Psycho ➳ H.S.

Chapter 18

This is our shortest chapter (but don't worry- we'll make up for it with the next) so we hope this gets you ready for our last few installments!


Shit, Harry thought. The elevator arrived at the main floor and he had forgotten his jacket in the hospital room. Exasperated, he pushed the button back up to Floor 15.

He supposed that it was just him thinking about too much all at once; everything was running through his head at hyper-speed trying to figure out Carissa's cryptic behaviour as well as what could have caused her leg to be so horridly mangled. There weren't many logical possibilities; the stub of her leg wasn't flat, so it couldn't have been cut off, and it wasn't as if they amputated body parts just because they got broken. What could have happened to her?

It was at a point now where Harry knew that Carissa at least cared about him. He was forgiven from any misconception she was fed- was that why she didn't want him around? Just in case Lucas showed up and got upset with her? He was certain the bruises on her body were inflicted by him, and he was going to do something about it when he had the chance.

As soon as he reached the floor again, the nearly dense silence that intensified the sound of his footsteps made Harry stop for a minute- he heard something. A yell. An angry outburst.

"HELP!" cried a voice- a man's voice- that sounded all too familiar. A twinge of uncertainly lingered in his throat and his mind instantly went to Carissa. He advanced himself quicker and quicker until he came across the hall where her room resided.

The bed in which Carissa lay was almost at the very end of the hall, and yet from where he stood he could see a massive pool of blood on the floor and the body of a doctor laying in the entranceway, his life spilling from his throat, choking on his own claret coloured soul.

His legs seemed to paralyze; shock took over him and turned him into a cement pillar. Why wasn't Carissa awakened by the shouting?

She was in danger. He had to help.

He sprinted down the hall, his stomach feeling sick to the core as he came closer and closer to the now-dead body. He trained his eyes on something- anything- else; he couldn't stand the sight of the crimson. He caught sight of a large figure in the room, right by Carissa's bed, holding a knife and directing it straight a Carissa's pelvis...or her womb?

Blonde hair. Tall frame. Burly arms.

Lucas.

"Hey!" Harry called to divert Lucas' attention. Harry's pulse caught in his throat when Lucas didn't turn around. Without thinking, Harry pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1, letting it ring without actually putting it up to his ear.

"Not now, Harry, I'm busy," he remarked nonchalantly, lowering his knife towards Carissa.

The only thing stopping Harry was the body and the immense amount of blood on the floor.

Think of Carissa, he thought, think of how much she means to you.

Harry lunged over the scarlet sea and grappled Lucas' arms, knocking the knife out of his hands and onto the floor with a clatter, along with his own phone that flew just under the bed. Instantaneously, Lucas' muscles clenched and went for Harry's neck, cutting off his air supply as they tumbled to the ground. Harry fought back as hard as he could after kicking the knife under the hospital bed, away from Lucas' reach.

Lucas was much stronger now than Harry had ever been. Their grunts carried throughout the room and into the deserted hall with no chance of waking the patients in their rooms. Lucas pressed on Harry's trachea with his thumbs, ensuring he got no oxygen.

"You won't fucking learn, will you?" Lucas snarled, pinning Harry to the ground, "I kill your fucking girlfriends and you don't even stay away from dating. You should've drank that fucking coffee I made you back at the restaurant while you had the chance- it wouldn't have hurt as much as it will now."

Harry choked and gasped for air; his face was beginning to turn blue. He swiftly pulled his legs in and kicked Lucas where it'd hurt him the most- his hands released and he flew backwards, crumbling to the floor in the fetal position as Harry took advantage of the opportunity to relieve himself of his deprivation, stumbling when he got to his feet before coming to his senses. He killed who? What was in his coffee all those weeks ago?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry breathed, trying hard to catch his breath. Why was he even talking? He should have knocked him out! But part of him wanted- needed- to know what he meant. Lucas grinned as he clutched his stomach in pain.

"Daphne? Vienna, Willine, and Roselle? Not to mention that slut from the beach and Tyson- I killed them. You went to jail because of me."

Harry had a difficult time understanding what was being said, and he wasn't sure if it was just hard to believe or if his brain just didn't want to accept it.

"Lucas, you need help-"

"YOU NEED FUCKING HELP, STYLES, I'M PERFECTLY FINE! CARISSA AND I COULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY IF YOU DIDN'T GET BETWEEN US!" he bellowed, staggering to his feet and running towards Harry at an inhuman rate. He grabbed hold of Harry's shirt and pulled him outside, losing his balance as they slipped on the blood on the floor, soaking various parts of their clothes red. Lucas didn't falter- he pulled Harry up to his feet again and slammed him against the wall, making sure he was weakened enough so he could rip his throat out.

Harry mustered up the strength that he could and pried Lucas' hands from his body, tackling him to the floor and closing his hand into a fist once again, just as he did earlier on, to deliver multiple strikes to his face. He caught hold of his collar and kept sending punches to his head until his nose elicited a loud crack before blood poured out and stained Harry's hand.

Harry paused at this; he didn't mean to hurt him, but he knew now that Lucas would do anything to have him dead, and he wouldn't stop at anything- a broken nose included. In the moment Harry stopped, Lucas came back at Harry, pounding a fist into his stomach as he took a fistful of his hair to move Harry around. He winced as all the pain surged to the areas of his body being hurt and found it hard to keep his eyes open.

"You think you fucking love her?" Lucas gritted, "You don't even come close to loving her."

It was like saying he wasn't worthy, and Harry most certainly knew he was. Lucas dragged Harry over to the walls and threw his head against them in hopes of giving him a concussion. The little pieces of dirt and debris that lightly scattered the floor of the hospital scathed at Harry's back as he tried to get up, but it was no use. He tried to claw at Lucas' skin, but it seemed that no amount of pain could phase him.

Lucas was approaching the cart that the doctor he had killed left behind to bring to the laboratory. He had milions of ideas stirring in his head, and all of them involved the death of Harry Styles once and for all.

"We're using pathogens and bacteria and viruses to put people to sleep- are you aware of how dangerous that is? If it spreads and the host can't fight off what's being administered to them- which they most likely won't- the dosage we give will kill them. Slowly, yes, but they're dead within two weeks, guaranteed."

If he could get the drug- the anesthesia- into Harry, he was set; Harry would die a slow and most likely painful death guaranteed. Carissa would have no choice but to love Lucas, and Harry would finally be out of his way. There were syringes in a plastic case on the cart- clearly, it was a sign from God that things were meant to be this way. Harry was meant to die, and Lucas was meant to be with her.

Lucas pushed Harry to the ground, but Harry knew better- though his ribs ached, his back felt like snapping in half, and a massive throbbing pulsed through his skull, he got up and drove Lucas into the cart, sending the contents of it flying onto the floor- test tubes, syringes, surgery supplies, everything. Boxes scattered onto the linoleum. A gleaming, silver scalpel presented itself as a godsend to Harry, and it lay only several feet away from him.

Only he couldn't do it- he couldn't kill someone. He couldn't take someone's life away. He was too scared, feeling his skin grow clammy and his face drain white- time was running out and his options were to kill Lucas or to get killed by Lucas. His face was already ridden with his own blood from the various cuts he endured, and a large bruise stained his right cheekbone- he wasn't sure how much more he could handle.

Harry promptly snatched the scalpel off the floor and turned to put Lucas in a headlock- he had to do what he had to do.

Harry's hands shook, too nervous, too unwilling, and much too frightened to make a move. He felt sick to his stomach- nauseous with a churning gut- and a sharpness stab into his leg.

What?

Harry looked down to see a syringe in his leg. His arm jerked to pull away from Lucas and pull it out as he remembered what the two doctors were talking about earlier. His hand clasped onto the needle and tore it out with a sharp gasp, letting it drop to the floor.

All in a sudden it became very quiet, with the exception of a sputtering, choking sound beside him. Harry turned to his left to see Lucas, much like the doctor he had murdered, on the ground choking on his own blood with a slit in his neck. All of his hatred spewed from the cut that dipped deep into Lucas' skin. He was still alive, fighting to grasp onto something to pull himself upwards, but he was losing his light, and fast. Without another thought, Harry let go of the bloody scalpel and its metallic sound resonated into his ears. He had killed Lucas without even meaning to; with a simple tug of his hand in the right direction, he has killed his only threat. Why had it been so easy? Moreover, why did Lucas make it so easy?

He started to feel dizzy, his feet easily losing balance. He didn't care about Lucas anymore- his mind was set on Carissa. Using the walls as support, he wavered over to Carissa's room. His vision blurred, and he unexpectedly felt weak and tired. He felt like his breathing was at par with his heart rate- slow, and getting slower. He braved his way over the doctor once again and managed to set foot in her room before stumbling to the ground- why was he so light-headed and dazed?

Then it clicked in.

The syringe. Lucas had filled it with the anesthesia. From the vague memory he could pull, he remembered only a few things: dead, two weeks, guaranteed.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, as did his breaths. Harry congregated all of the stamina he had left and crawled to her bedside- he could see her there, still sleeping, just as he had left her. His attempt to touch her hand hell short, and he grew too weary to move anymore.

It was much like checking in after a long day, how he felt. It reminded him of how he felt after working night shifts at the restaurant- something he loathed doing. He felt no more pain, nor could he feel his limbs, nor could he open his eyes. It was like sleep, how he tumbled slowly away into another world.

Just before he departed his mind, a faint ringing exploded in his ears which sounded much like people yelling in the background.

"PUT HIM ON LIFE SUPPORT! HIS LIFE IS AT RISK! THAT MAN IS INNOCENT!"

Things became an endless tunnel of black far too quickly, and death suddenly became a charade; a game; something out of his control.

There are two more chapters left! Hope you enjoyed reading!

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