Gut Instinct (Teen Wolf)

Epilogue

"So was it Vic then?" I asked. "Was she the one that painted the mural?"

Mrs Velasco turned to me. Her dark hair was down from its usual bun, falling down to the middle of her back. Her dark eyes fixed on me. Her wedding ring sparkled in the small bursts of sunlight the leaves allowed through.

"What do you think?" she asked.

I couldn't help but smile. Mrs V almost never gave a straight answer. I asked her why once and she said, "I want my kids to be thinkers. It's the thinkers that make their way in this world."

I looked away from my English teacher and turned my attention to the painting on the outside of the school. Somehow it had survived through the years and the touch Californian weather. It was done using spray paint, but the way the artist used it, you would never be able to tell unless you were an artist yourself. It reached from the ground to the roof.

It was a forest clearing. Trees ringed the outside creating a bowl of the glade. Perched in the branches were birds. Falcons, owls, a kind of eagle, cardinals, all watching the scene below. On the forest floor were dozens of animals. Snakes, coyotes, a grizzly bear, a dragonfly, dogs like retrievers, beagles, and Newfoundlanders. But the most used animal were wolves. A stream ran past with the only discernible shape in there was the pattern of an electric eel. A lot of them weren't even fully grown, but caught halfway like the creatures were teenagers.

The animals were all caught in natural poses, a mother wolf watching her pups play with coyotes and a golden retriever pup. A falcon was watching the animals with a soft gaze. An owl was midflight, its wings wide and so detailed it was hard to believe it was done in spray paint.

Despite the fact they were animals, everyone in Beacon Hills knew what the creatures represented. They were people. Or had been. It was a tribute to those who had died. There were both human and supernaturals in the mural. It was easy to tell which was which. You just had to look at their eyes. Some were normal, human eyes. Others had bright golden yellow eyes or blue. A few even had red. The eel had purple eyes.

No one knew who had done it. The cameras had been covered, then uncovered when it had been painted. There was no signature, and no one could tell the style of the artist. There were whispers, rumors. Some said it was an old student of Beacon Hills. Some said the county had hired a professional painter. One person had even said that the ghosts of the dead had done it themselves (that version was mostly used to scare siblings and friends). But no one had claimed the painting as their own.

Some people hated it. They wanted it painted over, destroyed. They had been few and far between, their voices unheard in the silence. They had tried a petition, but it hadn't gone through. It had stayed.

"I think she did," I said. "It seems like the kind of thing she would do."

"That also depends on the story you hear," Mrs V pointed out.

I turned back to her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Like any story, some details get changed, forgotten or even left out altogether," she explained. "In one, Vic never had her knives. In another, the Dread Doctors never took her powers. In some, she has a partner. In quite a few, she died. In the Dealers, at the hands of the nogitsune, the hunters. One even says she died the night her pack did."

"How do I know which one is the real story?" I asked.

"That depends on what story you hear," she answered. "On what you believe is right."

I looked back at the mural. My eyes landed on two wolves that laid beside each other. One was entirely black. The other was grey. The black one was larger, its form bigger, its paws powerful. The grey one was sleek, beautiful. And from the look in its eyes, dangerous.

Both their eyes were yellow.

"I think this one is right," I said. "It feels right. I think Vic did this too."

Mrs V's phone buzzed. She pulled it out. "My husband's here. You want a ride?"

I shook my head. "I think I'll stay here for a little bit."

She nodded. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her clothes. "See you next week, kiddo." She left.

I looked back at the mural. I knew eventually, I'd have to get on my bike and go home. I knew my mom would ask where I'd been. When she asked, would I tell her? About Vic, about the story, my theory about the mural?

I found my answer was no. It felt personal. Like Vic and I shared a secret now. Even though I had never met her. Even if only I believed she was real. I did believe she was real. Because she was real to me. And that was enough.

I smiled at the thought.

Eventually, I'd have to leave.

But for now, I stayed. I watched. I watched the sunlight hit the paint of the mural. I watched the oak leaves above me sway in the slight breeze.

I stayed, even though my butt hurt from sitting down for so long.

And for now, it was all I wanted.