NOTE: This chapter contains extremely mature themes. Please read at your own discretion.

Commotion. People's voices went in and out of her ears as they pleased. Her eyelids were too heavy to open.

"H-Harry?"

She mustered all the strength she could find and moved her arm, which slid across pieces of broken glass scattered all around her. She tried to lift her neck up, but couldn't. Her hand came in contact with another hand, but it felt quite cold. She heard more noise- cries for help and directions from people who sounded like they had authority- and forced herself to open her eyes.

The first thing she saw was the grand, cream coloured dome of The Nine's foyer arching over her. She followed the arch, lifting her neck slowly until her eyes met the shattered glass doors, then the wreckage outside.

A black, mangled up Range Rover was sitting upside down in the middle of the street, on fire, being put out by a heavy stream of water. There was a large hole in the underside of it, and the passenger door was missing. Smoke billowed out from the metal chunks, soaring into the dark, night sky like eagles. It painted the blackness a thick shade of grey. However, the car wasn't the main attraction.

Bodies. Limbs. Crimson, and a lot of it. Then her blood ran cold in her veins- she pushed herself upright and tried to keep her fright contained within her.

Splattered upon her legs was the blood from the body of the hand she held previously; it was cold because half of the person's body was severed in two parts- the lower half was strewn across on her own and the torso adjacent to her. She caught sight of the person's head, his mouth agape and eyes glassy and lifeless. Upon this, she realized that she was surrounded by people who had been struck by fragments of cement or jagged glass, killing them. She saw organs she never thought she'd see in her lifetime.

Carissa let out and ear-splitting scream and shuffled her way backwards as far away as she could from the dead bodies, not caring if the shards of glass or rubble got stuck in her palms.

"Calm down. My name is Chris, and I'm here to help you," crooned a soft voice from behind her among the chaos. She looked around frantically and a man in a firefighting suit crouched in front of her. She didn't care who he was- she leaned in, wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. He was slightly taken aback, but held her for a moment, leaning and rocking and smoothing out her hair. When her crying ceased to die down, he slowly picked her up in his strong arms and carried her outside. While she was being transported, Carissa's curiosity got the better and she looked around, only to hide her face again and cry harder.

Dozens of dead people- guests and officers alike- were thrown about the sidewalk where she and Harry stood just a little over an hour ago. Shattered glass, chunks from the building and pieces of Harry's car were laying all over the road. She saw body parts without an owner; burn marks brandished nearly all of the affected; a few women and men weeping over their loved ones' bodies- firemen and paramedics tried to pull them away, but they latched on, crying and screaming for a few more seconds with the lifeless bodies; “Please! Come back! Please, I love you so much! Don’t do this to me! I love you!” they screamed. Carissa clamped her eyes shut until she was placed upon a soft cushion. Then she felt herself drift off into unconsciousness.

"You can open your eyes," she heard Chris say. She felt hands gently hold her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open to see the fireman sitting beside her. She looked outside through the open doors of the vehicle she was in and saw dead bodies being moved around on stretchers. Carissa shook her head and closed her eyes again, crying even harder as her messy hair fell in front of her face. She felt him push the strands back behind her ears and drape a warm cloth over her. She heard the doors close. "You're in an ambulance. It's okay to open your eyes now."

She took a deep breath in, her sniffles still shaky, and slowly let the incandescent lights inside the vehicle fill her eyes, causing her to strain. The firefighter stood in front of her with a half-apologetic smile.

"Is it okay if I clean you up?" he asked. She looked at her legs, which were still covered in the unknown person's blood. Her dress was more red than it was magenta, and it had been ripped in various places. The fireman held up a damp towel to show her what he was going to do. She nodded her head as a signal to him that it was okay to proceed.

The fireman dragged the towel across her skin, moving slowly and carefully. Once her legs had been cleaned of the blood, he looked up at her.

"Do you feel dizzy?"

She nodded.

"Do you need some water?"

She nodded again, and he promptly took one out from the cabinet on the wall opposite her. He twisted the cap off and handed it to her and she drank greedily, as if it were the only drink she'd ever get.

"The paramedics are going to get you to the hospital, okay?"

"Wait, someone I know is inside!"

Carissa attempted to get up to search for Harry, but the fireman halted her and sat her back down on the little cot. A sharp pain came from her leg, but she dismissed it for the time being.

"Everyone inside has been evacuated. They were told to meet anybody injured at the hospital," he said reassuringly, "so don't worry about it too much. Is there anything else you need?"

She shook her head. It was words that she needed, and she lacked them. He knew she meant well and smiled back at her, opening the doors just wide enough for him to slip out to make sure she wouldn't see anything outside in fear she would start crying again.

As the ambulance started moving, she remembered the pain in her leg and grimaced at the sharp feeling, wincing as she tried to focus. She looked down at her left calf and saw that it was dressed in bandages. It was about six inches long, give or take, and figured that the fireman must've helped clean it up. 

Carissa lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, desperate for answers.

"Carissa, leave! You're gonna die, Styles! You're gonna die!"

A single accusation flooded her mind- it was Tyson. That's why he told her to leave. He wanted to hurt Harry. But why? Tyson was always so sane, so calculating and kind, and all in a sudden he lashed out and before she knew it, Harry's car was flipped over, on fire, in the middle of the street outside one of the most popular restaurants, and killed more people than she wanted to count. Her head was still throbbing- she just wanted to see Harry. He was the only person that could ever make her feel truly safe. She touched the jasmine pendant hanging around her neck, then fell asleep.

***

"Carissa? Can you hear me?"

Her neck was sore, and her leg was throbbing. It was quiet wherever she was situated, and the sound of Lucas' voice pulled her out of sleep. She opened her heavy eyelids and awoke to the sight of her ex-boyfriend holding her hand and smiling weakly back at her. Even though they weren't together, she still found comfort in the blue of his eyes- however, Harry's were the ones she wanted to see right now.

"Where's Harry?"

Lucas looked a little puzzled, seemingly trying to find the words to say. She grew worried with his delayed response. How did Lucas know where she was?

"The medics just stitched your leg up. You had a really bad cut."

Sure enough, her leg was wrapped in clean gauze and bandaged nicely. She shook the throbbing pain from her mind.

"Why are you here?"

"I saw you on TV and I figured you'd be here-"

"What happened to Tyson? I want to know where Harry is," she snapped, pulled her hand away from his.

He pursed his lips and looked a little hesitant.

"I...I think it'd be better if you watched the news."

He grabbed the remote from her side table. Carissa looked around and realized she was in a small recovery room at the hospital. The time on the clock read 11:27 PM. The room was dimly lit, so when the television at the corner of the room turned on, her eyes had to adjust to the light. Her ears tuned into what the reporter was saying.

"...In other disturbing news tonight, twenty- five year old swimmer Tyson Quinn has been found dead. The following images of his body are extremely graphic, which some viewers may find disturbing."

Carissa's heart stopped. Dead?

The screen flashed images of Tyson's body, maimed and lacerated, and slightly blurred to keep the viewers from seeing it in detail. His eye sockets had no eyes in them, copious amounts of blood stained his face and neck due to multiple slits and cuts all along his skin, and his arm was dislocated and lay on the ground in a rigid angle, unnatural to his body's form. His mouth was sewn shut with thick, black thread criss-crossed over and over, like a voodoo doll. She gasped and shut her eyes, unable to process the image before her. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from making noise as she cried.

"The police found him shortly after the car explosion outside The Nine earlier this evening, just a block away from the accident site. Officer Holden of the Agoura Hills Police Department has confirmed that including Quinn, twenty-nine people have been killed, and even more have been wounded. Prior to the explosion, witnesses saw Quinn threaten to kill a man and warned a young woman to stay away. The man he threatened to kill has been detained, as it was his car that exploded outside of the restaurant, and will be held for questioning. Holden also confirmed that the cause of the explosion was a bomb planted underneath the car, just below the passenger's seat. Officials don't know who killed Quinn-"

Lucas turned the television off and held Carissa's shaking body in his arms.

"Shh," he hushed, hugging her tighter, "don't cry, please."

"Tyson's dead! He's- he's-" she sobbed. She didn't know what to think.

"This is my fault," he huffed, "I should've tried harder to keep you safe."

"What do you mean keep me 'safe'? What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, Carissa. You need to rest."

"No, I want you to tell me!" she demanded, sitting up.

"Honestly-"

"Tell me, Lucas."

"Damn it, Carissa, I told you so. I told you to stay away from him!"

"You're not seriously blaming it on Harry again, are you? He's been detained for questioning, not-"

"I'm not blaming him! Carissa, look where you are. You're in a hospital, you're hurt. I told you from the start-"

"I don't want to hear it, Lucas."

"Carissa, please-"

"Lucas, shut up!"

"He sent me a video!" Lucas blurted. Carissa's eyes widened at the mention of it.

"V-video?"

"I...I didn't watch it," he started, pulling out his phone and handing it to her. She scoured through the screens until she found it: the video of them on the balcony. Though it hadn't been downloaded onto his phone, meaning clearly that he hadn't opened the file, humiliation overtook her system. She shielded her face in shame.

"I..." she started, but couldn't finish. She was too shocked to produce sentences, and she could feel her hope start to dissipate. He promised it would stay between them.

"I don't know...he didn't say why he sent it, but I think it was because I was trying to call you that day, and I didn’t want to watch it just in case..." he broke off at the sight of her tossing the phone down onto the mattress. He sat down beside her, holding the phone in such a way that let her see that he was deleting the message containing the video; that he just kept in on his phone so she would know what Harry had done- he didn't want to keep any secrets from her.

The two of them stayed quiet. All Carissa felt was betrayal. She knew Harry was impulsive, but she didn't think he would let jealousy get the better of him.

"Do you want me to drop you off at home?" he asked quietly.

"I sold my place."

Lucas sighed and massaged his temples.

"Are you still at his apartment?"

She nodded. He bit his lip, then ruffled his blond hair and smoothed it out.

"I'll drive you there. C'mon."

Lucas stepped out of the room and grabbed a wheelchair, easing her into it and being sure not to touch her to avoid giving the wrong impression. He rolled her out of the building and placed her in the backseat of his car, like she had requested. They sped off into the night.

Carissa was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Harry was, again, the only thing on her mind. She tried telling herself that it was just a simple mistake; that a slip of his hand led him to push the send button. But Harry hated Lucas- why would he have his number on his phone? She didn't want to believe it was deliberate.

She wanted to be the only constant in his ever-changing world. She wanted to be the sun that kissed him good morning, or the moon that cradled him to sleep, or the rings around Saturn that would slowly wrap around him in love and passion and longing. She wanted to be the trail of stars- the constellations- that led him back to where she was; where they both knew he always belonged. She'd sail across oceans just to feel him hug her from behind while she was cooking, or feel his lips press to her cheek. She'd give anything to have him take the last movie ticket again.

As they approached Harry's apartment, the sight of police cars and yellow tape made her heart pound like a stampede in her chest.

"Jesus Christ..." Lucas groaned, pulling to the side, "wait here, I'll see what's going on."

He parked his car and stepped out.

"Sir, please get back in your vehicle-" said an officer, making his way towards the cordoned-off boundary.

"What's going on here?"

"Investigation. I'm sorry, but you can't get into the building unless you live-"

"My friend does."

"Friend?"

"She's in the car."

The officer pressed his lips together and stepped under the yellow tape, approaching the car. He opened the door and took in Carissa's face, matching her up with the image in his head.

"Miss Lim?" the man asked. He seemed stern, unlike the fireman earlier. "I'm Officer Tang. Are you living with Harry Styles?"

"Y-yes?"

"We're going to have to ask you a few questions."

He looked at Lucas, who came off as defensive.

"You can't search someone's house without a warrant, and you can't simply ask people-" protested Lucas.

"Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?" the officer snapped. Lucas kept quiet. Officer Tang turned to Carissa again. "If you will, Miss Lim, we just have to ask you about a couple of things."

"I can walk-" she protested when Lucas tried to help her out of the car.

"That won't be necessary. We'll need to take you to the station," said the officer, ordering a squad car immediately into his radio.

"Is there something wrong, officer?" she asked. She didn't understand why she had to go down to the station. The man turned to her, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line once again.

"We've already searched the apartment. I can't disclose anything right now, but I may be able to at the station-"

"May? What do you mean may? I should have a right to know!"

"Are you in a long-term relationship with him?"

"I...well, no, but-" Carissa stammered. It never occurred to her that she would be asked that question; she and Harry hardly needed a label- they were fine as they were, but it all came down to the specifics: they weren't actually boyfriend and girlfriend. Officer Tang sighed.

"I'll explain everything on the way. Will you come with us?" he asked. The squad car arrived and was waiting a few feet away.

Carissa nodded, not knowing if she even had the option of saying no. Lucas helped steady her as she limped towards the vehicle.

"Don't tell them anything more than they need to know," Lucas warned quietly as she sat in the squad car, "They might take it the wrong way and use it against Harry."

"Harry hasn't done anything," she shook her head, "they've got it all wrong."

"As much as I hate him, and as suspicious as he was, I think they have it wrong too."

She looked at him with hope, and he smiled weakly back with sincerity. He closed the door and watched her as the car drove away.

***

When Carissa arrived at the police station, she was brought into a brightly lit room. The walls were painted a pastel blue, though over time it had become mottled and drab, the paint peeling in random spots. There was a single, metal table with two chairs on either side of it in the middle of the room, a security camera in one of the corners, and what she knew to be a double-sided mirror on the wall opposite to where she was sitting. There was also a tape recorder and microphone sitting right in the center of the table.

So this is what it feels like to be questioned, she thought. Officer Tang's partner (whose name she figured out to be Constable Rogers) brought in coffee for the three of them before pulling up another chair and letting the door clang shut.

"Miss, I'm going to be going through standard procedure. This is a tape recorder"- Officer Tang pointed at the machine in the middle of the table- "and we will be recording everything from this point on. Is that okay with you?"

She nodded. It's not like she would refuse now. He pushed the record button and straightened his tie. He cleared his throat.

"Your name is Carissa Rose Lim, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you currently live at Agoura Plaza, Suite 30-8?"

"Correct."

Officer Tang ripped three packets of sugar open and poured it into his cup, then stirred it, his wrist moving as if he were tracing circles onto paper. Carissa stared at the mug filled with dark liquid in front of her. The sugars and creams sat off slightly further, just to the left of her reach.

"My name is Officer Johnson Tang of the Agoura Hills Police Department, Precinct Six. Here with me is Constable Travis Rogers. This is case number 50012CA-13. The time is 12:14 AM. The date is July 20, 2013."

Carissa looked at Officer Tang, who was reading off a bunch of papers clipped to a clipboard. He was jotting down notes. She looked over to Constable Rogers, who hadn't touched his coffee either- his head was hanging, and he dared not make eye contact with her.

"Johnson-" Rogers began softly, but was silenced shortly after.

"Rogers, don't-"

"Go easy on her-" he warned. From Carissa's observations, Officer Tang liked to be the one in control. He brushed off his partner's advice with a glare.

"Miss Lim, you have been brought here because you are a victim of an attempted murder."

"M-murder?"

"Officer Tang," interrupted Constable Rogers sternly, "I think I should take it from here."

"Rogers-"

"I mean it."

Officer Tang's face shifted from serious to furious, but he still stepped aside and let his partner take his seat in front of Carissa.

"Ma'am," he greeted. She liked his tone more, but it didn't really matter at this point.

"Where's Harry?"

He paused to find the right words, but Carissa should've clued in that there really were no 'right' words.

"Miss Lim, Mr. Styles has been arrested. He's been charged with five counts of successful first degree murders, two attempted first degree murders- one of which is yours- and is suspected of the second degree murder of Tyson Quinn."

Her jaw dropped, and her hand immediately touched the pendant dangling from her neck.

"That's...that's impossible. He wouldn't-"

"Please, Miss Lim, let me explain. We have reason to believe that he was the one that planted the bomb under his car. It was placed directly under the passenger's seat, which correlated with the evidence we found in his apartment, and a detonating program installed on his phone."

Carissa had a hard time breathing. Her chest felt constricted and her pulse slowed down.

"Th-that...that doesn't make any sense."

"We found a bomb detonator on his cell phone when he was detained earlier tonight. When we searched his apartment, we found blueprints of the bomb that was placed under his car, and journals filled with details of plots that were carried out upon five women before yourself."

Five women? Daphne, Willine, Vienna and Roselle were the ones she knew of...and there was another one? She was sure her ears deceived her, but she had to find out more.

"Who were the five?"

"Daphne Fisher, Roselle Vincent, Vienna Shaw, Willine Petersson and Morgan Arabel."

Morgan. He killed Morgan. She was the fifth. He killed them all. All of them were dead.

"Was...was there one for m-me?"

Constable Rogers looked solemnly at her, his eyebrows slanting in such a way that made it look like it hurt him just as much as it hurt her.

"All of his plots were intricate and had well thought-out procedures. We looked into the files of all the women, and they were all reported missing around the same time he allegedly killed them. There...there were two journals for you."

"Two?"

"One filled with quotes from classic literature, poetry, and his own writings professing his love for you, and one with a murder plot."

Constable Rogers gestured for Officer Tang to bring something over. She turned to see him carrying several evidence bags. He lay the items out on the table for her to view after taking the coffee away. There were seven journals in total, flipped open to random pages. She scanned them all over, scrutinizing every word she could make out- it was definitely his handwriting, the very same she saw on the little slips of paper he would write notes upon at work when he learned a new recipe, but it was messy and in a scrawl.

"Daphne likes to drink, she always comes home drunk and I keep telling her not to drink so much. She said she couldn't; that alcohol makes her happy. It was so insensitive for me to even ask that of her. She asked me to buy her some one night. I did. Lots of it. I know that she doesn't care what kind, so I bought ethanol. She'll drown in it and the alcohol will permeate into her skin. This way, I know that she'll always be happy."

"Vienna is so smart, she is one of the smartest girls I know. She has a history major. Sometimes, she would act like she got bored of me; like her studies were more interesting than I was. I wanted to impress her again. I want to gas her using chlorine gas like the Germans did in WWI. I'll surprise her on her birthday because that was when the Germans first used it. I know she'll be impressed that I went through all this trouble to make her birthday special. She'll go down in history."

"Morgan always complains about how she thinks she doesn't look pretty, so I'll fill her blood with botox. I'll stick needles in her, because she said she wanted to look better. I want to make her feel pretty. I'll drain her veins, take out her ugly blood, and make her pretty. She'll be the prettiest girl in the world, and she'll love me forever."

"Willine kept asking for things. Stupid little things. Materialistic bitch. She asked for money, so I'll give her what she wants. I'll slice her open from her throat down to her stomach and fill her with coins. I'll spend all my time looking for coins for her. She'll know how much I love her. I'll stitch her back up, and throw her into the lake, where she'll lay forever with my money. She'll always love me."

"Roselle said she wanted some space. I loved her so much. I loved her more than anyone. I wanted her to be mine. I let her move in with me, and she promised she would love me forever. She said she had enough of me, so I decided I've had enough of her. I will cut her up, and I'll hide her body all around town. That way, she'll always see the city at night. I know she loves that."

Carissa's eyes started to water as she read Harry's plans. All these women, though they had their flaws, were innocent. They were all helpless. She was scared to read the last two, which were both dedicated to her.

"My heart is an etch-a-sketch
and you have managed to
trace yourself into
me.

My heart has been shaken-
the sand shifts space and time
to try and bury your image-
and yet you remain. 

*

I could hear you unraveling the chains
that you bound at my ankles over miles of
stretched out telephone wire.
The thing is, I wanted them there.

I wanted to be the familiar
sight of scuffed road paint by your driveway,
or your favourite candy wrapper.

I wanted to be the familiar
red Volkswagen parked right beside
the fire hydrant at the end of
the street that always got tickets for doing so.

Now I am a clear blue sky in the midst of winter–
I just wanted to be familiar to you.

*

Nothing stings quite like the sound of his name plastered on your tongue. But could I ever blame you? He is an array of Dutch tulips arranged into beautiful vases, and I am a single wilted forget-me-not in a box. Every word, every syllable I manage to pronounce has you echoing in its resonance. Words meant to be as light as feathers sink like lead; words that were meant to be graphite are now droplets of black ink on clean, white sheets."

Her heart swelled for unknown reasons; she had chosen the good news before the bad. The poetry was beautiful. She had never read something so beautiful in such a time of despair. She couldn't believe anything. She wanted to love him, but her brain refused. She wiped her eyes before reading the last journal- the journal in which Harry plotted how he would inevitably kill her.

"Carissa is so beautiful, there is nobody more beautiful than her. I want her. I want her so badly, but I don't think she wants me back. I think she loves another man. But she can't. She's not allowed. She is mine. I need to keep her. I just want her to love me. But if she can't, I need to.. kill her. There is no other way. I love her so much. I'll show her the fire that ignites in my heart- I'll blow her up. I'll plant a bomb under my car. That way she'll die in the very spot we made love."

The pencil Harry used to write with suddenly shifted from the light scrawl to dark, forceful, rigid marks upon the paper. She gasped when she saw the second attempted murder plot.

"Lucas has to die. I'm going to kill him. He's taking away the one thing I love the most. Die. Die. DIE. DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE."

Carissa couldn't handle it anymore. It was real. It was all real. She burst into tears, crying into her hands. There was nothing else she wanted to do than hide away from everybody. Everything she knew about him had disintegrated to dust. He took every ounce of her- even the fact that she had mentioned on Independence Day that she was afraid of explosions- and made her fall for him while he was plotting to use it all against her. The horror made her unstable- she felt weaker than ever before; her knees shook, as did her hands, and her vocal chords were frail.

"Miss Lim, we also got the DNA results back from the report you filed a two weeks ago. The hair sample from the bushes outside your home were confirmed as Mr. Styles'," he said quietly, causing her to sob harder, "I'm sorry."

The night seemed to stretch on forever. Her head pounded, and all she wanted to do was sleep for an eternity; to bury herself in the ground and never wake. She'd spread flowers atop her grave, and they'd tell her that things wouldn't always be this bad.

"Miss Lim, when and where did you meet Mr. Styles?" Constable Rogers asked. An hour had passed, and Carissa read and reread his journal entries. Her crying had muffled into sniffles that constantly threatened to break into tears once again.

"At the end of May at the movie theatre. We got acquainted a week after that at the recreation centre. He got a job at my old workplace, and-"

"It's okay, Miss Lim. I just needed to know when."

"Am...am I f-free to go?" she sniffed, taking deep breaths. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her cheeks were stained by her tears. She constantly had to push her hair from her eyes. Rogers nodded and pressed the 'stop' button on the tape recorder.

"You'll have to be protected when you go out in public for the next few days, Miss Lim. As long as Mr. Styles isn't behind bars, your life is at risk."

"I just...I just want to go home. To my friend that dropped me off at his place."

Constable Rogers curled his lips upward weakly and got out of his seat, holding out a hand for her to hold. She didn't take it. She pushed her chair back with a harsh screech, got up, and made her way to the door. She was slow; her soul was heavy; she ignored the fact that the little flower bouncing upon the skin of her neck was given to her by the man that killed every woman he wanted to love, but couldn't.

***

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