Error. [H.S.]

22.

Scotty.

"Scotty!" My name is yelled over the thudding bass pumping through the speakers as I walk through the venue doors, but it takes me a minute to locate which direction it came from. I catch sight of my dad near one of the barricades towards the back of the venue, waving me over.

I push out an exhale, walking through the back of the crowd to get to him. "I'm so sorry I'm late." I begin to profusely apologize, even though the chances of him being able to hear me were slim.

Relief seemed present in his eyes as he pulled open the metal gate, letting me behind the boundaries. "Where were you?" A fatherly concern was apparent in his eyes, concern deepening the expression lines near the outer corners of his eyes. "Everyone's been trying to get a hold of you for hours."

"I'm sorry..." Guilt washes over me, knowing I should have managed my time better. "I was visiting Niall at the hospital, and the sound was off on my phone." I confess, trying to dance around the minor details of us falling asleep together for the sake of Niall's reputation with my father.

"Next time, text." He reprimands in a loving way, nodding towards the front of the stage. "Go check it out. We'll all meet backstage once the show's over."

With the opportunity to finally focus on the music that's been compromising my eardrums since the moment I've walked inside, I follow the pathway along the perimeter of the venue floor to get closer to the stage. I feel guilty for passing all of the actual fans by, but I guarantee none of them would rather be in my shoes right now.

Well, maybe. Guess it just depends how many true crime podcasts they listen to.

The front of the venue was intimidating from all angles. The stage was at my eye level, speakers blasting from wall to wall, and a sea of screaming fans were compacted into a tight fit behind me, each trying to get closer to the stage.

An overwhelming darkness shut the lights down as the final guitar strum faded out. Pure nothingness hummed over the speakers while the audience tried to catch their breath from the last song. Mumbles started spreading across the crowd as the pitch black continued. Seconds pass and the silence gets trampled by voices chanting Harry's name over and over, pleading for the show to continue. Flashlights begin to light up the venue as fans tried to catch a sneak peak.

Remembrance strikes me upside the head when I recall what the fan mail from the Executioner had said back in our first meeting.

Make no error in your undertaking and when the stage lights go black, your soul will be extricated.

Shit. This couldn't be that moment. Right?

The story doesn't end so soon, does it? Has it even begun?

It's never been this simple before. The Executioner was keen on making a big scene, and with only two-hundred people watching in comparison to the thousands at the next show, there was no reason to pull the trigger so early. My hand blindly grips the barricade, the pit of my stomach turning in utter fear. Blinded by the darkness, I shove my freehand in my bag, fumbling around for my phone. I'm waiting for a mass panic to break out, screams of terror, and maybe a gunshot.

Just as I feel the cold screen skim my fingers, a single guitar riff vibrates the room in place of the life ending sound I was anticipating. Cheers burst through the silence, cuing the lights to spotlight the stage again. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding, almost letting out everything I've eaten today in the process. My stomach knotted, processing the visual confirmation that Harry was still alive and in once piece.