Obsession || h.s [completed]

24 | My Harry

"No, no, no, no, no..."

Harry stands and paces across the floor, running his hands through his hair over and over, tugging feverishly at the strands.

"No. Not you, too. No, no, no..."

I sit on the couch, fully realizing that I've done the one thing I told myself not to.

I want to slap myself, run away and hide. But I stay on the couch because I so desperately want him to tell me I have it all wrong. Even if that means I'm paranoid and maybe even a little bit crazy.

My Harry would still be my Harry, and everything else... well, I could deal with that.

He continues to pace before suddenly stopping, facing the wall, and without warning he punches it so hard a picture hanging nearby falls to the ground. He ignores it, however, and quickly faces me again.

I hold my breath as he takes long strides toward me. "You have to listen to me. I know how everything looks. That's how they want it to. They're trying to pin everything on me. You have to believe me, baby."

"Who?" Is all I manage to say. His close proximity always having it's effect on me, not to mention his frantic expression and slightly demanding presence that always seems to fill the room.

"I can't tell you. They said that--"

"I want a name, Harry." I demand, tired of the lack of answers.

"The only thing keeping them from hurting you is the fact that you don't know. He said that if I told you, they would kill you, Mason." He reaches out and holds my face with both hands as he kneels beside the couch I'm still sprawled across. "And not in a pleasant way."

I want to believe him.

"Say something." He begs.

"I don't know what to say." I close my eyes, trying to focus and sort through my thoughts. "I don't know what to think."

"Ask me anything, and I'll explain as much as I can." Harry says, his thumbs rubbing softly across my cheekbones again.

My eyes are still closed but with his voice close and his soft breath fanning over my cheeks, I know that if I open them, I'll get lost in the intensity of his stare.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" I ask, opening my eyes but not looking at him. Instead, I focus on the top button of his shirt where the threading is frayed, the button hanging slightly as if it may soon fall off.

"No." His voice is strained. "No one on purpose."

I nod, remembering him telling me about his sister, and how he blames himself for her death. "Why can't you tell me who 'they' are?"

"Because if I tell you, they will find out and kill you."

"How will they find out? I'm not going to tell anyone." I make the mistake of looking up into his eyes.

And right then I feel as though I can see right through him. Into every corner of his mind. My lips part in silent awe at this new discovery and I find myself wondering how I could possibly think this man was a murderer. He is nothing close to the sort.

He is my Harry.

"They're smart." He answers my previous question, "so smart that they would sense it in an instant."

"Why don't you do something?" I ask, fully believing him now. "Why don't you call the cops?"

"Because if I did that, they would make sure all the evidence lead back to me." He sighed, running a hand through his hair is frustration.

I was only beginning to understand the predicament he was in. Seeing all these people being killed around him and knowing the truth, but not being able to do shit about it.

"What can I do?" I whisper, running a hand through his hair as he rests his forehead on the couch next to me.

"I don't know, baby." He sighs. "I don't know."

_______________________

"Oh, Mason!" Carol's arms are around me before I can fully step into the house, my father not far behind.

I hug them both back as it fully hits me once again that Layla is gone and either dead or scared out of her mind.

"Have you heard anything?" I ask, not having to say her name for them to know I mean Layla.

They both shake their heads, Carol's eyes watering slightly at the mention of her daughter. But she doesn't cry. No, I don't think Carol ever really cries.

Before any of us can say anything more, the phone rings.

All three of us stare at the phone that almost never rings. Why we still have it, I'm not sure.

On the fourth ring, it's apperent that neither of them are going to pick it up.

I walk cautiously toward the phone, resting my hand on it for a second before picking it up and pressing it to my ear.

"Hello?"

I hear crying. "Mason..."

"Layla?" I ask.

Instantly, Carol is by my side. Fighting for the receiver.

"Mason, I'm scared."

"Layla, where are you?" I ask.

"I-in a dark room. T-t-there's people here-re w-who want you to co-o-ome get me." She's still crying and it's hard to understand her.

"I need you to calm down, okay? Everything will be okay. You're going to be okay." I try to sooth her, my eyes brimming with my own tears but I hold them back for the sake of Layla.

"Give me the phone." Carol says sharply.

"They said you kno-ow, Mason. Th-they said you'd figured it o-out."

"Look around, what do you see?"

"It's like--"

"Layla?" I say when she doesn't continue. "Layla?"

"It would be a shame for your pretty little sister to die, don't you think?"

I know that voice. I've heard it before. Where? Where have I heard it before?

"What do you want?" I snap, walking away from Carol and my father toward the living room.

"Why don't you come and find out?"

The voice is low, definitely male. A slight accent.

"Ho...Horan..." I say to myself. It clicks. "You were the one who drugged me."

"The abandoned fairground. Eight o'clock. Come alone and don't be late."

And then the line goes dead.

*-*-*-*

I'm so sorry my parts have been short lately but I'll make up for it soon, I promise <3

-Lena xx