Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you, no man ask for
Under pressure that burns a building down
Splits a family in two
Puts people on streets


Chapter 12: Incendiary


"I knew it," she said.

"You did?"

"Well, I didn't believe it, and I still don't, but I knew it. You're a terrible liar."

"That's not the point," Scott pressed. "What's important is that you were the only one who saw that fight at the school."

She blinked, sitting down at the bench opposite the cell. "Why?"

"Because," he said, "Everything that's been happening lately - the murders, the slander - it's all been the work of one pack."

"Pack of werewolves?" she repeated. "Like yours?"

"Yes. They're really good at hiding. They haven't left any evidence behind, haven't shown themselves to anyone but me." He watched her carefully. "One beta approached me with a message. He said his alpha wanted to see me suffer and started threatening my friends. I got angry, and then he threw me through the school window."

"That was the fight I saw," Sherry concluded.

"And that was the only clue I had. And since I'm a werewolf," he extended his hand, flicking out his claws, "My claw marks look exactly like those at the murder scenes. So since no one else was inclined to believe there was a psychopathic alpha in town, and the murders were very much connected to me, there was no reason they wouldn't believe the security cameras that clearly had my face plastered all over them."

"So no one believes you're innocent."

"I'm sure they want to believe I'm innocent," Scott said, "But in this situation, they're forced to treat me like the villain."

"Do you want me to tell them that I know there's another pack?" she asked, confused. "I doubt they'd believe me, either."

"You're my only chance," Scott pleaded. "I have to stop the alpha from killing any more people. I can't do that from in here."

She nodded. "I'll try, Scott. And anyway," she added, "If you're in here and your doppelganger makes another move, it'll be obvious it wasn't you."

"All I have to do is stay in this cell," Scott murmured. "Sounds easy, right?"

"I trust you," Sherry said, trying to smile. "Hopefully Parrish will wake up soon. And then he can tell us what attacked him." She paused, thinking. "He knows about you, right?"

Scott nodded slowly, as if expecting her to blow up about lies and how she couldn't trust her uncle anymore.

Instead, she was indifferent. "I thought so," she stated. "Who else knows?"

"Stiles, Liam, Kira, Lydia, and Malia. The sheriff. My mom. Mr. Argent and the Calaveras. And a few others."

"The Calaveras?" she repeated, stiffening.

"They're hunters," Scott explained. "They go after supernatural creatures who hurt people. That's why they used your mom. They needed her to bring them files on people they wanted to track down."

She breathed in sharply. "Did my mom know?"

"I don't know," he apologized. "I'm sorry. I'd guess probably not, though."

She nodded, steadying herself. Sometimes too much information was overwhelming, and she definitely hadn't asked to know this much. "No wonder everyone was avoiding me," she laughed weakly. "I ask the wrong questions way too often."


Stiles was still at the hospital when she came back. He ran to her when she showed up, his eyes wide and concerned. "Where were you?"

"Talking to Scott," she answered. "And I know he's a werewolf now, so maybe someone can tell me what really happened with Parrish."

His mouth opened and closed like an idiot. When he finally got his wits back, he replied, "We don't know what happened to him, Sherry. That's the truth."

She plopped into the nearest waiting room chair, far away from the rest of Scott's pack. "Do you think Scott's innocent?"

He frowned. "I don't know what exactly to think."

She stared into his amber eyes, studying him. "Remember that time he tried to convince me I saw CGI?"

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, sitting down on the glass table of magazines. "Yes."

"Let me guess: You don't think there was actually someone else there."

"All the evidence points against it. And I'm a very logical person."

"I was there," she insisted. "And I saw with mine own eyes a werewolf with glowing yellow eyes and spurts of wolfy hair on his cheeks. He looked evil. Like he wanted to kill Scott."

"That doesn't change the fact that Scott was clearly caught on the security tapes."

"No," she persisted. "Listen. You like logic, right? I'm a witness. I saw the other beta, which means there really is a crazy evil pack out there. Neither Scott nor the beta knew I was there, so Scott couldn't have planned for me to see that."

"Alright," Stiles allowed, "If there were another pack out there, where did they get a Scott clone? That isn't possible."

"Werewolves are possible," she said. "Kitsunes? Banshees? Those are possible. So why not clones or a shape-shifter? Do you really think Scott would try to get caught? Or deliberately murder people?"

"I don't know," Stiles bit out. "We'll see if another murder happens. We'll see what Parrish says when he wakes up. Then we can decide whether or not Scott is clear."

She sighed, standing up. "I'm going to visit my uncle." She plodded over to the elevator, her hands stuffed in her pockets. As she stepped inside, she turned around and saw Liam slouching tiredly in one of those cushy chairs. He looked up at her just as she set her eyes on him and clumsily shot up, making toward her hopefully. The metal doors closed, and it was silent for several extended moments until Sherry reached the third floor.

Then the noise and bustle of doctors, nurses, and patients resumed, flooding into the elevator space. Sherry moved down the hall softly, dodging the stream of people. Parrish's room was empty, but for his peaceful body and the steady beep of regulating machines. She settled into the armchair by his bed, folding her arms on the sheets and resting her head on her forearms.

"You were supposed to help me move my mattress," she whispered. "Not go find another one and pass out on it."


She had considered spending all of Sunday at the hospital, showing her support, but ultimately she just needed to be alone. She rode home at midnight, falling into her makeshift bed without a second thought. It consisted of a scratchy air mattress, several fuzzy blankets, and two oversized pillows. Her real bed would have to wait until Parrish got back.

Early Sunday morning, Sherry's phone rang. Grumbling, she debated whether it was worth getting up at seven a.m. for. She tapped answer and placed the call on speaker.

"Hi."

"Oh, Sherry, thank God!" Stiles.

"What do you want?" She yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"You were wrong about Scott," he said, his voice wavering and upset.

"No, I wasn't."

"Sherry, there was another break-in last night and he killed the cashier. When we got to the station, the cell door was ripped off."

"Was Scott there?"

"Yeah, but he could've come back from the murder. When they entered the room, the first thing he said was 'I didn't do it.' How did he know something had happened?"

"The other pack," Sherry tried. "They slandered him and ripped out the door to frame him."

"Those bars were strong, okay? Only an alpha could've ripped those the way he did."

"The other alpha, then," she insisted.

"No, alright? There's no proof another alpha even exists. They're shipping Scott off to another facility tonight. He's done."

The call ended.

Sherry punched her pillow furiously. She couldn't stand Stiles' finality. She knew Scott was innocent. He had to be, but no one believed her and she had no other arguments to go off of. She took heavy, trembling breaths, rolling over onto her stomach. Burying her head in her pillow, she clenched her fists on the pillowcase and squeezed her eyes shut. Why couldn't anything ever go right?

It wasn't long after that Sherry fell asleep again.

At about three p.m, she finally rolled out of bed and ate a belated lunch, not bothering to take a shower. She knotted her hair into a bun and left the house wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants. The hospital was busy as usual. When she got there, the whole gang was already hanging out in the lobby.

They all looked upset and solemn, but Lydia, the redheaded girl, looked particularly distressed, staring blankly at the elevator doors. The rest of them talked among themselves quietly.

Sherry didn't quite feel like going up to Parrish's room since she already knew what she was going to see. Instead, she curled up in a waiting room chair in a deserted corner of the room. She picked up a gossip magazine and flicked through the pages disinterestedly, secretly pleased to see that she wasn't the only one in the world dealing with misfortunes. One actress, for example, had been caught on camera without makeup - a practical atrocity to the magazine writers.

"You're finally here," an annoying voice observed.

"Go away, Stiles," she muttered.

"I didn't want you to be wrong, either," he admitted. "I wanted to believe in Scott."

"I'm not wrong," she repeated. "Go away."

"Don't you want to-"

"I don't want to talk to anyone," she insisted, staring daggers at the magazine page. "Not even you."

"Guys!" someone exclaimed. "Scott just texted me."

Sherry's and Stiles' heads swiveled in Kira's direction immediately.

Kira stared around her in confusion. "He wants to meet me at my house."

"Why?" Stiles blurted. "Does he want to kill you?"

She stood up, tucking her phone in her pocket. "I guess I'll find out, huh?"

"I thought he was in jail," Liam wondered. "They wouldn't let him out of their sight."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, and he can't have access to his phone."

Kira shrugged, her eyes wide. "I have to go. I'll text if something happens." She left the hospital, leaving the rest of them in bewilderment.

Stiles rushed back over to the friends, leaving Sherry alone, much to her satisfaction.

Not five minutes later, a flustered nurse with dark curly hair ran from the elevator, rushing madly toward Stiles and friends.

"You're going to want to see this," Mrs. McCall panted. "I've never seen something like this in my life."

All four of them that remained shot up in confusion, following the nurse to the elevator. Random spectators stared, puzzled expressions on their faces.

It wasn't until the elevator doors closed that Sherry realized what Mrs. McCall had meant. Something was wrong with Parrish.

She bounded from her chair, racing through the lobby past patients and parents. The elevator was still going up. She veered around the corner, bursting into the stairwell and taking it two at a time. She reached the third floor shortly after the rest of them, out of breath and her heart pounding.

They didn't even notice when she filed into Parrish's room behind him.

Immediately, the stench of smoke and burning cloth caught in Sherry's nose, making her hack and cough. The room was thick with charcoal smog, fueled by Parrish's incinerating sheets. Where his hands clenched the sheets so tightly his knuckles were shaded white, the clean cotton smoldered, thin wisps of dark smoke drifting between the interstices of his fingers. Everything emanated the reek of flames.

Mrs. McCall had grabbed a fire extinguisher and aimed it at the sheets, ordering, "Step away!"

A jet of cloudy foam sprayed from the nozzle, coating Parrish's hands and sheets to no avail. The foam sizzled and evaporated.

"Get water!" Mrs. McCall barked. "Fill two buckets with ice!"

Stiles and Lydia dashed off with a few nurses, trying to acquire buckets from somewhere in the hospital.

"What's going on?" Sherry squeaked, staring at her uncle. Parrish, unlike everyone else in the room, looked complacently calm and unperturbed as he slumbered in the eye of his own storm.

Liam and Malia pulled at the sheets, attempting to pull them out from his fists. The fabric ripped along the scorch lines, the edges disintegrating into black ash. On the count of three, the two of them nodded at each other and yanked Parrish's arms off the bed.

It was like trying to uproot a century-old tree. They strained and tugged, moving the deputy's arms away from his body inch by inch. Malia, her hands at Parrish's forearms, started backward, her reddened hands releasing him as she yelped in pain. A moment later, Liam, with his hands closer to Parrish's elbows, did the same.

"He burned us!" Liam exclaimed, shocked.

"We have ice!" Stiles hollered, appearing around the doorway. He skidded to a halt, a wave of chilly water splashing over the side of his orange Home Depot bucket.

Lydia was next to him, halting without spilling a drop. "Now what?"

Mrs. McCall looked pointedly at Liam and Malia. "I need you to get his hands in those buckets," she explained. She made an erratic waving motion. "Hurry!"

Malia took a deep breath and slammed down on Parrish's arms, shutting her eyes to avoid thinking about the searing heat. "I'll heal. I'll heal," she muttered to herself, repeating the statement like a mantra. Liam groaned through clenched teeth, shoving down as hard as he could on Parrish's stiff arm. Slowly, excruciatingly, the incendiary hands lowered into the buckets of ice water. The water hissed as Parrish touched it, the ice dissipating into liquid.

Soon enough, it seemed that he had cooled down. Sherry and the others watched with bated breath as what had been gallons of ice melted into pints and all that was left were minute slices bobbing at the top like butter on a pancake griddle.

Nothing melted after that. The remaining ice stayed visible. Malia glanced around apprehensively, then squatted next to the closer bucket and dipped her fingers in. "Room temperature," she announced.

Sherry heard a collective sigh from the room's occupants, relieved that the latest danger had been averted.

Stiles' phone rang, blasting inappropriately timed Spice Girls. Blushing he, answered the call hastily. "Yeah?" He listened, nodded to himself, and finally hung up, addressing the room. "Kira found something. She's with Deaton now." He stared at Sherry. "Turns out maybe Scott was right about something else happening in Beacon Hills."

"What happened?" Sherry interrogated, eyes timorous.

"Scott tried to kill her." He paused. "But it wasn't Scott."


A/N: Thank you guys for the criticism on the last chapter! I realize that Stiles actions are really far-fetched, so I'm trying to improve on that in this chapter, but it probably still isn't very believable. (His mistrust of Scott is integral to the plot.) Once I'm done writing this story, I'll go back to revise earlier chapters to make them more believable, but for now please bear with my last-minute explanations. Please tell me if you think it is still hard to believe! Suggestions will help a lot, too :)

What do you think of the tie-in to Parrish's powers in season 5? I have waited a year to find out what he is exactly so Jeff Davis better tell us soon :(

Remember to review, favorite, and follow! xx Delaine