Author's note: And finally, we have the epilogue. Sorry that took so long! Hope everyone is doing well! Enjoy <3 

The metal table is cold beneath his hands. He's been waiting in this room for what feels like an eternity and he doesn't see the point. All they have to do is send an officer in and he'll start talking.

Already, his fingertips are bleeding. Left with nothing other than himself, he's been picking at his skin like dried glue. He's got no idea why they haven't handcuffed him yet.

Someone accidentally leans on the speaker. "...don't understand why he'd turn himself in..."

The voice is gone just as quickly as it slipped through the speakers and flooded the room. Harry continues tearing at his fingertips, "I'll tell you why if anyone decides to actually come in instead of discussing amongst yourselves."

All he's able to think about is the look on her face. Hardly anything else permeates the memory as he waits for someone to open the damn door. For people who are worried about him getting out and going on a spree, they sure as hell aren't doing their jobs very well.

He's too busy thinking about what he's done and he doesn't notice the detective until he's sitting directly across from him and speaking in words he doesn't understand. Everything sounds foreign and crammed together.

Emerald eyes stare blankly at the man opposite of him, "What?"

"I'm having trouble understanding why you would turn yourself in all of the sudden. Why her? Why was she the catalyst?"

I love you...

Harry shakes his head and lifts his hands to pull at his hair. "She wasn't the catalyst—she was everything."

Papers shuffle on the metal table and a pen scribbles his response. The detective's eyes are as cold as the table.

"She was everything and I killed her. I killed her."

Detective Tryst leans forward on his elbows, "What's the real reason you turned yourself in?"

Bloody hands smack the table, the sound echoes in the small room. "I just told you! She's the reason! I didn't care about anybody else. Just her."

Harry grits his teeth and leans back in his chair, fingers clenched tightly atop the table. He's already told himself that he's going to tell the absolute truth today. If he can't have Annabel, there's no point in covering his tracks anymore.

"Was your marriage to Annabel to cover your tracks?"

"No."

"You loved her?"

"Yes."

Harry's tearing into his fingertips again. More scribbling. More useless questions that he's already answered when he walked into the station covered in blood and turned himself in.

"Mr. Styles, were you aware that your wife was pregnant when you killed her?"

All motion stops. Harry's lips part as his eyes grow wide. "I...she...she was pregnant?"

Detective Tryst licks his lips and flips through one of the several files in front of him. "Eight weeks, according to the medical examiner."

Annabel laughs as his nose tickles her skin. He's in a good mood and tonight has become far more playful than either of them expected.

"What happened to your earlier anticipation?"

He smiles and continues trailing soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach. "Still there, just want to enjoy this. We've always rushed into things, want to take my time loving you."

The sounds of the city gradually evaporate as his lips are replaced by his hands. Clothing disappears one item after the other. Annabel hasn't always followed his moods, but tonight he's right and she's decided to finally let herself get entirely lost in the moment.

They've been married for a few months now and, although it's strange, she's starting to settle into the new dynamic of their relationship. The murders ended the first winter they spent in Sweden. Harry doesn't know why and Annabel never asked.

A year after ending his hobby, he finally told her that he loves her. Nothing about the moment was spectacular, but it was a huge change for Harry. Even so, Annabel still has her guard up. Part of him still enjoys the dark pleasures and there's always a chance that he'll slip back into the red waters and let the waves consume him.

Annabel's legs are tight around his waist, a stark contrast to her soft moans. Harry's intrigued by her gentleness in the face of passion. He's never been able to fully comprehend this part of her. She's always immersed him in this dense fog of curiosity, and he hasn't bothered to get around it before.

The mattress screams with strain, and her hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once. Annabel's skin seems dark against the pristine white sheets.

Shadows shift quickly against the wall as the stars ascend and easy breathing becomes laborious.

His hands knead her flesh like he's never experienced the pleasures of touch before. Anabel clings to him like he's an anchor and she's afraid of drowning. She's losing herself and his mind is slipping. All he can see is red, red, red.

Annabel's eyes open and a breathless laugh escapes her lips, "I love you."

The action happens before he can stop himself. Dinner's remnants are on the bedside table and his hand reaches for the steak knife. She's not watching and he's gone so long without fighting the urge that he can't control it.

All it takes is an instant. Red stains the sheets and pours like a fountain from the fresh gash in Annabel's throat.

Panic.

Harry's tearing at the sheets and stumbling over every word he's ever learned. There's so much blood.

It's all his fault.

The ripped sheets aren't doing much of anything and Annabel's loosing too much blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I love you. Please don't go. Please, baby. We can make it. We can..."

Annabel faintly shakes her head; her fingertips dig into his biceps. "You...you...can't."

She's too calm. He's losing her.

"Please...I love you..."

"I...love you...too." Annabel's dark eyes close and her hands fall limply to the mattress.

Harry can hardly speak. "I...she was..."

More scribbles.

Tears streak down his cheeks as the weight of what he's done settles like cement in his chest. "I didn't know. God, I didn't know."

Detective Tryst doesn't care, "We have record of four missing women during the first few months after you relocated. Are you responsible for their disappearances?"

Harry closes his eyes and holds his head in his hands, "I don't know."

"You don't know if you murdered four women?"

"No. I need names. I remember...I remember names."

A manila folder slides across the smooth surface and pokes at his fingertips. He'd rather be dead than sit through an hour of questioning.

The detectives eye him as if he's somehow managed to conceal a weapon. Harry slides the folder across the table. "I'll make it easier. I've killed about sixty women in just about every state. I can tell you where they're buried, if there's anything left. Chances are, the missing women are the ones I've murdered. Give me a pen, I'll write them down."

Two hours pass before he's written down his full confession with all the necessary details. The handcuffs come right after and he's taken to solitary confinement. Word travels quickly and he can hear the guards talking about him and what he's done every time they pass by.

Even though he's already agreed to plead guilty, the trial won't come as quickly as he wants it to. Only three days pass before he's had enough. They don't provide him with much in his cell, but he has enough sheets to hang himself from the bars on his window.

Harry leaves a note on his pillow.

We'll meet again, my sweet Annabel. -H