Chapter 12: The Sportscar III

One bright side of having her car back in business was finally going back to Berkeley. There she could receive Professor Kane's utter disappointment in person instead of via e-mail. Some parts were okay — the literature survey and points of future interest — but the background chapter? Joe's shoulders tightened, even though she was well on her way back to Beacon Hills. Complete re-write. Professor Kane had underlined the parts that was worth keeping, and it was not much.

"Lose the drama and focus on the facts," Professor Kane had said while handing back the printed copy of Joe's newest draft. "Remember that this need to touch upon something new, not just re-telling of events then and now. Remember your angle. Internet, mass-media, hysteria."

Professor Kane still felt confident they could make their initial deadline, but it required more focus from Joe. Focus she did not have to spare these days. She had resisted the urge to add in that all the victims had relations to previous arsonist crime cases, because it took away too much of the animal attack-angle. Professor Kane had been dismissive about the hunt for Derek Hale — she viewed the janitor's murder completely unrelated to the string of animal attacks.

Two more bodies found, obviously torn to shreds by what the authorities were still claiming to be a mountain lion. It did not take much research to deduce it was the two last arsonists who went missing last weekend. Beacon Post had an article about how a zoologist was working with the Beacon Sheriff's station to perform an autopsy of the mountain lion Chris Argent shot in the parking lot. It might be a form of rabies that caused these normally shy and secluded animals to venture into populated areas and kill.

Joe found herself driving the highway rather than the deserted forest road. For once, she viewed the throng of other cars a comfort rather than a stressfactor. She still found herself checking her mirror all the time, as if just waiting for Derek's black sportscar to turn up behind her. Jimmy and Scott both claimed Derek was not involved in the murders, but even if he wasn't, he was the center of so many other weird stuff that had happened to her lately. Nothing added up.

Despite his stalker-ish tendencies, he did not seem obsessed with her whenever they actually met. At best, she would describe him as stand-offish, barely tolerating her presence. He was just always...there. Too many times for it to be a coincidence.

"Holy shit!"

Joe slammed on her brakes coming into an intersection. Inches in front of her, a black sportscar sped past at neckbreak speed closely followed by a light SUV. She gripped her steering wheel and tried to breathe again. She was pretty sure she had the way of right here! And she was pretty sure that was Derek Hale's car.

In the distance, she could hear sirens, but not from the car chasing him. That had just been a civillian SUV.

"All of the Argents drive pick-ups or SUVs," Joe mumbled to herself, repeating what Scott had said that night Jimmy chased them into the Preserve. Why would Argents chase Derek Hale instead of the cops? Why would Argents chase Derek at all?

She left the car running in free and called Jimmy himself. If she knew him correctly, he was somehow monitoring the dispatch central. He picked up on third ring.

"Jimmy? It's Joe," Joe explained hastily, still watching the now empty road in case of more incoming traffic. "I'm down by warehouse district, there's a bunch of sirens. You know what's going on?"

"Cops are chasing Derek Hale on foot. He's on foot." Jimmy did not hesitate when laying out what he knew. "Heading into the iron works."

On foot?

"Okay, but there's an unmarked car chasing him too. Or at least his car," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Any reports on that?"

"No, no plainclothes responded to the call," Jimmy said and she heard rustling in the background. "What car was it? Can you follow to get a picture?"

"I don't have a camera phone!" Joe exclaimed, but revved her Ford back into gear anyway. "I don't know what car! Light colored SUV!"

"Light is not a color!"

"I'm following it, goddamnit! I'll keep you posted!" she barked into the phone and cut the call before he could answer to focus on driving. With the speed those two cars had, she would never catch up with her old-time Ford Fiesta. She gambled they were heading for the iron works to intercept Derek Hale. She just needed to get close enough to see who was driving both cars.

Up ahead, blinking lights and several police cars spread out in front of a large container building. She slowed down and dimmed her headlights to avoid detection. The cops were focused the other way and she managed to make a turn without being seen. It was a maze down here, and she had to be careful not to get stuck in a dead end.

Three turns later and she was pretty sure she was lost. Large steel buildings towered over her on either side and she slowly let her car roll forwards, hoping it would open up to one of the wider alleys in here. The Ford's old spring shock absorbers groaned every time the car dipped into one of the railway tracks they used back in the day when everything shipped by trains.

Of all the stupid things, she chastised herself, this was the stupidest. She was getting so stuck on solving all these mysteries, no doubt a bad influence from the severely paranoid Jimmy Carter. The only way to justify any of this was by blaming Scott and his not-really-friendship with wanted killer Derek Hale. A wild notion that Scott had been the one driving Derek's car while the cops chased Derek himself on foot struck her and she dismissed it with a scoff. With the speed Derek's car had when it passed her, it could never be Scott. He didn't have the nerves for a car chase.

Joe reached another T-intersection. She vaguely remembered some maze-rule that if you kept turning right, you'd find your way out, and she did just that.

Just as she turned the corner, another pair of headlights met her from the other side. Joe's lights were dimmed down, but this car had to have some sort of extra snow plow lamp because she could not make out the make, size or color of the car. She grimaced and tried to shield her eyes with her arm.

The car sat idle ahead of her, just like her own, no indication of backing away. With the intersection behind her, Joe had no chance of reversing either. Too narrow to turn around.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard a car door open and close. She couldn't see a damn thing! It could be a cop, Derek Hale or the freaking fire brigade for all she knew. Probably a cop, she justified, who else would be driving around inbetween the warehouses at this time of night? Well, Derek Hale, probably, and whoever was chasing him.

Argent.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Joe fumbled with her seatbelt. Her only chance was making a run for it, but it was too late. With the bright light still glaring in her eyes, she had missed that a figure approached her car and thumped against her driver side window. Instead of a face, she looked straight into a single-barreled shotgun.

The person's voice was muffled: "Get out!"

Joe's breath came in tight small bursts. Gun. No matter how trigger happy the cops seemed these days, this was not the correct police procedure to get a driver out of the car. You don't aim a weapon you're not prepared to use.

"I'm unarmed!" she said, scouring her brain for any pointers her father had given her on these things. No sudden movements, no arguing — don't give the shooter an excuse. Stay calm. "I'm coming out!"

Slowly, she opened the car door and tried to exit with both hands up. The silhouette with the shotgun moved behind the door as soon as she got out, forcing Joe to face the harsh light from the other car. The second most of Joe was out of the car, the figure grabbed hold of her shoulder and slammed her against the side of the car chest first. Dots and sparks danced across her vision, briefly reprieved from the intense glare of the headlights.

The person — cop? — held her in place and did a frisk search down Joe's body. Side of the chest, looking for concealed gun holster. Waistband of her pants, checking for hidden weapons. Down the side of her legs, top of her socks, and up again. Her assailant worked methodically, this was muscle memory.

Joe gasped when the hands moved back up her legs and grabbed hold of her buttocks to squeeze appreciatively. She recognized the perfume when the person leaned forward, still with her hands on Joe's ass.

"Hi, Joe," said Kate Argent and her warm breath fanned across Joe's cheek. "What'cha doing out here?"

"Get off me!" Joe barked and shoved with her back shoulder to get Kate's body away from hers. She span around, mind reeling, not keeping up with the events. Kate. Shotgun. Kate with a shotgun. "What the hell, Kate?!"

"Oh, this?" Kate said with a mischevious smile and brandished the semi-auto shotgun. She shrugged. "Just for protection."

Joe straightened out her clothing that had shifted during Kate's ministrations. "Yeah, and the frisk search? That for protection too?"

Kate pursed her lips thoughtfully and gave Joe a once-over. "Girl can never be too safe." Whatever glimmer of humor that had been in Kate's eyes disappeared. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Joe countered immediately, using one hand to shield her face from the headlights of Kate's car.

"Helping the police catch a killer on the loose," Kate said evenly, studying Joe's every movement. Joe tried to shake off the blush that had crept up at being groped by Kate Argent of all people. The embarrassment laid in her stomach like a black pool of lava, waiting to be acknowledged.

"What are you, some kind of part-time vigilante?" Joe spat and gestured to the shotgun. No way, no way in any universe would the police hire someone like Kate to drive around with a loaded weapon to catch anyone.

Kate winked, like she often did, almost like she appreciated the increase in Joe's blush. "Something like that." Using her car-key, she killed the lights of her car, and Joe could take her hand down and actually open her eyes without wincing. Kate raised her immaculate eyebrows. "So, I answered your question. You gonna answer mine?"

It was probably the Catholic in Joe, but she hated lying. At record speed, she ran different versions through her head, each more implausible than the next to what she actually was doing here. Not to mention that she now recognized Kate's car as the one in close pursuit of Derek Hale's.

"I heard the sirens," Joe said, still looking at Kate's silver-colored Kia, knowing full and well it wasn't an explanation. "And I got curious."

She finally dared to look back at Kate, who at least had the shotgun pointing away from her now. Disbelief laid evident on Kate's perfectly symmetric face. "Right. Then you thought you'd do a bit of joyriding inside the ironworks?"

Joe shrugged. "I guess."

"Wow," Kate said and laughed. She cracked her shotgun to empty it of its shells, letting Joe breathe a little easier. "Oh man. Those puppy-dog brown eyes, you and Scott have so much in common. You're both really shitty liars, first of all. And you're both really cute. I'll give you that."

The compliment fell on deaf ears as Kate put the open shotgun over her shoulder. Something in her stance indicated she was still plenty dangerous without it.

"Where's Derek Hale?" Kate shifted so she rested her weight on one hip, sizing Joe up.

"I don't know," said Joe, which was the truth at least. "Why would I know?"

Kate did another one of her insincere shrugs. "Dunno. A little birdie told me you and him's been spending some time together." She sighed theatrically. "I'm really disappointed at you, Joe. First you won't even admit how absolutely gorgeous his body is and then I find out you've been running around with him on the down low?"

Joe grimaced. "I don't know who your source is, lady, but you got it all wrong."

"Mm, well, maybe I should ask Scott instead?"

Shotgun be damned — Joe pushed off from the car to get up in Kate's face, snarling. "You stay the hell away from Scott!"

"Oh, there's that fire I was waiting for," Kate cooed, not relenting an inch. She was taller than Joe and stared at her down her nose. "That's the Spanish in you, right?" Joe opened her mouth to tell her off, but Kate continued: "We French got a bit of a temper in us too, you know. You got any French in ya?" Her voice dropped to a sensual whisper. "Do you want some?"

"You got a permit for that shotgun?" Joe bit out, swallowing the creeping blush as best she could. "If the cops search your car, how many unregistered firearms are they gonna find?" Her fists clenched by her side, itching to let loose. "Back the hell off, Kate, or I'll tip of the PD."

Kate scoffed. "Beacon County PD couldn't find their own ass with a map and a flashlight." She took a step back though, leisourely turning around. "How many more people have to die before they catch this psycho? What are we at now — five, six dead? When's it gonna end?" Kate's face turned cold and calculating again. "He came after my family. And yours. If you had half the balls I thought you had, you'd be out for blood too."

"There's no proof he did any of those murders," Joe said weakly. She could understand Kate's motive. But the US Justice System existed for a reason. Mob justice was the way you got innocent people hanged.

"Proof?!" Kate spun around again, halfway between her and Joe's car. "What kind of proof do you need? He's an animal! A predator!"

Joe couldn't help herself. Her forehead wrinkled. "What?"

"Oh jeez, you don't even know, do you?" Kate threw her head back and laughed loudly. "You have no idea!" She scoffed and continued walking backwards, tilting her head at Joe in a condescending manner. "Go back to your books, Berkeley. Go hide in that safe little house in the safe little street in the safe little town. With your books and papers and frickin' academic journals. You can read until your eyes bleed and you'll never find your answers, trust me."

With a last contemptous wink, Kate got in her car and Joe flinched when the bright light came back. Through her fingers, she could make out Kate's car as it reversed out of the alley, made a half-turn at the next intersection, and then sped off in the opposite direction. Joe watched until she was sure the lights were gone and she was alone in the alley.

She swallowed the first sob and bit her lip hard to keep the second one down. Her throat tight, she clutched at her chest, trying to keep it in, keep it together. The hands on her ass, the shotgun in her face, everything designed to make her feel worthless and helpless. God, she had the worst taste ever! Joe thumped the roof of her car to let out some pent-up energy, gritted her teeth to stop the tears, and finally calmed down enough to get back into the seat.

10 missed calls from Jimmy Carter. She stared at her phone for almost a minute before putting it back in her pocket. It was his fault she was even out here to begin with. Apart from that she called him first. Joe grimaced at her treacherous mind, but did not take the phone back out. She drove the same path Kate had taken, hoping it would get her home.

Joe scrubbed her hair, her face, her chest, arms, legs, stomach — all with furious concentration, scrubbing until it turned pink and raw. When the water became too cold to bear, she finally switched it off and rested her head against the shower wall, unable to get out just yet. Even in her darkest thought, she made a mental note to chip in extra towards utilities this month. Long showers were for rich people.

When she did get out, she avoided the mirror the best she could and got dressed in the bathroom. Even with the curtains pulled shut, she felt watched all the time now. Every safe haven she knew of had been violated somehow lately. Her car, her room, the coffee shop — only Berkeley remained untouched.

Go back to your books, Berkeley.

Joe tried. She really did. Professor Kane had extended her deadline with a few days and the work-pile was sky high. Every time she tried to buckle down on reading, transcribing, drawing conclusions, her mind whispered treacherous thoughts. Folklore was just that: lore. Professor Kane taught that in every myth is a grain of truth, but now it felt like a boulder instead.

Second guessing every word, every theory, and every fact got her nowhere. No amount of coffee or music or even jumping jacks — a trick she had picked up from her dad when he was stuck in a rut — seemed to help. The night passed and the document remained as empty as ever, the blinking insertion point mocking her from the bright screen.

Avoiding both Scott and Aunt Mel, she snuck out of the house at dawn and made her way back to Berkeley. She knew Professor Kane's schedule and that she used the early mornings to catch up on e-mails.

"Miss Delgado!" Professor Kane exclaimed after Joe knocked and was let into the office. Professor Kane's bright gray hair framed her face like a halo and was only subtly deflated when the Professor pushed her glasses up from her face. "Back at campus so soon? Did your schedule change? You don't normally have any sessions on Wednesday."

"No, my schedule's still the same," Joe said and sat down after the Professor gestured at the available armchair. "I just, uh, I wanted to tell you I want to drop the paper."

Now Professor Kane took of her glasses completely, using the edge of her tunic to clean them while staring at Joe. "Drop the paper? Now? Why on earth would you consider that? I realize my feedback was a tad harsh yesterday, but it's coming from a place of belief that you have it in you to make it perfect!"

"It's not that..." Joe hesitated. She'd rehearsed this over and over in her car, and nothing could describe her feelings about the matter. "I'm just questioning the ethical aspect. With six people dead..."

"Ah." Professor Kane leaned back in her own chair and regarded Joe over steepled fingers. "I was worried we would end up here."

Joe's chest dropped. She thought she had managed to lead the multiple lives well enough lately, but she should have known her performance had been lacking for a while now. "You were?"

"Yes. That was why I was trying so hard to make you steer away from the detective-work. You're trying to solve murders that are, essentially, unsolvable. Do you see the analogy here?" Professor Kane leaned over her desk and focused those laser sharp eyes at Joe. "Animals attack in fear, self-defence, for preservation. It might be hunger, it might be a perceived threat, it might be a string of coincidences that can not and will not make sense to the only intelligent primate on the planet. We see patterns. We see connections. We want to see these things."

The Professor took a deep breath and gave Joe a wane smile. "And even when there is no patterns, no connections, we fill in the blanks. This does not make sense, what is missing to make it logical? It does not make sense for it to be an animal, it does not make sense for it to be a man, what is the missing link?" The bangles on the Professor's arm glittered in the sunlight as the Professor leaned her head on her arm. "That is how you get werewolves, Miss Delgado. By looking for things that aren't there. Oh, don't look so forlorn, Miss Delgado. You are the living proof that no matter how enlightened we feel as a species, how much more developed we feel than those superstitious cavemen or peasants or settlers, we are still the storytelling ape. Things must make sense, and if they don't, I will make them do so."

"It's just like Bedburg," Joe whispered to herself, but apparently loud enough for the Professor to hear.

"Exactly! It is like Bedburg. Like Toledo, like West Milford — like all the other tales undocumented and unremembered. People get scared, then they get angry, then you find the town's outcast and string him up to hang for crimes he physically could not have committed. Oh, the neighbor saw him elsewhere at the time of the murder? Well, he must have split his soul in half! Oh, the body was torn apart beyond human strength? Well, he must have shapeshifted into a bear! And so on, and so on."

Joe let her words digest. It made sense. This was what the Professor taught, what she had devoted her entire career to. Maybe if she had not been so involved, she would not have been sucked into the same line of reasoning as those 15th century Germans. Still...

"Have you ever had doubts, Professor? Like, have you ever come across something in your research that just could not be explained?" In her mind, she pictured the infected bullet wound in Derek's arm disappearing in seconds. "Something that might, you know, actually have been something..."

"Supernatural?" the Professor finished for her with an all-knowing eyebrow raised at her. "Sure. There have been times I doubted the validity of my own eyes. However, I find that whenever I have come across things science could not explain, it is due to the infancy of the science, and not anything beyond it. A thousand years ago lightening was attributed to the anger of the gods! Today we know it's because of a static imbalance between two charges in a cloud."

The Professor waited for Joe to reply, but Joe could not get her thoughts sorted out. Eventually, Professor Kane sighed again. "Just because we can't explain it doesn't make it magic, Miss Delgado." She sat up straight again with a business-like shrug and began typing on her computer. "Take a week off, Delgado. I'm extending your deadline further. Complete your TA work, get some rest, and if you still want to drop the paper then, we'll talk again."

"Thank you, Professor," Joe said earnestly and got up from her chair. "I'll try to get some fresh perspective."

"Get some rest too," the Professor said sternly, scrutinizing Joe over her glasses. "You look tired."

Joe assured her that she would and left the office feeling a hundred pounds lighter. Time off sounded nice. Just focusing on the TA-stuff still meant more real free time than she had had in a while. Maybe she'd follow Aunt Mel's example and veg out in front of the TV to take her mind of things. She needed to get her own head straight first before she sat down with Scott to have a real heart-to-heart. Maybe he really did believe Derek to be innocent, or he felt compelled to help Derek because of the thing with the steroids — either way, he needed to explain everything to the police. They were best equipped to handle this.

As she made her way back to her car, dodging incoming students left and right who were making their way to class, her phone beeped. A message from Stiles. It would not open, so probably another picture. She really needed to get her old phone fixed. She stopped on the sidewalk to text him back, saying she could not open it, when another text ticked in from Stiles.

'Please help us! SOS'

Can it be? Cracks in Joe's die-hard skepticism?

Only a hint of Derek in this chapter, but at least Joe's thinking of him?

As always, thank you so much for reading and extra big thanks to all of those who're reviewing! Your feedback is reason I'm already twelve chapters ahead in my writing and feel confident in posting more often :)