Shattered
Fourteen
CHAPTER 14~ "HE DIDN'T SNAP"
CHAPTER SONG: HEATHENS, TWENTY ONE PILOTS
* * * * * * * *
**WARNING: This chapter contains violence and some sexual content and rape. If you are sensitive to these topics, PLEASE do NOT read. You have been warned**
* * * * * * * * *
I entered the room slowly and sighed. Here I am again, I thought.
"Ah, Zack, is it?"
I huffed. "Obviously you didn't read my file."
The man flipped through the pages of an enormous stack of papers.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Malik. Zayn?" He corrected.
I nodded then.
"Sorry, I have another client named Zack."
I roll my eyes. "Cut the bullshit. We both know that's not true."
He jumped, but quickly composed himself. He flashed a tightened smile as fake as plastic at me and glanced over to the window again. I knew that the other detectives were behind the mirror. I sat down and put my hands on the table in front of me, looking at the shiny metal on my wrists.
"Are they uncomfortable?"
"Yeah, very. But I think its best you keep them on me..." I gave a him a grim look. I could already see the fear in his eyes. He didn't want to be sitting here with someone like me.
"I'm Detective Derek Cambridge and I'm the one that will be handling your case." He flipped through the papers again.
And you would think that they'd be much more organized.
"Okay, let's start from the beginning, how did you meet Wyatt Mitchell and Harry Styles?"
I smiled at their names. Cold heart-ed bastards.
"What's so amusing, Zayn?" Detective Cambridge asked me. I shook my head.
"I've known them my whole life- for as long as I can remember. Harry's dad fostered me, and Wyatt's parents were close with him. They all practically raised me. We lived near each other, too." I sighed and I laughed to myself.
"Him meaning..."
"Harry," I said. I shook my head. "We used to hang out. Like everyday. All six of us were always together nonstop. It's crazy how all six of us kids got along since day one." I shook my head at all the memories. "We never fought once or ever argued. Rare for a bunch of teenage boys. We got along splendidly.
"He was an older brother, Wyaat was. He could convince anyone to do anything for him. He had this sort of... charm, if you will, about him. The rest were always easily swayed."
"How did he lose it?"
I looked at him oddly. "Lose it? I'm not following, Cambridge."
"How did Wyatt Mitchell lose his.. cool, I suppose is another way to word it? How did he snap?" the detective asked again.
I chuckled and leaned in, causing Officer Cambridge to sit back a bit. He gulped, sending his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down a bit.
"So, back to my question." he asked.
"He didn't snap." Another chuckle escaped my rose coloured lips. "He was always as psychotic as he is right now. He never lost anything."
"When did he first kill?"
He picked up a pen and a jotter and wrote down everything that I had just said. Which bemused me a bit because they were recording this whole session on film.
I knew that this wasn't going to get me out. But I swore to tell the truth.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When did he first start to murder?"
"You mean as in humans?"
The detective swallowed hard. "There were more?"
"Well," I said as I leaned back. "He always had this thing for torture. He'd harass the ant hill in the back of house, and pit spiders against each other. The thing that really made him... tick was when he'd find stray cats or a dog."
The detective paled and continued to jot down several things. "Go on, Mr. Malik."
"But that night was something I can't ever get out of my head... it still feels just like yesterday. I was fourteen and he was seventeen at that time..."
* * * * * *
"C'mon Wyatt. For fuck's sake man!"
He pulled a mask over his face. I do the same.
"Shut up," Wyatt says. "He'll hear us."
"Wyatt, no. This is bad. This is really really bad. You need help, mate."
Wyatt scoffs. Then his face turned into a grin, showing of his teeth. It was not a flattering smile. It was ominous and creepy. He pulled out a gun from the waistband of his pants and handed it to me.
"Here, take this gun. When we go in just point it at his head, shoot and we'll book it." He whispered.
"Wyatt," I plead. I could see the shininess of the metal in the dim streetlights.
"C'mon Zayn." He said kindly- too kindly for what we were about to do. "I think Harry would find this admirable. He'll see that you can actually be something. That you're you're not just some weak, pathetic little foster kid taking up half his room."
I look down at the gun, "Th-this is a water gun, right?"
"No, it's a real gun. And it's loaded. M' dad didn't need it anyway."
* * * * * *
"Wait a moment, Zayn. You do realize what you are saying. You are confessing that you murdered Harold Styles, Harry's father. Do you realize what this is going to do to you?"
I shook my head. "I'm not confessing to a damn thing, sir."
* * * * * *
We entered the house but we didn't wait long enough outside because he was still sitting on his couch. "Zayn, Wyatt, what are you doing here? I thought you two went camping with the boys. You should be slee-"
He froze once he saw Wyaat pull his gun out his back pocket.
"Shut the fuck up." I followed his example and pulled mine from behind my back as well.
"Kids, wait. What-"
"I said shut the fuck up, Harold. Do you think that I am playing?" Wyatt screamed at the man. He shook his head.
"You thought you could get away with it didn't you. You thought that you could just mess with us. And not get caught?! Well tonight is your turn. You're gonna pay for what you did. Everybody's gonna know what you did, and how awful of a person you are. And all the fucked up shit that you did. Everybody. Will. Know." He pointed the gun to his head.
Harold's eyes hardened and his face grew somber.
"I know what you did to Liam, to Louis and Harry- your fucking son?! Zayn over here. I know what you did. And you won't get away with that, you are sick man. You know that? What about your wife? Is that why you left her? Because you had all the little boys that you could possibly get your hands on. You're a sick fucking bastard." Wyatt shouted. "Zayn?"
"Yeah," he looked at me and smiled. "You ready,"
I shook my head. "No, no I can't do this."
It was then Harold stood. His fear gone and replaced with a smirk.
"So this is what this is all about?" Harold sighed. This man was psychotic. This startled Wyaat, nearly caused him to jump out of his own skin. But Wyaat regained his steady stance and aimed. I raised my gun and did the same. "Do it."
"What the fuck?"
Harold grinned and stepped towards him. "Do it, shoot me." He said again. His smirk turned into a grin.
"I said shut the fuck up." Wyatt struggled to hide his fear.
"Poor boy," Harold cooed. "Maybe let the younger lad shoot first. That'd be a sweet big-brother thing to do. Especially for one that has no such thing."
I gritted my teeth. And I thought Wyatt was sick. I raised my gun and shot. It hit him right in the left shoulder and blood splattered along the wall behind him. The man screamed out in pain, but then quickly composed himself.
"Thank you, Zayn." He sputtered. "You always were my favourite." Then the man cackled.
Next thing I know, I heard a loud bang, then another, and another. There were five of them. The man was limp on the couch with blood all over the wall and on the carpet. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't moving. I knew he was dead at that moment. However, he still had that ghostly grin on his face.
* * * * * *
Detective Cambridge Cleared his throat. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow. I could tell that this was his first kill.
"Zayn, Harold was not shot to death. He was stabbed." He tells me. My eyes widened.
CHAPTER SONG: HEATHENS, TWENTY ONE PILOTS
* * * * * * * *
**WARNING: This chapter contains violence and some sexual content and rape. If you are sensitive to these topics, PLEASE do NOT read. You have been warned**
* * * * * * * * *
I entered the room slowly and sighed. Here I am again, I thought.
"Ah, Zack, is it?"
I huffed. "Obviously you didn't read my file."
The man flipped through the pages of an enormous stack of papers.
"Sorry about that, Mr. Malik. Zayn?" He corrected.
I nodded then.
"Sorry, I have another client named Zack."
I roll my eyes. "Cut the bullshit. We both know that's not true."
He jumped, but quickly composed himself. He flashed a tightened smile as fake as plastic at me and glanced over to the window again. I knew that the other detectives were behind the mirror. I sat down and put my hands on the table in front of me, looking at the shiny metal on my wrists.
"Are they uncomfortable?"
"Yeah, very. But I think its best you keep them on me..." I gave a him a grim look. I could already see the fear in his eyes. He didn't want to be sitting here with someone like me.
"I'm Detective Derek Cambridge and I'm the one that will be handling your case." He flipped through the papers again.
And you would think that they'd be much more organized.
"Okay, let's start from the beginning, how did you meet Wyatt Mitchell and Harry Styles?"
I smiled at their names. Cold heart-ed bastards.
"What's so amusing, Zayn?" Detective Cambridge asked me. I shook my head.
"I've known them my whole life- for as long as I can remember. Harry's dad fostered me, and Wyatt's parents were close with him. They all practically raised me. We lived near each other, too." I sighed and I laughed to myself.
"Him meaning..."
"Harry," I said. I shook my head. "We used to hang out. Like everyday. All six of us were always together nonstop. It's crazy how all six of us kids got along since day one." I shook my head at all the memories. "We never fought once or ever argued. Rare for a bunch of teenage boys. We got along splendidly.
"He was an older brother, Wyaat was. He could convince anyone to do anything for him. He had this sort of... charm, if you will, about him. The rest were always easily swayed."
"How did he lose it?"
I looked at him oddly. "Lose it? I'm not following, Cambridge."
"How did Wyatt Mitchell lose his.. cool, I suppose is another way to word it? How did he snap?" the detective asked again.
I chuckled and leaned in, causing Officer Cambridge to sit back a bit. He gulped, sending his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down a bit.
"So, back to my question." he asked.
"He didn't snap." Another chuckle escaped my rose coloured lips. "He was always as psychotic as he is right now. He never lost anything."
"When did he first kill?"
He picked up a pen and a jotter and wrote down everything that I had just said. Which bemused me a bit because they were recording this whole session on film.
I knew that this wasn't going to get me out. But I swore to tell the truth.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When did he first start to murder?"
"You mean as in humans?"
The detective swallowed hard. "There were more?"
"Well," I said as I leaned back. "He always had this thing for torture. He'd harass the ant hill in the back of house, and pit spiders against each other. The thing that really made him... tick was when he'd find stray cats or a dog."
The detective paled and continued to jot down several things. "Go on, Mr. Malik."
"But that night was something I can't ever get out of my head... it still feels just like yesterday. I was fourteen and he was seventeen at that time..."
* * * * * *
"C'mon Wyatt. For fuck's sake man!"
He pulled a mask over his face. I do the same.
"Shut up," Wyatt says. "He'll hear us."
"Wyatt, no. This is bad. This is really really bad. You need help, mate."
Wyatt scoffs. Then his face turned into a grin, showing of his teeth. It was not a flattering smile. It was ominous and creepy. He pulled out a gun from the waistband of his pants and handed it to me.
"Here, take this gun. When we go in just point it at his head, shoot and we'll book it." He whispered.
"Wyatt," I plead. I could see the shininess of the metal in the dim streetlights.
"C'mon Zayn." He said kindly- too kindly for what we were about to do. "I think Harry would find this admirable. He'll see that you can actually be something. That you're you're not just some weak, pathetic little foster kid taking up half his room."
I look down at the gun, "Th-this is a water gun, right?"
"No, it's a real gun. And it's loaded. M' dad didn't need it anyway."
* * * * * *
"Wait a moment, Zayn. You do realize what you are saying. You are confessing that you murdered Harold Styles, Harry's father. Do you realize what this is going to do to you?"
I shook my head. "I'm not confessing to a damn thing, sir."
* * * * * *
We entered the house but we didn't wait long enough outside because he was still sitting on his couch. "Zayn, Wyatt, what are you doing here? I thought you two went camping with the boys. You should be slee-"
He froze once he saw Wyaat pull his gun out his back pocket.
"Shut the fuck up." I followed his example and pulled mine from behind my back as well.
"Kids, wait. What-"
"I said shut the fuck up, Harold. Do you think that I am playing?" Wyatt screamed at the man. He shook his head.
"You thought you could get away with it didn't you. You thought that you could just mess with us. And not get caught?! Well tonight is your turn. You're gonna pay for what you did. Everybody's gonna know what you did, and how awful of a person you are. And all the fucked up shit that you did. Everybody. Will. Know." He pointed the gun to his head.
Harold's eyes hardened and his face grew somber.
"I know what you did to Liam, to Louis and Harry- your fucking son?! Zayn over here. I know what you did. And you won't get away with that, you are sick man. You know that? What about your wife? Is that why you left her? Because you had all the little boys that you could possibly get your hands on. You're a sick fucking bastard." Wyatt shouted. "Zayn?"
"Yeah," he looked at me and smiled. "You ready,"
I shook my head. "No, no I can't do this."
It was then Harold stood. His fear gone and replaced with a smirk.
"So this is what this is all about?" Harold sighed. This man was psychotic. This startled Wyaat, nearly caused him to jump out of his own skin. But Wyaat regained his steady stance and aimed. I raised my gun and did the same. "Do it."
"What the fuck?"
Harold grinned and stepped towards him. "Do it, shoot me." He said again. His smirk turned into a grin.
"I said shut the fuck up." Wyatt struggled to hide his fear.
"Poor boy," Harold cooed. "Maybe let the younger lad shoot first. That'd be a sweet big-brother thing to do. Especially for one that has no such thing."
I gritted my teeth. And I thought Wyatt was sick. I raised my gun and shot. It hit him right in the left shoulder and blood splattered along the wall behind him. The man screamed out in pain, but then quickly composed himself.
"Thank you, Zayn." He sputtered. "You always were my favourite." Then the man cackled.
Next thing I know, I heard a loud bang, then another, and another. There were five of them. The man was limp on the couch with blood all over the wall and on the carpet. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't moving. I knew he was dead at that moment. However, he still had that ghostly grin on his face.
* * * * * *
Detective Cambridge Cleared his throat. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow. I could tell that this was his first kill.
"Zayn, Harold was not shot to death. He was stabbed." He tells me. My eyes widened.
Notes
If you didn't pick up on it, this is Zayn's point of view, and this is in the past. A flash back... I hope you guys like it. Please vote!!! AND subscribe. Theres, like three of you that voted...
Anyway Rock on and Stay awesome!
-Allanys
Hello!
I just wanted to say that I am in love with this story and your writing. I'm hooked. Can't wait to read more! :)
8/27/17