Sick // h.s

Chapter 8

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"1961?" I whispered to myself. I ran upstairs and walked into what I thought was my room.

Everything was different, it belonged to Harry. There were band posters all over the walls and post cards on his desk that read 'Happy 16th Birthday Harold'.

None of this made sense, but then again, this was a dream. But if it wasn't why would he lie about living here? An-and if he was 16 in 1961 he wouldn't be 19 now. This dream doesn't make any sense.

I laid in Harry's bed and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to wake up in the comfort of my own bed. But when I opened my eyes, I was back in the old musty basement backroom.

I pursed my lips and thought for a moment. I sat in the corner of the room, and shut my eyes tight. I jumped up as I opened them.

1961 again. The same décor and everything. I sat down and whispered '1964'. I sat up and looked around. Everything was the same. I scoffed at my stupidity.

I walked up the stairs and into the old styled kitchen of Harry's old home. January 21st... 1964. I jumped up and applauded myself.

"Harold, can you go see what's going on in the kitchen?" His mom asked from the living room. I paused in the middle of the room, making myself breathless and calm.

Harry shuffled in and looked around, walking right past me to the table. He shivered, and grabbed his school book of the floor.

"Don't ya worry mum, just my school book." He yelled holding it up. I sighed and followed behind now 18 year old Harry. He walked into the living room and sat down right in front of the T.V.

His mom smiled and continued knitting, a scarf I presumed. She took a sip of her coffee as the door busted open. She sat up and smiled big. "Smith, in the living room!" She said excitedly.

Smith swayed in. "Hello, Anne." He said, kissing her own the cheek.

I shivered at the sight of a killer kissing Harry's mom. He glared at Harry. "T.V is bad for your health, son." He said.

I gasped, and took a step back, almost pushing myself into the T.V. Harry scoffed. "So is killing women. Plus I'm not your son, don't ever call me that again." He mumbled.

Ann gasped. "Now Harold, you know Smith is a doctor, he doesn't kill anyone. And he's been more of a father than your real one has, now be grateful!" She snapped, pointing her knitting needles to him.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm going upstairs, no one bother me." He whispered. Ann glared at her son as he walked up the stairs.

"How awful of him to say, I'm terribly sorry." Ann whispered.

I followed Harry up the stairs, and into the bedroom. I sat on the edge of his bed, while he sat at his desk.

The pencil looked small in his hand, as he wrote in his leather journal that I've seen him walk around with.

He stuck his tongue out a big while he wrote. He's so cute. No, no he's not stop it Luna.

I stood behind him, looking over his shoulder 'January 21st, 1964' he skipped a line and continued...

'America is a terrible place. My mom married a killer, he kills women... I killed my girlfriend... she was perfect and all she did was cheat on me, I should have just forgiven her... but she didn't love me. I wish'-

Harry stopped and looked around. I took a step back wondering if he heard me mumble.

Suddenly an idea came to me. I stood right behind him, and whispered into Harry's ear.

"Why'd you kill her, Harold?" He froze, and shook his head. "Who was that?" He asked, standing up. "I just want to know... why'd you kill her?"

"Be-Because... If... If I can't have her, no... no one can." He mumbled. "Would you kill anyone else?"

I asked stepping away. He shrugged. "Maybe, if anyone ever treated me the way she did."

I sighed and left the room. Touching Harry's shoulder, making him feel cold.

I slowly walked back into the basement, I walked around, wondering what to do now.

"If Harry's 19, then that would mean something happened to him in 1965. I was so tired, I decided to close my eyes "2014" I whispered. I was back in the old basement.

I screamed at the sight of Harry sitting in the chair on the other side of the room. "How- How long were you sitting there for?"

Harry laughed, as I uncomfortably stood up. He thought for a moment and then replied, looking at his phone.

"Well I got here at 3, when you didn't answer any of my calls or texts. And it's now 4 almost 5."

Harry stood up and walked out of the room, with his hands in his pockets. I followed him up the stairs.

We sat at the kitchen table, while I ate a couple bites from some pasta I cooked.

"So, your mom asked me to take you to your therapy session." I paused and looked up. "What? My mom's not even home." He laughed and responded.

"She was. We were looking for you, but she asked me to help out because she had to go to work. She wants me to stay with you during the session."

I almost choked on my noodles. No... Why would I want him to come to my session?

He's a killer, I don't want him near me. I nodded my head, "But... um... I do-don't want you to be there, there with me."

He shook his head, "Well this is what your mom told me, so that's what I'm going to do."

I sighed and shifted uncomfortably. He's going to find out about everything...

What if he takes advantage of my weakness? "When is it?" I bothered. He looked at me and back at the calendar. "Tomorrow at 12."

He said, pointing to the calendar. I shrugged and continued eating my pasta, while Harry stared intensely.

He knows what I'm up to.