The stagnant odor of dirt and greenery hung high in the humid air as Noah trekked along, having no idea of where he was going. He had been here a handful of times in his entire life, the most recent being two years ago at Uncle Chris's 40th birthday. Quite frankly, Noah was surprised he had even made it to what he thought was the Argent's neighborhood, as the bus had dropped him off in an unfamiliar part of town. It was pouring rain and he was cold, drenched, and shivering like a scared Chihuahua by the time he turned onto their street. His camera thumped against his frigid body, carefully wrapped in plastic bags. As Noah scanned the street, he swallowed, suddenly realizing a slight issue. Which one was the Argent house? His vision was drastically impaired. Everything short of his immediate left and right was a stormy gray. It was raining much too hard out to see clearly.
He stopped. For the most part, the pounding rain had stifled his new and improved hearing, but this time he caught something. It had come from his right, so Noah swiveled his body that way hopefully and caught sight of a window. Light was pouring out from it into the dreary scene about him. Just as he was about to peer inside, he caught it again. It was a high pitched, infectious laughter, one that had brought two awkward teenagers together as friends more than cousins.
Allison.
A smile broke across Noah's face for the first time since yesterday afternoon. He rushed to drag his bag up the driveway and up the steps, nearly bursting with excitement. But as he lifted his pale, pruny hand to knock at the door, he paused. He hadn't let them know he was coming. No call, e-mail, text message, nothing. What if they didn't have room to begin with? Or worse—what if his father's scathing remarks had been false? He knew Marco Argent was never a big fan of his older brother, but what if he turned out to be just like his dad? What if he saved his little brother the trouble and slaughtered his abomination for a nephew for him?
Noah was so stuck on all of the terrible things that could come of this excursion that his exhausted, panicked brain didn't register the front door pry open.
Christopher Argent was a tall, well built man, his appearance hardly showing his real age. He surpassed Noah by only an inch or two. A handsome man of forty two, he had managed not to change much from the photograph on Noah's camera. His hair hadn't grayed too much more, which surprised Noah with the kind of life his family led. He had smile lines, but creases in his forehead, which to Noah meant he either tried to smile a lot to compensate for high stress or he was borderline psychotic. And in this family, it could certainly go either way.
Chris squinted his eyes in confusion as he took in the rather sad sight of his nephew, drenched and trembling. "…Noah?" He blinked. "Why are you here? And where are your parents? Actually, forget it. Come inside and get dry before we talk about this." He stood aside, opting to question the boy later.
After the hottest shower of his life, Noah sat at the dining room table. He was nursing a steaming mug of coffee between his hands and refused to look up. He was invested in the rise and disappearance of the steam—or rather, wanted to be—and tugged the blanket over his shoulders tighter around him. At the moment, Noah was wearing a gray shirt with some plaid fuzzy pants that smelled suspiciously like dog.
Christopher sat across from Noah, nursing his own piping hot mug. His eyes bored into his nephew's bowed head for a long while before asking, "Does your father know you're here?"
He shook his head.
"Mother?"
He shook it again.
"Jesus, Noah. Does anyone know you're here?"
"No," he mumbled, finally leaning down to sip at the mug. Folgers. His best friend when he was up late working on the school paper. "I ran away."
If it was possible, his uncle's eyes grew wider. "Not even Avery or Blake know? Marcos and Andrea must be worried sick about you, Noah. I'm assuming you didn't call, didn't leave a note or anyth…" he trailed off. Chris had gone stark white. "Noah…"
"Help me," he whispered feebly. His eyes had turned amber, and his bottom fangs were barely visible but obviously there. "I-I couldn't stay. Uncle Chris, you have to help me. Father would've killed me on the spot… He already hates me." Noah could feel the bile rising in his throat at the mention of him. "Please don't tell him I'm here… Oh God, please don't kill me, Uncle Chris." He was on the verge of tears; he couldn't remember ever being this afraid.
"Noah." Chris leaned over to plant a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it with the word salad. I'm not going to call Marcos, and I'm not going to kill you." He held up his hands innocently. "Control yourself. The bite tampers with emotions."
"A bite isn't good for someone prone to anxiety attacks, Uncle Chris." Noah shook his head, lifting the mug to his lips to sip again. The warm fluid calmed him, if only momentarily. "I didn't know what to do. Father would've killed me. I know he would've—"
His uncle sighed. "I was the one that got the morals. Aunt Kate got the crazy. Marcos got the…how shall I phrase this…"
"Ruthless?"
"Unforgiving."
"So careless."
"Not careless. Cold."
"Cold and calculating. Sounds about right."
Christopher smiled at the playful banter. "You have a wonderful mother, you know. Without her, I'm honestly afraid you and your brothers would have come out more like your father."
A pang of homesickness and longing hit Noah right in the heart. "I was always mama's favorite."
"I imagine she must be heartbroken, then. No doubt thinks you must be dead." He saw the tears beginning to well in his nephew's eyes and realized he was terrible at dealing with emotionally volatile teenagers immediately. "Please…please, just…uh, stop? Listen Noah, I'm not calling, I'm not killing you. You have my word. You will be safe here."
"Dad?"
Both boys turned to look at the source of the voice. In the doorway stood a petite girl of seventeen with the same dark ringlets and sweet brown eyes as in the picture on his camera. Those same eyes lit up when they set themselves on her cousin. A smile stretched across her pink lips as she raced across the dining room to hug the damp, lanky boy. "I missed you, Noah!"
He laughed; the first real laugh in a few days. "I missed you too, Allison."
She ruffled his soggy hair lovingly. "What brings you to Beacon Hills?"
"Noah will be staying with us…indefinitely." Chris interjected, sporting a tight lipped smile. "He'll be in the spare across the hall from your's, Allison."
"Well come on up, then!" She grabbed her cousins hand and yanked him up, then made for the stairs. With a grin, Noah toted his blanket and coffee cup behind him. Allison definitely had to be one of his favorite people in the world just because of her attitude. And that was saying something, because he usually hated people.
As they were climbing the stairs, Allison looked down at Noah and said, "I'm sure you already know where your room is. I just needed to get you away from the old man. How about we go for ice cream?" She held up the keys with a chuckle. "My treat. And you can fill me in on anything and I'll fill you in on anything."
He nodded. "Yeah…yeah. That sounds good. I just need pants… I'll meet you downstairs."
As they came to a stand in front of Noah's door, she patted his arm. "You take your time. You look like you had a rough day."
About ten minutes later, the two teens were puttering down the road in Allison's silver Mazda Six. He marveled at how different Beacon Hills was to his old town. It had an air of…almost mystery to it. Maybe a little danger, maybe a little bit rural, but urban at the same time. He couldn't help taking a few pictures on their way into town.
"I'm beginning to think that camera is welded to your body, Noah Argent," Allison grinned. "Have you put it down once since the last time I saw you?"
Noah pretended to think. "Well…I mean, I shower. There isn't exactly anything in there I'd like to photograph." Both teens snorted in laughter. He then went on to ask, "What've you been up to?"
"Just your classic boy troubles, I suppose." She slowed to a stop at a red light. "What else is high school for?"
"Learning?"
"Besides that."
The two broke out in laughter again. Noah smiled softly, lost in thought. "I suppose there isn't, is there?" His skin began to crawl, and a chill went down his spine. Was it cold in here? It felt more like…like he was being watched. In his current situation, that wasn't good.
"Oh my God, not here, not now…" Allison shrunk down in her seat, trying to continue driving.
"What? What?" Noah snapped his head around frantically, panic rising in his chest. Was it his father? No, no, couldn't be. Right? Oh no…No, no, no…
But what actually met his eyes was the sight of two guys perched in a Jeep behind them. Their left blinker was on as well, as if to turn into the ice cream parlor as well.
"I don't feel like dealing with those two right now," she muttered, turning into the parking lot of Half Moon Creamery. "Dash in really fast, Noah. I'll meet you—"
Noah had already bolted.
The same skin crawling, unsettling feeling returned to alight itself upon Noah's shoulders as soon as he got in line. To his right, he noticed two guys, probably the same ones, giving him a rather calculating glare. The first, who seemed a little more hostile than interested, was taller than the other by a mere inch. He had tan skin and dark hair, but Noah wasn't sure it was fully black. His eyes were brown right now, but he had a feeling that they weren't always that color. The second was fixing him with a stare than made him squirm in his skin, but before he could get a good look at him, Allison arrived.
"I'm here. Let's order and sit as far away as possible from those two."
"Are those your "boy troubles"?"
"One of them is. Scott, my ex. The paler one beside him would Stiles, his best friend. They go to our school."
He tested the name on his tongue under his breath, launching himself into deep thought.
It was late. Noah's laptop read 10:37 PM as he clacked away on it, just grateful it had survived the downpour. He'd been busy erasing all traces of social media before a knock on the door frame made him look up.
"Hey." It was Allison, wearing a tank top and some fuzzy white pants with little green frogs all over them.
"Come to say good night?"
"Yeah." She moved over to plunk herself on his desk. "Dad says your start school tomorrow."
"Fun," he replied dryly, shutting the laptop.
"Listen. Is there something I should know? About why you're here?" She fixed him with a searching, unyielding stare.
Noah froze. Should he tell her? "Uh, well…"
"Noah, what is it?"
"Okay, well…" He stood up, beginning to edge her out of the room. "I uh…don'texactlyrunthestraightrace GOOD NIGHT COUSIN ALLISON!" And then he slammed the door in his beloved cousin's face and leaned against it, trying to calm his heart rate. That would just have to suffice for now.