Who Killed Kyle Simmons? (Bastille)

Chapter Seven

Chapter seven

Her keys made an irritable jingle as Layla shoved them back into her bag.

She avoided taking the lift, as the one time she decided to take one she'd get trapped, well that was her reasoning anyway.

Layla wobbled slightly in her heels, the black shoes weren't particularly high, but for some reason, she was nervous.

Smoothing down the front of her dark purple coat, she ran their conversation through her head.

Eventually she found the right flat.

She knocked several times, but to no avail. After waiting for a minute or two, she knocked, well hammered, on the door until a disheveled looking Will opened the door.

His short brown hair was sticking up in random directions, and a label on the front collar of a cream t-shirt, meant his top was on back to front.

Whereas Dan had been quiet and secluded after Kyle's murder, Will had been in his flat 24:7. No one had really seen him.

Woody, who'd called him had warned Layla to be careful, he suspected his band member was coping less than well.

"Can I come in?"

"...No."

"I just want to talk."

Will went to shut the door, but Layla ducked under his arm, into his flat.

It was large with old fashioned furniture.

Two tall bookcases were in the corner if the room, a cello case leaning against them.

After standing and glaring at her from the doorway, Will quietly shut the cream coloured door.

Layla stayed with her arms folded, refusing to take her eyes off of Will as he made his way to a run down looking chair, after gesturing to her to take a seat on the sofa opposite.

Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she sat on the very edge of the two-seater, her coat now carefully folded over the arm rest.

"I didn't kill him." Will stated, his voice steady, believable.

"I'm not blaming you."

"Then why are you here?"

Layla paused as if to gather her words together.

"Can I, I need all sides of the story."

The atmosphere in the room was chokingly tense, so much so, that Will began to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

He picked away at the corner of his chair, the creamy-grey material frayed, and falling to pieces.

"When did you last see him?"

"Kyle?" His voice was so soft, so quiet, so calm, somehow, Layla wanted to believe him.

"H-he ran out of here after, ugh, I dunno, something happened. Ask Woody or Dan, they'll know."

Will took a long pause.

"Um, It was about like a week or so ago, I guess." His forehead creased as he tried to remember.

"Did something, what happened, why did he run?"

Something in Will's face changed, he strode over to the front door.

"I would like you to leave now."

Looking up from a couple of scribbled notes in the book on her lap, Layla gritted her teeth and clicked her pen. She didn't move.

"Leave."

"Will..." She grabbed her bag which was sat by her feet, dropped the pen in one of the pockets, gathered her coat and tucked her notepad under an arm as she passed Will.

At the last moment she turned.

"I know there's something you're trying to hide," she was only an inch or so shorter, but they were so close, their noses were almost touching. "And, and I will find out."

She gave him a glare before whipping round and leaving.

***********

A/N

At the moment i'm studying the way people talk, idiolect, dialect, etc... So I'm trying to make their speech seem more realistic. Bare with me guys :)

Please vote, comment, share etc... :)