i. crime: abuse

Gerard looked at the file in his hands and then at the boy in front of him.

There were many notes about Isaac Lahey from many different sources: teachers, the school nurse, the coach of the lacrosse team and even his predecessor all of them voicing their suspicion that something was not right at the Lahey home. The ugly word 'abuse' appeared ever so often, circled or highlighted. Concerns were voiced that no matter who talked to the boy, he would not take up any of the help that was offered, be it outright or covert.

There was nothing Gerard loathed more than abusers. Abusers resorted to violence in order to make themselves feel strong and in control when in reality the fact that they had to resort to base violence just unveiled that they were nothing but weak. And unlike with werewolves and other monsters, abuse was always a choice; a choice the perpetrator made every time they raised their fists or voice.

No, Gerard thought, a man who would beat his own child because it was the only thing he could assert control over, was a low creature and deserved punishment as much as any other monster would. Gerard had never even contemplated raising a hand against his own children. His authority came from his words and therefore his mind and never had Chris or Kate questioned those. He did not need violence to punish; only words because words were more powerful than violence: Broken skin mended, but words if applied right stayed forever.

Above all, children were the greatest of legacy a man could build. Words, deeds and buildings might resist the passing of time, but sooner or later they faded into obscurity while children lasted. Your children were the cornerstone on which you build your empire and to see spineless fools like Mr Lahey waste his chance at leaving something of his in this world made Gerard want to strangle the man with his own bare hands.

Gerard knew from experience, though, that children who cast off the chains of their abuser would become steeled and hardened to the rest of the world. Their abusers would like to keep them small but they made them stronger instead. Gerard could see it in Isaac, too, even as the boy sat in front of him with slouched shoulders and his gaze cast downwards: A core of steel.

Something he could use. Something he would use. If handled in the right way, someone like Isaac Lahey could be an asset worth dozen of his average underlings.

He would have preferred Allison – mainly because she was family and the future of the Argent name – but with her involvement in the current pack's affairs he just could not tell if he could trust her. And besides, you never lay all your eggs in one basket.

"Do you know why I called you here, Mr. Lahey?" he started his talk.

"You're probably gonna tell me," the boy replied sullenly. Ah, Gerard thought, no respect for authority. Something that needed to be worked on. But not now.

"Indeed," he said instead catching the teenager by surprise. "At every school I start working, I go through the notes of my predecessors and talk to the students mentioned therein to get a better picture of the situation at hand. Your file is quite huge, nearly matching one Mr. Stilinski's."

"What about it?" Isaac wanted to know, a spark of resistance shining in his usually so meek eyes. "Gonna offer me your help, too? Make me your charity case?" He did not spell it out but both of them knew exactly what he was referring to.

"No, I won't offer you any help," Gerard replied. For a second time he caught the boy by surprise. He obviously had expected something different. "There have been many avenues of help available to you in the past: My predecessor, youth services, the police, your friend Mr. Jackson…that you have taken up none of them tells me that you don't want any help. That you are fine with the situation as it is. I won't waste my resources on someone who won't appreciate them."

By now, Isaac's cheeks had turned red from embarrassment and rage. "You know nothing!" he hissed at Gerard. "No one does."

"I know that my father was very fond of the belt," Gerard replied without a care in the world as if he was talking about the weather. "Very, very fond. Until one day I took it up and repaid him in kind and ever since then he never used it again." He looked at Isaac, his gaze boring into the younger boy. "You have strength, I can see it. You have agency, you have power. You just haven't chosen yet to wield them and that is what keeps you trapped.

This will be the last time I'll ever speak of it; any future reports of teachers or our school nurse about their suspicions will not lead to anything, because it's apparent that you don't want them to anyway. But the moment you reclaim your strength, know that my door is open to you and I will aid you with all the power I have. But it is you who will have to lead the charge."

With a loud thud he closed Isaak's file and put it back on the table. "That'd be all," he said, dismissing the boy who just stood up and scurried out of the room as if he was chased by a pack of wolves. Gerard let his gaze follow Isaac until he vanished around the corner.

The boy would come back.

In the end they all did.

ii. crime: abduction

Jackson felt like an asshole.

Contrary to what some people (aka Stilinski) might think, he did have standards and a moral compass and so he was very much aware of how wrong it was to follow Lydia in order to find out what she was doing. He felt like one of those sleazy old men; carefully driving his Porsche in carefully measured distance behind her so that she would not notice. After all, there were not that many luxury cars driving on the streets of Beacon Hills.

But despite knowing how wrong it was, Jackson could not help but do it anyway. Ever since the night of the prom, something had wormed itself into Lydia's and his relationship. Doubt seeped like poison into every crack and ever since Lydia had lied about who she had been talking to on the phone, Jackson had to wonder what else she was lying about…and the reason for it.

He could not just go up to Lydia and ask her. She would scoff at him, and for daring to question her loyalty and insinuating that she was lying to him, she in turn would pick on his pride and masculinity. He would get so much flak, but what he would definitely not get were any kind of answers.

So, Jackson had swallowed his pride and silenced the part of his mind that was screaming at him to stop doing what he was doing and now he was standing again in front of the apartment building Lydia had vanished into for the second time he knew of. Followed by Stilinski and McCall.

Jackson knew that they were meeting in Hale's apartment, but what he did not know was why. Oh sure, Hale was hot, but he was also twenty-three and Jackson knew that Lydia would never do anything that would put her reputation at risk. He could not speak for Stilinski or McCall, but he doubted Hale would go for them, anyway.

Whatever it was that they did, it was no freaky sex stuff, of that Jackson was sure. Drugs, maybe? No, Lydia would not do that, either. She and Stilinski (as much as he hated to admit that) were pretty smart, so maybe it was something else? No idea what they needed McCall for then.

Jackson was torn out of his thoughts by his mobile ringing. He looked on the screen and saw Danny's number there. For a split-second he contemplated not taking the call, but it would only make him feel worse than he already did so he pressed his finger on the green button.

"Wazzup?" he greeted the other boy.

"Heyoh, Jackson," came Danny's voice from the speakers. "Where are you?"

"Just cruising around."

"Hopefully only cruising with your Porsche?" Danny joked.

"Haha," Jackson retorted drily, not a single ounce of humour in his voice. "You know I don't do that kinda gay stuff." He could practically feel Danny roll his eyes on the other end of the line.

"Listen, I haven't called you to drag up some of your many insecurities," the Hawaiian started. "I just wanted to ask if you like to come over to my place tonight? My parents are out with my sister and won't be back until tomorrow."

"Sure," Jackson replied. Time with Danny was always nice, even if sometimes he made Jackson go through a rollercoaster of emotions that he could not quite classify. Besides, it was still better that staying alone in his room, stewing over what Lydia might be doing.

"Nice," Danny practically beamed through the phone. "See you then. You know where."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Of course, I do, you dork! I've only been at your house like hundreds of times." Danny just laughed and hung up. Jackson just threw his phone in the centre console of his car, but Danny's laugh still stayed with him for a while.

He did not even know how long he would stay her and shadow Lydia. If he was unlucky, they would decide to watch a movie or something and then he would have to wait here for hours. Jackson hated the fact that Lydia had so much control over him ('She doesn't,' a voice inside his head whispered, 'she doesn't make you do anything. It's your insecurities that do.' He shut the voice down).

Suddenly, there was a knock at the window, scaring the hell out of Jackson. He feared that it was one of the deputies (who were all biased against him, thanks to Stilinski), but when he looked to the side, he saw that it was Ethan and Aiden, the new pupils at Beacon High. Jackson had not had much interaction with them yet, but when he did, they were alright.

He pulled down the window. "What's up?"

"We wanted to ask you the same," Ethan replied, an easy smile on his face. Jackson could keep them apart because Dany had gone on a long spiel about how dreamy Ethan was (because apparently gay people could recognise each other on sight?) and due to that Jackson knew that Ethan had a tiny mole on his neck that his brother did not have. Honestly, why did Jackson even remember that useless piece of information?

"Just cruising around," Jackson replied, giving them his best "douche smile" as Lydia liked to call it.

"Hhmmm…" Aiden hummed nonchalantly, leaning on the roof of his Porsche. "I'm sure it's got nothing to do with your girlfriend and the company she keeps."

Immediately Jackson tensed up. "The fuck you're talking about?"

"Come on, Jackson," Ethan spoke. "Even a blind person would be able to feel the glower you've been sending towards that building over there."

"Which, coincidentally, is also the same building your girlfriend vanished into just an hour ago," Aiden finished.

"Are you stalking me or what? Sorry, but I'm not interested," Jackson sneered.

"I know, I'm not Hawai'ian enough for that," Ethan replied easily.

"Easy," Aiden added as he saw Jackson tensing up. "We're not here to rile you up. No, we're here to help you."

"Help me how?" Jackson bit out.

"You wanna know what's going on with your girlfriend and her merry band of friends?" Jackson did not react to that question, because it was obvious. "Well, we can help you out with that. Or rather, we know someone who can."

"Just like that?" Jackson wanted to know, suspicion and curiosity roused in equal measures. "Why can't you just tell me right now?"

"Because information isn't the only thing that's offered to you," Aiden answered.

"What else?"

Both twins' smiles widened. "Power."

"So, Jackson…" Ethan started.

"…what do you say?" his twin finished.

He should not do it. Deep down, Jackson knew that whatever the twins were offering was a poisoned chalice, doing more harm than good. He should start the engine and drive home. He should call Lydia tomorrow and talk to her. He knew that he should do all of those things and yet his hand would not move to turn the key in the ignition. Because the twins were preying on his insecurities and were offering him what he was secretly craving all the time: information, control and power.

Sensing that Jackson needed a final push, Ethan added: "Danny told me that the McCall kid did quite the turnaround this year. The person we want you to meet knows how that happened."

No matter which timeline, there were always milestones that stood like rocks in the currents of time – breaking the waves, unmovable, unmalleable – and it seemed that no matter the circumstances, Jackson would always be led to this moment, this decision between his insecurities and the trust he should have in other people, especially Lydia. A million possibilities and yet Fate did not weave Jackson's thread out of the tapestry and into obscurity but instead decided to have it take centre stage.

"Where to?"

Fates smiled. Always the wrong decision.

iii. crime: murder

The police tape was already fluttering in the wind when John Stilinski arrived at Beacon Hill's newest crime scene. By now he was sick and tired of seeing the yellow and black, signalling just another failure of his, taunting him with their cheerful brightness.

"What do we have?" he asked Deputy Valerie Clark who was already waiting for him at the edge of the crime scene, police tape at her back. Thankfully, Clark did not comment on his grim expression or the bags under his eyes.

"As we expected another victim of the Slasher." John's expression soured further when he heard the name the local news and twittersphere (a word he had to have explained to him by his son) had given the serial killer. He did not reprimand Clark, though. Slasher rolled more easily of the tongue than serial killer. "A High School senior by the name of Emily Morrison. She was found by a jogger this morning."

"Like the last one," John commented as he and Clark dodged under the tape and walked towards where the body was lying.

"Should we put out a notification warning the people of entering the forest?" Clark suggested.

"Do that," John agreed. He doubted that it would help much because most serial killer snatched their victims from somewhere else before they brought them to their preferred killing site. Also, he knew the people of Beacon Hills and most of them – especially the young ones – would just ignore the warning. It was like telling children not to touch the hot stove: Some would do it anyway.

Like before with Heather, Emily's throat had been cut by a sharp object; probably a knife going by the clean cut. She had bled out on the spot, her blood seeping into the ground, soaking the soil. By now it had mostly dried up and turned rusty brown. Like the other two victims, her face was frozen into a silent mask of horror: Death had not come swift and silently for them.

"What do we know about her last whereabouts?" John asked, standing a few meters away from the corpse in order to keep the scene from being contaminated.

Clark pulled out a small notebook from the inner pockets of her coat. "Apparently, she's a member of the Beacon Hills High School Chastity Club." John managed to not make a face at that. You did not speak ill of the dead, after all. "They had their weekly meeting yesterday. The killer must have snatched her up afterwards."

"Get me a list of all the members," John ordered. "We need to know if they noticed anything out of the ordinary."

"If she was just a victim of happenstances, then there won't be anything," Clark pointed out as she wrote down his order.

"You're right, but there has to be something," John replied. "Emily was a member of this chastity club. Serial killers often have a particular obsession that makes them chose their victims. Once the coroner's reports of the other two victims are finally there, I bet that they'll say that our other two victims were virgins, too."

"How do you know so much about serial killers, anyway?" Clark asked. Not accusatory, but rather curious.

"I have a son who is fond of research," the sheriff sighed. "Also, I go to the mandatory in-service training down in Sacramento and don't call in sick every time." Clark, at least, had the decency to blush red in embarrassment when he brought up the department's abysmal attendance record when it came to training courses the FBI offered in Sacramento. "The last one was a three day conference about serial killers."

"We'll be there next time," she mumbled.

"Anyway, if our killer is really going after virgins, then the question is: How does he know?" John continued. "Unlike Emily, most people – especially teenagers – broadcast information like that. That's why I asked you to see if her friends at the club noticed anything. A new person in her life, maybe."

"I'll get to it immediately," Clark said and pocketed her notebook again. "You want me to tell the parents?"

There were no words to express how utterly grateful he was to Clark for that. "If you wouldn't mind." She gave him a sharp nod, turned around and walked back towards the dirt path where they had parked all their vehicles.

John took one last look at Emily – the wind had moved her hair, so that now part of it was covering the gashing wound on her neck – sighed heavily and turned around as well. A long day at work was awaiting him and already stings of remorse were making themselves known for this would be another day where Stiles had to look after himself. Just another in a long row of days in which he had not seen his own son grow up.

He lifted the police taps, ducked underneath it and nearly crashed into the person on the other side, too deep in thoughts as he was.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised to the woman in jogging gear that he had nearly made fall over. "I should have looked where I was going."

"Oh, no need to apologise, sheriff," the woman smiled back at him. "I should have paid attention to where I was running, too, but suddenly those tapes were there and my gaze started to wander." She frowned as she took in the scene.

"Was it another murder?" she asked, her eyes widening with fear.

"I'm at no liberty to say," John replied, even though it was obvious.

"Of course," the woman replied in an understanding tone. "I'm making a terrible impression, am I? You must think me one of those attention seekers."

"I'm not," John insisted. There had not been enough time for attention seekers and reporters to arrive yet.

"Your name tag reads 'Stilinski'…any relation to Stiles Stilinski?" The woman eyed his name tag.

John let out a sigh. "What has he done now?"

A bark of laughter escaped the woman's mouth. "Oh, nothing of that sort, I can assure you. I'm his English teacher, you see." She offered her right hand. "Jennifer Blake, at your service." John took her hand and shook it.

"Nice to meet you," he replied. "Knowing my son, we'll probably meet again in the future."

"But your son is such a delight to have in class," Blake replied.

"That's what all teachers say if they have nothing nice to offer," John shot back, mirth glistening in his eyes.

"Or maybe he truly is a delight?"

John chuckled. "Then you haven't taught him long enough yet."

"We'll see," Blake replied. "I probably shouldn't keep you any longer. You have the citizenry of this town to keep safe after all and I –" she wiggled with her fingers "– have my run to finish. Maybe I'll run into you again in the future."

"Maybe," John agreed. He certainly would not mind meeting Jennifer Blake again.

iv. crime: betrayal

"Allison, can I come in?" her mother's voice sounded from behind the door. Allison, meanwhile, continued to stare at the ceiling above her bed. By now she was pretty sure that she had memorised every single crack, every unevenness and if she was feeling generous, she might even be able to make out a few shapes that looked like animals.

Yeah, Allison knew that she was not acting very healthy right now, but to be honest why should she? Ever since her fight with Lydia she was feeling listless and unmotivated. The only thing she had managed to do today was brushing her teeth, but otherwise she was still wearing her pyjamas and her hair was a total mess.

Her fight with Lydia had rattled Allison more than she would like to admit. Through all of the turmoil and hardship that had spilled over Allison ever since the prom, she had always thought that somehow the friendship between Lydia and her would be untouched – untainted – by it. That through some miracle the supernatural would not wedge itself between Lydia and her; would not ruin that relationship like it had ruined all the others: to her parents, to Kate, to Scott…to herself.

So, hearing Lydia freely admit that she chose this life – a life Allison had been forced into – had made something inside her snap. Circumstances had conspired to bring Allison to where she was now, but Lydia had had a choice. She could have stayed unaware and kept some of the innocence that Allison was slowly but surely loosing.

And then there was also the fact that Lydia just was not equipped to handle this part of the world. Allison, at least, had been trained by her parents to be able to defend herself, but Lydia did not even have that. So while Allison was sorry about how she had said it, she was not sorry that she had said it.

And now she was here, mourning another broken relationship. Allison believed that it could be forged anew, because Lydia and her were friends and friends did not give up on each other so easily, but it would never be as before. Only time would tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

"I'm coming in!" her mother announced, and barely had she finished, the door already flung open and Victoria Argent swept into the room like the force of nature she was.

"Did you actually open the windows at least once today?" she wanted to know, sweeping the curtains aside.

"Mom," Allison groaned and hid her head under her pillow. She could feel a weight shifting on her mattress. Her mother had sat down next to her.

"Is everything alright?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"I had a fight with Lydia," Allison said, muffled by pillow still covering her face. "A pretty bad one."

"What was it about?" her mother inquired. "And can I please look at your face while I'm talking with you?"

Reluctantly, Allison pushed the pillow aside and sat up so that her face was at the same height as her mother's.

"I told her that she wasn't equipped to handle the supernatural and that she should just walk away," Allison recounted. "She didn't agree with me and accused my whole family of being bloodthirsty psychopaths who turn their children into child soldiers by brain washing."

Her mother raised one of her immaculate eyebrows. "She really said all that?"

"It was implied."

Victoria sighed. "Come here." And then Allison was engulfed in a fierce hug; her mother running her fingers through Allison's hair.

"Do you think both of you can get over it?" she asked. "Because as long as you do, you'll get over this."

"No comment on the topic of our fight?" Allison asked, disbelieving.

"Allison," her mother leaned back. "I'm not going to micromanage your relationships as long as they don't endanger you or this family. Lydia can make her own choices and if those choices lead her to a bad place, then she has no one but herself to blame." She took a breath. "So, do you think you two can get over your differences."

Allison thought for a while before she replied. "Yeah, I think we can. We both said things in the heat of the moment; things that were hurtful but I think we're both sorry for them."

"Then tomorrow you'll call her and you patch this up," her mother smiled reassuringly. "See, not everything is as bleak as it seems."