When Darkness Strikes | ls au

6. The Drying Of Your Tears

She lies in between dry leaves and humid soil, and Harry finds himself standing above the lifeless figure of yet another victim. Once again, he's surrounded by the tall trees of the South Road's circling woods, pushing against police offices and crime scene workers.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. The deep cuts along her pale skin and cold limbs are vicious, brutal compared to the bruises around her wrists and around her neck. She's clothed, entirely, keeping most of her figure hidden if not for the gashes in her clothing cause by a sharp, unkown blade.

Her name, he learns in between muffled voices and hushed tones, is Amber Paxton. And her face is completely unharmed, untouched, and by that, everyone present at the scene immediately connects her with Claire's case. Amber had just become the second victim of Claire's killer. A murderer that Harry couldn't catch in time.

The investigator inhales a sharp breath, and coughs harshly against the sleeves of his coat as he struggles to maintain his system from functioning, as if seeing Amber's body makes a part of him die as well.

The wind is gelid, and it blows against the tear tracks on his cheeks. Louis isn't in a much different state; his hands, usually steady around the camera, shake and tremble as he takes images of Amber, and with each click comes a shuttered sigh that matches Harry's unsteady breathing. His eyes are overwhelmingly emotional whenever he crosses gazes with the investigator, and it only makes Harry want to weep and fall into another one of his warm embraces, and seek comfort there, since everything else feels cold.

Harry tries his best to do his job, and he wonders at what point during this particular investigation he became so attached and connected with the case. He used to handle everything in the most polite and serious conduct, although he never lacked sympathy and compassion to the victim and their families. Claire's case – and now Amber's – took him apart completely, and not in the best of ways.

He takes notes, works through his sharp and meticulous gaze, and when there's nothing else to write about except for Amber's undamaged face, her dead eyes and her blonde hair stained with blood, that's when Harry steps away from the crime scene. He glances over at Stan, who looks just as devasted and unsteady from the whole ordeal. The sheriff nods sympathetically at him, a sad grin across his face.

Making his way to Louis, who is leaning against the car, awaiting. The shorter man's eyes meet his figure walking closer, and Harry never wanted to see Louis with open arms so badly before in his life. Unfortunately, Louis only grasps at his bicep gently and looks up at him, and no one knows what to say or how to say it.

Louis tries, though. He'll always try. "Harry," He mutters, and the investigator perks up at the mention of his name coming from Louis' soft voice. His tone is shaking, and his eyes are watering again. Harry can't look for too long. "Alright," Louis whispers, tenderly pressing his fingers on Harry's arm before he lets it go and slides into the driver's seat.

The drive back is quiet, and it's not the usual, comfortable silence. It's dense, thick, and almost unbearable. Harry breathes deeply, and it echoes through the vehicle. Louis does the same.

Arriving at the house, Harry enters and doesn't watch Louis disappear in the back, towards the dark-room. He feels entirely numb, until he takes a long glance at the investigation board.

The fear, the anxiety that eats his stomach raw and the numbness, everything is reduced to pure anger at that moment. Harry feels his veins heating, and his hands twitching as he approaches the board, crossing the large living room. Pictures of Claire pinned to the wall only scream into his face that he couldn't catch him. That another life has been lost because of his incapability. That both Claire and Amber were too young, and they deserved to live long lives.