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: you guys yOU GUYS I AM TURNING INTO A MYSTERY WRITER
He’s cold, trembling; shivering beyond the point of self-control. The kind that starts in your stomach and quakes out into your limbs, has your teeth chattering loudly and you can’t help it.
He’s cold, though it’s 80 degrees.
His heart is galloping, and he’s running. Running to the edge of some blurry tree-scape, where the tree’s stand close together. Off some distance behind him a voice is bellowing some incoherent slur, and he quickens his pace, though he doesn’t know how he manages it.
He makes it to the edge, and he can barely see- what exactly is he doing here again? He’s breathing raggedly, the grass curls away to bare dried pine needles and moss. And more importantly, a mass.
It’s a bloody, disfigured mass, a woman; or what used to be. Her head is lolled to the side, completely mauled, caved in on itself and producing copious amounts of blood. Already, creatures and maggots are crawling about her flesh, and he’s positive he’s going to be sick.
Yet he’s seen this very image many times, he wretches onto the ground beside her, before looping his hands underneath her twisted shoulders and begins to drag her between the trees.
He breathes, spastic, nervously, as though the trees are silent on-lookers, deeming and judging quietly, glaring down at him. He hears that same voice bellow out loudly beyond, and he quickens his pace, further into the oily black abyss.
He’s crying, drags her further into the forest, descending a steep slope, stumbling pitifully. And when his foot catches an unearthed root, his feet swing out beneath him and he crashes backwards, rolling downward this descent.
He hits the bottom, and is spluttering in a mossy bed, when her body comes cascading after him, and just as a limp rag-doll, rolls straight onto his chest, suppressing his breath. Her mauled face limply hanging over his, and he lets out a guffaw of a noise, terrified- a shriek of utter horror.
And then he’s upright, heart galloping in his chest, peering around the dim bedroom he had fallen asleep in to pass the time when Louis’ had sentenced to it.
He gasps for breath, presses a sweaty palm to his forehead and leans forward, letting out a long pent up breath.
That had felt so familiar, so real.
It had to be, he could remember the feel of her weight on his chest, the feel of her still hot blood painting his exposed skin.
His stomach threatened to bottom out, and decided that leaving his room might be the best option.
Louis was pacing when Harry emerged from his room with an incredibly disheveled look on his face. The man looked at him, studied him with a brief expression of solace, but then he goes back to pacing, with his index finger pressed against his lip in extreme thought.
"What are you doing?" Harry inquires, rather chipper for the look on his face.
"Thinking." Louis replied without hesitation, nor glance up at him.
And Harry is instantly making his way to the man, wrapping his arms around his waist to still him and presses his lips against the fleshy space beneath his right ear. Louis tenses, his brain still in overdrive. “About what?”
His voice awakes the need and desire to relieve whatever was eating at Louis. And he let out a little breath, leaning back into him. “Everything, really.” was all he could mutter out.
"Mmm, want me to help?" He sighs against his skin, spinning the smaller man around to face him, and he grins down at him. But not wickedly- brokenly. As though he’s tormented by something, and the look in his eyes is dull, bloodshot and helpless. He looks exhausted.
Louis can’t help it, the pity he feels, so he distracts himself by leaning up on his toes and plants his lips on Harry’s.
The boy seems surprised, sighing through his nose before kissing him back feverishly, his hands winding up. They even dare to trace up the man’s neck, resting his thumbs right at the base of his throat. But Louis doesn’t tense up, and something about that makes Harry move them away, planting the grip into his hair.
This reminds Louis of how Harry had wrapped his hands around his neck that night, had looked determined to leech the life straight from him. But he didn’t.
And had he ever? He looked as though he hadn’t realized what he was doing until after he almost did.
These thoughts had stolen Louis’ focus for a few moments, enough for him to not realize Harry had lifted him up and sat him on the edge of the counter and was wedging his fingers into his pants that had been off just hours before.
"Quickly." Louis reprimanded, afraid that if he did anything too extravagant he would be bed ridden for a week.
Harry looked up at him with that old wicked smile, before taking the man’s cock in his mouth and moaning filthily around him. Instantly, Louis’ stomach is engulfed in flame and he lets out a pitiful moan, finding purchase in his already mussed curls.
"Fuck." He breathes, not restraining himself from bucking his hips up into his mouth. The boy didn’t even gag, just looked up through tear brimmed eyes as he still sucked his length.
Harry pulls himself off of his length, breathing heavily onto the leaking head and smiles wickedly, “I don’t think you’d care if I killed half of London, you’d still let me fuck you.” He chuckles out darkly, before engulfing him again. Louis lets out a whimper, throwing his head back against a cabinet, and squeezes his eyes shut.
It was remarks like this that kept Louis from totally abandoning the heinous thought of Harry doing all of those terrible things. That dark and sadistic humor that Harry obviously thrived off of.
Louis didn’t last much longer, had his back arched and toes curled with a exhausted shout as the boy swallowed the small amount of come he had leeched into his mouth.
The man breathed in slowly, looking down at the boy who stood up fully with a cocky smile.
The man could barely move, was so drained of everything, but decidedly slid from the counter and yanked up his pants with a grunt. Harry just grinned down at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, obscenely.
Louis was looking the boy over, when something caught his eye. He narrowed his gaze, and stepped closer to him, raising his hand.
"What is this?" He inquired stiffly, amazed he had never noticed it before. He pulled down the collar of the scoop neck shirt Harry was wearing, and traced the scar that so suddenly stood out to him. It was long, and raised, and ran up from his rib-cage, right below his collar-bone. It was puckered, and thick, and the more Louis traced his thumb over it, the more he realized it had been something much more serious than Harry’s silence was letting on.
He laughed loudly, suddenly, “What the hell do you think it is, Louis?” Louis jumped, his hand recoiling. He glanced up sheepishly at the boy, who’s brows were piqued in sarcastic interest.
"Who did it to you?" He asked, quietly, as though if he lowered his voice it would take the edge out of such a question. Harry flinched, stepping back swiftly.
His mouth opened, and closed- and Louis noticed that this was happening a lot now, “I…” he shook his head with a brute laugh, “I don’t remember.” He shrugged and sauntered into the living-room.
With the sudden memory of Harry’s mother being deceased since he was ten drove chills up his spine, and he opened his mouth to question him, but stopped in his inhaling breath and clamped his mouth shut. There had to be a reason Harry was spinning a gigantic web of lies for Louis to crawl right into and be trapped, or was missing a gigantic chunk of reality.
But either way, he didn’t want to confront him about it yet.
An idea sparked as he stood there, idle in thought. When Harry snapped in front of his face, the man blinked several times and glanced up at the boy who looked annoyed.
He was saying something irrelevant, so Louis just interrupted, “We’re going to your mum’s.” He said determinedly. Harry’s face contorted one from anger of being cut off, into one of shock.
Louis turned on his heel, shoving his feet into his rainboots, shrugging his woolly trench coat on; which he couldn’t refrain from looking in the mirror to roll his eyes at how ‘Sherlock’ he looked. He glanced back at Harry as he tied the cinch around his waist, “And you’re going to help me find those bodies. Go get a coat.”
It was 2 pm when they left, and due to the onslaught of heavy snow, it took them twice as long to maneuver the black ice roads. The drive was tense, and Louis was white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire time his tires squealed out underneath them around a sharp, country road curve. Harry was surprisingly silent the whole entire drive, just staring out the window with a dazed look on his face.
Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, his whole body trembled with anxiety of what to do if they actually did find the bodies. And how many was there going to be if so?
He feigned from getting sick, and when the GPS chirped out that the destination was on their left, he was sure he was going to be sick.
Considering the only other house on the road was a dilapidated mobile home on the crown of a hill to the right, they parked in the overgrown drive of Harry’s old house.
The house itself looked something from a horror film, sitting at the center of a gigantic, open field that was blanketed in a stark white snow. It stuck out like a sore-thumb, dark wood-paneling that looked grown over with every type of weed and moss, a small and sparse looking tree had grown up the side and had started the process of pushing the roof off.
Louis clambered out of the car carefully, making sure not to slip on the icy gravel. Harry was silent as he crawled out, his face in a grave expression. His eyes trailed to the back of the property, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he glanced at the house that was obviously empty.
"Where is everyone?" He almost muttered to himself, but Louis walked up next to him, the snow and ice beneath his boots squeaking.
"Perhaps they moved?" Louis lied through his teeth, pricking an eyebrow to try and shroud what a gigantic understatement that was. Harry heard his voice tremble in the slightest and glanced over at him with a confused but frustrated look. He didn’t question it though, and began walking to the back of the property.
Louis was hesitant to follow, and cupped the flashlight he had brought along in his hand. The day was already sufficiently dark, and with the sun somewhere behind the clouds going down, it was growing darker by the minute.
Ahead, besides Harry’s lean figure tromping through the snow, was a long line of tree’s, all eerily close together and impeccably tall.
Halfway through the field, Louis clicked on the flashlight and held it’s feeble beam on the ground as to assure him. He was trembling from the very marrow of his bones. Harry turned to look over his shoulder with that wicked grin, “Hope you brought a shovel.”
Louis didn’t hide his pitiful moan, and he cast his eyes down after seeing Harry’s arrogant expression turn to one of confusion. He kept torturing himself with the heinous thought of finding a mass burial of bodies, and had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out again.
When they stepped into the forest, where the snow was much lighter, a feeling of dread washed over him. It was several times darker in the cover of the tall trees, and an overwhelming sense of someone watching them held close to Louis’ skin.
It was quiet, quiet besides the crunch of the frozen pine needles beneath their feet and the sound of Harry’s rather labored breathing. The dim beam of light flooding from the flashlight was only enough to illuminate a few feet ahead and Louis decided to sheepishly bound ahead to walk closer behind the boy.
The land started to slope down, and large carnivorous looking rocks were unearthed and speared threateningly at them as they clambered down.
As they took a stumbling stop at the bottom of a ravine, Harry tensed and glanced around, his breath hanging in front of his mouth. With the intense silence, Louis instinctively reached out for the boy and clutched onto his arm. The irony of the fact that he was helplessly holding on to the boy that potentially killed more than seven people on their search for more of the bodies was almost enough to make him let go.
But when Harry again started to walk, he clutched onto him. They took a sharp left, and wound around the close knit tree’s, stumbling about in the dark.
"Fuck," Harry cursed, "I know they’re here." He paused in front of gaping abyss, rocky and deadly looking, as though it was the pit into hell. Louis hesitantly cast the light down into the hole.
All that littered the floor were snow covered leaves and bramble bushes, and Louis should have been relieved, but Harry was heaving out mortified breaths. He tore his arm away from the man and sauntered a few steps away, holding his face in his hands as he muttered under his breath.
"They’re around here somewhere. I," he looked up, glancing around the trees that seemed to silently stare down at them, "I know it.. they have to be." He leaped forth, nearly sprinting through the tree’s, and Louis, with a panicked breath, followed after him. His knee’s trembled and the beam of the flashlight danced ahead, barely able to catch the heels of Harry’s shoes.
"Harry!" Louis bleated helplessly, "Harry slow down! Wait!" He called, thankful to notice the boy veered a sharp right, following after him. With more pleas though, the boy didn’t slow.
They ran for sometime, taking violent twists and turns among the trees, stumbling across little burbling streams, spooking an owl. But he certainly was beginning to feel sicker when Harry came to a sudden stop, and Louis ran directly into him with a shout.
Harry, who had stopped because the edge of another pit threatened him to. But with Louis’ full force barreling into him, his feet slipped out from underneath him and they both fell with a thud, rolling over stones and roots, their exposed skin being marred by brambles.
Louis came to a stop, laying disheveled on his back somewhat on top of the boy. With the quiet seeping in besides their heavy breathing, chills rose upon the man’s skin and he reached out for something to help him up. His hand latched onto a root, and he tugged on it to haul himself up. But the root came loose in his hand and he clumsily shown the light on it.
However, the root that he held in his hand was long and slender, and impeccably white. Louis let out a horrified scream, his hand spasming open. It was a bone.
Louis scrambled to his feet, his head feeling incredibly light as he shakily swept the grounds with light, his pulse echoing in his ears. Harry slowly climbed to his feet to look down as well, but shook his head abruptly.
A skeleton no doubt laid before them.
But it was the skeleton of a long dead deer.
Louis’ trembling hands were cupped over his mouth, his breath stuttering in his chest. He felt so light headed he was positive he would pass out. Harry made a pitiful noise of confusion, leaning down to pick up the deer’s skull, studying it as though he expected it to transform into that of a human’s.
"H-Harry, please, let’s just go." Louis whispered urgently, his teeth chattering loudly. The boy shook his head over and over.
"I could have sworn they were here, Louis. I could have sworn I… I dumped the bodies here." He whispered brokenly, dropping the skull, one of it’s antlers cracking off.
A distant crack of a branch had Louis nearly sobbing, whipping around to illuminate whatever it could have been. “Harry you must have had lapses in thought and memory, now come on please let’s just get out of here.”
When he turned around to once again urge the boy, he was gone. Harry was gone. Louis’ heart jumped into his throat and he stumbled backwards against the muddy wall of the pit. “Harry!” he cried out in absolute terror.
His chest rose in erratic and panicked breaths, clutching the flashlight even harder, as though his grip would enforce the light to pan out and fill the whole forest with light. More rustling from behind, up in the trees, the crack of a branch.
And then someone’s hands were on his shoulders, and he let out a full blown, horrified scream. They were from above, and they were hauling him up. His legs thrashed out to no avail, and he twisted in their grip.
"Shhh," a voice from behind reprimanded, "Jesus Christ calm the fuck down." Harry’s voice warned quietly into his ear, and instantly Louis felt his knees threaten to buckle underneath him.
Harry tugged at his arm to get him to follow him, “Now come on.”