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Track 01 - This Is What Makes Us Girls (Parkinson Remix) by Lana Del Ray
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{Sunday: Dawn – near Beacon Hills/Fairvale Border, The Styx}
"Will you be checking out?" the manager sounded like she gargled with razor blades. With barely one foot in the Motel's Main Office, it was hardly customary to assume, the guest wanted as much. "But you are leaving?"
"Your tedious establishment? It seems so," the curl of her mouth as she enunciated seemed more the insult than the words. The customer tilted her head to the side and gazed from the front desk toward the parking lot. She twiddled two room keys in her hand and the shine from her ring flickered.
"We could use the rooms, we've got a whole bunch of guests coming in," the Manager croaked, she pointed to the vehicles lined up beneath a stairwell.
"I can see that," the customer turned back to face the manager. She snapped back the keys and didn't exactly grin. Like a dark veil, her hair flowed back as she straightened up, her expression looked predatory. "My companion, when did she collect her personal effects?"
"The stuff she had us put in the safe? They're still in the safe."
"Hah," she had no humor in her laugh, "I'm afraid I'll have to collect those than, shall I."
The manager shrugged, turned around and went through a narrow back door.
Meanwhile the customer took advantage of the time and space afforded; the scissors she could reach through the hole in the plastic divide, and she would use the belt buckle from her trench coat as a flathead wedge. The cheap lock that protected the purveyors from conventional thieves and robbers would pop open easily, her buckle slid at the top of the lock, the scissors provided leverage against it and with very little pressure it popped apart. The proprietors would never know.
Beneath the desk the manager kept an intake file of guests, copies of ID's and credit cards, license plates or passports. Shifting quickly through she connected the 3 the newly occupied rooms, to the 4 vehicles beneath the stairwell and snatched up all theirs and her personal paperwork. She returned the scissors to their place, folded the papers deep into her coat pockets, snatched up a cigarette from the table before she buckled close her bone-colored trench and snapped the office door behind her.
"I didn't think it would be very difficult, the act of retrieving a singular item," she had the audacity to knock on the window to hurry management along.
The manager shuffled in backward into the office, she carried a valise by its handle but gripped it with both hands to keep upright.
"Well, I'd like to see you rush along carrying a ton."
"Yes, I suppose that's why I asked for it," she played with the cigarette between her fingers. Happy to be rid of the luggage the manager hadn't asked for identification when handing it over. And to make a point, she did indeed pick it up quite easily despite its weight and glided out into the dewy morning mist.
After a moments' process the Manager hurried after her.
"You forgot to hand in the keys," she wheezed, out of breath but probably not from running.
"Ah," she made a flicking gesture to demand the manager offer her a light. She did. Of course, the manager followed in suit and started to smoke a cigarette of her own.
"I've decided against it," the woman breathed out. The metal valise draped easily in her hand but the paper in her pocket weighed heavier still. "You have my partner's card on record; that should be sufficient. Hell, why don't you make it a monthly fee."
"Really?" the manager choked just a little.
"Darling, I'd say yearly and give your pudgy little self a Holiday bonus. But presently, this will have to suffice," she drew on the cigarette silently after that. The manager stood beside awkwardly 'thanked' her and waited for some sort of human interaction to continue. It wouldn't.
After finishing her drawn out cigarette, she flicked the butt in an over-arch and raised a brow toward the manager as a means of goodbye.
The time it took to finish her cigarette she laid the paperwork on the bed and analyzed some names. She connected 3 rooms to 4 cars, which meant at least 5 guests. The earmarks of a pack. In her experience Alpha's either drove small expensive cars that left no space for passengers or had their Beta's drive them everywhere. The center room guarded on both sides was the Alpha's going by the 'Ennis', she didn't catch sight of him, but she did not have to catch wind of his reputation. His second in command, the smallish Eurasian person zipping back and forth whipping the troops into shape, rented the connecting room under the name 'Herveaux'. That was an old familiar name, even older than Ennis' name.
The third room was rented under the moniker Mr. Kane MD. The MD seemed prevalent to his listing as well as his parking space. After a time, someone showed up as a torn and bloody mess, despite the good Doctor rushing to mend the big fellow. Then Herveaux stood on the landing between all 3 doors, guarding and watching the line seemingly expecting more.
In response the hunter watching the pop of a latch, emptied the valise and snapped the high-powered rifle together in the speed record her team was envious of. What a disaster, a pack of Werewolves with one Hunter armed with one gun. Where was her Team Leader?
Granted it was Kate Argent's favorite high-powered rifle, but she was not the Team Leader, and this was not a shooting range.
Livy set the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, dragged the desk toward the window, set the riffle on it and lined up a shot across the parking lot. Right where Herveaux stood. Afterward she shifted off her pale coat, climbed onto the bed and laid back on the paperwork. Propped against the starchy pillows, tiered white dress draped, with her high-heeled shoes on and her weapon at the ready she looked every part the sophisticate while she waited and flipped through channels of the Motels spectacular viewing options spanning cartoons to pornography, on mute.
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Track 02 - So Here We Are by Bloc Party
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{Sunday: Dawn - McCall's House, Lakewood Neighborhood}
The McCalls' front door swung open before Lydia knocked, Scott stood wearing checked boxers, a black tank top, a wet crown of hair and his customary baffled expression. Although she practiced what to say nothing came to mind. As though her unannounced appearance weren't enough of a disturbance, having literally smelled blood in the air, he zeroed in on the offence and glanced down at her gloved hands.
"Do you want to come in?" his face screwed up in confusion.
"My Mom's waiting in the car," she tilted her head over her shoulder, as though she needed to provide proof. Scott glanced over and gave a wave. When he looked back to her, Lydia remained focused on her tall boots as she asked, "Is your Mom home? I need a favor."
Instead of following this up with a slew of questions, he gave her a brief nod. After waving goodbye to her Mom in the car, Lydia Martin walked into the McCall's home for the first time in 6 years.
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Melissa McCall inspected her hand as best she could, disinfected it with a numbing cream and wrapped it up. She kissed Lydia on the cheek and told her how sorry she was these had to be the circumstances under which she got to see Lydia, but she was happy to see her, nonetheless. She had grown to be so beautiful, and Melissa was so glad to hear she and Scott were hanging out again, although in the future maybe with a little less fighting.
"Sure, Mrs. McCall. I promise, no more chances of that," Lydia smiled the tight smile that meant 'whatever you say'.
Then Lydia explained the cuts on her hands with something close to the truth; she had been taking pills because of problems sleeping and recently started sleep walking. She figured stress from mid-terms is definitely an attribute and yes, she promised to go to see a proper doctor afterward but couldn't possibly miss another school obligation. She assured Melissa she had her Mom's permission, "she's in the car outside if you want to check".
Mrs. McCall went to go speak to Mrs. Martin outside of the house, not only to give assurances but to give instructions which left Scott and Lydia together, alone.
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The room smelled the same from long ago; of polish embedded wood, potpourri and something so distinct to the McCall's as to be nameless. Lydia shifted to the edge of the sofa, her eyes thoughtful while she gnawed on her lip. After a few minutes Scott braved the travel and walked from the kitchen to her side. Hastily put together with hi-tops, jeans and his favorite red hood, he presented himself on the edge of the end table across from her. He wondered if her nightmares were as bad as his, he wondered if her nightmares were the same as his, he wondered if he was a nightmare to her.
Instead of asking he said nothing and stared at his hands on his knees, gripping to keep them still while he heard Allison's voice inside of his head and remembered what they were and weren't capable of.
Lydia's eyes were on him when he looked up again. As if reading his mind, she shook off his gesture as her reached for her hand to take any of her pain away.
"I'm fine," Lydia reassured him and curled her bandaged hand in her lap.
"I'm sorry your 'Girl's Night' got cut short but I'm glad my Mom could help you out."
For the first time the whole evening Lydia looked pained, 'more white lies' she thought.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked already leading the way outback through the kitchen.
"Yes," she was quick to reply, and finally Lydia looked relieved.
Before moving Lydia glanced over her shoulder to check and see if their Moms would catch them sneaking out of the house together. They went quickly through the kitchen door and Lydia realized she didn't remember these sounds of creaking floorboards. The creaks went unheard to her younger self's ear because she either ran through the home or she tip-toed, but nowhere in-between.
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They slipped behind bushes in his yard which led onto a dirt path that drew between many of the neighboring homes across their ignored secret pathways. Although equally haunted, neither mentioned their nightmare.
"If we're going to keep being thrown together," she started carefully. "We need to come to terms." They picked up where they left off, right before she had cut out on him, abandoning him to the Chem-Lab. But now instead of running away she invaded his space and pulled back his hoodie. He shook the cold off his damp hair and blinked owlishly at her.
"Scott?" she vied for his attention it didn't make him less nervous.
Scott tried to smile, staring at his feet, stealing glances at trees and rather than watching her full on. When Lydia turned up on his doorstep bloodied but thankfully un-murdered, he had been grateful until she involved his Mom. Then he wavered at wanting Lydia to come back to him at all. In that moment both Scott and Lydia knew what the peak of their bond was. They were vulnerable toward each other.
"Even your Mom says, you jumped someone, because of me?" Lydia was determined to clear the air.
"I didn't think Isaac should be around you..." Scott didn't finish the sentence, not just because his opinion had slowly changed but because he knew his statement was a pretty foolish one.
Lydia scoffed "Well, I don't think you should be around Allison. You're just not good enough."
Scott eyes narrowed. They did not color and he wondered if Lydia had deliberately tried to get a rise out of him, "what's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't be remedial?" Lydia muttered and titled her head, "Do I have to spell it out?"
"I might be doing a poor job of making things better. But I'm trying to do things better. You keep stonewalling me."
"Are you kidding me? You need get over it."
"I can't just stop caring," Scott seemed both miserable and proud to admit it. He looked over her face and imposed the girl from years ago on this face, not exactly a stranger's face but a stranger face. He struggled to admit it, the helplessness of it, "Like I can't stop caring about you."
Closing her eyes, she shook her head and sighed.
"What's going on with you Lydia?" he ducked into her view and forced her to face him, "What happened on your trip with your Dad? Your Mom said you disappeared?"
"I don't know," Lydia tossed her hands up in a gesture of frustration.
"Don't" he pleaded. Scott rubbed his hand over his face, "you know what I'm talking about-"
"I mean I don't know," Lydia groaned low but sincerely, "There is a week of my life I have no idea what happened." As she paced, despite the bandage wrap she wrung her hands. She sounded frustrated but unafraid, "I was with my Dad at the stupid Lake House and a week later I'm found wandering the edge of town, monstrous gashes in my side..." her hand trembled when it went to her hip. Not from pain but from the memory of it.
"Lydia?" he reached out and steadied her hand before he thought better of it. She didn't flinch. Stripped of ambiguities, Scott became overwhelmed by the idea of someone becoming like him. It was one thing to suspect it of Lydia. When he realized he had a crossed a line, he looked to her for a sign of what next. More fighting? Yelling? He deserved both. Instead, she studied him, her eyes wide almost fearful but he smelled no fear on her.
"It isn't like yours was, Scott," She finally answered him. She didn't push his hand away, but she had snatched something from him. She acknowledged his suggestion of the supernatural, but she would still cut off any affiliation. "I'm not healing. I'm not. I'm not anything."
"You're Lydia Martin," he reminded, his dimple shown when he smirked. With pride his voice warmed and with his free hand he touched her face. "You're a survivor. You're amazing."
"Stop it, Scott," she caught his hand. She kept her tone firm but not her grip and her eyes looked foreign. Not foreign, they looked kind. "I'm not trying to remember that week or walk down memory lane with you." She slowly brought his hand away from her face and held it, his palm felt cool against hers and comfortable against the night's breeze. For a little while she would not let go. Growing up, Scott had been the one to lead in tag-races, to help everyone through monkey bars and to lift anyone up from where they had fallen on the playground. Lydia remembered quite clearly when Scott would clasp hands it was better and braver than holding onto an adult's, back then anyway.
"Our best-friend didn't survive," she held onto his hand, even when he flinched as she said, "I didn't, I'm an anomaly." She squeezed, not hard but for emphasis, "and you didn't, you've become a monster with a hero complex." She let him go and gestured to the darkness around them, "This place is a literal Beacon for the bizarre and maybe we're not all meant to survive- I didn't mean it like that, I just meant; leave me out of it Scott. Please." Lydia's her voice went raspy and Scott? Scott found he had no voice at all.
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Track 03 - Monsters With Misdemeanors by Yellow Red Sparks
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Sure, he wanted a jog. Sure, he wanted to clear his head. Sure, he didn't want to have to confront his Mom before the sun even fully rose but even before that thought he had to deal with Isaac.
"I feel like you should be doing something like twirling a mustache," Scott scoffed lightly.
It seemed the moment the name entered his mind Isaac appeared outside of his peripheries. He didn't want to fight him, he had in fact begun to like him more and more, but things were getting inexplicably complicated.
Isaac however, "I thought maybe a shroud."
After Lydia's harsh brand of honesty, he didn't feel up for Isaac's cagey head games.
They fell into step beside one another. When they reached a fork in the road that would have led them closer or further to Scott's home they stopped. The lights of Mrs. Martin's car receding went along the street opposite while Scott's Mom waved them off from the curbside.
"Is she okay?" asked Isaac.
Scott nodded.
"I thought I heard her scream," Isaac admitted. Scott wondered why but didn't ask.
Scott remembered the dream and falling out of bed. He remembered that urgency to run to Lydia and how he had called Allison instead. He pitied Isaac his state.
"I did too," Scott figured what the hell.
Whether by the statement itself or the bluntness of it, either way Isaac seemed taken aback. He stared long after the car disappeared and then started to pace. Isaac clenched and unclenched his fist when he tried to remain still and would abandon the effort of stillness to pace once more.
"I have no clue what's happening?"
"I never have a clue what's happening," Scott sagged against a tree.
"Allison told me Lydia was having nightmares. Are they something like night terrors?"
Scott shrugged haplessly. Isaac continued pacing.
"What about when this happens again?"
"If I could figure out how to stop it I would but she doesn't want me anywhere near her."
Isaac stopped, "are you saying you could ignore that?"
"Of course not," Scott sniffed at that. He had a second realization "How did everyone else ignore it?"
Ah. Isaac slowly stepped forward, head shifted to the side to observe how Scott would take it "Because only we heard it."
Just a nod. After a pause "if she doesn't want me to come near her," another pause, "then you can."
"I will," Isaac hoped he could live up to a promise that felt weightier than just words "but we can't protect her from what is inside of her head."
"I guess not. Figuring out the truth of what's going on with her" Scott stood and dusted himself. "It's the only option right, Isaac. Once you truly know, then you can better accept where you are you don't have to worry about losing control so much. Even if you do, right?"
Isaac started to smile until he swore, he could have caught Scott's eyes glow yellow as he nodded his head to say goodbye.
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Track 04 - Go Outside by Cults
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{Morning - Martin's House, Aires East}
Of late Natalie Martin had begun to feel neglectful of Lydia, it was easy to feel overwhelmed with every increasing extenuating circumstance. All the textbooks said to try to keep her daughter as regulated as possible to diffuse any long-standing trauma. But it felt like every step of the way was a misstep. Instead, every impulse she had was to hug her daughter close and to never let her leave home.
Trying to stay on track Natalie tied her hair back and dressed in her running clothes. She didn't have the heart to queue up the usual running playlist on her iPhone for fear of missing an emergency. She paused at her bedroom door and her hand hovered over the doorknob as she reevaluated the merits of staying versus going. All that came of it were shaky nerves from keeping one pose for too long. When she came through the foyer and called to her daughter to say goodbye 'for now', instead she found Lydia at the foot of the front stairwell strapping on a pair of shape-up trainers.
Lydia grinned to see the surprise on her Mom's face. She stood and presented the whole ensemble, from sports bra to wind resistant running tights. When her Sunday cram-sessions were brought up Lydia waved it away as one would a fly.
"Screw it! Let's go for a run together."
They didn't mention how her hand was taped up like that of a boxer's because the color matched the outfit.
So as not to not be disturbed on their rare Mother-Daughter time, Natalie placed her phone on the table by the front door and they headed out for the regular Sunday mile run.
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Track 05 - The Calling by TJ Stafford and Caitlin Parrott
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{Midday - from City Central to The Hills and back, BH. CA}
As a Hunter, Rumy's distinct specialty was invisibility.
When Deputy Haige gave account of the long list of reasons why Fairvale is responsible for their back log of unsolved cases; they both commiserated over regrettable choices in youth that lead them to choosing law enforcement.
When Deputy Graeme turned up early for their shift and stayed longer, they both commiserated over growing up as over achievers.
When Deputy Cordova grilled him about professional experience, Rumy brought up Argent Arms Intl. then they both compared alterations to their Glocks for hours.
But when Deputy Parrish asked, "what's that accent I hear?" Rumy hesitated.
"When I served in Afghanistan," Parrish explained, "I picked up an ear for accents."
Rumy's smile held no mirth, "from the North."
"It's not Irish exactly," he cocked an eyebrow, his interest double by Rumy's vagary.
"Romani," Rumy winked. He was so used to gaining other people's confidence he knew all the earmarks. "I inherited it from my Mother, but I only found real family in the service."
It hadn't dissuaded Parrish, "Where did you serve?"
"Serbia, Iraq, Afghanistan, maybe a half-dozen other warzones before I realized the private sector was for me. You?"
"2-year tour," vagary returned with a smirk, but a bit of Parrish's history read on his face.
Four Deputies in and not one had chipped at Rumy's façade. No one questioned his extended ride-alongs and the virtually 24-hour shifts. Only to have sniffed out the ancient rise and fall of tone rubbed out over a million rounds of whiskey with Christopher Argent discussing the stratagem of monsters. As they say, the devils in the details.
"And the private sector landed you here? I guess we're lucky you can apply your experience to Rural Californian Counties," Parrish climbed into the driver's seat of the police cruiser.
"It's not very different." Rumy preferred to listen rather than to talk but as a Hunter his code sat too close to the surface, "People are people. Whatever background, we protect those who needs protecting."
Parrish paused before he turned the car on and considered the statement. His brows went up mildly and he gave it a nod as if he officially approved. From that moment on Rumy knew Deputy Parrish would be problematic. He considered swapping out assignments with Tyhurst, possibly eating maybe even doing that sleeping thing.
Instead Rumy chanced a ride-along with Parrish; since the "Tip Hotline" had been provided to the town for clues about the dead bodies the Sheriff's department had been kept very busy. Mostly with lots of prank calls.
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Lastly for their shift was a noise complaint over by Echo Lane, which brought some sort of interest from Parrish. He explained to Rumy the upper crust moved out of the city and toward the woods and area called The Hills, building their property into roads yet to be marked. Echo Lane was one such place; "Lane" was a glorified description for a trail leading out into wooded acreage and home was a polite way of describing "Modest Estate".
A noise complaint from a resident that was several miles away from any living soul was noteworthy.
Deputy Parrish was on point about the property. Although 10 minutes from the town center it felt like country onto itself. Even unfinished its nearness to a river brought it grandeur that may as well have been a moat with the way it cut through the lush green. The wood paneled house wasn't vast, but it had character with its looping porch and shapely windows presenting different ports climbing all 3 floors.
A guy named Søren opened the door as if he had expected them. Deputy Parrish asked about the noise and Søren didn't act surprised or curious, but he offered access to the grounds if they thought anything untoward.
'Now there is an accent' Rumy thought to himself.
The diversity of the cast within caught his attention. It caught Parrish's attention as well and he asked if they were lodgers.
"No," Søren said with pride, "we have a rather varied kinship amongst our family." He insisted on getting his Father.
Parrish gave Rumy a look, their predicament had turned untenable. They were outnumbered and out of range to call for back up. Parrish reminded him the people who lived in the outskirts were a peculiar brood in general and cloistering themselves wasn't out of the norm.
No, no it wasn't. Werewolves Packs often kept themselves under the same roof. Rumy wore glasses with telephoto lenses. Often but not always because they gave him headaches. But more than that, they made the eyes of Werewolves shine.
Rumy said little while Parrish talked to the 'Father' whom he understood very easily to be the pack's Alpha. When he introduced himself as Deucalion, no last name, Rumy shook his hand firmly and studied his face. He looked kind enough. He introduced his partner, a small curly-haired woman named Jonsen; Parrish asked if the elongated scar along her extending from collar bone had been from a heart surgery. She didn't miss a beat when she answered 'yes' but she looked at Rumy when she answered. Rumy complimented them on their home, asked them how long they've lived there.
"Not long," Deucalion answered and the curve at the edge of his lip offered a taunt to continue.
Rumy was a gambling man, "what brought you guys around these parts?"
"Just looking to catch up with some family?" his tone implied that this should have been common knowledge.
Deputy Parrish may not have been part of their smoke and mirrors game, but he could play along.
"This place is pretty far out of the way," he glanced through the rooms around, "guess your family has some pretty big needs. All, what, 6 maybe 7 of you?"
"6."
Parrish smirked, "you might want to watch your noise level or invest in sound proofing for all, 6 was it?"
"Yes," Deucalion tilted his head toward Parrish, his attention diverted. Jonsen's brows went up minutely.
"Neighbors around here, they like to talk," Parrish gave a nod as a send-off and with a smile added, "Who knows what they'll say about you next time the Sheriff's department gets a call."
Rumy decided two things right then and there. 1) He liked Parrish. 2) He needed to keep that guy around and safe from himself.
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An awkward quiet car ride off the property left an air of distress. Rumy wanted to get to the Chris Argent's home and report what he had observed. He wanted to investigate further but knew the Deucalion property was virtually inapproachable. Deputy Parrish was good enough to have gotten a head count but there was more to acknowledging a new Packs presence aside from the 'how many' and 'where' and 'why'. A meeting needed to happen to theorize the 'what are they' and the 'when will they' but Rumy was stuck on Sheriff detail-
"I'm pretty sure we're being followed. No, flagged down." Deputy Parrish stated tearing Rumy away from his musing.
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Track 06 - Light Of Some Kind by Ani DiFranco
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A familiar Dolphin Grey Mazda made a rather broad U-turn from the wrong lane across the double yellow to drive alongside their Crown Vic. Rumy bit down on a scoff,
"That's my god-daughter," he said resignedly.
Deputy Parrish gave him a sympathetic glance and pulled the police cruiser over into the bend.
Had Allison been in a more stable rested state of mind, she might have thought better than to make an illegal maneuver to catch up with an Official Sheriff's department vehicle.
The sight of Rumy in a police car brought more questions after a night chock' full of speculation. Allison left her car running when she hurried along the passenger side, while the Deputy and Rumy shared a look of concern.
"You finished the shift so effortlessly, it was like you weren't even here," Parrish excused Rumy, while he studied the dashboard intently. Rumy smirked and left the car, he really didn't like that he liked that guy.
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"What's going on?" she rushed up to meet him.
Allison's face read exhaustion but mostly confusion, meanwhile Rumy, the gentleman vagabond, looked expertly harried, he tended to sport a 5 o'clock shadow even freshly shaven.
"I was about to ask you the same thing," he pet her head kindly. Rumy was a smallish man and with their nearness in height the awkward gesture endeared them. "Allison, are you alright? What are you doing here?"
It wasn't surprising when Rumy appeared across the road on her way back from Jackson's. He had an uncanny tendency to turn up in times of trouble. He held her shoulder and guided her gently back toward her sedan. She sighed deeply but it unleashed a shudder that started a tremble which he didn't need to remove his glasses to notice. He took them off regardless.
"You were patrolling?" She shuffled along. The ache to confess her suspicions Jackson Whittemore being a Beta Werewolf weighed heavily on her. But her craving Rumy's comfort outweighed reason.
"You knew that, Allison. We're on rotation with the Sheriff's department," Rumy gave her arm a firm squeeze before letting go.
"No! Wait," she blamed fatigue while she furiously wiped her tear moistened cheeks. "Was there a report of a teenage girl murdered or injured maybe?"
Without his glasses, Rumy's grey eyes were brighter and far more penetrating. All the better for interrogation. "Allison is this speculation or do you know something's happened?"
Disoriented, she pressed her hand to her mouth and her brows pinched together as she examined the road, as if the truth lay just out of sight.
"Okay, get in. We can talk and drive," he insisted. When met with the panic on her face he retracted slightly, "or you can just hint vaguely and I can guess, but personally I'd like to know what you're doing lurking this far away from home so early."
Allison slumped into the passenger seat without further hesitation. The 10 minute drive home turned to 30 after a detour for breakfast. Rumy didn't press with questions, but he bribed with hot chocolate and Nutella covered pastries.
"I have a friend, she just gets into trouble."
"Does that account for the surveillance gear?" he tilted his head toward the back seats. Rumy observed but didn't judge as Allison hadn't cleared away evidence of the night's surveillance antics.
They gave each other the same restrained nod over the lip of their take-out cups. A mirrored expression Allison had subconsciously picked up from Rumy over shared years. He winked at her afterward and she gave him her trademarked dimpled grin.
"Allison, are you being safe?"
"Yes, I'm just worried about my friend," it was a roundabout version of the truth.
"Well, I'm familiar with that affliction," he smirked to think of her Father. Ah, the hijinks they'd get up to. "How can I help?"
"I saw you with the police. I don't know what I assumed you would know."
Rumy stretched in the driver's seat for a long moment, stared at the ceiling and then turned the car back on.
"What? What is it? Uncle Rumy, what do you know," she rarely used the term Uncle. Always in private and only when she really wanted her way.
"It'll be alright, we'll figure it out, Ally. Just remember what they say in the old world, 'where the needle goes-"
"What? Where?" that phrase of his always grounded her, her Godfather's otherworldly philosophies and it made her want to laugh despite everything.
"Where?" He winked impishly, "why 'where there needle goes, surely the thread will follow.' So, lead, I'll follow. The friend comes first, you'll feel better once you know. On the way I'll let you in on a little something I know, then after on our way home we'll find out what the family should know."
Allison typed Lydia's address into the GPS, sat upright, slurped down the rest of her Hot Chocolate and felt instinctively more awake. The world felt infinitely better to have someone supportive at your back.
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For the better part of an hour Allison paced outside of the empty home and Rumy waited beside her without complaint.
"Allison, we can check again later. Just because there isn't an answer right now isn't confirmation that anything is wrong," Rumy reminded with a gentle firmness.
Allison nodded in agreement. Her mind knew it to be the truth, but she hated that she had broken a promise. Twice, she denied taking Scott's premonition seriously and she hadn't protected Lydia after swearing she would.
Before driving home, she insisted on repacking the car. She clutched Lydia's phone as a safety net, connecting her to the choices she made, commitments to the path she laid out. It was the last thing she packed away.
Just as he pulled up to the front of the Argent Main house she had to ask, "Can you please not tell my parents about this detour? I mean, we didn't find out anything anyway-" her nose scrunched up as she winced away from her pleading tone.
"How can I tell your parents anything when I'm just getting off my shift with the Deputy? What could I know."
"Oh. And when can I learn about your time with your new 'Deputy' friend?'" Allison even used air quotes.
"At a 'Meeting' with the rest of the family," he yawned deeply, stretching his arms overhead. "After a shower-shit-and-shave."
"Maybe a nap?" Allison giggled.
"Yep. Maybe a nap," Rumy conceded, caught up in a second yawn. Once more he looked her over with those grey analytical eyes. Since he practiced leading by example. "Allison, take a breath. If it's important, it'll keep."
When he tucked and errant strand of hair behind her ear an expression of relief flickered across her face. A burden shared is a burden shifted.
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Track 07 - What Do You Go Home To by Explosions In The Sky
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{Evening - Sheriff's House, Beacon Garden Community, BH, CA.}
The county was full up with people pulling double and triple shifts, if you counted off duty.
At home Sheriff Stilinski had a corkboard set up in his kitchen. Along with the 8x10 color glossy crime-scene photos were pinned a half dozen maps, some dated, some newer, as well as a few topographical ones of different places throughout Southern California. There were endless observational notes, some in his own hand and those of every noted expert who would speak with him over the past 6 years.
Parrish joined him after the end of his shift and he brought along healthy take-out he referred to as "Brain-Food" and some not-so healthy additions, such as a half-gallon carton of black coffee from Dunkin Donuts. It was at that point the Sheriff shared with him the location of the spare key above the door frame by the back porch, next to the garage.
"The colored string?" Parrish asked about. "Red means unsolved, right?"
"Yeah," the Sheriff responded without looking up, his cheeks full of munchkins.
Parrish took in the board fully and after a moment added, "there sure is a lot of red up there."
"Yeah," the Sheriff shot a warning look over his shoulder, "I've noticed that."
The best he could do to afford an apology was to get to work. There were few yellow strings on the board, but one stood out to Parrish. It connected a photo of a Lake House to an old folded, hand noted road map. Near it, yellow string connected the route map the murdered couple had used.
"What's the connecting factor here?"
Sheriff Stilinski looked over and followed the line of sight, "our couple was attacked going north, connecting to scenic 101 via Fairvale. Claudia-" his voice was a practiced steady at saying his wife's name "-had just cut through Fairvale onto the 101, taking the scenic route to our friend's Lake House when the car went over a very scenic Cliffside."
"You can't triangulate a hypothesis with only two examples. It can just be coincidences."
"Exactly," grinning, the Sheriff turned toward the table and retrieved a medical file. He pulled out a page of unimpressive data and pinned it to the board. "About 2 weeks ago a Jane Doe turned up at the Fairvale General Hospital's ER, malnourished, hypothermic and with what looked like the animal claws across her abdomen. Only it had too many digits. Just like the marks on the car and the double-murder."
Parrish looked through the medical report, as well as some newly added notes. "It looks like the vet confirmed they aren't just similar, they are identical to the ones from our double-murder."
In step to the Sheriff, Parrish pinned the report to the board and kept the train of thought going. This helped solidify a timeline, but the Medical report was inconclusive.
"What happened to the girl?"
The Sheriff sat at the table and examined the board, his eyes went unfocused as though he took in some great expanse of landscape, but it was too much to process at once. He sighed and took a long sip of coffee.
"She vanished. As if she got up and walked right out of the ER."
Parrish took a closer look at the report as if she would appear in the ink. "Vanished? From an ER where it looks like she was being treated for some severe injuries?"
"She had to have help getting out."
"So, there was a third victim."
"No, there is a survivor," the Sheriff corrected.
"Are we looking for her?" Parrish dropped onto the chair opposite. He grabbed his mug from the night before from where he had left it on the table and barely winced at pungent additive it gave this new serving of coffee.
"With what manpower?"
"I think we can figure something out," Parrish dared another sip and reanalyzed the board. "If going north got them all attacked, logic dictates she backtracked to hide in Beacon Hills."
"You think she would have run back to Beacon Hills?" while the Sheriff had shot down the Deputy's suggestion his mind still toyed the prospect.
"I think it's worth speculating. She was picked up on the road here," he went over and pushed a pin into the roadmap above the medical report.
The Sheriff moved to stand beside him and wrapped a yellow string connecting it to the Route 101 map. "That makes 3. 1's an incident, 2's a coincidence and 3's a..."
"3 is actually the 2nd." Parrish made a gesture with his hand as if asking to touch the cork board. The Sheriff stepped back with a sweeping gesture as if to say 'show me'. Parrish pushed on, "The Jane Doe turned up in the ER around New Year's Day." He rearranged the sequence on the board, "Ms. Pelt and her friend from Texas turn up a week later. That makes our survivor 2nd and shows the attacks are getting closer to Beacon Hills."
The Sheriff tilted his head and watched the facts aligned. Aside from the 6-year gap, it read as a textbook, the attacks were nearing Beacon Hills central. His city. Even if he couldn't solve the why or who, he had a duty, no, the goddamn paternal instinct to protect his city from this threat.
After a long moment of staring at the board the Sheriff stepped forward and started to remove information from it.
"What's going on?" Parrish caught items before they hit the kitchen floor.
"I'm looking at this wrong, we need to stop following the attacks and start following the road," the Sheriff explained. The photo of the Lake House remained untouched only beside it he pinned a photo of his wife, their son and birthday cake with the number 10 on it. "That's how we're going to get ahead of it find out what it is, why it's here and how to end it."
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Track 08 - Ready To Start by Arcade Fire
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{Monday: Morning - BHHS, City Central}
"Welcome to dead week," Lydia grinned.
"You don't have to enjoy this so much," Isaac cocked an eyebrow watching Lydia practically saunter along.
"What? Can't you smell the fear in the air?" she lifted her hands in a gesture a hand model would use to display the newest line of accessories. Isaac hesitated, Lydia shrugged a shoulder and turned back to walk her pathway amongst the fretful. "All those quaking in their boots of the on-coming Mid-Term storm."
"Right," Isaac closed his locker, relieved for the clarity of her statement, "that."
Unburdened, Lydia carried on as if her bandaged hand held no suspicion. Isaac opened his mouth several times to ask but when she snapped at him to get out with it already, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his cardigan and asked how her weekend was.
"Perfect," her heart rate didn't waver with a lie, "I spent time with my Mom. Undisturbed. No boys, no calls."
"I did try to call," he confessed, his concern after Saturdays' cancelled guilt-date.
"I did lose my phone," she replied, then stopped short outside of her classroom. She watched the nervous nature of her classmates rushing into Mr. Harris' class, her amusement on full display.
"I could walk you to your classes, we could catch up," he offered, realizing too late he came off as desperate.
"I wouldn't," she petted him on the chest and sent him along.
The second bell rang, it warned Isaac he would be not only marked late for Ecology but during "dead week" where there would be 3 times as much work with half as much time and the reward would be the midterms to follow. He wasn't sure which was worse that or realizing how much harder it would be to take care of Lydia now that he cared for Lydia.
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Scott was certain he would fail Human Anatomy. Even when Allison wasn't seated as the center of his attention, she still occupied his thoughts. The sound of her heart's rate, the smell of her anxiety kept him from remembering how to sign his name for the first third of the period. By the time he managed the practice test they were collecting the first sheets and starting on the next. Mr. Helisek wasn't likely to excuse him because he felt extra sensitive over his girlfriend feeling sensitive.
Barely through the doorframe after the bell rang, Allison recognized the sight of his worn striped hoodie through the throng of students, reached for it and Scott reached back to pull her against him. They held onto one another and ran into a corner between lockers.
"I had a family thing yesterday," she rushed through an explanation, "I couldn't call. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Everything is going to be okay," he cupped her face and she eased at his touch.
"I promised to call, I couldn't even check in with Lydia-"
"It's fine. She checked in with me."
Her breath caught for a moment in equal parts relief and surprise, she searched his face and found the only confirmations she needed was the comfort of his half smile.
"Yesterday," he nodded. Somebody passing wooted for them to get a room. The first bell rang to warn for them to get to Homeroom. He placed a kiss at her temple and ushered her beside him.
After a moment, the world caught up with her. She slipped into the desk in front of him, stretched back toward him and whispered, "why would she go to you?"
Scott shrugged but she sensed he wasn't being wholly truthful. Allison rocked back into her seat, gnawed on the edge of her pencil and waited for Ms. Morell to finish roll-call.
"How did she look to you?"
"My Mom patched her up," he leaned across the aisle but couldn't fully face her, she could see he meant to comfort her with another small smile, but it ripped a little piece of her conscience away "aside from that, she was her usual charming self."
Allison stopped asking questions after that.
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"Let me guess, you have my phone," Lydia popped up behind Allison. Her normally unflappable best-friend jumped a literal inch into the air. When Allison spun to face Lydia, her own hair smacked in her face. Lydia glanced around suspiciously, as if searching for the prank cameras. "What is going on with you?"
"You startled me," Allison laughed it off but her face held the pink of panic.
Lydia evened out the part in her friend's hair, adjusted the collar of her cropped leather jacket and flashed a smile that didn't exactly smooth out the worry line between her eyebrows. "Better?"
"Much."
"Allison, don't let dead week get to you. I'll help you study, you know that. But I will need the notes in my phone though," smirked as she put out her hand expectantly. And there it was, Kinesio blue medical tape wrapped around her palm.
Their eyes locked after Allison caught herself staring. Lydia shrugged but it bothered her that it bothered Allison. Still, Allison placed the iPhone into her hand as Lydia insisted. The second bell rang in warning.
"You're late," said Lydia.
"I know," said Allison. After a deep breath she gave Lydia a once over. From stylized curls, altered powder blue high-low dress paired and her favorite ankle boots and Allison grinned, "You look great."
"I know," said Lydia with a look that read 'of course'.
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4th period Chemistry had anything but chemistry going for it. There was the discomfort of Lydia and Scott (once again) avoiding one another. Then there was Allison, still feeling anxious and guilt-ridden over withholding from both her best-friend and boyfriend on behalf of secretly observing Jackson and Isaac for tells of Supernatural agendas. Of course, there was Jackson's wonderful demeanor as usual, heightened by his proximity to Lydia, multiplied by sharing air with Isaac and Scott (which Allison had begun to put logic toward). And lastly there was Isaac ping-ponging between vying for Scott's attentions or Lydia's.
Mr. Harris lived for this sort of misery.
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After their Lunch/Study period Allison had gone from remorseful to infuriated with Scott and Lydia; the most clarification she would get from either of them about their Sunday rendezvous was "sleepwalking through a bad dream and hit a mirror. Not a big deal."
They both confirmed it in such unison Allison would have thought it practiced had it been anyone else. Lydia might lie, but not Scott... although Scott might not know he had lied. But would he use subterfuge? To what end? Or would Scott's dream convince Lydia her dream had been a dream?
"Don't worry about things so much," Scott suggested in so lighthearted a way it blind-sided her.
Allison's head hurt. No, Allison not everything was as complicated as she had made her own story out to be.
"But what about you," Lydia asked, "more family business? Anything interesting?" her brow rose, she sensed a lie before Allison opened her mouth.
"Aren't we supposed to be studying?"
Lydia 'hmphed' with a smirk. The bell rang for next period.
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Ms. Blake offered up her double-period Lit students to use the second period for study instead. Classes from then out were for the most part either lumped together or each student for themselves, with the exception of electives. The school allowed for any elective classes to provide their periods as opted study periods, with the exception of Lacrosse.
Coach Finstock had a special and inspiring (if inspiring fear counted as inspiring) message to remind the lacrosse team that their attendance at the game that evening was still mandated if they valued the livelihood of their balls, their children's balls and their lady's lady balls. Although not exactly articulated as such, it was inferred.
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Track 09 - Strange Times by The Black Keys
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{Afternoon – BHHS, Boy's Locker Room, Changing Area}
Later while the Coach rallied the team; by some miracle of majesty, Danny's best-friend finally deigned to talk to him. He hadn't been avoiding Jackson since his disappearing act over the weekend. In fact, after a dismissive update text- "I'm fine. prefer solo training. see you Monday" -Danny had let the whole incident go.
What he preferred not to let go of was the criticism of his personal hygiene.
"Smell?" asked Danny as he eased on his cleats while having the dignity to pretend to mishear his friend. "My cologne, it's Armani."
"Not that," sneered Jackson, his nosed scrunched up like a sewage plant had backed up and exploded up onto a shipment of rotten eggs on the hottest day of a heat wave, "you smell like you're hanging with an asshole."
"You mean you," Danny quipped without missing a beat. On certain occasions he struggled to understand how he remained friends with Jackson. This wasn't quite there yet. He would have felt wounded if he weren't so worried. Everything about Jackson read off-centered. His best-friend stood around a virtually empty locker room in only-half gear despite the fact that, as Co-Captain he should have already been on the field. Instead, Jackson waited around for Danny, he seemed uncertain of the way.
"I mean your new boyfriend," Jackson came back. He snapped his head around to look back, his eyes intent as though Danny was the only thing he seemed to recognize in the room.
"I mean what's your deal," Danny tried to shrug it off and closed his locker harder than he intended, "since it's not like we double-date?"
"I mean, as your best-friend I'm worried about you," he shoved his helmet on and seemed to think better.
"I mean, you're coming off as a bit jealous." Danny put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Jackson startled to the touch.
"I mean," Jackson mimicked the concern of Danny's tone, "you can call it whatever you want but your secret fuck-buddy isn't so secret anymore."
Danny shook his head and went off toward the field, annoyed that Jackson followed in step. He didn't have time to be goaded into whatever this was. "That isn't the only secret fucking going on."
"What?" Jackson responded in a less aggressive tone. Lightly, Danny touched his shoulder a second time. This time he guided Jackson toward the team, since he seemed unable to focus beyond smelling absent people and staring at dust as if it were tumble weed.
"You're being secretly eye-fucked by McCall's girlfriend," Danny jutted his chin toward the stands. There she sat, sweet little Allison Argent, her scarf curling loops around her neck, it pulled her dark hair forward to spill over her shoulder to where her fingers absentmindedly played while her notebooks lay ignored on her lap, but her eyes were kept steadily on him. She smiled nervously but didn't seem nervous at the same time and it felt very familiar.
"Interesting."
"As YOUR best-friend, don't go there," Danny cut in and forcefully turned Jackson to face the team. "Friday, McCall nearly took off Lahey's head. And that was just for sniffing around a girl he was friends with in grade school."
Finally, Jackson's attention turned to the team.
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Track 10 - Gold Gun Girls (Unplugged) by Metric
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A mania ran throughout the game as seemed to have difficulty remembering which team they played for. Players were tossed about like rag dolls and Coach Finstock sounded as if he would have a coronary.
At first Allison cheered on her boyfriend then quickly shouted at him not to dislodge his teammate mid-play. Their rivalry evaporated when a fissure threatened to pull apart the field through confusion and bloodlust. During a brief time-out Scott explained their failure was intentional.
"If we don't get these people off the field they're going to get killed," Scott whispered in a loud-ish whisper, his face close to hers trying to pass along some comfort.
"By someone other than you," Allison kneeled behind the player's bench; her eyes were large with shock and concern.
"Something is happening. I can feel it. Isaac can feel it," Scott scanned the field, Isaac gave them a nod.
Allison hated that Scott trusted Isaac before her but once more her instincts were confirmed, with Isaac being a Supernatural it made sense they would be draw toward each other.
"Where's Lydia?"
"What?" Allison hesitated, "she's coming after dinner with her Mom, why?"
Scott shook his head. "No, something is wrong."
Finally, something she could do, "I'll find her." She wouldn't fail this time.
Scott looked relieved momentarily. Coach bellowed after him seconds later and made his name sound obscene.
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There was no harm in the legalities of texting while driving when you had already pulled over. Lydia clutched her iPhone as if she would choke it, aggravated not with Allison whom she had just assured that she was en route to BHHS but that somehow, she had gotten lost.
Lydia was the first of her friends to get a driver's permit, she could have driven to the High School with her eyes closed and she knew the back roads like she knew the periodic table and she had never gotten lost.
Never mind '2 miles out of her way' lost and if her subconscious had anything to say about it 'a few more miles would be tacked onto it through woodland and brush' lost.
With Volkswagen Beetle fully gassed, her iPhone fully charged, and GPS coordinated toward the school location preprogrammed she had her bases covered.
After a moment, she straightened in her seat and when she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and recognized it for fear and she did not like it. When Lydia clutched her phone the Kinesio tape caught uncomfortably on the edge. Her heart beat like a hammer she felt awake and tore the bandage off.
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The Beacon Hill's "Cyclones" would have lost by a wide margin due to unimaginable number of fouls in the shortest game of the season if it hadn't been called on a technicality; a half dozen of Beacon Hills players either turned on each other or collapsed on the field mid-play saying they heard screaming inside their heads. It seemed The Cyclones had come down with some sort of 24-hour encephalitis or so the Coach explained.
Playlist Available: youtubeDOTcom / bhanesidhe / playlist
the playslists have been transferred over from 8tracks. Although I tried spotify as well they just didn't have as many tracks available. It was a v frustrating choice.