𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌 & 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

I corner McClean when he's the last one left, the cop shop abandoned for the night. Small town crime means they leave only one guy to man the single room jailhouse at night. The rest go home to sleep through the dark hours when humans get up to their worst of habits. Pulled out of bed by emergency calls, these cops usually show up with sleep still crusting their eyes and their heads and their dreams.

McClean is locking up, keys in the door, when I slink up like a shadow and scare the piss out of him.

"Violet." McClean flattens against the wall, all the blood draining from his face. He goes as pale as I am, his fingers pressed against the drywall like his grip might be the only thing holding him upright. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Staying with a friend." I look off in the direction of Harry's haunted house, the smell of it strong despite the fact it's at least fifteen miles away.

"Your dad. You know about your dad, right?" He looks scared to tell me, worried he might have to break the news, and even though I feel sad, terribly, horribly sad, I can't bring myself to well up tears. I probably look like some unemotional asshole to him right now.

"Yeah," I sigh. "I was at the funeral."

"I didn't see you there."

"I couldn't deal. I stayed out of sight." That, and the fact that it just happened to be one of the three sunny days of the whole entire year. I couldn't very well show up at the graveside sparkling like a goddamn Tiffany ring, now could I? I'd never hated the sunshine so much in my entire life. I spent that entire night lying in the dirt piled on top of the casket, on top of my dad, just wishing I'd gotten there a moment sooner, an hour sooner, a day sooner, enough to save him or even just explain how everything got so fucked up.

"People have been asking about you."

"I bet," I grumble.

"They're worried."

"No, they're not," I snap. "They think it was me."

"They don't," he mutters, sounding unconvinced.

"Yes, they do. They think I murdered Sadie, and now they think I murdered my dad, but you know what, McClean? I didn't kill either of them."

"That so?"

I glare at him. "Yes. I mean no. I mean… it wasn't me. Either of them."

McClean's eyes pinch at the ends, and he peers down at me in the gloom, almost reaching out to touch my arm. Almost. "You ok, kid? You don't look so good."

I glance away, sure that he's noticing my pale skin and my dark eyes and my limp hair. I talk with my lips tight so he can't spot my fangs. "I need your help."

"With what?"

"I have to clear my name." I did not intend to become the town horror story. They didn't even know the worst of it, but I sure wasn't going to let them vilify me in the history books either. I shove the keys into McClean's chest, getting a sick satisfaction out of the way he flinches. There are three rusted silver keys on a single ring. I found them after rooting around in the rotting leaves and musty, molding dirt near that shitty old car in the woods. The whole time, I laughed to myself about how I spent my last moments there wishing Harry and I could just go on a real date without me being weird and him being dead. Now I was searching for a three-years-dead dude in the muck and the mire.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

It took half an hour, but I finally found something. A limp pair of pants, nearly disintegrated with age, those keys rattling in the pocket. It was no wonder there was nothing left of that asshole, all these years later. His body had obviously been strewn around by wild animals after Harry drained him, his clothing scattered three years deep in the leaves. There might not be much to tie him to the car, to tie him to Sadie, but it was better than nothing.