Chapter One
Part II
When Stiles had headed back into his room, he'd found an old album filled with pictures from the past century. Now, here he was, sitting in an old white plush chair, flipping through the pages until one caught his attention.
It was a picture of a town being flooded. Stiles guessed that it was this very same town that he was in. The caption underneath it read: The Great Flood - here, the first waters are approaching. The river rises steadily, completely swallowing the roads.
Stiles turned the page.
A picture with four people lying under sheets, two white and two black.
He kept turning the page, until something clattered and he looked up, confused. He closed the book, setting it beside him, when something drew his attention in the mirror. He gasped and vaulted out of his seat, whipping the curtain aside to reveal . . . nothing.
But he'd swore that he'd saw someone . . . something that looked human standing behind menacingly. He glanced down and saw a puddle of water in the corner.
That was it. He was going to wait for Lydia to come back. Turns out, he didn't have to wait that long.
"It was wet, not damp, okay?" Stiles said as he showed her the floor, He stopped once he saw that there was no water, no nothing there. Was he losing his mind? "A puddle," he finished.
Lydia stepped in front of him, looking up toward the ceiling, hands on her hips. "Maybe there's a broken pipe or something."
"This is not about a broken pipe," he said.
"Stiles, this house is old." Lydia didn't want to believe him but something screamed that she should.
"I know, it's huge, it has its own weather, but this is not about bad plumbing, Lydia! There was somebody behind those curtains!"
"Maybe it was the wind," Lydia suggested.
"This wind had hands," Stiles confirmed. "You know what, we don't have to do this, okay? There's a bus that leaves tonight."
"Wait," Lydia stammered as she watched Stiles rummage through his bag. "I haven't even heard from my mom."
Stiles shot her a look. "Seriously, even if she told you your family once owned this town, is that gonna make you want to stick around? Not me." He pulled on his jacket.
"Okay, but don't you at least want to know who switched out those graves?" Lydia asked. "If that was your uncle -"
"Don't call him my uncle," Stiles snapped without meaning to. He felt bad about being this way toward her. "He's a stranger, and he clearly wants to stay that way."
"Okay, but why? Why is he lying to you? Why is he lying to me? He doesn't even know me. What is he hiding? I want answers."
A knock sounded on the door. They turned to see Ms. Morrell walk in.
"Mr. Hale would like you to join him for dinner."
Lydia could practically see Stiles' brain wheeling as he thought about it. "Uh, sorry, I've got a bus to catch."
"Sounds great," Lydia cut in. She realized that she hadn't had anything to eat since she'd been here. Coffee did not count. She crossed her arms as Stiles gave her a look of disbelief. "I'll wait here."
"If you'd like to wash up, there's a bathroom you can use down the hall. There's a tub."
"Oh, I'm more a shower kind of girl."
Ms. Morrell didn't budge. "We have a tub," she repeated. "It's deep. You won't be disappointed. I'll let your uncle know that you'll be staying. You'll be pleased."
They watched her leave. Stiles turned to Lydia. "This has to be her idea, not his."
"It's just dinner," Lydia reminded him. "Let's play nice. Maybe we'll get some answers."
_oOo_
Back in the McCall household, Scott and Isaac sat across from each other as they ate their dinner, with Melissa nowhere in sight.
"Will you be there? The parade?" Scott asked as he took another bite.
"Gotta study for a chemistry test."
Scott gave him a look. "You have all day tomorrow."
"Assigned tonight." Isaac picked up his untouched plate, before he picked up his mother's empty one, heading toward the kitchen.
"If that's for Mom, don't bother. She's already asleep."
Isaac didn't answer as he continued to pile the empty plate with spaghetti before covering it up with tinfoil and sticking it into the refrigerator.
"It'd be nice if someone from the family could be there tonight. Someone else beside me," Scott said. "I can't believe you're even going. It's -"
"You saw what was on that headstone," Isaac interrupted, slamming the door shut. "You know what this town thinks of Mom, of us."
"It's not the whole town, okay? Kira doesn't think -"
"Kira is not your friend," Isaac's voice rose, then he lowered it, feeling guilty.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"She's not," Isaac said.
"Isaac, I know who my friends are. My girlfriend, especially."
"Really? Okay, then. Maybe it's not Kira. But which one of them is missing a can of red spray paint?"
Scott shook his head, then walked out of the front door, slamming it behind him, leaving Isaac feeling worse about himself even more.
A clock chimed somewhere. Stiles, Lydia, and Derek Hale all sat around a old-fashioned table, quietly sipping their drinks.
Ms. Morrell finally brought Stiles' dish to him, gently setting it down in front of him. "Thanks."
"So," Lydia began. "This town sure likes to party. Big bash in the cemetery one night, parade on the next."
"Do you plan on attending that?" Derek asked, picking up his glass.
Lydia forced a smile. "Sure. Why not? I love a parade."
Ms. Morrell came out next with his uncle's dish. She placed it down and disappeared into the next room.
"Did you explore the town, too?" Derek asked Stiles, taking a bite.
"Did she grow up in this house?"
"Who?"
"My mother. The bedroom that you put me in - was it hers?"
Ms, Morrell drew their attention by an utensil clattering against the tabletop.
Derek stared. "It was," he confirmed finally. "Why?"
"It's just a little . . . suffocating? For a teenager," Stiles went on. "I can see why she may have wanted to run away and get married."
"I think your mother had many reasons for running away. If I'd had her imagination, I might've joined her." Derek Hale stood up, turning to the dresser behind him while retrieving something from the drawer. He held it out to Stiles with both hands. From Lydia's perspective, it looked like a photo album of some sort as Stiles took it from him. "This belonged to your mother."
_oOo_
"Last year, the French club tried to turn Don Rollen's car into a giant chocolate croissant," Allison started. "But it wasn't really well executed, and everyone thought it was a giant exploding diaper."
"Heh," Chris Argent said. "Well, you had a few of those. Ha ha ha! Sorry, did I say that out loud?"
"Oh, come on, I'm still eating here," Victoria Argent told him. "I don't know about you, but mine is getting cold. I'm gonna go reheat.
"No, no, let me," Chris started, rising from his seat, but his wife stopped him with a cold look.
"I remember where the microwave is." They watched as she got up from her seat and headed into the kitchen.
Chris leaned toward his daughter, talking in a lowered voice. "I don't want to do this in front of your mother, but we need to talk about Isaac."
"Wow, am I allowed to say his name now? What do you want me to do, treat him like a stranger?"
"I told you to put some distance between you."
"You did that for me, Dad," Allison corrected angrily. "He can read."
"Look, Allison, he's made some bad choices. This isn't the same boy who used to sit in our den playing -"
"Yes, it is!" Allison retorted. "If he lied to the police, he did it to protect his mother."
"My job is to protect you. I don't want you seeing him anymore. Period."
_oOo_
Stiles and Lydia entered Stiles' mother's old room after finishing dinner. Stiles held his mother's book in his arm, holding it against his chest.
"Do you have any idea what made him break down and give it to you?"
Stiles sat down on the pink couch behind him, opening the book to the front page. "Um, maybe Morrell convinced him? She wants to talk, I can tell, every time she looks at me."
"Really? Every time she looks at me, I feel like someone's taking a potato peeler to my skin," Lydia mumbled. She sat down next to him, watching him flip through his mother's photo album.
"She knows more about my family than I do." Stiles froze, stopping at a picture of a smiling girl staring back at her.
Lydia leaned forward. "Who's that?"
"My mother, I think."
It was quiet. Lydia, deciding that Stiles probably wanted to be left alone, changed the topic. "Well, I'm gonna go take that bath now. You gonna be okay if I -?"
Stiles nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay. Unless you wanna join? No? Okay?" Lydia smiled as she got up and collected a pair of new clothes from her bag before disappearing into the bathroom.
As the door closed, Stiles flipped the page, he was surprised to see an envelope. Slowly, he opened it and began reading the letter to himself.
My dearest Stiles,
your father and I can't wait for you to be born,
to see your face, your eyes, your smile;
to find out what you like, what you love . . .
_oOo_
The bathroom door slammed heavily behind Lydia, causing her to be startled.
It had a latch on it, instead of a lock in the doorknob which she was used to.
She bolted the door, to prevent someone from coming in uninvited, got undressed and began to draw the running bathwater. Once, it filled up to her desired limit, she stepped inside, sinking into its warmth, closing her eyes as she rested her head back against the tub.
Something rattled but she ignored it, thinking it was just a pipe. Old pipes did do that sometimes, she knew from experience, from staying at a friend's house. Curiously, she opened her eyes, wondering what it was. Looking above, she saw nothing but the clear shower curtain around her.
She was about to relax again, when all of a sudden, the faucet turned on by itself, allowing more water to flow into the tub heavily. She leaned forward, tugging at the knobs, but they seemed to be stuck, not budging no matter how hard she pulled. Then, the shower curtain dropped on top of her.
Lydia let out a shriek, seeing someone standing above her through the sheer material, as she choked on the water underneath her. She fought and twisted, trying to get it off of her.
Dear God, she was going to die, naked in the bathtub, with someone trying to murder her for some reason.
Finally, she bolted upright, tearing the shower curtain off of her, coughing up water as she tried to catch her breath. The handles for the faucet turned off when she tried them again, stopping the water from coming through. Water dripped from her hair as she looked around wildly, wondering who the hell was in the room with her.
No one was there.
But that was impossible! Someone had to have been in this same room as her. One look at the bathroom door confirmed her fear: it was unlocked.
Someone had gotten inside.
_oOo_
"We didn't get off on this street. Are you sure the bus station is down here?" Stiles was telling her as they jaywalked a street. Probably the Main Street, but Lydia didn't care.
She wanted away from this place, no longer wanting anything to do with this creepy town whatsoever.
"Lydia!" Stiles shouted, snapping his fingers as he tried to get her attention.
Lydia snapped to, seeing Stiles looking at her with a worried expression. "What? Uh, yeah. I passed by this morning. I saw someone buying a ticket."
"Well, let's hope it wasn't the last one," Stiles said as they stepped into a crowded sidewalk filled with people hoping to see the parade. "So, uh, it wasn't just photos in the album. There was a letter from my mom. She wrote to me right before I was born. Yeah, I guess I was, um, kind of an unwelcome surprise, but by the time I was kicking, she really wanted to meet me."
"When did you read this?" Lydia asked, turning to look at him.
"While you were taking the longest bath in the history of bathing."
"I wasn't bathing," Lydia declared. "Your uncle tried to drown me."
He grabbed her arm, stopping them both in their tracks. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah, I closed my eyes, and next thing I knew I was being held underwater."
Stiles stared at her. "You know, we we haven't slept -"
"Stiles, it wasn't dozing, okay? Your wind had hands? My shower curtain had shoulders."
"Why would he go after you?" Stiles questioned, frowning.
Lydia shook her head uncertainly. "You tell me. Apparently switching those headstones wasn't enough to get us to leave."
The sound of Lydia's phone ringing drew her attention and she glanced at the Caller ID. "Oh, hey, it's my Mom. Um, I'm gonna take this. Okay, you just stay here. I'll get the tickets."
_oOo_
Isaac Lahey decided after a long time of considering, that he was going to the goddamn parade everyone was talking about. But mostly, it was for Allison.
He was about to walk out of the front door, when he noticed his mom walking around in the living room in her housecoat.
"Hey," Melissa said wearily as she saw him.
"Mom, are you having nightmares again?"
"I hate disturbing Raphael," she replied tiredly. "I wake up and he wakes up. Neither one of us falls back asleep. It's just better if I'm down here."
"If you want, I could stay down here with you," Isaac offered, It's what she used to do whenever he had nightmares about his own dad.
"So I can disturb you?"
"No, so if you wake up and you need to talk, I'm here. You always used to do that for me. Did Chris Argent tell you that Allison found a huge office space just -"
"I'm not looking to run a clinic."
"Why not? I mean, we could use another one. Nobody wants to go to Dr. Fenris anymore. He's so old!"
Melissa cracked a smile. "He's not that old."
"Mom, when he coughs, there's dust," Isaac told her. "It's like when you beat a rug."
"Well, I'm not ready to treat the whole town."
"Sure you are. We need you."
Melissa sighed deeply. "You're gonna be late."
"Mom, what can I do?" Isaac pleaded. "I wanna help. I -"
"Honey, I don't need help," Melissa interrupted gently. "I just need some time to figure it out, okay? Everyone else in my unit is gone. I don't even know why I'm here. It doesn't make any sense that I'm the only one that survived the attack. If you see Allison tonight, tell her I said hello."
_oOo_
"I made up the room across the hall from your nephew," Ms. Morrell said. "I'm guessing you'll want to be close to him."
"I don't expect them to be coming back here," Derek replied, scribbling his signature on another receipt.
Ms. Morrell paused. "It's not too late to fix this."
_oOo_
Stiles fidgeted nervously as he waited for Lydia to return.
His body whirled around as he stared into the shop's window in front of him and gasped. It was the same human-like figure he'd thought he saw in his room. But right now, he could clearly see that it was a woman, who looked like she was drenched entirely in water.
He jumped backward, bumping into Lydia.
"You okay? What just happened?"
"I thought I saw her again in the window . . . that woman from my room," he managed out. When he turned to look again, no one was there.
It was official. He had to be losing it.
Lydia looked past Stiles' shoulder and saw Allison coming off a street, heading a different direction.
"What? What is it? Is that the girl that you spoke to this morning?"
"Yeah, and our answer's in that basement," Lydia replied. "I wonder if she'd give us a little tour now that Daddy's not around."
"Well, what about the bus?" Stiles gestured with the pamphlet.
"We have time. Come on." She grabbed Stiles' hand and began tugging him toward the Beacon Hills Gazette.
_oOo_
Allison checked the watch hanging around her neck for the billionth time.
She still had time.
If all went according to plan, she would be able to make her appearance in the parade.
Thank God, she was second to last. Down here in the morgue, she could still hear the faint cheers of the bystanders and the band playing.
She flipped the yellowed page carefully, poring over the huge book lying on the table in front of her. It was filled with old newspaper clippings from the past centuries. One headline screamed A Hero's Homecoming while another page turn revealed this particular headline: Five Teens Killed, with a picture of the five teenagers and a completely totaled bus.
The sound of the door rattling startled Allison and she jumped. "Hello? Dad?"
When she received no answer, she became uneasy, a feeling sinking through her as if someone else was in the room with her. She wasn't alone.
Slowly, she rose from her seat, eyes glancing around. Nobody was coming down the stairs. She sighed, then let out a loud gasp as she whirled around upon seeing Lydia. "What the hell? You scared me to death!"
Lydia winced. "Sorry, that wasn't the plan," she said sheepishly. "Stiles, this is Allison."
Allison gave Stiles a smile, still feeling goosebumps running over her arms.
"It's kind of late to be working, isn't it?" Stiles asked.
"It's kind of illegal for you to be here, isn't it?" Allison retorted.
"Look, I'm not the only one who saw my face on a grave last night. There's also a Stiles Stilinski buried in that cemetery," Lydia explained.
"And he looks just like me," Stiles cut in.
"So they're related to you. Distant aunts, uncles -" Allison started.
"It makes sense. We get it -"
"But what doesn't make sense is that somebody doesn't want us to know about it," Lydia chimed in for Stiles.
Stiles nodded as she spoke. "Last night we saw their graves, and then when we went back today, somebody had changed them out."
Allison took a deep breath, processing all of this. "Let's find out why."
The three of them stood over the large book, scanning the newspapers for any hints, any clues for whatever had happened. Remembering Victims of Years Past, one newspaper article clipping read. They turned the page . . . and hit the jackpot.
Stiles' and Lydia's pictures stared back at them under Obituaries, with three other people's. Under Lydia's picture, it said:
Lydia Martin
June 18, 1918
A Life Cut Short
Lydia Martin, 17, was among the young people who died tragically early Saturday evening during a boating expedition . . .
Lydia stared, then turned to meet Stiles' eyes. She knew he was staring at his own picture, which basically told the same thing. "They died on the same day," Lydia murmured. "They were a couple. It was a boating accident."
"There were five of them," Stiles noted.
"How old were they?" Allison asked.
"All the drowning victims were classmates. They were seniors."
Allison paused, biting her lower lip. "Can you flip back to the week before?"
Stiles and Lydia obeyed and Allison read the headline to herself, murmuring quietly.
A War Hero Returns:
POW's miraculous story of survival.
"What?" Lydia asked confused. "What is it?"
"Allison," Stiles called softly, trying to catch the girl's attention. Whatever she was thinking must've greatly disturbed her
Stiles caught sight on a lone light bulb swinging from its wire down a corner, indicating that someone must've walked by it. "Hey, guys? I don't think we're alone down here."
"Let's get out of here."
Allison closed the book, following after Stiles and Lydia as they exited the Gazette. Unbeknownst to them, Derek Hale was watching them from behind a tree.
"Wait, guys." Allison paused, smoothing out her pageant dress. It was simple, white, only falling above her knees. "I gotta do my thing, first. You wanna come?"
Stiles and Lydia agreed.
Moments later, they watched as Allison dashed to her arriving car in the nick of time with a blond boy and an Asian girl asking, "Where the hell were you?" and Allison brushing it aside as she took her place on top of the car along the other girl. Lydia gave her a thumbs-up.
It all seemed fine and well, until suddenly, a man darted from the crowd and splashed his drink all over the girls. It looked like he'd been aiming for Allison, but his aim was completely off and ended up hitting the other girl - Kira, Lydia heard Allison say - instead.
The blond boy slammed on the brakes as the crowd gasped in shock. Kira slid out of her spot, taking off down the sidewalk with tears in her eyes.
"Kira, wait!" Allison shouted, beginning to go after her friend when Theo grabbed her arm.
"Did you see who did it?" he asked, just as Stiles and Lydia arrived.
"No," Allison replied.
"What happened?" Stiles and Lydia asked in unison. They looked at each other, surprised, but turned their attention back to the girl as she explained what happened.
_oOo_
"Please don't say 'I told you so.'" Kira stammered, wiping her tears as she bumped into Isaac.
He stared her for a moment before draping his jacket over her shoulders as he led her away from the staring and prying eyes around them. "Let's go home," he said gently. "Scott will be there."
They traveled down an empty street, walking quietly until he broke it. "Your dad asked me to stay after class last week. He told me the two hardest things in life are knowing what you want and being able to say it out loud."
"Well, it's none of his business," Kira snapped. "I finally figured out what I want. I want to leave this town and disappear from everything."
"You know, you never told me this," Isaac told her. She must've told Scott though. Although, he could understand why they never talked to each other.
"With your mom locked in a room and you lashing out at everyone who looks at you the wrong way? It's been easier to pretend that I was okay."
"Well, you know, you can always tell me stuff. I mean, I don't want you feeling like you're alone in this -"
"Since your dad died, you haven't just pushed other people away. You've cut me out, too. You've pushed away Scott when he tried to help you and -" Kira stopped, taking a deep breath. "Look, I get why you're sad, but why are you so damn mad? Same goes for you, Isaac. You don't have to go through this alone."
"I think Mom did it," Isaac confessed after a moment. He could see Kira looking at him in surprise as he continued speaking. "I think she killed my dad."
_oOo_
Allison exchanged her pageant dress for a more simpler outfit, a light green vest over a white sundress. Stiles and Lydia were in the car with her as Scott listened from the backseat, eyes searching for his girlfriend. Lydia sat in the passenger side while Stiles sat next to Scott.
"The reason why I was at the paper tonight was because of something my boyfriend's mom said," Allison began, revealing why she had been down in the basement of the Gazette. "She just got back from Afghanistan, and from what my boyfriend told me, she doesn't understand why she's here. Her entire troop was killed in an ambush, and she was the sole survivor."
"Sounds like his mom's a lucky woman," Stiles commented.
Scott looked toward him, taking his eyes off the window. "That's what it looks like."
"It must be really hard for her," Lydia said, turning in her seat to face the Hispanic boy. "I'm sorry."
"She's not telling you this story because I want you to be sorry for me and my brother," Scott started, but Allison cut him off.
"I'm telling you this story because I think you both might be a part of it. What I'm not connecting the dots. Your relatives both died just after a Beacon Hills soldier came home," Allison mused, keeping her eyes on the road. "Last year, I wrote a history paper on another Beacon Hills vet who miraculously survived an ambush, and when he came home he said exactly what your mom said, Scott. "I don't know why I'm still here. I shouldn't be alive." Tonight I found out that a few days later, five Beacon Hills teenagers were killed in a car accident. They were hit by a tree."
"So, the idea is these kids died because those soldiers got lucky like your mom?" Stiles asked Scott.
"I'm not saying it's because," Allison said. "I'm just saying it happened."
"Twice," Lydia reminded her.
"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action," Stiles remembered.
"That's profound."
"It's Goldfinger," Stiles replied, shooting Lydia a look.
"Bond?" Allison asked, cocking an eyebrow in frame in the rear view mirror.
Stiles chuckled. "Heh. Hey, how much further to that diner? I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I need some greasy fries to settle it."
"It's just over the river," Allison answered.
"So, I guess we're not making that bus?" Lydia looked toward Stiles.
He shook his head. "No, we'll catch the next one."
Allison slowed the car down as she drove, spotting the silhouette of two teenagers walking with their backs to them. "Guys, that's my boyfriend and Kira."
Stiles sighed. "Let's keep this to ourselves."
Lydia rubbed her temple. "I don't even know what "this" is."
As the car stopped, Scott jumped out of the backseat, running to his girlfriend. The two shared a passionate kiss while Isaac looked away awkwardly. He met Allison's eyes, smiled, then noticed Stiles and Lydia.
"Want a lift?" Allison asked after rolling down the passenger window. "Gonna pour any second."
Isaac's eyes flicked toward Lydia. She must've figured that he remembered her from the diner earlier. "What are you doing with her?"
Kira, stepping away from Scott's embrace, looked toward both boys as lighting flashed in the sky. "I really don't want to walk home in the rain," she said.
Isaac hesitated. "Fine."
Stiles scooted over, allowing Scott to slide in, then Kira and Isaac. They were all squished together and Lydia willed herself not to laugh. Stiles shot her a Don't you dare look.
"How was the parade?" Allison asked, her eyes on her boyfriend as he avoided looking at her. She didn't remember seeing him there and she wondered if he had went, to come and support her.
"Uh, Ally, you mind turning up the song?" Isaac spoke instead, deliberately changing the topic.
Allison smiled sadly. "Sure."
Oh, if I could go back in time
When you only held me in my mind
Just a longing gone without a trace
Derek Hale sat in his chair, pondering his next move, a glass of wine in his hand . . .
Oh, I wish I'd never ever seen your face
I wish you were the one
Wish you were the one that got away
A warning sign that reminded them that there was a Bridge Ahead. The yellow glint faded away as the sign zipped by as Allison drove on . . .
Oh, if I could go back in time
When you only held me in my mind
Just a longing gone without a trace
Oh, I wish I'd never . . .
Lydia sat up carefully, praying that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. As she peered closer, she could definitely see that someone was standing in the middle of the road.
"LOOK OUT!" Lydia shrieked, grabbing the wheel from Allison. The car spun, then vaulted through the railing for the bridge, plunging into the river below.
Muffled screams emitted from the sinking car as the ghost looked on triumphantly on the bridge before whisking away to mist, thunder crackling as rain poured down.
"Help!"
"Let's get out!"
"Help!"
The radio continued, playing the last few lyrics that were sure to be their final words . . .
. . . seen your face
I wish you were the one
Wish you were the one that got away.
As on cue, the thunder synced and ended as the last note on the dying radio finished and ended.
The first of the five has died.
Who is it?
Special thanks to:
awkwxrd, MsAwesome, and imashuckingwolf0728.
