CHAPTER 29
Marcel Harry Styles P.O.V
So.....it's been about a week since my little escape attempts. They have moved me to multiple different and bigger cells because after about a day in a room, I start panicking because of my claustrophobia. They seem frustrated with it but always move me. I haven't had another panic attack over the food, but that's because they've only fed me a handful of times and it was just a piece of fruit each time. I'm starving (and that's pretty bad considering I don't usually eat too much anyway) and way too scared to ask for more.
The Russian has come and done a few more interrogations with me but I practically stay silent. He asks for my name and I say Marcel, he gets frustrated and leaves. He keeps asking about Harry and in the past few hours I've remembered he is in One Direction and is super famous but I can't remember our relationship. I don't even know if I've met him or not.
I haven't been cut again but if I didn't do something they wanted me to do fast enough, they'd hit me or push me to the ground. It's nothing to what I'm used to at school so I'm grateful for that.
"Wake up Harry!" someone with a French accent called from behind the mirror. My head shot up instantly and scanned the room. I must've fallen asleep but I don't remember doing it. I've tried so hard to stay awake 24/7 lately because they could do anything to me in my sleep, but I've unfortunately had about sixish hours in total I think.
"I told you I'm Marcel," I glared at the mirror.
"Whatever. You're delusional," the same guy whispered.
"No I'm not. Why would I continue lying to you about who I am? Why would I do that if I know lying to you could end my life? My name is Marcel not Harry," I said harshly at the mirror as I stood up from the corner I was curled in and dusted myself off. I winced in pain as I flicked my wrist down my bloody, ripped and torn shirt. My wrist still stings horribly from the other day and I can't do anything about it.
"The boss wants to transfer you today so he wants you fed. What do you want? I'd be pretty hungry if I were you," the man laughed the last part. I scowled at the mirror where I thought he'd be standing and he went quiet.
"Why is he transferring me?" I asked monotoned.
"We've heard that the FBI is looking for you and we found out that they will come here tomorrow so we want you gone by then. We'll through a coat over you so no one sees your....state, then we'll walk you to the car that's about two blocks away. But the boss will explain it later, for now, what do you want to eat? We have some steak," I gaged at the word so he moved on. "Bacon?" he said and I shook my head rapidly. He seemed to be enjoying this.
"I'm a vegetarian. I would have thought you'd figure that out by now," I spoke roughly.
"Oh.... I think I could make a salad and I could get some water. Is that fine?" he said and I slowly nodded.
"Yeah," I whispered, going back to my corner. After about 10 minutes, a man that I assumed was the same man, unlocked my door and came in. I lifted my head and watched as he placed the plate, fork and bottle of water on the table before leaving without a word. I slowly stood up and approached the dish. It looked normal. I prodded it with my finger, it felt normal. But then I lifted up a lettuce leaf to find white powder.
"I would have thought you'd spike my drink not my food. I'm starving and now I can't eat this," I said angrily towards the mirror.
"We did spike your drink," the man said and by the tone of his voice, I knew he was smiling. "You know what, I'll give you this," he said before pausing. He had walked around and come into my room. He then opened the door and leaned on the doorframe.
"Here," he said before throwing a half-eaten muesli bar at me. "It's mine so sorry I ate some. I do feel sorry for you. I'd be really hungry if I was you but the boss said to give you that salad Harry," he whispered.
"I'm not Harry," I whispered as the door was centimetres from closing again. The man must have heard so he opened the door again and walked in.
"You keep saying that but why? We all know you're Harry so there’s no point trying to say you're not," he said, locking the door with his key so we were both inside together.
I sighed. "I'm not Harry. My name is Marcel and it's just a coincidence that my full name is Marcel Harry Styles. 100% coincidence I think. I can't quiet remember if I've met him before or what our relationship was, but I'm not him. I'm just plain old me. I'm not a singer or a millionaire. I'm an orphan that's in college and I have a job at a hospital. That's it," I sighed, knowing he wouldn't believe me.
"So...." he started, watching me as I slumped onto the chair and pushed the plate away. "You're really not Harry?" he asked and I only nodded, not even looking up.
"I just want to go home," I mumbled, my head in my hands and my elbows on my knees. "I just want to go home," I said again, but this time barely a whisper. I started to feel a tear roll down my cheek but I let it fall. Manly men don't cry but I think we've established that I'm not a manly man.
"So it's the truth? This whole time you've been telling the truth?" he asked and I nodded. I can't believe that he's actually believing me. "Okay, well, the boss will still want you 'cause he's come so far but I'll tell him that I actually believe you Har-Marcel, sorry," he said, realising his little stuff-up. He nodded then walked out, leaving me by myself again.
When he was gone, my eyes darted towards the muesli bar he had left on the table. He did seem nice enough. Maybe he's just getting payed a lot and that's why he's trapping me here. I reached out for the bar and looked at it closely. It was a nut and honey bar. Good thing I'm not allergic to nuts am I right?
I smelt the bar and nothing unusual seemed to be there. I took the risky choice and took a small bite. When you're starving you don't care that someone else has bitten some of it.
It tasted normal, no foreign matter tasted. When I swallowed I took another bite then another and after about a minute, it was gone. It was delicious, and I wished I had more. Even though I had eaten something, it made me feel hungrier. I looked around the room but the only thing in here other than me, the mirror, the table and the chair I was sitting in was the salad and drink and no way I'd eat them. Even if I was that desperate (which I almost am) I have no idea what's on it. It could be more amnesia dust they were talking about, or it could be a sleeping drug like when they had originally kidnapped me, or it could be something that could kill me.
After about another hour, a different and stricter looking man walked in. I stood up from the corner I was sitting in again and stared at him. "Time to go Harry," he said, extending his arm out the door, intending for me to exit. I didn't move a muscle and just waited for him to explain. "The boss wants to talk to you before we get in the car that's waiting for us," he said politely. What the hell? Why is he acting polite when he's trapped me here for the last week?
I slowly approached the door and walked out of the room. I had planned to run away immediately after I had left the room and entered the hallway but it looked like they knew I would do that. There was about five grown men blocking the hallway, both sides might I add, so I could only walk at the speed of my escort. When he had taken a step the men had too, making it feel like a little cage.
I looked around and breathed heavily. I was petrified I thought I needed that one bathroom trip a day rule to be broken (but I don't want to explain that. Yuck. The bathroom was just an awkward place and of rather forget it ever happened).
"This way Mr. Styles," the man gestured to an office door after we had walked the maze for about 15 minutes. This place is huge. I hesitantly, stepped forward and slowly pushed the door open. The room was dark but I was pushed inside. "Go on, he's in there," the man said before slamming the door behind me. That's what I'm afraid of. What could this criminal have in mind now? The room was dark but I could tell that it was modern. The carpet was a dark purple and there were about three pot plants in the room. There were no windows in the entire place to let in the tiniest bit of natural light.
I stopped looking around the room and stared at what was in the middle. There was a huge oak desk in the centre with two chairs. One on the same side as me, which I assumed I needed to sit in, and a large black wheelie chair (you know what I mean, a study chair) that was facing the back wall.
I didn't move from where I stood close to the door but my fear escalated. Suddenly the chair swung away and the fat man I know as the boss sat evilly in it, stroking an orange cat (so movie villain like). I jumped at the sight of him and he smirked at how scared he could make me.
"Sit Harry," he said in a whisper. I walked forward and sat in the chair immediately, afraid he'd hurt me if I did it too slow.
"I've been told that one of my employees are actually convinced that you are not Harry. That you are indeed who you say you are," he started and I slowly nodded. "Of course we'll need proof. So I asked myself 'what is something that only Harry would have?' There are lots of things that popped into my head but they all had a possibility that you could also have them by chance. Then it dawned on me," he paused, looking down at his mangy looking cat. "Harry has quite a few tattoos," he looked back at me. "Take off your shirt," he stared straight into my eyes, "Marcel."
I gulped but nodded. Of course this is awkward and inappropriate but both you and I know what he's capable of. I started unbuttoning the top button and continued all the way down. I only had 3 of my 6 buttons actually still attached to my shirt so it was quick. I pulled the shirt open and revealed my chest. The man stared at me, nodded his head in thought and started to rock in his chair.
"Who are you Marcel?" he asked after about a minute. "Tell me about yourself," he said, still staring at my bare chest.
"My name is Marcel sir. Marcel Harry Styles. Like I told the other man, Harry Styles in my name is only a coincidence. I am 17 and I'm in college-"
"College hey?" he interrupted, quickly looking to my eyes then back to me chest.
"Yes sir. I'm a college junior. I graduated high school at 14," I said awkwardly. It's not natural to have a 40 year old man stare blankly at a 17 year olds chest. "I work most days at St. Kappa's private hospital and I'm just over half way in studying for my doctorate," I paused because it looked like he was going to say something. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"What is your relation with Harry? Are you friends? Perhaps family?" he asked.
"I'm not quite sure sir. I haven't remembered that yet, I've only just remembered that he's famous," I spoke and he nodded. "If we did know each other, I won't remember until something triggers my memory. I overheard that a man called Rodrick had put some sort of drug they called amnesia dust on the cloth that drugged me. I have no idea what amnesia dust is but I've worked with multiple people how have had amnesia. They won't remember anything until something triggers it. For example, if they had a dog, and they loved the dog dearly, most likely, they won't remember the dog at all, even if it's right up in their face. The only way to remember it is if, for example, they saw a ball. That ball could be the ball they used to use to play with the dog every day. That ball is what links the dog to the memory. The reason I'm saying this is, if Harry and I had some sort of relationship, I won't remember it until I see something that reminds me of him," I rambled nervously but the man seemed to be listening.
"Okay," he nodded slowly. "Anyway," he said, snapping out of his daze and looking serious again. "We need to move you. Here," he through a trench coat at me. "Put that on so people don't see what hideous state your body and shirt are in." I grabbed the coat and stood up to put it on. "Tie it up," he had said once I had shoved by last arm in. I did so and sat back down.
"We will go out, you will take no photos with anyone and no autographs since you're not Harry. Say no words and keep you head down. You will pretend I'm your new bodyguard and stay close to me at all times. I will have a gun in my pocket and it will be pressed against your back for the entire time. You must obey all my old rules; remember you have two strikes lift. Oh and Marcel," he said once I had gotten ready to stand up. I looked up at him and he smiled. "Just warning you, I am not afraid to shoot. I can always acquire a new asset," he spoke darkly and I gulped. I turned to walk out followed by his laugh. "We leave in an hour. Go back to your cell," he laughed as I closed the door behind me.