t w e l f t h

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After I had finished writing up the report and filing it at the department, Harry and I ordered pizza and ate it in the car on the way to Bentley. We mulled over the facts we had uncovered, mostly because I didn’t trust Leighton right now and Harry was the closest thing I had to a co-worker anyway.

“Well,” Harry said through the side of his mouth. “The fact they all had the same journals is pretty creepy.”

I nodded, signalling to the left lane. “I agree,” I murmured, turning down the radio. “Can you grab the journals? They’re in the backseat.”

He nodded and grabbed the four journals. I tried not to stare as his gorgeous hands flexed around the binding, reaching and flipping pages like a smooth wind over an ocean. I could only imagine those same hands holding mine.

Did I just think that?

“Woah, Sky,” Harry interrupted my thoughts. “Look at this.”

“I’m driving, Harry.”

He snorted. “Fine. But all these journals have this picture in it.”

I flicked my eyes to the picture Harry was talking about, then back to the road. “You’re sure?” I asked, checking my rearview before switching back to the right lane.

“Yeah. All of them- Gaunt’s, Hellespont, Marshall and even Jones.” His brow furrows and he bites his lip. “They all are with a certain journal entry. Gaunt has the picture with a journal entry dated,” he flicks a page and then adds, “August 25th.”

“That’s only two days before her murder,” I commented.

“Yeah, I know. And get this. The entry says, ‘Morty is dead, H. has told me that much. H. says I will die if I speak out about the topic, but I cannot remain silent. I must speak out.’” There’s a rustling of papers and then Harry mumbles, “That’s the last entry in the journal.”

I nod. “What about Hellespont’s?”

Harry’s fingers brush over her journal, flicking to find the picture of the mysterious man. The man seems to be maybe 60, or 70. He has black hair and beady eyes.

He looks sad.

Harry continues, “Hellespont writes, ‘Morty died many years ago, I know that. H. has told me to remain silent about what I’ve discovered from Kenneth’s journal. But I can’t. I must confront H. He has something to do with this.’” Harry snorts. “This ‘H.’ dude is pretty protective.”

“Yeah,” I add. “What can it stand for?”

Harry shoots me a glance. “The Department will think it stands for Harold,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, which is why we need to prove them wrong.” I turn onto the lesser road leading to Bentley. “So far we know that both women- Gaunt and Hellespont- both knew Morty, and both recognize he was dead. We also know both women were threatened by this ‘H’ fellow.”

“What does, ‘H’ stand for, though?”

“Henry. Hildegard.”

“Ew, Sky.”

“What? My aunt’s name is Hildegard, thank you very much!”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Okay. Henry, Hildegard... Harvey.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Harrison.”

The word turns my blood cold. Leighton Harrison. The man I was engaged to. Harrison. He had gone by the name Harrison in school for three or four years, claiming it was more regal and royal. I had said Leighton was fine.

Harrison.

I pulled into Bentley, unbuckling and throwing Harry a spare blanket from the backseat. “That’s for your cell,” I explain. “We don’t need you getting any more sick.”

Harry smiles as we walk to the building, laughing as I bump into him and he bumps into me. “You look a little dreary, my dear Skyler,” he comments as he sit outside the door to the prison, finishing our pizza.

“Maybe I am,” I explain. “My fiancé is being a complete dork, the weather’s all gloomy.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle. “Would a joke make it feel better?”

I raise an eyebrow. “It depends. Are your jokes any good?”

Harry shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”

I shift so that I’m facing Harry. “Okay, shoot.”

“Well, when I was a kid, I was playing baseball once. And the pitcher- Harrison, I think his name was- anyway, he was a real donkey, if you know what I mean,” he said, and I laughed. “Anyhow, he threw this baseball to me and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why the baseball was getting bigger.” He paused. “And then it hit me.”

I burst into laughter, startling a nearby smoker who was watching us cluelessly. “That was awful,” I sputtered, leaning on Harry’s shoulder as I laughed.

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Okay, okay, Styles. Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh, joy. This is going to be so much better.

I swatted him and stood for dramatic effect. “So did you hear about the guy who got hit in the head with a can of soda?” Harry shook his head. “Yeah, well, lucky for him it was a soft drink.”

Harry giggled and laughed into his hand, eyes alight like a kid. “Skyler whatever-your-middle-name-is Jacobs, that was by far the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s Marie.”

“Excuse me?”

“My middle name. It’s Marie.”

His eyes locked into mine, caressing my face like a lover’s fingertips. “I like it,” he murmured. “It suits you.”

“Hey, it’s better than Hildegard.”

Harry laughed and stood, pulling me up with him. I followed him into the prison, where he turned to face me. He sighed, looking at the ground; all traces of laughter gone. “Well, Sky, thanks for the best two days I’ve had in a while.”

“I could say the same to you,” I responded. “But those jokes ruined it for me.”

Harry laughed and scratched his nose, awkwardly holding the blanket in one hand and biting his lip. I eventually took control, engulfing him in a hug and he holding me in a way that felt so right and so perfect I didn’t know what to say.

So I didn’t say anything.

“See you, Hildegard,” he called after me as he was led down the hall.

“See you,” I said after him, feeling an inexplicable sense of loss come over me when I couldn’t see him anymore.

--

does anyone ship #hyler bc i do.

also, this is dedicated to @chinavase because she is so strong and optimistic. she is literally my hero at the moment. love you melissa. :) 

-beth

NEXT UPDATE: Tuesday

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