Authors Note:
I have recently got into Teen Wolf and I absolutely love it. I really fell in love with the characters which got my inspired to start writing again! This is my first fic in years so I might be a bit rusty.
There will be a couple of OC characters in this fic, mainly because I wanted it to be a bit different and I feel more comfortable writing that way. Don't worry, the proper characters will be a big part of this story too! And although this first chapter starts off with mostly my OC characters, everything is going to change pretty quickly so hang in there :D
Also, as I am from England, I am not 100% certain with details about the American education system and things, so if I make a mistake with any facts please let me know and I'll fix it Enjoy and please review! :D
This is a slow starter but please try and stick with me, I'll try my best to make it worth it :)
A small breath escapes her lips as she draws the wet paintbrush against the rough canvas. The light of the half-moon gleams through the open window beside her. The girl dips her brush into the water before continuing working on the painting, her thin hands moving slowly and steadily in a rhythmic motion. Her green eyes are glazed over in a trance, tendrils of auburn hair falling over her pale cheeks. Browns and greens splatter her skin from the flicking movements of her wrists. Somewhere in the woods a boy cries out in pain from an animal bite. She shades in his hair and his horrified expression and the blood seeping from the side of his shirt before stepping backwards and collapsing in a dead sleep on her bed. The painting watches over her as her breathing settles.
Emily Hoskins wakes in the morning and remembers none of this. She gulps as the eerie scene faces her as she sits up. Just a dream, she thinks, just a dream.
"Hey Jane, do you still need me to pick you up this morning or are you just going to walk?" I ask my friend through the phone pressed between my shoulder and chin as I hastily attempt to pour milk into my flask of coffee.
"Hell yes! I do not want to turn up to the first day of Sophomore year with my hair looking like I just walked through a hedge. Have you seen the weather out there?"
I take a glance to the leaves whipping up against the kitchen window and let a small smirk appear on my lips, "Alright hun, I'll be there at half past."
"See you at quarter to then…" Jane trails off before hanging up. My awful timekeeping reputation precedes me. The clock tells me that it is now 20 past 8 and I still haven't got dressed out of my pyjamas. It's not that I don't leave enough time to get ready, it's just that I need more sleep than an average human being. My parents have fully given up trying to force me out of bed in the mornings. I don't know what happens, but even when I try to get an early night, I still wake up yawning my head off until midday.
I hurry back upstairs whilst twisting the lid onto my flask. I will one hundred per cent need that once I get to school, guaranteed. I'm throwing on the clothes that I had laid out the night before- a white loose top, grey skater skirt and black patterned tights- when I notice the green paint splattered over my forearms.
"What the…?" I mutter under my breath. I twist my head around in confusion, which is when I notice the brushes in the green stained water pot and feel my body temperature drop a few degrees. A daunting, sinking feeling takes hold of my stomach and digs in its fingernails. A painting. Where usually, a blank canvas rested, ready to be covered, instead there was a fully detailed forest scene. I must have done it last night because I couldn't sleep. I nod to myself, yes, I must have just been half asleep, that's why I don't remember. But how could I paint something that I don't remember?
The feeble excuses don't do anything to cause the fear to leave. It's too late to jump in the shower so I run to the bathroom, grab a sponge and scrub away the paint until my skin is red raw and flaming with pain. I rest my head against the mirror and try to calm down. The last thing I need to be on the first day back is an anxious wreck. It's just a painting, Em. Breathe.
I walk back to my room and shrug on my leather jacket. Curiosity makes me take a few steps towards the canvas where it is propped up on my easel by my window. My fingers lightly run over the brush marks in the trees and stop on the figure lying awkwardly on the forest floor. I swallow hard as I recognise the face. But… why? Why would I be painting Scott McCall? I wouldn't even call us friends. He was my lab partner last year and I used to hang out with him and Stiles when we were kids, but I'd hardly call him model material. The question I should really be asking is: Why would I be painting Scott McCall dying in the middle of the woods?
Well, I certainly won't be taking this in to my art class for critique. Who knows how many rumours would fly around school about that one! I'd be bottom rung of the social ladder before I knew it... And then Jane would most likely ditch me for a better, more popular best friend. Probably Lydia Martin.
Okay, whatever. I grab my bag and car keys and call out to my Dad that I'm leaving. I'll think about the painting later, when I'm not in a rush.
I manage to pick Jane up at 20 to 9. Late, but not too late.
"You know," She grins her red lips at me as she jumps into the passenger's seat of my car, "It's a good job I only live like 10 minutes from school because your lazy ass would never get me there on time!"
"Hey, you want to walk instead?" I let out a laugh and pull out into the road, checking over my shoulder.
Jane pouts and tugs her sleek black hair around her dark cheeks, "…No."
I'm slowing down to pull into a space in the parking lot when a silver Porsche cuts me off and takes the spot that I had my eyes on.
"Ughhhhh," I groan and smack my steering wheel, "I had hoped he'd have grown up over the summer."
"He's just… confident." Jane mumbles. Her crush on the most arrogant human being on the planet was my best friends only let down. I just could not see what was attractive about him. I mean, each to their own, but Jackson was in a league of his own. I swear his jaw could slice bread.
Once parked up, Jane and I meet up with our other two best friends, Summer and Sarah and walk through the double doors to school.
"Hooray," I grumble, searching around in my bag for the flask of coffee that I had prepared earlier.
"Drink your coffee and be happy, Em. It's only 3 hours until you can technically call it afternoon." Sarah claps me on the back, completely understanding my tiredness.
Jane lets out a small squeal and grabs on to Summer's elbow, "There he is!" I swear if she got any more high pitched, it would be painful for everyone. Summer rolls her eyes and continues to scroll down her phone, as always.
Jackson leans against a locker... with Lydia Martin right next to him in a floating floral dress to die for. It was like a scene from a high school drama on TV - the beauty queen and the angsty jock leaning against a locker, smooching and making eyes at each other. Blergh. Jane sighed as if all she dreamed of was being the girl in that picture. I didn't really see the appeal myself, but, each to their own I guess...
Lydia smiles at us when we pass (you see, although I wouldn't say we were popular, we are far from the bottom of the pecking order. I think Summer's lacross playing boyfriend is to thank for that).
"Hi Emily."
My cheeks flush, I didn't expect Lydia Martin to talk to me when Summer is stood right there.
"Uh, hey." I try to fake a non-tired expression.
"I saw your art show over the summer. I really liked it."
"… Thanks."
"You're, like, really talented."
"…Thanks."
Sarah decides to chime in, "Don't make her more big headed than she already is," and pulls my coffee holding arm away from Lydia.
"Hey, hey, don't make me spill this!" I cry out, stumbling after her with flushed cheeks.
"Oh my god, Lydia Martin likes you." Jane cries dramatically once we were out of earshot and then she hugs her arms to herself.
"Correction: she likes my art."
Jane opens her mouth to respond but is cut off when Summer looks up from her phone and speaks out for the first time this morning.
"Shit guys. You'll never guess what happened last night." Summer's grey eyes are open in shock.
"You got to third base with Michael?" Sarah snorts through tanned hands.
"No! Be serious, Sar!" Summer hits her arm lightly before turning the face of her phone to us. It was a local news website with the headline: Joggers find half a body. Summer explains, "Last night these two joggers found a body, like completely torn in half at the waist. Apparently loads of police got called in but they never found the other half. It's not even that far away, only a few miles into the forest reserve."
Jane gasps, but I hardly hear it. I can hear my heart beating in my ears. There was a photo of police looking around with flashlights in the woods. The exact place in the woods that I painted last night. I could see my brush marks in the colours of the earth and the branches in the trees. My face heats up. I predicted this. Somehow, I painted what would happen. What if I had done it? And I just didn't remember? I could be a murderer. Oh god. Oh god. My eyes squinted at the photo on Summer's phone again, just to make sure. It's not the same. It's different. I tried to persuade myself but the evidence was clear:
That's the exact place where I saw Scott McCall.
Dead.
A.N:
Don't worry, Isaac and everyone will show and appearance in the next chapter! ;D
Hope you guys like it, I have lots of ideas on how to continue this to make it parallel to the seasons on the show.
It's going to be a long fic I think so please try and stick with me. :D
