Why am I still inhabiting this room?

I ask myself this question, almost in a daze, staring at the television. Flashes of color illuminate the room, but I'm not seeing any of it. Somewhere in the room, the uncaring spot in my mind dully notes the slow ticking of the clock by the TV. It's almost becoming annoying, but I pay no attention to the time. It must be around midnight. Maybe even later. And yet, with the small irritations probing my thoughts, the question stays solid like a statue in my head.

Why am I still a current resident in room 302?

Surely it's temporarily. I will be moving out soon... Soon. It's not like I can pack up and leave without so much as a goodbye. It's not that simple, but God I wish it was. If I leave- No. When I leave this apartment, I want to move out of the state. That, unfortunately, is going to require money, that of which I can't even scrap off the ground. Asides from that, the news says getting a place these days is a lot harder than it sounds. One empty room in an apartment – five people will be fighting over it. It's almost depressing. Leaving this room would do no good; I would probably have to live with my folks until further notice. My father is great and all, but my mother...

My eyes trail over to the laundry room. That could be another explanation. When Eileen's limp body was taken to St. Jerome's, I returned to my apartment room and almost had a heart attack. Of course, after I recovered, I stared at the bloody stuffed animal that once resided on Eileen's bed. Only later did Frank tell me my only friend wanted to give me her bunny, her words being, "A farewell present". I accepted it, but now I sort of wish I didn't. I have strange feelings that if I am to open that laundry room, that stuffed animal would be pointing at me with an accusing stance; its black-dotted eyes glaring into my soul, as if everything that happened was my fault.

It's not. That isn't going to stop that fake rabbit though.

Shivering, I shake my head. No. That... That man... He did that. I am certain it was his doing. Just like everything else...

The television shuts off. Everything goes silent, leaving me in the complete darkness.

I blink in surprise. I didn't turn it off.

Ngh... What the hell? Leaning my weight to the side, I reach into the cushion. Oh... Oh, thank God. I had been sitting on the remote... Breathing out the air I had been holding, I let the device fall on the coffee table. For a moment there, I almost thought the television was possessed like before... That would've been a nightmare. More than a nightmare. A complete terror.

Shaking my head, I allot my mind onto more important matters. Like resting. It's evident I haven't a clue what time it is, but whatever numbers it happens to be on, I'm tired. Heaving myself onto my feet, I turn off any remaining lights in my place and high-tail it to bed.

Snuggling under the cold comforters, I curl up into a ball. I've grown accustom to sleeping this way; it's comfortable, and I guess I feel a little more safer. Tucking my head almost all the way under the blankets, I rest my wary eyes.

11121211211112121121

Thump... Thump... Thump...

Mm... What's that?

Thump... Thump... Thump...

Why does it sounds closer? Whatever... My dream is still within my grasp...

Half conscious, I can feel the warm sheets being tugged from my grip, finally lying still around my hips. Rough, freezing fingers dance up my spine, under my shirt. I shiver and fidget a little, lying on my back so those stupid hands would stop bothering me. It works, and I almost want to smile. I mean, I would've, if not for my shirt rising up. Cool air hits my warmed stomach, and I whimper slightly, adjusting to the feeling.

A faint chuckle, and something scratchy against my lower stomach, bordering my hips.

After a few seconds, a quiet pop of a cap being placed back on a marker echoes in the silence, and the blanket once against draping over me. I immediately wrap my arms around the cloth, burying my face against the pillow. Something doesn't feel right... I should open my eyes and make sure. But that could result in no sleep, so I don't think I'm going to take that risk.

Hands ghost over my back, as if tucking the blankets tight against my body. I squirm a little when those hands brush against my ass.

Another, more loud chuckle.

Those hands are gone, and as I listen to strange thumps slowly fade off, realization edges against my sleepiness.

Someone was in my room.

11121211211112121121

The discomfort of the phone ringing is what opens my eyes.

Pressing my face into the pillow, I blindly reach out. Banging my finger against the corner of the dresser, I cry out, retreating my hands. Wonderful. It's so lovely to wake up to the feeling of pain.

Peeking one eye open, I grab the phone off the receiver and practically snarl in a sleepy tone. "Hello?"

"Henry? This-This is Henry?"

I blink, raising my head. "Yeah... Who is this?"

A small, strained laugh on the end of the line. "It's James." Once those words are spoken, my jaw drops.

"J-James?" I squeak. "James... Sunderland? God, where've you been?"

"I'm sorry... I had to leave unexpectedly for a little bit... But I'm coming back. I'm on the subway-" Images of those demon dogs rush through my mind. "-right now. I heard you're in Ashfield now... Do you mind if I visit?"

"Not at all. Do you have a place of your own?"

"Ah... Uh..."

Smiling a little, mostly from the surprise phone call, I give off the slightest noise of a laugh, "I'll ask you that when you get here. You remember that apartment complex your father got?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm room 302."

"Really? Alright... I think I'll be there in an hour or so, as long as I don't get lost." Another strained laugh. He sounds exhausted.

"See you then." I hang up, a smile still playing on my lips. James... It's been so long since I've spoken to him. Feels like years. Months ago he disappeared. His house still possessed all of his belongings, and yet all that seemed missing was his car, his wallet, and a picture of his wife. I remember trying to comfort Frank in my own way, which consisted of listening to the old man while all I felt comfortable doing was giving in my two cents every now and then to make sure he didn't think I wasn't listening.

Hopping out of bed, I walk across the hall and into the bathroom. I wonder if James will be hungry. Should I attempt to make a decent breakfast? I still recall his favorite dish from earlier years – I wonder if it's the same.

Hopeful, I tug my shirt off and begin tempering with the nozzle in the shower. Letting the water warm up, I walk in front of the sink, my thoughts wandering off to my best friend. He doesn't have a place to stay, it sounds like. Maybe the super will suggest that blonde to take the room next to mine. We could catch up on stuff... Would I be able to tell him all that's happened a week ago? Could I? He knows I'm not much of a kidder, talking about death... Would he believe me? I suppose he could-

My blood runs cold. I pale, my eyes wide and locked on my stomach. Fear clenches my nerves, and with quivering hands, I run a hesitant finger over my hip, rising up to my lower stomach. Written in Sharpie, the numbers practically pierce me.

2 1 1 2 1 21/21

A scream rises up, but I swallow it down, settling for giving the edge of the counter a death grip. This isn't real...

Flashes from the night before run through my mind. Those touches, that laugh, the lingering hand...

I stare at my face in the mirror, trying to keep from fainting in pure fear. All of my color is gone, and for a second, I almost look like I'm making a funny face... But those numbers at the bottom of the mirror keep me from looking away.

Someone was in my room last night.

Was that someone... Was that someone Walter Sullivan?

No, that can't be. I killed that madman. He can't still be up walking around. I had watched bullets fly through his flesh and embed into his flesh. I witnessed his own blood splattering the white pavement in front of me. His body had lied limp in silence, and I even lodged a few more unnecessary bullets through his cranium and chest. He's dead.

But who else could've written this?

I haven't told a single soul about that event. Everybody who's been involved with the ritual is dead, all except for me. Even if some idiot who's in way over his head tries to re-create everything Sullivan invented, that idiot wouldn't know who I am.

Gaining my composure, I take small steps towards the shower and turn the water off. I don't think I can take a shower, more or less function without having my eyes lower to the numbers. Trembling, I pick up my shirt and slip it back on, walking right out of the bathroom without thinking to turn off the lights. My heart beats against my chest as I turn the corner, my eyes flying to the door.

No trace of chains. I stare in surprise and shock. For an odd reason, I expected the door to be locked tight, those bloodied words on my door "warning" me not to leave. I imagined the dead cat in my fridge would start up again, and my television would scream with static.

It's completely silent.

Running twitchy fingers through my hair, I face the living room, striding towards the windows when a presence stops me dead in my tracks. My lungs tighten and release, over and over, as if breathing is terribly hard. It is, I have to admit. I stare in shock. Not in pure fear, but in confusion.

Little Walter stares back, holding his hand up to wave at me. "Hi Henry."

"W...Walter?"

"Uh-huh." Jumping off the couch, as if standing on one is normal, the little boy walks towards me and grabs my hand. "I'm hungry."

Blinking in puzzlement, I slowly kneel down next to him, eye-level with the slight brunette. "You're... hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Uh... Al-Alright... Um... Do you want some eggs?"

With that beaming face looking at me, I know I said the right thing. Standing back up, I reluctantly walk into the kitchen and pull out some eggs. In the corner of my eye, I can see little Walter crawl up into one of the high chairs and tap his fingernails against the counter. "Hey, Walter?" I say after a while, the sizzling of the yolk hitting the fried up pan. He hums in response, and when I glance back, I can see him doodling with a stray pen and paper. "How did you get into my apartment?"

Finally those light green eyes gaze up. He smiles. "Big Walter let me in."

A/N: :C Yes, I know it's not well written.

Welp, my first Henry/Walter fanfic. Took me four days to alter it to this from the original draft.

Should I continue with this or hang my head in shame? :)