Heart of A Serial Killer (Larry)

Chapter 1: Come Back

Harry Styles never had a normal life.

Ever since he was a young child, he'd had a thing for destruction. One would think, that when he grew older he'd get a job with a company that allows people to knock down abandoned buildings and houses, but Harry didn't like that kind of destruction; not if there was no one inside at the time.

You see; if a kid at the beach built a sandcastle, he'd destroy it within seconds. If a kid at school made something out of cardboard and glue, he'd tear it to pieces. If someone cared for something he'd hurt or destroy it in some way, shape or form; all the while laughing in their faces and enjoying the sounds of their sobs. Harry was never sure why he enjoyed it so much, destroying and unhappiness and the tears of others he didn't particularly care for, but he was certain about one thing; he'd been psychotic from a young age.

When he was four, he would shred a classmates painting or their favorite book. When he was seven, he'd rip the heads of Barbie dolls and toy soldiers and would tear open teddy bears and yank the stuffing out. When he was ten, he started to progress in his unbelievable antics and would capture a forest animal, only to end its misery after killing and dissecting it, placing the organs on a tray for examination later. When Harry was fourteen, though, he took the next step in his psychotic elements; he had decided to take his first human life.

It had taken some thought and consideration, trying to figure out ways to dodge the police as so he wouldn't get caught, but with the amount of knowledge he'd received from watching murder investigation shows; he had figured out what and what not to do.

The night he took that life, was the night he turned into an adult, so he thought. He had snuck up on her, had been following her into her home without her noticing, though it wasn't like he made noise. He didn't even allow her to scream as he pressed the knife to her neck, knowing the close proximity of the her neighbors, and how they'd know something was up. He had watched as he brought the knife along that short crease of her neck, close to where her pulse was. He watched as the life died in her eyes and the blood come pouring out of her dead body and cover the flush carpet that he had dropped her on.

He had gotten a rush, a thrill of the kill. And he liked it. He continued in his antics, years after the first death and around the time the police had found the seventh body, London found out that there was a serial killer on the loose. London had named the repeated reports of dead bodies the 'London City Massacre' and Harry was soon known as 'Crimson'.

No one was going to catch him, no one would even suspect him. Along with his unstable mentality, he was a pathological liar. With the ability to convince someone he didn't do something, as well as his innocent looks and flattery towards a said person, he was fine.

Now, four years down the track, 284 deceased bodies later, here he was. Walking down an unsuspecting, busy London street. He hadn't murdered anyone for almost an entire two months. That was his new record, and he didn't want to extend it.

Everyone in London now never came out at night and if they did, it was with a group of people and never alone. No one agreed to dates with random strangers, everyone had a form of weapon with them and no one trusted anybody; which made everything so much harder for Harry. Not impossible, but harder.

Didn't mean he wouldn't get what he wanted, though.

As he walked into the cafe, he took in the disgusting but equally pleasing sight before him. The cafe was almost completely full. Everyone was lively and having a great chat, but they all had a dark gloom surrounding their bodies. Like trying to stay strong while everything crumpled around them; and trying to smile through the excruciating pain that was embedded in their brains. This pleased Harry dearly.