The wanted murderer L.S.

Filthy Deal.

It was sometime during the early hours of monday morning when a black taxi pulled up outside the Tomlinson residence in a state of utmost urgency. There was something off about said taxi, not only told by the fact that it drove at an illegally fast speed, but by the lettering on the doors which didn't quite match the font used by the company it claimed to be from. The windows, as well, were tinted at the front as well as the rear, the numberplate was stolen, and the glass was bullet-proof.

The back door of the car opened, and out stepped a man who behaved as strangely as the car looked.
The clothes he wore were dark to draw away any attention, and he had his hood pulled up to hide a head of Raspberry Rose hair. He stumbled out of the car as though drunk, slamming the door shut and holding it until he regained his balance. He wavered on the pavement for a moment while the taxi drove off with the same urgency as before, until he decided that his legs would give way if he didn't support himself somehow. He leant against the wall, feeling his way along it until he found the bars of a gate. He found a buzzer and pushed it. He couldn't hear the ring, so he pushed it again, then again and again and again until a light turned on inside the house.

Another light turned on by the doorstep, then a few voices shouted out, before the gate began to rattle. When it opened, the man with Raspberry Rose curls sighed in relief; and collapsed on the ground.

                                                ***

"But who is he?" Lucy, the eldest daughter asked, leaning over her little sister's shoulders to stare at the man slouched on the kitchen chair. "He looks like a serial killer. Why's he here?"

"Your pointy chin's digging into my head!" Rosie said, "Mum, Lucy's hurting me!"
"Lucy, stop hurting your sister."
"I'm not doing anything!"
"You're hurting me! Lean on Claire's head! She's smaller!"
"No, not on my head! Leave me alone, I don't want to be leant on. Mum! Lucy and Rosie are bullying me!"
"Lucy! That's enough."
"I'm still not doing anything! And what about Rosie?!"
"She's twelve!"

"Why are you so close to me? Stupid George, I can't see. Move." Chloe said, shoving her twin into Lucy and Rosie.
"You're in the way!" Georgina replied. "I want to see him! He really does look like a serial killer.
Look at that beating! Bet I could beat you up like that, Amy."
"As if. Louis could do more harm than you and he's a twig!"

"Hey! I'm not a twig. You're a twig!.. Ow! Don't punch me, it hurts! I'm going to bruise now! Mum!
Amy punched my arm! Stupid Amy."
"Stupid Louis."

"Back! Back away, all of you! The boy's a person, not a circus; and he's not here to listen to you all bicker." Their mother said, rushing up with a tub of hot water, bandages and a cloth.

"Don't hurt him." Louis said from the chair next to Harry's where he sat, massaging his arm.

"I'll try my best, Louis." His mother replied. "It won't be easy. He should be in the hospital."

She dipped the cloth in the warm water and wrung it into the bowl. Lucy, Amy, Chloe, Georgina, Louis, Rosie, and Claire all watched the strange man in their kitchen with utter fascination.
He hadn't said a word since he'd woken up five minutes before-not that he could get a word in edgeways—nor had he given any facial expression or reaction in response to any question asked. A large wound cut across his right temple. It was perhaps a day or two old, with the blood now stale and cracking but the skin still crimson and tender.
The skin around his right eye, too, was ever so slightly swollen and deep shades of purple and red.
The white of the eye itself was bloodshot, and the iris fully expanded no matter if the light caught it or not. Louis knew exactly who had hurt him so badly, he knew why, and his heart sank over the guilt of it. The horrid little boy from Rosewood Gardens was not the same as he'd been before; he was becoming less and less so, and someone didn't like that.