teen wolf imagines.

exile: scott mccall.

i haven't had a friend since the day trial ended.
that was two years ago,
in case anyone is curious.
i can still remember how strained my breath was,
how it was clogged into my throat in anticipation.
"we the jury, in the case of the state of california vs y/n l/n find the defendant...not guilty in the charge of first degree murder."
the sound of the gavel announcing my release still echos in my mind.
thought the state found me innocent,
the town could not quite find it in themselves to.
they branded me a murderer,
a bright crimson "m" stained my chest.
and since then,
i've played the role of the exile.
i leave the house only when i know nobody roams the street,
when nobody will peek from their curtains.
i attend school on computer provided programs,
and i have whatever i need delivered to the doorstep,
though most of the time it's left on the gravel driveway.
as though being a killer is contagious;
as though my malice hangs in particles in the air for others to breathe in.
i was only fifteen when it happened.
but none of that matters anymore.
i live alone in the house provided by my older brother who also keeps his distance from his surely abnormal sister.
i sometimes wonder if he only keeps me sheltered in fear i'll come for him next.
but i would never lay a harmful hand to him.
not that i ever meant to lay one to anyone,
especially not my father.
i shake my head free of these thoughts and tiptoe down the stairs where the creaking beneath my feet fills the silence.
it's comforting to hear the replies of the house beneath my actions,
but it's becoming rather dismal.
if i can just finish this one last year,
maybe i can finally pack up and leave.
maybe with enough convincing,
my brother will gift me the funds to escort myself far, far away.
i can hear his words now:
"take this money and go. get out of my hair, stop interfering with my family, go."
and i will go without a second thought.
i'll take the wads of cash and find solace in someplace warm and inviting.
i hope news of my mistake hasn't reached those boarders.
i think these thoughts of a comfortable life while attending to the normal routine of my day.
beginning with cleaning dishes,
sweeping and mopping,
dusting,
washing my laundry,
and making my bed up with clean sheets.
then i'll move to my studies,
i'll play a piece or two on the piano left behind,
and i'll make dinner for one.
i realize i've never moved my fathers seat away from his place at the table.
it's like he's still here.
haunting me or forgiving me,
i'll never know.
i swore to never speak of that night,
but it became harder and harder to escape from as the evidence pointed towards me.
my fibers beneath his fingernails,
my hair on his shirt,
fingerprints from when i pounded his chest in a fit of rage.
i was lucky to be provided with the lawyer i was.
i'm still not sure how he got me free,
but i won't complain.
i'm cleaning the kitchen floor when i'm struck with yet another reminder of the trial.
i'm not sure what's prompted me to think of it so deeply today.
i can't help but wonder if it's my minds way of forewarning me of something.
i groan to myself and hum my current favorite song.
it's then i hear a knock at the door.
it's not rare that the neighborhood kids dare one another to hurriedly knock at my door then run.
at first i found it slightly amusing,
their rhythmic knocks ringing throughout the much too quiet house.
i'd once accidentally opened the door on them.
i had been waiting for groceries and heard faint footsteps,
so i waited a few breaths before opening the door to retrieve them.
but i was met with a group of tweens who were just as surprised as i was.
the kid who's fist had been up to knock on the door went pale.
it left a bruise in my ego as they scurried away,
telling tales of how i almost killed them.
it only seemed to intensify my isolation.
but there it is again,
the same light, patterned knock.
once is an accident,
twice is a coincidence.
at least i believe that's how the saying goes.
i tiptoe to the front door and wonder if it's another fame-hungry reporter wanting to get his eager hands on an inclusive story.
but through the peephole,
it seems to be someone normal.
a regular, normal boy.
oddity is not a sufficient enough word for this.
i peel the door open and stand in front of it,
though it's just wide enough for him to see my eyes.
i'd hate for the family across the street to paint me at the witch who lured a victim into her house.
"are you lost?"
i ask softly.
it's the first time i've heard my voice at such a projection in ages.
i almost forgot what i sounded like outside of gentle whispers and inner monologue.
"you're y/n, right? y/n l/n?"
i nod my head.
"look, i don't have any information for you. if that's what you're here for, i'm sorry."
i begin to close the door when the boy stammers over his words and finally spurts out,
"i don't think you're a murderer."
"i'm not. i was...i was proven innocent."
the boy shrugs.
"by the state. but...the town? i know they've alienated you, y/n."
i begin picking at the hangnails on my thumb,
softened from the warm water i'd just been washing dishes in.
"not much i can do about that."
"i can help. i know what your dad was, y/n. i know you killed a dread doctor."
the words send the breath from my lungs.
"you're-you're joking, right?"
"no, i'm not."
i can feel the panic rush into my bloodstream and fill me with hysteria.
it feels like i've just reverted back years and i'm back before my father,
standing over his motionless body.
was this why i'd been thinking of it today?
to prepare me for this moment here?
no amount of remembering could've prepared me for this.
"what's your name?"
"scott mccall."
i bounce ideas back and forth in my mind,
trying to figure out the smartest way to handle this,
to coax his mind into dismantling that belief.
"tonight, two-thirty at heritage park. if anyone asks why you were here, you lie and say you got the wrong house. understand?"
i can see his expression grow weary.
as though maybe he's second guessing himself and me.
i exhale and say,
"i won't hurt you, scott."
"i know. i'll see you tonight."
i rush to close the door as he leaves,
the back of his tousled head being my last view.
if he was so sure of his safety in my presence,
then what was that look for?
i can't figure it out.
i'm too overwhelmed by his words.
they're reverberating in my mind,
echoing and echoing until his words are almost distorted.
"i know your dad was a dread doctor. and that's why you killed him."
two years later.
i thought i had made my peace with it,
but it seems i'm back to digging up the grave.
i hear a faint whisper of hope in the back of my mind,
questioning the possibility of redemption.
***
i hug myself tightly as i sit on the bench in the park of my choosing,
bouncing my foot in anticipation.
i flip my wrist to see the numbers on my watch:
two forty-three.
i can't help but wonder if he's not showing.
not that i can't blame him,
maybe this is for the best.
i'll go about pretending my father wasn't some evil creature and the boy, scott, will be saved of any burdening.
but there's something gnawing at my insides, begging the question of,
"how did he find out?"
"sorry i'm late. i've never been this way before."
scott is standing in front of me with his book bag straps into his fists.
"it's okay,"
i say through a single breath because my heart is racing and i'm suddenly queasy.
i never imagined this,
opening this can of worms years after the incident.
"thank you for meeting me, though. i thought for sure that...that you'd say no."
i'm beginning to regret it now.
i should've slammed the door in his face like i planned to do in the first place.
"i don't know what you think you know, but don't get yourself involved. it's...it's dangerous."
"i know."
i narrow my eyes at him,
trying to gather the ability to see through him and understand whatever this is happening.
and that's when it dawns on me.
i can see the change in color in his eyes now.
i bring my hands to my mouth that's hanging in an open circle and ask,
"there's no getting you out of this, is there?"
he shakes his head.
"there's too much at stake. my friends lives, my family...my life."
i sigh and begin rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease these rising headache.
"okay..okay, look. i'll tell you what i know."
scott nods,
giving me the opening to continue,
"for years, my dad had been a-a geneticist for this pseudo-company meant to help people with genetic mutations. whatever that meant. but suddenly, my father is walking around with this dazed look, never looking ahead, only at the ground. he would whisper beneath his breath all the time, talking about "we're so close. so many failures and almost successes." at the time, i didn't know. nor did i care."
scott moves from standing in front of me to taking a seat beside me.
i look at my hands while i'm wringing them together.
this next part is the hardest.
i'd never been able to admit the severity of what i did,
not even to my lawyer when my life depended on it.
"then one day i'm cleaning. spring cleaning, i guess. i always tackle the basement first. always. but the door is locked. it's unusual for that to happen but i think nothing of it, just that maybe it was an accident. i find the spare key and that's when i found everything."
i squeeze my eyes shut at the memory.
the rush of cold air that brushed my cheeks,
nearly biting at my skin at the opening of the door.
"he had a journal. i knew some-some sadistic things had been happening in there because you could almost...taste it. like metal; blood. i somehow ended up reading his journal and it was..it was sick, scott."
i force a dry laugh from my throat in hopes it'll calm this rising nausea swirling inside of me.
scott grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze,
saying,
"you don't have to talk about this if you don't want. we can wait...we can wait."
the repetition in his tone is desperation but i can't tell if it's in sympathy of my story or in hopes i'll continue for his sake.
i shake my head and promise to continue.
his palm in mine seems to be easing this burden.
"he'd bought this abandoned storage unit, like, in the middle of nowhere. but he recorded everything, idiot, and i found it. oh, god, it was horrid. there was all this blood that he hadn't bothered to clean, the lingering aroma of death. it was cruel."
i wipe the tears away from my eyes before they fall.
"he was killing in the name of defeating some-some monster. i don't know. the beast, he called it. i'd never felt such shame or-or rage, scott. it took ahold of me in a way i didn't know it could. i vowed to put an end to it then. he wouldn't harm anyone else."
i shrug and turn to see his sympathetic eyes locking to mine.
i give a wry laugh.
"the rest you know. kind of dark, huh?"
i take in a few breaths of the night air and stir away the melancholy.
it's easier now that the secret i was harboring is free and the receiving end believes it.
"i don't know who his partners were, if that's what you're wondering. he never addressed them by name."
"what were they creating?"
"chimeras. a creature made up of...incongruous parts. they're killing to create killers."
***
after scott and i's talk that lasted nearly two hours,
i haven't heard from him since.
not that i expected to,
he's got his hands full as i've got mine,
but i won't lie and say i'm not worried for him.
he told me that a few of the chimeras my deceased father had helped to create were roaming around and wreaking havoc.
i hope he is okay.
then my question is soon answered by a rapid knocking against my front door;
urgent and panicked.
i hurry to open it to see a group of people my age huddled on my front porch.
i go to speak but am interrupted by their barging in.
"what is going on?"
i ask while shutting the door behind them quickly.
scott's expression is painted with a fear i'm all too familiar with.
"the dread doctors. they're coming."
fear floods my veins.
it pounds in my ears,
mimicking the racing of my heart that shows no signs of slowing.
"we need your help."
"i...i can't be of any help. i didn't-i killed my father! that's completely different from whatever this is happening."
a girl with reddened hair,
twinged with blondness that shines beneath the light,
steps forward and washes me in her grace.
"you're not a killer, y/n. you're a protector."
"i don't...i don't know what that's supposed to mean."
scott steps forward and takes my hands into his.
"what you did...it saved many. i need you to understand that."
"o-okay."
"but there's more of them. they're evil, y/n, and-and you have all the information about them. their weaknesses, their drive, their stories. you said it yourself."
it takes everything in me not to laugh.
what is this that's being said?
it's a jumbled mess to my stubborn ears.
i look up at scott who is giving me a half smile,
meant to he convincing.
it almost works.
"you're not a murderer, y/n."
scott's words of approval,
of the validation i've been so stripped off,
makes my skin erupt into chills.
"so...you need the journal?"
i ask.
scott nods in reply.
i haven't touched this very journal since the day i found it.
i'm surprised i haven't thrown it to the flames,
to burn and become cinders,
to never be reminded of such monstrosity.
"it's...in the basement of my, um...my old house."
my eyes lock with scott's.
i can see the sympathy cloud his golden orbs and it's enough shared strength to stop me from screaming in fear.
i vowed to never step back into that place,
to never even look upon it.
but now here i am,
being forced to return in hopes of saving these innocents.
"i'll go with you,"
scott offers.
"are you sure?"
"absolutely."
it's not long after our agreement that we pile into the car,
driving down the very road that lead me to exile.
"i should've introduced everyone, sorry. um, that girl was lydia. the other guy is stiles, my best friend. the rest of our friends are somewhere safer. maybe i'll introduce you one day soon."
i nod my head but don't say a word.
there's nausea piling into my throat and threatening to spill over if i speak.
"also, uh, sorry for-for barging in like that. it's just...there's a lot going on. didn't want to be out there for too long incase someone saw."
"scott?"
i manage to say in such a slow whisper,
i wonder how he heard me.
then i'm reminded of his otherworldly abilities.
"yeah?"
"i'm scared."
for the first time in my life,
i've bared the truth to someone other than myself.
not even in my trial did i feel this much anxiety gnawing at my insides.
nor did i feel this the day i spilled my own kins blood.
this is unadulterated fear.
it's grinding against my bones.
scott takes my hand into his like he'd done that one night,
and holds it tightly.
it amazes me how easily it comes for him,
comforting someone named of violence.
it's soothing to my soul.
"i'll be with you the whole time. i won't let anything bad happen to you."
as though it's nothing more than a simple habit,
scott takes my knuckles to his lips and places gentle, reassuring kisses there.
"it's over, y/n. he can't hurt you or anyone anymore. and...and after this, it'll be done for good."
i take his words and store them for later.
i'll need them when i've become depleted of strength.
which happens when i'm standing on the porch of my childhood home.
it's rotting away beneath the lack of care.
even the light of day seems to skim over this desolate housing,
as though the sun is aware of the brutality that took place inside.
"whenever you're ready,"
scott whispers beside me,
our hands still one.
i give his hand a well needed press then step inside.
the nostalgia,
at first,
is gentle in reminding me that this is where i came of age.
all of my greatest memories are stored here,
in the cracks of the floor,
in the pictures that were once on the wall,
in the stained windows.
it's been cleaned out since that day,
but the blood poured from his body can be seen in stains.
scott can see it,
i can tell by the etch in his eyebrows.
"the, uh, basement. it's down here."
scott trails after me.
"it's okay, y/n. i'm here."