Sinister - Larry Stylinson

Part Five

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Louis couldn't describe what he had felt, wasn't even sure what he had expected him to say. He was sure that Harry had been lying, but the distressed look on his face reminded him that he in-fact was not.

But beyond the look of distressed truth on the boy's face, was confusion. "Where are they?" He tried to cover the horror in his voice with a thin blanket of calm.

Harry's eyes diverted, and he glanced at the floor, brows furrowing. His mouth opened, then closed quickly, as though he had remembered than forgot. He looked helplessly, his face screwing up in frustration.

"I-I.. I just had it." He nearly screamed out, running his hands through his hair as to not tear the flat apart. Louis flinched.

He would have been lying if he himself wasn't frustrated, "Harry, focus, god dammit. Shouldn't it be apparent where you buried fucking people?" He spat it out viciously more so than he meant to, and bit his tongue as the boy looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I don't know why I can't remember. It's like my memories are muddled and distant. Like the confusion you have when you swear something happened to you, but it was actually in a dream. It's that fine of a line." He spat back with equal venom, and made his way to lean on the table, looking at the newspaper splayed out.

Louis considered the boy was repressing memories to keep himself from snapping again. Even when Harry had come to him in Violet Quarters, he hadn't really known much about his case. He could be missing large portions of the story just by not paying attention.

"They're behind my old home.. where my mum lives." Harry suddenly whispered out, his face gone slack with realization, he looked back over his shoulder.

"What?" Louis went stiff, his stomach dropped. "Your mum still lives there?" He wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

"Yes." He spat, looking back down at the paper.

"We have to call the police, Harry." Louis said tentatively, and instantly Harry whipped around, striding in one bound to him and looming over him.

"Don't, Louis. They'll shut me away for good." His voice wavered, as though that thought was worse than death.

Louis let out a short breath, "Maybe they should."

Harry's eyes softened with actual hurt, he stepped back, a tense silence filled the room. "I thought we were going to figure this out together." His voice was small.

"You killed people, Harry. More people." Louis countered firmly, perspiration building up on his palms and forehead. Harry again covered his ears with a pitiful yell.

"Please, Louis. I can't, I don't.. I," he stumbled over his words helplessly, "Just.. take me to the house! Let me see if my memories are true at least."

The man didn't say anything, just stared at him, so many different thoughts and questions bubbling up in the back of his head. He took an unsavory look out the window to see it was snowing still, a sheet of white cascading down.

"Go to your room." Louis said bluntly, not even able to hide the grimace of how condescending that sounded, as though he was his father, demanding he go to his room after not taking out the trash. The weight of differences in wrongs of a young boy and Harry's murders were much larger. Harry sent him a sour look, before turning on his heel and sauntering down the hall.

When he heard the door close with a reassuring thump, he turned to his laptop on the counter.

After 30 minutes of searching police reports, news reports and beyond about Harry and his murders, he was trembling. He had found the address to his prior home, the one he must have been indicating the rest of the bodies were buried. He gulped when his eyes scanned over a phone number for the house, which he saved for later.