Escapade - Larry Stylinson (Re-write)

XXXIII - Bump in the Night

Hello!!
The updates are a little slower because it's getting to the chapters that require more work, so I thank you all for the patience and support between uploads!

While I get the chapters out, commenting and sharing help me so if it's possible for you to do so, I'd really appreciate it!
(especially the sharing part because I'm a caveman with no social media to promote this work lol)

Thank you! I hope you enjoy the chapter!

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By the time the storm had passed and Louis felt like himself again, he was tucked in his bed under a mountain of pillows, watching his nightlight change from various blues and reds and whites and back again. He'd fallen into many daydreams to calm himself, from ones about his friends and family to obscure topics like how long it would take a shoal of piranhas to eat him.

As another daydream ended, Louis dragged himself back to the reality of his warm bed, and the drumming of his brother's fingers on the leather sofa. Liam had been with him for over an hour in the room, and although he looked like he was about to drop dead from fatigue—he refused to leave Louis by himself until he could be certain that his little brother was alright.

Upon seeing Louis look at him, he asked,
"Do you want a drink?"
"No." Louis replied.
"Spaghetti hoops?"
"No."
"Toilet?"
"Ah—no."

Liam tilted his head,
"Would you like to talk?"
"I don't have anything to say to you."
"You have everything to say to me."

Louis pulled at the tips of his ringlets and frowned,
"I don't understand why you're angry."

"Because—" Liam started, rubbing his face in his hands, "Look, the carpark is River Boys turf. Gang turf. It's a place where horrible things happen that you've seen tonight. People who don't belong on our territory get killed, beaten, kidnapped; you name it. That could have been you, Louis. When I saw that the person walking up to us tonight was my own brother, I just—"

He stuttered, waving his hands in search for words strong enough to describe how he felt. He gave up and his head drooped. "I encourage you to pursue your special interests, but this one has become way too dangerous. We've all told you to observe from a distance—look at articles, ask questions, make guesses; but don't chase the people involved. You'll get yourself killed."

"By who? Harry won't kill me, Jack won't either. They're the ones in charge so who's left to kill me?"

"He's right." Harry said from the balcony. Seemingly appeared out of thin air, he stood consulting the first page of a newspaper Louis had found, dating back to the 1950s. He gave it a strange look while he put his cigarette out, before pushing the door open further until he was in the room with them.
"Who's going to kill him? No one for now, at least. In fact, if Jack sees Louis, he'll go out of his way to keep him alive and well."

"Why are you here?" Liam asked, angrily. Harry stared him down until the man shrank back on the chair.

Harry walked up to Louis and inspected his face.

"How are you feeling? It's hard work down in the carparks, isn't it?"

Louis nodded, leaning into Harry's cold hands.
"Three and a half out of five stars." He said.

Harry's face showed a smile but Louis could feel a lot of pain coming from him. He felt humiliation, emotional trauma, and physical agony. Louis lifted Harry's shirt, and saw huge, dark bruises behind the tattoos; trailing from his hipbones all the way up to his left armpit. Harry pulled his shirt back down before anyone had finished looking.