Don't Look Back - Louis Tomlinson

Confusion.

Talia.

November 28th, 2013. 4:59pm.

I was searching the inter webs on my laptop and stumbled across the instagram that the team on the jet had made for me. They informed me it would make me look not as suspicious and normal, but as if my life could ever be considered normal again. What they did was, they went through my moms scrapbook, took pictures of the photos, and edited the dates to look like they've been there for years; of course they bought all the followers and likes. I guess it blends me in, but the username they had given to me was so bad, it was the first thing I had changed.

After following all of my favorite celebrities, I picked up my iPhone and snapped a picture of the book I was currently reading. It was sitting on my the right bedside table with a few wrappers of candy I guiltily munched on before bed last night. Next I posted it with a caption that read: All I really need in life is a nice book and some candy. Satisfied with my post and caption, I made my way downstairs to start helping my mom with lunch. Rolling up my sleeves and starting to wash the dishes my mom used to make the sauce and meat, I decided to spark up a little random chit chat.

"Hey, did you know that Instagram was bought out by Facebook? Its honestly kind of terrible that they're trying to make it look like Facebook too, don't you think?"

* * *

5:52pm.

"So, Talia, I know we've been here, what? Almost four weeks? Do you plan on taking classes at the university?" My mother asked, curiosity evident in her tone and facial features. She's sitting right across from me on our 4 seated dining table, picking at her side dish of very fancy shmancy looking sah-lad.

"Well, honestly I didn't plan on going to the actual school," I took a sip from my ice cold water as I explained further, given my situation.

"My cover age is 17 and I would feel a bit awkward to have to tell everyone that, so I'd rather not bother with any of it, ya know? Before you disapprove though, I do plan on looking into their online courses." 

My mothers face shifted from a look of confusion and concentration to one of pure understanding.

"Oh, that's great! As long as you keep your grades steady," Her tired-some eyes twinkling with happiness, I couldn't help but smile thankfully into them.   

"But I'm sure you will since you've never not once had a problem with those." 

While my response was only a small laugh, my rosy cheeks made it clear I was embarrassed. I know I've always been a nerd, and it reminds me how I've never fit in all that well. But before I could begin thinking more into my sad excuse for a life, I get snapped from my thinking as an unknown number is calling out for my attention. Observing the unfamiliarity once again, I look around my room nervously while cautiously pushing the accept button.    Who in the hell could've gotten my number??? 

Darren.
(Earlier in the day, but in the US. 8 hour difference (ahead) from London. - Pay attention to the date and times!)
November 28th, 2013. 8:48am.

I've been searching for this Talia bitch for the past week. Where the hell could've those idiot FBI agents have sent her and her annoying-as-shit mother? I guess the only reason I have envy for Detective Rose is because she almost figured out I was the one who had brutally tortured  Mayor Montgomery's daughter to death. That crazy ass lady is the only detective who noticed small clues and patterns I left behind, but I honestly didn't think anyone would be smart enough to figure them out. Now, all I have to do is find them and pay a little visit so I'm sure I won't have to worry - as much - about getting caught. I've killed more people than you'd ever expect for being just a casual man whose widowed and lives alone in his studio apartment. Some of the people I've murdered were tall, short, chubby, skinny, (sometimes too skinny for my liking), but I've also shortened the lifespan of the young, middle-aged, old. A lot of their races varied from Asian, Italian, Caucasian, African American, and of course those high paying politicians would hire me to do who their dirty work for them. I'm good at what I do, and I know it. Not only that alone, but I embrace it. I feel it. I feel everything. When you kill someone, something of the victim passes to you — a sigh, a smell or a gesture. I like to call it "the curse of the victim." It clings to your body and seeps into your skin, going all the way into your heart, and thus sticks with you for eternity. People on the streets have no idea what I'm capable of. They don't know how many people I've killed. They're all completely oblivious to the world around them. And oblivious people, well..they never know what could happen to them for not paying any attention to all the red flags high up in the sky, flapping vigorously, begging to be seen.

So far in my computers 64 gigabyte flash drive, I have everything you could ever imagine to know about these two women. I have all information that's on file about the Roses' from their meetings with a local counselor (Virginia Perish) from 1998 up to just two months ago. After I attacked Ms. Talia. I believe the only reason she's still alive is because I was impatient and didn't stick to my original game plan. Patience is the number one key. If you want something bad and are patient with the process, the outcome is more likely on the greater side. Am I right? Or am I right?

* * *

An agonizingly long hour later, I sit here scrolling down the NSA web page. I have a new lead on Talia Rose. Once I had found her name, I looked through her search history. This girl is lame! The most interesting thigh she's ever searched was evolution on how earth came to be. I then read some texts that were some-what amusing, but boring altogether. I gathered numbers of all people she's ever contacted and singled out her family, putting the most contacted people on my tracking device.

Later, I figured out after deconstructing all of her statuses, tweets, search history, and even some notes she wrote for her counselor about wanting to feel the cold all the time to feel numb on the outside as well, I realized that England was always freezing and has the nicest view for Instagram photos. I got that idea from how she always posted a photo with Big Ben in the background, or a back in the day red outlined telephone booth. Typical for a petty little girl like herself, so I wasn't all that surprised when I pieced it all together. I dug deeper into her sent files and then all all at once, the data disappeared.

They say its never been hacked before and I see why...it was difficult. Even for me. It has a major fast hard drive which can detect and eliminate any virus that could harm the system instant its found. But me being the nice person I am, set up a harmless lunch with one of the young (hot) employees who partially took care of the oh-so-important webpage. I'm charming and have money, girls with nothing but air in their pretty little heads these days are just shamefully desperate. So very easy to take advantage of, too. Business wise and other ways of course.

Tracking back a number that was made from London, England just last week all the way to California, matched with the call her grandmother had received. The duration was only 8 minutes and 2 seconds, so I wonder what her dull full lips could've let out in that short amount of time. Finally a good half-hour of thinking about what I'd say later, I clicked in her new phone number with a special code.

_______________________________

This story just got hell of a lot better don't you think? This has to be one of my favorites. Any thoughts on Darren's POV though? Or the story in general? Just leave me a comment love ! Have a fabulous rest of the day/evening/night! xo

VOTE, COMMENT, AND PLEASE SHARE IF YOU ENJOYED!

~ allforxyou ♡