I Kidnapped Harry Styles

Chapter 11 - The murder and dedication

RECAP

'Yes Angel, I witnessed a murder.'

XOXOXOXO

'Harry,' I began. 'You don't need to talk about it.' I said politely.

Ew. I was being nice. To a celebrity.

'No, Angel, I do need to talk about it.'

'Okay,' I said warily.

He closed his eyes, as if trying to remember, and began his tale.

'It was a month ago. We were in America on tour, and had nearly reached the end of the tour, you know, before we went on holidays and you kidnapped me? Anyway, I was grabbed backstage and pulled into a room. I tried to run but they pulled me back. It was the face of the FBI. He wanted to talk. He shooed his bodyguards away. He then told me that I was being hunted, as was to be killed on stage at the performance.

That's when the man came into the room. He was tall, but that was the only thing I could see from looking at him. I could see the gun. It wasn't black. It was blue. Navy blue. And it had 'C.S.' engraved into the side. He pointed his gun at me, but the Head of the FBI, he jumped in front of me, and took the bullet. The man shot again, before he ran out of the room.

I knelt next to the man on the floor. I tried everything. But that wouldn't change the blood that was seeping out of the wound. I could tell he only had a couple of minutes left. With his last few breaths he asked me to dedicate the concert to his daughter, who was in the audience. He told me that she was the reason he warned me. Because he loved her. And then he died.

His guards came in and shoved me out of the room. I ran to change clothes. And then I went onstage. And I saw a little girl sitting in the front row. She looked just like him. And when I dedicated the concert to her she lit up. And she took out her phone. And I could tell she was going to call her dad. And then she did. And her face fell when he didn't answer. She called again and again. And then she saw the blood on my hands. The blood I hadn't washed off. When she connected the dots she began to cry.

She knew her father was dead. He probably warned her that he might die. But why didn't he warn me?Why was I left with the guilt of seeing this little girl sob, heartbroken, at the news that she wouldn't see her father again. And why did he save me? Why was I targeted? Why?'

He began silently sobbing, and for once no sassy comments came into my head.

I didn't tell him that it was unmanly to cry. Because for once, I could relate to him.

I stared at him, as a silent tear leaked out of my eye.

'Angel? Say something,' Harry said.

'I don't know what to say.' I told him.

'It was my fault. He died because of me. A little girl lost her father, and found out, because of me. I am a horrible person.'

'No Harry. It isn't your fault you were being hunted. He died doing his job. And you gave that girl a moment of happiness. Her 15 seconds of fame.'

In reality I wanted to tell him that it was the saddest thing I had ever heard of. That it was more horrible than anything. That I couldn't compare it to another story.

But it wasn't the saddest thing I have ever head of. It wasn't more horrible than anything. And I could compare it to a story. My story.

The story of me, my mother and a teenage actor named Liam.