FOURTEEN
TW: Mention of suicide. If you are having thoughts of suicide, please know you are not alone and there are people who want to help. Call the national hotline at 800-273-8255.
I listened.
For once in my life, I actually listened to directions. Okay, so it wasn't totally on purpose. I didn't stay home on the couch watching every episode of Lost because Derek had told me to stay home. I was becoming one with the couch because I had nothing else to do. It was exactly how I spent every other night… when I wasn't chasing after fucking werewolves.
But, there was some part of me that couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd said 'please'. The slight beg to his voice. The audible strain on the word, like it was unfamiliar to him. Like he wasn't someone who used it a lot.
Mom was, as usual, on late shift, so it was just me, the couch and Dr. Jack Shephard until she got home. No matter how hard I tried to watch, to focus on the TV screen, my mind wouldn't allow it. Derek had told me what would happen to Victoria Argent. And I couldn't stop thinking about her. That obnoxious red pixie cut. That "pale as the moon" skin. Her giant blue eyes, both terrifying and beautiful. Tomorrow morning I'd probably hear the news. I'd probably hear whispers around town about how she had killed herself. How would she do it? Gun? Pills?
Probably the later. Women had a tendency to go for pills when they planned suicide. Men were messier. Men also had a higher rate of failed attempts. Women, we were more thorough. We, as usual, made sure the job got done.
It wasn't just Victoria that held my mind hostage, it was Alison and her father. I hadn't met him, but my heart broke for the man. And Alison, God, tomorrow Alison would no longer have a mother. Was it my fault? If I had been quicker at the party, If I had just been able to get to Scott faster last night, then Derek wouldn't have had to intervene. He wouldn't have fought Victoria. He wouldn't have bit her.
If you had just tried harder, Bug.
Dylan's voice echoed in my head, taking me by surprise. It had been his go to line whenever he tried to apologize for whatever had just happened. If you had just tried harder, I wouldn't have lost my cool. If you had just put in a little more effort, I wouldn't have felt so hurt. If you had just answered the phone when I called, I wouldn't have had to come here.
"Stop it." I said aloud to myself, shaking my head clear of images of his face. My eyes trailed over to the front door where a wooden baseball bat leaned against the thick trim. I'd brought it down for easy access. Just in case. I hadn't forgotten that Dylan was around, that he knew I was in Beacon Hills. But I didn't want to run anymore. I wanted this to be my home again. I wanted to be near my mom. Near Scott. I wanted to feel safe.
A glance at the clock told me that the full moon was probably in full swing…see what I did there? 2am. When was sun-up? Was it something I should start paying attention to? Was it something that Derek instinctively knew?
2am, which meant mom still had another two hours on shift. Which is why it surprised me to see her name on my new phone's caller ID a few minutes later.
Hey! Did I wake you up? I hope I didn't wake you up. I was just going to leave a voicemail. Her voice fluttered through the speaker.
"No, no I can't sleep in an empty house." I reminded her, realizing too late that I'd probably just gotten Scott in trouble. He was still grounded for not coming home last night.
Scott called.
"What's wrong?" I launched myself off the couch in a panic. "Is he okay?"
He's at the sheriff's station. They want me to come in to look at some security footage. Apparently, I had a run in with someone Noah is investigating.
"I'll meet you there." I say, already frantically searching for my shoes. I was still in my sweat pants and a tank top, but this wasn't the time for fashion. Pulling on a zip up hoodie I scrambled towards the door. If Scott was with Stilinski, then there was something going on. Did the sheriff know about this world?
No, Chels, it's okay. Mom tried to assure me. I could hardly hear her as the phone was haphazardly held between my ear and shoulder.
"See you there in 10." I dropped the phone into my hand and ended the call, cutting off whatever protest she began. Did she want me there? No.
But she didn't know jack shit about this world, and I wasn't about to let walk into this mess without backup.
Mom's car was already in the parking lot when I pulled up to the sheriff's station. Not surprised that she beat me here considering the hospital was only a few miles down the road. I threw my sputtering old car into park and hopped out in such a rush I nearly forgot to take the key from the ignition. As I jogged across the lot, a feeling of dread crashed over me like a tidal wave stopping me in my tracks. It was followed by a sense of urgency, like I had to get inside right now, had to find Scott and mom NOW.
The gunshot rang out loud and clear across the open pavement.
"No." I gasped, staring at the building in shock.
They say when we're faced with a threat, the human mind has a decision to make. The old Fight, Flight or Freeze. Well, my body had learned the hard way that fighting back, usually got you hit harder and taking flight only meant being chased to the ends of the earth living in constant fear. So my instinct was to freeze. To come to a dead halt, afraid to move or breathe. Afraid to keep my eyes open. My body wanted to shut down, wanted to pretend that the world wasn't imploding all around me.
But it was.
My mom and brother were in that building. My family was in that building. My family was in trouble. I couldn't freeze on them. I couldn't run away this time.
With shaking limbs, I hurried towards the door. My steps slowed as I approached the large glass doors. Why on earth would a police station have glass doors? Unless they were bullet proof, it made zero fucking sense. I slipped to the side so no one in the front lobby would see me through the glass. There was a window a few inches above my head and a convenient rock for me to hoist myself up on. The scene through the window was horrifying.
I could see the bloody boots of an officer behind the desk, presumably dead. Scott stood to the side, a large blood spot staining the middle of his green and a gun pointed towards his head. I followed the arm to a familiar face. Though I couldn't put a name to the features, I knew he was a kid in Scott's class. He'd been in detention. He's on the lacrosse team. What the fuck was he doing with a gun?
Mom stood a few feet in front of my brother. Her hands clasped over her mouth, terror and pain evident in her eyes.
"Oh God." I whispered, realizing belated that Scott had been shot. He would heal. I knew that. But mom didn't. My mother thought she was watching her son die before her eyes, and I could see her body start to tremble as she reached out towards him. But the gunman shifted his aim to her and yelled something that the window muffled.
I had to get in there.
There was a service door around the side of the building that they used for prisoner transport. It helped ensure that a convict would have no contact with any innocent bystander in the front lobby. They would pull the car around and shuffle the handcuffed criminal discreetly through the door. Stilinski had used it a few times to get me out of the station when he was bringing me home after I'd spent an hour or two in the drunk tank to sober up.
I fully expected it to be locked, but tonight was my lucky night…
Careful not to make a sound, I pulled it open and slipped inside. Stilinki's office would be across the hall, putting mom and Scott down the long hallway in the lobby. The Sheriff most likely kept additional weapons somewhere in his office, and that's what I needed. A weapon. Something to fight with. My dad had taught me how to shoot when I finished high school. He wanted me to be "self-sufficient" when I went off to college. It had been years since I held one. But I knew the basics and would feel a hell of a lot safer if I had one.
I stood still for a moment, listening to the voices in the lobby before I sprinted across the hall and through the door of the office. I don't know what I was expecting to see when I entered the room. Maybe Jackson, aka the Kanima. Maybe Dylan. Maybe a pile of dead bodies.
But it definitely wasn't a paralyzed Stiles and Derek laying in the middle of the floor. Both of their eyes snapped my way once the door was open. Obvious relief flooded through Stiles' face when he realized I most likely wasn't going to murder them. Derek on the other hand…
"What are you doing here?" he practically growled the question. Rather than answer, I dropped down to my knees beside the teenager, giving his body a once over.
"You okay?" I asked hurriedly, glancing back towards the door to be sure it had closed behind me.
"Been better." Stiles responded with the slightest shrug of his shoulders. The poison must be starting to wear off already.
"Can either of you move?" my eyes traveled the length of Derek's form, looking for any injuries other than the obvious paralysis. His leg was bleeding creating a puddle of thick crimson liquid to pool at his side. My eyes found his and it was as if he was able to read the question on my mind before I had to ask it.
"I tried to push the toxin out of my bloodstream." he explained, and I noticed the claws on his one hand were extended and bloody. "It'll only be another minute or two."
"Did you see my dad?" Stiles asked with wide pleading eyes. I thought about the pair of boots I had seen through the window. The dead body of someone in uniform. Had that been Stilinski?
"No." I decided to keep the possibility to myself until we figured out how to get out of this shit show. "The kid with the gun…"
"Matt." Stiles interrupted at the same time Derek said "Controls Jackson."
"Okay." I took a steadying breath. "He has mom and Scott. I'm gonna need you to perk up dude." Derek rolled his eyes at my comment.
"You take him and hide." he nodded to the boy lying next to him. "I'll take care of Matt."
"Absolutely not." I jumped to my feet, suddenly remembering why I'd come to this office in the first place. Ripping drawers from the large oak desk I frantically searched for a gun or knife or ANYTHING I could use as a weapon!
"You're not going back out there." Derek struggled to his knees, Stiles not too far behind him.
"My mom and brother are out there." I whispered as fiercely as a whisper could possibly be. We didn't need to draw the Kanima's attention. "If you think for one second I'm going to sit here and hide while he does God knows what with them…" I trailed off when I found what I was looking for. It was an old revolver. Probably not a weapon categorized in the station's system. This had the look and feel of something that Stilinski owned, not something issued by the great state of California. I pulled it from the desk drawer and watched Derek's eyes flash red as he put together my plan.
"That won't kill it. The Kanima will walk right through a bullet without a scratch." he pulled himself up with a chair. The same chair I'd sat in when I had met with Stilinski. The same chair I'd been sitting in when I confessed that dark secret to him. The same chair my ass had been parked in when, for the first time, someone believed me. It was hard to believe that it had only been a few days ago.
"I'm not going after the Kanima." I moved towards the door. The blood was rushing through my veins, the sound pounding in my ear nearly drowning out the weak protests coming from Stiles. My heart hammered with both fear and rage. The thought of losing my mother or Scott, or both, was making me irrational. I knew this was stupid. But so was sitting behind and hoping for the best. I had to do something.
I was out the door before Derek could competently stand on his own two feet. The hallway lights were bright and harsh, a stark contrast to the low lighting of the Sheriff's office. But I wasn't 20 feet from the office when those lights went out completely, plunging the entire building into total darkness. The sound of gunfire had me dropping to the floor for cover and snaking my way down the long hallway. The only thought in my head was to find mom and Scott. But when I finally reached the lobby again, it was just Matt and Scott. Mom was nowhere to be seen.
The boys were hiding under desks while bullets flew through the air all around us. Just as suddenly as it had started, the gunfire stopped, leaving us in an eerie silence.
Silence that was promptly broken by the sound of my generic Verizon ringtone.
"Shit!" I hissed, scrambling to pull the phone from my pocket. In my hurry, I let the revolver fall from the waistband of my sweats where I had stuck it. My fingers fumbled to shut the ringer on my phone off. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I cataloged the fact that an "unknown" caller was ringing in at nearly 3am. Five guesses as to who it was. But I couldn't focus on that now. I bent and felt around the floor until I grazed over the cool metal of the gun.
I was still crouched when a rough hand clamped down on my bare shoulder, and oddly enough, my first thought was that it shouldn't have felt so calloused. I imagined the hand of a lizard-human would feel smoother, like the soft scales of a snake. My hand holding the revolver shot up to point the barrel at the Kanima behind me. But when my eyes followed, I was both shocked and relieved to see a total stranger, not the scaled version of Jackson.
With easy movements, he pushed my gun hand away and maneuvered the weapon from my grasp. I let out a small whimper when his grip tightened and he hoisted me to my feet and dragged me around the corner, away from the onslaught of bullets. The flashlight he was carrying came up and shone directly into my eyes. I flinched back and threw an arm up to cover them from the sudden burning brightness but he pulled my arm back.
"Stop!" I shouted as I desperately tried to escape his hands.
"You're human." It wasn't a question, but there was a hint of surprise in his deep voice. I squinted at him, my eyes still stinging from the flashlight. His dark hair was peppered with flecks of gray and his handsome face was covered in a soft 5 O'clock shadow along his jawline. Even in the darkness, his eyes appeared as a bright blue, nearly glowing the way Derek's used to.
"Yeah. Now do you mind?" I swatted the flashlight away with my free hand. My other forearm was still firmly in his grip. There was a door to our right that he hurriedly pushed me through.
"Get under the desk and stay down." he shoved me further into the room and made to close the door.
"No! My brother…" I started to yell while I rushed the door to keep it from slamming shut. "I have to get them!" The man whipped around to face me, his eyes locking on my arm which was keeping the door from shutting entirely. "You're not a sheriff."
I took in his appearance after the realization dawned on me. The facial hair (which the department had a policy against), the leather jacket, the AR-15 swinging at his side. Most definitely not a sheriff.
"No, I'm not." he cast a strange look over me, like he was trying to figure me out. "Who's your brother?"
I decided not to tell him. The decision was easy considering I had no idea who he was and what his connection to this world was. Minute ago, bullets had torn through the walls and windows of the police station my family was trapped inside of. Now this man shows up carrying a semi automatic weapon that can fire 50 bullets in a minute. Red flag.
"It doesn't matter. Stay here." he shoved me back again, but this time he stealthily snuck a foot behind my legs so instead of simply stumbling backwards, I toppled over completely. By the time I got to my feet the door was shut. I could hear something being dragged against it, a heavy weight on the handle making it impossible for me to open.