Harry.
Corruption seeps in with sinful silence, lurking in the devil's shadows for a cue to strike. Preying on innocent heart strings, the deceit takes many forms to banish purity from the soul, simply betraying the calmness that keeps a steady rhythm for a beating heart.
Sultry exploratory between a ticking metronome introduced us before words had the pleasure of doing so. A proper introduction wasn't needed when rendezvoused thrusts took place of a handshake and pleas of deviant desperation sang out our names.
That's by far the most favorable corruption.
Beautiful corruption stormed in when blonde curls were captured and held snug beneath my navy beanie in the midst of a snow fallen park, guards lowered by the tranquil trust that arrogance wasn't needed to have fun.
But the most devastating corruption comes with witnessing playful giggles and a sparkling smile get swept away by a storm of devastating tragedy. Light drained from Scotty's eyes in a fourteen second phone call, tears drowning out the connection we were building.
In my pursuit to wrap Scotty around my finger, Niall found a way to intercept without even being present.
He was going to be a bigger problem down the road, I can feel it.
Tremors vibrated against the leather passenger seat of the vehicle, partially from the damp clothing cascading chills up her spine and the rest out of shock. Soft tunes pump quietly through the stereo, the station carefully chosen to lull her anxiety to a mellow pulse with coffee shop melodies. Words went unspoken, but so many bounced in my head. What do you say when someone gets shot?
"Fucking move." I grumble under my breath, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. The day I leave this filthy ass city and never have to drive behind a yellow taxi will be the best fucking day of my life. "C'mon!" I smack my hand down on the horn, blaring it to clear a passage so we can get a move on.
"Yelling doesn't make them move any faster." Scotty broke her vow of silence, my beanie acting as a barrier between her head and the window. "Trust me, I've tried."
"I wasn't built for New York." My eyes scan my mirrors, jolting us over to the left lane in the break of the traffic. "Bye, fuckface." I toss up my middle finger towards Scotty's window as I pass the idiotic taxi driver.
"Clearly." She swats my hand away from her side of the car before going back to studying her phone, impatiently waiting for an update.
"Any news?" Unsure of really what to say to keep her calm, I fish for anything to break the silence. Figured talking is better than letting her spiral in silence.
"Nothing yet..." She tells me, tears welling up in her ducts at the mention. Shit.
"How long have you known each other?" I panic, searching for a way to divert the attention to a more positive place. The last thing I want to do is talk about Niall, but he clearly means something to her, so I can't be a complete ass to her right now.
"Just a few years now. We met when he was competing for a job with NYPD and got close right after." Her chipped purple nail polish was under attack of her anxiety, her dominant index finger picking away at the weak spots. "Beck has always worked with him, so we really got to know each other through her. They're similar in a lot of ways, so for me, it was like getting another best friend."
"What about you and Beck?" Blue signage guided me down the bustling streets, letting me know which route to take to get to the hospital while Scotty shares their backstory. "I get the feeling she hates my fuckin' guts." Blunt words get thrown her way, keeping my observations honest.
Scotty almost caved into a smile at my choice of verbiage, glancing over at me. "Beck's going to be the toughest one for you to crack. She's got her way with reading people and stands by it."
"What does that mean?" My brows furrow in confusion.
"You're not a hard person to google, Harry." She reminds me, pale face flushed with anxiety as she continues to put on a brave face to get through our conversation. "Beck doesn't put up with bullshit, and she thinks you're full of it."
Amusement brightens up my face -- she's not wrong. But Scotty doesn't get to know that quite yet.
"Eh, I prefer arrogant." I chuckle, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. My rings clashed with the rubberized wheel, but it was the one thing keeping
"Arrogant son of a bitch." Scotty mumbles my lyrics under her breath, peering at me through her lashes with a sweet smile that made me want to corrupt her all over again.
"So you are a fan." I muse, finding some enjoyment in her knowing my lyrics, even if it's that one.
"More like held hostage by the radio station. Every decent station plays your music at least three times within the hour." She tries to humble me.
"All I'm hearing is that you listen to my music." I wonder what stations she classifies as decent. My music is mostly blasted on rock stations. That didn't seem to fit her vibe.
"If listening for the first fifteen seconds before I turn the station counts, then sure." The corners of her lips tilted up with her words, immediately exposing her lies.
"Do you stay up late at night thinking up smart ass things to say to me?"
"Don't flatter yourself. You're the last thing I think about at night." She cut my teasing short with crossed arms, body tensing as the generic white hospital building came into view.
For the past ten minutes, I was able to pull her out of her head with casual small talk and my lazy version of music therapy, but things were out of my control now.
Flashing lights blurred in hues of reds and blues near the entrance of the emergency room, several NYPD vehicles abandoned near an ambulance. Scotty's cheeks were flushed, blood drained from her face as the anticipation began eating her alive. Tense shoulders hugged her ears, and her lower lip quivered like she was biting back tears.
Whatever happens from here is out of her hands and she can't stand it.
"Whenever you're ready." I shove the gear stick into park, but by the time I get my seat belt off, she's already out of the car and sprinting towards the automatic doors.
I make an effort to follow her, but at no point do I bother running. I couldn't care less if the fucker is okay or not. He's fucking everything up. I don't have time to teach another brainless cop how to play my set list, and I sure as hell don't have the tolerance to rework a new plan.
"N-Niall Horan, w-where is he?" Scotty stammers to the receptionist, gloved fingers clutching the counter.
"What's your relation?" The brunette behind the counter didn't bother to make eye contact with Scotty, instead more focused on how many times she could chew her stupid ass gum per minute.
"H-he's my friend, he's been s-shot." She barely had the strength to explain what had happened, and was met with no empathy. I stood over her shoulder, resting my hand on the small of her back for the support she obviously needed.
"Ma'am, you'll have to take a seat and wait for a while. We make it a point to prioritize family visits first. When his family is ready for visitors, then you can go back. In the meantime, there are several others here waiting to be escorted to see their loved ones, go sit among them." Bored eyes finally peered up at us, impatiently waiting for us to leave.
"You don't understand, his family... His family isn't here." Scotty tried to explain to the bimbo, but watering ducts finally hushed her pleas with the ignorant bitch.
"When they get here, they determine who visits." Leaned back in her chair, the lazy bitch acted like the office chair was her throne and we were supposed to bow down to her power crazed attitude.
Fuck this.
"Jesus Christ, just tell us what room he's in." Assertiveness takes over my tone, patience running thin.
"Sir, I can't do tha-" Great, she wants to argue? Fine by me.
"If you want to walk out of here with a job tonight, you're going to tell us what fucking room he's in." I move Scotty aside, slamming both hands down on the counter. This lady must be sedated, because she didn't even flinch.
"If you continue to threaten me, sir, I'll have to call security." She rebuttals, twisting the cap off of her water bottle. "Go wait with everyone else."
"Call security. It's going to look real fucking funny when your officer on duty comes out here and sees the daughter of one of NYPD's highest rank Sargents getting harassed by some stupid bitch in scrubs with kittens on them." Scotty's fingers innocently tugged at the corner of my coat, her silence way of telling me to calm the fuck down.
"You're here with them?" A drawn-on eyebrow cocks up at us, scrunching up her forehead.
"Did I stutter?" I fire back at her idiocy. "Room number. Now."
"Here, here, I have ID." Scotty fumbled her hands through a few different pockets before pulling out her identification badge, completed with the official NYPD seal, her photo and name, and position.
The brainless bitch did a double take at Scotty's ID like she was trying to decide if she had a fake made outside on the curb for the soul purpose of coming in here today.
This is the god damn emergency room, not a damn bar.
A final look over Scotty's face caved the receptionist and she finally started typing away at her keyboard. "Room 412." A loud buzz disabled the double doors to the right of the counter, slowly opening them for our accessibility.
"Thank you so much." Scotty fled the scene of my argument, running over towards the doors. I lingered behind, snatching her ID off of the desk.
"Fucking bitch." I growl at her. If she wasn't a woman, her teeth would've been knocked down her throat by now.
Scotty is long gone by the time I get through the double doors, leaving me on my own to find the room. Florescent lighting made the whitewashed hallways brighter in the most obnoxious ways. Everything about hospitals creep me out, but nothing is worse than the sterile smell that immediately absorbs into your clothes.
The numbers seem to descend from the mid five hundreds the further I walk straight, so I must be on the right pathway. For the most part, curtains keep the patients hidden in their private rooms, heart monitors beeping and quiet chatter at the nurses station disrupt the silence. Today's emergencies must not be a critical as they could be.
"I didn't anticipate meeting you here, Mr. Styles." A wicked tone caught my attention as I passed a central room, stopping me in my tracks. A glance over my shoulder brought me eye to eye with the most villainous asshole I've ever encountered. "This certainly isn't part of the plan."
Fuck, not now.
Niall.
Before the call.
"Holy shit." Fear was instilled in my stomach the moment my eyes caught a glimpse of the gruesome sight. Human betrayal defaced the once polish office space; bloodied hand prints graffitied the nine-to-five responsibilities of whoever took residency in this office while shattered glass snitched that the entrance was forced.
I followed the seeping pool of blood towards the office door, nudging the door open fully with my foot. Shards of glass crunched below my every step, bloodied hand prints littering the desk. "Do you smell that?" My voice raided through the office, bouncing off of the walls.
A familiar gunpowder scent cycled through the air in the confined space, drawing up several questions in my head. The unorganized disaster around us led me to assume this scene was the result of a stabbing, but may turn out to be heinous in a different format.
"This is 22-David, we need backup on the ground rear. We stumbled across a crime scene." Liam trailed a few steps behind, putting in a call to the team. "I think there's more hostages than anticipated..."
"Copy. En route." Louis's voice chimed in over the radio.
From across the room, light whimpering sounds clash with the wooden desk. Liam eyes me for a minute, seeing if I picked up on the sound. Again, fragile cries yearn for help. Liam and I exchange a quick nod, splitting sides of the room to slowly approach the desk.
"NYPD, who's in here?" Liam calls out, warning the unknown person that we were approaching.
"Come on out, you're safe with us." I add.
Clothing shuffled against the underneath of the desk, movement contrasting with the scattered paper on the ground. Intently, we keep our guns in position, eyes locked on the hidden individual. For all we know, this could be our suspect luring us into a trap. Nothing was off the table yet.
"P-please, don't shoot me..." A parched voice scratches as a halo of red hair peeks out from under the desk. Green eyes bounce between the two of us, bloodied hands risen up for our protection.
"Step away from the desk, ma'am. Is there anyone else under there?" Liam directed her movements, a little distraught by the sight of the blood on her hands. I think it was safe to say we had assumed whoever was attacked was dead by now due to the amount of blood loss.
She must've been the one who's hand prints are decorating the walls.
Unsteady movements bring the woman to her feet, her business casual attire wrecked by her combat. Noticeable rips along her soiled blouse showed signs of a struggle as the tears stains on her checks, black mascara smudged underneath her eyes to compliment her fear and distress. Her lip quivered tiredly as she fought for gasps of air.
"M-M-My.... He's... I think he's d-dead..." Shock strangled the woman, nearly bring her back down to her knees as she slowly approached me. Immediate reflects kicked in and I dropped my gun on the desk to catch her from collapsing.
"I've got you, come on." Her nails were manicured to a point, almost sharp enough to puncture through my skin as she clung to my forearms. Scotty always told me that nails could be filed to be weapons, but I didn't believe her until now.
"Who's dead, ma'am?" Liam made it a point to get all of the answers while I focused on steadying the woman on her feet, moving her over towards one of the office seats near the door. Blood splatters mimicked the constellation of freckles that decorated her nose so delicately.
Selfishly, the freckles reminded me of the ones that cover Scotty's nose like remnants of sun kisses. I didn't trust that Harry would be doing anything kind with her and I just wanted to wrap this case up and get back to her.
"H-him..." Terror broke the woman down to her knees as her index finger pointed back towards the desk. I dropped to my knees with her, hand rested on her shoulder to hush away her loud sobs, doing a quick visual examination over the woman to locate where all of this blood was coming from.
Cautious strides sent Liam peering around the corner of the desk, searching for what sent this lady into such a distressed state. She wasn't alone under there, but that left us posed with the question of who was still under there.
"Niall, call for backup." Emotion fell vacant in Liam's tone, almost striking a monotone as his pupils went wide. Standing behind the desk, blood drained from Liam's face like it had been draining from the woman beside me.
"What?" I search for more information as I grab for my radio.
"We need back up. Get some medics in here and call for some fucking back up!" He shouted in a way I had never heard before, almost nauseated and genuinely fearful. Even faced with the most devastating cases with Child Protective Services, Liam's never caved into his emotions like this. Fallen to the ground, Liam begins proper protocol for whomever he's stumbled upon. "Male, mid-40s, multiple gunshot wound to the face, no pulse. Starting CPR."
My stomach knots at the vague description, now understanding what horrors lie behind the mahogany furniture.
"23-David to dispatch, I'm requesting all available units and emergency medics on site as soon as possible. I have a female, mid-30s, with an possible source of external bleeding, and a male, mid-40s with several gunshot wound to the face, no pulse. 22-David is beginning compression."
"Copy that, medical ETA is 8 minutes, backup in 10."
"No pulse?" The woman hysterically sobs, rolling to sit on her bottom with her back against the chair. "No, no, tell me you're wrong!"
"Ni, it's worse than just gunshots..." Liam said through loud huffs, repetitively pressing in the center of the unidentified man's chest.
"It can't get any worse!" Sobs turn into screams, fists balling up and slamming against her thighs. "You're wrong, he's fine!"
"Ma'am, deep breaths, breathe with me." I dismiss what Liam was insinuating, catching the woman's fists in my palms to prevent her from inflicting any harm on herself. "Talk to me, tell me you're name."
Her body jolts uncontrollably with every sharp inhale, lungs restricting how much oxygen she takes in. Instead of responding, she shakes her head repeatedly, denying herself of any human connection.
"I'm Niall. I'm really sorry we're meeting under these conditions, but I'm here to help you, okay?" I squeeze my grip around her hands to draw her into me, searching for any way to form some kind of human connection to ease her nerves.
In the police academy, they trained us to remember that the majority of our encounters were going to be with people experiencing the worst day of their life. That meant that it was now our job to ensure the civilian feels supported throughout their time with us. There was no time for arrogance or superiority. Being apart of law enforcement meant serving and protecting in every possible sense. A badge doesn't make me important, but how I make others feel does.
"Look at me." Adjusting to a more suitable position on my ass rather than my knees, I gently shook her hands in mine, hoping to reel her in this time around. Body language was important, I wouldn't be seen as approachable if I didn't attempt to relate my physicality to her vulnerability. "What's your name?"
Exhaustion swirled deep within the natural patterns of her green eyes, finally meeting mine. Emotional had subsided to deep waves of numbness, sedated by shock.
Maybe that was for the best.
"Lila, Lila Mayfield." She was lucid enough to identify herself, but something seemed off. Baptism by blood, not a single exterior wound was easily identifiable to locate the source of her out-pour.
"Alright, Lila, you're doing great." I praise her efforts. "Can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt?"
Protest is heavy in her body language, tense muscles keeping her reserved. Straight strands of her red hair framed her face, almost seeming intentional in efforts to disguise her facial features. She shakes her head slowly, eyes burning into mine.
"Can you tell me his name at least?" I gently urge for further information so I can piece the puzzle together. "Were you friends?"
The corners of her lips curve up slowly, teasing a half smile. It was an unusual reaction, but everyone handles trauma differently.
"He's my husband, Niall." Longing eyes skim over my face as her fingers intertwine with mine. Discomfort settles in my stomach, a bad feeling starting to spiral. "Derek Mayfield."
Her significant other is in the middle of getting resuscitated, but she's holding my hands with the slightest smirk on her lips. This isn't right. There's no way in hell she's an innocent bystander. Her energy just completely shifted... Whatever facade she was upholding just faltered.
"Liam, how's it going?" I redirect the conversation, praying he could blindly pick up on my suspicions.
"Still no pulse. God knows how long he was down before we got here." Liam sounded exhausted, nearing seven minutes of compression time. Even if I offered, I knew he wouldn't accept my help to trade him out. Emotional baggage wasn't his strong suit, he preferred hands on so everyone else could be of moral support. "Come on..."
Lila's hands grip mine tighter, pulling them onto her lap. Her actions were almost like a kid going through a haunted house for the first time - jumpy and inconsistent. She was in distress, but I've never seen anyone react like this before.
"He's working really hard to save your husband, Lila." Due to the inappropriate manner of her guidance of my hands, I release her hands to rest on the tops of my thighs. Dried blood coated my gloves, so I rubbed them against the denim as a temporary exfoliant. "Are you hurt, Lila? We need to get you taken care of, too."
"Are you married, Niall?" Lila wonders, combing her fingers mindlessly through her red locks. This was the second time she had dismissed my question, keeping all conversation off of her...
Pints of blood saturated her blouse, tampering the fabric dyes of her clothing. The density didn't seem to increase as time went on, so maybe the blood wasn't hers. There were no cuts visible on her arms or face, hardly any sign of struggle on her end other than a few rips in her outfit. It didn't add up. Was this blood her husband's? And what the fuck happened in here? The hand prints on the windows are too small to be his.
Now things are really starting to get weird. Just relate, Niall, maybe she just wants human connection.
"No, not yet." I admit cautiously, beginning to understand why Liam refrains from the conversational aspect if at all possible. "I hope to be sometime soon though."
"Do you have someone special?" Knowing her husband is on his deathbed, potentially already deceased, this woman continues to fixate on my personal life like she was gathering the pieces to a puzzle.
"I like to think so." Maybe this was her way of feeling in control right now. Her world has flipped upside down, so maybe she's guiding this conversation so she can have a sense of control back.
"What's her name?" Lila asked, face dried of any fallen tears now. Instead, she was propped up against the furniture, treating me like we were old friends catching up over a cup of coffee.
Something wasn't right.
"What the fuck happened in here?" Louis has impeccable timing, interrupting the intrusive dialog that was happening as he stood in the doorway. He took a minute to look over the scene, mentally mapping out his speculations and theories as he always does when first entering a crime scene. The beauty of his photographic memory was that once quick scan and he could recall everything he saw within seconds.
His pupils bounced around the room in a quick once-over glance, stopping to observe Lila. Louis tensed his jaw, studying her physicality.
Let's see if he's onto her too.
Louis is an expert at body language - being a good lawyer meant that he had to understand the slightest tremor or eye movements. It definitely gave him an advantage out of the field. Nothing ever got past him.
"Where's Liam?" Narrow eyes fixated on Lila though his question was directed towards me. He wanted to see how she reacted to my answer.
"Behind the desk. Little help would be appreciated!" Oxygen sounded scarce with Liam's words, easily overworking himself from the CPR. "He's been without a pulse since we got here almost ten minutes ago."
Lila sat oblivious to the surrounds, presenting as completely numb and borderline sedated. With her husbands blood on her hands, she sat quietly using the a clean edge of her sweater to buff her manicure back to a presentable state.
The sight of the man beneath the desk didn't phase Louis nearly as much as it did Liam, Louis swapping in Liam's place to take over compression. "There are several gunshots wounds to the head and a precise exit wound near his brain stem. The likelihood of resuscitation is slim."
Again, no reaction out of Lila. Liam shot me a confused look from across the room, slowly walking over to us.
"Ma'am, backup and medical care should be arriving any second now. We need to evacuate you from the premise so they can examined you." Squatting down in front of her, Liam explained to her what needed to be done.
Met with unamusement, Lila shook her head and declined. "I want to wait with my husband. We vowed 'til death do us part. I'll leave when he's announced dead."
"It's not safe here, Lila, we need to get you out of here. The man who did all of this is still roaming freely in this building. It's to protect you." I urge, but a realization slaps me upside the head.
Why did he spare her?
Her hand prints are covering the office, showing signs of a struggle. If our suspect was after her, then why was she spared in the end, practically untouched?
"Oh, no, honey, this wasn't the work of a man." Pursed lips concealed back a laugh, green eyes challenging my assumption that woman couldn't do all of this.
Clarity struck Liam and I at the same time. Lila wasn't the innocent wife, she was the one who slaughtered her husband.
"It wasn't?" Liam furrowed his brows, playing dumb.
"Woman are capable of many things, boys. Especially when she's enraged." Pearly white teeth contrast with the crimson that accessorized her appearance. "She had some kind of vendetta against my husband."
Our suspect is a male with a motive, so where does Lila come into play?
"Dispatch to 20 team, EMTs and patrol are located on the north east exterior." All at once, the same voice rang over our radios. Our chapter in this was almost over, we just had to turn Lila over and meet up with Sarge.
"Copy." Liam confirmed the relay of the message. "Lila, what did this woman look like?"
"Well, beautiful, of course." Her lashes batted slowly, shrugging easily as if pointing out the obvious.
"Any other details you could share would help us track down who did this to your husband." I tilt my head slightly, giving her a look of sincerity - forced, but sincere.
"When can I leave?" Pure curiosity combated my request for further details. Liam nodded in compliance. "Let's get you outside so you can give a statement. If she's been here before, there's a good chance she'll come back." Liam suggests as he rises to his feet, extending a hand down to Lila.
After seeing what she was capable of, I agreed with Liam's idea to escort her out of the building before taking her into custody. Any escalation on our end could severely impact what was going on upstairs with the other suspect.
"I'll go with Niall." She turns to me. "He's been so helpful through this. As soon as the shock wears off, I'm going to be a blubbering mess. His comfort will be much more valuable."
"We'll both take you." I stand to my feet, exhaling slowly. I've crossed paths with some of the nations most vile criminals, but for some reason, Lila has me on edge. Her quick range of emotions faltered to mimic sociopathic tendencies, the facade boring her the longer she played it. She confessed in her own twisted way, but as stereotypes go, she thinks she's smarter than us. We caught on, but she thinks her poetic way of dancing around our questions tricked us.
"No, just you." Lila protests. "If by some miracle my husband starts breathing again, he needs to be here to help."
Her logic wasn't far off, but I could see the hesitation in Liam's eyes. I hadn't taken the time to get an idea of what her husband looked like, but Liam's expression told me that he feared that she could do some serious harm.
"If that makes you most comfortable, that's fine with us." I nod, holding my hands out to aide her in standing. "Liam, will you radio out to the EMTs and have them prep a gurney?" I needed someone to know we were exiting the building, and I silently prayed that Liam would move in backup instead.
Lila took a stance with ease, my muscles contracting as she used me as leverage to stand. Over her shoulder, I noticed a picture frame with a photo of a younger looking Lila and who I assumed to be her husband standing in front of a motel, bright eyed newlyweds.
Her husband easily had to be a foot or so taller than her, towering over her with ease. The fact that she was able to take him down was almost impressive.
But where's the murder weapon?
"Ready?" I ask her, dancing my eyes across the room. No sign of weapons anywhere. She either hid it or it's still on her body. Great.
"Will I have a chance to say goodbye later?" Flipping on the faux concern, Lila fluttered her lashes to mimic blinking away tears.
"The EMTs will update you as soon as they have the opportunity to help him. In the meantime, let's go get you taken care of."
She didn't resist exiting any longer, instead her black stilettos clattered against the shattered glass towards the door. Appearing completely fearless, she didn't wait for my guidance. Instead, she lead me out of the office and back into the hallway.
"There's a door right over here, c'mon." Silence lingered through the building, so whatever was happening with the suspect we originally were seeking out must be going okay. I took precautionary measure to clear the area before taking the lead. My left hand fumbled against my hip, patting around my holster for my gun.
Shit. I left it sitting on the desk.
"What's wrong?" Lila asked a question she already knew the answer to. Her close observation to my hip made it obvious she knew what was wrong, but I can't confirm to her that I don't have my weapon.
One of the key rules they teach us in academy is to never let your suspect know you're unarmed.
"Nothing, let's get you out of here. The sooner we get you out of here, the sooner the guys and I can go track down the woman who attacked you and your husband." The stakes were high now that I was unarmed. I had no immediate way to protect myself. A taser was no match for a gun, which Lila clearly had somewhere on her person.
"Now, why would you have to track her down?" She wondered, nearing her confession. Remorse wasn't visible in her tone, in fact, no emotion could be pinpointed.
"What do you mean?" I hold my hand up to halt her so I can peer around the corner, making sure our pathway was clear. We came into this case thinking we'd only have one suspect, but that story was quickly changed. Who knows if there's anyone else we need to be on the lookout for.
"I'm right here, silly." Lila giggled, stating the obvious and confirming what I had speculated. I turn back to look at her, eyes wide at her casual confession.
A silver handgun was clutched in both of her hands, finger caressing the trigger like this was a game of Russian Roulette. She was taunting me, my life held on the line by a devious woman with a revenge agenda against men.
"Lila, you don't want to do this." My hands were level with my face, surrendering to her control. Any sudden movements could send her overboard. I had to be careful.
"But I do, Niall." She countered. "If only all men were as nurturing as you. You made me feel more seen in a fifteen minutes than my husband did in ten years."
"Is that why you hurt him?" I calmly played into her storytelling, asking questions to keep her distracted. If I could keep her talking long enough, one of the guys would hear us and come out here.
"He was fucking his assistant. Genevieve was always a dirty little skank, even in high school. I told him time and time again that I didn't appreciate them working together, but did he listen?" Lila walked closer to me, now only separated by one square floor tile. "No."
Genevieve... Our suspect's wife! The pieces of the puzzle quickly came together now. Genevieve probably confided in her boss about the domestic abuse. One thing led to another and resulted in an affair, maybe that's what led her to file for divorce. My guess is that her husband and Lila caught wind of it, so they teamed up to put an end to it - or their spouses.
Jesus.
"I'm so sorry to hear that, Lila, but his poor decisions don't have to ruin your life more than they already have. You can walk away from all of this." I try to sway her to calm down. Things were bad for her, but holding me up like this would only make things worse...
"Don't tell me that bullshit!" Anger ignited within her, devouring her emotionless persona. "I killed my husband, I'm going to jail. There's no walking away from what I did, but I'd do it ten times over if it means revenge has been served."
"Let me help you. I can advocate for you, maybe we could get you a lesser sentence." I could only pull so many strings, but she didn't need to know that.
"Oh, how I wish I could take your word, Niall. But all men are the same. You seem to be a rare exception, but you have to understand my hesitation." Lila's thoughts were running recklessly through her head. The way her eyes were fidgeting back and forth, internally wrapped up in a moral game of tug-of-war.
"Your husband lost, Lila. You got your revenge, you won. Don't let him take that victory away from you. Don't do anything stupid that you'll regret." Trying to feed her ego, I desperately look over her shoulder. Now would be a good time for Liam and Louis to step in.
"Stupid? I'm not stupid. The exact opposite, actually." The barrel of the gun shoves into my chest, teetering my balance backwards. "Derek always told me I was stupid for thinking he would cheat on me, and then he played me like a damn fool!"
Rage consumed her, quivering hands losing her steady grip on her gun. Slowly, I drew my hands down lower, cupping my hands over her own. "Give me the gun, Lila. We can walk out of here together."
Finally having an advantage on her, I slowly lower her hands. Her compliance was all credited to the trust I had worked so hard to build with her back in the office, but even though her hand obliged, conflict still battled in her eyes.
"Why can't all men in life be as good as you?" Tears bridged her lash line, weakness overcoming her figure. Shallow gasps drew in across her lower lip, anxiety starting to send her into a spiral. Realization of what she had done was rising to the surface, and regret would soon become her best known acquaintance. "I'm sorry things have to be this way..."
The overhead lights flickered without cause, the florescent bulbs dimming the office building into a darkened haze. Light was proven to be faster than sound as a distinct muzzle flash served as a credible warning that pain would soon endure. Confirmation to that hypothesis was prompted at the gunshot echoed through the hallways, discomfort introducing itself to my left hip.
"Maybe you will reunite with your love in the next life." Lila's voice was muffled by a ringing in my ears.
Shockwaves of pain acted as the customary handshake on my way to the floor, bidding me a warm hello and cruel goodbye all in one.
And then the lights went out.
_
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To be continued.