Hellooooo world! It has been way too long, like, almost two and a half years long. Long story short, life got busy, and when life gets busy you forget about things like fan fictions and then when life isn't busy how are you supposed to remember? Luckily I had written down a few key plot points of where I wanted the story and Emma as a character to go, so I sat down, rewatched some old episodes and got writing again. Also, admittedly, I was finally persuaded to pick this back up because of how awesome you guys are? When I had originally posted chapter 7 back in the Stone Age we had just broken 1,000 story views and now it's over 5,600 like what I love all of you dearly? Anyway, nothing motivates quite like guilt so here I am, right back in the saddle where I belong. Hope you enjoy it!
Emma hadn't necessarily meant to be that harsh with Lydia, and yet, didn't she deserve it? Was it not just desserts for her to experience even just a taste of the torture she had put her through? Her session with Ms. Morrell was silent that day, not being willing to speak for fear that she may say more than intended in the heat of the moment.
Lydia had kept her distance after that, opting to spend lunch studying or at the other end of the table. Emma monitored her portion sizes like a prison guard in the wake of their altercation, not wanting to provide her with cannon fodder. With the exception of the poisonous air between the two, nothing exceptionally different had happened. It was both disturbing and confusing considering another two people had been found dead, doctors this time. It was strange to Emma, how could so many terrible murders transpire and yet no one bats an eye? It seemed to her that everyone thought it was just another day in the increasingly bizarre Beacon Hills. Then there was that horribly aggressive girl – Cora? While Emma admired her fire it seemed to her that maybe Cora's head was a little too hot. The twins, Aiden and Ethan, seemed to go through phases. When the cross country team had come back from their away meet it almost seemed as though they had worked out their differences, but now everything was back to dirty glances – and Lydia was hooking up with Aiden regardless. So, maybe a lot had happened.
As Emma approached the lunch table that day, she noticed it was emptier than usual.
"Hey, where's Boyd?" Her voice cut through a silence she hadn't known was there. "Stiles...anyone?"
Scott pushed his food around his plate absentmindedly, "He's not coming in today."
There was a stillness in the air, a residual effect from their stale interaction. No one wanted to talk.
"Has...has anyone called to check on him? See if he's ok?"
"No." The conversation ended.
That lunch period was horridly uncomfortable. Emma's skin was crawling the worst it had since she returned, pleading with her to flee. There was no winning though, either she left and it was painfully obvious to them, or she stayed and it was just as obvious that she wasn't eating. No, she couldn't eat. Not when there was nothing else to distract them, each bite would be scrutinized. Maybe that was fine though, no one else seemed to be eating.
Slowly but surely lunch period came to a close. Everyone departed in such a haze, no one bothered to question why she was once again spending the next block with Ms. Morrell. Unsurprisingly Emma's time spent in her office wasn't any more eventful than usual. Standard questions were answered verbatim as she spent most of the time silently analyzing the groups strange behavior.
"Do you think he's dead?" The question was something Emma had meant to keep in her head. Morrell seemed caught of guard by her outburst, even if only for a split second before her placid expression returned.
"Is who dead?"
"Boyd. Vernon Boyd. He didn't come to school today and I just thought maybe with all of the crazy – "
"Ms. Richards, you mustn't get ahead of yourself. Just because Vernon didn't come to school doesn't mean he's dead. I...shouldn't be discussing this, but his grandmother hasn't heard from him nor the Reyes family heard from Erica. We all know how close those two were and the police suspect that, wherever they are, they're together."
There it was again though, too present to ignore. Years of sugar coating had left Emma with a particularly keen sense for the full truth so she knew when she wasn't hearing it. The same went for everyone at lunch, why weren't they telling the truth? Did they think that she couldn't handle it, that she was too fragile? Aside from the deflection, however, there was another layer to the mystery: if her friends knew something, if Ms. Morrell did...why didn't anyone else? What were they hiding?
Emma had already missed the starting bell for next period by the time she left the guidance office. The halls were empty, or at least they should have been until she saw Scott and Stiles come barreling out of the stairwell after Ethan. With everything that had been running through her head she just knew there was something going on, so she followed as silently as possible. None of them had seen her.
It wasn't the echoing of shaking lockers or the clamoring of dropped weights that drew her to the boys locker room. It was the screaming.
"Aiden, Aiden stop!"
When Lydia's voice rang through her ears she slid to a halt, peering through the small window on the door. What she saw she almost couldn't believe. Not Scott and Ethan holding Aiden back or Stiles hovering over an obviously injured Cora, it was Aiden's eyes. Red, practically glowing eyes.
She'd seen things at the institution, things she and the other patients wrote off as after effects of the drug cocktails they swallowed every day. This wasn't the institution though, and there were no prescriptions to be spoken of.
What in the hell was going on in Beacon Hills?
She couldn't look any of them in the eye the rest of the day, the ones that were there anyway. Stiles and Cora disappeared, Isaac and Allison had never shown up.
Someone else had been taken, this time a teacher. Mr. Westover. Emma had heard enough of Stiles' mumbling about patterns in the last murders to get her thinking, but a deputy and a teacher? So far the connections had been fairly obvious. It grated on her nerves for the rest of the day and continued to bother her as she made her way out of the building after final bell. A group of middle schoolers brushed past her, heading inside for the after school program held at BHHS. She remembered going to that same program when she was their age with Scott and Stiles, it had been the first time that they met –
Tara. Deputy Tara Graeme.
As the realization that the trend this time was teachers hit her, she whipped back toward the building. Student council was hanging a banner over the school sign like a flag over Tara's grave. The memorial recital tonight would be full of teachers remembering Tara and Westover. Full of potential victims.
What could she do though? Despite her history with the Sheriff she knew he wouldn't believe her, not without any proof beyond a hunch. Still, she had to try.
"Sheriff?" Emma questioned meekly as she slid into his office. She's seen the state uniforms and FBI badges outside. Whatever was happening had reached a tipping point. His forehead wrinkled deeply as he barely looked up from the files in front of him. He looked like he hadn't slept well in days.
"Hey, kid. You know I'd be happy to see you any other day but I'm neck deep in these murders and – "
"I know, this is actually about them..."
He sighed, dragging his hands down his face in an attempt to refocus. "Make it quick."
"I just think there should be good coverage at the school tonight for the recital."
"What does this have to – "
"It's teachers this time, Sheriff. First Tara, now Westover. I know you taught us it's three that makes a pattern but there's only ever been three before the trend changes."
His mouth formed a tight line as he listened to her explain, shuffling lightly through a stack of archive files from Beacon Hills Memorial.
"You've been hanging around Stiles too much...listen. If it makes you feel better, I'll work that detail myself. Deal?"
Her shoulders slumped, but at least someone who had heard her out would be there.
"Sure thing, I guess I'll see you tonight."
As expected, the auditorium was brimming with teachers from across the district. Emma stood against the rear wall observing the situation. She was slight and unassuming, the crowd paid her no mind. However, she played plenty mind when the group of people she'd begun to consider her friends started arriving. Like her most of them hung to the back of the audience, observing. Calculating. The concert had started and the sound of voices dulled, but Emma kept scanning the room. It couldn't possibly happen here, could it? Not in front of all these people. She saw Lydia's phone light up before she walked out into the hall, alone. Waiting there she questioned whether Scott would follow her, but as the minutes passed he stayed still.
"Hey, you see where Lydia went?" Emma's whisper caught him off guard. He was on edge.
"Uh yeah, think she went to go talk to Aiden."
She couldn't have though, Aiden was sitting just a few rows in front of them with his brother. Eyeing the crowd one last time, Emma darted out the same door she'd seen Lydia slip out of. From here on it was a guessing game. Did she go upstairs? All the way out to the other wing? Scurrying past room after room she checked each with laser precision, where had she gone? The minutes ticked by and still no sign of her. Had she left the building? Emma had her hand on the fire door handle and froze as she heard a scream, one of the most terrifying, ear shattering screams she had ever heard in her life. She was sure it was Lydia as she followed the echos reverberating through the empty halls. The science wing for sure, figures. As she climbed the stairs there was another scream, if you could even call it that. It was guttural, animalistic. It sent a chill through her entire body but still she pressed forward. She needed to find Lydia. When Emma rounded the corner into the hallway she could see one open door. That had to be the one, that had to be where Lydia was. She ran for it, breathing ragged in anticipation and found not just Lydia tied to a chair but also an enraged looking Ms. Blake.
"Lydia!" She called out, reaching forward for the strawberry blonde. Surely Ms. Blake had found her here, helped stop whatever was about to happen to her. At least, she was sure, until she was sent careening back into the hallway by the teachers desk that very same Ms. Blake shoved to block the door. Scrambling back to her feet Emma ran back to the door, pounding on it, screaming desperately to the occupants inside.
"Ms. Blake please! I don't know what's going on but you have to stop!" Hot tears stung at her eyes as she followed where her literature teacher was walking. Sheriff Stilinski had his gun pointed at her, Scott unconscious on the floor. "Please just stop! Leave Scott alone, leave them all alone!" Ms. Blake drove the knife in Stilinski's shoulder deeper. What could she do against a solid wooden door and a two hundred pound desk? Still, Emma rammed into the door repeatedly. It hadn't been locked or even closed entirely, but she was still too small, too weak. Horror stretched across her face as the Sheriff was pushed toward the window, closer and closer still. Then she heard the glass break.
"SHERIFF!"
The table dislodged from the door frame. How had she even managed to do that? It didn't matter, she realized, as she flung herself across the floor and started unbinding Lydia from the chair. Lydia said nothing, made no sounds or movement as Emma fumbled with the knots and tape. Her hands were sweating from the ordeal, nails bit short from her anxious habit.
"Dad?!" Stiles screamed, sliding across the room. Had he heard her screaming after him? Of course he did, she realized, as he looked to her with wide eyes. Emma had few words for him.
"I don't – I don't know why – she just – and then – " Emma motioned toward the broken window and he ran for it.
Scott, visibly injured, started lifting himself off of the floor. Emma had tuned them out as she pulled Lydia out of the chair. Even in a pile on the floor was better than staying where someone had just tried to kill you. A bright red mark already stained her throat where the garrote had been pulled taught. She was lucky to be alive.
"She took him, Stiles. She took him."
So welcome back to Hero Complex! As I mentioned, it's been a while since I sat down with this fic. I'm not really sure if my writing style has changed a lot in the last few years, but I'm probably a little rusty on the characters so I hope to have that ironed out by the next chapter. Let me know what you guys thought!
