Bury Me in Red (w/@durbxnskies)

25. Far from Home

     Kyle's POV

     "Oi! Ky! Stop!" Will panted loudly, his hand occasionally brushing up against my back in a failed attempt to catch up to me.

     "What if he's following-"

     "He's not," Woody choked on dryness as he made it to Will and I. "He stayed behind with some woman."

     "That goth-looking one?" I tilted my head. "Why didn't she run?"

     "No idea," Woody shrugged. "Maybe Dan threatened to kill her if she tried to run? He seems like a guy who'd keep a girl hostage for the sake of fucking with us."

     "Or her," Will said, trying to hide the cheeky grin in her eyes.

     Mate...now is not the time to joke around like that...

     "You pervert!" Our drummer shouted over the chaotic sounds of police and terrified citizens. "Stop saying these things out loud! We're trying to find Dan, okay?"

     "Sorry," Will's cheeks flushed with bright scarlet.

     As we began to make our way back to the café, in hopes of finding Dan there, and the mystery woman still breathing and alive. What if...no. No, Kyle. Don't try to overthink it. I was worried not only for that woman, but for Dan's mental health. I quickened my pace to a fast jog, running past Woody and Will until I saw the vintage café in my sights.

     Police and reporters scoured the area, a city morgue trunk was driven by a constable and his carriage horse. A thick row of constables blocked us public members from entering the crime scene. Yet I pushed through as well as Woody and Will, the three of us running straight past a body stretcher that had the lump of an old man.

     "Aye, you can't be here!" An Irish constable shoved me into Will, who stumbled backwards into Woody. A domino effect.

     "Watch who you're pushing around!" Woody huffed loudly with a red face of aggression and anger. He did actually care for me at times, this moment being one of those times.

     "Well look who you're talking to! You pesky peasant!"

     "Who uses that word these days?" Will chimed in with a smug face. "Are you too old for these times? Or are you just justified to using Middle Ages vocabulary?"

     "You dirty-"

     "Constable Worthington."

     Us four became distracted and whipped our heads to see a finely dressed man, maybe the same age as me, possibly younger, sternly staring at his constable. A bowler hat topped off his suit as he removed it and strolled past us. I was knocked off the radar when he looked back at the three members of Bastille with a questioning look.

    No way.

     "What have you?" He stood tall and stared into his constable's blue eyes.

     "Well, umm," the Irish accented man cleared his throat for a brief moment. He stared over at us, then back at the familiar man. "Detective...I was...in-interviewing these men!"

     "Psh, yeah," Woody rolled his eyes and grunted.

     "Hello," the Detective shook each of our hands with a solemn expression. "I'm Detective Charlie Barnes and I'll be needing your names."

     I knew it!

     "Barnes?" Woody gasped under his breath as Will gave our names. "No fucking way."

     "What business do you have being here?"

     We know who did this, I blurted out, instantly covering my mouth as Woody and Will shot evils at me. I made a mistake. Our goal wasn't to fucking let him be stranded in a prison cell here, it was to find Dan and take him back home to get psychiatric help.

     "Go on," Charlie cocked an eyebrow.

     "Our mate, Dan Smith. We saw him, didn't we?" I looked at my band mates, both nodding agreeably. "He stabbed the man."

     "And do you know where he is?"

     "No, that's the problem. He slipped out from under us."

     "Come to the station for further questioning," Detective Barnes nodded to his constable and walked out through the cafe's glass door.

     "But we have to find our-"

     "Now," Charlie said sternly. Doesn't he recognize us?

     "We'd better listen," Woody murmured to me. "I don't wanna be out in a cell for no reason."

     True.

     A police carriage patiently lingered on the sidewalks by the cafe. The young constable at the reigns tipped his cap to us as we let a constable assist us inside the strangely large carriage. And we were off. The bumpy ride made me feel sick as the horse trotted at a decently quick pace, with the echoes of its hooves drilling agonizing holes into my ear drums.

     I felt sick.

     This wasn't like Dan. Something was definitely up with him. He already killed a bunch of people in the last place we were at. Why did he need to go into time again? To kill? I knew something was waiting for him at the finish line, some type of reward? His lack of remorse scared me. This was the polar opposite of the singer everyone grew to love on stage.

     Normal Dan would be upset at himself.

     I stared down at the second watch that sat on my right wrist. The new one. It was so powerful to even be looking at it. I had the power to use it right now and go home without Will and Woody. I could just leave and let Dan keep killing, let him lose himself in time. But I couldn't. I couldn't just ditch my friends. Deep inside, I knew that everyone of Bastille did love each other, it was just that our differences forced us to argue for no reason.

     I hate being far from home.

     I miss London.

     I want things to be normal again.

     I want Bastille to survive.