Chapter 77: The Storm III
You're right. She does look like her father.
Ten minutes.
He gave her ten minutes.
The sick feeling in her stomach did not subside by the time they made it to the hospital. Neither did it improve by the thought of Cora passing out like Aunt Mel had relayed over phone. The fight with Aiden had not been that hard; Joe had seen Cora take a way harder beating and being fine just minutes later. Hell, she'd given Cora a harder beating than that without the girl having as much as a bruise afterward.
Her dad drove while Joe stared out the window, trying to keep her stomach contents inside. Throwing up would not make things any easier. It would not make Jimmy any less arrested. It would not make her father any less agitated.
"You okay, kid? Lookin' a little green around the gills there."
"Don't talk to me."
"I'm doin' you a favor here," her dad pointed out, but Joe kept her glare fixed at the moving scenery. "This Cora Hale, is she related to Derek?"
"You do not," Joe bit out, "get to talk to me about Derek. Or anyone named Hale. In fact, you don't get to talk to me about anything unless I have a lawyer present."
"Oh, we're playin' that game, are we?"
"You arrested me, remember? So I'm taking the Fifth."
"Is that so? You don't want me to read you your Miranda Rights first?"
Joe scoffed. "Figured the Special part of Special Crimes Unit meant this was gonna go through a special court of law, Special Agent. How's this work? You have special judges too or do you just find someone sort of likely guilty and then take 'em out back to really take 'em out?"
"Jesus, this took a dark turn fast," he muttered and fumbled with his jacket when his cell-phone buzzed. "Believe it or not, kid, executin' people isn't part of the job description."
"And if they don't fit in your definition of people?"
Cell-phone in hand, his gaze flickered between her and the road. "I gotta take this."
"I don't care."
He muttered a harsh swear before answering the phone. "Delgado. Talk to me."
Not even pretending to listen, Joe huddled in her seat, feeling sicker by the second. Her dad ended the call and gave her a sharp order to let him know if he needed to pull over for her to throw up. Then his phone rang again. She ignored him. It would serve him right to get vomit all over his car.
The tension grew exponentially and she dashed out the second he pulled up outside the main entrance of Beacon Memorial.
"Rob!" Sheriff Stilinski intercepted them when they came to the hospital. He barely glanced at Joe, so she guessed he wasn't on the down-low with Jimmy's arrest. "We got another one."
"Jesus. Okay. You got ten minutes, kid," her dad warned her as Aunt Mel took over, bringing her over to Cora's room. He knew she wouldn't run. Knew she wasn't that stupid. This was a favor of immense proportions; she knew that too.
"Stiles brought her in here. Apparently she just passed out," Aunt Mel explained rapidly. The hospital buzzed around them; people seemed more in a hurry than usual. With a lowered voice, Aunt Mel asked: "She's like Scott, right? Any idea what could make her sick like this?"
Joe shook her head, not trusting herself to talk. She had no idea.
"Hey." Aunt Mel paused in the hallway and put her hand on Joe's sweaty forehead. "You don't look too hot yourself. Are you okay? Is there some kind of," she waved her arms out vaguely, "special stomach bug going around? I'm assuming you're special too, I don't know if you ever straight up told me. Just, sweetie, are you okay?"
"Dunno. I just think I had some bad milk before."
"How are you breathing? Only, Cora's got a lot of the same symptoms as Danny-"
"Danny the Lacrosse-goalie?" Joe asked with furrowed brows. He'd been the one to do a paper on the Telluric currents, but that was all she knew. "What happened to him?"
Before Aunt Mel could answer, another nurse with a drawn face rushed over and whispered in her ear.
"Yeah, listen," Aunt Mel talked fast when the other nurse hurried away, "I gotta deal with this. The forecast is saying a storm's coming and the management want us to prepare for worst-case scenario. Cora's in the second room on the right here. I think Stiles is still in there, I gotta-"
"It's fine, go," Joe mumbled and Aunt Mel gave her a short grateful hug and followed the other nurse down the hall. Joe took a deep breath, steeling herself and hoping she could keep from throwing up just a little longer.
Nothing could have prepared her for seeing Cora in a hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around her head.
Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Derek Hale sitting by the bed, clutching Cora's hands with tears in his eyes. That look on his face... She was starting to know it as well as his angry scowl. The guilt so clearly evident, not diminished when Joe entered the room.
Stiles was nowhere to be seen and Joe froze momentarily in the doorway. For a second she worried Aunt Mel had tried to set her up, but she realized Derek had just gotten there himself. He averted his gaze, focusing on his sister and Joe managed to get her legs moving again.
"Why isn't she healing?" Joe asked, already breathing hard at the sight. Automatically, her hand went to Cora's, but touched the hard plastic of an IV-line instead. A werewolf with an IV-tube — the paradox made her stumble back into the other chair. The room span a bit when she sat down and tried to look at Derek across Cora's limp body. "What's wrong with her?"
His voice was rough as if he hadn't talked in a while. "I don't know."
"What can make her sick like that?"
"I don't know, Joe."
Hearing him say her name did not improve her condition. Joe realized her own face was as sweaty as Cora's, with baby hairs clinging to their temples in the same manner. Cora Hale, aged seventeen, was lying unconscious in a hospital bed with an Alpha on either side of her, one just as useless as the other. Kid had not been dealt an easy hand.
"Where have you been?" It was hard to not sound accusatory and he didn't make it easier by not answering, just lowering his head in shame. "The Preserve? Really?" Joe swallowed gruffly. "Why?"
Again, he did not look at her. "I don't know."
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "Well, what do you know, Derek? You know Cora and Boyd tried to take on Aiden today? Because they thought the Alphas got to you while you were apparently moping around in the woods?"
No answer, probably meaning that he didn't know this either.
Joe clenched her fists together, hoping to stop them from shaking. "Do you know where Boyd is?"
"No."
Joe had leaned forward in the chair without realizing it and now she slumped back, face muscles drawing into a harsh frown. Some pack. Erica dead, Jimmy in jail, Boyd missing, and Cora deathly sick.
"Do you know anything?"
His jaw tightened, flexing hard, probably to avoid biting back at her. He kept his eyes on Cora's quiet form, still clutching her hand.
The coldness, the lethargy, everything rubbed Joe the wrong way. Her hands shook and she knew she was not being rational, but she was done being rational.
"Did you know I could feel it?" she asked, voice trembling as much as her hands. He did not look at her, but she was used to his signs by now. The tightening around his eyes, the flicker of a protruding vein on his neck. "When you and that English teacher got busy the night after your failed attack on Deucalion?"
Lack of sleep, Joe thought somewhere in the back of her mind. She had a tendency to become mean. She didn't care.
"Did you know?" Joe pressed on when Derek didn't say anything. The anger felt better than the worry; the fury better than the hurt. "I swear to God, Derek, if you don't answer me-"
"Yes."
He said it without looking at her, like she wasn't there, like she was something unfortunate he had to deal with. Even now, she could feel his scent wafting over to her side, masked heavily with the bitter undertone. It was her, she realized. She could smell her on him.
His answer, although expected, made her feel even sicker. She swallowed and used the edge of her sleeve to wipe sweat from her top lip. "Then why-" Her voice broke and she hated feeling like this. Hated feeling weak. Pathetic. "Why would you do that?"
Derek's bright eyes were shiny, but he still didn't look at her.
"I'm guessing you know how to control that too?" Her tight voice had venom dripping from every syllable. "Answe-"
"Yes."
The short, clipped answers ignited the flame inside of her. That hot tight ball of betrayal and anger and pain, twisting and turning inside of her. She already felt sick; now she felt rotten.
"You're a lot of things, Derek, but I never thought you were cruel." It took everything she had to keep her voice as steady as possible, to keep the tears from falling. Her whole face was tight, holding on to whatever control she had left. "How could you do that to me? Like that?"
"I don't-" Derek's eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air. He shook his head weakly. "I don't know. I swear, I don't know."
"I know I'm not the best at taking hints," Joe choked out, not really listening to him, "and I thought you were just pushing me away because of the vault and that you felt guilty, but couldn't you just have shown me those texts? Or had the common decency of giving me a heads-up that I had the wrong idea?"
Hands shaking so goddamn much and she hated it. Hated him. Hated herself.
"Or had the common decency to keep it in your pants until you were strong enough to control the connection," she continued, her strained tone vibrating, "when I had spent the last eighteen hours keeping you alive? Taking as much pain as I could while still looking for you?" Nostrils flared, temples drawn up high, maintaining the stone-faced expression as if her life depended on it. It hurt, but not as much as everything else. "While Cora and I tried to find you? While Scott couldn't even heal because he thought you were dead?"
Still no reaction other than a continued tightening of his own face, eyes quivering with the effort of looking at Cora's bedsheet and not her. And that tight ball inside of Joe kept on turning, desperate to get any reaction from him.
Joe tilted her head, baring her teeth in a thin slit. "You know how sick it made me feel? How sick it still makes me feel? Like I can never get clean enough, never scrub hard enough, like I have this constant layer of filth just inside my skin?" she hissed, leaning a few inches forward as if to jam the facts into Derek's head. "You know I had Jimmy knock me unconscious in the end because nothing else worked?"
If she had not been glaring at him, she would have missed the single tear dripping from his right eye. The slight ripple going through his nose, all the signs of him holding onto his composure with equal strength as her. Equals. She wanted him to fight back. To say something, anything, even an angry unthoughtful reply. Anything instead of this bitter self-loathing written all over his face.
"You know why I don't sleep? It's not because of nightmares or hypervigilance, it's because," she gave a bitter laugh, noting grimly the tears dripping, "I have this obsessive compulsion of keeping the pain to my side at all times now, to the extent that I don't think I can let go if I tried."
That thought — that soppy mentality — nearly made her retch, something that would undoubtedly make her vomit right now. She would not, could not, and downright refused to throw up in front of him. Not if he could not even look at her. The scream rose in her throat alongside the bile, a harsh demand for him to do anything, at least look at her!
The internal scream died the same second his eyes flickered to her. Wide green eyes, wide with fear and hurt and guilt — and she wanted him to feel it, feel just as bad as she had when she thought he died. And it hurt her how much she wanted to hurt him because she still loved him and that hurt her too.
"Joe, I'm- I'm sorry," he almost whispered and she saw his knuckles turned white from clutching Cora's hand tightly. The silent tears ran into his beard, grown thicker than usual from his time in the woods doing who-knows-what. "About everything. I don't know," he almost flinched at his own wording, as if aware of how repeated the phrase was, "why I did it or how it happened. I just know I'm sorry it did."
"Yeah," Joe said breathlessly and tried to find a dry spot on her sleeve to wipe her tears. "Me too." Her hand shook as she used her flat palm to indicate Cora. "You can't bail again, Derek, because if you do then I have to be her Alpha and she doesn't deserve that. Neither did Erica, but that's too late, so you have to stay."
It felt like her stomach was going to burst straight open at his expression. It was beyond guilt; it was anguish. If he was going to say something, he never got the chance as someone knocked gently on the open doorway.
"Time's up, kid."
"I'll be right there," Joe said and got up from the chair without looking away from Derek, gut revolting and legs swaying. Sweat dripped down from her face when she leaned over Cora's bed, but she was beyond caring. "I'll be MIA for a while because I'm arrested for the sacrifices that's been happening." She hesitated, hating these stupid morals. "Did Jimmy ever reach you?"
Derek shook his head, looking as sick as her.
"Yeah, okay, the newest pattern is teachers and there's still one victim left so, you know, warn your girlfriend or something." Joe straightened up with a shrug. "There was no correlation between those two statements, by the way, I haven't sacrificed anyone and I'm not gonna start now."
Turning on her heel, she left him there next to Cora's unconscious body. If she tried, she could pretend she hadn't seen the lines of tears down his face. If she tried, she could ignore those same lines on her own cheeks.
"You okay?" her dad asked when she emerged out in the hallway, using the already wet sleeves of her sweatshirt to wipe at her face, covered in both salty sweat and tears. The handkerchief materialized, and Dad handed it to her wordlessly. She supposed her face answered his question better than she could with words and since he apparently knew all about werewolves, he knew better than to pry with Derek so close by. "Come on, kid, I'm takin' you over to Mel's place."
Every step felt like a loop in the roller coaster, a feeling of weightlessness and imbalance like she was falling down the hospital corridor instead of walking. Like someone had attached balloons to her feet, keeping her from hitting the ground properly.
"Aunt Mel's?" she asked, hearing how weak her own voice was. "Why not the station?"
"Timeline's not addin' up, Westover was alive when those who found him got there." It sounded like he was talking through a fishbowl. "You're not off the hook just yet, but I'm not flaggin' you as a flight risk. Don't disappoint me now."
"You're gonna let Jimmy go?" she slurred and tried to blink to keep the other people in the corridor from duplicating. A rush to her stomach told her she keeled over.
Her dad caught her with razor-sharp reflexes. "Whoa, hey, kid, you okay?"
"Feelin' sick," she admitted. Her dad spun her around to place her in a chair, but Joe closed her eyes as the motion made her seasick. Bile rose in her throat and she gagged rancid air into her mouth, keeping it in, barely. "Oof."
Her dad's hands held her upright. "Hang on, hang on, lemme get you a bucket or som- hey! A little help here?"
Too late. Feeling the onrush, she pushed her dad away and leaned forward to throw up. It hit the floor in a wet splash and she vaguely heard people yelp and move away.
A faint hint of something bitter lingered in her mouth and she shuddered when her tongue found a chunk still left. Damage already done, she dribbled it out onto the floor. The small white bead that fell out joined in with the rest of the porridge-looking lump mixed with black ooze. Black ooze that looked a lot like what Derek threw up that one time at the clinic.
"Okay, okay, hang on, Joe, here ya go."
Someone shoved a bucket into her hands, just in time for the next round. Joe was not a sympathetic vomiter, but just the sound of the liquid — well, mostly liquid — slopping into the bucket made her sick all over again. It kept coming, like her body fighting for dear life to expel whatever she'd gotten into her system.
Her dad apologized to the nursing staff; she vaguely noticed him help clean it up using paper towels to get the solid matter as one of the hospital cleaners went to get a mop.
"Blast from the past this," he said while down on the floor. Her dad, in his FBI-jacket, leather shoes and slacks, was on his knees cleaning up her puke. His tone was light however, like it had always been when she got sick, as if his good mood could counteract how bad she felt. He sounded mildly disgusted as well. "Kid, I gotta ask you somethin' and I need you to be honest with me."
Her body convulsed when the next mouthful splashed out of her. "Wha'?"
"Are you pregnant?"
"What?" She dry-heaved, but nothing came up this time. "No!"
"Okay, I had to ask, 'cause this looks exactly like what your mother would throw up every damn day she was pregnant with you."
Despite it all, this made Joe laugh into the bucket. It had been over a decade last time he talked about her mother like that. Before Joe started asking too many questions, he'd referenced her almost daily. Saying things like: 'That's just how your mother looked when she wasn't happy' or 'You got her mouth, kiddo, but not her nose'. That last one was actually funnier now.
"I begged her to see an OB-GYN about it," he continued and deposited the soiled paper in a small trash bag he'd procured from somewhere. "She was, uh, big on alternative medicine. Her friend said it was perfectly normal, however, so we rode it out. Tough as nails, your mom was. Just like you."
Eyes watering, Joe peered at her dad, questions building inside of her, but the next round of vomit prevented her from asking. "Blergh."
"Funny," he said again as he studied the content of the paper towel with a grimace. "She had this same kind of white berry-looking stuff in her system too. You been snacking on unripe blueberries or somethin'?"
"Dad, you need-" Joe said as dribble from her lips landed on the edge of the bucket. "Need to-" She heaved as yet more bile came up and landed in the now sloshing liquid in the bucket.
Her dad came to sit in the chair next to her and rubbed her back. "Okay, kid, just take it easy. Jesus, you're tremblin' like a leaf." More focused on the bucket, Joe only noticed the warmth from her dad draping his FBI-windbreaker jacket over her. "You're sure you're not-"
"I'm not fucking pregnant," Joe mumbled, throat burning from the stomach acid. The contradicting feelings made her dizzy all over again. It shouldn't be possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time. "Dad, you said-" She coughed into her mouth, but didn't puke this time. "You said if I had two heads, you'd buy me two hats. What," her voice shook, "what would you buy me if I had glowing eyes? A wolfsbane bullet?"
She felt her dad's hand still on her back, but not pulling away.
"I know about Mom. What she is." Joe turned her head sideways to avoid breathing in the pungent fumes from the bucket still in her lap. "Did you? Is that why you- did you do something to- did you try to make me human?"
His brows were pulled down into a familiar frown, but she felt his hand slowly rubbing her back as he thought. "Yeah, I knew." Before Joe could contemplate the sinking feeling inside of her, Dad cracked a half-smile. "And if I didn't know before, there wasn't much doubt left after your birth." The smile fell, and he sighed, still massaging her back. "I knew, kid, I knew. Knew there was a fifty-fifty chance you'd take more after your mom than me in the genome-department."
Another round of dry-heaving, and Joe spat the foul taste out of her mouth. "That's why mom left, right? Because I took more after you?"
His eyebrows rose. "Kid, I'm not an expert on this, but as far as I know, it's impossible to tell what someone's gonna be when they're that young. Maybe you'll see some signs before, but most of the actual powers don't manifest until puberty."
That matched what Derek had told her once, but not what Joe had imagined happened between her parents. Or what she imagined her dad had done. "Then why did she leave?"
"Joe, your mom... I already told you, she had a hard pregnancy and, unfortunately, it didn't get much better after you were born. The postpartum-stuff was tough on her. She had trouble with the breastfeeding, which according to Mel is a common thing, but I suppose your mom took it as a personal failure. You were losing weight, throwing up and getting sick, and when I finally convinced her to try formula, you got better almost immediately and that only added insult to injury, I suppose. In her state, she took it as a sign she wasn't supposed to be a mom. Maybe she also got it into her head that it meant you were human, I don't know."
Joe tried to match this up with what she already knew. Nothing made sense.
"When your mom left, I knew there was still a chance you'd turn when you became old enough. I researched my ass of trying to prepare — in some roundabout way, that's how I ended up in this unit in the first place."
"But you... I never... what?"
"Kid, if you had glowing eyes, I'd buy you a," he seemed to search for an idea, "lunar calendar or somethin'. One of those squeaky toys shaped like a bone. Industrial-strength nail file, maybe," he chuckled at his own joke before turning serious again, "but not a wolfsbane bullet. Not for you, not for Scott, not for your mom. I don't hunt werewolves, kid. I hunt criminals, it's just that some of 'em happen to be werewolves.
Something wasn't right here. Something was not adding up.
Before she could gather up her thoughts, rapid footsteps came down the hallway. From Joe's point of view, she only saw the bottom of some khaki trousers and work boots. Sheriff Stilinski, as confirmed by his hasty words: "Rob, I got a lead. We gotta go." He must have sensed her dad would protest as he added, leaving no room for argument: "Now."
"All right," her dad said and patted Joe's back. "We'll talk about this later, kid, I promise."
"Rob!"
Dad rose to follow Sheriff Stilinski and Joe could hear his work-persona taking over. "Mel, keep an eye on her, would ya? Gracia', gracia'," his voice drifted down the hall, "I love you both, I gotta go."
Aunt Mel's sensible working shoes came into view, and Joe heard her scoff. "As if I'm not always keeping an eye on you. You feeling any better, sweetie?" Her aunt's hand felt cool on her forehead when she brushed some of Joe's curls away. Aunt Mel stepped aside next to Joe's chair when the cleaner came with his mop. "Hi, Fred, thank you."
"Nurse McCall to the front desk. Nurse McCall to the front desk."
Aunt Mel sighed. "Sorry, things are crazy tonight. Hang in there, it'll only be a second. I'll get you some water too."
Before Joe could say it was okay, Aunt Mel already left. Not that Joe was alone, the hospital was always full of people and she tried to smile apologetically to the cleaner who mopped up.
Still with the bucket in her lap, her back flexed as she retched, but nothing came up. To distract from the tense rollings of her stomach, she watched the mop wipe away all the remaining evidence of her mishaps. A single white bead kept escaping through the mop though.
Unripe blueberries.
Shit.
"Sorry, so sorry," Joe said and put the bucket to the side so she could get up. Normally she would not have left someone else in charge of a bucketful of her stomach contents. "I'm really sorry!"
Dodging patients and staff, she made her way back to Cora's room. Mouth already open to shout, it snapped shut when she saw the one attending to Cora was not Derek, but Peter.
"Where is he?" she asked, hand coming up self-consciously to wipe away any excess black drool. Her eyes darted around the room as if expecting to see Derek hiding behind the curtains. Her initial revelation halted, she felt instead the hard pit of icy realization. "He left?"
"He got a call-"
"From who?"
Peter winced. "From Scott, it was about some teacher, a Miss Blake?"
"He left Cora for her?"
"He asked me to look after Cora," Peter corrected, hands up in a calming manner, "which I am. Apparently it was some kind of emergency." His open friendly face, that of a cartoon-drawn snake, met hers with worry. "Are you okay? You look a little pale, if you don't mind me sa-"
"Mistletoe!" she half-shouted, the anger felt when talking with Derek earlier returning tenfold and writhing into her veins. She realized her hand shook, and she quickly put it down, noting how his gaze followed. Even if Derek allowed himself to be distracted, she couldn't. Not right now. "Mistletoe, it's poisonous, right? Not just for humans?" She nodded towards the limp and pale Cora, looking worse than when she saw her less than thirty minutes ago. "Could it be mistletoe that's affecting her?"
"Yes. It's highly poisonous," Peter said carefully as if he was trying to work her angle. "Even more so for werewolves. Why do-"
Not bothering to listen, Joe had already turned to run out of there. Things were falling into place and she was running out of time. Jimmy was immune to wolfsbane because of exposure. And what happens at hospitals? People survive.
"Hey!" Aunt Mel's voice boomed when Joe passed the front desk. "Where do you think you're going? Aren't you technically under arrest?"
Joe span on her heel, pulling the FBI-jacket tighter around her. "Aunt Mel! Listen, seven years ago, there was a freak happening here-"
"With crows killing themselves by the dozen?" Aunt Mel finished for her. Glancing surreptitiously sideways, she pulled out a folder from under the desk and opened it to Joe. "Sheriff Stilinski had me look this up." Her lips stretched in a sideways grin at Joe's expression. "These are the same files you wanted, right? Know who she is?"
Wide-eyed, Joe took a step forward and stared at the report. It listed the name as 'Jane Doe', but a small photograph showed a familiar-looking, slightly dumpy face with mousy brown hair. It was her.
"Okay, you have to call Dad," Joe said and grabbed a notepad on the desk, scribbling hastily. "This is her real name." Joe stabbed her finger into the pad. "Tell him that, he'll understand. I have to go, I have to find Jimmy."
"Okay, but Joe- Joe!"
Too little time, Joe couldn't stop. Cora needed help — and Derek had left her.
A baleful wind had picked up outside, but it had the right direction and gave her speed as she ran downtown in the quickly darkening night.
Tightening the FBI-jacket around her, she barged into the Sheriff's station. It was alive with stressed deputies and phones ringing all over the place.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I need to see some ID, that's restricted area, you can't- ma'am!"
Joe ignored the deputy working the front desk and ran down the hallway to the interrogation rooms. Both doors were ajar — empty. Instinctively, she turned to the office her dad had used this summer, but it looked cleared out as well.
"Ma'am!"
A hand clamped over her forearm and she yanked it lose. "Where's Special Agent Delgado? Or- or any of the other FBI-agents? They had someone in custody, James Carter, I have to talk to him, I have to-"
"Ma'am," the deputy repeated, and she realized the jacket was the only thing saving her from being arrested. This was a new guy, one who didn't know her. "You can't be back here!"
"Where are all the agents? Where is-"
"Prisoner transport picked up Mr. Carter an hour ago," the deputy explained calmly, but Joe could see more people milling down the hall, ready to intervene. "Far as I know, all the agents left with it. If you'd take a seat out front, I can try reaching Agent Delgado."
"Prisoner transport?" Joe repeated, and she stumbled back, still dizzy and sweating worse than ever. "Where would they take him? County? State?"
"Federal transport, that's all I know. Ma'am, please, come sit down and-"
Joe shook her head. "No. No, no, no, no, you don't understand, I need to talk to him, I need him, I-" Both hands came up, raking through her damp curls, trying to bring air into her skull. "Where's Sheriff Stilinski?"
For some reason, the deputy flinched as he steered Joe back towards the front without touching her. "That's something we'd all like to know." More phones rang and Joe got the sense of general panic in the station. "Ma'am, can I get you some water?"
"No!" Joe's voice cracked, and she gritted her teeth, hating the new tears dripping from her eyes. "No, I don't want water, I want Jimmy Carter. I need Jimmy, you don't get it, I'm not- I don't know what to do without him."
How many hours now? Over forty at least. Too many.
"Okay, if you just take a seat, I'll try calling Agent Delgado," the deputy said, but Joe shook her head.
Could she trust her dad? Could she trust anyone? Could she even trust herself? At least it meant her dad was out of town — safely away from Joe and the other Alphas.
The deputy kept talking, but Joe wasn't listening. The sound of "Ma'am? Ma'am!" followed her out of the station, but she was already running again.
The Darach had poisoned Cora. Probably Joe too. And she was not facing her empty-handed, so Joe rushed to the apartment, silently hoping to find Jimmy there. Even if it meant he had torn apart a handful of federal agents to escape. No such luck. It was empty. The agents had cleared out, sealing the apartment door shut with tape that Joe pushed through with no effort.
"Can you believe that he just left her?"
"Shut up." The order came without thinking, an old habit hard to quit, when Kate's astonished question arose from a dark corner in Joe's bedroom. Joe's sweater was covered in bile and she wrenched it off. Hot and sweaty, she took everything off.
"Not that I don't appreciate the view," Kate drawled, laying down on the bed. "But why are you bothering with a wardrobe change? Cora's dying and you're worried about appearances?"
"There's such a thing as dignity," Joe answered and slipped on a pair of running tights and a sports bra. She put the FBI-jacket over. Movement. She was not facing anyone reeking of vomit and stale sweat without the full ability to move.
"Wow, things are really going great for the two of you." Kate's voice followed her as she made her way to the bathroom. The bathroom vent was untouched; the agents must have rushed their search of the place. Good old Jimmy, she thought, always a few steps ahead. Kate kept talking: "So much for that powerful new pack."
"Shut up."
Joe tried to think, tried to plan, tried to be like Jimmy. It failed. She needed him. And he was gone. Because of Dad.
Think, think, think.
"One beta arrested, one in a coma, one driven away, and one dead by your own hands," Kate listed and made an impressed gesture. "Yeah, you got this one down, babe. How many hours are we at now? Since you last slept? Forty-seven? Forty-eight? That's typically when the hallucinations start, right?"
"Shut up."
Okay, she had a weapon and felt marginally better for that. She did not have a plan. Help Cora was a plan, but it was flawed. Find Derek was another plan, even more flawed. She needed more answers. Needed help. Joe realized she was pacing the dark apartment, the slider of the gun pressed against her forehead in case she suddenly needed to shoot the ceiling. Think, think, she needed to think.
"He left her! Again! Even when you begged him not to!" Kate yelled now, as Joe kept pacing. "Just like he left her and Boyd for several days!"
Didn't look at her. Didn't acknowledge her. The thing about hallucinations is that they don't need acknowledgment. Don't need encouragement, because they know exactly what you're thinking.
"He left Cora because of Miss Blake. And he couldn't even look at you before. He's 'sorry it happened'? What kind of bullshit excuse is that? What happens next time he loses control? Are you gonna be popping mountain ash pills for the rest of your life?"
"Shut up, shut up," Joe mumbled, tapping the cool metal of the gun against her sweat-slick skin. Jimmy, she needed Jimmy, but breaking him out would be suicide even if she could find him.
"He didn't even have the decency to break up with you! And you know why? Who am I kidding? Of course you know why. There's no point to break up with you. He can't break up with you, not even if he tried. He's bound to you as much as you're bound to him. And there's only one way to break it."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up."
"He's the reason you're an Alpha in the first place! He made that choice, not you! It's his fault you got kidnapped, it's his fault you killed Erica, it's his fault Cora's sick!"
"No, that's not- shut up. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up."
"Three months of pain and torture! Three months of pain and torture while he was getting busy with Little Miss Pencil Skirt! He told you he knew how to control it. He knows how to hold back. You wouldn't know. You wouldn't know if he was getting his rocks off while you were getting your bones crushed!"
"SHUT UP!" Joe screamed and fired at Kate's face. The bullet tore through the drywall, going through Kate like it was air — because it was — and for several seconds Joe's ear rang with a high-pitched whine. Her chest heaved, already sweating through her jacket, and she forced herself to take her finger off the trigger.
"Joe?"
Gun up, Joe span around and found a familiar blonde figure at the end of the barrel. "Erica?" The girl looked more like when Joe had first encountered her a lifetime ago, with her hair made up in loose ringlets and her makeup emphasizing her larger-than-life eyes. Eyes that were widened when faced with her. "What are you doing here?"
"I, uh, I'm supposed to get a status report from Jimmy every day," Erica explained, mouth twisting and working even when not saying anything. Modestly dressed by her standards, in just jeans and a knitted sweater that only grazed her curves instead of hugging them. "I didn't hear anything and I worried something had happened."
Her breaths came in small shivers, and Joe realized Erica's eyes flickered to the gun repeatedly.
Or at least the hand holding it. The trembles were back with vengeance and Joe could nearly hear the bullets rattle inside the grip of the gun. Joe looked at her hand, forcing her aim slowly away from Erica. "You're not real."
"I'm real, I promise."
"No, no, no, you're not because I killed you," Joe mumbled, eyes almost slipping shut from the pain of just looking at her. "I did exactly what they wanted and I'm hallucinating you because I feel so guilty I want to kill myself only I can't because I'm the only one Cora's got and isn't that the most tragic thing you've ever heard?"
Erica's lips quivered. "Joe, I'm real, I'm here. Let me help you. What's going on?"
"Don't you see the pattern?" Joe laughed and stumbled back in the apartment that still bore signs of the raid earlier. "You're only here when I'm not sleeping! The second I started to feel better, you were gone. A Plan B? Really?" She gestured more at herself than Erica. "Classic coping mechanism. Like the mental equivalent of telling your kids you sent the half-crazy dog they got for Christmas that no one had the time to look after to live on a nice farm somewhere."
Now Erica only stared.
"You should leave," Joe said and licked her dry lips. "Come on, get out. Out of my head or the apartment, I don't care."
"No, I'm not leaving you," Erica insisted and took a hesitant step into the apartment. Despite her bravado, she faltered when Joe only aimed the gun down to the floor. "I'm real, Joe."
"You have to leave, anyway! Don't you get it? Because either you're a hallucination and I already have one of those going on at the moment, thank you very much, or you're actually here in the flesh, which means I can hurt you because I'm not doing too good mentally right now. I'm losing it, Erica, I'm not safe to be around."
Because even now, Erica's face morphed into someone else. Even now, Joe already replaced her with Kate.
"Leave," Joe said slowly, in a voice so dark it did not sound like her own. "Find Boyd and leave. Get out of town. Find a new pack, like you were planning to. Just please, please get away from me so I can't hurt you."
"But you're my-"
"I never wanted to be an Alpha! I never wanted to be anyone's Alpha!" Joe screamed and only her father's insistent voice of trigger discipline trigger discipline in her head kept her from shooting up the floorboards. "Okay? So get out! Leave! Don't look back! Find someone who can protect you because I can't!"
A sweet voice whispered in her ear. "I think you're gonna have to be a bit more persuasive, babe."
"Erica," Joe said slowly and raised the gun again, both hands coming around the grip. "Leave. Now."
Large hazel eyes, wide with fear, stared at her defiantly. Not moving, Erica remained in the doorway. Stupid instincts. Joe hated this.
"GET OUT!" she roared, her voice layered with something foreign and animal. The remnants of coffee in a cup trembled. She knew her eyes flashed, knew the color they became. "LEAVE!"
In one motion, she pulled back the slider, chambered a bullet, and fired into the door frame. Too late, thank God, as Erica had already fled.
Sobbing, Joe collapsed on the floor, gun still in hand. Ten seconds. Ten seconds and you get up because you have to. Don't panic. Panic is your enemy. Cops would be here soon, or neighbors, or the goddamn fire brigade.
Function. You have a function. You have to function.
With the gun tucked into her waistband, Joe dashed out of the apartment and out on the dark streets of nighttime Beacon Hills. There was a storm coming.
This time there was no tunnel vision when heading into the apartment complex. Despite Kate's pestering all the way over, Joe found her mind clear when she entered the building and headed for the elevator. She'd made her decision. No longer hanging on by a thread; she'd let go and there was freedom in free-falling like this.
Breath steady, unsure of what she would find, she headed for the top floor. As expected, the door was open.
"Good, you're here," said Kali, slithering off the same chaise lounge she had laid on when Joe last came here. "I worried I would have to come to find you." Her eyes trailed over Joe. "Nice jacket."
What did that mean? Had they expected her? Ten steps ahead, Joe reminded herself. Deucalion probably banked on it. He wasn't here. There was no one else in the penthouse as far as Joe could tell, but her senses weren't equal to these guys. Didn't matter. Didn't matter if they heard. Joe had nowhere else to go.
"The Darach," Joe said and tried to sound strong. "I know who she is. I'll tell you on one condition."
"I'm not usually the negotiator, Sefina." The side of Kali's mouth drew upwards in a satisfied smile. "But go ahead, name your price."
"Cora Hale lives. The Darach poisoned her. Help me save her and let her go, then I'll..." Joe trailed off, still not angry enough to say the specific words. "I'll do whatever you want."
"Really? Are you sure you're ready for that?"
"I'm ready," Joe said, keeping her voice neutral and steady.
"Not sure if I believe you. Why do you think we care about some dark druid, anyway?"
"I think Deucalion would do wise to worry about someone who's willing to sacrifice fifteen people to exact revenge. And," Joe hesitated for a second, "I suppose it's personal for you."
"Why?" Kali asked with a tilt of her head. "Because she used to be my Emissary?" A hard pit dropped in Joe's stomach. They knew. Ten steps ahead. "Don't look so shocked, Sefina, I'm able to connect the same dots as you. I knew the teacher seemed familiar that time at Derek's loft. She looks different now, but her scent was still the same. I just couldn't place it."
"What?" Joe gasped and took an involuntary step backward. "What teacher?"
Kali's brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You mean you didn't know? Apparently she calls herself Jennifer Blake now. That's not her actual name, she used to be-"
"Julia Baccari," Joe whispered. Inside of her, puzzle pieces were clanging into place with deafening booms. "The crows. First for survival, then for appearance. That means Derek's working with her?"
Trembling like an aspen leaf, Joe watched Kali walk gracefully towards her with slow movements, claws clicking on the floor. "Here you come thinking you have all the answers," Kali whispered and tucked a curl behind Joe's ear, "and you don't even know the right questions."
When Joe said nothing, her voice too far back in her throat to become unstuck, Kali continued: "No, mon bébé, poor Derek is not working with her. If anything, I suppose you could say he's working for her, but I doubt it's by choice."
"How- how do you know that? How can I be sure?"
Without breaking eye-contact, Kali put something into Joe's unresisting hands.
Joe looked down. Her phone.
Her old phone, last seen at the diner several months ago. It seemed funny to her that Kali would have had to charge it, as its battery was almost full and it turned on without issues. Joe kept glancing up, awaiting any further comment from Kali, but the woman was gliding over the floor back to the chaise lounge.
Her hands shook, but Joe managed to read briefly through the familiar messages with Scott, the ones she had screenshots of. Several unread messages from her dad, a few from various contacts — like Alex, asking for her address to forward the wedding invitation — and then from Derek. That took a while and Kali never said another word. Joe read them again. Swallowed, looked away, read them once more.
Finally, heart beating hard, she found the strength to turn off the phone and held it by her side. "This isn't proof of anything, it doesn't matter."
Kali sounded like Kate when she drawled. "Really?"
"This is from before, before I-"
"That pathetically sweet attempt at courtship was sent less than twenty-four hours before you ran away."
Before. That was the key-word. Before. Even as much as she resisted, Joe could not help to consider the implications. Derek never had a choice, did he? He never had a choice.
"As I've said, the mate bond is strong. Powerful." Kali pushed back onto her feet and rested her weight on one hip. She wore a tank top with a cut-off denim vest over it. "It would take something equally powerful to surpass it, to make him ignore it. Something like," Kali's face stretched in a lazy grin and held up her clawed painted fingers to show the number, "three sacrificed virgins."
It fit. Everything fit. The timing, the order of sacrifices, the motive... Even Hallucinate-Kate had connected the dots before Joe. So many pieces falling into place.
"The spell she's cast on him is strong, as you've undoubtedly noticed."
Joe's memory flashed to the rooftop where she'd told Kali everything — everything — after the painful howl. "His scent... It's been off since I came back, I thought it was because of me."
"Oh Sefina," Kali said, almost pitying. "I suppose it's not your fault you don't know these things. But if someone's scent is off, the problem is usually with them."
Not really listening, Joe nodded. "How do I break the spell?"
"You're the expert on these kinds of things." Kali grinned again. "You tell me how spells are usually broken."
Mouth dry and mind racing, Joe found herself nodding again. "I have to kill her?" More pieces were falling into place. "Which coincides neatly with your plans, right?"
"Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences."
No, Joe thought, but kept her mouth shut. They weren't. Everything was connected. This didn't start seven years ago, it started twenty-three years ago.
"Okay, I'll do it."
A smirk replaced the grin and Kali tilted her head the other way, a beautiful tigress despite the proclamation to be a wolf. Joe stared at Kali's satisfied face, realizing she did not know all the questions either.
"I'll do it," Joe repeated, and recalled the mistletoe and her dad's words. The woman in the medical report Aunt Mel had shown her did not look like Jennifer Blake, but it looked exactly like the woman in the Polaroid from Joe's birth.
So Derek and Cora aside, Joe was also going to kill Blake for what she did to Kali.
Bonus: The Texts
[May 6th 2011 3:44 PM]
Lobito: Drive safe.
[May 8th 2011 1:32 PM]
Lobito: Tried calling you. Call me back when possible.
[May 10th 2011 7:01 PM]
Lobito: Pick up.
[May 20th 2011 08:00 AM]
Lobito: Tried calling you again. Are you okay?
[May 25th 2011 6:15 PM]
Lobito: Heard from Scott you're going south. Travel safe. Call me?
[June 6th 2011 12:00 PM]
Lobito: This is getting stupid. Please answer your phone.
[June 19th 2011 9:32 PM]
Lobito: Pick up. Please.
[June 22nd 2011 6:08 PM]
Lobito: Tried calling you again. Are you busy?
[June 22nd 2011 6:12 PM]
Lobito: Did you block my number?
[July 03rd 2011 09:02 PM]
Lobito: Are you okay? Please answer.
[July 20th 2011 1:02 AM]
Lobito: Hope you are well. Can we please talk?
[July 20th 2011 2:41 AM]
Lobito: I'm not angry, just please answer me. Are you okay?
[August 1st 2011 12:40 PM]
Lobito: I miss you. I don't care where you are or what you're doing, I just need to know you're okay. Please text me back.
[August 15th 2011 10:31 PM]
Lobito: Hey
[August 15th 2011 10:32 PM]
Lobito: I have tried to write this for several days now. Actually, I have tried writing this for over a week. That is why I haven't sent you anything for a while, although I'm not sure if you noticed or even read my messages. Not that it matters if you read this. I tried to make this perfect and couldn't. There is so much I want to say and the boundaries of the English language are forever constricting. Nor am I a skilled writer, despite being an avid reader. I've tried to read to find inspiration for this; to find a phrase or a sentence that could capture even a fragment of what I wanted to say. And in the thousands upon thousands of words I read, nothing sounded like what I felt.
[August 15th 2011 10:51 PM]
Lobito: You would think humans had invented words strong enough to describe feelings, but I'm finding it just as elusive as trying to describe scent to someone without a heightened sense of smell. Humans can never know the full extent of how something smells and wolves never need to find words to describe it.
[August 15th 2011 10:58 PM]
Lobito: There is no describing a scent using words. A scent goes beyond what humans typically can imagine. There is taste, texture, colors, and sensations that surpass any attempt of capturing them in the mere 26 letters the alphabet offers. And yet, I will try to describe your scent as it is to me, because even that is easier than putting words to my feelings.
[August 15th 2011 11:27 PM]
Lobito: The first word I can use is hot. Not warm, but blistering. Hot like midday August in Little Italy, where there's no choice but to remain impassive with the only alternative being melting. Like standing on scorching pavement bathing in the relentless rays from the sun. Like coming up from the sea and being hit by the intense desert winds. You smell like explosive fire, volcanoes, and unwavering bedrock. You smell like getting in a warm bath after going through a blizzard in the dead of winter.
[August 16th 2011 12:02 AM]
Lobito: You smell calm. Like fresh flowers after spring rain, put in a favorite vase. Like coffee roasted with vanilla, ready when you get out of bed. Like a wave that can drown you, but with a current that keeps you afloat. You smell like a whisper in your ear, a promise on your lips, and a smile in your eyes.
[August 16th 2011 12:08 AM]
Lobito: And you smell strong, most of all. Head-turning, powerful, and addictive. Like gunpowder ignited and the kick of a rifle. Here is where words fail me again, because there is no comparison worthy. You are the strongest person I have ever met, Joe, and I hope I can be your equal in that respect.
[August 16th 2011 12:19 AM]
Lobito: I hope you will let me be your equal. There are many things I wish I would have done differently since meeting you. While I have never lied to you, I know now I should have been honest. In my fear of losing you, I acted in such a manner that this was exactly what I achieved. I do not expect you to forgive me because of simple words, but I am asking you for a chance to prove myself.
[August 16th 2011 12:51 AM]
Lobito: The mate bond connects us, Joe, but it does not control us. The mate bond ends exactly where our feelings begin. It is how I have fallen so ridiculously for you, not why. The why is all you. And while I don't have all the answers to your questions, I know that I have never felt anything like this for anyone else. And if I'm honest, that terrifies me. It scares me more than anything else I can think of, except the thought of never seeing you again.
[August 16th 2011 12:53 AM]
Lobito: This is the only quote I found that described anything close to how I feel right now. It is the brilliant Vita Sackville-West in her letter to Virginia Woolf: 'I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way.'
[August 16th 2011 12:54 AM]
Lobito: That was it, Joe. A long way of saying that I miss you and please consider coming back when you're ready. I will wait for you, regardless.
[August 16th 2011 12:55 AM]
Lobito: Yours, Derek Hale 🐺
So, Joey-girl, time to fight for your man instead of with your man.
(And yes, before you ask, that is exactly how I envision Derek Hale to text. Either super-blunt and to the point or just this long rambling going nowhere.)
Anyway, that's all I'm gonna say now, I hope the chapter speaks for itself. Excited to hear your thoughts about it, so please leave a review and tell me what you think!
Thank you guys so much for the support after the last chapter; reviews and PMs are the only validation I get for the hours I spend on this story (and I know I should be writing for myself and all that, but then why should I bother posting it in the first place?) and it really helped with my motivation to see how many of you guys care ❤
Next chapter's up on Tuesday and it's one I've been excited about for a while! See you then 😊 (Also, any confusion about plot points or timeline, send me a PM!)
Have a nice weekend, guys 😘