Kill Or Be Killed // McHarrison

Three

My blood goes still. The air around me seems to be sucked out of my reach like a vacuum. My eyelids seem to be glued a part as i glare at the younger man in front of me. What he had just said made every single possible emotion swell up like a storm inside me. The feeling of shivers rolls down my back but i feel like a stone statue; stuck in infinite place.

My jaw is slightly dropped as i glower at the skinny fellow infront of me, and slowly i regain enough motion to blink my eyes at him. "Wow George." is all i can mutter and he sniggers quietly.

"It's not a jolly tale." he whispers shyly and his gentle eyes look at me from behind the mane of his coffee brunette hair. I watch lazily as his fingertips reach up to brush some of it away from his mouth in one winsome movement.

"Yer know, George," i start, sighing a little before continuing. "i know yer might not fancy talking about all this but i need yer to tell me about all the others as well."

He nods torpidly and draws in a long and low inhale. "I only killed ten people yer know." he declares and i instantly frown.

"What?" i stammer, but he just smiles bashfully, twirling a strand of his hair between two of his thin fingers.

"Yer heard me the first time. I only killed ten people, the rest just blamed it on me." he breathes, his voice chilling yet so warm at the same time. The way he acted was slow, still and oddly cold, but his presence was a calming, charming one which made the air feel comfortably warm. I really didn't understand this lad at all.

George Harrison has me bloody dumbfounded.

"Well, yer mind telling me about the others?" i ask and he finally nods, adjusting himself in his seat daintily.

"This all didn't happen in one year. From the first time to the last it would have been...five years roughly. But five of the murders happened one after the other. Somehow, these five girls had heard about Pattie and me mate Ringo and called me one night. They said that their parents and brother had done horrible things to 'em and they'd told the police and they didn't do anythin' 'bout it.. They'd tried to escape but it only got worse, and they'd do anything for me to save 'em. They asked if i could meet them in the woods near their 'ouse to the do the deed and by the way they were cryin' and tellin' me what their brother had done, i didn't feel like i could let them down." He murmurs so softly he sounds like almost inaudioable. I hesitantly nod and swallow uncomfortably. The thoughts aren't being processed fast enough and it causes the room to spin dizzyingly.

"George, can i be honest with yer?" i ask calmy, crossing my legs at the ankles and staring the boy up and down.

"Go ahead."

"Well first off: yer're so freakishly normal. I'm used to dealing with pyshcopaths and cold-blooded animals, but yer.., yer so bloody regular that yer put regular people to shame!" i cry, thowing my hand up in the air, and i see the beginings of a smirk on his cheeks. "And second of all: yer as sober and lucid as every other normal person on the planet. Making my job bloody hard. Yer seemingly selfless and don't want attention from anything or anyone. Yer so ruddy different from anyone 've ever met or laid eyes on."

For a few long moments after my rant, we sit in a comfortable silence, George smirking quietly beneath his hair. I notice how his fingers stop shaking nervously and his knee isn't bouncing away like it was before; I take that as a good sign.

"I don't know what to say." he finally mumbles, bravely taking my eye contact in his. "I'm pretty much exactly like yer say. In fact; I'm actually quite boring." he chuckles the last part and eventually looks away.

We continue to sit in silence, but behind the quite exterior, my mind is running a million miles a minute.

First off: I don't think he's guilty. Yet I sort of do. This story was a lot to take in, yet unsteadily underwhelming. It seemed too much like it could have been written out as I screen play to a film student's movie. But looking at him now, letting my eyes lazily roam up and down his figure, their was something so authentic about him; i couldn't put my finger on it.

Secondly: I know that i don't want to kill him. He was only a year younger than me, yet he seemed so, not childish, but innocent.

Suddenly i leap out of my seat, scaring even myself at the suddeness, and pointing at George with a excited glint in my eye.

"Euthanasia!" i cry, grinning from ear to ear. George only seems confused out of his brains by this and his eyes search up and down my stature, quite obviously questioning my sanity.

"And that is?" he squeaks, his thick eyebrows kitting together.

"Like...consensual killin', i suppose. Some doctors do it when their patient is terminally ill." i breifly explain, taking a seat back down but bouncing my knee in anticipation.

"But they weren't ill." he states a defeated look settling into the darkness of his eyes. His skinny frame was slumped unpleasantly into the chair, giving him a suddenly hopeless look.

I shake me head, leaping out of my chair yet again to do hyper laps back and forth. I was often this excited about a case, but a case like George's only doubled my delight. "Ah! But they were! Mental illness still counts yer know!" i cheer and spot a slight tinge of interest in the other man's cool eyes.

"We get yer a lawyer, some evidence, and send us both off to court; we can figure this thing out!" i cry, and look at George, searching his whole frame for some sort of emotion. But his whole body seems torpid and unreadable.

"I can't afford a lawyer. And how are we going to get evidence; i killed it all." the brunette murmurs sadly, donning a totally crushed expression, his lips in a silent pout and his jaw tight.

"I'm tryin' to save yer life here, have some enthusiasism." i say, and watch as his figetty mood comes back, bouncing his knee and playing with his fingers in his lap again. I watch sadly as he bites his lip and his eyes dart around the room. He didn't seem to have the confidence or the hope to even listen to what i was proposing.

"I think yer have enough for the both of us." he mumbles and at that a small smirk spreads across my cheeks.

"It's me job, i get worked up about it." i explain. "But if yer think about it, this could really work, George. Passive euthanasia is legal and if we got yer a top-notch lawyer, yer could get away with it." i nudge his shoulder a little, trying to get him into it, and he looks to meet my eyes.

"I can't afford a lawyer, i told yer already, let alone a top-notch one." he sighs, almost seemingly bored with my points.

"We could get the funds, raise money for it or pay it off in other ways..."

"Are yer trying to whore me out?" he scoffs, gawking wide eyed at my not-so-subtle suggestion.

"No. It's easier to pay for a prostitute for a lawyer than an actual lawyer." i clarify, shaking my head and chuckling a bit. "I'm a pyshcologist, not a pimp."

"Really? Yer had me fooled for a second." he giggles, giggles, and shyly looks up through his hair and bushy eyebrows to meet my eyes. I smile and hesitantly sit back down in my seat.

"I wouldn't be so darn hyper about all this if i didn't have faith that it would work. I truly think that if we get this thing rollin', i could get yer out of here." I breathe, leaning in a tad to get his every drop of attention and strict eye contact. "So please have some trust in me, George, 'cuz I'm gonna get yer the hell outta 'ere."