16th February 2015– Present Day

***

The very few times that I have witnessed life come to full circle would be when the once upon a time tourists at Times Square, sooner or later blend amongst the cranky, hoverboarding tour guides of NYC. And I can claim with surety, this isn't one of those cases.

It's been a certain number of hours since I left the precinct to prove Archie's innocence, since I turned Mia into a hostage, since she told her version of Kylie's tragic tale, since George hung up on us whilst panicking like a dove caught in a cage, and since the infamous gang of Arlington has reunited to bury the hatchet. The only problem being that it's not ours to bury.

"I bet you weren't expecting a budding rockstar turned fancied criminal to walk through that door and flip your little lives upside down, now were you? Well, at least the three of you look genuinely surprised," he chuckles, his tongue rolling the same way it did all those years ago.

He wasn't wrong, though. All it took was the mention of his glorious name and the realisation that followed after, to leave our earlier zipped mouths hanging till the foot of Mia's alcohol soaked couch. Harry Louis. Call me dumb, but if I knew everything's that hidden behind the starry eyed bass player's brooding eyes, I wouldn't have held out a free pass to our dainty lives back then. Not that we seem any respectable now— a detective working for the NYPD, the co-anchor of a nationally aired television show, the employee of the month at Clouldmart, and an executive editor, working for an interior design based magazine— all sitting next to each other at six in the morning, tied up to a chair, listening out the one who plotted against them eight years back. The reason? The reason being that Harry was...

"Avon Alex Louis. My naive younger brother, the poor guy who was at the mercy of you demons and several others of your like, who all had a hand in committing his ruthless murder on that night of June, 2007," He grits his teeth, words jabbing us in all the wounded places. While the reality of it attempts to seep through my already befuddled mind, I notice how the signs were there all along. The slight ruffle of his jet black hair, which has now been trimmed down to a buzz cut. The ginormous tattoo of a skull stretching across his bicep, now teared apart by the raw of his bruised skin. The tiny rum bottles, always sitting the pockets of his jeans, now masking over his breath. And the golden chain, the only thing intact around his neck, refusing to leave.

If I had delved a little more, I could have connected the tale, how Avon and Harry had so much in common. Except that Avon couldn't hold as great a fight as his brother does.... we didn't let him.

"But this isn't about me and my small family, you know.  It's about how you guys rolled over the very people you considered your so called second family." Trailing around the four of us in circles, he scoffs. "You know what I'm talking about, Mia, don't you?" He slightly bends over to where Mia is sitting, and for the first time in history, I witness her shy away, instead of matching the guy's gaze with an equal ferociousness.

Nothing is the same anymore. When Archie was brought hostage by a masked Harry, I was expecting to see his eyes go wide as he encounters Mia. Instead, I saw a frown crease over his forehead and a shudder in his posture. His head hung low whilst Mia stole as many glances as she could, and smiled a sad smile. I don't know what went down at the station where Archie was being held a few hours ago, or between these two before we all lost contact. But the possibilities only seem to make me gag.

The same goes for George and I, the tension from our last meet still very much present in the air. It was graduation and neither of us spoke a word, for what seemed like the first time since we'd stumbled on each other at the campus.

Now that I see him in an Armani, light scruff on his face and his hair pulled back, the George who tripped on his Adidas all those years ago, doesn't even seem real. Although, for what it was worth, I hope he was.

"Believe me, I had no plans to end the ones you could have changed your lives with, I didn't even had the nearest clue about their involvement," Harry clicks his teeth, sitting back on a chair across ours. "But if I did, I couldn't have let them live. Not while knowing those scums let my brother die, even when they had a choice to save him. So, thanks a ton for the doing the needful yourselves. Whether it was George escaping the sight, and letting Presley take the grunge, or when Archie let Monica cover his blood trail..." he purses his lips, toying with our pounding hearts and gauging our reactions at every word of his. "I think I'm getting ahead of the events. Let's start at the very beginning, huh? The very night this chase begun... the night you made Avon another one of your targets."

"What had happened?"

Maybe it's thr look in his eyes or the pistol in his hand that does it for me, and I begin to string the first words that come to me. "Archie had just made quarterback, and the gang wanted to go someplace to celebrate. I suggested this new club in Manhattan I had heard all about in the college. Fiero's," I gulp, continuing to narrate the tale I'll now come to recollect like the back of my hand.

***

"Just take the wad and slip us another round of those righteous shots." George threw a bundle of green in the bartender's face, and a rather cheesy grin in my direction.

"This wouldn't have been a problem if you elites had just agreed to don cowboy hats for a night, and raised your glasses at the nineties themed village bar near the Uni." Mia blabbed, going down on a bong pipe and exhaling clouds of smoke in the foggy air.

"Woah! Look at the hypocrisy over here. You have absolutely no reservations drinking beer that comes out of a tap, but you are quick to crinkle your nose at the sight of a Marlboro." Kylie shot her brows, popping another one out of her pack, and settling it between her fuchsia painted lips.

"I have an early morning practice session, guys. I don't want to show my gag reflex off in front of the rest of the team," Archie yawned, shifting and yanking his arms on the couch like an annoyed baby. My baby, though.

"That's it. I think I have outgrown you guys." I set my fruit loops cocktail down, stepped away from the cranky stoners and tried to blend in with other stoners, dancing it out in the club.

I made my way to the centre and tied my loose hair in a bun, plugging in my own grunge playlist to sway my hips to. The rest of the crowd was nearly oblivious to the rad party buzzing within my headsets, except for this guy who had been observing me for quite sometime. I would've taken it as a compliment, if he weren't sprawled out on a couch and drooling all over, while sipping on neat vodka. I didn't know what came over me— probably the uncountable shots I had washed down— but I couldn't help trudging down to where his gawky eyes were, and give the guy a piece of my mind.

"What's your problem, huh? Don't have your own girlfriend to drool at?" I yelled over the surround system and the crowd of drunk teenagers.

"Uh... I didn't mean to. Sorry?" He leaned back up to his seat, turning all red and sweaty in the little while that I towered over him.

I chucked at the sincerity of his apology. "What's your name?"

"Avon. Avon Louis," he held out a hand and everything.

"Emma," I greeted back, observing the half empty mineral bottle sitting next to his rock glass.

"Water?" He offered me some as well, earning a clumsy laugh from my side. "That's only my poison, I guess," he nervously darted his eyes around, looking all dejected as I couldn't help with the sniggering.

"Is dancing your poison? I mean, do you want to dance?" I barely got a couple words out, the drowsiness of tequila slowly catching up with my senses.

"Sure," he sprung back up to his feet, and joined me to the dance floor— his excitement nothing less than that of a sixteen year old who lost track of his curfew.

While I wasn't really aware of my surroundings, I could hear some of the many things he kept going on and on about. He mentioned quite some facts about his ancestors in London— how he came from royal blood and the rest of the Weekly magazine shit. He also had a lot to say about his brother who he thought was an incarnation of one of the guys from The Beatles. Of all the things I could care less about, I gladly picked on the one that made all the difference. "Did you just say you go to school?"

Idiot just grins. "Yeah, DixonValley. I wasn't as keen about joining this school, but my brother thought the brochure had some really fancy words, so we ended up picking it anyway. Truth be told, I myself have come to blend in with the crowd over there. They're chill and everything," he shrugs, visibly struggling in a leather jacket meant for the racks in Target's kid section.

"Now I don't know if you've heard the chatter, but some of the guys in my class have been planning on trading some stuff you find on the streets. If you know what I mean." He flashed, what I believe were a few bags of coke, except they had a pink hue to them.

"What the hell is happening over here?" Kylie came up to me, switching gazes between the apparent street stuff Avon had been priding himself over, and my tired ass. "Are you trying to drug my friend?"

"No!" Both of us shouted in unison. "What is wrong with you?" I mouthed my concerns to Kylie, thinking over the last time we got someone arrested over a mishap of sorts.

"I'm just worried about you, Em. Drugs basically spell danger," She let out a gasp and discreetly bent her head in Avon's direction. The devilish smirk lingering on her lips— even though masked, was conspicuous enough for me to take into notice. "George!"

On cue of her consequent shrieks, George and Archie once again joined in the humdrum of our bar brawls. "Are you hitting on my girlfriend?" Archie mumbled in his drunken state, and yet managed to instil a sense of fear in Avon's previously jabbering instincts.

"Hey, what's the matter with these guys?" A Caucasian kid appeared behind Avon, gagging between his string of threats. "I am telling you..." he stuttered, heaved, and ended the show with a bang. Kylie's new pair of Ballenciaga's was now covered in puke.

"Fuck," Mia lent her a shoulder, and at the same time, flashed a toothy grin at the once white pair of her Brinelle strapped sneakers. "So, this guy?" She pointed at the heaving kid, and that's when it all went down to hell.

Archie, George and Mia on one side, and a couple of school goers on the other, all strangling each other with shaky arms. The three of them mostly resorted to stratagems 'Danny Flynn' taught them over a guys weekend, while the poor kids went flying over the bar counter. At least, that's what my dazed self made out of the scene. I was about to put a halt on their drunken rage— one of their punching bags spouting blood, and relentlessly at that— but my actions were taken over by an unprecedented outbreak of police in the club.

All we could do was make our way out before the cops got their hands on our little fight club, and inevitably let the witnesses of this little illegal stint of ours, tag along. While us girls rushed beelined for the car, the boys took their sweet time to load Avon and friends in the trunk behind. Now that we had to do something with the howling muppets, Kylie suggested a place by the highway to leave them at, and for us to take a drive by.

So, we pulled up by the barn, and once we were done filming their tear stricken faces and haggling the unusual pink stuff off of them— we tied them up and left for the city."

"Exactly. You left the boys to fend for themselves. You didn't even think how those kids would get home at four in the morning, with bare minimum cash in their pockets, and phones they couldn't reach to, because you had tied them up. You just assumed, a certain Good Samaritan will come and get them at some point of the day, but what about the boy who had asthma and couldn't wait for that someone to arrive and rescue him." Harry's chest dangerously flared past the sheer of his shirt. "He didn't even have his inhaler along, h–he was helpless. The kid could have called for help, but your dear friend, Ms. Meyer's, wanted to shun out that option as well. That's right. She was the one who caught hold of his cellphone and clicked a picture of the two of them, only to dump it by the trash on the side. By the time I saw that picture... I had already lost him."

Silence envelops us all, the faint events of the night replaying past the coldness of Harry's gaze. "Harry, we didn't know," Mia chimes in, but is rendered shut by the trigger of his AK-47.

Too shocked initially, we simultaneously crane our heads towards the roof, gaping at the hole in the plaster, and then at the piercing bullet rolling around Mia's feet. "Not now," he murmurs. "The day I saw my brother laying in a casket, I vouched to find the ones behind his misery. Everyone had dismissed it as a natural death, stating that he simply ran out of oxygen to breathe. But I knew it was more, and that it was a sheer act of cruelty that Avon had been a victim to. My first clue, as you can guess, was a picture of Kylie's Meyers, that I got a chance to lay my hands on. That's how it all began."

Goosebumps spread across the bare of my arms, forcing me to ask the question the four of us are trying to place in the events back then. "How?"

He merely smiles, but the nature is enough to make me want to curl up in a ball. "With the assistance of a few contacts, I uncovered the 'gang of Arlington', aka the ones who had undoubtedly been with Kylie that night at the barn. Emma Callaway, Archie Schiller, George Bailey, and Mia. I had memorised your names and your beautiful faces by heart, all along the one month that I kept tabs on each one of you. I had caught on your habits, your lifestyle, and the smallest nooks and crannies of your little gang. You know, the regular dynamics about who loves who, who is crushing on who, and the rest of your third world crap... only to take note and use it all against you guys. And thanks to lord, I finally landed my jackpot the day Emma had to take a trip to the basement."

"You knew about that?" I ask, feeling nauseated at the bare thought of all the times he could have been watching us.

"Let's say that I knew the game Kylie had resorted to, in a bid of getting a piece of this boyfriend of yours." He throws a disgusted glance towards Archie. "She had found you way before uno and dos did, but decided to play it to her advantage, instead of freeing you out of that dumpster like a good friend does. I am sure, Mia has told you all about it." He earns a nod from Mia, whose gaze hasn't since left the loaded pistol in his hand. "Anyways, that's when I crafted my first ace to throw, and needless to say, it worked like a charm. I mean, do you think I just announced myself into your lives, without planning it as articulately as I could? Of course not.

My timing had been set in accordance to the little mishaps leading to your eventual doom. Whether it was Emma and Archie's big breakup or the nearing bet everyone had blocked their money on, I knew that a ticking bomb was going to set off soon. And to add to the onset of drama, I helped Kylie out a little by messaging her a certain string of pictures. You know, the ones where Emma is riding George like there's no tomorrow."

Cursing under my breath, I don't even try to look at Archie— his burning gaze already following the incriminating red on George and I's faces. "Woah, I did not know this was supposed to be a secret you both carry to your graves. My apologies," he says, but doesn't even try to act like it.

"So, as I said, the day I graced my presence into your lives, came to be my luckiest one. The night began with you doofuses admitting to the bet you had placed on Mia, and followed with Kylie blackmailing Emma into giving up on her relationship for good. Emma, obviously couldn't take the betrayal, and fled from the sight after smacking her head with a rather heavy piece of logwood. I had seen it all, Em," he drains whatever little patience I had been holding onto.

That's not what happened. That's not what happened. It can't, she's alive, she's fine, I've seen her. Seen her in that hospital, when nobody else does, have talked to her. I didn't... I did not run away, I haven't created a story in my mind, how could I have when she's there. She's there, right?

"Now, I knew that Mia would do something with the rage she had earlier not let on, but I didn't expect the fireball to light sparks the very night itself. I saw how she stoned herself and went on to lend her shoulder to a passed out Kylie, only to settle her down in the dumpster you guys are so fond of. And if I am not wrong, you visited the basement every day since then, but your friend had somehow managed to disappear and make your lives a living hell."

"What did you do to Kylie?" Archie mutters, fidgeting with the ropes tied around our arms and legs, but all in futility.

"Well, I don't know how to put this, but you could say that I was holding her captive. At least, that's what I have heard people say in Britain," he shrugs like we are talking cultures over here. "While Kylie was out of the picture, I had all the time in world to make the four of you my personal puppets, and enjoy the show from a safe distance. The first few days were admittedly, a little too vanilla for my taste, because I had to let her missing status settle in your minds. Once you were done roleplaying Nancy Drew, and carrying out investigations of your own, I introduced a player from my side to stir it up a notch."

"Brandon," George blurts out, reflecting over the connection we had all missed out back then.

"Absolutely correct," Harry fakes amusement, stroking the beard he has now come to sport. "As a matter of fact, Brandon had begun dating Kylie for the very purpose of getting insights in your group. I have to say, he turned out to be a major help for the latter part of the plan, when you were all called out for interrogation. Some of you had it formal, while some had surprise encounters with Jacobs, but it did manage to make you fools walk on your toes. Just as you had begun to realise the gravity of the situation, I threw another shock your way."

"The note. You wrote that, didn't you?"

"Exactly," he confirms to my claims. "It was wholly my courtesy, and so was the baggage that came behind. Heather Davis, Zack Daniels, Clara Hampton... these victims didn't just grow a spine and counter you all at the same time, but had my assistance along the way. The thing is, it was necessary to make you realise how certain targets of yours, might not be as lucky as Avon and let it go. Some are very capable of striking back for revenge."

"You helped Zack," George remarks, glancing down at his legs and the wheelchair he is still dependent on.

"And I have no regrets at all. The four of you got served what you long had coming, even if I had to suffer in the course to make it come true," he shudders, reminding me of the night at the ball. "So, after you had been blessed with this sense of novelty, and had begun to give up on life as you knew it to be, I needed to lure your interest back. I didn't want to bait Kylie to do so, but you see, I had no choice. Not only did I wanted your unfocused attention, I also wanted you to feel the pain I had endured. The pain of losing a loved one without any warning."

'He doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it. He doesn't... he doesn't know what he is saying,' I kept convincing myself that Harry is oblivious to what I am aware of. That wasn't Kylie... she couldn't have been.

"What came along with Kylie's untimely demise, due to a fire no one knew who let on, was a clue to remind you of the sins you had committed and as easily forgotten. That newspaper article was meant to polish your memories, and to tell you that you can't do as you please to entertain yourselves, and especially when lives are involved. I knew how you would go all out and gather even the smallest bits of information about A.L, if that meant saving your pussy asses. And that's pretty much what I wanted."

"So, why did you wait..." Archie begins to question, but is cut short by Mia.

"He wanted to wait for something big."

"Smart," Harry nods, unaware of the vile sitting on Mia's tongue at the moment. "I had to calm my guts for three whole months, because the climax of this elaborate plan had to be grander than grand. And what fit the criteria better than the birthday party of the then queen of Arlington, or as it came to the knowledge of many since after, Rachel Stinson. Now, she wasn't going to be a good host and invite you all, so I took it upon myself to send the personalised invitations. Oh, the havoc those things caused... it was beyond what I had expected."

"So, does that mean, you killed..." I began to utter, but the demonic expressions on his face, already knew how that sentence would end.

"What could I do? Brandon and Kell had begun to turn into a real pain in my ass. Those two wanted to take the high road, follow the moral compass, but unfortunately, I had no such intentions. I was clear from the very beginning about how this was going to be a ruination, and that anyone who objects to it, would just end up becoming another fatality in the process. Fun fact being, the universe took it a little too seriously, and sacrificed the ones I didn't even knew, were going to be obstacles in my path. Let me show you how," he pulled out a stack of Polaroids from his jacket and laid it out on the table in front of us.

"Emma was supposed to do my first assignment, and it was as simple as looking out for Brandon at the party. Too bad for the poor soul, she failed in doing so, and the brunt had to be taken by Mr. Righteous. Remember much, Emma?" He took the photo out for everyone to see. The one where I am helplessly looking at Brandon's dead body, blaming myself for whatever happened to him.

"The next task was in George's hands, and he did it with quite an ease. Granted, all he had to do was collect a package of Meth and deliver it to a dead Brandon, but the way he took out Jake Presley, was nothing less than impressive. The guy who I then came to know, was the dealer who accompanied Avon to the club, but didn't do shit to help him."

"You killed Jake Presley?" Mia asks George, her lips quivering as she does so.

"Th... there was a cop raid at the dealer's place, and he got shot while trying to escape," George explains, tears pooling in his own eyes.

"Good job, anyways," Harry mumbles. "Moving on to my next pawn, Mia, or as I have recently come to learn, Monica Aldrin. She was to sneak Brandon's carcass out of the party and go dump him at the same place he should have died, instead of Avon. Oh, and, she was also supposed to run Kell over in the process. I made sure, the guy got his plug pulled, just as brutally as my brother did."

"You planned his death?" Mia gulps, probably recollecting horrors the rest of us know nothing of.

"I did, and that brings me to my ace puppet, Archie Schiller. He had the sole job of picking up a poke stuffed with Kell'a body, and take it to someplace I could care less about. But he got so involved in hiding the dubious work from Rachel Stinson, he made her bear the grunge as well." Harry laid out a blurred photo, appearing to be masked with crimson. "Look, here's our near dead princess, who hooked up with my brother, only to use him for fulfilling her own narcotic needs. And here's Ms. Goody two shoes, who doesn't know any better than pouring crack infused vodka to underage teens." He points at a version of Monica, I couldn't have imagined to exist.

Wait. Did he say that... "You really did murder Rachel," I wallow in the realisation, looking at Archie's disturbed state. The same look of unrest I ignored the night before at the lounge and at the precinct, yesterday.

"You were the one, Archie?" George asks, letting the flood of tears take its course. "I can't even believe it."

"I didn't mean to, alright," Archie yells. "She was going to inform the police, and I panicked, and it just... I didn't want to kill anyone."

"Isn't it a little late for that?" Harry snorts a laugh. "I don't give a shit about what you wanted to do, not now and definitely not back then. As you can see for yourself, I had all the proof to seal your migration behind the bars, but as god would have it, I had to once again halt my plans. I don't know how or who ratted me out, but the police caught hold of the deets of my illegal visit to America, and decided to deport me right away. I mean, you wouldn't think that I am one of those guys who lets you celebrate life for eight years and come back to ruin it all, right?"

"If Rachel didn't fall off a height, then why did her autopsy report state so?" I question, failing to join the pieces even when it's all clear as a crystal.

"Yeah... that was because her father didn't want to stir unnecessary controversy when Monica herself was ready to jump on the pedestal," he casually remarks. "That's also the primary reason why they didn't link Kell's death to Rachel's case, when they discovered it a month later. I myself had to do the job of dragging his body out," he says while looking at Archie, and I can almost read his thoughts as he hears him out. All of us are just as afraid about sitting in a closed room with a maniac.

"So, why did Professor Stinson open this case in the first place?"

"Why do you think?" He shrugs, nearly in disbelief that the obvious is over our heads. "Because I blackmailed the guy to do so. He didn't even know Monica's last name, until I gave him the whole best friend speech to puke out. It was all going so well, but just as I had begun to trust the oldie, he came up with the same old crap about ethics and right and wrong and so on. So, I had to kill him as well," he clicks his tongue whilst a shiver rolls down my spine. "And now that I had done the needful, I didn't have a choice but to put the entire blame on a familiar face. In case, it is still not clear, I was the neighbour you were probably cussing."

"And the one who blackmailed me into kidnapping Emma." Mia pieces together the series of facts.

"Also the one who forced me into a closet in the University's basement," George remarks.

"Well, you can't expect me to just enter your lives without making a grand statement after all these years. I am a jail escapee for god sakes," he chuckles, toying around with the pistol in his palms. "Now what is to be done with you buffoons?"

"Harry... you don't have to do this. We didn't know that Avon was asthmatic, or that our prank would lead to his death. Please, don't do this," I plead between sniffles, hoping to get him to put the pistol down.

"Hmm... okay, I won't do anything. All you have to do is, admit that you murdered Avon and I really won't do anything."

All of us look at each other, contemplating on whether to trust his word. Not left with any other viable option, we agree to do as he says. "We admit that we murdered Avon Louis," all of us chant in unison.

"Alright." He sets the pistol down and walks over to the balcony. "I think the camera on the shelve has recorded our little meet and greet, so there's no point in me hanging around anymore," he points to a blinking red dot on the wooden carving of a tribal woman. "The police will listen to our conversation, look at the photographs, and hopefully, you will all rot in jail for the rest of the eternity. See you on the other side, friends."

Before we can make sense of what he means, he jumps over the ledge and the next we hear of him is the thudding sound of his body on the freshly laid tar on the street. He takes his own life.

Everyone— Archie, Mia, George, and even the cops who listen to the conversation, reach to the conclusion that he did it because he was unstable, because he was depressed. I won't add or deny to their claims, but I know the reason why. This one time when Harry and I had been driving around, I saw an inhaler laying in the glove compartment of his car. I didn't ask him about it, because he was busy telling tales of his unnamed brother back in England. He narrated how he once bashed his brother for hosting a party without his permission, and that he didn't get a chance to apologise later. Just how Zack mentioned.

He got so angry he forgot to give Avon his inhaler that night. If he did, none of this would have happened.

We didn't notice, but he chanted with us, too. The grave truth is we all killed Avon Louis.