starry eyes ✮ slashers.

chapter 033.

thirty three. the hunter.

          Blood sticks to his lashes, he carelessly rubs his eyes to free his hazed vision from the crimson dried liquid. Even without the blood he sees red. A heavy boot splits the remaining skull of a slaughtered figure and Harry kicks the body matter off his shoes with disinterest.

He steps over a trail of corpses, too fresh to begin decomposition and yet their stench is overwhelming. He's so close, so undeniably close to finishing what he's started. Tom nudges his mind with every passing moment and Harry's finding it surprisingly difficult to keep him at bay.

But he has to. He has to be the one to complete his work. Tom is weak and incapable, Harry is strong.

The majority of police officers in their county are dead. Along with a few inconveniences he'd faced along the way.   And now Harry understands, he sees the clarity that Tom couldn't face. In order to have Lyra by his side, every obstacle must die. Brahms didn't agree, the two had argued violently over their different views and once the boy realised Lyra wouldn't be coming back without help, he'd left Harry to fix things.

He'd taken the car, doing his best to drive back in the direction of his home. Since Harry hadn't heard from him, and Brahms doesn't have experience in driving or anything he'd need to survive alone, the miner would assume he's dead till proven otherwise.

"Hello." His voice is raw and his words are forceful yet a croak. It's eeire as the shopkeeper observes his collected appearence, as though he can't feel the blood coating his skin. As if he'd forgotten the pick-axe hoisted firmly over his shoulder. "Have you seen this girl?" Harry asks, a slightly crumpled image slid across the counter by his steady hand.

He watches intently, the remembrance that flashes through the shopkeeper's eyes. It's brief but since it's what he'd searched for, it hits Harry like a kick to the teeth.

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me." Harry warns, a notable glint of excitement passing through his expression. His tongue darts out to dampen his rosy bottom lip and the shop keeper looks between the image and the man warily.

Bo would kill him eventually for telling. But this man would kill him instantly if he lied. He sighs.

"Are you with the other guy? The Sheriff?" Silence falls and Harry's grip on his weapon grows tighter, an erratic urge for blood aching at his muscles.

"When was he here?" Harry didn't know how this man had the nerve to associate him with Kurtis. A little wimpy Sheriff with shitty intentions and a brave man prepared to do anything for his love. The thought drives him to the edge of sanity.

"Couple hours before you." The man bites his lip, eyes glued to the picture as it's snatched away by the angry figure. "I don't know what's happening here. But I do know you look closer to being on Bo's side than that sheriff. I called him, told him someones after the girl." Harry's expression contorts into anger, who the fuck is Bo? And why is he hearing Lyra's name in association with this stranger? "Sheriff is following a fake lead not far from where she really is, which means he's got time to get ready and get this guy off their backs." Harry's eyes roll on their own terms, his blood boiling.

"Just tell me where she is." He orders.

"Ambrose. She's in Ambrose with the Sinclair brothers. She's safe there you know. I knew she was special when Bo brought her in, and he talks about her, she's good for him, I think." The man rants, attempting to get all his words out through the stress. The understanding he holds for the situation is minimal at best, all he's trying to do is keep his life.

"She's mine— good for no one but me. She's safest with me." Harry speaks if only to calm his own rapid jealousy. He reaches behind the counter, blindly knocking things out his way till his fingertips reach metal. "I'll return it to you when it's over." He speaks, car keys jingling in his grasp, leaving the stunned man to mull over his thoughts.

It should have taken him longer but Harry's fuelled on aggression and his blood pumping harshly urges him to drive faster. To find her faster. And so he arrives at Ambrose before this blood thirsty thoughts can even reach a conclusion. He passes the sign and the first few buildings till he reaches a cross in the streets.

It's silent and as Harry reaches a break in his thoughts, he feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck. The engine groans quietly and consistently and Harry doesn't realise the trouble until the windshield begins to crack. It shatters under the pressure of all the silenced bullets advancing towards him.

His fingers grasp the pick-axe by his side and he watches a police officer draw out from the bushes, a gun held between his two palms faced at him. Harry smiles slowly, it's not Kurt, but it'll do. The man attempts to rush away, realising the poor situation he's in but Harry's foot has already submerged into the gas pedal.

His pick-axe sinks through the window, clearing the glass as he swiped and sinks it into the officers neck. He jolts backwards, the axe ripping through his neck, head snapping limp to the side as he descends to the ground.

And then he reaches a stop, a clink drawing his attention to the back of the car. Kurtis stands, a blunt smile across his lips, cold eyes daring into Harry's. And then his finger meets the trigger.