Stiles looked down at the key on his key ring hoping against logic.
His good old friend logic was about to blow a huge hole in his world as the key slid into place perfectly. The door unlocking and swinging open silently was all the more damning. With a shake of his head he moved towards the chalkboard, hands trembling and heart racing.
He felt like he couldn't breathe.
He certainly didn't want to do what he knew he had to do.
He had to know... had he left the message on the board? Had he let Barrow into the chemistry lab to keep him hidden from the wolves? And why would he have done it? He shook himself as he wiped his hand on his pants to be able to hold the chalk.
Quick, efficient strokes of the chalk over the board to copy the numbers had the fear overwhelming him again as he looked at the matching handwriting. The calk fell from nerveless fingers as he stared at the evidence before him.
"A mass murderer is bad enough. A mass murderer that's being controlled by someone? Far worse." Agent McCall's words rang through his head, echoing and distorting. Blaming and accusing him. His chest felt tight as thoughts scrambled over each other like excited puppies.
"Stiles?" a voice cut through the silence of the class room like a knife, concern clearly evident.
"Who's there?" Stiles asked, voice weak as he turned to look back. There was no in the room. Just him and the numbers on the board.
"Barrow was hiding in the chemistry closet at the school. Someone left him a coded message on the blackboard tell him to kill Kira."
Stiles swallowed hard as he looked over the numbers again. Something didn't feel right. He looked to the left of the board and saw the periodic table on the filing cabinet and an idea struck him.
He tilted his head as he looked over the message again and the feeling grew as he looked across the room. He remembered coming in here with Lydia and a time skip in his memory before he was at the board with her. He'd almost been at the front of the room. She'd been looking on the other side of the room for a few moments and he'd felt a little out of breath.
He walked back in the room to where he and Lydia had split up. A glance at the clock told him he didn't have long before school started. With another deep breath he darted towards the front of the room, picked up a piece of chalk, scrawled the numbers and darted back to where he remembered being when Lydia had headed for the board.
Less than ten seconds. Finstock's suicides were paying off.
He'd written the message.
But it wasn't orders.
It was a warning.
But how in the Hell had he known?
