlight hit him dead in the face. He ran his hands through his hair and sat up slowly, blearily taking in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom.
His bedroom…
“Eileen?” he jumped up instantly, actually half expecting her to be lying on the bed next to him. When he turned around however, all he saw was a giant empty space.
This wasn’t right.
Well, things hadn’t been right since the day he was locked inside his own damn apartment, but considering he had adapted quite well to the bizarre situation, he could deem this as being a little out of the norm. He was back in his apartment, even when he hadn’t gone through any giant holes, and Eileen was nowhere to be seen.
It had to be a joke. Maybe something was playing with him, making him think things were different, just a mere trick on his already tricked mind.
Yeah, Henry nodded. That sounded pretty plausible considering.
Except…
Who was whistling?
Henry licked his lips, wondering if he had been doing it subconsciously, but the sound still continued even as he moved his own mouth. Henry frowned. What the hell?
There was a loud crash from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a bark of “Ah, damn it!”
He practically ripped his bedroom door off in his haste to find out just what the hell was going on. The sweet smell of pancakes was the first thing he registered, followed by the fact that a man - who was actually wearing a pink apron - was in his kitchen.
Then he recognized the dirty blonde hair.
The face.
“Oh hi,” Walter grinned up at him from his crouched position on the kitchen floor. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
What the hell?
“What the hell?” Henry repeated out loud.
Walter rose to his feet and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m making breakfast. Or…” he looked down at the fallen pan and pancakes at his feet. “I was making breakfast. I don’t think you’d like eating floor pancakes.”
Floor pancakes? Henry frowned again. “What…”
“They’d probably have all kinds of things on them,” Walter grinned again, staring at the pancakes as if he was talking to them instead of Henry. “Well, extra toppings I guess. But when was the last time you cleaned this floor?”
“…the hell?”
Walter was in his apartment.
Walter was in his apartment.
Making pancakes.
Caught between bolting for the door - which was mysteriously chain-free - and going back to bed to lie down from sheer confusion, he settled for rushing into his laundry room to grab a broomstick, brandishing it threateningly as he came back out.
Walter merely frowned at him. “Henry?”
“Get the fuck outta here!” Henry yelled back. He held the broomstick up high. “I mean it. I’ll club you with this if you don’t get out!”
“What are you talking about?”
What was he talking about? He nearly burst into mad laughter right there because the look of confusion on Walter’s face was absurd. Walter was never confused. Psychotic? Definitely. Amused in his own sick way? Sure. But not confused.
“Henry,” even stranger than looking baffled and making pancakes, Walter was holding his hands up pleadingly. “Put the broom down.”
Henry snorted. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? Carve me up like some piece of steak?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, sure.” This had to be one giant joke. Really, it had to be. Because nothing could be this damn weird, not even in bizarre alternate worlds with ghosts chasing you while they moan like zombies. Nothing could be as strange as brandishing a broomstick of all things to a genuinely terrified looking serial killer.
Henry licked his lips. “Where’s Eileen?”
Walter’s eyebrows practically reached his hairline. “Henry? I think you should go back to bed. You’re…clearly not in your right mind right now.”
All right, that was it. “In my right mind?” Henry hissed as he got up and close in Walter’s personal space. The man actually took a step back. “Oh, I’m in my right mind alright. I’ve been attacked by Resident Evil style dogs, weird apes, ghosts, slugs, nurses, I’ve seen so many people killed by you, fucking faces have been coming out of my walls, but I haven’t lost it yet, thank you very much.”
Walter looked down as Henry pressed the hard end of the broomstick into his stomach. He raised his head again, eyes serious.
“Now, I’ll ask again,” Henry continued. “Where. Is. Eileen?”
“Henry!” Walter shouted suddenly. He reached out and grabbed Henry’s shoulders. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s Eileen? What’s going on?”
Ha-ha.
Seriously, this joke? Was beyond funny now.
Henry licked his lips again, his mouth suddenly drier than a desert, and asked, “Are you serious?”
Walter nodded so fast it made his hair fling around ridiculously. His expression was somewhere between concern and bemusement that it made Henry feel sick to his stomach. “I’m serious, Henry,” he murmured. He didn’t really want to mull over it, but Henry could have sworn he felt Walter’s thumb stroke his neck gently.
He managed to swallow past the lump in his throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here!” the blonde replied, bewilderment taking over the concern. “Seriously, Henry. Are you alright? Have you hit your head?”
Walter…lived…with him? Like actual roomies? Insane serial killer with the quiet photographer?
Forget monsters, ghosts and other worlds. Forget grizzly murders with numbers carved into bodies and chains locking him inside his own apartment.
This was fucked up.
Not knowing how to handle the situation, Henry promptly turned around and walked back to his bedroom. “I need to lie down,” he mumbled. He hoped Walter wasn’t following him. He didn’t want that man coming into his own bedroom with him. In fact, where did Walter even sleep? On the couch? Or…
Henry shuddered.
Unfortunately, the other man was following him. “Do you need a doctor? Are you unwell?”
The mere fact that Walter was concerned about him was more disturbing than watching murders take place before him, was more frightening than seeing a face fall from the sky inches away from his living room window. Hell, it was more creepy than the fact that Walter believed they were living together like some twisted episode of Friends.
“I just…” he realized he was still holding the broom. He handed the object to Walter, avoided the other man’s gaze and said, “I just need to lie down. Leave me alone.” He then shut his bedroom door in the killer’s face and let himself drop back down onto the bed.
Yeah, something definitely wasn’t right.
* * * *
So, they actually sat down together. With pizza. To watch CSI of all things. Henry despised the show, always had and always would, yet Walter seemed to hold some fixation with it, his eyes never leaving the television screen as he crammed a slice of pizza into his mouth.
Henry wondered if it was his murderous side that loved the show. Then again, why would he watch a television show where the cops always apprehended the murderer?
Weird.
Henry chewed on his own slice of pizza slowly. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, but after his reaction before, he wasn’t going to let Walter “worry” over him and what he might be thinking. Instead, he would keep up the charade for as long as he had to. Anything to keep the other man away from his personal space, not to mention it would give him time to plan his escape and think over how to get to Eileen. Where the hell was she?
Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache from before had only grown worse over the hours, and all of the thinking and planning he was doing couldn’t be making it any better. If he was going to get out of here alive - and in one piece - then he needed a clear head. He needed to be stress free.
Beside him, Walter burst into laughter.
Sitting next to a laugh like that, it was hard not to get stressed.
“Hey,” Walter said suddenly. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Henry answered curtly. “Just a headache.”
The other man tilted his head with a smile. “Want a beer? It might help you relax.”
Sure. Like I can relax in this situation.
Then Walter’s hand suddenly landed on his knee, squeezing, and every thought went out of the previously locked window. Henry stared at the hand in silence, taking in the curves of bone, the prominent knuckles, the long fingers.
Get your hand off of me.
“Henry?” Walter’s smile was widening as if to say he was thinking that Henry was just the cutest thing ever. “Do you want a beer or not?”
Henry nodded slowly. “Sure,” he said with a fake smile. I’m gonna smash it over your freakin’ head.
* * * *
The remains of the pizza lay in the box on the kitchen counter. The smell lingered through the whole living room, but Henry found himself not caring about it. It was better than that awful decayed stench that accompanied the various hauntings that liked to plague his apartment.
Walter was having a shower. Henry found that even more bizarre than the whole situation, because serial killing people like Walter didn’t seem like the shower type. Despite how weird it was, Henry took the opportunity to search through his chest to see if any of his weapons and items were there, only to find that they had all vanished like none of it had ever happened.
Then he marched over to the cabinet next to the wall and pulled it out, searching for the hole in the wall that had let him view into Eileen’s bedroom - as sick as that sounded.
Again, there was nothing. No hole, no writing on the wall, nothing that proved any of what he had been through so far had actually taken place.
Well, hey. The person - or thing - that was playing this joke on him? Had really thought the sucker out. He had to give them that much.
Henry slammed his fist into the cabinet and rested his forehead on the cool, wooden surface, trying to think of a game plan. It had to have been real. His memories of everything were too vivid to have been his imagination or one big nightmare.
Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he was having delusions or something to that extent. Yeah, Henry chuckled to himself. That could be the reason behind all of this. He could get himself locked up in some hospital and be safe from alternate worlds and decayed creatures. He would just be Delusional Henry - Master of the Zombies.
Henry shook his head. “Okay, now you’re really losing it,” he muttered to himself.
“Losing what?” Walter said from behind him.
Henry let out a surprised yelp and got to his feet, whirling around to see Walter staring at him. His blonde hair was still wet from the shower and he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. He looked odd in normal clothes, Henry mused to himself.
Then he realized that Walter was expecting an answer. So he forced out a laugh and said, “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
Walter grinned back. “The first sign of madness.” He then turned away and walked over to the windows, rubbing his hair with a towel.
You’re one to talk, Henry glared at the other man’s back. He wondered if he stabbed Walter in the back now would the serial killer put up a fight? Walter was definitely bigger than he was and would be able to pin him down easily, but he seemed to be weaker minded than before, didn’t seem to want to cause any violence or harm.
“Hey, Henry, take a look at this.”
Ignoring his violent thoughts for now, Henry approached Walter and looked out of the window to where the other man was pointing at. He was pointing at the moon, as well as several shooting stars. Henry nodded, uninterested, and said, “Nice.”
“Yeah,” Walter agreed quietly. “It makes you think.”
Henry frowned and stared at him in confusion.
“You know…” the serial killer grinned at him. “About the universe and stuff.”
Walter actually thought about things like that? Henry smiled faintly and nodded, turning back to look at the starry sky. “I guess.”
It was odd to be sharing such a quiet, almost peaceful moment with the man who had laughed while he terrorized both him and Eileen. Bodies had been racking up, people being carved up, set alight, electrocuted, and all by this blonde man standing right next to him with a small smile like he was content with the world.
Yeah. It made him think, alright.
“You’re really quiet,” Walter said, and Henry jumped at the proximity of his voice, feeling the hot breath on his ear.
“Uh…” he looked up to see Walter’s face disturbingly close and took an unconscious step backwards. “Yeah, just thinking.” He stumbled out. His face felt suspiciously hot. “About what you said.”
Walter wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t sure what had happened to change the man’s mood suddenly, but Henry didn’t feel too confident in staying with him while he had that expression. He turned around to leave, but a large hand caught his wrist and held on tight, pulling him back so that they were standing close again.
“Henry,” Walter said quietly. He sounded serious. Dangerous. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’d better stop now.”
Henry swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Acting like you’re nervous, you’re acting suspicious.” Walter ground out. “It stops now. Okay?”
Well, so much for quiet, peaceful Walter. Henry bit his lip and pulled his wrist away from the other man, backing away. “I’m gonna go to bed,” he rushed out, and left for his bedroom before Walter could even think about objecting.
* * * *
He wasn’t used to having someone else in his apartment with him. Considering he had been living on his own for the past couple of years, it was understandable. He preferred living on his own, and he always would. It was quieter that way, a lot less to deal with, and he could think about things without being interrupted or being told that he was stupid for thinking too much.
The fact that Walter of all people claimed that he lived with him was just downright confusing. Especially after everything that had happened so far.
And he definitely wasn’t acting like the Walter he had come to recognize. He was…nice, despite his little outburst before. Walter wasn’t nice, unless shooting and murdering people while laughing insanely counted as being ‘nice’. He was looking at shooting stars, thinking about the universe, smiling like they were old friends, getting up and close in Henry’s personal space. It was just…twisted.
Henry groaned and covered his face with his pillow. Maybe he could just suffocate himself and not have worry about anything anymore. No more ghosts, no more headaches, no more pancake-making-stargazing-Walter-Murderous-Sullivan.
Walter…who now appeared to be talking to himself.
This just keeps getting better and better, Henry sighed. He tossed the pillow aside and got up, approaching his door slowly to hear what Walter was saying better.
“I know…” Walter was definitely talking to someone, if not himself. “I tried….he just keeps shutting me out…yes…I don’t know…”
Henry frowned. It sounded more like he was in the middle of a phone call, but his phone was in his bedroom, right? Henry glanced over at the bedside table, and sure enough the telephone still rested there.
He opened the bedroom door quietly, creeping out into the hallway as Walter continued his bizarre conversation.
“What?” Walter asked sharply, his voice conflicting between shock and despair. The man sighed. “Okay…”
Henry walked as quietly as he could towards the living room, listening as Walter’s voice grew closer. He could see the man now, crouched down in the middle of the living room, his head hanging low. He was wearing the blue coat again, the one that was stained with either his own blood or from various victims.
And he held a gun in one hand.
Shit, Henry bit his lip and held his breath.
“I’ll do it…” Walter said quietly. “Yes….yes, Mother.”
Mother?
Walter turned around suddenly, eyes locked onto Henry as if he knew he had been there the whole time. He stood up with a slow confidence that only a deranged serial killer could have, gun firmly gripped in one hand. “I’m sorry, Henry. But Mother told me to do it.”
He slowly raised the gun.
Henry suddenly missed the friendly Walter.
“Mother wants this. That’s all.”
Henry ran for the bathroom just as Walter started pulling the trigger. In the small apartment, the gunshots were much louder than before, almost deafening even, and he covered his ears to stop the noise from further aggravating his already aching head. Henry ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door closed right in Walter’s face, shoving the lock into place and listening as the other man started beating the wood.
This definitely wasn’t good. Wasn’t it only around half an hour ago that Walter had been staring up at the moon and stars, smiling and thoughtful?
“Henry!” Walter yelled as he hit the door again. “Open the door, Henry.”
“Yeah, like that’ll happen.” Henry mumbled and rubbed his forehead. He was getting a little tired of headaches. Whether it was from ghosts being nearby or just plain old frustration, it was getting old now. If he didn’t develop an aneurysm and died soon, then he was just going to rip his own brain out to stop the pain.
Walter continued beating the door. “Henry!”
“Keep the hell away from me!” Henry yelled back. He noticed that the bathroom was back to normal. There was no blood in the bathtub or on the tiles, and the hole had disappeared completely. It looked like it had never been there before. That took away the chance of escaping the killer by going into another alternate world.
“Open the door!”
“I mean it!” Henry punched the door. “Keep the fuck away from me.”
Walter growled. “Don’t cuss, Henry. Mother doesn’t like it.”
There he went again with the Mother stuff. What the hell was up with that? “I don’t see your mother anywhere,”
Henry snapped. “What the hell are you talking about, you crazy bastard?”
“She can hear you and she doesn’t like it, so shut up!”
Then it clicked. Like a piece of a puzzle falling into place, he realized what Walter was talking about. After all, hadn’t one of the red notes said that Walter thought room 302 was his mother?
“Ohh,” Henry chuckled, genuinely amused. “Are you fucked up or what?”
“Henry!”
Henry grinned and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs as he stared at the door with a grin. “So, this whole apartment is your mother, huh?” he nodded to himself. “I guess it makes sense. The living room is…the heart? The bedroom could be the brain.”
“Shut up.”
“The kitchen is the…stomach? And I guess the bathroom is the FUCKING VAGINA!” he slammed his foot into the bathroom door, because who cared if it helped Walter get access to him, who cared if he was slowly losing it. This whole situation was one giant mess, and there was no doubt now that someone was playing a trick on him.
Henry reached up and ripped the towel rail off the wall, brandishing it as the door finally crashed in to reveal a sweating, heavy breathing Walter. Before the older man could use the gun again, Henry swung his new weapon, hitting Walter sharply on the side of the head. The killer stumbled to the side, grunting, hand pressed to his head protectively, and Henry lunged for the door, racing out into the hallway.
An odd thought hit him then, so much for pancakes, and then he was being bodily slammed into the wall.
“Get off of me!” Henry tried shoving Walter, but the man was a lot bigger than he was, a lot stronger, and he was pinned with his arms held above his head. The gun was nowhere to be seen, thank god.
“Henry,” Walter clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Henry, stop struggling.”
And then Walter kissed him.
It was so unexpected that all Henry could do was stare at the closed eyes just inches from his own. Never mind that Walter was doing some disgusting thing with his tongue, never mind that Walter was a man and he was kissing another man, never-the-fuck-mind that Walter’s breath was horrible…
Walter was kissing him.
Okay, forget pancakes. This was crazy.
Henry had come across so many fucked up things lately that there probably wasn’t anything left in the world that could shock him. Although, really, he should have expected this, shouldn’t he? Walter had been touching him after all. He had grabbed his knees, touched his shoulder, got up and close in his personal space as if it was natural for them. Oh god, Henry thought, I hope he doesn’t believe that we’ve been doing other things in this apartment, not just living together. With that thought stuck with him, he pulled his head away so sharply that he hit it off the wall behind him. The stinging pain did nothing for his own headache, but it helped to ground him.
“Don’t do that again,” Henry whispered.
Walter grinned dangerously, madly, and pressed his body up against Henry’s. “Or else what?” He pressed his lips to Henry’s again, shoving their bodies together until there wasn’t a gap between them. With his hands still pinned tightly above his head, and Walter being much stronger, Henry had no choice but to go along with it, to deceive the killer into the perfect moment when he could get the drop on him.
So he kissed him back. It was disgusting and he was trying not to cringe through it all, but Walter seemed to enjoy it, moaning and doing some rolling thing with his hips. The killer then moved his lips down Henry’s chin, making a trail of light kisses to his throat.
Now. This is the moment. Henry sighed, braced himself, and quickly slammed his knee upwards into Walter’s groin. The other man instantly fell away to the floor in pain, holding his crotch with both hands as he moaned pathetically. Henry took the chance to race to the front door, pulling it open out into the hallway that he hadn’t seen in days.
His first instinct was to run and kick down Eileen’s door to make sure that she was alright. But he didn’t want Walter anywhere near her, and since he seemed to be obsessed with killing Henry right now, the best thing to do was lead him away.
“Henry!” Walter yelled and stumbled out of the apartment.
Henry ran.
“Henry!”
He ran as fast as he could down the hallway. One glance over his shoulder showed that Walter was chasing him, and quickly gaining distance between them, and just how freaking long was this corridor?
Henry frowned and fought from screaming what the fucking hell as the corridor seemed to stretch before him, growing longer and longer with the more distance he covered. He kept running, because stopping and facing a now back to normal Walter was suicide, and really this wasn’t the strangest he had ever seen, was it?
Except, the walls were changing. While they had been a faint grey before, they now changed into a light pink, getting darker and darker until the walls were a blood red, things that looked far too much like flesh starting to bubble up like the walls were boiling. Henry looked down and saw that the floor under him was slowly changing from tiles into grating.
“Henry!”
Walter’s voice echoed around him, bouncing off the walls until it sounded like five voices were calling his name. Henry froze in his tracks and whirled around, fully expecting to be pounced on by Walter.
But no one was there. All he could see was the muscle-like corridor, back in the normal length that it had been.
He was back. In the alternate world. It had been a trick; the whole thing had just been some game being played on his mind, on his sanity.
Walter’s laugh suddenly came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Amused, mocking, everything that grated on Henry’s nerves. As if he had won.
Too relieved to find out that everything had been just some sick joke, he collapsed to the floor to catch his breath back, to take a moment to regain his composure and sanity. He could still feel Walter’s lips on his own, could hear the heavy breathing, and fought back a shiver. He hadn’t been sure if the plan would have worked, if could get away from Walter like that, but it had and thank god, because now he was back. Alternate worlds he could deal with, even zombie dogs, but a friendly Walter who was attracted to him was completely different.
Henry shook his head slowly and got to his feet. “You’re going down, Walter,” he muttered to himself, and continued walking down the corridor.
He had to find Eileen.