✓ maple street murderers || h.styles

one

Harry already has his mind made up. He wants the short girl at the bar. The one playing with her lighter while ignoring the bartender. The bright red lights in the club are dancing across her dark skin and lighting up her eyes. And she's so beautiful.

He walks over to where she is and places his hand on the small of her back, the silk of her dress clinging deliciously to her body.

Images of his last kill flit through his head like an old movie; something he wants to recreate. There's the image of the brunette beauty from two weeks ago; the one with those bright eyes and thick lips. She had caramel skin and red nails that he let dig into his back while taking her on his bed. Over and over and over again.

When they were both lying spent on the sheets, he leaned over for his flannel and wiped her body down so she would be more comfortable. What was her name again? Bethany? It could have been, but he doesn't really care anymore.

He remembers carrying her body down to the basement while she was exhausted and trying to find sleep. Remembers grabbing his favorite knife and going straight for her neck so she wouldn't feel much pain. God, did she look so beautiful with those red nails and all that blood hooking around her fingers as she realized what he had done to her, eyes wide and body trembling against his hands. He remembers whispering pretty things into her ear until she finally accepted death and-

"Are you just going to stare at me?"

Harry smiles down at the girl and takes the lighter from her grasp before shutting it off. "I was going to talk eventually. Just needed to...think for a moment."

"About how you were going to talk to me?" The girl's voice is soft but confident at the same time and he doesn't feel threatened despite having never had a victim with that kind of aura before. He has a feeling people will miss her. They'll glorify her life after her death, he's sure. He'll stick flowers in her hair and send them her body.

He smiles at the thought. "Something like that," he says aloud, voice straining against all of the smoke in the atmosphere. He hates cigars and hates people who smoke them. He hates that this beautiful girl keeps a lighter on her. "Smoking kills," he says bluntly, hiding his slight irritation.

"It's a good thing it's just a lighter, then." She reaches up to take it from his hand but he's quick to pull away, looking over at the bartender instead.

"What would you like to drink?" He wants to speed this along before he loses his urge. His hands are already in the mood to be calculated. In the mood to grab her hair and press chaste kisses to her neck to make her trust him. Nothing about what he does is sexual. Sometimes sex leads to the actual action, but he doesn't ask for anyone's body. Now, standing next to this goddess, he wants to revamp all that he's ever known. He wants her body and her blood.

"Martini, please." Her head is tilted. She blinks slowly and he takes that into account. She's already tired.

He tells the bartender to bring up her drink and then slips the man a bill. He doesn't check what bill he just gave away, but he doesn't really care. This woman is worth much more than just his money.

Her drink comes and then another one follows. Four martinis later Harry has her hooked under his arm. He leads her outside of the building and out onto the street, into his car and straight to his house.

Maple Street is a very quiet town. People are secretive around here. This comes with a cost.

Over fifty murders so far.

Over fifty different people from Maple Street killed and found, and the reason they keep dying is because of their secrecy. Because everybody is hiding something, which means everybody lies to the cops. When one person dies, all people who haven't been caught befriending them don't speak up. It makes it easier for him. Friends and family suddenly have no face, no story, nobody to help the cops find out what happened.