'Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
Chapter 29: Refocusing
"What the hell did you do to me?!" was the first thing Sherry heard when she entered Scott's house. In the bedroom, an unfamiliar boy scrambled away from Scott, his eyes wide and hands groping for the safe firmness of the far wall.
"You'll be all right," Scott said, unconcerned with the boy's wellbeing.
"There's blood!"
He gritted his teeth. "You'll heal."
Lydia scolded, "Scott—"
"He'll be fine!" Scott exploded, scaring everyone in the room. "Listen! I think it worked. I saw something." His eyes flicked, conjuring up the memory he must have just stolen from the new boy. "There were tunnels," he said, grabbing a scrap of paper from the side and scribbling madly. "Pipes along the walls. There were these huge blue pipes at the entrance. Two on both sides."
Stiles nodded slowly, revelation written over his face. "Wait a second," he said, holding a hand up. "I know this. I've seen this before. That's one of the tunnels I used to skateboard in." He turned to Scott, eyes communicating a message. "Remember my dad caught me one time and told me to never go back?"
"It's the water treatment plant," Lydia said.
Scott refocused on everyone. "That's where they are. That's where we'll find Liam and Hayden."
Abruptly, Scott tugged on a jacket and barreled down the stairs. Sherry jumped out of the way to avoid getting trampled.
"Scott! Scott, slow down." Stiles reached out to him, carefully stepping around Sherry. "Just think for a second, okay? Mason shouldn't be going."
"Liam's my best friend," Mason argued. "I'm going."
Irritated, Stiles turned on the boy. "Oh, did you suddenly get super wolf powers? I wasn't aware of that development."
Scott stilled reluctantly, bouncing anxiously on his toes. "Well, if you're not going, I could use the help."
"No," Stiles replied. "I'm coming just as soon as I talk to my dad. They're moving the body and he wants to make sure that this time no one steals it."
"What body?" Sherry questioned. "The one supposedly left by Kira?"
The silence confirmed her suspicions, making her consciousness feel heavy.
"How's he gonna do that?" Malia continued, pretending she hadn't said anything.
"I don't know. But whoever took the last one was strong enough to flip my Jeep."
"We can bring Theo."
Everyone turned to stare at him. The boy backed up, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe I better stay here. You know, in case the Doctors decide to make a house call for Corey."
"Scott," Lydia interrupted, "Stiles is right. We need to slow down and think."
Scott's eyes flared. "I am thinking," he retorted. "About how Liam and Hayden could already be dead."
Lydia's expression plead with him. "You could've hurt him, Scott. Really hurt him."
Theo set a hand on Sherry's shoulders. "Don't scare her."
Offended, she quickly shook him off. "I am not a baby."
He gave her a look, as if reminding her of their earlier conversation about her gullibility. "You really are."
"She's not a child, okay?" Mason interjected. "You all should stop treating her like one."
"Thanks," she said, although his defense was almost ironic.
Scott tapped his phone, distracted. "I have to find Liam."
Mason nodded, and he and Malia turned to follow Scott out the door.
"Hey," Stiles blurted to Malia. "Text me. For anything."
"I got it."
"Anything at all," Stiles pressed. "Okay?"
She nodded tersely and shut the door. Lydia sighed, unhappy with the entire state of things.
"Alright," said Stiles, turning back to the four remaining. "I'm going to talk to my dad. If you get any new information, let me know." Then he, too, left.
Sherry looked to Lydia and Theo just as Corey did. He looked even more confused than she did, which she absentmindedly marked as an accomplishment. "What now?"
Lydia studied Corey, making him gulp. "We see if Corey can remember anything else."
"I can't," he said, blinking quickly.
"Don't say that until you've tried." She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the kitchen.
In a low voice, Theo said, "We'll leave as soon as we find them."
"Leave?"
"To Mexico. For your mom. Remember?"
"What if we don't find them?"
"Trust me." His eyes were wide, earnest. "We will."
In the kitchen, Corey's hands were clenched around a red apple, still unbitten and with the tiny sticker. Lydia stood over him, examining the spot on his neck where Scott's claws had dug in.
"It healed," he guessed. "Didn't it?"
"Yeah. Completely."
"Okay, then," he said, standing up. He let the apple roll over the table top. "It's been fun. Especially the part where a werewolf forced his way into my brain with his claws." His words were confident but he was not, his feeling betrayed by the tremor in his voice and the panicky way his eyes jumped like fleas around the room.
"I don't think leaving is such a good idea, Corey," Theo said. He sounded not unlike a kidnapper or a mafia boss. "You know, Lydia's a Banshee."
"It means she can tell when someone's close to death," Sherry explained in turn.
"Lydia, what happens if he walks out that door?"
She caught on a little late. "It's bad," she said in a voice that clearly meant she was fibbing. "Very bad."
Corey scoffed, still sounding terrified. "I'll take my chances."
"Then give us a better chance at finding our friends," Lydia said.
"What else did you see? Come on, Corey, there had to be something else."
He sighed. "There was the hospital. And they took me out of my room."
"And then where?"
"The tunnels." His arms were hugged around his front. "Like I already told you. That's it."
"Yeah. Nothing after that?"
"No."
Theo shook his head, still not satisfied. "Well, there has to be more. Think." He moved closer, setting an assertive hand on his shoulder. "Corey, for one minute, just think!"
"There was a basement," Corey allowed finally.
"Where? Like, in a building?"
"A house. It was old, covered in dust and there was a broken stone wall with a large hole in it. Like a bomb went off."
"Lydia," Theo realized. "The werewolf with the talons. The one who attacked Scott!"
"Didn't Parrish say that he smashed through the wall of a basement? Wasn't it something like that?"
"Parrish did what?" Sherry exclaimed.
"No," Theo said. "It was exactly that."
Before Sherry could even think to ask him what he was talking about, Theo was out of the house like an invisible wind.
Bewildered, she turned to Lydia. Lydia sighed. "We'll just have to wait until someone calls."
"But I want to help!"
"Don't you think I do, too? But until you think of something you can do, I suggest you go home."
Sherry gaped. "Why are you treating me like a baby, Lydia? I'm sure you were fighting monsters two years ago, when you were my age."
Corey edged back.
"Two years ago I was stupid and naive," Lydia said. "You're not any different." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "It doesn't matter anyway. Theo ran off and none of us here have useful skills. Don't you have things to do tomorrow?"
Begrudgingly, Sherry allowed herself to realize that Lydia was once again right. "If anything happens, let me know, okay?" she pleaded. "I just want Hayden and Liam to be alright."
Lydia nodded, face still sullen and solemn. "Me too."
Her house was empty and quiet at night, devoid of any life but the wilting lawn out front, dehydrated by the endless California drought. The tiles under her socked feet were frozen after she slipped off her sneakers, the temperature about ten degrees colder than the air outside. Parrish must have left the air conditioning on.
She pulled a tattered old JanSport from the hall closet, the navy blue faded to a greyish brown from years of use. Into it she stuffed anything she thought she might need in Mexico: a flashlight, batteries, matches, sunscreen, bug repellant. She even threw in deodorant and a bottle of bleach, just in case. In her upstairs room, she scavenged for clean jeans and a sturdy zip-up jacket. She stuffed in shorts and a tank, too, just in case Mexico got too hot. She grabbed money — she wasn't sure how much she'd need — and retrieved Braeden's handgun from her desk.
All she had to do now was wait. She settled into the sofa seat closest to the front door and pulled out her homework, scratching mindlessly at calculus problems while keeping an eye on her phone. No notifications yet.
She doodled "derivative" in loopy handwriting, decorating the lines. She checked again. Still no notifications. She sighed.
What felt like hours later, the garage door rumbled, and Parrish stepped into the house. He was tired, dark circles surfacing beneath his skin, and his sandy hair was stringy with perspiration. "Hey, Sherr," he said, and perused the refrigerator.
"Hey, Jordan." She watched him for a moment, wondering what kind of crime he handled today. Or what kind of paperwork. "If I wanted to protect myself from random supernatural creatures, what chemical warfare could I use?"
"Pepper spray comes to mind," he said, not even questioning why she would ask. "Maybe hydrochloric acid or furniture polish. Bleach. Liquid nitrogen? Or a Molotov cocktail."
"Do you have any of those?"
He nodded. "Check my glovebox or trunk. I might have something under the bathroom sink."
"Thanks, Jordan."
"No problem."
"I can stop by somewhere to get some other things, if you want," he offered. "How soon do you need them?"
"About now."
This, finally, got his attention. He paused midway through his bite of the leftover American Chinese food Sherry hated. It tasted nothing like the real, home style version to her. "Alright," he said, swallowing his noodles. "I'll need a little more coffee, but I get it for you."
"You're the best," she yawned. "I owe you."
Parrish twirled his car keys around his finger and headed back for the garage. "That's what family's for, Sherr. To guide you on the path to suicide."
The door slammed and she was alone once more. She rolled off the couch and picked herself up, heading out to search the house for some of the things he'd suggested. He returned half an hour later, his arms laden with jugs of clear liquid and metal vials of acid. They clattered on the kitchen counter as he let go.
"This one's hydrochloric acid," he said, pointing to one of them, and went on to name the rest. The last was what looked like a Gatorade water cooler, except that it was silver and vaguely threatening. "This is liquid nitrogen. You know how to handle it, right?"
She nodded. "I can't believe you trust me with all this."
"I'd better, or I'll be facing child endangerment laws. You're sensible."
"Thanks." She wondered whether he'd say the same thing about Scott, or about Lydia.
Parrish crumpled his Starbucks cup and dropped it in the trash bin. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if anything life-threatening happens."
She agreed and started placing her newly acquired chemicals in a suitcase until she heard the door slam. Then she plopped back onto the couch and searched up Molotov cocktail recipes on her phone.
Finally, the doorbell rang. Theo stood on the dirty doormat, grinning. "Liam and Hayden are safe for now."
"Oh, thank God," she breathed.
"Ready to go?"
"No. But when am I ever?"
The roads at night were something different altogether. The street lamps flickered, casting quick yellow dashes upon the midnight asphalt. She couldn't see clouds, or colors, or crops, but she didn't care. The drive was exhilarating, the frozen wind slapping her skin when she lowered the windows and the warm tickles of ventilated air pressing against her when she closed them. Theo sang loudly along to the classic rock songs blaring from the radio of his dad's car, belting misheard lyrics to pop songs whenever ads came on just for the fun of it. Sherry, who wasn't one to sing in public, just smiled blissfully at him. When her eyes closed and her neck cramped from her bad sleeping positions, her good mood still couldn't be defeated.
The dusty Toyota bumped over the empty expanses of road. They passed by quiet towns, stinky farms, and as the sun rose, the Mexican border. Getting past border patrol was easier than she'd anticipated, and soon the reliable old car puttered to a stop somewhere in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Deserts of golden sand and faded cacti unfolded around her, the sun's rays reflecting off the bits of broken glass scattered here and there on the ground. A town rose from the desert, shambled structures shedding their paint and whitewashed adobe edifices stood sturdily like sentinels. Life trickled through the marketplace and out the doors of bright restaurants.
"Follow me," Theo gestured. She did.
He lead her into the town, where margarita glasses seemed ubiquitous. Almost everyone walking about had alcohol on them, and the tantalizing smells of tortillas and spices wafted through the air. Through the town they went, until at last they arrived at an imposing building that seemed to have no windows whatsoever. Finally, Sherry realized where she was.
Tugging frantically at Theo's arm, she pleaded, "Can I stay outside? Please?"
"There's nothing to be scared of, Sherry."
Her stomach twisted. "But you know. You know why I don't want to go in!"
"I'm here," he consoled. "I won't let anyone get to you. Not even the Calaveras."
