Songs for this Chapter:
Ruckus~The Young International (I think that should be the song for this story)
Far Too Young To Die~Panic! At the Disco
Do I Wanna Know?~Arctic Monkeys
I laugh. I literally laugh in his face. How gullible does he think I am? He thinks he can just tell me he's not living as an excuse as to why he's been following me around my whole life?
"So you're dead?" I laugh again. "Okay, Harry. Now, be serious and really give me some answers."
He blinks. "Madelynn, I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. You're eighteen, and I have to give you answers."
I laugh again. "Okay, sure. Go on," I tell him.
He sighs, before shaking his head.
"I turned 20 years old on February first, 1996. The night of my birthday, some friends and I, we decided to go out, and kind of celebrate," he tells me. I nod, his story sounding logical thus far. I think as he tells me this. If he were 20 then, he would be 37 now. He doesn't look thirty seven years old. I shiver.
"We went out to a bar in Holmes Chapel, which is a little village in England, near Cheshire. It was where I lived," he continues. That explains his British accent. I've never really questioned it, I just became accustomed to it over the years, and never really thought that much about it.
" Anyway, we drank too much liquor and got completely hammered. It was terrible. None of us knew what we were doing. On the way home, we walked by an alley, and a group of men were back there, smoking pot. We decided it would be fun to try and start a fight with them," he says to me, slowly shaking his head and staring at the wall as he tells his story. I blink, wondering where he could possibly be going with this.
"So we did," he says. He pauses for a second before laughing a rumbling, psychotic laugh. "We didn't know they had a gun!" He yells, still laughing that same horrendous laugh, tears welling up in his eyes. I couldn't tell whether he was laughing or crying, and I was rather scared.
"We didn't think anything would go wrong," he whispers. "We thought we could walk away from them, drunk, and our heads held high with the satisfaction of winning a fight while drunk."
I slowly start backing away from him. He has to be crazy. Completely insane. He can't be dead. He's sitting right in front of me.
Then why does he disappear and appear again in thin air? A voice in my head whispers. I push it aside. I can't believe any of this.
"The others, they ran when they saw the gun. They were left untouched, for the most part," he whispers. "I wasn't so lucky. They left me behind, and the man with the gun shot me right in the heart," he pauses for effect, tapping the left side of his chest, "and I died almost instantly. I was twenty years old. I was young. I still had a life to live."
My mouth hangs agape at his words. He isn't making a bit of sense. My mind fails to process the information he is giving me. He can't be dead when he is sitting right in front of me.
"It doesn't make sense," I whisper, scared out of my mind. I shrink back in fear at the foot of my bed.
"You haven't heard the rest of the story, Madelynn," he says, reaching for me. I slap his hand away. Of course, it is ice cold. Everything is falling into place. This is unbelievable.
"Get out," I whisper, my voice shaking in terror. He grimaces.
"I won't hurt y-" he begins, but I cut him off.
"Get out!" I scream at him, jumping off my bed and running across the room. Harry looks hurt, vulnerable even.
He tries to come toward me, but I crouch down in fear, hands covering my ears. All I know to do is to keep yelling the same thing over and over and over.
"Get out!"
I continue to scream the two words over and over again for what feels like hours. Suddenly, I feel a pair of warm hands grip my forearms. I open my eyes, about to push the person away when I find my mother standing in front of me, looking at me with concerned eyes.
I glance around the room, and Harry is nowhere to be seen.
So Harry is dead and technically 37 lol
