She's so taken aback by the stark contrast between his words and the way he speaks them, practically serene, that she can do nothing but stare and gibber for a moment. "J-just... a what?!" Just got a knife in my shoulder? Just a knife?! A rational mind would consider their environment and all of its terrible potential, consider how very very much worse it could be and has been for them in the past, and figure that yeah, the word "Just" is fair enough when he's walking and talking. But hers is not a rational mind, not right now and especially not when it comes to him. It sounds to her every bit as horrific and ridiculous as it would had he declared it some sunny morning waiting in line at the coffee shop on 16th. Her swollen purple fingers look ugly, the gash in her scalp had bled quite nicely, but the violence inherent in and potential for destruction from a knife, a whole other league.
Next to that, his question hardly registers. She scoots and tilts her head, delicately touching a finger to the ragged edge of his shirt where a blade tore through. There's blood, but not the awful spreading stain she'd envision following the plunge of a blade tearing through muscle and lung. He holds himself upright, breathes fine, maybe it isn't so bad after all, but she automatically starts digging through her pocket for the syringe and morphine anyways. Saving supplies, in this state, doesn't even occur to her, but pain control is a hell of a priority. "Jesus, Henry! What... Was it him?!"
"Wh- no!" He's somewhat surprised by the force of the word. He hadn't even thought about how that might be interpreted. "No, I haven't- haven't seen him....at all. I hope it stays that way."
He tries to watch for what she's doing, but the fingers distract him. "The knife didn't sever anything...or hit anything major, I don't think. I got lucky. but Eileen...your fingers...." He looks really concerned over them now. "These look really bad."
Confusion flickers. Does this mean he knows somehow? About what Troy had done to Julianna, or today what he'd done to her? She doesn't know how but she wouldn't put it past this place to splatter crimes somewhere in Henry's path as well as in hers. "Hurts like a bitch," she concedes with a watery smile. "Wasn't my face, at least. Or my writing hand. Small victories." Screwed up goddamn life where broken left fingers and a knife wound that doesn't pierce lung are counted as successes. "I found morphine. Used about half of it, but you're bigger than me. If it doesn't take care of it we'll just find something to bandage that with, I guess. I'm sorry that this happened..."
She hadn't accomplished a lot of things today, really. No sign of Lynn, lost track of Troy, and dragged Henry right back down to Hell all because she needed her little ritual, felt she had no choice but to come here. Whyever did she say that? It looks so foolish now, but at the time, the compulsion had been absolute. She can't draw out the second half of the ampoule's contents with just one hand, her wounded one being presently fussed over, and so instead carefully sets the little vial of fluid and the syringe down on the pathway with little pings of glass on stone. Her head bowed over them, her face twists into a grimace. "I-I'm really sorry," she apologizes, choked and painfully sincere. "I'm really... I can't tell you how much. I kept thinking about it, when I was out there, how bad I wanted to tell you."
He starts shaking his head as soon as she starts apologizing. "Don't." He hugs her lightly again, mindful of the hurt hand. His voice softens to a whisper as he talks into her ear. "Don't apologize, okay? We're both together. Even in a place like this...we'll make it through. We've done it before, we will again. We should just focus on that." Easier said than done, but right now they both need to hear it.
He pulls away and looks at the little vial of morphine. "I don't know if we should save this....are you sure you don't need the rest of it? I think I'd be okay if I didn't have it." He had to remember how all of this worked here. Something like morphine might actually make it better, rather than just taking pain away.
His quiet reassurance has the opposite effect, at first. It has been a long, long couple of hours, and she bleeds inside in a way that she didn't when they'd parted company. She squeezes her eyes shut and quakes. Oh Jesus, oh God, it's going to get worse, this place is what it is, he's going to get hurt, she's going to see him get hurt, or die, and even though he's right here, warm through the cloth of his shirt and smelling of sweat and himself beneath the first smears of grime, she can't prevent it, can't grab hold of him and push him out of here, can't tell him when to duck, can't walk the path for him. He draws away and eyes greedily soak up the sight of the lines in the skin of the knuckles on Henry's hands, the shape of his jaw, the movement of the adam's apple in his throat, knowing that even if they can make it through, the cost of doing so will be steep. Knowing that somewhere out is something that will try to kill him, that wants to make him suffer, wants to vent all his own frustrations as tortures. The very idea of the damage that will be wreaked upon him, it's like sacrilege.... She feels constricted, ribs crushing inwards near to snapping even as the lightness inside of her tries to fly in this gentle presence. He's trying to make it all right, though, and she's digging inwards for some length of steel she can prop herself back up with.
I do not want to die. He has got to make it. I do not want to watch him suffer. I do not want him to watch me suffer. I want to endure. I want to do what it takes. I want him to be proud. I want to be trusted. I want to live up to this. I will not be left behind in prison cells and dark alleys. I will not be his responsibility. I will not lie down and take it. Dead girls lie down and cry and do nothing else. I am alive now. I lived.
Really, now, this is embarrassing.
Breathe, Eileen. Focus.
He's right, she can defend herself and solicit forgiveness until she's blue in the face, once nobody's bleeding anymore. That grounded stoic calm of his that she's marveled at a million times in the past steadies her like it always does. She sniffles and shakes her head, holding the vial between forefinger and thumb and plunging the needle into it. Her voice wavers but her hand doesn't. "I'm okay. I took care of the bad stuff. Here, c'mon, roll up your sleeve."
He watches her silently, the reactions running through her face. He can't do much but watch them- put into words, it would take far too long to express. They came to the same conclusion, anyway. He catches her features just like she catches his- if they can capture this moment, if they can just remember how it feels to be together and to be okay, maybe they could make it through this.
No, they had to make it through this. There was no choice. They'd hurt and they'd suffer, but in the end they'll find their way out. He would not let her pass here. And the look in her eyes- she won't allow it either. Between the two of them, they'll stay alive.
He stares into her eyes and nods slowly, then unbuttons his cuff. As he rolls up his sleeve, he leans forward to peck her lightly on the lips. "I love you, Eileen." You're so strong, and I don't know if you even realize it... The words go unspoken as he pulls back and holds his hand out for the syringe.
A smile glows as he kisses her and a brief laugh bubbles up at his declaration, her own in return no less heartfelt for her amusement. "I love you, too, but you can sure pick some weird times to tell me." By the look in her eyes, she obviously finds that to be more virtue than flaw. She hands over the needle primed to deliver the remains of the drug, very nearly the same amount as she'd used on herself upon her descent into hypovolemic shock only an hour ago. "There, don't forget to do the flicky thing."
She immediately occupies her newly free hand with taking hold of his, her thumb stroking his bared wrist. He's been walking wounded with a damn knife gash, she hardly expects he needs emotional support for a little needle stick, but there's everything else swirling around, too. If they somehow get out alive and conscious, she's sure that reaching out will be the default for weeks. One of the perks of dating a guy with as much baggage as you: God knows he'll never roll his eyes at vulnerable gestures like this. "I haven't seen him for... maybe half an hour by now, I don't know, my watch has been running backwards, I think. I thought he went east on Nathan Avenue, but I've been looking and looking and haven't found him, I think now maybe he went the other way, towards Paleville. I don't know, I should've paid more attention, but..." But, consumed with shock and self-pity in the aftermath of his third attack on her, she hadn't. "...I was upset."
Henry doesn't forget to do the flicky thing, tapping the glass lightly and then inserting the syringe into his arm, choosing to ignore the rather worrisome nature of the needle. It does, however, make the fingers on his free hand close around hers. The little gesture almost makes him smile. The reassurance is something he probably won't stop needing anytime soon. He pushes the plunger down and almost immediately feels the numbing effect.
He's rolling his shoulder, trying to get used to the sensation when Eileen starts talking about 'him'. Henry's entire stance changes. His mouth hangs open and his shoulders hunch. It's obvious he wants to interrupt, but he doesn't. By the end, he seems fairly upset himself. "You've seen him? But we- did he hurt you? I thought he was....oh, god." He rubs his hands over Eileen's upper arms. "Are you...okay?"
It's abundantly clear when it dawns on her that there is a communication failure here, and its exact nature. Fair enough; that had been her first thought, too, when she'd gotten blood on Miriam Locane's grave. This is the very last thing trick she would ever intentionally pull on him, and she looks upset herself at putting him through the misunderstanding.
"Oh, no no no! No, I'm sorry, no, I mean... Abernathy. I found Troy Abernathy." Saying that, she's a little sickened to find, sends a prickle of fear running through her again to flash in her eyes, sense memory rearing its ugly head. "I'm so sorry, I'm fine now, I didn't even... Nothing of him, no. It's okay," she soothes, touching his face but unable to summon up a reassuring smile, given the solemn news yet to impart. "We have to be careful with Troy too, though. Henry, I... I think he abused his wife. I think he killed her." She decides to look at his neck rather than his eyes for a moment and says more quietly, "What we heard in the theater... I think it was his memory." Not mine, though she supposes she's selfish for being glad of it. "I, I don't know, everything's been so crazy."
That creeping, paralyzing fear dissipates as Eileen reassures him. If they had to deal with Walter here, his resolve would be going out the window. Silent Hill as an otherworld is hard enough to deal with- at least without Walter here, he could rationalize that it wasn't all for them. No, they just got stuck here again- they're lucky that way.
The news about Troy surprises him, however. And he's not sure why- he had always assumed the man wasn't a terribly good person, even when he's not a monster. But... "Oh man, I...I didn't take him for that sort of person." Henry may not show emotions terribly well- in fact, his face is more stony now than usual, even- but a brief look of disgust crosses his eyes. "I....I have to admit, I'd always...uh, wondered if there was a reason he was here. I guess that's why."
Eileen nods sympathetically. Yeah, she's familiar with revulsion at this revelation, and Henry's naturally handled it far more rationally than she'd managed to. "I know. It's weird, I'm not sure I believe it, but... that's what it seems like. The blonde woman we saw the pictures of, that was her. I don't know which one was real." 'I don't know which death was real,' is what she actually means. "So we can't let him see us. I've been trying to stay hidden and keep following along. Good news is he doesn't have the eyes of an eagle."
She cranes her neck to get another look at the site of his injury, now that the drug has had some time to take effect. "I haven't seen anything of Lynn. She was at this inn over that way one at one point, but not anymore, I don't think Abernathy knows where she is either." Her fingers splay out on his back and her face lights up with a real smile. That unpleasant sojourn into the vet clinic had been worth it. "Looks much better. Does it still hurt?"
He leans his head against hers briefly, just for the closeness. "No, it doesn't hurt at all now." Now he just had to worry about his natural bad aim. "I've still got twelve bullets for this gun, if we need them. I'm...uh, I'm not sure where to go. Or what we should do with Dr. Abernathy if we find him, now.....he, uh, did he hurt you?" He looks at Eileen with an odd expression, although it's not directed at her. He's trying to decide just how ready he should be to try to hurt Troy.
An instant of serenity only lasts as long her sigh of relief. Then, she's not really sure how to interpret the way he looks at her, and it's time for her eyes to flicker and her lips to purse in a wince. "This is going to sound crazy, but, he thinks I'm her. Julianna." It's a little ridiculous that she'd be worried about how not to sound whiny in a nasty situation like this, but she just can't help it. Any control gleams valuably to her, no matter how insignificant.
Clearing her throat, she takes out her own gun to slide the clip and show him - five rounds left, not much of an advantage. "I don't think he heard my voice at all. I can't imagine he'd paint you with the same brush, though, so maybe you'd be able to get through to him. I don't know, I don't know what the hell was going on. I don't know how much of it was him and how much of it was what being in this place has done to him." She shoves the clip back in with unnecessary force, frowning darkly at the weapon and mumbling with a strain of weariness, "I hurt him back. You could argue, at least he didn't really know what he was doing."
"Eileen," Henry says, looking almost stern as he rests a hand on her shoulder and looks deeply into her eyes. "He was attacking you, right? You didn't have a choice. Please...don't blame yourself." Henry's very glad she survived that ordeal, now that he knows a little more about it.
"So...uh, we need to figure out what's going on more than anything else. Where was Abernathy headed, when you saw him last...? Maybe I could talk to him...I don't know." He sighs, trying to think of what he would say. Hello, we're here to help you. Did you know you attacked my girlfriend? Did you really kill your wife? Did you kill Lynn, or is she still stuck here too? Are you a monster yet? Should we leave you here? He doesn't imagine any of that would work out, and the last question sends a chill down his spine. How can he even wonder that?
She looks genuinely appreciative of his effort at comfort, ill-prepared though she is to just forget that she's now got deliberate harm to another living human being in her life's story. "Last I saw, he was running out of the parking lot at a hotel, about... I don't know, three blocks that way. But I don't know which way he went from there. I tried coming back east, this way, since there's just woods and houses and stuff out the other way, but I haven't seen any sign of him since. Just a note in a playground that led me here. I thought it'd be him I'd find." Her face and voice soften. "Obviously not." She trusts he'll understand that it's not for lack of wanting to save Troy Abernathy's life that she thinks reality, for once, has turned out to be an improvement on her expectations.
She only holds herself a little stiffly as she stands, nary a wobble to be seen, and extends her good hand to him. "We need to find a flashlight, at the least. Hey... maybe we should try to find an old phone book. Lynn used to live here, right? Until a few years ago, anyways. If we could find her old address, maybe there'd be something there. What do you think?"
"That's a good idea....something like that could give us a clue. As for the flashlight- I brought one, but..." He pulls the Maglite out of his inner jacket pocket and shows her the cracked casing. "I probably shouldn't have used it the way I was...I wish I'd just left it alone."
He turns his eyes out across the water, squinting as he places the flashlight back. "I guess...if we run into him again, we'll talk to him. Hopefully, we can find Lynn. One of the businesses up a few blocks should have a phone book, right...?"
Next to that, his question hardly registers. She scoots and tilts her head, delicately touching a finger to the ragged edge of his shirt where a blade tore through. There's blood, but not the awful spreading stain she'd envision following the plunge of a blade tearing through muscle and lung. He holds himself upright, breathes fine, maybe it isn't so bad after all, but she automatically starts digging through her pocket for the syringe and morphine anyways. Saving supplies, in this state, doesn't even occur to her, but pain control is a hell of a priority. "Jesus, Henry! What... Was it him?!"
Reply
He tries to watch for what she's doing, but the fingers distract him. "The knife didn't sever anything...or hit anything major, I don't think. I got lucky. but Eileen...your fingers...." He looks really concerned over them now. "These look really bad."
Reply
She hadn't accomplished a lot of things today, really. No sign of Lynn, lost track of Troy, and dragged Henry right back down to Hell all because she needed her little ritual, felt she had no choice but to come here. Whyever did she say that? It looks so foolish now, but at the time, the compulsion had been absolute. She can't draw out the second half of the ampoule's contents with just one hand, her wounded one being presently fussed over, and so instead carefully sets the little vial of fluid and the syringe down on the pathway with little pings of glass on stone. Her head bowed over them, her face twists into a grimace. "I-I'm really sorry," she apologizes, choked and painfully sincere. "I'm really... I can't tell you how much. I kept thinking about it, when I was out there, how bad I wanted to tell you."
Reply
He pulls away and looks at the little vial of morphine. "I don't know if we should save this....are you sure you don't need the rest of it? I think I'd be okay if I didn't have it." He had to remember how all of this worked here. Something like morphine might actually make it better, rather than just taking pain away.
Reply
I do not want to die. He has got to make it. I do not want to watch him suffer. I do not want him to watch me suffer. I want to endure. I want to do what it takes. I want him to be proud. I want to be trusted. I want to live up to this. I will not be left behind in prison cells and dark alleys. I will not be his responsibility. I will not lie down and take it. Dead girls lie down and cry and do nothing else. I am alive now. I lived.
Really, now, this is embarrassing.
Breathe, Eileen. Focus.
He's right, she can defend herself and solicit forgiveness until she's blue in the face, once nobody's bleeding anymore. That grounded stoic calm of his that she's marveled at a million times in the past steadies her like it always does. She sniffles and shakes her head, holding the vial between forefinger and thumb and plunging the needle into it. Her voice wavers but her hand doesn't. "I'm okay. I took care of the bad stuff. Here, c'mon, roll up your sleeve."
Reply
No, they had to make it through this. There was no choice. They'd hurt and they'd suffer, but in the end they'll find their way out. He would not let her pass here. And the look in her eyes- she won't allow it either. Between the two of them, they'll stay alive.
He stares into her eyes and nods slowly, then unbuttons his cuff. As he rolls up his sleeve, he leans forward to peck her lightly on the lips. "I love you, Eileen." You're so strong, and I don't know if you even realize it... The words go unspoken as he pulls back and holds his hand out for the syringe.
Reply
She immediately occupies her newly free hand with taking hold of his, her thumb stroking his bared wrist. He's been walking wounded with a damn knife gash, she hardly expects he needs emotional support for a little needle stick, but there's everything else swirling around, too. If they somehow get out alive and conscious, she's sure that reaching out will be the default for weeks. One of the perks of dating a guy with as much baggage as you: God knows he'll never roll his eyes at vulnerable gestures like this. "I haven't seen him for... maybe half an hour by now, I don't know, my watch has been running backwards, I think. I thought he went east on Nathan Avenue, but I've been looking and looking and haven't found him, I think now maybe he went the other way, towards Paleville. I don't know, I should've paid more attention, but..." But, consumed with shock and self-pity in the aftermath of his third attack on her, she hadn't. "...I was upset."
Reply
He's rolling his shoulder, trying to get used to the sensation when Eileen starts talking about 'him'. Henry's entire stance changes. His mouth hangs open and his shoulders hunch. It's obvious he wants to interrupt, but he doesn't. By the end, he seems fairly upset himself. "You've seen him? But we- did he hurt you? I thought he was....oh, god." He rubs his hands over Eileen's upper arms. "Are you...okay?"
Reply
"Oh, no no no! No, I'm sorry, no, I mean... Abernathy. I found Troy Abernathy." Saying that, she's a little sickened to find, sends a prickle of fear running through her again to flash in her eyes, sense memory rearing its ugly head. "I'm so sorry, I'm fine now, I didn't even... Nothing of him, no. It's okay," she soothes, touching his face but unable to summon up a reassuring smile, given the solemn news yet to impart. "We have to be careful with Troy too, though. Henry, I... I think he abused his wife. I think he killed her." She decides to look at his neck rather than his eyes for a moment and says more quietly, "What we heard in the theater... I think it was his memory." Not mine, though she supposes she's selfish for being glad of it. "I, I don't know, everything's been so crazy."
Reply
The news about Troy surprises him, however. And he's not sure why- he had always assumed the man wasn't a terribly good person, even when he's not a monster. But... "Oh man, I...I didn't take him for that sort of person." Henry may not show emotions terribly well- in fact, his face is more stony now than usual, even- but a brief look of disgust crosses his eyes. "I....I have to admit, I'd always...uh, wondered if there was a reason he was here. I guess that's why."
Reply
She cranes her neck to get another look at the site of his injury, now that the drug has had some time to take effect. "I haven't seen anything of Lynn. She was at this inn over that way one at one point, but not anymore, I don't think Abernathy knows where she is either." Her fingers splay out on his back and her face lights up with a real smile. That unpleasant sojourn into the vet clinic had been worth it. "Looks much better. Does it still hurt?"
Reply
Reply
Clearing her throat, she takes out her own gun to slide the clip and show him - five rounds left, not much of an advantage. "I don't think he heard my voice at all. I can't imagine he'd paint you with the same brush, though, so maybe you'd be able to get through to him. I don't know, I don't know what the hell was going on. I don't know how much of it was him and how much of it was what being in this place has done to him." She shoves the clip back in with unnecessary force, frowning darkly at the weapon and mumbling with a strain of weariness, "I hurt him back. You could argue, at least he didn't really know what he was doing."
Reply
"So...uh, we need to figure out what's going on more than anything else. Where was Abernathy headed, when you saw him last...? Maybe I could talk to him...I don't know." He sighs, trying to think of what he would say. Hello, we're here to help you. Did you know you attacked my girlfriend? Did you really kill your wife? Did you kill Lynn, or is she still stuck here too? Are you a monster yet? Should we leave you here? He doesn't imagine any of that would work out, and the last question sends a chill down his spine. How can he even wonder that?
Reply
She only holds herself a little stiffly as she stands, nary a wobble to be seen, and extends her good hand to him. "We need to find a flashlight, at the least. Hey... maybe we should try to find an old phone book. Lynn used to live here, right? Until a few years ago, anyways. If we could find her old address, maybe there'd be something there. What do you think?"
Reply
He turns his eyes out across the water, squinting as he places the flashlight back. "I guess...if we run into him again, we'll talk to him. Hopefully, we can find Lynn. One of the businesses up a few blocks should have a phone book, right...?"
Reply
Leave a comment