Escapade - Larry Stylinson (Re-write)

XXI - Jack and Jill

 Louis' heart sank in his chest. The magazine he'd held so tightly fell from his grip and landed in a puddle. He pulled away from Harry's grip and took a step back, watching the man's reflection in the rain water pooled around his feet. The murderer with Raspberry Rose curls didn't move from where he stood. He neither stepped away, nor did he approach. The air around them seemed much colder than before, or perhaps Louis had only just noticed it. He began to notice a lot of things in Harry—tiny details that others would have missed. The man's chest sunk deep when he breathed, like his heart had been carved out. He held the kitten tighter, though not tight enough for her to hurt. His expression was empty, far more than Louis ever thought possible; and those eyes full of wit seemed lost for the first time. They wandered over Louis, unsure where to focus, until their gaze finally fell to the ground in defeat.

"I won't hurt you, I promise." Harry said,
"But you've already hurt me." Louis replied, "Really, really badly. Because you fed me the idea that you had fair reason for your actions; and now everything I understood and thought I'd figured out—I don't understand anymore. We're right back at the start, and I have no idea who you are."

He stepped back as he spoke, and between them—the distance pulled a red string tighter. Each step back hurt more than the last, until Louis couldn't bare the pain anymore. He turned his back on Harry, shattering hearts, and ran for the house where his bike still waited.

***

The day passed in a timeless blur, as did nightfall, and as did the days and weeks and long months after that. Louis never saw Harry; never heard of him, and never spoke about him. Life went on for a long, long while. So long, in fact, that it was like Harry had never even existed in the first place.

There were always, however, tiny hints of change which brought the murderer with Raspberry Rose curls back. The way Liam got home after university a few minutes later than he should have. The way Zayn's face healed, but his shoulder broke from an alleged skateboarding fall. The sirens in the City howled at night, circling around Louis' house for longer than they used to. More and more cold cases were being solved, day after day, dating from weeks to centuries ago.
Life was boring just as it had always been in the world, yet as much as Harry had gone for good—he'd latched onto Louis.

It was during the first week of the summer holidays, between the last year of sixth form and the first of university, that Louis' boring little world shifted on its axis. While he watched a colony of ants steal tiny pieces of his biscuit in the garden—a sudden thought crept into the back of his mind; one that he couldn't quite read. He ignored it, assuming it was unimportant, and went back to watching ants. The thought sat there, still, nagging and drawing his attention away from whatever else he tried focus on.

He sat up and shook his head, cracking his knuckles. His mother, who was sat by the pool on a deck chair, lifted her sunglasses and asked him if he was alright. He nodded, and she returned to her book. The tiny thought in Louis' mind crept out of the shadows, ever so slowly, wandering closer to a place of clarity.

'He won't kill us." said the thought, 'He doesn't care for boring people. I'm not boring. Oh? Then he might you.'

"Not boring," Louis repeated, in a daydream, "Not boring?" He said again, processing the thought. He then sat bolt upright, the thought suddenly clicking into place, "Oh, my god!"

"Where are you going, Louis?!" Louis' mother shouted when the young man leapt to his feet in a hurry.

"I have something to do!" Louis shouted back, hopping from one foot to the other eagerly. He turned on his heel and ran in direction of his bicycle, "I'll be back later!"