The Dancer | Wattys2018 | COMPLETED

18 - Run Away With Me

"Isn't that where you dance, Sebastian?" Tyler asked slowly, a frown on his face.

Sebastian nodded, his face pale, "Yeah, it's a universally recognised dance studio."

"That's it!" Austin grinned in his eureka moment. Madison could literally see the light bulb floating on top of his head. "The victims of The Dancer are from all around the world. The dance studio, The Dancer, is universally recognised. The Dancer must work inside the dance studio for him to be able to find and locate his victims."

"My parents used to work there." Madison said bluntly.

"Sebastian dances there." Tyler said, "So that's how all our sad asses got involved in this."

Sebastian shook his head, "No, mom used to dance there too."

Tyler went quiet. Madison realised that anytime his mom was mentioned, or even referred to, Tyler was the first to drop to a silence.

Marcus broke the silence, "Austin, do you think you could maybe check the website for The Dancer studio and find out who works there. Like any founding staff or the people who run it or anything."

Austin nodded, typing madly on his laptop, muttering things out loud.

Tyler exhaled sharply and left the room.

Marcus muttered something about Tyler being useless and weak, with the other brothers joining in agreement.

Madison left the room quietly, or as quiet as she could with the crutches, and followed after Tyler. She hauled herself up the stairs to his room and knocked on his door.

He didn't answer so she pushed it open. 

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off (something she was getting used to in a house of boys), elbows resting on his knees, face in his hands. He didn't look up when she hobbled in and sat on the chair to his desk. It was one of those fun swivel chairs. Her dad used to have one in his office, and as a child she remembered him swinging her around until she got dizzy, with her mom laughing at her as she used to try and walk, stumbling on her feet from the dizziness.

His room was clean, for a guy. He had trophies lining his shelves, all from soccer. He had a soccer ball on his bedside table, posters of famous soccer players plastered to his walls.

He looked up at Madison, following her line of sight to the posters. "Don't judge. I put them up when I was like seven."

Madison smiled softly, "I used to have posters of dancers up in my room. When I was sixteen."

Tyler looked at her. He was quiet before he said, "Don't feel sorry for me. Shit happens, and I had to be there both times when it did. They won't understand what it feels like to see their parents dead, in front of them." Madison could see he was getting worked up. 

"It's okay, Tyler."

"It's not!" He shot up from his bed, "It's fucking not!" He let out a shout of anger and frustration, and his fist made contact with the wall.

Madison tried not to flinch. Tyler was trying not to cry. She understood his anger, his grief. He didn't want to seem weak, he didn't want to be the useless one, he didn't want to be the one who was most affected by all of this. He wanted to be what he was when Madison first met him. Strong, cocky, easy going.

His walls were falling down slowly, and Madison knew he was about to fall along with them.

Tyler inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm down. He looked to Madison, "Sorry, yeah. I just... I want to get out of here."