A/N: ***SPOILER ALERT***As always, dialogue was lifted directly from the episode. I usually bridge the scenes with my own interpretations but in this case, it wasn't necessary.

Stiles felt more than heard his phone ringer going off and seriously contemplated ignoring whomever was on the other end; he'd complained about how boring his summer was and the Gods had punished him with danger and terror, and almost no down time to process everything going on. He'd finally managed to make it to his bed after seeing Lydia home - and enduring that incredibly tense conversation - and he really didn't want to leave his snug-a-bug position.

Brrrring. Brrrring. Brrring.

It wasn't anyone's ring tone, but the generic programmed one, so Stiles figured it could wait until he got some shut-eye.

Brrrring. Brrrring. Brrring.

"What?"

Stiles figured being forced out of bed and to the phone at 1 A.M. warranted surliness.

"Stiles?"

"Mrs. McCall?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Uh, kinda? What's up? Scott isn't with me, he's still with the pack in the woods."

It was surprisingly refreshing not having to lie to every adult in his life. At least about this.

"I didn't call you about Scott, though it's sort of related. Can you come to the hospital? You really need to check out the body that was brought in."

"What's going on?"

"Look Stiles, I can't really talk about it over the phone. It'll be a lot easier for you to come here."

"Why me?"

"Well, Scott is out in the woods with Derek, so they're both out. Scott said I could trust Dr. Deaton, but honestly, I don't know him very well other than as my son's boss. You, I do. Of course, if you want me to call your father instead..."

It amazing how fast you can get across Beacon Hills when properly motivated.

Fortunately his somewhat loud entrance into the hospital wasn't seen by anyone but Mrs. McCall. She looked up from the folder on the counter with a relieved smile. It must be good if she looked happy to see him.

"Hey."

Her hand curled around his bicep like a claw and Stiles figured he wouldn't be able to get away if she didn't want him to.

"Hey," he responded somewhat hesitantly.

"Over here. And if you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you painfully, slowly."

There were only three things he was scared of, and Mrs. McCall was definitely on the list. He had no doubts she would find a way to not only kill him, but also get away with it. Just like with dogs and Derek, however, it was best not to show fear.

"Why are you showing me a body I've already seen?"

"Because you haven't seen everything."

Dead bodies, contrary to popular belief, looked like meat sacks void of any sentience. There was no "ah, looks like he's sleeping," sort of thing going on; it was even worse when murder or trauma was the cause of death.

The boy Lydia found was cleaned up and looked even younger than his purported seventeen or eighteen years; his face was pock-marked with acne scars and his upper body was lightly muscled, but otherwise unremarkable. Well except for the gaping wound at his throat of course.

"See this around his neck?" She pointed to his throat. "That's a ligature mark, which means he was strangled with something like a cord, rope ."

Stiles looked closer at the cleaned skin and saw, despite the slice, it wasn't ragged like a bite mark. "Okay, wait a second, what kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, it's not very werewolf-y."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Erp-"

"And then there's this -" Mrs. McCall showed no compunction about rolling the stiff head (ha. ha. no pun intended) to the side, revealing a gaping hole not intended by God.

"Appp, eeeeahh, srrrr oh man - what is that? Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter. Of course."

Mrs. McCall looked faintly amused, which was a sentiment out of place considering their location, but Stiles ignored it in favor of trying not to vomit what little food remained in his stomach.

"See the indentation? He was hit in the back of the head hard enough to kill him. In fact, any one of these things could've killed him! I mean, someone seriously wanted this poor kid dead."

Relief warred with a spiraling fear. "So this couldn't have been Boyd or Cora, you know. They wouldn't have done all that." Well, Boyd wouldn't have. Stiles didn't know Cora so he couldn't wholeheartedly vouch for her. "So maybe this is just one murder? I mean, maybe, this is just a random coincidence." He didn't really believe that, of course, especially in Beacon Hills, but Stiles was willing to be optimistic in this, if nothing else. The look on Mrs. McCall's face put paid to that thought immediately.

"I don't think it was just one."

How utterly unsurprising and yet terrifying at the same time. "How come?"

"Because that girl over there," she jerked her head to the right to indicate the covered body behind Stiles, something he'd been trying to ignore since they walked in, "she's got the exact same injuries."

The oddest thing to happen to Stiles wasn't the golden magic spilling from his fingertips into Scott's tattoo or painting a protective sigil onto Derek's stomach hours before he was nearly eviscerated by his own wolves; no, it was knowing who lay under the sheet. Knowing he hadn't expected her to be alive, not being taken so easily and covertly, not being a student of Deaton's School of Sparking and the son of the Sheriff in a town beset by unnatural murders for the past year and a half.

"The ME said this one wasn't just strangled, whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through the rope and kind of keep twisting."

Heather was cold and gray and too young to be lying so motionless on the medical examiner's table, her throat and head looking the same as the boy found at the pool. Now that he knew what to look for, he could tell she too was the victim of the same faceless murderer who'd probably wasn't finished if Stiles' gut feelings were correct. And he'd failed her, failed his oldest friend because he'd allowed his stupid hormones and feelings of inadequacy to cloud his thinking for a brief moment.

"Stiles?"

He couldn't take his eyes from her face and reassure Mrs. McCall despite the worry in her tone. She knew him for years and probably didn't recognize the look on his face because Stiles was good at covering his deepest emotions so no one could see to his heart. This time, unfortunately, he couldn't keep the despair and self-hatred from showing cleanly as if he were like Scott who couldn't hide his feelings to save his life (or anyone else really).

"Oh my god, did you know her? Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't even think."

In a gesture smacking of too little too late, Mrs. McCall drew the sheet over Heather's face as if it would erase the memory of her lifeless corpse from his mind. Stiles parted his lips trying to dredge up the flurry of words to hide behind, but found his tongue tangled and tied with sorrow. Heather was the one who'd stayed beside him when his mother was buried, who held his hand at the grave sight and then again tucked up against him in his narrow bed where he burrowed to avoid the wake. Scott had come over after she'd left and played video games with him to help him keep occupied, but he never forgot the warmth of Heather against his side, her steady breathing and beating heart the only sound loud enough to drown out the screams echoing in his mind. They'd drifted apart after that, differing schools and competing attentions of their ambitions in life, and Stiles hadn't really mourned the loss because in some ways Heather personified his mother's death so it was easy to let her go except for the occasional email or IM.

But not like this. God, not like this.

"I was-I was at her party. It was her birthday. Her name was Heather."

Heather Anne McCauley – he'd always found it kind of ironic he had two friends with similar last names. Moisture brushed his cheeks and Stiles was surprised to find himself crying and quickly wiped his face on the sleeve of his hoody, distantly embarrassed by the show of emotion. He avoided looking at Mrs. McCall because he knew the sad pitiful look on her face would make this tearing sensation in his chest even worse. He suddenly wanted his mother, wanted her arms around him and her lips on the crown of his head as she murmured to him in her faintly accented voice, telling him everything would be better in the morning once the sun had time to rise.

"Okay we need to call your father 'cause you're a witness."

Witness...witness...witness...

The word triggered something in him, a sixth sense he'd always had but only started developing, and he stared back at the pool boy, staring at his opened throat but remembering his positioning, the odd way his purity ring had remained blood-free despite everything.

"Stiles?"

Heather had said his name too, not questioning and fearful like Mrs. McCall, but huskily and with sensual intent as she dragged him into her wine cellar for some privacy so she could ask him to divest her of her pesky virginity.

His ADHD was often a source of frustration and ill-humor for Stiles, yet sometimes he felt blessed, like now, as impressions and facts coalesced into a possible pattern. His father had always said one was an accident, two a coincidence, and three, three was a pattern.

"Has anyone else been through here tonight? Any-any bodies or-or even anyone missing?"

"Uh, no no bodies, but um -"

Mrs. McCall looked a little shell-shocked at the rapid flip of his emotions and Stiles felt impatience score him. Yes, he was hurt by the death of his oldest friend, but now he had the possible means to solve her murder so he really wished she would keep up.

"What?"

"Two girls. They brought the first one, Caitlin, for a tox screen. And then I overheard that her girlfriend Emily just disappeared. I mean, they were out in the woods and -"

"And nobody's found her yet?" Stiles' whole body quivered with nerves as his mind marveled at this new information, seeing how it fit into the rapidly darkening pattern.

"I don't know."

"K. The first one."

"Caitlin."

As if he'd forget her name. Her name was important because it would lead to her giving him what he needed.

"Is she here? Is she here right now?"

"I think so."

Think? Think? Why couldn't Mrs. McCall be suffused with the same knowing he felt traveling through his body in the same manner his magic did sometimes.

"Okay where?"

It was good to move. Movement meant life. Stasis meant death. Why was Mrs. McCall stopping his momentum?

"Okay, okay just wait a minute."

Didn't she realize he would go through her if he had to? He didn't want to, being his best friend's mom, but he would. He would.

"I have to talk to her."

There was worry on her face now as if Stiles wasn't making sense. He was. He was.

"Why?"

Because if he was right, Emily was the important one. If he was right, then Caitlin survived because she wasn't a virgin and Emily was.

"Because I think I know what's happening."

A/N: Dylan O'Brien did such a lovely job of acting in the morgue scene and I loved how he flipped from sad to manic as his brain worked overtime coming to the correct conclusions. This part will probably be split into 4 or maybe even 5 parts (if you have an AO3 account, I've posted this story under the same pseudonym). Look for the series "Shadowy Conversations" as each chapter is linked as a series.