Banshee. Banshee. Banshees are being murdered.
That's the only clear thought I've been able to form since waking up, and my mind is hurting from it. I woke up on every hour in the night and the first thing that came into my mind was the fact that it's quite possible all these deaths have been banshees, and they have all perhaps seen a hieroglyphic tooth. It's like it was taunting me, my own brain taunting me. Like it knew I had no hypothesis to my theory and wanted to make me scream because of it. And not in the banshee way.
It seems to be eating me alive seeming as I haven't told anyone. Not even Stiles. The truth is if what I was saying is true, or along the right lines of being correct and I had told someone, they would be even more protective over me. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it limits my freedom and privacy just a tad. They need a banshee with brains, even if they don't realize it.
I lie in bed trying to decide what I should do. If I should run this investigation out by myself or, tell Stiles and see what he says in case he has a better hypothesis than the only one my brain can muster. And it isn't a very sensible one.
If my theory about the hieroglyphic teeth only being saw by banshees is correct, and if it's banshees they want dead, I could go and see Liz and perhaps test this...
But would I really chance it? Would I chance putting Stiles through that much grief if I were to get hurt?
If.
That's the problem, it's all full of what if's and maybes, and I can't let a perhaps ruin this chance to catch the killer. Besides, nothing might not happen.
I lie in bed, stretching an arm out to seek the other side of the bed, the sheets cool where Stiles got up a while ago. He hasn't came back in however, which leads me to believe that he isn't going into the station for a while yet. I sigh and roll over, telling myself the minute I step out of bed I would've decided on what I should do. To see if I'll go and see Liz and ask her about her tooth, or share my theory with Stiles and stay in the comfort and safety of his watchful stare and strong arms.
Something inside me stirs to go for the dangerous option, like this will actually benefit us in this investigation. Or it could just be adrenaline that's telling me it's smart, maybe I just haven't felt that rush of danger in a long time and I'm withdraw symptoms. Maybe. So I decide.
I roll out of bed and walk down the hall to the kitchen, where I find Stiles happily eating a bowl of fruit and scrolling through Instagram on his phone.
"Morning," He says so naturally, like it's part of a routine. I turn to look at him and just admire him for a second. His hair, his eyes, his moles, his mannerisms and the way he has this constant contentedness with life when he's around me. My heart twists at the thought of ever hurting him. But no, no, I won't get hurt whilst speaking with Liz, I just know it. Besides if I do, we'll find a way to sort it out, we always do.
"What're you doing today?" I ask, as I walk over to him, placing myself on his lap as he puts his phone down. I loop my arms around his neck.
"Just work," Stiles sighs, he rubs a thumb up and down my thigh and I shiver at the contact. "Are you coming in today?"
"I was actually going to start looking at decorating the house, get a few ideas up together, if you don't mind?" I say, my fingers swirling circles in the back of his neck, making his hairs stand up and skin cover with goose bumps.
"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm glad you're taking some breathing space away from this case, I don't want it to get to much for you." He tells me softly, his forehead touching mine. I inhale sharply and force myself to nod and smile.
"Yeah, I might come in later though." I lie, trying to make this fib sound more believable, I slide off his lap and walk over to the sink, "Don't think you're getting rid of me."
"I would never." Stiles laughs, his eyes rolling as he scoops fruit onto a spoon and shovels it into his mouth. I smile and turn away, thinking of how I'll go about my day of trying to get some information out of Liz. Then I think of Scott's warning, about never mentioning what I can see. I guess he shouldn't of said anything, it only put an idea in my head. Anyway what's the worse that's going to happen?
It isn't until midday that I'm finally able to get an appointment in with Liz to talk 'Interior Design' and part of me just wants to talk about it with her, but deep inside I know that I need to see about this tooth, if she's the one killing these girls. If her tooth is a legitimate thing and isn't a figment of my imagination. I dress ready for the occasion, a crepe pink dress-blouse with long grey, suede boots. My hair is in relaxed waves, cascading down my shoulders and my make up blended to perfection. Even I'm impressed with myself.
I step confidently out of my car and head towards the cafe in which we decided to meet, I carry some magazines and color charts in to make my interest even more believable if I want to sell this lie. I walk into the cafe which hums with peoples chatter and the sound of a coffee machine beeping. I spot Liz, almost immediately sat by the window with a smile on her face, once again taunting me with that stupid tooth thing.
She spots me, her face lighting up in recognition and she waves a hand over. And for a minute, just a minute I believe there is nothing suspicious about her and she's just an innocent young lady. I take a deep breathe and walk over to her, setting my things down on the table.
"I ordered you a latte, I hope that's okay." Liz tells me, I smile at her and nod.
"Yeah, that's great, thanks!" I say, maybe a little too cheery so I silently scold myself, and try to dial it down. I sit and take a sip of my drink, collecting my thoughts together one last time, trying to understand how I'll go about asking her this, whether I should pounce in straight away, or wait. But what's the point of waiting? I'm only wasting my time.
"I have to ask," I begin, lending her a smile, "How did you get such a thing tattooed on your tooth?" I ask, I place my chin on my fist and lean forward slightly. My heart almost stopping at just the anticipation of knowing.
I expected Liz to look taken back, or shocked that I'd ask such a thing, but the smile that creeps across her face is more frightening than anything I'd ever imagine. She raises her eyebrows and smiles, running her tongue across her tooth that's imprinted with the symbol. Almost like she's smug she has such things and only I out of my friends can see it.
"It was very expensive, and I was very drunk." She laughs, somehow now I hear it more as a cackle, like a witch. I force a smile and take a deep breath. "When did you notice it? Not everyone does..."
"I have an eye for these things, you see." I tell her just as calmly, she looks amused as she sits back slightly in her chair. I rub my palms off on my legs and meet her eye again, somehow wanting to frame her for this, all of this. 'Not everyone does..' Does that mean she knows that I know it's supernatural?
But does this mean this is how she identifies banshees? Or anything supernatural for that matter.
Something twists in my chest, this hypothesis won't work unless she actually attempts killing me. I guess I knew, but didn't really assume it would happen. Something inside me panics, I wish I had just told Stiles. Or anyone. At least they would've stopped me. But I've came this far and I'm not letting the chance slip.
"I just need to use the restroom, real quick." I excuse, then I get up and leave, my legs shaking as well as my hands.
Cyanide. If she wants to poison me I've given her the perfect opportunity. My drinks out there in the open. I fumble for my phone in my pocket and text Stiles, not in intention to worry him, but if she's already planing on killing me, I don't think I've that long to live.
I text him a simple, I've done something really bad, Stiles.
In hopes he'll call me and I'll have to cut our day short I walk back out and find my chair to sit in. We make friendly chat, and gush over paint samples and different patterned curtains. I estimate about ten minutes, then Stiles calls me, his voice desperate, worried and panicked on the phone. My heart falls a little, weighs down heavily in the pit of my stomach as I think of the almost panic attack he must be having right now. Liz doesn't seem bothered by the sudden need to leave, but I made sure I drank some of my drink in case she had poisoned it, now we know. So, I basically just committed suicide. If she has spiked it. I calmly tell Stiles that I'm okay and I'll be at the station in a few minutes.
When I sit in my car I release a long breath and suddenly start to feel my eyes tearing up as I grip hold of the stirring wheel. What if I'm dead before I make it to the station? What if I really haven't done anything to help and I die?
I start the car and breathe out, blinking away my tears. From my own knowledge I know that cyanide doesn't take effect until six-hours after so I have three to six hours of being as productive as I can, until I have to let the pack sort everything out, while I sit on the side lines and watch everything fall apart while I die.
"Lydia! What the hell-" Stiles starts as he comes running at me as soon as I step into the Sheriff's office. His face is notably pale and I force a smile, I don't want to hurt him by doing this, I'm trying to stop people being hurt.
"It's okay, it's okay." I say, my voice sounds shaky and panicked, a little unlike how I'm trying to act but how am I fooling? Stiles' forehead connects with mine and he grips onto the back of my neck, pulling me close to him, his eyes shut. "I'll explain what I did, just calm down."
Stiles holds me for a while, his eyes squeezed shut as if he's trying to fathom out what I could possibly tell him that I've done so bad. "Let's go home."
We drive in silence and I almost feel like he can sense what I've done, just like he was thinking back to this morning and our conversations. My stomach turns at the thought of lying to him, it makes me feel sick. But still, I did it. When we arrive at our block part of me doesn't even want to face explaining to him, watching his face fall and heart break makes it feel like someones punched me in the gut. The minute we step into our apartment the air is so thick between us it could be cut with a knife.
"So what you do?"
"I asked Liz about her tooth." I say quietly.
"You did what? Lyds, me and Scott warned you about that for a reason, we didn't do it for fun!" He yells, his jaw clenching in frustration. He looks hurt and betrayed mostly, like I did this with intention to hurt him.
"I did it to protect us, to protect every girl out there who might've been at risk of being killed, why else would you think I did it?" I tell him, my voice remaining calm but inside I'm infuriated. My insides feel like a ball of fire, ready to explode at someone.
"Protect us? You've just asked to be killed!" Stiles fires back at me, his cheeks have gained a pink color from anger. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.
"If we know for sure who's killing all these girls then we've just solved the mystery, Stiles this could be over..." I try to explain to him but he isn't taking any of it. He rubs a hand over his mouth and avoids my gaze as he paces our bedroom frantically. I can see the tears forming in his eyes, the way they glace over but then he'll blink them away.
"I don't want it to be over if it means you're dead." Stiles says curtly, I flinch at what he says. He's right, I'll probably die doing this and what use am I when I'm dead? But no, I don't know for sure if I'll die, or if Liz is the killer and has been all along.
"At least I've given us some drive to solving this case. It's been going on for weeks now and when I finally do something to move it along you get mad?" I spit back at him, mostly because of his tone, I turn away from him, sitting down in my chair in front of my mirror.
"But the 'drive' didn't need to be you killing yourself! Lydia I can't believe you'd even consider that let alone do it." Stiles shouts, I put my head in my hand and let Stiles yell and lash out, maybe that's what he needs to calm down.
"Well it's done." I say after a few moments of silence between us, I look at Stiles through my mirror to find him with his back turned and he's looking out of the window. It's like he senses my stare because he turns around to look at me, he greets me with red eyes and tears swarming down his face. His features are all tugging down and his face is blotching due to the heat of the tears. His lips swollen and red.
The sight of seeing Stiles cry makes a lump sit in my throat and makes me want to hold him until everything is okay.
I get up from my seat and meet him across the room, my hands go up to cup his face and I wipe away the salty, warm tears that wet his face. "Stiles, if I have been poisoned and I'm dying, then this is how we spend the last few days: arguing."
"Baby, you can't die." Stiles half sobs and half whispers as his forehead touches mine. I flinch again at what he says, the way his voice is thick of emotion- love, fear and drive.
"Then we need to get our heads together and start figuring things out. You think I want to leave you?" I try to joke, Stiles swallows thickly, his Adams Apple bopping up and down. He offers me a shaky, half laugh and I press a kiss to his lips.
The kiss isn't sweet, but salty. Quite literally. His lips are wet from tears and the way his lips latch onto mine is portraying how annoyed and angery he is at me but still madly in love. I hope my lips are sharing to him that I'm sorry, because I am. I scratch at the back of his ears to calm him down as I can feel and hear the rattling of his breath. Against my hand I can feel the beating of his heart, what's usually a steady rhythm of pumping is now a rapid racing heart that's desperate to rip out of his rib cage.
"What do we need to figure out first then?" He asks, his voice a guttural and croaky mess from where he's been shouting.
I think for a moment about it, then pull back and squeeze his hand with a small, sad smile on my face.
"We have to see if I've been poisoned, then we can know for sure if it was Liz or not," I tell him, Stiles half nods. I draw in a deep breath and nod slowly to myself. "We have to see if I'm dying."