CHAPTER TWO:
"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these."
- george washington carver
There was no memory of her ever meeting Claudia - not truly, anyway.
It was a couple months into her stay at Eichen that Claudia introduced herself. Or, more accurately, kept saying her name until Isaiah talked back. But she appeared out of the blue, suddenly slipping into her routine until she became a regular thing.
Along with the nightmares.
Isaiah had nightmares long before the ghost lady appeared, but never ones as graphic and surreal as the ones Claudia brought along with her.
Her first night home was the scariest she'd had in weeks.
Every part of her turned to stone, immobilized as the yoyo's string wrapped around her throat, again and again until it cut into the pale skin of her throat and eroded a waterfall of blood, so dark and poisonous that it soaked everything in it's path, swallowing it up and bubbling over.
Her chest, her arms and hands and fingers. The skin stained pinked with blood, hardening over with the force of the crimson before getting submerged completely.
She awoke the next morning screaming, grabbing her throat as she stumbled out of her cocoon of blankets and sheets.
With a racing heart and parched throat, Isaiah fumbled to do the lock, falling against the floor a panting mess.
She didn't know why she was so nervous. By now her mother had fled to her troops hiding out at the country club, and her father was towns away, no doubt with whatever mistress hours before his work actually started.
Isaiah was all alone in her gigantic houseful of expensive toys and servants.
And of course Claudia, wherever she was lurking.
For now, the blonde tried to catch her breath as she listened for footsteps, in case anyone had been alerted by her screaming. But she doubted it; there was at least two floors between her bedroom and the kitchen and servant's quarters on the main floor.
When she could breathe without sucking in large, overdramatic gulps of air, Isaiah moved toward the mirror, pawing at her throat carefully.
At the nasty red line circling the base of pale skin, looking thick and nasty, she strangled by a gasp and nearly fell to the floor.
After blinking and looking again, it was gone.
It took several minutes of calming yoga breaths before she left the safety of the bathroom, treading across the hall and into her bedroom as quietly as possible.
She changed out of her bloodless pajamas and into a simple sweater and high-waist skirt, ditching the thought of shoes for some knee-high socks.
Even in her warm clothes and the soft April breeze blowing in, Isaiah felt like she was still be held captive in a frozen lake.
The ice in her bones drove away all thoughts of hunger.
Claudia watched her dive under the thick duvet of her colorful bed, blinking at her from atop her desk blankly.
"Maybe you should kill him with the yoyo," she suggest thoughtfully. "Kill him with what he loved."
Liam woke with searing pain flaring up everywhere. He began to struggle, screaming as he fell forward, the pain only seeming to intensify every time he moved.
"I told you it was too soon to use the chains!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Lydia Martin's right again. Big surprise."
"Someone just help me get this damned things off him!"
The coarse leather of gloves reached out and instantly begin to fiddle with the lump of metal digging into the small of his back. A lock, no doubt.
Once the lock vanished, the covered hand proceeded to pull his hurtful binds from him, releasing him from their vice grip.
Liam tried to stand, only to find that it was taking longer for the pain to fade than necessary. He could hardly feel his legs, much less command them to move.
A face appeared above him, eyebrows drawn together tightly in concern.
"Are you okay?" Scott asked softly, putting hand on his shoulder.
Liam winced, expecting the intensity to flare up again, but instead he felt a soothing numbness. He turned his head to watch black veins leave his shoulder to go up Scott's arm.
"What are you doing?" the beta asked through gritted teeth.
"Taking your pain," Scott answered calmly, moving his hand down so that he could comfortingly squeeze the freshman's forearm.
Behind the alpha, Lydia and Stiles stood, bickering.
"What happened?" Liam asked, sitting up more. He turned his head from side to side. He recognized Scott's bedroom.
Scott smiled down at him sheepishly, pulling off the pair of leather gloves he wore. "You kind of had a panic attack at the pack meeting and went unconscious through the entire full moon."
Liam blink and looked to where the pile of chains sat on the floor. "If I was out cold, then what's up with the chains?"
"You were a little...twitchy."
Liam looked down at the fading red burns on his arms. Someone had stripped him down his wife beater and boxers.
"I don't think I'm ready for those yet," he deadpanned, looking straight down at the tight imprints of red that slowly vanished from his legs and arms.
Scott laughed meekly, tossing his gloves on top of the chains. "Don't worry, Lydia will get back to it."
Gradually, Liam moved from where he propped up against the wall and swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing as the last tendrils of pain left his body.
Hearing the bed creak from his movements, Lydia and Stiles stopped bickering long enough to walk over to where Scott was helping the beta stand.
"And sleeping beauty finally awakens," Stiles said in a way of greeting.
Scott threw him a look. "Dude."
"What? The kids sleep until eleven the next day and you expect me not to make a crack at that?" Stiles threw his hands up, as if the alpha was the one being ridiculous.
Lydia rolled her eyes at both of them. "We have bigger things to worry about other than Stiles' third grade humor."
At this, said junior made a noise as if he were offended that the she easily ignored.
"Liam." Lydia turned to the freshman, her face seriously drawn. "We need you to tell us everything you know about Isaiah Montgomery."
The young man looked to the three peering faces, feeling his claws come out at all the unwanted attention.
"Guys, I really don't know much," he protested. "All I can tell you supernatural-wise is that she disappeared before Halloween in the seventh grade and I haven't seen her since."
"So, she never acted weird?" Lydia pushed, crossing her arms over her chest. She stared him down doubtfully. "Like, pausing as if hearing things or acting as if something was there even though it wasn't?"
"No! Did you act that way before you knew you were a banshee?"
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him like he was a pesky fly; she hated when people snapped back at her.
"Guys," Scott cut in, putting a hand on Liam's chest to push him back a little. "Go easy on him. Lydia, you can relate to not knowing about your powers, and obviously the same must have happened with Isaiah while she was in Eichen House. If Liam knew anything more, he'd tell us. Right, bud?"
The beta nodded.
Scott smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Then, he turned to address all of them, trying for an easy smile but falling short, the corners of his mouth barely mouthing upward. "Now, how about some breakfast?"
Liam walked in the back of the group, Lydia and Stiles continuing to argue about whatever it was as they walked down the stairs, Scott failing to break it up in front of him.
The aroma of bacon and eggs and buttery pancakes hit him hard when he reached the bottom. Liam still wasn't used to the boost in his senses, no matter how many times a day he used them. It still freaked him out when he heard the daddy porn from two houses down, in the dead of night.
In the McCall kitchen, Kira stood fretting over her messy breakfast success proudly. Her pony tail had flour in it, her hands were caked in tiny bits of pancake batter, but she was plating the food and setting them out like no one's business.
"What, did a wild hog rampage the kitchen?" Lydia snorted upon seeing the room is such disarray.
Liam surveyed the area himself. Egg shells and excess whites were strewn everywhere, mainly by the half-empty carton of eggs that sat next to a ghostly white bag of pancake mix. Kira must have fumbled with it or something, because the fairly big square package could have passed as a big powdered doughnut for how much of its contents covered it.
"What's the orange stuff?" Stiles inquired, poking at his claimed plate experimentally with his fork.
"Cheese, why?"
"You put cheese in your eggs?"
Kira looked up from where she was attempting to pull sticky batter from the webs of her fingers. "You've never had cheese with your eggs before?" she gaped.
Stiles scrunched his nose up. "My mother was lactose intolerant and my dad sucked at cooking," he said as a way of explanation.
Kira still looked horrified at this newfound information. "Sit down and eat. Right now!" She shoved the taller boy into the nearest chair and practically forced a forkful of down the poor boy's throat.
Liam took this all in silently, grabbing his own plate and utensil before taking a ginger seat next to Scott on the couch in the living room, Lydia settling comfortably into the love seat. None of them wanted to see the messy outcome of Kira and Stiles in the activity of force-feeding.
As he began to cut into his stack of pancakes, the beta turned to the alpha.
"What are you gonna do to Isaiah?"
He was sure this was probably mentioned at the pack meeting, but seeing as he was unconscious for two thirds of it, it seemed like a valid question to ask.
Scott shrugged as he swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "Nothing bad, I promise," he assured at the younger man's worried features. "We found out that she's transferring to BHH, so we're just going to keep a watchful eye on her."
"You mean you want me to keep a watchful eye on her," Liam inferred flatly.
"Well, you're both freshman," Lydia reminded from the love seat. It was ridiculous; she made something as common as eating look like a beauty pageant entry piece. This must be what it felt like to dine with royalty, Liam figured as he dug further into his pancakes.
Add cooking to the things teenage kitsunes are expert in.
As he began to bite into one of his strips of crisp, greasy bacon, a loud clank came from the dining room.
"I get it, Kira! Eggs with cheese are good!"
"I'm not laying off until you make up for the years of going without it!"
"Help me!"
Liam cut into his third pancake as he swallowed his bacon and tried to ignore the alarming sound of a chair hitting the floor.
For a house as huge at the Montgomery's, spending so much time in it was easily the more boring thing on earth.
Isaiah had uneasily put Claudia and her yoyo-infected nightmares behind well before she stomped down the stairs for some breakfast. Along with her thoughts the aforementioned subjects, the older woman disappeared as she sometimes did. The blonde suspected it was a ghostly way of pouting, but she decided to revel in her alone time, knowing she would be back soon enough.
After a short breakfast of apple slices, orange juice, and a chocolate chip muffin, Isaiah returned to the safety of her room, downing her morning dose of medicine before Gretchen, the maid her mom had obviously paid extra to nanny her, had a conniption and called her parents.
Truthfully, it was taking the pills that made the duty such a chore, but the effect of them. It drove Isaiah mad how they made her drowsy, as if she hadn't just woken up from a (fitful) eight hours sleep just a short time back.
Not only that, but it also screwed with her head a little, making things like the shadows Claudia left behind seem bleaker, and the pictures she held onto from dreaming blurrier, as if the pills themselves didn't want her to remember all the abnormality of the past two years.
Maybe Eichen really did make her crazy.
Isaiah pushed all this away for now, grabbing her beloved sketchbook and one of her favorite pencils, flipping the book open to the freshest page. Seeing the unmarked page and being able to smell its age, to run her fingers of the soft, smooth surface of its face, loosened the fist that seemed clasped around her lungs lately.
It was a wonderful rush of euphoria, a delicious shot of ecstasy.
She thrived for every moment of it within her grasp.
With a deep, slow breath, Isaiah let her hand go off.
Drawing had always been a wonderful escape for her, despite her parents thinking it was a bad habit to get into because it led to unsteady career futures. But something happened to Isaiah when she drew, something so unexplainably fulfilling, that it was simply indescribably to those who didn't get it.
Her heart ached as she watched the speed of her hand and the thick lines of lead stain the paper's face, breathing life into her thoughts. Liam would get it. He would get it within a blink of an eye, without awkward words or clumsy explanations. He would just get it.
She needed that. Isaiah craved for that. For someone to truly, undoubtedly get it. To get her.
It didn't take long for all the noise around to fall away. The traffic disappeared; the sprinklers vanished; the clanks of pots and pans downstairs faded into complete nothingness.
She would almost call it profound, if she ever did anything that fit the adjective.
Whenever she drew, Isaiah never knew what it meant in the end; kind of like staring at an abstract painting or watching your own dream while you're awake - it usually took a while for the meaning to set in.
After a peaceful eternity, she pulled her hand away. The side of her hand was covered in smeared lead, and the microscopic tip of her pencil had broke off, and left a tiny scar as it rolled off the page, but the picture was flawless.
Unlike the ones she'd drawn before, it wasn't a living thing.
Instead, it was a jersey. The number read 44, and where the last name was supposed to go on a regular jersey, there were only three letters - MSD.
Isaiah frowned; no one with those initials came to mind.
That was the only downside to drawing with just a pencil, there were very few hints. Beside the number, initials, and the object itself, Isaiah had nothing, no straws to grasp.
She didn't know the school, the team, the sport, the color - not even if the player was a boy or a girl.
MSD could be anybody.
Isaiah sighed, running a frustrated hand through her loose curls.
"Any chance you want to help me out?" she called dryly into the empty space of her room. She didn't worry about being heard - her parents had long ago made sure the rooms were soundproof, more for their benefit than hers.
Besides, it wasn't like she was talking to herself - Claudia was always nearby, pouting in her ghostly lonesome or not.
Her nubby pencil picked itself up, spinning mid-air before it sharply came down horizontally in a deep dot. The writing tool slowly made its way into a clumsy circle, the lead staining into the paper so deep it was wonder the pencil didn't snap in half.
When it finally dropped, Isaiah peered at the new addition to the picture.
A dark, clumsy circle around the initials.
FIND THEM
Isaiah picked up the sketchbook, which she'd dropped onto her desk once she'd finished the jersey, to inspect the upper case demand more closely.
Her hands were set on fire.
The blonde girl shrieked, dropping the book as quickly as she'd picked it up. She looked from the book to her hands in petrified awe as smoke rose from the unmarked flesh, just as it did to the unharmed paper.
That was certainly new.
Isaiah drew in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, pushing her desk chair away and standing on weak legs.
Claudia was getting stronger. And the stronger she got, the madder, the angrier she did as well, resulting in good for no one.
Soon, her son's life would really be on the line.
This thought terrified Isaiah, rocking her to her core as she thought about Claudia's written words. Find them.
Them as in plural.
Something must have had happened for it to jump to one to possibly three people that the dead woman could want on the other side with her.
But again, Isaiah had nothing in her corner. She knew absolutely nothing about Claudia, except for her name and that she had a son.
And that she wanted Isaiah to kill him.
There had to be more to know about her. If she had a husband; what her son's name was; why she wanted more people dead all of a sudden; why she brought nightmares and the sudden interest of death by yoyo with her.
Cautiously, Isaiah edged toward her desk, moving warily as she went for her laptop. Last time she was on it, was the day before she was shipped to Eichen, and no one had bothered to unplug it, probably causing the electric bill to skyrocket.
But at least it would have full charge, benefiting her with a solid four hours for research.
Once she was able to pick it up in her hands, going thankfully unburned this time, Isaiah made to her bed, settling against her enormous pile of pillows as she booted up her laptop, giving a soft contented noise as it hummed underneath her fingers. She typed in her password with ease, still remembering it by heart.
When clicking into her internet browser, Google instantly greeted her, along with a blinking cursor in the search bar.
Isaiah paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Uncertainly she typed in "Beacon Hills death of Claudia" hoping that not many Claudias had died.
The first few were links to a recent addition of the online Enquirer, scrolling further down was an article boldly titled SHERIFF'S WIFE PASSES IN SMALL CALIFORNIA TOWN.
That seemed promising.
Isaiah found the sheriff information to be ironic, grimly clicking on the link.
What would the sheriff think if he knew about how his wife was a serial killer in the afterlife, she thought to herself as the article popped up.
Quick examination proved for it to be not very long, about seven to nine paragraphs, each no longer than five sentences each.
John Stilinski, sheriff of Beacon Hills, CA, and his son suffer from the tragic loss of his wife, Claudia Stilinski, on January 12th, 2004.
Claudia Stilinski passed to due to an illness called frontotemporal dementia, which is caused by progressive cell degeneration. The symptoms of said disease include:
- Behavioral changes
- Difficulty with speech
- Corticobasal degeneration
- Progressive supranuclear palsy
A private gathering was held on January 24th, limited to family and close friends.
Isaiah pulled away from the screen, blinking.
"Frontotemporal dementia," Isaiah read aloud, aware of how she was butchering the words.
The first symptom stuck with her even after she clicked out and shut down her laptop.
Behavioral changes.
"Is that why you want to kill him, Claudia?" she asked into the empty room. She shivered as the air conditioning kicked on, filling the huge space with chilly air.
Her question fell flat, torn to pieces by the silence and freezing air.
This has to be one of the easiest stories for me to write in a long time.
I'm having so much fun writing it so far, and I already have so much planned for the future chapters.
Plus, something about writing Liam and Isaiah just gets me in the writing mood, so I hope it stays that way.
Future warning, the chapters so far are all staying the same length, and because I'm usually cramming in more than I'm taking out, they will probably only get longer as we go.
If you liked this chapter and are looking forward to an update soon, or have your own theories, please leave them in a review! They make me update faster!