Beacon ⌲ Stiles Stilinski [1] EDITING

twenty nine

Once Matt was passed off to the paramedics and assessed in another room of Beacon Hills Hospital, Allison and I went to recharge by the coffee machine. We texted our parents to inform them of our location, but I assumed they already knew as much thanks to the security cameras that had recorded the library disaster and expensive school damage.

As coffee gurgled into my paper cup, Dad walked up behind us and left me feeling especially grateful it wasn't Gerard.

"Girls," he acknowledged us briefly. "You did the right thing bringing Matt here, but we should head out. The doctors can handle it now."

I snapped a lid onto my cup and slid it through a cardboard sleeve. Having already downed her serving, Allison tossed her garbage into the nearest bin and began shuffling in the direction of the elevators. 

The three of us stepped inside the empty lift and remained silent until the metal doors slid closed. However, instead of pressing the button that would bring us down to the parking level as planned, I watched Dad press a higher number firmly.

"However, before we go," Dad informed us, removing his finger and staring at the illuminated floor level. "I have something else to show you."

I had wondered if we were going to be lucky enough to escape any lecturing or lessons for the evening, but our father's actions and the hard look on his face suggested otherwise. First to step from the elevator, Dad led the way down the hall as Allison and I hesitantly followed while attached at the hip. I attempted to ignore the stale stench of death that was present on the particular hospital floor or the severe absence of visitors.

Stealthily, Dad produced a small laminated card from his jacket sleeve and pressed it against a keypad situated on a large metal door frame which made me wonder where he had snagged an access key to the morgue in the first place. After a small click was heard, he proceeded to push the door open and usher us inside.

My eyes fell on two figures laying on sterilized surfaces, covered in sand-coloured tarps. Grimacing, I set my gaze to my shoes.

"This one: Sean," Dad read from the small cardstock label hanging from one of the bodies. "Sean was killed by this thing Gerard says is a kind of shape-shifter. It hasn't been around for centuries."

"The thing you shot outside the club the other night," Allison spoke.

Dad studied her carefully and glanced at me, but I kept avoiding eye contact by choosing to stare at random objects around the room that weren't the bodies of dead people.

"South American legend we know of calls it the kanima," he continued. Walking around the tables, he pointed at the second figure. "This one: Jessica. While her husband was murdered outside of their mobile home parked somewhere in the preserve, she was later smothered to death after giving birth-"

Allison darted her attention towards me at the confirmation of a death in the forest involving a live-in trailer, making that yet another attack I had somehow predicted. Dad kept staring at the both of us and I took a gulp of coffee, wiping my other palm nervously against my jeans.

"The police think it was done by someone else. We think it's the person who's controlling this other shapeshifter. That means two killers. One human. One not."

He paused as if waiting for us to speak up, but Allison remained quiet and I kept drinking until every drop was drained from my cup.

"You know, the question I had after Gerard first told me about our family was 'Why us?'" Dad sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "In response, he quoted me Winston Churchill. 'The price of greatness is responsibility'. Personally, I think it's more about knowledge."