Crossing Boundaries >> l.t.

Chapter - 5 : Harold Styles

Tamil Nadu, INDIA

HARRY'S P.O.V. :

I was walking casually along the sidewalks along the Teppakkulam in the city known as the Athens of the East, Madurai City. The target, unfortunately had to come to a sweltering city like these extreme Southern cities. I was sweating profusely, thanks to the afternoon sun.

A soft body, weighing approximately 56 kilograms and a minimum height of 5 ft. 4 in., Walter Green was not an intimidating presence. But his money talked volumes.

 Green and his obsession of historical monuments had led me to India of all places.

I couldn't blame him. Of course he's enjoying his last days looking at our ancestors' buildings in awe. Pulling my fedora hat down so that it covered parts of my face, I kept my head low and started walking. Green is getting into a Mercedes-Benz GLS. I need some transport.

I looked around, searching desperately for some vehicle on which I could follow him. To my left, I saw one of those wedding halls filled with different types of vehicles.

The hall seemed to beckon me. Pick your choice, Harry. 

A Royal-Enfield gleamed in the sunlight. I'm the master of keys, I thought to myself as I started the bike. 

As I followed the Benz through all the dust and roads full of potholes; I thought, These guys must be pros. No wonder they drive on these roads without any complaint.

The car finally stopped at the parking lot of the Fortune Sangam Hotel. 

The lobby was air conditioned. I had no complaints. 

As I settled in one of the comfy couches placed in the lobby, Green passed by me with the sea of his bodyguards surrounding him.

"Harry!", someone called out to me. What the actual heck?

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"So, I think Walter will live to see another day.", I said, as I assessed the man sitting in front of me. A dirty blond tuft of hair, sea-green eyes (same as mine) and..... carrots?

He was munching on carrots that were placed in a silver platter in front of him. A unique snack, indeed....

"So, Gemma, why did you bring.... who is this?", I asked her. "He is the new CEO of Tomlinson Corp.,-", when the man choked on his carrots and let out strangled coughing sounds. Gemma continued, "-Louis Tomlinson.".

I was yanked to the past.

Mark Tomlinson was in his early 50s. Salt-and-peppered hair, glowing sea-green eyes and the casual demeanor that I so often witnessed in him. I was in the Tomlinson Manor, a teenager of 12 years. Desmond was talking with him in an animated manner, and I was at a respectable distance, so as to not eavesdrop on them.

I was walking leisurely through the grass filled lawns, when I saw a young man looking irritated and hotheaded. I decided to walk over and talk to him despite my subconscious' better judgement. "Hey?", I called out, uncertain of his reaction. He whipped around in my direction, and his face immediately softened.

People used to call me chubby and a little cute (well, too cute), so maybe he was mesmerised by my bubbly personality. He replied, "Hey, may I know who you are?", in a mocking but endearing manner. "Harry Styles.", I said.

Desmond called out to me from the back, "Harold, we got to go!". The young man turned to me with a surprised expression, "You introduced yourself as Harry?", he asked.

I said, "Harold sounds absolutely YUCK.", to which he laughed. "Well, I'll teach you to introduce yourself to new people. While doing so, you must always introduce yourself by your full name. So you are?", he asked.

"Harold Edward Styles. And you?", I asked, becoming tired of the question myself.

"Louis William Tomlinson."

"Earth to Harry!", Louis called out, breaking me out of my reverie. "Wha-, ... what?", I asked.

"The reason for me to come here is because I needed answers.", he said, his mouth full of carrots. "What answer could you possibly be expecting from me, Louis William Tomlinson?", I asked. He was surprised, then thoughtful, and finally realisation dawned on his confused features.

"Oh, I remember now! You're that chubby kid I met that day at my house!", he exclaimed. I politely coughed, interrupting him before he could reveal any more embarrassing info; that would possibly break down the image that I had built in front of my sister, as an elite assassin killer.

Now I realised why he came in search of me. I realised why Mark had been so on edge. I realised the cause of Mark's death. And that was the answer Louis sought for. But I couldn't possibly reveal it to him. It would break him.

"No.", I simply stated.

"What do you mean by 'no'? I haven't even asked my questions yet!", he explains. "I know what questions you have to ask of me, and I won't answer them. Zayn, will you escort the gentleman to his car?", I said without any trace of emotion.

Zayn came forward, and stood beside Louis, in an action to make him rise. "If you think I'm going to leave this place without my answers, then you're badly mistaken.", he said quietly. "Zayn?", I repeated.

Encouraged by the second call, Zayn came forward, to try using force to move the guy. As soon as Zayn placed his hands on Louis' shoulders, he tensed and in a self-defensive movement, pulled Zayn forward by his hand, lifted him bodily for some moments, and threw him onto the glass table placed in front of the couches. Bronze cups and other decorative items were flying in different directions.

Louis was breathing heavily. He had changed his stance from diplomatic to friendly to hostile in in the last few minutes. The features suddenly morphed into those of rage.

"You're mistaken, boy!", he yelled, and lunged at me.