Chapter 23 – Psychoanalyzed

"I cannot believe you drugged me and left me there!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hello pot, I'm kettle." I sat up in the hospital bed, wincing as my bruises and sore muscles interacted. "Newsflash: we're both black."

Lydia gave that half a second's thought while her lips shook in suppressed anger. Her voice dropped to a frantic hush. "Okay, first of all: I wasn't exactly in control of my own actions last night. Second of all," her voice rose as I tried to retort, "you left me in the middle of nowhere, without a phone or a car or anything at all besides cupboards full of cereal and instant noodles. I had to walk to the nearest gas station in these!" She lifted her foot to show the ratty old sneakers on her legs, my spare pair.

"So you literally walked a mile in my shoes," I quipped and for a second it looked like she was going to smack me.

"A mile would be okay, Cassie. I can walk a mile. Do you know how far it is to the nearest gas station from your house, Cassie, do you?" She pointed her finger at me. "I walked six miles! I woke up, all alone in the creepiest house in this hemisphere, walked six miles to the nearest gas station in shoes that I'm pretty sure developed their own ecosystem and ended up having to get my dad to pick me up, because everyone else I knew was stuck at a hostage situation at the Sheriff's station!"

"Gee, I'm sorry our emergency inconvenienced you," I said sardonically and she rolled her eyes.

"Do you know how scared I was?" she said, now pointing at herself instead. "First I hear the Sheriff's station was under attack by terrorists and next thing I know a nurse answers when I call your cell phone?"

"It's funny," I said, tilting my head sideways. "It sounds like you care, but you're still making it all about you."

Lydia and I held each other's eyes in a drawn out staring contest. Her nostrils flared slightly. "I had a rough night."

"Really? Because being held at gunpoint by a madman? A lot more therapeutic than you'd imagine," I said sarcastically, gesturing to my state in the hospital bed. I didn't even remember how I got there – I remembered the kanima taking off and then the pain before I woke up here, connected to one of those scary beepy-beep-machines. Finally, the nurses told me that they were keeping me under observation: for subdued shock, side effects of the fainting spell or any other trauma I might have experienced.

The Sheriff came in around lunch, his head wrapped in a turban-like bandage, and we talked for a while. He told me that police officers – state troopers, not his men – would come and ask me some questions. He assured me that they were obligated to leave me alone if I wasn't up for it.

"Have they captured him yet?" I was talking about Matt, who I imagined must be a nationally wanted fugitive, and not Jackson, who I think we needed the Navy SEAL to take down.

The Sheriff was halfway out the door, clearly in conflict with himself, but he ended up shutting the door to my room coming back inside. He ran his hand over his face in a tired manner. "Police fished his body out of the river just a few hours ago."

I didn't recognize my own voice. "Body?"

He nodded, not looking my way. "I'm headed over there now. Well, as soon as they get this thing off my head." He pointed at the head wrap, smiling halfway. He meant it as a joke, but to me 'that thing' was the ultimate proof that Matt might have it coming. He attacked the Sheriff!

The Sheriff's words had me mulling until Lydia showed up, unshowered and pissed off. Who killed Matt? And what would happen to Jackson?

"Cassie?" Lydia's touch brought me back. I blinked at her, like I didn't know she was there. She withdrew her hand slowly with a concerned look. "You zoned out."

"Sorry." I fidgeted with the thingy attached to my hand. "Just a lot to process, you know."

"I know," she said, sitting down in the visitor's chair. "Well, look on the bright side. Now you get to waste a few hours every week talking to Ms. Morrell."

"I'm more interested in talking to you," I told her and her face grew scared. She looked down at her own hands and nodded. "Lydia, you need to tell me-"

"Not here!" she snapped. Her tone got softer. "Not here, it's not...we can't talk about it here."

She looked more human than I'd ever seen her – dirty, tired, yesterday's makeup on. I know it wasn't much, but the fact that she came here instead of putting herself together actually meant something. For a second, I hated Mrs. Martin and Grandaunt Hester equally. Mrs. Martin for separating us in the first place and Grandaunt Hester for keeping us apart. We weren't mean to be apart.

I reached my hand out and she didn't hesitate before taking it in her own. Lydia was closer to me than any cousin or sister; she was practically a part of me. She squeezed my hand, set her jaw tightly. This time nothing was going to tear us apart.

"Oh thank gods." I wrapped myself around Stiles' neck the very second I got close enough and hugged him like my life depended on it. "You're okay. Thank gods." He didn't say anything, just hugged me back, rubbing my shoulder gently. A floodgate opened and before I knew, I cried into his shirt, a mixture of relief and pent-up adrenaline.

When we pulled back, me sniffling away the last tears, he held both hands on my shoulders and looked me up and down. His face was unusually serious. "You okay?"

I just nodded, didn't trust my voice at the moment. I met his eyes and they were set in a hard stare. I don't know if he was angry or just tense from last night, but something was different from the Stiles I knew. He didn't smile.

The Sheriff offered me to sleep in the Sunflower Room again. Stiles was here to pick me up. I winced slightly every time I took a step, but tried to hide it from him because I had a suspicion he would steal a wheel chair for me in a heartbeat. He helped me into the car – I used his shoulder as support to lift myself into the seat and he stayed until the seatbelt was on.

Without a word, he started up the dinosaur roar of the engine and I thought back to when Lydia went missing last time, when he drove me to their house and how everything had changed since then. Everything came around in circles.

"What you said to Matt…" Stiles didn't look at me, kept both hands on the steering wheel and glared out onto the road. "About lungs collapsing, being on the brink of death…" He trailed off.

"You heard that?" I asked and shifted in my seat. "I didn't see-"

"I was on the floor." His voice was cold and solid like concrete. "I was on the floor, paralyzed, watching Matt knock my dad out, watching him threaten to kill people I care about, totally helpless to do anything about it." His eyes were hard, but shone with unshed tears.

"Stiles." I put my hand on his shoulder; unable to put words to the comfort I wanted to give him. "Stiles, nothing about this was your fault."

"I know," he said simply, but didn't shrug my hand away. "It's Matt's. And now he's dead, for real this time, and he won't need to live with what he did."

Stiles told me everything, beginning to end. Matt falling into the pool at the birthday party, convincing the Sheriff that Matt was the real killer, finding footage of him at the hospital, and then Matt showing up and killing everyone at the police station. He listed them by names. "Tanya, Bradford, Kevin and Larry." His voice cracked. "They didn't have anything to do with this, didn't know anything, they were just killed because we-"

"They died at the hands of a madman," I pointed out.

"I know." Stiles' hands gripped tighter at the wheel. "I know, but that doesn't really make a difference to Tanya's parents or Bradford's daughter or Kevin's new wife or to anyone at all really. And Matt didn't even care."

I didn't interrupt him further and he talked the whole way back to the Stilinski house. He was angry, hurt and felt guilty for not telling his dad the whole truth. I knew how he felt – I tried not to lie or twist the truth too much when the State Troopers came to take my statement, but it was frustrating. I knew we had to protect Scott and to an extent, Derek and his pack, but that also meant we couldn't tell anyone about the Argents or who my prime suspect for killing Matt was.

At first I thought Derek caught up with him, but drowning wasn't his style. There was not a poetic bone in Derek's body and he would revert to tearing Matt's throat out, either with teeth or claws. He was not the killer. Scott would never have killed anyone in the first place, so that left the Argents. Or particularly Gerard Argent, our principal.

Stiles patiently helped me inside and upstairs. The whole day had passed and I was exhausted, bruised and worried. Worried, because we still didn't know what happened to Jackson, I still didn't know what happened to Lydia and I still had this feeling that the worst was yet to come, as Dr. Deaton said.

Stiles asked me about Lydia. I sighed, dragging my hand through the matted tresses of my hair. "Her Mom came back from the business trip, not happy that the house was crashed and someone had to call the police to her daughter's seventeenth birthday party." Mrs. Martin had literally dragged Lydia out of my room at the hospital, not even pausing to look at me. I didn't take it too hard.

"What happened, exactly?" Stiles asked. He stood with arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe. "What was in that punch?"

"I'm not sure," I said, answering his first question. "I found her in the woods. She says she had no idea what she was doing."

"Like when she went missing after the Winter Formal, one month ago."

"Yeah, something like that."

Stiles' face was hard when he looked at me. This was important to him. "Do you believe her?"

I sighed deeply, closing my eyes as I exhaled. "I- I don't know. She was terrified, I can tell you that."

His eyes didn't soften. "Did you drink the punch?"

He thinks I was part of it. He thinks Lydia and I did this together.

I nodded.

"What'd you see?"

I broke eye contact, looked out the window, steeling myself for his reaction. I needed him to believe me so I had to tell the truth.

"I saw myself dying."

Although Ostara is the celebration of birth and fertility, death was all around us. The Sheriff deputies? Dead. Matt? Dead. Allison's mother…?

Dead.

"Cassie, do you know why you're here?"

Inside of me? Dead.

"Cassie?"

Sound came back like water poured through the drain. I blinked several times, taking in my surroundings, my companion. "Yes?"

Ms. Morrell tilted her head slightly, no discernable expression on her face. "Do you know why you're here?"

"The school is obligated to provide crisis counseling for its students." I only learned about Mrs. Argent's suicide yesterday morning, the Sheriff thought we ought to know before we went back to school. I wondered if Allison had already been to one of these sessions, I didn't see her at school yesterday. Couldn't say I blamed her.

Ms. Morrell acknowledged my answer with another tilt of her head. "Correct, although this goes beyond legal obligations. You're here for yourself, first and foremost."

Stiles had barely said a word the last few days of spring break. He spent hours inside his room, let me in if I asked, but didn't hide that he'd rather not want me there. His session was after mine; he would miss lacrosse practice because of it. The school wouldn't let us switch.

"How have you been, the last few days?" Ms. Morrell sat like a statue in her chair, not taking notes or looking at papers, the very epitome of an attentive listener.

I spent the days at the Stilinskis. I only got my car back from the police yesterday when they concluded it would be useless to further their investigation, but the Sheriff hadn't even acknowledged that I didn't actually live with them, never once brought up that I should go back to the House. "That's a very generic question."

"One that you're avoiding," Ms. Morrell noted with a hint of smile on her lips. I didn't like her. "How is your sleeping pattern?"

I could not get hold of Lydia for the last few days, had yet to hear exactly what happened during the birthday party and the hours after. I suspected her radio silence had more to do with Mrs. Martin than Lydia herself. No worries, right? I would see her later, in class.

"Cassie?" Ms. Morrell gently encouraged me.

"Okay, I guess. I go to bed, I sleep, I wake up." Only because I drink two cups of anise tea to protect myself from harmful dreams. If only I could get Stiles to drink it – he was a zombie these days, sometimes I woke just from his crashing around in the other room. The Sheriff wasn't home much either, working long shifts and tying up the loose ends of losing your entire staff to a madman.

"You don't dream?"

I shook my head, looking at her desk instead of her. "Not that I remember."

Another thing I could not remember was how I got to the hospital. I assumed the Sheriff or Scott brought me there, but they both disconfirmed it and that had me wondering if the lingering sensation of hot skin was more than a hallucination. Had Isaac really been there?

"You know, dreams are the mind's way of healing, sorting through your thoughts and subconscious. It's the main reason insomniacs go psychotic - they're unable to dream."

"I'm not psychotic."

"I'm not saying that you are, Cassie." Her voice had a tired tinge to it now. Did I remind her too much of Lydia? "I'm just pointing out that dreams are healthy, no matter how terrible they might seem right then. Think of it like ripping off a band-aid: painful at first, but then it quickly fades."

I had horrible nightmares when I was younger, when Mom still lived. Violent, morbid dreams of a life not my own, a life I was too young to understand. Ironically, they went away just after Mom died and it wasn't until Lydia got bit I started dreaming that life-like again. "Everything has a price."

Ms. Morrell did a miniscule frown, but it quickly disappeared. "Yes, I suppose that's one way of putting it." She must realize she was making little to no progress with me. "Let's talk about what happened. Did you know Matt?"

"By affiliation," I said with a shrug. "I talked to him once before." If you didn't count when he possessed Jackson at the rave.

"So you weren't friends?"

Derek and his pack had gone into hiding, not even Scott knew where they were. It was a bleak ceasefire in Beacon Hills now, each side mourning their dead, tending to their wounded, and preparing for a final battle. I couldn't work up the nerve to contact Isaac and he hadn't been in touch with me either. It was probably for the best. But he was there, he saved me.

"No," I said quietly. "We weren't friends."

These days I had trouble discerning between friend and foe, ally or enemy. The borders shifted all the time and this time the only one I felt certain about was Lydia. Even Stiles seemed distrustful of me lately. Everyone deals with pain in their own way.

"How do you feel, Cassie? Right now?"

My fingers tightened on the armrest and I rolled my neck up so I looked her in the eyes. "Like I'm wasting my time getting psychoanalyzed by a French teacher when there's others who need the help, if you can call it that, more. I'm fine, and even if I wasn't, you wouldn't be able to help me."

Ms. Morrell didn't move a muscle, not a twitch in her expression. Five – six seconds passed in silence.

"May I please leave?" I was already half-risen in my chair. She gave a nod of consent and I stomped out of her office. I ignored Stiles who gave me a curious wave and tore out to the hallway, down the stairs and into open air.

"Hyaaa." I did a sharp intake of breath and sank to the ground, letting my hair fall over my face. The feeling of someone standing on my chest subsided little by little as I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths through my nose. It was like the office, Ms. Morrell, her questions – it was all suffocating me, strangling my windpipe shut.

The ground was crumbling underneath us. My walls were breaking. It was like losing my mind.

"Hey." Warm hands on my arms, helping me to stand up, turning me around for a hug. This time Lydia held me, not the other way around, and I let her support me. She smelt of clean hair and the pillow of a loved one. I didn't cry, if you didn't count the single drop of tear that escaped my left eye and I don't know if that was of sadness, happiness or relief.

She held me until the bell rang. "Come on, we have English now."

"Can't we skip it?" I asked as she untangled herself from me. She looked immaculate as ever; the symbol of normal and I bet she spent hours making sure of that. In her eyes, behind the makeup, she was tired.

"I'm afraid that in combination with the police ending our party and the house being so thoroughly trashed Mom might actually send me away to boarding school if I miss even a single class now." She hooked her arm into mine and led me through throngs of teenagers.

"Believe me, that's the last thing she would do," I said, but didn't bother to explain how I knew that. I dropped my voice. "You said we would talk. You need to tell me exactly what happened when-"

"I know, I know," she said hastily. "But I'm kind of um, grounded now. She even takes away my phone when I get home. But I have an idea. I'm pretty sure I'll convince her how important it is for me to go to the Championship game this Saturday, after all I've never missed a single one since I started high school." She paused to roll her eyes. "And she thinks I'm still in love with Jackson."

That's because you totally are…

"What if she comes with you?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Have you met my Mom? Trust me, lacrosse game didn't even make it on the list of her least favorite activities on a Saturday night."

Still risky though – there was a guaranteed chance of werewolves at the game. It would have to be after.

"If you ladies are done with your little soiree, would you be so kind as to sit down?" our English-teacher barked at us and we both realized we'd been standing in the doorway and talking while the whole class waited for us.

I scrambled for my seat, next to Isaac's empty one, while Lydia strutted her way to the front and sat down. Mr. Christenson waited until we were fully seated and then twenty seconds extra for the effect until he started the class. He handed back the test we had before spring break, ages ago, and I did a small cheer inside. Let Lydia keep her A+, I'll be more than happy with a solid B. I automatically turned in my seat to hear how Stiles did, but then remembered he was in counseling. And Scott wasn't even there. And now that I thought about it, neither was Allison. One could only hope they were together.

Open your eyes, girl. Pay attention!

Attending classes distracted me enough throughout the day – an illusion of ordinary – but eventually it ended. Lydia had lost her car privileges for the time being and I decided to stay out of sight when Mrs. Martin came to pick her up. I waited until she was well off before I trudged over to Stiles' truck – I planned on picking my car up to-

"Are you kidding me?" I mumbled as I stared at the perfectly empty parking spot I knew Stiles parked in earlier. He left without me. I couldn't even be mad at him – his head was everywhere else lately. I fetched my phone out of my pocket, but just as I opened it, it gave a little notice of low battery and died.

I stood in the empty parking lot, no car, no phone and as I turned back to the school, Principal Argent firmly locked the double doors and didn't even bother to cast me a second glance. I dragged my palm across my face – a habit I may have picked up from the Sheriff – and groaned. "Great."

As I started walking towards the Animal Clinic, which I figured would be the closest, I tried very hard not to think the sentence: 'At least it's not raining!' because I was only wearing a light jacket and sneakers and the universe always listened, but only to the words and not the meaning behind.

The Animal Clinic was just five minutes by car and I knew Scott rode his bike there every time he worked, I presumed he did that before he got werewolf-abilities too, so it couldn't possibly be that far.

I walked forever. It started to darken, still a couple of hours to sunset though, but seriously – how could it possibly take this long to walk somewhere? And why were my shins cramping up already? Was I really that out of shape?

Okay, so after I got to Beacon Hills – a month ago – the only physical exercise I'd really done was walking in the woods after Lydia and running in cases of emergency. And how many classes of P.E did I sit out because I 'was on my period' again? Of course when I had stitches that was necessary and that one time they climbed the rock wall, but every other time might have done a little too much damage to my physical health.

At the Academy we were expected to be as physically as mentally fit and we started every day with old-school jumping jacks followed by a swim in the lake. The last bit was something that remained of old, where jumping in freezing water and keeping your wits about would possibly save your life. Don't get me wrong, I hated every minute of it, but you didn't really get a choice.

Gods, this is so boring. How on Earth do people go for walks for fun? This is not fun. This is giving me too much time to think and I've been thinking too much lately.

Maybe I should start jogging – phah, who am I kidding? I hate running and walking and every other strenuous form of exercise. Even when I was younger it was only one thing that could get me out of the armchair and move and that was dancing. Mom was a dance teacher, so naturally both Sabrina and I attended classes from when we were very young; I started ballet at two. Although at that age it's mostly just running around in a tutu-skirt and screaming. Sabrina was really good though, like at everything else she did, even competed at State. If the Academy hadn't opened she probably would have made it to Nationals.

"Finally," I muttered as the Animal Clinic came into view. I entered through the front door, setting of the little bell, and an immediate hush fell over the clinic. The animals in the back, every dog, kitten and rodent stopped their jittering. Okay, that's new. Scott told me how the animals would make a racket if say, a werewolf entered, but this was the opposite. More importantly, this didn't happen the last time I came. What changed?

"Cassie?" Scott appeared in the door that led back to the operation room. "What're you doing here? Something wrong?"

I held up my phone as evidence. "Phone dead, Stiles left school without me and I hate walking. So much. You have no idea."

"Cassie, would you come in here for a second?" Dr. Deaton's voice drifted from the back room and Scott furrowed his brows in surprise. I arched an eyebrow, looking at Scott for answers, but he just shrugged and let me through.

"Hey, sorry, I just need to use – Isaac?" Boom, my heart just shut down and started up again. Isaac, with his messy curls and long, lean body, was standing at the operating table with his hand gently on a tiny, fluffy doggie, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Dr. Deaton was busying himself with some files, but I saw the grin he tried to hide.

I froze in the door, so Scott had to gently nudge me to get past. I leaned awkwardly at some cabinets, forgetting all about why I was even here. Why was Isaac here? I thought they were gone into hiding and he wasn't able to contact me – anyone, I mean.

"Scott." Dr. Deaton picked up a folder. "D'you mind joining me up front, I need to go over this with you."

They left.

I stared at Isaac, he stared at me and the little doggie let out a pitiful whine.