A Hole in the Heart

Henry Townshend tipped the last drops of the wine down his throat. He wasn't even bothering with a glass at this point. There was no way he was going to last like this, crawling through that filthy hole for more hideous surprises and trying to decipher those damned notes. It was like he was lost in a maze in a forest in a blood-soaked fortress in the middle of hell, and that didn’t leave him much room for optimism. But he didn't really want to die; he could remember enough of what life was like to cling to that. He wasn't about to stop defending himself, or use his weapons against his own body.

"Suicide by axe," he muttered out loud, and that sounded almost amusing after chugging down an entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach. But he was still barely buzzed. It would take more alcohol than this to have a real impact. Henry rose from the couch and began rummaging around in the kitchen cabinets. He wasn't a big drinker; he just liked some wine or a beer now and then, but he seemed to remember ... there it was! A bottle of scotch his boss at his old job had given him. It was dusty, but you were supposed to age scotch. Or maybe you were supposed to chill it. But who the hell cared at this point?

The first sip really burned his throat. Maybe he should try to find a glass and some clean water so he could drink this stuff more easily. Then again if he drank it too fast he could end up dying of alcohol poisoning or something. And he still didn't want to die, though passing out was sounding pretty good right now. It wasn't like he could sleep much these days.

After a few more swigs from the bottle it seemed like a great idea to look at Eileen next door again. As creepy as it seemed, it grounded him to know someone was having a normal life and even leaving this building now and then. She was easy on the eyes too, really... though that wasn't something he usually thought about in his current circumstances. He took another drink and settled down on the ground near the hole.

Of course he had tried screaming at her to leave and save herself, but she couldn't hear him, any more than she had heard when he had shouted at her through his front door. And she couldn't see the hole, either, of course. Henry hoped that meant she wasn't in danger, but after everything he'd seen he was still worried about her.

But Eileen seemed fine. She was sitting on her bed with her side profile presented to him. It looked like she had a television in there; he could see the light of it flicker in the room. He wondered what she was watching, but he wasn't certain what night it was, and he didn't know what kind of shows she liked anyway. All he really knew about her was that was she was very pretty and she seemed like a kind person. Well, he especially appreciated that now, since she was the only person besides the superintendent who seemed to give a damn that he might be trapped here. But even before, when things were normal, she had always tried to make a little conversation with him, even though he was desperately bad at that himself. And she had always been polite to Frank Sunderland too, when so many of the tenants just pushed him around.

A smile flashed across Eileen's face. Maybe something was funny on the show she was watching. He liked her smile but he hadn't seen it in a while. Was it because she was worried about him? Probably not, since she barely knew him. And even though she had checked on him she had no idea what a horrible situation he was really in. Henry took one more swallow. This stuff was going down easier, but actually he felt a little less tempted to drink himself to death right now.

Eileen got up and turned off the television, then sat down again. Henry wondered what time it was. If she was going to sleep he'd be watching a dark room soon. As he watched, she started taking off her blouse. This was usually Henry's cue to turn his eyes away, but he felt very dizzy suddenly, and watching Eileen take off her clothes was a much better option than any of his other possible activities, such as going to hell through a tunnel again. Then she took her bra off and Henry just kept staring. She had really beautiful breasts, even in a side view, rounded with little pinkish nipples.

Settling into her pillows, Eileen started touching herself, running her hands down the skin of her breasts in an unmistakably sensual way. Now he knew he should really stop looking but he took another drink instead. Henry's eyes widened as one of her hands crept into her lap. While at this angle he couldn't see exactly what she was doing he could certainly guess.

"Oh god," he murmured drunkenly, "now I've become a pervert on top of everything else." But he remained fixed at the hole in the wall as she threw her pants and underwear to the floor. He still didn't have a perfect view but he could tell she had a gorgeous body, and he was fascinated by the freckles on her thighs.

She spread her legs wider, licked the fingers of one hand, and began stroking herself rhythmically. Henry had taken erotic photographs before: nude women, tasteful sexual shots. Lots of photographers did it and it could pay pretty well, though he'd never landed an assignment with one of the really big magazines. He knew how to distance himself from what he was seeing when it was a model posing for a camera. But there was a huge difference between that and his neighbor pleasuring herself and not even knowing he could see. Despite everything he was becoming deeply aroused and hard watching her.

"You should feel ashamed of yourself, spying on this woman," said a small part of his brain. But a larger, scotch-infested portion told him he was probably doomed and he might as well keep watching. In fact he wished she would turn herself toward the hole as she often did and give him the type of view less tasteful magazines provided. She didn't do that, but he drank from the bottle and kept looking as she intensified her motions.

He couldn't help wondering what she was thinking about. Was it someone on the television, someone she knew? The blissful expression on her face and her rapid breathing were telling him that she was really into this. Lust continued to overtake guilt on his part as he began to stroke himself through his pants. Eileen's lips were parted now as she placed both hands between her thighs. He couldn't help picturing the places she was touching herself, and inevitably thinking about what it would be like to touch her himself.

If everything were different... well, all right, a hell of a lot would have to be different because even if he weren't stuck in a nightmare and about to die he'd probably never have the nerve to make a pass at his next-door neighbor. But he still couldn't help picturing it: kissing her, stroking her skin, putting his own hands where hers were now.

He lifted the bottle to his lips one more time and then gave in -- he undid his own pants and pulled them down. As he grasped his erection he still felt vaguely ashamed.

You'll never be able to face her again, he thought. She'll be out by the mailboxes and say something normal to you and you'll be remembering lying here with your dick in your hand watching her get herself off. Except you'll probably be dead instead.

Eileen's eyes were tightly shut now, picturing who knew what, and he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she panted. He just kept running his hands over himself, still wishing he were in there giving her pleasure though he doubted she'd find that an appealing idea if she could see him right now. When she stopped moving suddenly and then shifted her hips up sharply, her lips moving in some kind of cry, he realized she had satisfied herself fully. She didn't move at first and he just kept looking at her body. Too far gone to stop now, he rubbed himself harder and began desperately imagining whatever he could: Eileen inviting him into her room, undressing him, letting him lie down with her, spreading herself for him and asking him to -- that was it. He finally came, shuddering and moaning softly, then looked down at his own hands a little sadly.

He lay there dazed as Eileen got up and put on a pair of silky pajamas. As she turned off the light she turned her face toward the wall he watched her through and for a moment he felt almost like he was looking into her eyes. When she finally lay down and covered herself up he could barely see her, though his alcohol-addled brain was still picturing how those pajamas would feel under his fingers.

You need to pull yourself together, or at least not fall asleep on the floor, he told himself. Lying here in a drunken stupor isn't going to do any good.

Henry got up and pulled his pants back up. Then he staggered to the sink and poured the the rest of bottle away. He couldn't stand thinking that he was going to die; he couldn't stand fearing that he would never escape this place. And now he didn't want to think that he would never have a chance to touch Eileen Galvin.


Love is a hole in the heart. -- Ben Hecht