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Track 01 - Dreary Moon by Big Black Delta

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Debs child-like features made her easy to underestimate. Her skin caught quite enough sun but her Irish heritage kept it from being brown. It was hard to gage her age, old maybe but not too old to get flustered about. She moved like a young thing, skinny and light, auburn and salt streaked hair flowing, heart-shaped face and bright eyes. If someone started a rumor she was a witch it wouldn't take a big stretch of the imagination to believe it. They aren't that far off, but the word "Werewolf" would never come to mind.

Coot however, her partner in crime was something of a cliché. He was all limbs and scruff. He stood a foot taller than her, spoke more often and several octaves louder than her. If it weren't for the fact that he often forgot to shave he would look twelve, plus he acted like it. With dark eyes and darker hair, always peppered with food crumbs that seemed like star burst against his pale skin; what a pair. Inseparable, since they separated from their pack anyway.

Defecting hadn't been a suggestion. The pack would be stronger without a disloyal Alpha, so when their pack became threatened and she thought to warn Coot before all others. Before her second, before children and full-humans among them, she knew she's failed her people. Danger was coming and her ability to lead had been compromised because she cared for the town idiot and he was probably too stupid to know. Stupid and loyal, because when she told him to leave he wanted to know he begged to know why he was being banished. When she begged him to run, he said he would die loyal than live apart. Then before she thought better she offered to run with him and it was over, her Beta's knew she was too weak to lead. Explaining away the need to keep Coot, that knuckle-headed clumsy charm-fuck safer than the want for self-preservation came with the difficult realization she had fallen in love. The rest was easy.

Step down. The pack would stand stronger without a disloyal Alpha, without a coward, without Debs. And where Debs went, Coot went without even being asked.

"You're probably half my age," Debs said, piling a box of canned goods into the back of her truck.

"More," Cooter said like it was an accomplishment. He dropped his box harder, louder making a twang ricochet through the hilly dark.

"More or less," she glared; her eyes turn beta-blue instead of alpha-red. "You sure about this?" she asked while hefting a spare tire one-handed and sliding a yard lengths tool kit along the steely rails with the quiet ease of someone settling a glass vase.

"Good thing they don't card for your vag," he said trying to sound sassy but his heart beat sounded all sorts of timid.

"Com'ere and close your mouth," Deb smirked, yanking him forward and low against her. She kissed him full on and thought while she was kissing him how good it would be to kiss him. It was a weird conflicting thought and made no sort of sense, but a good thought because she realized it meant she wanted to kiss him for the rest of her life.

Coot loved her quickly after that, when he realized they were running low on money, less motel nights more tucking in at the side of the road. She rarely complained as she drove along scenic 101, through county and town. They ran cons to afford food but she wouldn't stop moving. Things weren't less scary on their own, they weren't more scary either but Coot didn't realize he should be scared until he realized why she swam only if he watched her. He thought it was kinky at first.

"Watch me," she said one night by a river under the new moon. Everything was raw in the air and felt like static electricity, except conducted with ice and made of salt water. Her silhouette cut through the midnight skyline rivaling the mountain range and her naked body slide under water shattering the mirage of where the earth ends and begins. He sensed it then, he didn't know the words for it but he sensed the actual end of his life and the nearness of it.

He bought a gun the next day. He spent more money then he should have and it pissed her off. They argued about it for days. Still, every night when she said "watch me" he would but with his gun at hand. She made fun of him for it, reminding him that a Werewolf had claws, keen sight and super speed. Coot was rarely slow to speech but he found a way to phrase it exactly so she understood. See, she used to be an Alpha and it wasn't just that she was older that made her stronger; she was smarter, wiser simply better. Maybe she loved him first but he loved her so much harder. He couldn't protect the way she could, couldn't turn when there wasn't a moon like her. So a gun made sense because he damn well was gonna protect and heroes had guns. He'd made the last bullet silver because he knew how far to go, farther even. She listened thoroughly, her tone got firm but wavering like her voice always got when she was all emotional and she asked if he really meant to protect her.

"Watch me," he said grinning like a goon, bathed in sunlight smelling of gunpowder from popping off sodas and cans.

They travel north. Further North. Norther. Driving and things get pretty green although the stories of strange murders get pretty dark. Debs figured even if they're not her people anymore, even the Alpha that came after her is gone already, what's left of them are still people so she called the Alpha Twins. There was no ill will there; fact was she's grown to like the scars they left her, made it look like her ribs had ribs. She learned there were less of their kind getting killed but the killings were getting worse. She told them and they said nothing much, they don't answer to her.

Debs a cast off now, an Omega just Like Cooter. They're stronger together, they're their own tribe but being safe means never staying still but never staying still meant being a moving target. It's a killer.

Beacon Hills was nothing special like all the other counties except it's their last.

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Track 02 - Next To You by Angel Haze

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{Wednesday; Brisk January Afternoon - in the shadow of the Full Wolf Moon}

BHHS let out close to 30 minutes ago and Allison hadn't stepped out yet. Scott pretended not to be impatient. Pretend poorly; rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. When she finally stepped through double-doors and her eyes skirt the front lawn for him, he crossed the distance with a burst.

Allison Argent's smiles were little works of art, all ten thousand versions of them. Scott McCall had only begun to learn their language. Slight dip of her head, penetrating gaze up from under long lashes, petal pink mouth curling slowly in thought; she would ask a favor next. Hair dark as night, skin white as snow; princess and huntsman combined, an intimidating paradox it would take someone stronger than him to say 'no' to. That was until the heft of papers dropped into his hands.

"Thanks? That's really mean of you."

"You figured me out," she joked and used her newly freed hands to pull wandering strands of hair behind her ear.

"That's more homework," he accused.

"It is."

The weight caused him to slightly teeter. It boggled the mind and surpassed the hormones. It was Lots of Schoolwork. He had to take a seat.

"Aw, it's not for you," she smirked, dropping beside him on a bench seat. "It's for Lydia."

Allison stared with such open amusement it disarmed him. Grinning, he caught her off-guard with a brief kiss of retaliation while he tucked the sheets into his backpack.

"I'm sorry. She extended her Holiday break at her family's lake house with her Dad and missed couple of day's schoolwork."

"This is a couple of days?" said Scott looked very discomforted. He lifted the backpack and dropped it onto the bench with a thud for effect.

"For Lydia, I guess it is," answered Allison, trying not to laugh. She pressed his arm gently. "These need to get to her. You don't mind, do you?"

"Sure, - you're not coming with me?"

"No," she urged him toward the bike, "I'm really sorry. I'm trying out for the gymnastics team. My Dad is on his way. He wanted to come and show support." Her voice grew tender with each word. Scott pulled her hand into his.

"Is there something else?" she picked up on the subtleties of his frayed nerves.

"Not exactly. Not something real," he mumbled.

"Something fake?" she smiled again, her brows drawn together in sweetness and concern.

"Maybe. I hope so," he fumbled onto his bike. "Nightmares but it seemed real. Who's to say this isn't natural?"

"I am," another smile. Differently this time; her body turned into it, her chin higher, haughtier. Her eyes narrowed in playfulness. "Even your phases are consistent. Like with the full-moon last night."

"Oh, right." He tried for light-hearted but it wasn't quite there. That bastard the moon didn't make for light commentary. "But even that's not natural. Something made me that way."

Allison thought for a moment and walked around to the opposite side of the bike. The curb gave her the leverage of height as she leaned into his personal space, as if daring him to stay his ground or retreat. If he did, he'd tumble off the bike. But with his senses on high, her varying scents were pointed enough he would be overwhelmed if he wasn't in peak control. She threw down a challenge and he was quite capable of meeting, something she made a show of reminding him.

"Something made my piercings, your tattoos" she whispered near enough to his mouth it may as well have been kisses. "It's just...modifications. Pieces of the package, not the whole. Scott, you are how you are, the kindest most down to earth person alive. So once a month you're a bit of a monster. Me too. Hey, maybe our cycles will sync."

"That'd be nice. How would I get through any of this without you?" he smiled first, his eyes intent and memorizing her nuances.

"You wouldn't," she smiled, her nose scrunched up.

"No, I wouldn't," Scott's tone went serious.

"Oh, come on you would," Allison no longer smiled.

"No, I wouldn't."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Anyone else would have left."

Allison shrugged and looked up from beneath her long lashes revealing a wealth of unexpressed emotion. "Anyone else would have missed out. I'm not prejudiced. I wasn't going to just abandon my boyfriend because he's different."

Scott closed his eyes slowly. He felt they might change colors, like monsters do. Terrified that looking into her depths would be like staring into an abyss. He breathed her in, knowing when he looked again he'd feel braver, to have her, to keep her. Maybe it was greedy to shape his fears and conquer them by having her to anchor him. It was dangerous to feel so much.

"It isn't racist to want you to stay safe."

"Hey, no matter what anyone says I would never run from your Hispanic roots."

Scott laughed, she made him. He kissed the side of her mouth, her cheek and her ear. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him and rested his head in the crook of her neck.

"Speciesist?"

"Eh."

"Classist?"

"Close enough," she snuggled into him; her purple woolen hat scratching against his nose.

"Allison, if anything were to ever happen to you-"

"You never have to worry about that. I can take care of myself." She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him gently. She pulled back and studied Scott's face. "Do you want to talk about what's really bothering you?"

Her tone said, -"Don't waste time worrying. Not when we can work to fix things."-

"No. Yes."

"You could text me later? If you don't want to tell me..." she considered how soon her Father would arrive.

"I want to tell you everything," his voice got small. "I killed last night. A man and a woman. It felt real; I could smell and feel everything. I couldn't control it, I was a Monster. I tracked them down, sensed his terror when I used the car to crush him. I chased her to a gas station, felt her struggle beneath my claws but then instead I shot her. I mean none of that makes sense."

"You're right. That's very strange. I- I can look into it. But Scott, it wasn't you. You were home all night, right?"

He seemed uncertain when he answered "sure."

"Scott," she reminded firmly, "you don't fully turn. You don't even own a gun- no bodies have turned up yet."

"Yet?"

"Maybe not at all," she soothed. "Can you tell me anything else?"

They had exercised focusing skills before; hands placed in each others, centering of selves, breathing from the diaphragm, foreheads together. The world around them fell away and nothing mattered except what they chose to let touch them.

"A small rundown gas station. I've never been there before. It didn't even smell like a gas station, it smelled like rust and- like a swamp." Scott sighed, again his shoulders dropped from strain. Allison ran her up hands over his denim jacket, along his arm, tracing the detail of the flag patch his left sleeve, flicking her fingernails on the buttons, smoothing along the kinks and stress points underneath she'd rather touch finger to flesh but couldn't reach.

"Okay. If it happened, I'll find it. We'll find out why you dreamt about it. Maybe it was a good thing? Maybe it was a vision?"

"A vision?"

"Like a premonition. They exist. I have it on pretty good authority you're 'Lover not a Killer' type. Come on, go home. Just go to Lydia's first? I'll text you her address," Allison scrambled for her phone.

"It's okay, I remember the way" Scott reassured her, strapping his backpack into the compartment under the passenger seat. Scott kept his back to her for a beat hoping to obscure some discomfort. It had the opposite effect. Allison stepped back in surprise, her face turned bright with delight. Her response was understandable.

"You're just full of surprises."

Allison's confusion was justified.

In the 4 months since she started at Beacon Hills High School, since meeting Scott McCall and befriending Lydia Martin it could be easy to assume they rarely traveled each other's circles. Aside from perquisite classes, Scott and Lydia paths crossed two-fold; misguided attempts at vying for Allison's attentions (which died earlier when he realized it would just make the awkwardness more obvious) and Lydia's legendary Lacrosse Game after parties (to which he got an invite out of default for being Co-Captain on the team). Scott never attended them. He gave Allison lame excuses to skip out at first but she caught on quickly, plus she preferred one-on-one dates anyway.

It probably would have made Allison's life easier if her best-friend and her boyfriend could manage staying in the same room for more than 5 minutes, (If it weren't class mandate) but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Scott could never bring himself to tell Allison about their history. In all fairness it seemed neither had Lydia.

"Yeah, we used to go there all the time as kids. We used to be friends."

From the quirk of her brow and her gaping mouth it was obvious Allison was desperate to press but she proceeded delicately.

"How long ago was that?"

"We met in the third grade," he messed with his helmet, displaying his readiness for the road. "We've always had a couple of classes together since. We just stopped talking somewhere in between," he sounded reluctant to admit, a sense of sadness cast everything in a different light.

Allison collected the information and filed it away for a later date. They glanced around awkwardly, remembering to hurry their goodbyes.

"I'm sorry. This made you uncomfortable."

"It's ok," his usual warmth hurried back. "I'd do anything for you."

Allison groaned in embarrassment and kissed Scott to shut him up. Innocent at first and he deepened it. She had warned him a Werewolf felt things intensely, fiercely. But this was different; he loved her before he got bit. He just didn't know he knew it. Afterward the bite Scott didn't know how he would make her know it, how to put into words how meaningful she had become over so little time. It was unbelievable but then so were Werewolves.

They felt light-headed when they pulled apart.

"Your Dad will probably be here soon?"

"Yeah." Sigh.

"I guess it's really important I get this to her today or you wouldn't have asked."

"Yes. Please." Double-sigh.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Allison stepped back, big smile on her face. A broad unfathomable one that disarmed him and set him to get the bike's motor going. Not a metaphor.

"Plus," Scott said to cut the lasting bits of tension, "it'll be great to see Mrs. Martin again." Scott wasn't good at deception and she sensed something dubious.

"Uh-huh."

"When we were little we used to fight over who'd grow up to marry her. I hear she's divorced now."

Scott laughed because he had made Allison laugh. She shoved his helmet down roughly onto his head and with that he went on his way with seconds to spare.

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(Appendix)

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Scott's bike had only just sped out of the parking lot when the Argent's minivan turned into it. Her family didn't hate him per se but she said they never like anyone the Family didn't pre-approve. She liked to say the Argent's were traditionalist when it suited them.

The McCall's were incredibly traditional since like most modern American households they were of the single-parent working class variety. His mother Melissa adored Allison, in theory since she had never met her. It was trickledown effect affection, since she trusted Scott's judge of character.

Maybe one day there would be a sit-down face-to-face dinner where they would all get along and it would feel normal. Of course, avoidance was the most practiced tradition even when it led inevitably to an unpredictable confrontation.

Approaching Lydia's house was one such inevitable confrontation, it felt like time travel. By the time he rode up her drive way his bike had transformed and became a three wheeler underneath him. When they were ten years old the Martin's house stood in for castle and a kingdom; for the nice side of town it was a fair sized house but it felt smaller than he remembered. With his senses already warped, he felt dislodged form time and ill-prepared for each familiar step along the path.

He hopped over the second step as memory served and rang her doorbell without hesitation. Seeing Mrs. Martin did make him nervous. He remembered her being one of the prettiest Mom's in the parent's carpool. He ran his hands over his head to ensure no helmet hair before he realized he left his backpack in his bike. He doubled-back to retrieve it before the front door opened only to trip on the warbly second step. Embarrassed and on all-fours, the doors came away and Scott hoped Allison was right about there being supernatural premonitions so he could do something to prevent this moment from ever happening.

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Track 03 - Don't You Give Up On Me by Milo Greene

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In the foyer of the Martin's doorway Natalie Martin's went from apprehension to bursting with laughter. Mrs. Martin came forward helped Scott to upright after he mistook a handshake for a hug. He moved forward too fast and she reached over too far. She ended up petting him on the head.

"Scotty!" she started. "Scott," she corrected. Her tone was familiar enough he thought he could have been there just six minutes ago not 6 years.

"Mrs. Martin." There was no way to save face after such an awkward entrance. But Scott had to try. "It was really good seeing you. I mean it's really good running into you. I mean-"

"It's good to see you too, Scott. You never visit anymore."

"I know." He tried to keep guilt from his voice but he felt his face twitch into crooked smiles.

Mrs. Martin had a kindhearted and commanding way about her; he couldn't just hand over her papers and walk away no matter how much he wanted to. She asked him how he was and his Mom, and about his Dad. He didn't know why he said admitted to modest hardship, like divorce and needing several summer jobs turn earn his bike as well as his Mom's excessive nights shifts when he should have just answered "Fine."

When he asked how she was she smiled and answered "fine" and he envied her coolness. When Scott mentioned Lydia's homework and she became confused and the speed of her heartbeat betrayed her.

"Right, because we stayed at the Spa for a couple of extra days. You know how it goes."

"Not really," Scott chuckled nervously. She was lying and he felt bad for knowing it.

"She wasn't happy over missing school but... you can't disappear for a week straight" she sighed, her heart rate went erratic. He followed her through the hallway into the kitchen, she gestured for him to keep up leaving no room to refuse. Apparently cookies were still on the snack menu even as a teen. But instead of juicebox, soda and coffee were added. Scott stuck with water and turned the glass in his palms, listening.

"She's working herself too hard. You are all growing up too fast. Look at you. You were 10 just a minute ago, what happened?" she wrung her hands, regretting what she said. "You don't mind do you?" she gestured to a bottle of wine beside the refrigerator. The tannins in the wine prickled his senses and stung behind his eyes. They clinked glasses. Scott drank his water deeply too avoid saying anything stupid. What happened indeed?

"I'll get Lydia for you," she said and pet his hand when she left the room. He felt very young but adult enough to feel out of his league.

Allison made it sound urgent for Lydia to be caught up because of extended time with her Dad at the Lake House. But Mrs. Martin made 'reparative spa time' sound desperate only after she said Lydia had 'disappeared'. For the same reason Mrs. Martin would learn, he didn't make a habit of concerning himself with Lydia's business for a simple reason. Upstairs, when Mrs. Martin started with "your friend is here."

Scott didn't need to be supernatural to hear to Lydia fiercely snap at her Mom "Scott McCall is not my friend." After a few minutes of coercion, Lydia conceded.

Scott busied himself looking around the kitchen while he waited; he stared at booth photos of her and Allison at the ice skate rink, postcards from her to her Mom from trips to Paris, pieces of artwork and good grades taped to the fridge. Lydia was exactly right, they weren't friends but they were connected.

"Why didn't Allison come?" She startled him from behind. He should have sensed her but he had been spellbound by memorabilia.

"She uh... she's trying out for gymnastics."

She looked unfamiliar, devoid of four inch heels, designer dresses, long wavy hair, glossed lips and perfectly shaped eyeliner. Before him she stood a barefoot, fresh-faced, wearing man's shirt synched at her waist creating the silhouette of a dress and hair collected in a top knot. She looked small in more ways than one.

"Hello!" she snapped.

Scott shook his head free of his wandering thoughts. How long had she been talking?

"What?"

"I said what's with the lying?"

Scott wondered the same thing. More than that, he wondered how they were all connected.

"Lydia, here's your schoolwork," he hurried, pushed them toward her. "Can I ask why you missed school?"

She gave the homework as much interest as take-out menus, a quick nod and tossed them onto the counter. There wasn't a hesitation in her answers which made it hard sense if she lied. Her heart rate, fidgeting hands, the sweat at her brow had been intemperate since she entered.

"I went camping with my Dad. We got lost. Why do you care?"

"No reason."

"More lies."

"Wait. You think I'm lying?"

She tsked and rolled her eyes at him.

"Of course you are. Beacon Hill's doesn't even have a gymnastics team."

A shattering sound passed through Scott's mind; he took a deep breath, then another and tried to remember the feeling of the seat beneath him, the table he leaned evenly against, the places in the world stabilized so the Werewolf wouldn't overrun him. While he focused on answering the question 'What was going on?'

"Jesus Scott!" her sharp voice cut through his muddled thoughts. She pried his hands open and pulled pieces of the drinking glass from it.

Scott apologized and apologized but Lydia ignored him. She smoothly collected a small pile before wiping them up and tossing them away. She handed him a damp paper towel to soak up the blood. She muttered under her breath and glared at him but didn't ask him why.

"She lied to me," he whispered incredulously.

Lydia brought him another damp cloth from the sink and leaned against the counter close to him, her hip pressing up against the stool, her eyes challenging.

"I'm sure she had her reasons. Come here." She took his hands in hers and started to swipe away the blood. When she moved her arms the sleeves rucked up and revealed scraps moving up her arms.

"Thanks, you're good at this," he said kindly.

She followed his line of sight. "I've had a lot of recent practice."

At such close proximity he could see her eyes were dilated. He wondered how much pain-killers she was on and if that was the only reason for her outgoingness?

"Allison said you were at the Lake House with your Dad."

She nodded.

"I didn't think you would ever go back there."

"It's where my Dad stays when he visits. I hate it."

She sounded child-like and timid.

"Your Mom said you went to a Spa."

She laughed; her hands stilled and she stared at the floor.

"I wish. She likes to keep saying things until it becomes true."

"What about camping?"

"What -about- camping?"

"I thought you hated the woods."

"I hate the woods because I was a Brownie Scout. Best of the Beacon Brigade."

"So, you went to the woods too?"

A violent shudder ran through her and she clutched Scott's hand, her freezing fingers cast and iron grip. After a calming breath she apologized for crushing his hand.

"No problem," he said.

"No problem?" Lydia doubted, then opened Scott's hand, palm up and looked to see it had scabbed over. Her eyes narrowed, she detached from Scott and tugged down her sleeves. She drew herself up and stood larger at 5'3 than most of the guys on the lacrosse team.

"Since you're good now, you can go," unafraid, she understood him and dismissed him.

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Track 04 - Without Lies by Sky Ferreira

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The penny dropped.

Suddenly Scott understood Lydia; the medication hadn't skewed her senses, they were symptoms cast from the shadow of a full moon, except without the control or ability to heal. But if she was bitten, during her 'extended vacation' and wasn't a Werewolf, what was she?

"Lydia, did you go to the Preserve? Is that where you went when you-" he gestured up-and-down at her "-vacationed?"

"I went camping with my Dad. I got lost," Lydia crossed her arm defiantly. "What's the big deal?"

"Because I went running there, remember, last summer when I got hurt?"

"I remember Allison babysitting you after you tripped-"

"A wolf bit me," Scott cut in.

"No, not a chance," Lydia scoffed.

"You saw the wound."

"No, I didn't."

"What do you mean, no, you didn't?"

"I just saw bandages. Some bloody bandages, a high-grade fever. An infection, maybe. So you had a bite but a wolf, really? California doesn't have wolves, okay? Not in like 60 years."

"Alright, well, if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not gonna believe this."

Having seen enough Lacrosse games, Lydia knew Scott always hesitated when he moved except when he made moves that mattered, game winning moves. When he reached for her across Kitchen Island it felt like a dancer guiding their partner. When his left hand skimmed the length of her right, he traced the cuff of her sleeve without pushing it up and she locked her fingers around his wrist to still him. Their arms made a circle that pulled them closer than they had been since they were children. Like a dare she kept her eyes on him, face schooled in cool detachment when a sudden sedate calm passed through her, something like being wrapped up in her favorite comforter and dosed with codeine combined. She sighed and sagged against him, her knees having gone weak. She quietly observed lines along his arm changed colors, black pulsing veins pressed against her fingertips, pulling pain from her body into his.

Lydia looked up again, her expression open with fear and fascination. "Stop," she said weakly.

Scott stopped the moment she asked and steadied her before he released her. He explained it wouldn't heal but would help. She looked miserable and muttered something under her breath Scott only caught because of his keen hearing. "I'm gonna have nightmares for a month."

"Are you okay?" he settled further from her, so as not to upset her.

"Am -I- okay?" she closed the distance, her voice was small but her tone was massive. "I didn't ask you to do that!" she shoved a finger in the center of his chest, clearing with mixed thoughts over whether to be concerned or angry with him. When her initial shock faded the question remained "What did you do?"

Mrs. Martin knocked on the doorframe upon entering. She apologized when she noticed how intense the two looked bent over Lydia's schoolwork. They hadn't noticed the papers knocked over the kitchen table between them. She offered to make them some brain food to help them along, maybe just refreshments but Lydia cut in that Scott wouldn't be stay.

Scott's watched her closely, his disappointed apparent. For a moment he thought he had broken through to her but Lydia expression became smug and hard.

Not wanting to miss an opportunity, he whispered "I can help."

"I didn't ask for your help," she did not whisper.

Mrs. Martin eyed them both and excused herself, assuming they were discussing schoolwork.

Scott persisted, regaining energy "Still. You have it. I mean I want to."

"Why?"

"I don't know because you're still my friend," said Scott, so flustered he spoke nothing but truth.

Offended, Lydia's face colored and she backed away. She mocked that shared trauma would what? Bond them. As if that had or would ever mean anything. She laughed even. "Someone would have to be real desperate to ask for your help McCall. You should go; I don't hang out with losers."

He had hit a wall unsurpassable. Still, he wouldn't give up.

"Ok," he conceded, "we'll see each other tomorrow. And every day after that."

After a pause, Lydia narrowed her eyes in a challenge. "Whatever," she said and withdrew. She ignored him, rubbed her arm and started shuffling through her schoolwork.

As he passed through the foyer Mrs. Martin laid in wait. Her thoughts were heavy, making her quieter than when he first arrived, more concerned and hesitant. She caught him with a question as he descended the first of the front steps.

"Do you hang out with her often?"

"Not really," Scott answered, he wanted to be kind but he struggled not to lie. "We see each other around the lacrosse games."

Mrs. Martin laughed, she seemed genuinely proud. "You're on the team. That's great!"

He smiled at that. "I've been on the team for a while but this is the first year I've gotten a chance to play."

"Guess that's why I haven't seen you," she rationalized. "Lydia doesn't do pep-squad since she broke up with that boy but she still hosts post-game parties." She settled herself against the doorframe and shook her head looking troubled. "Scott, you watch out for her."

Scott felt conflicted. He just spent 10 minutes trying to convince Lydia exactly that. Watching Mrs. Martin he thought about the lies she told herself to protect Lydia and how it didn't help. The truth might not feel like it helped but the truth was Lydia returned home safely after being attacked, was adjusting to supernatural physical changes and even stood up to him. All Alone.

"She can take care of herself, Mrs. Martin."

Mrs. Martin was tired but had a sincere smile, "I know. But still we all need a little looking after, Scott."

They talked about Lydia returning to school and she left him with the impression it would be a few days. She hugged him this time and made no mistake in letting him know she didn't want to let him go. In fact she hoped to see him more often.

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Track 05 - Mother Once Said by Landon Liboiron

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Natalie Martin was a firm believer in "love the life you live. Live the life you love". Despite loving teaching, the University nearby wasn't affording her the academic tenure she deserved which meant the money wasn't coming in as it should. So, she flipped houses on the downtime between semesters, which keyed into her guilty pleasure of poking through other people's houses. Fortunately, the housing market all over Beacon Hill County was booming and Natalie was clever enough to take advantage of it. In the study, course work and estate sales littered the coffee table and while one hand sifted through listings the other held a glass of wine.

Lydia knocked on the door and made her way in without waiting for a reply. Her Mom gestured for her daughter to join her on the couch without looking up from her work. Through a practice act, they twisted into a laying position on their sides, and breaths in sync. They worked in a comfortable silence for short time when her Mother commented on Scott's visit.

Lydia rolled her eyes and made "Momm" a groan that was barely recognizable as the word. "Let's not."

"Talk about men."

"Talk about things that are offensive."

"I thought that was Money, Politics and Religion."

"Lacrosse is all of that," Lydia muttered and nestled further into her Mother's shoulder.

With a laugh, Natalie kissed her daughter's forehead before she pulled her hair down from its top knot. She ran her fingers through Lydia's hair, an act that soothed them both, but it wasn't long till her cellphone chimed and she was called away.

Lydia poured the last of the coffee into a thermos for her Mom's drive as she fussed about driving after a glass wine. While Natalie assured her if she weren't so clearheaded about it and if they weren't in need of the money, she couldn't bear to be parted. She wanted the jump on any new listings, she loved getting a look at the land and visualizing possibilities before some crook got their fingers in it. As she left Lydia brave-faced a smile, then she tried to focus on her schoolwork, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything other than fixate about her "fugue state", the only logical, clinical and scientific (not supernatural) explanation for her gap week. With her Mother, the last link to normalcy in her life, gone she was left to obsess.

Switching gears, instead she thought of that "Other One"; Jackson Whittemore, Co-Captain of the lacrosse team. She started a text but thought better of it. He had sent one text since before she'd disappeared and one since she'd returned, demanding to know if she would miss another day. She called Allison but it went straight to voicemail, so she sent a passive-aggressive text instead. She thought of Scott offering help and how much his presence complicated life. She resented him that. She tossed aside the phone, started on her schoolwork while her Papillion puppy fell asleep against her feet after 30 minutes and she bemoaned the loss of the coffee. All of her usual comfort things, gone to waste.

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Track 06 - Until We Bleed by Lykke Li

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They fiddled with the radio, they joked and talked about what to eat. Coot and Debs wondered aloud where they should head next because they still couldn't bring themselves to admit what they ran from. Except they were nearly out of money, Debs had the purse strings and Coot had the temper with not a lot of commonsense, which is why he left a loaded gun on the dashboard instead of locking it in the glove compartment. After shooting a few rounds to blow off steam, which he'd been doing a lot more often, it accounted for him not hearing things so clearly. They were cycling through things quicker these days like they were winding down to something. They laughed till they argued, argued till they fucked, fucked till they got hungry, ate until they slept, slept until they woke laughing.

Debs sensed the Monster first but before she could move her mouth from a kiss to a warning, their truck went spinning. Then it went very still. Debs grabbed hold of Coot with one arm and while she braced herself with the other. Coot went for his gun, forgetting it wasn't where it was meant to be after he had been firing it wildly. The second impact sent Coot through the windshield. He barely got to his feet before the truck skid sideways toward him and crushed him into a support pillar of the Industry Bridge. Debs screamed, scrambled through the windshield but abandoned helping him for saving herself. She loved Coot surely but from the sound of it the Monster wasn't leaving room for hope. Coot's last words were "Deborah, run!"

The night felt still despite the violence, when she came up on the other side of the muddy water; driving cars overhead obscured sound below. The hour was late enough it verged on early when she burst through the gas station's concession doors. Her hurried speech slurred from her biting fangs. Shouting, Debs asked the teller if he had a weapon. When he admitted he had a bat and she riled he needed a real weapon. As the pursuant neared Debs nails extended and right shoulder twisted, snapping audibly in realignment. She gave off an unearthly sound and in fear the teller cradled his bat to him.

Not daring to look away, Debs glared through the fiberglass toward the impending threat; instead she gestured offhandedly with her blood covered, well-healed arm and commanded the teller to "Move!" seconds before a wild blurred Monster flung the double doors apart.

The teller, abandoning his bat, ran blindly for the back room that led to a street exit. He wouldn't look back. He would run five miles home on sheer adrenaline, shower, head straight to bed and assume he'd imagined it, the way he always imagined weird things during a 16 hour shift.

Debs dragged down and collapsed the cigarette/snack rack onto her attacker, entangling it. The video recording would become dislodged and no other documentation would exist to capture the last efforts if Deborah Pelt.

For the 2.5 seconds the rack kept the Monster low while Debs bent backward, hefting herself onto the counter as she swung her legs around. She wrenched herself away from danger and grabbed hold of the bat before landing smoothly behind the counter. Debs raced around the counter and down the aisles making certain to smash every loud, bright or five-sense enraging item she could crack at the Monster.

Finally, she made a desperate run at the wide open doors, when partway through the Monster caught hold of her collar. A clawed hand swung her around while the other pistol-whipped her hard enough it nearly took her head clean off. Knocked sidelong it lifted her against doorframe, she saw stars when she hit the pavement, splayed and laughing.

"His gun. You have his goddamn gun," she spat out along with bits of blood. It growled and muttered indecipherable things.

Debs rolled onto her back, flicked out her wrist, shot out a dog's lead she grabbed earlier and wrapped it around the beast's throat. The further the Monster lifted her off the ground, the more she thrashed and tightened the leashes grip. Struggling, it got out what sounded like the word "Where?"

She grimaced a reply, "you'll never-find-them-".

They collapsed onto each other and tittered toward the curb. The weakened beast pawed at her, dragging her as it inched along. It eased back and abandoned its straightforward attack.

It's eyes turned red, as it reared back its fangs extended and mouth went slack, then it let out a roar that rumbled through the bottom of its belly. She felt her core unravel and herself begin to turn, begin to change; she knew he would tear her apart if it came down to animal instincts. All she had over the Monster was clear-headedness which she started to feel wasting away. Unlike the Monster, her hands were small enough to fit through the trigger of Coot's gun. She grabbed it up from where it fell and felt grateful Coot left her enough, maybe not to kill but to give her a head start.

Made trickier as it bit and smashed her head backward, she wasn't a fast enough to get off a clear shot. There was an abandon in her eyes, the eye that wasn't scratched and swollen closed. So, with arms twisted up uncomfortably, she aimed and the last shot at the juncture between her own shoulder and neck. The spark was enough to set off the butane Debs had earlier smashed all over the Monster. It reared up and nearly choked them both as it snapped the leash. The Monster combusted, half-human/half-man, deformed and unable to maintain one shape as it ran stumbling and howling into the woods.

Grateful Coot's specialized bullet suppress any supernatural change/healing abilities, Debs collapsed onto the pavement and went into a perfectly natural state of shock until she bled out seconds later. Better than that, with ebbing clarity, Debs felt pleased with that fact she remained loyal to a pack that didn't want her anymore and avenged the murder of man she loved till the day they died.

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A high school student stopping for a cup of coffee would find her within minutes. It wasn't the graphic nature of the murder that frightened her. It was how unfrighteningly familiar the bite marks were that caused her to scream.

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Track 07 - Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl by Broken Social Scene

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The Argent's were traditionalist when it suites them; which is why Allison Argent's father collected her from school to observe a 'Family Meeting'. At least the meetings weren't boring. Often, they talked about Dragons or Demons or Vampires, after all the vast Argent family were centuries old keepers of the secrets of Supernaturals. Their faction was surveyors; world travelled careful observers who calculated anomalies, a lone Werewolf here, stray coven there but they never laid roots. Yet suddenly she was enrolled in a high school and dating a boy, her loyalty became split and she felt mildly traitorous.

The Beacon Hills faction consisted of; (her parents of course along with) Rumy, her godfather with a brotherly closeness to her Dad. Axel, an older second cousin whose coolness created distance, although she respected his marksmanship. And Bennett, nearest in age by two years and they bonded over the misery of training throughout their youth. Those five were the immediate few who shared a roof, not accounting for the one or two freelance members that passed through (most often Ulrich and Leveque).

In their family home, meetings were held in an office on the second floor that served as a panic room (it had self-generated power, went soundless, had steel re-enforced alarm coded doors and unfortunately no cell reception). While mostly she was meant to be there as a show of united Argent presence, over years her clever mind picked up skilled stratagems.

Recently, Allison listened in hopes they would finally reveal why her Family's faction were chosen to drop everything and move to Beacon Hills. Until her boyfriend got attacked by a mad Alpha, then she wished she hadn't been so eager to discover the truth. A stray Alpha was virtually unheard of. Packs were supposed to deal with their Alpha if they went mad or weak. Not to mention these Hunters were surveyors, and no longer got involved if Supernaturals got out of hand. But most importantly the future leader of this Argent's faction would never date a Werewolf. Some traditions could not be ignored.

When Allison didn't report Scott's attack (and his inevitable transformation) even though she knew it left her family at a disadvantage in their investigation. But it meant more, it also meant the responsibility of strategizing and investigating solely landed on her. She took advantage of every piece of surveillance and restraint equipment she could reasonably get away with. She became less of a figurehead a more active member of the Argent as well as a secret mentor to Scott. She felt like a double agent. Sometimes her grades suffered but that's what zero period cram sessions were for.

Any feelings of conflict vanished with golden moments; moments like when she trolled the police bandwidth for Scott's clues and found something her family could actually use. Her stomach flip-flopped when she heard the phone call. Soon, she uncovered an Industrial Plant shut down due to Mycotoxicosis, something that "smelled like rust and- like a swap", on the border of Beacon Hills and Fairvale. Surely enough, walking distance across the Industry Bridge that cut between the townships, at a virtually deserted gas station a grisly robbery had gone wrong and been reported exactly there. Just as Scott dreamt a day earlier, a Jane Doe mauled and shot in the face had just been called in.

Allison verified the transcript and brought the family meeting to a standstill. She appreciated the moment they looked to each other in alarm before they looked at her in regard. This would help their cagey investigation for sure but it would help Scott too. Once a plan was made the doors to the meeting room opened, her cell phone flared up with missed calls from Scott and a missed text from Lydia.

While members filed out, she gave each the briefest grin goodnight she could manage before she escaped to her bedroom. The messages were small grievances; Lydia wanted to know "what's up the white lies?" And after the third time he called, Scott wanted to know "if everything's alright?" He had a couple of things to tell her, one or two things to ask her but from his tone she could sense he just wanted to talk. Allison checked the timestamps on each message. She noted it against the time the Jane Doe's murder was called into the police. No way could Scott be in two places, clear across town at once.

She nearly screamed when her cell phone lit up in her face. "Yes," she assured Scott. "Everything's fine." Was he fine? Was he home? Good, good. She was just caught up in some family drama and they had her running through hoops, not a lie. They would talk in the morning, so much to talk about, first thing in the morning, she promised but there was so much to talk about. Bye.

Allison spun around a couple of times before she collapsed onto the bed somewhat relieved. Any pang of guilt she felt about Jane Doe's death she packed it away and replaced it with determination, she would solve that mystery. Allison was a Hunter, an Argent and she was in love. No one had more reason than she to work out the mysteries of Beacon Hills.

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Track 08 - This Is Twice Now by Lydia

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The high school student explained to the officers she discovered the crime scene when she stopped for a cup of coffee (despite being it being 30 minutes out her way and pass several gourmet coffee shops, cafes, Dunkin' Doughnut and a couple of other gas stations). She found the place unmanned, what smelled like fuel in the air and what turned out to be blood on the pavement.

From the little footage that survived the Sheriff's department pieced together Jane Doe came for aide from a pursuant who then robbed and killed her. From the bruising pattern, it showed offensive and defensive wounds. The victim's directions to the clerk saved his life, then it appeared the woman gave in the fight as good as she got. A couple of the Officers admired Jane Doe, which made them more determined to find her killer. What was taken or the woman's identity went unknown for the time being. As it stood their only witness (the clerk) remained at home, traumatized and a less reliable source of information than the person who discovered the body.

Lydia pointed out from the quality leather of her boots they were Southern, the sort of ankle boots meant for desert, not the woods and certainly not for fashion. She noted they might want to start with Texas. They asked from what article of clothes she surmised that fact and she answered "not the clothes, the hair. Texas; bigger the hair, closer to god. Or you could go by your utter lack of forensic evidence. You choose."

Sheriff Stilinski found her stylistic input refreshing but her presence unsettling. Lydia rattled his men, she was a little too at ease and he pulled her aside for a more intimate talk. He thanked her, genuinely and asked again why she went so far out of her way for such bad coffee.

"Do you think I'm lying?" after glancing around, her eyes narrowed as she looked back at him.

"No, of course not," he squeezed her shoulder to reassure her but his face said something different. "I'm just worried about you. Now if you saw someone who do this- if you're afraid that they're maybe going to come back to make sure you don't say anything about it-"

"I didn't see anything, at all. Can I go now?" she ran her hand through her hair in frustration.

The Sheriff offered to get her that coffee and have her driven home. She shook him off and wondered aloud why she wouldn't be allowed to get back in her car, alone. He even offered to have a word with the school to grant her another day's absence. With a tight voice she thanked him and expressed a determination to attend school in the morning despite everyone's "well meaning". But the Sheriff seemed equally determined to at least provide her with a police escort back, when Deputy Parrish cut in with a cup of coffee and a quick escape.

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Track 09 - Recover by CHVRCHES

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The moment Deputy Parrish offered to lead the way, with sirens and flashing lights, through the short cut via the 'Industry Bridge' Lydia felt as though someone had walk over her grave. But she conceded, desperate just to get away from the gas station massacre.

Except the moment bridge began to arch, Lydia pulled into the shoulder without signaling and Deputy Parrish reversed abruptly to align with the front of her car. She tried not to look frightened but wasn't doing a very good job. When Parrish asked if she was alright instead she handed over her coffee. The only explanation she provided was he would need it more than she would before the night's end. Over the ledge of the bridge she pointed out evidence of the car accident simmering against a support pillar bellow.

In the darkness of pre-dawn, at the speed they drove, from the angle they crossed, Parrish had to ask, how she knew where to look? How does someone, by sheer luck, stumble on two crime scenes in one night? Lydia answered simply; she had a feeling. She didn't need to follow up with "the feeling frightened her," or "she really wanted to go home." The tone was implied.

"I believe you. Sometimes, people are just more sensitive than others. Thanks for the coffee." He smiled mildly and ushered her back to her car. He called in the second crime scene and asked Lydia if she felt alright enough to get home on her own. She never felt more alright about something so not right in her life.

The sun had begun to rise; school would be in 2½ hours and she still had 2 assignments, 1 more subject to review and blood to wash off her 4½' heel Jimmy Choo platform pumps. Lydia Martin was exceptional at compartmentalizing.

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Track 10 - Dream (Fleetwood Mac Cover) by Gabrielle Aplin and Bastille

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{Thursday; Morning – Beacon Hills High School}

Excited about her news, Allison rushed to find Scott during morning practice. After all, zero period cram session wasn't mandatory and yes, her grades needed tweaking but assuring Scott that he wasn't a cold-blooded murder took precedent.

At the library door she faltered; her grades weren't something to laugh at yet, but she couldn't be suspiciously failing or her Mom would come to school. She signed in for attendance but excused herself. If she spoke to Scott quickly and made the second half of the period (switching off priorities not at all being symbolic of her life) she could maybe, possibly get her textbooks cracked open for 20mins. Borrowing notes from Lydia was a surefire way to pass every class, a thought that entered Allison's mind when she caught sight of Lydia. Nestled in the library, hair-pinned back expertly, shift dress modeled to a T and head bowed over enough composition notebooks to create a fort.

Before Allison could decide to stay or go, a grip pulled on her arm and whipped her out of the doorway. She twisted herself out of the grip and reversed it, pinning the arm backward at the elbow.

"ow ow ow ow ow" Scott whined in a whisper.

"God, I'm so sorry," her hands flew to cover her mouth, embarrassed for almost breaking her boyfriend's elbow.

"I'm okay," he grinned and moved around his limbs to prove it, "all healed." He reminded her of his super healing and when she calmed, he pulled her into a hug.

"Did you see?" she jumped to attention, "Lydia is here. I thought she was, you know."

"I do know. Maybe more than you know. Or do you know?" Scott's made several faces that made up more confusing expressions than even his words. She pulled at his arm until they were by a stairwell and seemingly out of everyone's way. She listened attentively to what it was that Scott had to get off his chest.

"Yesterday, Mrs. Martin said Lydia went to a spa and she disappeared. But you told me she went with her Dad to their lake house and overstayed."

"That's weird," Allison absorbed the information and placed it on a shelf with everything else about Lydia she had been investigating.

"But then Lydia said everyone is lying."

"Do you think she's paranoid?"

"No. I think for once Lydia was trying to really tell me something. She said there isn't a Gymnastics team."

Allison didn't try to cover it up, just nodded a concession. She would apologize later because there are other things that mattered more than hurt feelings.

"She told me her parents both lied. Maybe because they felt guilty, I'm not sure. She told me she was at the lake house, but she also went camping with her Dad. But Allison it gets worse," he looked around and listened closely to hear if anyone had come near. "I think Lydia was attacked by something like me."

Another thing on the shelf.

"You think Lydia is a Werewolf?"

"No, definitely not. She feels different but she seems the same. I don't know how to explain but last night, I'm pretty sure the full moon's after-effects was making her sick."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"She's here isn't she?"

Allison grinned at that. At times, Lydia Martin could be more of a monster than most things that go bump in the night. Scott would keep an eye out for her without having to ask, she knew he would. Whatever childhood squabbles Lydia and Scott had behind them it wouldn't keep him from trying to keep her safe.

"I have to catch up to the team," Scott jumped forward and kissed Allison on the check, "we'll talk more later."

"Yes!" She called after him, "I'll see you later!"

With a grin he disappeared through double doors toward the locker rooms, lacrosse gear and all. Of course, she would see him later, but she missed him already because she worried about him every minute. The mental shelf she kept for the concerns and interests of Scott McCall had grown so consuming and heavy it became a vault onto itself.

"Did you know?"

Allison nearly jumped out of her skin. She tripped up the stairwell and stumbled into the hallway, Jackson loomed over her and she was grateful there wasn't a wall behind her.

"Jackson? What? What's going on?"

Jackson was sweaty from post-practice action, adrenaline high and jaw line stiff as if sculpted.

"How could you not know?" he practically accused, his glare was assaulting but before he made a move or explained himself everything about him seemed to shiver.

Disarmed, Allison turned back around and followed his line of vision. Lydia stood in the doorway of the library, books in hand, poised and expression unreadable. The bell rang before Allison could answer him; she turned to find him gone and Lydia as well when swung back to look for answers herself.

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Track 11 - Alice by Mononoke

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Mr. Harris could intimidate the white off a skunk's back, but he couldn't keep Danielle from reading off the scandalous twitter tag #DoubleDead during 1st period Natural Science. The world had gone red with a double-murder on the edge of town. Nothing happened in Beacon Hills and definitely nothing happened in its-pale-by-comparison neighboring town Fairvale, but double-murder was salacious enough that gossips from both towns wanted to claim ownership of such an awesome event.

It turned worse for Lydia when she had the nerve to correct Danielle by clearing up that the female victim was found in Fairvale and the man in Beacon Hills.

"How could you know that? That information wasn't released yet."

"I just do?" Lydia slammed her books open and flipped through her notes, her late night scribbles made superfluous by scandal and nightmares. She hated to drawing attention to herself as 'that' geek student, but the words were already out of her mouth before she gave it any thought. "Mr. Harris aren't we supposed to have pop-up quizzes before the mid-terms?"

In polar opposite, during homeroom Ms. Ramsey was so giddy with gossip she neglect everything but attendance. Danny greeted her with a winning smile and welcomed her home. No suspicious follow up, no live feed announcements, in fact Danny was genuinely Danny-esk it was hard to believe she missed a day of school.

"You should come to afterschool practice," he insisted with a poke at her arm.

Lydia made a face like the room had suffered a stink bomb, "thank you but no. Jackson is still Co-Captain. Plus, McCall is the other Co-Captain."

"I'll be there. I need someone cheering for me," Danny charmed her with a fluttering of his lashes.

"Sorry, but that doesn't exactly do it for me," although Lydia grinned, her beautiful non-hetero advocate did little to move her motivation meter.

"I thought supporting lacrosse players was your thing," Danny tilted his head toward the lanky classmate to his right. Light eyes, pouty lips, curls and long, long limbs. "What am I supposed to tell Isaac over there?"

Isaac Lahey swiveled around at the sound of his name, he didn't pretend not to hear, and he just smiled playfully and insisted "you should definitely come after school, Lydia. We would be lost without you."

Lydia poked Danny in his side, pushing him back toward his own seat. She didn't take her eyes off Isaac as she sat back pretending to consider the inevitable.

During Algebra2 Scott whispered loud enough he might as well have had a blow horn. He insisted Danny switch seats with him, he pleaded and begged, at one point he fell to his knees but that might have been incidental. Danny calmly answered "No" each time; Danny listened, or at least pretended to, with the expression of a man tolerating a neighbors yapping dog. Finally, to keep the peace, Lydia insisted Scott take her seat; she was out of it before he had a chance to say otherwise and transposed herself onto his. It was too late to explain to Danny he wanted to switch seat so he could sit beside Lydia. Not that he didn't try but the moment he opened his mouth again Mr. Atwood said "No" with such authority Scott feared for his life.

During Chemistry Allison and Isaac sat beside one another and things could not have been more awkward. Both stole glances over toward Lydia throughout the period while trying not to look as though they were trying to get her attention. When Mr. Harris asked people to pair up they stumbled to take a seat beside her and Lydia was visibly startled. Later she asked to be excused but didn't return to class so Allison and Isaac were left to rub up against their competition. Needless to say their work suffered greatly.

During lunch Allison found Scott sitting alone and drop beside him with an empty tray. She opted out of food for the sake of information.

"The murders," she started. Scott choked on his water. She apologized and continued. "It has to be the same as your dream. The location, the chemicals in the water, the smell match an abandoned plant nearby. That's where the man died. And it's within walking or running distance of the gas station where the woman died."

"The news thinks that this was a robbery gone wrong," Scott added solemnly. "That sucks."

"Scott, they weren't just murdered by some Monster. They might have been Werewolves."

"This is crazy," Scott shook his head, "why would Werewolves kill each other?"

"Lots of reason," Allison said casually. The fear on Scott's face reminded her of his lack of knowledge in the Supernatural department, it also reminded her to slow down. "Territory maybe. Freedom."

"What if one of them made me?"

Allison shook her head, "no, I don't know. We'll figure it out. But the two who died, they're not even from here. The police radio chatter confirmed they were just passing through. Scott, I know it doesn't seem like it but this is good news."

"How? Somebody was murdered last night I could have saved."

"Exactly. Sort of. Now we know you could have saved them. The next time you have a dream we know there is time to save them."

"Yeah," Scott tried to smile; instead he opted to squeezing her hand over the lunch table while she smiled for the both of them.

"We both will."

Lydia sped pass the sweethearts and made for the lunch line. She collected the bare minimum and went for the outdoor seating. Everywhere there were whispers, whispers that were so loud they may as well have been screams. Instead she tossed her food into the nearest trash and went to the library to study, not that she needed it. In the library Isaac sat two tables away, tapping on his laptop. He hadn't even looked up to say hello and somehow that was terribly refreshing.

During English Lit there were no empty seats; Lydia, Scott, Jackson, Allison, Danny and Isaac were among the attendees. It wasn't hard to get caught up in one of Ms. Blake's discussions and feel the minutes hurry pass. Even so Jackson didn't miss a moment to ask Allison how Lydia was doing. Allison glanced over to watch her best-friend do her best-work on someone new. Allison suggested Jackson get over himself because if he really cared he would ask Lydia directly but when the bell rang he was gone.

During Genetics/Bio Jackson had the chance; Lydia was loathed to admit it but he still knew how to get under her skin. It took less than a look. Not one of his glares, scowls or pouts even. Just a glance and she would remember a thousand private moments where walls between them fell away and everything felt right. Each class she attended she was eager participate but bio with Jackson she couldn't bring herself to speak. There had been a time she remained silent during classes for fear of coming across as smart in front of Jackson. Now, she couldn't speak for fear of her voice cracking. Some habits were even harder to break and when he wrote down the wrong answer she leaned over, crossed it out and wrote the correct one. When Jackson finally got the nerve to say "Hi," she stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Eventually she sighed "Hey" not to seem cool but because the breath in her lungs collapsed in that shape. When the bell rang he was the first out the door and she was the last.

During Art with Allison they laughed as if there wasn't deceit and suspicion between them. Lydia critiqued Allison's kindly but explained that everyone else looked like they painted with their feet. Ms. Ramsey called them out several times to keep quiet and focus but they didn't. Before they knew it class was over and it wasn't till the bell rung that Lydia asked "it should have been you to come to me yesterday."

Allison winced, "I know. I'm sorry." They walked toward the gymnasium together; they're next class being PE.

"And your lie about gymnastics was a lousy cover."

"You probably would have come up with something better."

"Only a million times, especially something that couldn't be checked with the Coach. Why did you lie to Scott? Was something really happening or did you just want to mess with us?"

"I can't have my vanilla and my chocolate," Allison grinned. Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yes. Something happened with my family and I'm sorry. I did want to see you yesterday but I am also glad you saw Scott."

Lydia remained beside her locker and let everyone else change. She felt a stress headache coming on, more than that she felt the wound on her hip was too new to be put through the perils of Coach Finstock's abuse. Allison dropped to sit beside her already dressed in gym shorts and a tank top.

"Are you okay?"

"No," Lydia sighed and smiled at her friend, "but I will be."

Allison smiled back, dimples and all. "That's the spirit. Are you going to come?"

"No, neither are you," Lydia stood and reached out a hand for Allison. Allison's brows went up in curiosity but Lydia gestured in insistence. They held hands as Lydia led her to the showers. When everything was as still as could be and Coach called out for the last locker check they made certain to lock the doors. Allison felt the urge to giggle and Lydia made a face, mouth pressed hard in a line telling her silently "don't you dare."

After a deep breath, Lydia passed her bag over and then turned away from Allison pointing to have her dress unzipped. Once partly down, Lydia turned back and pulled the front down enough the dress came forward and draped around her waist. Allison's hand went to her mouth to cover her gasp of alarm. Five wounds, like claw marks encircled from navel toward left hip. Although closed, the gashes looked red and angry. Without thinking to Allison reached out to touch, she drew back quickly but Lydia caught her hand and kept it still. She nodded, giving Allison permission to inspect the damage.

"Is it?" Lydia whispered. Allison pulled her hand back as if a spell had been broken. Lydia yanked her dress up and zipped it into place. At first Allison was confused but from the look on Lydia's face she could guess what she meant. "Is it like Scott's?"

"Is it something you've seen before?"

Allison nodded. Lydia swallowed, she worked her jaw keeping her thoughts masked and while she collected her bag.

"You should pick a sports elective," Allison suggested when they left the locker room after she changed back and changed subjects. All hopes of PE abandoned.

Lydia barked with laughter.

"I am absolutely serious. Join the Swim Team with me," Allison tugged on Lydia arm.

"First you want me involved with Gymnastics now Swim Team. If all you want is for me to cover for you when you're cheating on Scott, say so."

"I would never!"

"You wouldn't, would you," Lydia booped Allison's nose playfully.

"It can be just us," Allison promised.

Lydia looked dubious. "Fine, but the first sign of trouble I'm leaving you to drown."

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Track 12 - Charon by Keaton Henson

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{Thursday Afternoon - The Sheriff's Station}

"It's serious question," Deputy Haige griped, "you can't really consider it an all-nighter if you are going into your 14th hour now can you, sir?"

"It's a thing we can discuss another time," Sheriff Stilinski concluded sagely and moved onto the next piece of evidence to cross his desk.

"We could have passed the distress call over to Fairvale since it was on the Industry Bridge border." Deputy Haige supposed for the umpteenth time, back toward an uninterested bull pen.

Deputy Graeme advised him to get more coffee if he was felt tired but a work load is a work load and he should just accept it.

Deputy Parrish, peacemaker extraordinaire, offered to even pay for lunch and Haige could pick the place if they just settle on different side of the station. Embittered, Deputy Haige pointed out the only reason Sheriff Stilinski took on every little complaint was because he had no one to go home to. Petite Deputy Graeme came up to Haige's face and informed him in no uncertain tone he stepped out of line, his sleep depravity compromised his brain and he was relieved for the time being. When he argued she wasn't his superior, she agreed and while that is true she could always clear it with the Chief.

After Haige left in a huff, Graeme apologized to Parrish. She asked if he minded taking the coffee to the Sheriff while she manned Haige's duties at the front. Parrish grinned, even saluted a little and admitted he was eager to back her up.

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When Parrish entered the office, he found Stilinski alone in middle of a rant about being ill-equipped at handling things without a forensic department capable of investigating connecting the two murders to the animal markings. On instinct he asked Deputy Parrish's opinion, not expecting an exchange.

Instead, Parrish inquired "why does holding onto theses cases mattered so much?"

Stilinski answered "because it's rare for Beacon Hill's proper to pass anything on. Actually, unheard of."

"Well," Parrish casually reminded "Fairvale is much smaller, less staffed and no offense, less capable. Just because the Beacon Hills Sheriff dept. hasn't come to any conclusion yet plus doesn't mean they can't reach out to their local animal clinic as a resource."

"Aw, hell," the Sheriff groaned. He brought bottle of J. Bean out from his bottom desk drawer. Parrish closed the office door and seal shut the window blinds. The Sheriff pointedly reminded Parrish "You're still on duty Deputy," and would not part-take. But when a call out front came for the Sheriff they called out in unison the Sheriff had left the station.

In any case, the Sheriff asked Parrish to pull up a bit of desk and listen. If Parrish insisted on asking smart question he should be damn well be prepared to listen to the whole answer. Stilinski explained their new case shared earmarks to an unsolved case 6 years ago.

"A car run off cliff-side; driver died immediately on impact. Rear passenger side had its door ripped apart with identical five gashed marks. There was a significant amount of similarities in the cases but the backseat passenger, my son, was never found..."

"shit," replied Parrish and leaned further back into his chair. Stilinski slid over the dated files and when Parrish reached for the documents he also took a shot. He didn't like the taste, but it was the gesture that mattered. They were in on this together.

When another knock came to the door, both responded "There's No One Here" as if rehearsed.

Parrish leafed through the files; the animal markings had been written off as crash damage at the time of the accident because they didn't have animal/forensic specialist. The only reason the Sheriff hadn't pushed the animal attack angle had been because the two witnesses were considered unreliable. Parrish looked at the names and asked if it was because they were children. Stilinski drank deeply and shook his head.

"No," he stared off to the side as if he relived some dark day in his head. "Because they were traumatized. They were in the car when their best-friend, when my family was taken from me."

.

Track 13 - Risk/Loss by Young Heretics

.

"We want to take these moments to acknowledge the great sense of shock our community is facing. We would also like to take this opportunity to expression or sympathy and offer counseling to students in need. And we would like to remind everyone that Beacon Hills will emerge stronger and better after such an event due to the efforts of our Sheriff's department. So please, if you know anything come forward. And for a quick resolution, despite your curiosities please stay out of their way. In closing, our heartfelt thoughts and prayers go to those lost in this sudden and terrible tragedy."

.

"I heard Tracy say it was a murder/suicide."

"Tracy is an Idiot. There were cameras and everything. It was an animal attack."

"An animal got in the car?"

"Don't be morbid. The woman was like trying to kill the animal with the car or something."

"Matt said it was a robbery gone wrong."

"Well, Matt's an idiot."

"I'm right here dude."

"Sorry. Matt, you're an idiot."

"Thanks."

"Why are they having this announcement on the field before practice? You know not all of us are into Lacrosse."

"You're a crazy person!"

"Why? Because I would have rather killed myself before letting animal maul me like that or because I hate lacrosse?"

"Both!"

"Do we have to wait for the whole speech to be over? I want to break out and I can see my car from here."

.

"I'm pretty sure, no I'm definitely sure they were together," Allison whispered to Scott. She meant in the same pack and she hadn't meant to be heard but the bleachers didn't afford privacy.

"They were in different towns when they died though," said Mason.

"So," Lydia yawned, "they could have done everything in their lives together except die."

"Is this boring you Lydia? Taking attention away from your drama-queen disappearing act?"

The crowd nearest tittered. Allison and Scott moved forward as if somehow they could physically block the blow of ridicule.

"Scandal is fleeting but grade-point averages are forever," Lydia yawned again, hefting her purse onto her shoulder while she placed a hand languidly over her mouth in an exaggerated drama-queen gesture (obscuring the fact her late night/morning had caught up with her).

Finally, the speech had ended.

.

Track 14 - Safest Place by Echosmith

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"If sticking around during practice is making you miserable-," started Allison.

"I never said miserable," Lydia paid more attention to the class notes on her iPhone. "I implied everything here is beneath me, but I never said out loud that I was miserable."

"Didn't you just say it though," Allison smirked.

"No, that would be beneath me," Lydia smirked back, Allison had earned the first gaze over the lip of her phone since practice began. They watched as sophomores made a tumbling display beneath them. Allison gave a pity applause and jabbed at Lydia to follow. Lydia warned, "Don't encourage them, you'll just bring around the dumb eager ones."

Scott bound toward them across the field; Lydia grinned and went back to her phone while Allison jumped to her feet and leaned over the back of the row between them. Scott asked for a kiss "For Luck" and Allison pleaded for Lydia not to laugh when she sat back down. Her pleas went ignored.

"You might feel less cynical about watching practice if you actually watched practice," she gestured toward the field. Lydia glanced around and hoped her friend had a point. "There are plenty of other attractive displays to look at."

Lydia shrugged but made a humming sound that sounded agreeable and hungry at the same time.

Allison gestured toward Jackson "what about our Co-Captain? He was asking about you earlier. Plus, he is very-"

"Very what?" Lydia cut in harshly.

"Available. I wasn't going to say anything bad."

Lydia settled back, "of course you wouldn't. He's old meat. He isn't worth mentioning again. Not ever." She pushed stray hairs out of her face with an air of drama and set her eyes back onto the field, "but there is a new item up on the menu."

"Who?" she followed Lydia's predatory gaze. "Lahey?"

"Otherwise known as 'fresh meat'."

Allison thought long and hard about a smooth way of approaching the next topic but no segue presented itself. Instead she went for bold.

"I guess you're right about Jackson."

"Yep."

"He was probably only asking about you because he drove me to Fairvale when you were missing."

"..."

"…When I couldn't take my parents car and he called looking for you, so, well I asked if he would drive around with me to search ER's."

"So, what?"

"Nothing, he just can't be all that bad if he is willing to drive all the way to Fairvale, with a virtual stranger on a hunch."

"It's the 'not all good' parts you should wonder about, Allison. A guilty conscience needs no accuser. Do you know why my father owns my grandmother's lake house?"

"Because he's her son?" confused, Allison fumbled for ground.

"Because he proved a crazy woman can't sell legacy property to the state. He can barely stand to stay in it," Lydia became more animated as she spoke.

"You don't think he might have done it for a good reason?" Allison delicately played Devil's advocate, because at the end of the day she was on Lydia's side.

"I think he helped out for reasons I don't care about," as much as she insisted the topic bored her, getting her digs in mattered.

"Which one?" father or ex-lover.

"Either. I see something else I'm going to study," she stood abruptly and dusted herself off.

Before Allison could protest, Scott jogged over once again to say "Hi" and Lydia took that as her cue to leave toward the locker rooms.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, sensing Allison's anxiety on air. She put her hand in his, smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. She shared what Lydia said, which admittedly wasn't much but more importantly was how she said it.

"I think me going there yesterday was a big mistake," Scott expressed regret. "She wouldn't even have brought up the lake house if I hadn't poked my nose in."

"It's a great nose and it has a pretty great sense when something's up. And you were right about Lydia's injury. But being hurt is one thing. Missing for a week? Her Mom didn't even report it until the fifth day."

"Her parents might not have known. Lydia is known for taking off. Roughing it could explain away most of her injuries. Her Mom used to sign her up for everything, including Brownie Scouts. Lydia learned how to skate, swim, hike, camp, even if she didn't like it she still knew it. But for a week?"

"Scott," she marveled and hugged onto his arm as they walked. Her best-friend needed her and her boyfriend had her back without having to be asked. It only made her want to shift more things around on mental shelf so that everything would begin to fit, "you wouldn't happen to know if the lake house is in Fairvale?"

"No," he shook his head in apology.

"Oh," she sighed in disappointment, leaving him near the locker room doors.

"It's their neighboring town just North of it, basically just fishing boats and a farmers market. It's the smallest town in the county-" Allison cut him off with a kiss.

..

Track 15 - Kissing Girls (You Shouldn't Kissed) by Hawkley Workman

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Isaac cleared the locker rooms entirely before he realized the number was for him.

"14."

It left a sour taste in his mouth.

"14."

But he did always like the sour candies.

"14."

"I do have a name you know," he said in a voice mildly above a whisper.

Lydia shrugged, "I hadn't noticed." She tugged at his jersey and brought him with her toward the Chemistry Lab, unlocked but abandoned.

"Come on Lydia, you know this isn't exactly safe."

"If you say 'I'm dangerous' than you lose points for unoriginality. If you're talking about the room, its fine. Back in freshman year, Harris gave me a spare key for study drills and forgot about it."

Isaac chuckled and bit his lower lip "I didn't mean that either but the magical Harris key, I'm remembering that detail future use." He moved forward, wrapped an arm around Lydia waist and pulled her up against him. He dipped low to catch her mouth in a rushed kiss and smiled to see her amusement.

"Come on, 14" she pulled him further into the room. She hopped up onto a table, leveling out the height difference and yanked him closer. "I've been gone for a while; I think I've forgotten where everything goes."

He swooped down and placed a trail of kisses along her neck. When she made a sighing noise of appreciation he sat upright, "I think you remember my name."

"Oh?" she noticed a challenge, "was it those words written across your lacrosse jersey?" she dragged a finger along his collarbone, leaned forward and kissed his chin before easing quickly backward and pulling his shirt over his head. "Well, I don't see it anywhere," she said and tossed his shirt aside.

Isaac shook his head, a warring glare and smirk before kissing her fiercely and he knocked her nearly flat against the desk. He would have said he missed her, but it would have ruined their arrangement.

They weren't a couple. They weren't friends. They weren't an anything, certainly not anything that anyone was allowed to know about but hooking up with Lydia Martin was definitely something you missed when you were deprived of it.

Lydia's eyes were intimidating without passion in them. With heat they were fierce enough to glow and when she closed them because of something he had done it was that much more powerful. Her hands were soft and forceful, her mouth yielding while her words were few but demanding. She was Lydia Martin turned up to eleven and every sensory was in overload.

When he touched along her side her flinch was more of a spasm. Isaac stopped, afraid he had hurt her. Lydia laughed "Just a war wound," she joked but her voice was a little strained.

Before Isaac had a chance to ask Lydia advised him to do something more useful with his hands, after all she wasn't a nun and she placed them on her breasts. Isaac didn't need much convincing after that. For several minutes she continued to whisper "it's okay" until she lost her breath to kisses.