When Darkness Strikes | ls au

3. Follow Where You Lead

The wind must be eternally cold and unmerciful in the place where Claire was murdered. Harry shudders as soon as he steps out of the car, and into the concrete road, now cursed by a mystery he's in charge of solving.

Cop cars surround the edges of the large street, and where officers and photographers are gathered, just on the area where Claire's body was found, is where Louis guides him to.

Harry can't help the anxiety that rises through his veins. "Where is it?" He asks Louis, just to fill in the cold silence, and break the monotony of the ruffling of trees. Glancing at surprisingly warm blue eyes, the investigator finds his answer. Louis looks up, his gaze pointed, and Harry follows it with his own.

The light yellow bag is tied to a high branch of a tree, wavering like a flag at the unstoppable and haunted breeze. Another rush of adrenaline runs across his lungs, heating his chest as he paces faster towards the accumulation of people under the tree.

"Harry, wait," Louis tries to say, but it goes unreached to Harry's senses. The investigator carries on, noticing a few officers arriving with a ladder at the corner of his vision, on a mission to rescue the piece of lead missing from Claire's items.

However, the attention of too many eyes seem to be aimed on a lower level, more specifically, on the tree's trunk. Harry subconsciously pushes whoever is on the way, until his own stare meets it.

Carved deeply into the tree's thick bark, are letters that form a two-word sentence; Good luck.

His hands clench into balled fists immediately. If there's something that Harry despises more than murderers and people that take advantage of innocent lives, is a murderer that toys with the possibility of getting caught; the perpetrator that finds pleasure in the chaos and grief they cause with their unspeakable acts of violence.

Time stands still for the solid minute that Harry spends standing in front of the carvings; he can barely hear the faint clicks of Louis' analog camera capturing the image, nor he can feel the detective's gentle fingers tangling on his coat and pulling him away slowly.

When he breathes again, now unrestrained by the vision of the murderer's engraved words, he meets Louis' expression. The shorter man looks slightly angry as well, although his concerns seem to be now fixated on Harry's reaction to the scene.

"He's playing with us." Harry speaks, sucking in a gelid breath. "How did he even manage to put the bag there? And why?" He questions, feeling his voice being swallowed by the woods around them.

Louis shrugs, releasing his camera that hang around his neck. "I don't know, but we will find out, I'll tell you that." He assures and Harry runs a nervous hand through his curls. "But I need you to breathe now, don't work yourself up, it doesn't help with anything."

Harry knows it's true, and it adds to his unease the fact that he can't find himself to be in control of his emotions then; that the words of a homicidal man he's chasing have such an effect on him. "That's not something a random, inexperienced killer would do. That's a psychopath's behavior, and you know it. The way he's toying with leads-"

"I know," Louis agrees. "You're right, but we need to collect ourselves or else we won't be able to look through things clearly. You know that, too."

Harry takes in another breath, wincing when he feels his lungs turn to ice, like the atmosphere that lingers there. It takes a second for him to feel grounded enough to speak again. "I want to look through that bag." He expresses in a calmer tone.

Louis nods, sympathetically. Harry wonders how Louis manages to handle himself when it comes to the most annoying details of a case. He's thankful that the detective is there along the way to bring him to his senses. "We will, they'll have to send it to station for the reports first, but after that we'll look through everything, alright? I even talked to Stan about it, if you can imagine."