Louis Tomlinson spent two long years recovering from the most traumatizing night of his life. But when he receives something from the person responsible for his terror, he’s afraid not only for his life- but for his heart.
WARNING includes smut, rape, murder, and other dark matters that may be disturbing
A/N: This got my blood pumping while I wrote it, some serious mystery ahead. xx
Louis couldn’t describe what he had felt, wasn’t even sure what he had expected him to say. He was sure that Harry had been lying, but the distressed look on his face reminded him that he in-fact was not.
But beyond the look of distressed truth on the boy’s face, was confusion. “Where are they?” He tried to cover the horror in his voice with a thin blanket of calm.
Harry’s eyes diverted, and he glanced at the floor, brows furrowing. His mouth opened, then closed quickly, as though he had remembered than forgot. He looked helplessly, his face screwing up in frustration.
“I-I.. I just had it.” He nearly screamed out, running his hands through his hair as to not tear the flat apart. Louis flinched.
He would have been lying if he himself wasn’t frustrated, “Harry, focus, god dammit. Shouldn’t it be apparent where you buried fucking people?” He spat it out viciously more so than he meant to, and bit his tongue as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes.
“I don’t know why I can’t remember. It’s like my memories are muddled and distant. Like the confusion you have when you swear something happened to you, but it was actually in a dream. It’s that fine of a line.” He spat back with equal venom, and made his way to lean on the table, looking at the newspaper splayed out.
Louis considered the boy was repressing memories to keep himself from snapping again. Even when Harry had come to him in Violet Quarters, he hadn’t really known much about his case. He could be missing large portions of the story just by not paying attention.
"They’re behind my old home.. where my mum lives." Harry suddenly whispered out, his face gone slack with realization, he looked back over his shoulder.
"What?" Louis went stiff, his stomach dropped. "Your mum still lives there?" He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know.
"Yes." He spat, looking back down at the paper.
"We have to call the police, Harry." Louis said tentatively, and instantly Harry whipped around, striding in one bound to him and looming over him.
"Don’t, Louis. They’ll shut me away for good." His voice wavered, as though that thought was worse than death.
Louis let out a short breath, “Maybe they should.”
Harry’s eyes softened with actual hurt, he stepped back, a tense silence filled the room. “I thought we were going to figure this out together.” His voice was small.
"You killed people, Harry. More people." Louis countered firmly, perspiration building up on his palms and forehead. Harry again covered his ears with a pitiful yell.
“Please, Louis. I can’t, I don’t.. I,” he stumbled over his words helplessly, “Just.. take me to the house! Let me see if my memories are true at least.”
The man didn’t say anything, just stared at him, so many different thoughts and questions bubbling up in the back of his head. He took an unsavory look out the window to see it was snowing still, a sheet of white cascading down.
"Go to your room." Louis said bluntly, not even able to hide the grimace of how condescending that sounded, as though he was his father, demanding he go to his room after not taking out the trash. The weight of differences in wrongs of a young boy and Harry’s murders were much larger. Harry sent him a sour look, before turning on his heel and sauntering down the hall.
When he heard the door close with a reassuring thump, he turned to his laptop on the counter.
After 30 minutes of searching police reports, news reports and beyond about Harry and his murders, he was trembling. He had found the address to his prior home, the one he must have been indicating the rest of the bodies were buried. He gulped when his eyes scanned over a phone number for the house, which he saved for later.
He continued to read, and what he found was astounding in both manners;
February 13th, 2011 7:31 am
Harry Styles, 16, was brought into LPD for questioning after the grotesque remains of 7 people, ranging from young boys to middle-aged women, were discovered across the city. All concluded to be raped then slaughtered until unrecognizable and only affirmed identity after DNA tests. The bodies ranged in time of being deceased from 5 years ago, up until now.
The only physical evidence left was an unidentified shirt, removed at the scene of every killing. Coroner’s of the LPD determined they were raped premortem, followed by blunt-force trauma to the head, then slaughtered. Why they brought Styles in for questioning was a mystery to the press until an anonymous tip had lead them there and the confirmation of DNA from the shirts was in fact Styles’.
In interrogation, Styles was said to be extremely dazed and groggy, also with massive changes in personality in the matter of a second. When questioned about why his shirts were left stray and carelessly at the scene of the murders, he laughed in their faces, as though the answer were obvious, before he would crumple back into his chair with a confused look on his face, as though the obvious answer had escaped him.
At his trial, on January 12th, 2011, Styles plead not guilty. With a determined Jury, even with the limited evidence besides the shirts- they determined guilty with 7 charges of child molestation, rape, and murder, sentenced to life in prison. At his hearing a week later, with no other way out, he plead guilty on reason of insanity. The Jury sent him to Violet Quarters Mental Rehabilitation Center. There he resides now.
Louis glanced up from his screen with tears brimming in his eyes, something about this felt wrong. No other witnesses had been accounted for, even though the evidence seemed enough- something seemed… off. Missing.
Over the span of 5 years, seven people were raped and murdered. That would make Harry eleven years old when he raped and killed his first victim.
Louis strained, yet recalled the very first day he met with Harry, remembering what the boy had said so arrogantly. You see it started out when I was about 13.
Louis breathed in shallowly, feeling as though he had just opened a can of worms he really shouldn’t have. Sure, Harry had gone on to explain he had slaughtered his neighbor’s cat, and proceeded by ending it by laughing in his face at how it was all a lie. But that night, the night that pained him every night, came back, how Harry had told him that he really had done it.
2 years was a huge gap to forget between killing a cat or a kid.
Louis glanced down at his mobile, which already had the house phone’s number dialed into it. After a moments thought, he sheepishly reached for it- having too many questions that needed to be answered.
So he pressed send and held it to his ear, holding his breath as the tone bleated on. It rang so many times he considered to hang up, when the tone abruptly stopped with a rustling noise and a chipper voice answered.
"Hello?" It was obviously a woman, Louis hadn’t expected a man, Harry had said his father had left when he was 10. He tried to quickly recollect the boy’s mother’s name.
"Hello, is this Anne?" Louis inquired stiffly, trying to cover up the quiver in his voice.
More rustling, as though she were switching the phone to her other ear, a confused noise burbled out, “Anne? No, that was my mother’s name. This is Gemma. May I ask who this is?”
Louis’ blood instantly ran cold, and he glanced back out the window with a million more questions. Harry had never mentioned having a sister, didn’t even make a slight remark about any other family other than his mum and dad.
He cleared his throat, “This is uhm, Louis Tomlinson, your brother, Harry’s, therapist. I was calling with a few questions.”
"Harry?" The girl sounded startled, "Wow, I haven’t seen him since I moved out. Is he alright? I mean.. after he was found guilty of those murders." Her voice cracked, as if she were suppressing something.
Louis again cleared his throat, “He’s just fine,” he lied,” Sorry to bother you, but do you still live on.. 312 Kimpton Road?” He narrowed his glance at the address on his laptop.
"Kimpton?" She laughed sadly, "I haven’t lived there in.. 8 years. Though, I have the house phone rerouted to my mobile just in case someone calls about Harry. You’re the first to call, really," she sighed, retouching on the subject, "Nope, moved out of there shortly after our mother passed."
Louis’ breath hitched in his throat. What?
"What?" He repeated, floundering, "When did your mother pass?"
"I suppose when Harry was about 10. He attended therapy for years. Our Dad did too, but he went off the deep end, and Harry started changing.." Her voice broke uncomfortably, "He would have fits of anger, and would scream in terror at the most simple of things. It was like he was forgetting how to function emotionally.."
Louis’ heart was in his throat.
"He forgot my name, I remember one day he came home from his therapy session and started screaming when he saw me, saying there was some stranger in the house." Her voice wavered, and Louis instantly felt pity for her. "I moved out the next day. My Dad became extremely distant, I haven’t spoken to him since that day." She laughed quietly, as though to cover up the sudden tears choking her words, "Sorry, I just rambled on you."
"No.. no it’s fine." Louis said distantly, staring at the screen until the words became blurs. "Does your father still live in the house on Kimpton?"
"It’s been vacant for a few years, I rerouted the number 2 years ago after getting word that Harry was found guilty," she sighed, as though this conversation was physically exhausting, "So I guess sometime before that."
A moment to try and untangle this web of thoughts and findings bloated the silence, “Well.. thank you Gemma. I’ll try to keep you updated on your brother.”
"Thank you, Louis. Have a good day," She cut herself off, "Oh, and why again did you want to know about the house?"
Louis thought over an answer, and decided the truth would be far too much, “Just a link in his wellfare. Thank you again, Gemma.” He said, before quickly hitting end before she could question further.
Louis leaned back with wide eyes, his shirt sticking to his back with perspiration. He didn’t even know where to start, but all he knew was that something was very, very wrong.