Escapade - Larry Stylinson (Re-write)

XXXII - Your Name is Annie

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Trigger Warnings:
Violence, Death. Please read with caution.

*

 Those in the carpark stood deathly still while they listened to the clanging of a steel door slam shut somehere in the distance, and a car engine rumbling behind it.

Everyone waited—the trade victims, the child in the velvet dress, the River Boys, Harry, and Louis himself. There was not a breath too heavy nor a movement to abrupt. Nothing, until the boy in the balaclava lifted an arm to take his hat off. He pulled the mask down his face, and without a word or change of expression, he walked over to Liam and leant on his brother's chest.

"Please don't cry." He said.

Liam swallowed, shaking arms lifting up to grab Louis around the shoulders. He pulled his little brother as close as he could, so strongly that pale marks were left behind. Love, grief, pain, and heartbreak all came crashing down on them both. Liam lifted Louis from the ground, wrapping the boy's arms around his neck, and Louis squealed in his throat, lashing out to whatever surface he could find.

Liam stepped away from the girl in the velvet dress and the wall behind him. He walked out of the room still holding Louis who was tugging at his own clothes in discomfort.

A door closed, and their voices drowned out.

Harry sat up, shaking from the pain darting through his body. Traces of his own blood were on the floor, along with clumps of Raspberry Rose hair, and one of his lower wisdom teeth. He picked the tooth up and held it up to eye-level, watching the light shine through it. A sniffling sound came from his left, distracting him from wherever else he wished his mind would go.

"You did well, Zayn." He said, "In a place like this—you must obey. That's what I've been trying to teach you after all of this time. You did what you had to do to survive; you're not wrong for that."

He put the tooth in his pocket, looked at the gang members who turned their gazes down, then to Zayn who was curled over himself on the ground. Harry stood up, groaning from the pain, walked a few feet and collapsed on the ground beside Zayn.

Zayn shook his head, "I feel like the worst person in the world—I really do."

"I understand that. I really do. A feeling that twists your insides and grabs you by the heart so tightly that it stops beating for a while. I know that it hurts."

Zayn whimpered into his hands. Harry took his face and lifted the man's chin until their eyes met.
"I'm talking to you."

Zayn opened his mouth to speak, shook his head, and a new row of tears pooled along his lash line. Harry held his jawline firmly.

"To shoot that bullet was a dangerous move, but you're in Hell down here. There is no peace of mind—not ever. Remember that you're in a world of smart and dangerous people. No matter what you think, someone else always knows more. It's a game of street smarts and wit down here. You couldn't have killed Louis, even if you'd wanted to. Furthermore, you're alive and unharmed. There's your proof that you made the correct choice—so stop snivelling."

Harry stood up, groaning from the gashes and bruises, and turned to the people around him. Those on ropes were still deathly still where they'd been placed; the gang members stood like obedient dogs waiting for orders; Louis was still screaming and crying in another room with Liam, and the girl in the velvet dress was by the wall alone.

Harry walked up to her, picking her up and resting her on his hip. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and gave her somewhat of an uncertain smile.
"A lot of children end up with me down here. Some are boys, some are girls. Some of them can speak, and some of them can't." He said, carrying her to the centre of the room again. "Some of them are born in the black market, and some are stolen and sold to us. I've given a lot of names to a lot of children; I don't think any were as little as you."