047. THREAT

"How do you feel?"

Harry tightly gripped the steering wheel, pulling the car out of the lot and onto the main road. If he was honest with himself, he had no idea how he was feeling. Understanding feelings was one thing (one thing Harry didn't do quite well), but recognizing something felt wrong or off about his own emotions was its own battle he loathed. 

That was the worst part of becoming normal again; he couldn't keep everything shut off.

"It feels like we got somewhere, yet nowhere all at the same time," Harry muttered.

"What do we think about the dead people from the grave shit he was going on about?" Dallas asked, pulling a stick of gum out of his pocket. "Are those the ghosts we're dealing with?"

"V isn't alive," Harry stated plainly. "It can't be true. V can't be alive. Tanner was just fucking with me."

Colson and Dallas exchanged a look.

"Okay," Colson said cautiously. "But if they are alive?"

"Then I'm hunting them down and ripping their fucking head off with my bare hands."

Dallas wore a pleased grin. "Aggressive. I like it!" Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the centre console and asked, "Does anyone else think that the other person who could have risen from their grave is Luca? I mean, it was obvious Stefano killed him, right?"

"Right," Colson confirmed, rolling his eyes at the loud gum chewing behind him.

"He seems like a bit of a nut job," Dallas murmured, slumping back into his seat. "Either he has a terrible shot and doesn't think he actually killed his brother-in-law, or he has an obsession with the afterlife and thinks that not one but two people have risen from the dead and are out to get us."

Ignoring Dallas's rambling, Harry turned his head. "There's no way V can be alive. That has to be a load of shit, right?"

"Anything is fucking possible these days." Colson's attention moved to the ringing cell phone in his hands. "Hey... No, our phones were off, so of course, I didn't get any of your calls... Slow down, Kip... Slow the fuck down... What is it?" Colson fell silent, listening to the kid speak in a panicked tone. "Shit," he cursed, looking over at Harry. "Where's your phone?"

"Glovebox."

Colson opened the compartment and pulled out the device. "Yeah, she did," he said into the phone, "Ten times."

Harry looked over at his friend in the passenger seat. "What is going on?" With the lack of an immediate response, Harry yelled, "Fucking speak, Colson!"

"Go to Rory's," he answered, turning his attention back to the phone.

Harry quickly veered left, cutting off three cars as he sped down the street.

"Keep an eye out... Yeah, call me if anything happens... Okay." Colson hung up the phone. "Kip spotted the car's outside her apartment again. He's freaking out because she called you a bunch of times."

"And you're just telling me this fucking now?" Harry yelled.

"Calm down. We're on the way there already. Kip said he doesn't think she left the apartment, and the cars have been there before. Plus, you already got extra men outside watching her. Honestly, what could be so different this time?"

"You said she called me? She hasn't spoken to me since she fucking left. What time was the last call? Did she leave a message?"

Attempting to remain calm while Harry angrily freaked out, Colson answered, "she left the last voicemail a few minutes ago," and played the first message.

"You have ten new messages," the automated voice said through the speakers, "To begin listening to your messages, press one. To-"

Colson pressed the number.

"First message... Call off your goons!" Rory's voice angrily yelled into the phone, "I'm sick and tired of this, Harry! I missed my bus, so now I have to walk home, and I am not in any mood for this bullshit tonight!"

Harry released a shaky breath.

"To delete this message, press one. To repeat this message, press two. To save this message, press three. To listen to the next message, press four. Next message... I am not playing around, Harry! Tell Colson, or Dallas, or Kip, for fuck sakes, to stop following me around. I will keep calling you until you answer your fucking phone and call them off."

"Next message..."

Harry tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Next message..."

"Next message... We are not together! I am sorry if that's hard for you to fucking understand, but you can't have them stalking me anymore!"

He rolled his eyes at that one.

"Next message..."

"Next message... Oh, what a fucking surprise. I'm home, and guess who's here! Your fucking goons! Hi Dallas! Hi Colson!" she yelled. "Why don't you just come up for a threesome so we can make this more enjoyable while your boss takes a fucking vacation away from his phone!"

"Next message..."

Dallas leaned forward from the back seat. "Has she ever mentioned the cars to you?"

"No," Harry bitterly replied, letting out another frustrated sigh. "Only Colson."

"Next message..."

"Next message... I wasn't kidding when I said I'd keep calling you. You know, it's fucking pathetic that you-" Rory fell silent for a brief moment. "What the fuck?" she whispered. A loud bang was heard on the other end of the call. "Alright, if that threesome comment pissed you off so much, fine. But why are you breaking my door down over it?" Rory remained silent, allowing the bangs to be heard clearly through the phone. "Harry, this isn't fucking funny!" she whispered harshly. Rory let out a yelp of fear as the bangs continued until it sounded like they had broken down her door. "W-who are you?" her voice stuttered out. "Please don't hurt me! I don't have a lot of money but take whatever you want!" The phone dropped to the ground. "No-no! Please! Get away from me! Don't hurt me! PLEASE!" There was a beat of silence before a blood-curdling scream followed.

It sounded just like the way his mother used to scream; when she begged for her life and pleaded for her attacker not to strike. Young Harry used to try and save her all the time. He always wanted to help. He always wanted to make her pain go away. He always wanted to protect her.

Harry made a promise to protect Rory; a promise to himself, a promise to her, and a promise to his mother.

But that scream reminded him that he was failing to do the one thing he promised.

Harry wanted to let out a scream, one loud yell to let out the frustration building inside him. He wanted to slam his hands against the steering wheel or drive into oncoming traffic. There were many things he wanted to do to let it out.

He couldn't - but he sure as all hell fucking wanted to.

Instead, he slowed the car to a stop in the middle of the busy street.

Passing cars honked, blaring their horns as they passed around him. But Harry didn't care. They could honk and swear at him all they wanted; he wasn't paying them any attention.

His body slumped forward, head resting against the wheel. It was too much - all too much. The sound of her screams kept replaying in his head. Rory begging whoever it was to stop. The fear in her voice. 

Something in his chest clenched and tightened.

If only she had been at his house. Nothing would be happening to her right now. Rory would be safe.

"Harry..." the sound of a familiar voice floated through his mind, but Rory's screams drowned it out. "Harry..."

"Do it," another voice said.

"Are you sure? I thought it was only for emergencies."

"This is an emergency, Dallas!"

Harry felt the power of the words whispered from the moment they were spoken into existence. The pain shot through his skull, leaving him breathless and gasping for air. His head lifted off the steering wheel, body collapsing back into his seat.

He tried fighting back. His neck strained with tension, hands clenched into fists, and a loud groan of pain escaped. But it was too much, far too much for him to fight. And before he knew it, he had given in.

The darkness had taken over him.

Shifting the gear into drive, Harry sped the car down the street.

"I'm sorry," Colson said quietly. "There wasn't much else we could-"

"I know. And it's fine." His hands gripped the wheel. "I'm fine."

He wasn't. But this was nothing compared to how it used to make him and what it used to turn him into. Above all, he could still think for himself in this state of mind. And that was quite the accomplishment when remembering what those words used to do to him.

"Do you want me to put the song on?"

There was a second of hesitation, but soon Harry nodded. Music filled his ears, and Dolly's calming voice let his mind relax. He could focus on what he needed. And that was getting Rory to safety.

He had to protect her.

He made a promise to protect her.

Harry would keep that promise if it were the last thing he did.

Speeding the car into the back lot of her apartment building, he cut the engine and waited for Dallas to hand over the weapons for the night. Securing a gun into the holster under his shirt, he tucked the other into the waistband of his pants. Harry could hear Rory's voice scolding him - just like she had done in the past.

"That's a terrible place to keep it," she would probably say, "You'll ruin it."

Grabbing his knife, Dallas realized something odd. "Where the fuck is everyone?"

Harry looked around at the empty streets.

Not only were they bare of his men, but they were also bare of anyone.

The parked cars that normally cluttered the side of the road were no longer there. The corner store that was open twenty-four-seven and always had its lights on was full of darkness. Even the streetlights were barely lit.

"Call Kip! Now!" Harry ordered. "Why the fuck didn't he notice no one was fucking here?"

Colson looked down at his cellphone. "I don't have any service."

"Same," Dallas agreed.

"What? How is that fucking possible?" Harry pulled out his device, suffering the same fate. He pushed any button he could think of, attempting to fix it. But no matter what he tried, the same 'no service' icon remained at the top of his screen. Frustration growing and patience wearing thin, Harry threw his phone on the ground, smashing it to pieces. "Let's go," he muttered.

Harry's mind went blank upon entering the apartment building. It was his favourite way to work. No thoughts or conscious knocking at his front door; he remained focused on his mission, removing any threat that came in his way.

They headed up the stairs, guns drawn and ready to shoot. Dallas took the lead with his trusty flashlight (his favourite tool next to his knife) held in his support hand. Travelling up the dark staircase, Harry held himself back from pushing the other two aside and sprinting to her door. It wasn't proper procedure - but he didn't care.

And for someone who was described more often than not as a robot, that was saying something.

Approaching Rory's front door, the first thing Harry noticed was that it was open. The wood was splintered, confirming the noises he heard on the voicemails he had left. Someone forced their way in.

Nodding to the door, Harry pushed it open and gave the signals, directing Dallas to check the bedroom, and Colson to the kitchen, while he took the living room. With the size of her apartment, it would be fast to inspect.

Usually, getting an all-clear was a good sign.

A welcomed sign.

A no mess type of sign.

But hearing the first "all clear" from Colson made his chest tighten. Finding his search bare and calling out "all clear" made his heart sink. And hearing Dallas call out "Clear!" from the bedroom created a bottomless pit in his stomach.

"Where the fuck did they take her?"

The three men searched once again. The door has clear signs of forced entry. And yet her apartment looked like nothing had been touched. Nothing was broken or appeared out of place. No shoe marks on the floor or traces of anyone left behind.

They were dealing with professionals.

Which meant Rory could be anywhere by now. And with each passing minute, there was no telling where they had taken her or what they wanted from her.

"Harry?"

He looked around the room, head whipping around as he tried to locate her. "Rory?"

"What are you doing here?"

"We're here to help you!"

Dallas and Colson exchanged a worried glance as Harry paced around the room like a mad man. He was two seconds away from looking for her in the tiniest drawers that could barely fit a package of cookies.

"Harry-" her voice repeated, but this time, sounding more like a moan.

Harry knew that tone of voice. There was no mistaking what was going on when she sounded like that.

"Yes, Harry!" Rory managed through heavy breaths.

Dallas raised a brow. "Is she-"

The sounds of her tears filled the space. "Some idiot blew a red light and crashed right into him," Rory's voice echoed.

Colson turned his head. "What the fuck is going on?"

"I would have died too, but he saved my life. And the worst part of it all is that he's dead because of me."

"Don't say that, Rory."

Harry froze, hearing his voice through the unknown speakers.

"Why not? It's true. I asked him if I could come. I wasted time getting changed when he could have left. He would have missed getting hit if it wasn't for me!"

Drip.

"Sometimes, I wish he would have just let me die that night so I wouldn't have to know what it was like to live without him."

Drip.

"Every single person I have ever loved has been taken away from me."

Drip.

"Has someone been recording her the whole time?" Dallas asked out loud. "Where the fuck is it coming from?"

Drip.

"And what the fuck do they know?" Colson replied, furrowing his brow. "And why are they playing these audio files?"

Drip.

Dallas shrugged. "To be creepy as fuck, probably. Or to let us know they have been listening during her most intimate moments."

Drip.

A small puddle of liquid pooled on the floor.

Harry stepped forward and turned his head up, locating the source. A drop of something unknown fell from the ceiling, landing on his forehead. He wiped it away with his fingers. The moment he touched it, Harry knew what it was.

"Blood."

Dallas shined the flashlight up at the spot. A patch of brown-red bubbled on the stained ceiling. Another drop fell. It was fresh.

"The blood is coming from the floor above."

Dallas tilted his head. "How? Doesn't she live on the top floor?"

"What if she doesn't?" Harry turned to Colson. "When you had to search her apartment the second time, you mentioned something about the building plans."

"Yeah, there was a small sealed-off space in her hall closet. But we couldn't find anything behind it, so we concluded it was an odd design choice."

Harry walked to the closet by her front door and opened it. Running his hands over the wall, he realized something. "This wall is connected to Miss Mabel."

"Miss what?" Dallas wore a perplexed expression. "Who the fuck is Miss Mabel?"

Ignoring the question, Harry hurried into the hallway and stood outside her door. He contemplated a plan before realizing it wasn't needed. "The door's open."

"All of them are," Colson said, looking down the hall.

Harry nudged the door further and shined the flashlight inside. There were no signs the elderly woman lived here. The whole place was bare of any furniture. Not even a wall was painted. "The apartment is empty." His head turned. "Check that one," he instructed Colson, pointing down the hall.

"Empty."

"That one."

"Empty."

"And that one?"

"Empty."

"Who the fuck are we dealing with?" Dallas asked out loud. "This is fucking insane!"

Not wanting frustrations to cloud his judgement, Harry opted to take it out on the door to Miss Mabel's apartment. He kicked the door with aggressive force, sending the piece of wood flying off its hinges. It's not like it mattered. Whoever Miss Mabel was clear didn't live here. No one did. It was an empty fucking apartment - just like all the other ones.

"Closet," he mumbled to himself.

Hand reaching for the handle, he pulled it open and left another door with the same fate. Off its hinges with ease, Harry tossed it to the ground, letting it land with the other door.

Long trench coats hung from hangers, each one the same make, style, and colour. Harry pushed the items aside, revealing what he had suspected to be there. An entrance to the attic.

The last thing on his mind was the reasons for the lack of furniture in each apartment or the fact that Miss Mabel (if that was her real name) only had thirteen trench coats. Harry knew she had to be up there. And he needed to get to her.

Maneuvering their way into the cramped attic space, they all took in their new surroundings.

"Looks like someone may have been living up here," Dallas said, shining his light on the mattress and crumpled blanket on the ground.

Harry opened his mouth to comment, but his eyes found something that forced him to fall silent.

"Rory!" he called out, hurrying over to the body and falling to his knees beside her.

Rory laid on the dusty wooden floor of the attic in a pool of her blood with barely a breath of life left. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently nudged, repeating her name over and over again in a desperate whisper.

"Rory," Harry begged, "Please wake up!"

A large gash on her arm allowed the blood to spill and stain the floors red. Life and blood were draining from her body. He tried to make it stop, but there was too much. Harry ripped the sleeve off his cotton shirt and applied pressure to the wound. But the material of the shirt, much like his hands, turned red with her blood.

With every passing second that he couldn't find a heartbeat, the fear of reality began to settle in. "Don't die on me, Bambi," he whispered. "Please. I can't lose you! I can't fucking lose you!"

Her skin was cool to the touch, void of any colour. The rosy redness of her cheeks was gone; the golden specks in her brown eyes was gone; the brightest her presence brought to a room was gone; the life in her was gone.

Harry's heart had never ached like this before. The crack it felt reminded him he had a heart in the first place. It felt broken, physically broken. The realization she was dead, mixed with the blame running through his head, left him far too distracted to notice the unusual piece of jewellery around her neck. It wasn't his fault for missing it.

He had never felt this way towards someone before.

If this was what love felt like, he had never experienced what it meant before now.

The one person he loved, truly loved, was dead.

Rory was dead.

The one he loved was dead.

"Harry..."

"Not now, Colt," his voice was barely a whisper. 

Harry worried that if he spoke any louder, his voice would crack, and the flood gates would open.

"Harry-"

"I said not now!" he gritted through his teeth, eyes remaining on Rory.

"No, Harry! Look!"

Colson's hand snaked its way into Harry's hair. Tugging right at the root, he forced Harry to look directly at the far wall.

That's when Harry saw it.

Written on the wall, in the blood of the woman he loved, was a question that made Harry desire ending it all.

READY TO COMPLY, 001?

the mc young's can never catch a break. first carter, now rory. she was my favourite to write. now harry will go after the ones who killed his first love. 

i love u rory & all ur quirks. thanks for showing haroldina true love and being his first. 

first love? what about juliet? hm. much to think about.