It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live


Chapter 11: Histrionic


"We've got a break-in!" a deputy yelled, careening through the station. Sherry looked up from her homework, interested. She'd spent the last few weeks hanging out at the sheriff's station after school, taking over Deputy Haigh's desk. It had been empty since he was fired.

Sheriff Stilinski stood abruptly, raising his brows at the deputy. One arm hung limply by his side, cradled by a tan sling. Sherry couldn't quite remember when he'd first gotten it. "Care to elaborate?"

The deputy puffed, catching her breath. "We have security camera footage of the killer going into a store to steal black paint. The exact type that has been slathered over the scenes of the last four murders."

"Can we identify the culprit?"

She nodded wildly. "It's- it's Scott McCall."

"That's impossible," the sheriff spluttered. "The last victim..."

"Was Agent McCall's partner," she nodded. "I know."

Agent McCall, Sherry had come to learn from her time at the station, was Scott's father, a stern and impossibly tall FBI agent. Last week, he'd shown up in Beacon Hills to investigate the serial killings, but that move had only ended in tragedy. The next victim on the list was the agent's partner.

Sheriff Stilinski hesitated, a torn expression on his pink face. "Show me the video." Turning to Parrish, who had been listening from the side, he ordered, "Get him here. Now."

Parrish nodded, picking up his phone solemnly. Sherry just stared at the unfolding commotion, speechless.

It didn't take long for Scott, Stiles, and Scott's girlfriend Kira Yukimura to stumble into the double doors of the station. Gruffly, the sheriff, grabbed Scott's arm and ushered all three of them into his office. Parrish followed after, carrying a laptop with the security footage. The wooden door slammed shut behind them.

Unable to resist, Sherry got up and flagged down the deputy who had delivered the information.

"What's going on?" she asked, motioning to the secluded office. She glanced at the deputy's name tag and stared into her dark eyes anxiously. "Deputy Jones? Is Scott the murderer?"

Jones frowned, her chin crinkling. "That's not your business, kid."

"But Scott isn't a killer," she implored. He was about the purest person she knew, aside from that one incident with the fight at school. He might not be her friend, but he was close enough.

"You never know what secrets people might be hiding," Jones said. "I'm sorry. You'll just have to see how this one turns out."

Sherry turned back to the office, hoping to catch a glimpse of something substantial past the shaded window blinds, but all she saw were silhouettes.


Something was off about the popular juniors' table that day. What was once a happy, rambunctious group was now sullen and silent. Five of them picked at their lunches without conversation while the bustle of high school lunchtime roared and surged around them. Out the door, past the foggy windows of the cafeteria, a familiar lacrosse captain sat against a lone tree.

Sherry pushed away from her table. Liam, as solemn as the juniors, pretended to read a book. Mason prodded him, cajoling, "Come on! Talk to me. I know you're not reading. You never read for fun." They hardly noticed when she slipped from the table and out the doors.

She had to rack her mind to remember the directions to the outside. Despite her many weeks at Beacon Hills High, she still didn't remember how to get to that part of the school. Finally, as she thought she'd ended up in the front office, she emerged from the school and stepped out onto dried golden grass. The desiccated plants crunched under her boots, the sounds somehow making the distance to Scott's ears.

He jumped a bit, staring at her in surprise. "Sherry?"

She sat down on the roots of the tree, right next to Scott. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," he said, rubbing his thumb on the dirt dusted on his sneakers.

"Are you upset because of what happened yesterday? At the station?"

"You're not worried I'm going to murder you?"

She tilted her head back, her straight hair catching in the bark of the oak. "You're not a killer, Scott," she said. Even sitting down, she was much shorter than the boy - she only had to look slightly to the left to meet his eyes.

"How do you know?" he asked. "You don't know me. My friends do, and they doubt me. Did you see the security footage?"

"No."

He crossed his arms. "It was really obvious. The me in the video was trying to get caught. He - I - looked straight into the camera and grinned."

"Then why aren't you in jail right now?"

Sighing, he replied, "They only have to examine the fingerprints in the store. Then I'm finished."

"But if you didn't do it," she said, "Then those won't be your fingerprints."

"I have a feeling they will be." He hesitated. "Sherry, can I ask you a favor?"

She perked up. "Yeah! Anything."

"If I get arrested, my friends will have no reason to believe I'm innocent. All the murders recently? Each one has been connected to me. First faintly, like my old neighbor, and now scarily closer, like my dad's partner. And my friends think you were right about my tattoo matching the black paint circles."

"So?"

"If I get arrested, Sherry, you're the only one who could possibly convince them I'm innocent. If I get arrested, I want you to come talk to me at the station." His voice softened, pleading timidly. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded slowly, puzzled, and watched him with open eyes. "Of course."

He smiled gratefully, squeezing her shoulder. "Go back inside. Liam has been dying to talk to you again."

She narrowed her eyes. "What about that thing you said before? About Mason."

"You like him," he restated plainly. "I can understand why. But, you're right, you're not in love with him. You just confused friendliness for flirting. You'll get over it. But Liam? Don't let him think he also got confused in the same way about you."


"Need help with that?" Parrish hollered over the throb of pulsating pop music. Sherry's speakers, one of the many items they'd retrieved from her old house, blasted 99.7 NOW fm from her radio app. He staggered up the stairs, his arms filled with cardboard moving boxes.

"I've got it!" Sherry retorted, shoving together the pieces of her bed frame. "I did this before. Like three years ago."

He dropped the boxes on the wooden floor of the guest room, which, since the big move, had been Sherry's permanent bedroom. "Can you carry the mattress all the way up the stairs too?"

She glared at him, but was unable to hide her giggles. "Shut up, Jordan."

"That's a yes?" he asked. "I guess I'm done, then. Have fun bringing up your mattress by yourself." He sauntered out of the room.

Sherry dropped the screwdriver in her hand. "Jordan!" she whined, dashing after him. She tugged on his arm and hugged it, pouting. "Help me." She dug her feet into the floor, trying fruitlessly to stop him from moving.

He laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, alright, if you insist, Sherr-Bear."

He mussed up her hair, causing tangled tresses to fall in her eyes. She gasped. "You did not just call me that, Bore-dan Bear-ish."

Parrish's phone rang. His face falling, he answered it. "Hello?" He paused, listening, and gave Sherry an apologetic look. "It's the station."

He jogged down the stairs, grabbing his jacket from the banister. Then he was gone, leaving Sherry alone in the house with an abominable, unmovable mattress.

Two hours later, she received a call from Stiles. "Sherry," he said, with the sound of someone bearing bad news. "You're going to want to get down here. There's been an attempted murder."

"Why do I have to go there? And where?"

"The hospital, Sherry! Someone tried to kill Parrish."


Sherry threw her bike down outside of the hospital, sprinting into the lobby. The first person she saw was Stiles, waiting impatiently in a scratchy cushioned chair. Nearby, Malia, Liam, Kira, and Lydia whispered among themselves. "Where is he?" Sherry demanded, trembling.

He shot up, his hands trying to steady her shoulders. She shoved his hands down, but he tightened his grip. "Tell me!"

"Sherry, listen," he soothed. "I need to talk to you."

"Scott didn't do it," she blurted.

His eyes flashed. "How did you- ?"

"Scott said each victim was more closely related to him than the last." She struggled. "Where is he?"

"The murderer lured Parrish to an empty parking lot. He tried to attack Parrish, but something went wrong. Okay, Sherry?" His eyes searched hers for any sign of understanding. "When help arrived, all they found was his body, covered in ash. Everything else within a ten meter radius was burnt and charred. There were splatters of black paint, but they were fried into dust."

Sherry was hyperventilating. She pressed two fingers to her neck, feeling for her pulse. She took deep breaths, hoping to calm herself. "How is he alive?"

"I don't know. No one knows."

"Can't we ask him? I want to talk to him!"

"You can't," Stiles stated, rubbing her arms in a way that was meant to be comforting. "He's in a coma."

She choked. This couldn't be happening. Not again. "I want to see him."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, resisting her attempts to slip away. He walked her down the hall, into an elevator. "Parrish will be fine," he said.

On the third floor, Parrish's room was the fourth down the hall. Sherry ran to his bedside, her eyes searching his body for signs of harm. But aside from her uncle's vegetative state, no injuries were visible whatsoever. The ash, apparently, had been cleaned off his skin. There were no scratches or gashes marring his body, nor any visible burns.

"You're his niece, right?" a woman asked. She wore green nurse's scrubs and had glossy black ringlets framing her tan face. "I'm Melissa McCall. I'm going to be attending to him until he wakes up again."

"McCall?" she wondered. "Like Scott?"

"You know Scott?" The nurse was taken aback. "He's my son."

"Where is he?" she asked, her hands clenching the white bed sheets in front of her. She hadn't seen Scott in the lobby.

"Detained. Scott's been arrested."

"What?"

"I know, he's gotten in some trouble lately and-"

"No," Sherry said. She took a wavering breath, staring down at Parrish. "I have to talk to Scott."

"I'm afraid that's going to be quite difficult, considering-"

"I promised him," she insisted. She tore her gaze from the hospital bed and stared at the nurse intensely. "I have to."

Mrs. McCall pursed her lips, studying Sherry. "Alright," she gave in. "He's at the sheriff's station."

Sherry nodded. "Thank you!" She burst out of the room, past a waiting Stiles, and into the elevator.

"Hey! Wait!" Stiles yelled. He raced into the metal box with her. "Where are you going?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why don't you believe Scott is innocent?"

"Huh?" He hadn't expected that question. "I want to, but there is too much evidence against him. There have been several security tapes unearthed since yesterday, showing Scott breaking into stores to steal black paint and deliberately getting his face in the camera. All the victims have some connection to him. His fingerprints matched up with those in the stores and at crime scenes. And... other things."

The elevator doors opened into the lobby. Sherry paid no attention to the stares and the shouts from Stiles as she ran out the doors and hopped onto her bike, which, miraculously, had not been stolen. She pedaled furiously, past the hospital complex, past several subdivisions, and finally parked outside of the sheriff's station, her calf muscles screaming and her lungs on fire.

She barged into the station, flagging down Sheriff Stilinski. "Where is Scott?"

"Sherry! You can't just see a murder suspect! And why aren't you with Parrish?"

She seethed. "Where's Scott? I promised I'd talk to him if he got arrested."

"You promised or he had you promise him?"

She couldn't see why it mattered. "He had me promise him."

The sheriff let out a tired sigh. "Alright, fine. Follow me."

She hadn't expected him to give in that easily. Without wasting a moment, she paced quickly after him. They turned into a side hallway, at the end of which was a heavy door. The sheriff unlocked it, ushering Sherry inside. She stepped into a concrete room gridded with metal bars and padlocks. In one of the cells, a familiar teenager slouched on a hard bench.

Scott straightened up, startled. "You're here!"

"Do you need me here, Scott?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, one hand poised on the door handle.

Scott shook his head. "No, sir."

The sheriff nodded and left, leaving the heavy door to click back in place.

"What's so important?" Sherry questioned, folding her arms.

"You're the only help I have left," he said. "And for you to help, I have something I have to tell you."

And then, just like that day he'd broken through the school window, Scott's eyes lit up, changing color like a supernatural hot iron - a bright, searing red.


A/N: Guys I have been waiting for this to happen for my whole life. (Actually this is nothing compared to what I have planned hehe.) Excited for Sherry to join the pack? Yes? No?

Please review, favorite, and follow! 33