Stories I Never Finished

Devious (larry)

Larry Stylinson - The student lawyer and the devious killer. 2019

"I would have become a lawyer if it weren't for Harry."

~~~~

I sighed, ruffling the scruff of my short hair out of frustration before huffing and grabbing the coffee that sat beside me. Taking a sip, my eyes didn't leave the words strewn across documents on the table outside the local internet café. I had a whole comparative writing text to get done in the next three weeks or else I'd just about lose my chance to become a lawyer, and right now things were looking dismal.

Tapping my pen against the table, I set my coffee cup back down and read over a few lines from one of three books I had open.
This paper was going to be a pain in my ass, I could just tell.

My mind was snapped from its trailing thoughts of Manslaughter Vs. Homicide when a man calmly sat himself down across from me.
He pulled out the single chair, taking a seat with his head held high and his back straight as though he held purpose.

He gave a very well put together feeling, and had quite a mysterious expression on his face. He had a strong jaw, prominent green eyes, and a glow that I couldn't put my finger on.

"Do I know you?" I asked, sitting up slightly to catch a better look at him directly.

"No, but you're about to." He flashed me a smile, "I require your assistance."

"My what? You sure you got the right guy here?"

"You're Louis Tomlinson, are you not? Student lawyer. One of the best in his class, if not the school."

"I am a student... yeah. How do you know that?"

"When one requires assistance, the first thing they do is go searching for the correct assistant."

"What assistance would you even need from a student lawyer?"

The man rested his arms on the table, hands clasped neatly together and elbows almost jutting off the edge, "I need someone who understands the law firm enough to get out of trouble, yet not enough to be inclined to do things consistently within legality's boundaries."

I found it surprisingly easy to decode his vast vocabulary, "In other words, you want someone to save your ass in any way possible?"

He smirked with clear amusement, "Yes. Exactly."

I sighed and closed the book that sat directly in front of me, indicating that he'd gained my attention. "What's your name?"

"Shouldn't you ask for my circumstances first, Mr Tomlinson? Should you not wish to assist me then I'll have no reason to force you to if you know nothing about me."

"Alright... What's your problem?"

"I killed a man. Several, in fact. Killed, maimed, put them on display." He casually spoke as though his words were nothing but conversational, "Harvested their organs and fed them to my neighbours."

"Did they taste any good?" I was definitely not inclined to believe such a stupid story.

He gave a slight hum, "The liver was slightly undercooked. A tad chewy, but other than that? Perfect."

I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose, "Alright." I looked back up again, "Say I do believe you, you'll only be in trouble if the police trace the murders back to you."

"Gloves, perfume and clean execution. It will take them some time if they ever do."

"Then why are you in trouble?"

"Someone suspects me."

"Then just kill them like you did everybody else." I lazily suggested.

"My friend is a policeman."

"So?"

"I will tell you what I told my psychiatrist, I cannot kill a man of law."

"And why is that? Also, you have a psychiatrist?"

"Why would I kill the one man who could end me? And yes... I find them amusing."

I paused briefly before sighing and waving my hand in dismissal as though to myself, "We're getting off track. What is it you apparently need my help for?"

~~~~~~~

"So I suppose you want to ask me why I left him...?" A smirk settled peacefully on Harry's lips as he leaned forward, gently placing down the cool tumbler glass onto the table.

Sunlight streamed through the large glass windows to the side of the two chairs and the table between them, illuminating the vast office space with the sunlight of the clear day.
His eyes flickered up as he leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed calmly over the other--clad in skinny black dress pants to match the black shoes and open dark floral blouse he wore half buttoned down his chest.

"You told me you loved him." Zayn's voice was smooth but harsh. He never wanted to get involved, he never wanted to come back, but here he was. Back in Harry's presence, almost as though he were the psychiatrist of a killer all over again, "Yet you left him back in L.A to die."

"He won't die." Harry hummed.

"You're quite sure of that, are you? Last I heard, he was dying in the middle of the road. Crashed... Someone drove into his car on purpose."

"He has many enemies."

"Ones that you bereaved to him."

"I cannot give someone an enemy, they have to be made."

"You certainly made them."

Harry eyed him for a moment before giving a slight 'hm' of amusement, "You believe it was my fault?"

"I know it was your fault." Zayn leaned forward, forearms balanced on his thighs and hands clasped together, "You destroyed his life, Mr Styles, and--looking at you now--I see no sense of remorse. You don't even care for him, do you?"

"You are no longer my psychiatrist. I would appreciate it, Malik, if you refrained from indulging yourself in my mind."

"You're an evil manipulator, Harry." Zayn sneered, "You tricked him into killing those people."

"Oh no, not at all." Harry smirked wickedly, "I helped decorate the bodies."