The Banshee In Question

Chapter 6: Little House

“Lydia,” he says more firmly.

She decides to listen to what he has to say, crossing her arms as she remains quiet. She’ll tear him a new one when he’s finished with whatever lame apology he’s about to deliver. Then she’ll call Scott just to be sure that he’s okay.

Stiles waits a moment to confirm her cooperation before gulping down his emotion and telling her news that would surely devastate her. “Allison’s body is missing.”

Her silence is deafening.

x-x-x

 Stiles was mentally preparing himself to call Lydia when she coincidentally rang him. The phone slipped out of his sweaty hands and he had to fumble with it for a moment before catching it short a few inches from hitting the ground. He wasn’t going to have any more time to figure out how he was going to tell her; any time to calm himself.

            When he answered, he was overwhelmed by the frenzied weeping on the other end. He came to the immediate conclusion that Scott had already called and told her, but when she started rambling about a box that Allison left for her, he sucked in a sharp breath. There was no way that these two occurrences weren’t related, and the possibility that someone had snuck into Lydia’s room and left her bloody dress there sent him reeling. There were already so many things to be concerned about. Primarily, where Allison was and who took her; followed by who snuck into Lydia’s room, how any why; and whose blood was on that dress.

            Stiles hardly hears Lydia’s vehement insults, because his head is clouded in its array of wild thoughts and fears. He didn’t want to know why Allison was taken; he just wanted them to find her. Blinking away fresh hot tears, Stiles focuses on the girl he’s talking to, saying her name until she stops babbling. And then he told her.

            As her cries subside into nothingness, he briefly wonders if she hung up, so he checks the screen. The signal is still strong, so he gives her any time she needs to process this information, contemplating heading over to her house. She couldn’t be in a right state.

            “What?” Emotion cracks her question, and she sounds so weak and small that it physically hurts Stiles’ chest.

            His body convulses, distressed as he cradles the phone to his cheek, as if she can feel the motion of attempted comfort through the phone. He licks his peeling lips as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” He can hear her breathing. “The ground where her coffin is was completely burrowed in, like someone just took a shovel and started…” he stops short, realizing how hard this must be for her to hear a second too late.

            “It’s gone?” she gasps, unable to grasp the meaning of this. “Allison is gone?”

            “Yes,” Stiles allows his eyes to shudder closed. “My dad just told me, they think it happened sometime earlier tonight.”

            Lydia can’t let herself feel the weight of this right now, so she focuses on the prime suspect and what his alibi may be. “What time exactly?” She needs to know whether she can pin this on Calvin. If it was him, she’s done. She’ll kill the bastard who took Allison, whoever that may be.

            Stiles’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. She’s not asking the important questions. “Lydia, did you even hear what I said?”

            “What time, Stiles?” she snaps impatiently, running a hand through her thick head of hair and feeling the sweat at her hairline that she hadn’t known was there.