Henry froze in fear, stuck in a fetal position beneath the dark-colored blankets on his full-sized mattress. The man held his knees to his chest, tucking his head down deep into the safety of his legs in hopes of not facing what he knew was there. Screams rang out from the bathroom as the bedroom walls began to crack, ripping through reality as if it were a thin sheet of paper. His phone rang over and over and over again.
‘I’m always watching you.’
‘I’m always watching you.’
‘I’m always watching you.’
‘I’m always watching you.’
He wished he had never picked it up. The palms of Henry’s hands felt like fire where the receiver had once been, now hanging on the floor by the end of its cut cable. A hoarse voice continued to ramble, growling and howling like the voices of the damned, all in unison from the stands of their Hellish choir.
‘I’m always watching you.’
‘I’m always watching you.’
‘I’m always watching you.’
‘I’m always watching you.’
Henry brought his hands to his ears, fighting back against the searing pain in his chest. The scars that crosshatched their way up and down his body burned bright, as a searing heat soared through his bones and blood began to leak from his mouth. His face was wet now, salty-liquid dripping down and speckling the knees of his jeans as he prepared himself for doom.
This was it. He was going to die here, trapped in this old apartment, like he should have done years and years beforehand. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so stupid to think that Walter was really gone for good?
There was a knock on the door. Henry sits up, letting the dark blue blanket fall from his head, wiping at the wetness below his eyes. The apartment was still, silent and untouched. He adjusted a crooked picture of Toluca Lake that hung above his bed, trudging towards the entrance to his home before looking through the peep-hole with a loud swallow.
Henry sighs in relief, taking great pleasure in finding the superintendent outside the door, hunched over with his cane. The old man had been visiting him less and less frequently, but the tenant of 302 was… somewhat thankful for the small reality checks, even if he wasn’t as social as he should be. “Hey, Frank.”
“I came by to bring you this,” The man extended a thin, discolored arm towards Henry. In his aging hand was a rolled up magazine. The cover had a bright red sports car beneath a large logo that displayed the book's title. He took it with a small smile. “I found it while I was cleaning.”
“Thanks, Frank.” Henry stuck the magazine in his back pocket, knowing he would most likely set it on his coffee table with the rest of them. He was knowledgeable about cars now, but most of this stemmed from the fact that the old man never stopped giving him these. It was a bribe of sorts: exercise your brain if not your legs. Be smart if not social.
And, perhaps, it had been another as well. The superintendent had continued to give him car magazines after noticing one on the coffee table- something Henry had bought on a whim and became interested in while his television set had been out. After that, he continued to bring them, noticing that it was some way of connecting with the one tenant in the building who refused to talk to anyone.
Soon Frank would always be one to check on Henry- to stop outside the door now and then. He would knock and drop by to make sure the renter in room 302 was ‘properly eating’ and not ‘dead in the bathroom or something’. It seemed to be some way of coping at the loss of his son who never came home. There was a body in the lake. Henry wondered if it was James’.
The old man hobbled away, and Henry closed the door, locking it tight and sighing as he slid down its smooth surface. He stared at his apartment from his seat on the ground. “So it was all just a dream...another stupid nightmare.”
Room 302 was different now that he was awake. The apartment had grown peaceful and still in the years that Henry had long-since moved here. The dark haired man steadied his heart-rate, before standing and opening his refrigerator. There were two bottles in an otherwise empty fridge: Chardonnay he didn’t remember buying and a half-empty Yoo-Hoo.
Henry reached for the chocolate milk, twisting off the cap and taking a sip. It was childish to some, but for whatever reason, he found himself to have never grown out of a taste for sweets. The man places the bottle back in its place, closing the icebox and sighing again. Even though he was free to leave this room, even though Walter's chains had long since fallen off the door, he felt as if they would never truly fall off his mind.
