PARKER | Dark H.S. AU

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Copyright © zylgnagnaba

Dark alley, spine-chilling air, and a pool of blood next to a cold lifeless body on the ground is such a scary combination. But to the dark silhouette standing just few yards away from the body, it sends a small slice of satisfaction to his cold and numb senses.

His face is shaded with the dark of his curls but the bitter and wicked smirk on his face gleams under the meek light of the night sky. His blood-smothered dagger is still held tightly within his death grip. The veins protrude through his forehead, neck and his arms. His eyes dissolve in greens of blazing fire as he looks at the unmoving body with deep fury.

He loathed the person. His wrath for him was never-ending that even taking the life out of his worthless frame is never enough. A low chuckle is released from his parted lips as he is reminded that it only took one slit to the throat to have his blood ooze out of him. It wasn’t enough, he thought to himself. He shouldn’t have made it easy for him. It was an easy punishment, way easier than it should have been.

Rubbing the sharp blade with a black cloth, he hides it back inside his bag before he digs out his polaroid camera. He snaps two photos of the lifeless body laying on the cold hard ground and his sinister grin grows even wider at the gruesome pictures that was developed a matter of three seconds later.

Fitzgerald, he glares as he labels one photo and tucks it inside his bag. The other he scribbled the words, 'To Parker' before he drops the photo on the dead body's chest. After that, he turns on his heels and flees the murder scene with calm and slow steps.

The streetlights flicker above him as he walks through the dark boulevard. The deep-seated scowl is carved on his face and the pressure on his fist is great that the skin covering his knuckles might rip. He has already got rid of three people – three out of four people who subsidized on making his life hell since the day that she was taken away from him.

There’s only one person left and he doesn’t know he is coming for him.

Loud sirens of fast ambulance and police cars float over the air and his head turns as the vehicles run past him, opposite the course he is taking. Just like a swift strike of lightning, something lashed within his head causing for him to squeeze his lids shut. When he opens his eyes once again a matter of five seconds later, the scowl is replaced with an innocent and curious frown. His eyes roam around before he catches the sight of blue and red neon lights circling around combining to the familiar harsh sound of urgency at a far distant.

He doesn’t know where he is. He is standing at the middle of the boulevard. The place is familiar to him yet he can’t seem to grasp where exactly he is standing and where he is leading to.

Then he felt something heavy that is dangling across his body – his sling bag. He reaches inside and starts flipping through the objects that he can only assume are his. He digs out sets of pictures and reads each caption that is scribbled below the images in black ink.

#1 Your name is Harry Styles is written at the first picture along with an image of a man with dark brown curls. Tattoos covered his sleeves and few more are creeping up to his collars. Although he’s clad with black shirt, he is certain that there are few more tattoos inked in his body.

#2 You’re suffering from anterograde amnesia – suddenly, the guy from the last picture was unconscious on a white hospital bed in the next picture. His head was wrapped with thick white bandages, bruises and cuts distorted his face. You lose your memory every fifteen minutes.

#3 This is where you live – a picture of a tall building was shown on the picture. Call a cab and dictate to the taxi driver the address that is written at the back.

He does as what the pictures are instructing to him.

#4  This is your flat – a white door appears in the picture with the number 21 plastered  in front of it. Grab your key from the smallest pocket of your bag at the front.

He enters the impossibly cold and gloomy flat. The fluorescence is flickering up the ceiling. He walks straight ahead and sways the plastic curtain as he enters another room. There surfaced on the wall is a whiteboard with different pictures organized in a web chart, all pictures connected to the name that’s scribbled on bold letters at the middle of the board, PARKER.

He frowns, who’s Parker?

He faces the mirror just parallel to the whiteboard. His eyes dart to the different tattoos inked on his sleeves and recalls the man on the picture. He was him. He takes his shirt off, his face contorting to a frown as he takes notice of the incredible amount of tattoos inked on his flesh.

His muscles flex as he pries further to the set of tattoos that are scribbled in unreadable letters, as if they were written in different calligraphy. He faces the mirror once again and he widens his eyes at what he sees. The letters are all written in reverse.

CHARLIE WAS KILLED, was written in bold and heavy black ink across his chest.

KILL PARKER!

KILL PARKER!

KILL PARKER!

The repeated words as if being chanted to him were all over his torso just along few more other drawings that could only be hidden when he wears shirt.

Then an image of a girl’s frail and shattered body appears right before his eyes. Her blonde hair was matted on the floor while her hand was reaching out for him, desperate for help. Her eyes were hooded with horror as streams of tears fall from her eyes to the side of her face.

“Harry…” Her squeak echoes inside his head. The fear and worry underlies in her tone before she gulped impossibly hard. She repeated the name once again in a more horrified way at the same time that he felt his eyes droop. The fear in her brown eyes was evident for him until he was then overtaken by unconsciousness and the image of the girl disappears.

Anger boils in his blood as he squeeze his eyes shut, sucking a deep and sharp breath. He grabs a knife from the nearby table and with a swift turn, he throws the knife around and it stabs the narrow space between the letters ‘R’ and ‘K’ of the name scribbled on the middle of the board.

“Charlie,” His sharp breaths are released through his nostrils and are sifting through his gritted teeth. His shoulders and chest rise and fall in unsteady rhythm.“I’m going to kill them, Charlie. I’m going to kill them!”

*****

That’s the PROLOGUE, guys.

What do you think? Should I continue or not?

Please comment and vote.

Love,

Glyz <3

PS: Dedicated to @ziamfeathers bc LACED is life! Hahaha xxD