Flightless Bird || l.s. ✔︎

ACT IV: CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A/N: I survived the wilderness!

Welcome to Act IV.

I ran from Knightsbridge to Bankside. The impact of my wingtips hitting the concrete sent shocks of pain through my legs but I couldn't stand around and wait for a taxi. I had to keep moving.

I got to Harry's flat just after midnight. A fog rolled in off the Thames. I couldn't see a thing. I heard the sound of waves slapping against the embankment and the horn of a ferry in the distance.

I squinted at the buzzer. Harry's flat was still marked with a blank white rectangle. I pressed it frantically. No answer. I called and texted, though I knew it would be pointless and it was. Fuck. I banged on the door in hopes that a tenant on the first floor might hear me and open up. When that didn't work I buzzed every single flat in the entire building until someone finally answered.

I heard a woman's groggy voice and a crying baby in the background. "Hello?"

"Hello! I'm here to see Harry Styles in 10B."

"The dancer?"

"Yes! That's him."

"Who is this?"

"It's his friend, Louis Tomlinson."

"I can't let a stranger into the building."

"I'm not a stranger!"

"Then why hasn't Mr. Styles let you in himself?"

"I don't know! Look, I think he might be in trouble. Please help me!"

I heard a beep and then a click as the door unlocked.

A woman in her mid-thirties met me downstairs in a blue terrycloth bathrobe and slippers. "I wouldn't have let you in," she said, "but Mr. Styles wasn't himself this evening... It's probably nothing but he always greets me and my baby in the lobby and today when I said hello he walked right by us like a ghost."

I dashed past her and up the steps. She took the lift.

I got to Harry's door. It was locked. I banged on it and yelled, "Harry! Harry! It's Louis! Open up!"

He wouldn't open the door or answer me. I kept banging, my fist striking the heavy wood door harder and harder until my skin bruised. I kicked it. I would kick this fucking door down if I had to!

The woman stepped out of the lift. "Stop. I'll get the superintendent." She could have called the cops on me at that point, but she trusted her own instincts and chose to help me instead.

The superintendent took his sweet time. He was a burly young man with a cowlick and a faded Rush t-shirt.

He held up his hands and sauntered over under the weight of his heavy utility belt. "I can't open this door."

"It's an emergency."

"Building policy."

I pounded my head against the door in exasperation. "Please, something's really wrong!"

"Then call the police. I'm not authorized to barge into the flats of tenants in this building."

"But the police are just going to ask you to open the door!"

"I'd rather go through the proper channels."

"It might be too late by then!"

The woman snatched the keys off his belt and began trying each of them in the door.