57. Back to Tommy

F oxx sniffed and settled in against Harlow, whose arm came around him. He met the man's eyes. On seeing the apology in them, the remaining bit of anger loosened and floated away.

"Sorry, brat." The dhampir kissed his forehead before pulling him closer.

He grunted in response, but snuggled, his eyes moving to Wes. The new target of his irritation, simply because of the topic at hand. "Well, ask your questions."

"We left off talking about your father last time. About his response to you being gay, and how it clashed with his obsession, I believe you called it, for his faith."

Foxx sighed. "Yes. Clash is one word for it. I said last time that he figured out I liked men, but really, it was more that he outed me to myself. It wasn't as if it was something people talked about back then, not openly at least. I had no clue what I was feeling, and I didn't understand what it meant. But one accusation was enough for me to connect the dots."

"Was he…abusive?"

Foxx snorted. "It was the 1300s, Wes. If one didn't beat their children, was one really parenting? Making us behave was a must when a crime as simple as stealing a loaf of bread could mean losing a hand or worse, depending on who you stole from."

Harlow's arm tightened around him.

"The ethics of it, and it being a common method of child rearing at that time, aside, you know there's a difference between punishing someone out of fear of them going down the wrong path, and beating someone for not being who you wanted them to be."

"There was no difference in his mind. I was already on the wrong path. And anyone back then would have agreed. Not that he would have dared tell anyone," Foxx said softly. He frowned, eyeing Wes. "I'm not sure if you are trying to get me to admit I was abused, or to admit that I didn't consider it abuse. Believe me when I say, I am well aware that what he did to me wasn't okay. Was it okay in the eyes of the world I grew up in? Yes. Was it okay in any sense of right or wrong? No. It wasn't okay. And with each hit, I hated him with my entire being. Him and my mother, who never dared to say a word, not because she was fearful but because she didn't care. Not to forget, or forgive, my siblings, who stood back, looked away, and sometimes, simply stared in disdain.

"Don't worry, Wes, my mind has always firmly held the belief that I have done no wrong simply by existing. Because as confused as I was, I couldn't imagine that feelings, which I had no choice in, ones that felt as normal as the sun rising and setting, were somehow against God's will." He chuckled. "You see, back then, as much as I hated the God my father spoke of, I believed the actual God was loving, without reproach, without vengeance in his heart. As a vampire, I learned with each and every interaction I had with God's followers, just how silly and ironic those thoughts were. Because every fucking one of them showed me just how vengeful and full of hatred that Being really is." Foxx took a deep shuddered breath. "I'm done talking now."

Wes' brows pulled together, but instead of asking him another question like he feared, he just nodded. "Understood. Thank you for being honest."

When Harlow's hand came up and threaded through his hair, he glanced up.

"I'd kill him for you, but unfortunately, I can't go after the dead," Harlow said, before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Foxx smiled. "I don't think even Daydric could create a zombie out of him for you to beat up at this point. Nothing can be done once they are just dust."

Harlow smiled and pressed another kiss to the top of his head this time, before saying, "That's too bad, I would have enjoyed beating him up."

He chuckled, before sighing, his head tilting back down as he eyed Wes. "What? No questions about zombies?"

"I've been friends with Tony for thirty years. The things that man has told me…" Wes snorted. "Zombies would hardly shock me."

Foxx frowned. "Thirty years…?"

The human's brow rose. "Yes?"

Harlow stared at the lines in the corner of Wes' eyes and mouth, trying to see if maybe he'd had work done or something. As they were there, but they weren't…super deep or anything. The math...wasn't adding up.

"You knew him when you were what? Fifteen years old? What thirty-year-old is telling a teenager shit?"

Wes' head tilted, the human starting to look confused before he chuckled. "Oh, you two look genuinely shocked. I'm afraid, while I will thank you both for the compliment, you have, in fact, mis-aged me. I'm not in my forties. Far past, in fact. My birthday was just last month, I turned fifty?—"

"Fifty?!" Foxx gasped. "Okay, well, I guess good genetics are working here, but like…"

"No…" Wes frowned. "Y-you…" The human trailed off with a hesitant chuckle, the man's cheeks were starting to get a bit red. Harlow would have assumed it was anger, but he was pretty sure it was embarrassment. Or…was he getting shy? "Actually, you cut me off before I finished. I just turned fifty-seven."

"Bullshit," the vampire snapped.

He glanced down and witnessed Foxx's gaze going shiny, the man's eyes widening right after. "Bloody hell. I mean, I suppose Tony looks Harlow's age too, but…"

"And I thought I was aging well," Harlow said with a snort.

"You are… Well, were." Foxx's lips pursed as he eyed him. "Considering the field of work you're in, I think both you and Tony are lucky to not have more wrinkles."

Harlow looked to Wes when the human cleared his throat. The man's face was still a bit red. "Okay…I'm going to redirect the conversation now, as we are way off topic. Harlow, why don't you pick up where you last left off. You were telling us about how you were moved to a new foster home after your first fight and spark of anger."

"Well, first thoughts about killing someone, but close enough. Yeah, I was moved. This next place also had other children, but the atmosphere was completely different. The wife was fine, yet ignorant of what happened in her house. The husband was a bastard. To note, before moving there, I was held at juvie until my case was thrown out."

"There was an actual case?" Wes asked. "And juvie… You didn't mention that at all."

"To be honest, they apparently were hesitant to send me to a group home, but couldn't exactly put me in juvie with the older children. So, I was basically locked in a room and separated from the rest of the population the whole time, while they figured out what they were going to do with me, and if there were going to be any charges. You'd think, at this point, maybe they'd think about sending me to one of you guys…but no. Either way, there isn't much to say about that. Besides that, I spent my solitude, which I was happy to have, thinking over what I did."

"No regrets, I assume," Foxx mused.

"No," he laughed. "More what would have happened if I had killed him. I'd seen those scared straight documentaries. It was something the teens in that house loved to watch. You'd think some of it would have hit home for them…but apparently it hadn't. I didn't care about the so-called…'‘scare' part of the films, but the lack of personal space I witnessed…was enough to make me understand that I did not want to go to jail."

"When he says personal space, he means the constant touching by other people," Foxx added, like the brat he was.

"Anyway, the reason I'm bringing it up is that while I had wanted to kill that teenager, I made the decision that if I was going to kill someone, the only way I could go through with it was if I was sure I'd get away with it."

"So, from rage induced manslaughter to premeditated homicide. That's quite an escalation over such a short span of time," Wes noted.

"What can I say? I was a fast learner. Which is important because my second urge to murder came in that new foster home. The husband was a pedophile. I didn't pick up on that, or on how off things were. Even if I did notice how quiet the children were compared to how bright and sunny the couple seemed. My lack of interest usually meant I kept to myself, so the other children not being super talkative didn't really hit my radar."

Foxx clutched his shirt. "Did…he do something to you?"

He grasped hold of his smaller hand. "Not much that happened to me growing up fazed me, or caused any damage mentally. All of the fucked-up shit was already there. So, there's no reason for you to be worried. Did he try? Yes. I was a small wisp of a child, and I suppose I looked like an easy target. I had just gotten in trouble, and I guess he thought I wouldn't dare ‘act up'."

Foxx giggled softly. "You would never be an easy target."

"You are likely right, Harlow. This man probably saw you as a highly vulnerable target. Nonverbal, and already troubled." Wes' head tilted, the man obviously thinking. "And one he had easy access to. It probably means they didn't disclose to the family what you got in trouble for. At least, not all the details. Fighting another child is one thing, but I wonder if they told him the age and size difference between you and the other kid, or the damage you caused." The man's brow rose in question. "I assume he was hospitalized for a while."

"Brain bleed, and some broken bones. Maybe a month at least, I think."

Wes smirked. "Then he was likely contacted about a troubled kid by the agency, and didn't hear all the details, or he possibly didn't wait for all the details. What he did hear, on top of the idea of having another kid in his reach, was too much to pass up, causing him to inadvertently screw himself."

"Find it funny that his greed likely brought it on himself, do you, doc?"

"Not funny, but karma, in the grand scheme of things. He's a repeat offender that likely never hesitated, and had no desire to stop his vile acts. Predators such as him have no place in society. In my job, I'd much rather comb through the minds of murderers and serial killers than that of a pedophile."

"Well then, it's good you are here because I suppose the label of serial killer could fit me."

Foxx snorted. "I've killed more."

Harlow rolled his eyes. "Brat, you are over seven hundred, and grew up in the Middle Ages. I'd be surprised if you hadn't. Anyway, as I was saying, he tried, and at the time, all the little things I'd picked up on but was sort of ignoring just clicked, if that makes sense. What he didn't know was that I had stolen a knife from the kitchen and had been keeping it with me…and that I had been sleeping on the wide window seat in my room instead of my bed.

"Not that I had been warned about him. But after overhearing some of the conversations that the other children at the last house had, about running into people just like him, well, I'm nothing if not prepared. As for not sleeping in my actual bed, that was me preferring to stare at the stars instead of the ceiling as I drifted to sleep. It was padded, and I was small, soo…" He shrugged.

"You didn't kill him though," Wes stated.

"Not at that moment, as again, the whole jail thing got in the way. But I did threaten him."

Hand clutching onto Samuel's disgusting greasy hair, Harlow held the man's head back, his knife pressed so hard against the man's neck that a line of blood was already dripping down. While the older man was grabbing at his hands holding the knife, for some reason, he didn't find the effort hard to resist. Harlow wasn't sure why, but it wasn't like he was going to complain about it.

One of the other children was sleeping only a room over, so Harlow whispered, "Beg."

"I—You talk?!" The man swallowed, wincing as another drop of blood trailed down.

"Ah, did you think I couldn't? No, I just don't like to." Harlow tsked. "Now, like I said…beg. If you don't speak up, you won't have a voice to use anymore."

"P-please."

"I wonder if that's what the other children said when you snuck into their rooms."

"I didn't ? —"

Harlow tightened his grip, hissing, "Don't lie. Do you think I didn't notice how odd everyone here is?"

He hadn't actually. Well, he noticed things, but Harlow hadn't realized what it all meant until Samuel had come into his room a few seconds ago, and creepily snuck up to the bed he had not been in.

"What d-do you want?" the man asked stiffly.

"What I want is to kill you." And for the man to have washed his hair before coming in here…ugh… "But why don't we make a deal instead?"

"Anything! Money? Toys? You're…older than you look, aren't you? Older than what the state thinks?"

Older? Harlow wrinkled his nose. "Why would I care about any of that? And why would I lie about my age?"

"Are you…even a child?"

Harlow frowned. "Are you trying to confuse me so you can get free? I can tell you now, it won't work. And I don't want things. What I want is for you and your cheerful wife to send me and the rest of the children back into the foster care system, and for you to never go near another child again."

"I… My wife would be heartbroken, we can't!"

"Then die." He started to press the knife in harder.

"WAIT!" the man whisper-yelled. "I will. I'll do it."

"If you don't, I will kill you."

"I'll do it…I'm n-not lying."

"Do it now. Call them."

"The morning! I'll do it in the morning, they won't answer now."

"If you think you can get out of calling in the morning, think again. Because we are going to stay right in this spot until the sun rises, where I'll then walk you to the phone and listen to the entire call."

"I…" Samuel hesitated. "That's hours from now."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time don't sneak into someone's bedroom in the middle of the night, you freak."

"Did you really stand there until daylight?" Foxx asked, drawing him out of the memory.

Harlow chuckled. "I did, and I made him crawl on his knees to the kitchen. The man made the call. And I promised him that if he ever did that shit again, I'd find out, track him down, and kill him."

"And he did, right?" Wes mused, a small smile on his face.

Harlow eyed the man. "Yes. But he wasn't my first kill."

Wes' expression didn't change at his confession. "No, the ones who killed that child, Tommy, were the first, weren't they?"

He slowly smirked. "How did you know?"

"You said it was further down the line, but with how unaware you were of the world around you, I'd assume it took you a while to find out about it. But I'm quite certain you were still young when you did."

Tommy's face flashed in his head—his large brown eyes…a content smile. The same smile that the boy always wore whenever he'd silently sit by Harlow's side.

"Yeah, it took me a long while. Eight years, in fact. By that time, I had learned to fake being normal, and had been living with Mr. and Mrs. Young for two years. They were an older couple, who I actually stayed with until I was eighteen."

Wes' brow pulled. "That I do find surprising, that you'd put up with the stagnation."

"Staying in one place was better than bouncing around. They were normal, inoffensive people, and I'd had way worse before them, some even more so than Samuel. I figured I'd deal with their doting and…touching until I aged out." He grimaced, and quickly clarified, "Non-creepy touching, to be clear. They were just…huggers…and overly affectionate." He shuddered at the memories.

Wes chuckled. "I'm seeing your issue with touch more and more."

"Do you ever see them?" Foxx asked softly.

Harlow sighed. The truth was, he never considered Maryellen and Scott Young to be family…or his parents, which probably would have crushed them had he ever dropped the act. But…

"I did…see them often…up until their deaths about ten years ago. They died within a year of each other; one had a heart attack, and the other had pneumonia. I kept the lies and the act up, right to the end. If only out of respect for them taking in a psycho with a juvenile record, which they helped get expunged, by the way. Oh, and also because they never went against, or questioned, my wishes when it came to me not wanting them to adopt me."

"They couldn't know the real you, so couldn't ever really be family in your eyes," Wes said slowly. "Though, in keeping with your act of being normal, being adopted would have helped with it. So why didn't you?"

Would he have considered them family if they had known? He wasn't sure if he would have. Because while they were kind, they likely wouldn't have wanted him around them if they had known the real him.

As for the adoption thing…Harlow knew they took it as him wanting to be independent, but it was more…for them than him.

"I'm not sure about that first part, but as for the second… They asked me about a year into living with them… I could tell that regardless of if I said yes or no, they weren't planning to send me away." He sighed. "I hadn't killed by that point, but I knew I would. Multiple people, even, and there was always the possibility that I'd end up getting caught. As uncaring and unfeeling as I was, and I was even more so back then… I thought linking their names to a murderer would be an asshole way to thank them for putting up with my ass." He shrugged.

Wes' smile widened a bit, as if something he said made him happy, but the man didn't say anything other than, "Speaking of killing…"

"Right, around that time, one of the kids who had been in that same foster home ended up there. She recognized me right away. I think she wasn't sure at first, because I didn't seem…"

"Like how you used to be?" Foxx giggled. "I have yet to see you acting fake, but I'm guessing it would be a notable contrast."

"I mean, being different than I was at age six wasn't a high bar to pass. For her, me talking was a contrast."

Harlow kept the fake yet neutral smile on his face as he passed the young girl in the hall, nodding as he did.

"You're the same kid… I wasn't sure at first, but you are. I mean, not many people are named Harlow, but…you're just so…different."

He smiled softly. "Am I?"

She frowned. "I can't tell if you're for real, or faking it all…" Gina let out a soft laugh as Harlow allowed his real smile to slip onto his face. He knew the corners of his mouth had just taken on a more smug expression.

"So…fake it is…"

Harlow shrugged. "Fake or real, does it matter?"

"Not really, most of the world is fake. Is there a reason you have to fake things here?" she asked, her eyes flicking nervously to the hall where he knew Maryellen and Scott were sitting and watching TV.

He shook his head. "No. They are safe. I do it more just to hide my oddities."

"You were always that… It…went to shit there after they took you away, you know?"

"There, as in, with the Carltons?" Harlow frowned, leaning his hip against the wall as he crossed his arms. "I'd say it went to shit while, and because, I was there."

"No, that was Joshua's fault… Everything was Joshua's fault. We all got sent away because of what he did to Tommy…and the lies he told about you. The Carltons were investigated or something, and yeah, I think they lost their foster care license. Either way, we were all sent to other homes because of it…" She grimaced. "That selfish prick… We could have all stayed there if it wasn't for him… And if he'd have just…let things be…Tommy would still be alive."

At the words, his whole body stiffened up. "What do you mean?"

Gina's eyes widened. "You don't know?"

"Tommy is…" Harlow swallowed hard as the kid's face flashed in his mind. The young boy, who stood there yelling fiercely, protecting him for reasons Harlow was sure he'd never understand…was dead? How was that possible?

"He's…been dead for eight years now… I guess you didn't see the news."

His eyes widened. Eight years?! This whole time…he's been dead?!

"What happened? Did that injury…"

"No…it was what came after that…" She wrapped her arms around herself. "The couple he ended up with next…they killed him. They claimed he fell down the stairs and broke his neck. That it was an accident, but I knew that couple… It was one of the few times that I was actually happy to be given back to my mother. I don't know what went down exactly, but what I do know is that nothing that happened there was an accident. The husband…" She swallowed, her eyes having gone slightly glossy. "Is a police officer…so they got away with it."

Harlow's hands clenched into fists as his anger bubbled up, but then the calm came just as swiftly.

How utterly fitting it would be that his first two kills would be due to the very person who had led him to his first homicidal thought.

"So, it all came back around to Tommy," Wes said.

Harlow blinked. "Yeah, you know, she hadn't lied…they did kill him. They confessed everything, before I killed them, that is." He grimaced. "Tommy wasn't their first kill. He also hadn't been their last.

"I think…the part that irritated me the most was that they knew they had killed him, knew how fucking close they had come to getting caught, yet…with all the eyes staring at them with doubt, they couldn't even be bothered to attempt to put on a good show by paying for a nice grave for him. They just bought a shitty grave marker in a crowded old cemetery, and left him to rot in a cheap ass box. Like he was a piece of trash they'd accidentally stepped on."

Foxx gripped his hand, and he looked down, his brow raised.

The vampire was frowning. "Do you want to give him a new grave? I bet we could find a nice spot for him?"

Harlow smirked, and opened his mouth to say he'd already done so…but Wes spoke first.

"Harlow already had him moved, didn't you, Harlow?"

He eyed the man. "Okay, that's starting to get annoying now, and…creepy."

"So, he's right?! You did?" Foxx gasped.

Harlow sighed. "Yes, I did. I paid for a new coffin, plot, and headstone, and had Tony use his connections to have him moved, without the necessary legal papers or family ties that most would need to have a grave moved."

Wes chuckled. "Sorry. Hazard of my profession. Based on the behaviors I've observed, and the way you spoke, I figured it irritated you enough that as soon as you had the means to do so, you had him moved. You're in your forties, and I'm aware of how well hunters were paid, even before everything."

"Still creepy. And I'm slightly insulted that you are basically calling me predictable."

The human smiled. "You aren't insulted in the least."

"Yep, that's annoying. Oh, look, times up. Get out."

Wes laughed. "Can I at least take some sweets with me this time?"

"No."

"Harlow…" Foxx huffed.

"Fine," he ground out.