SLOWLY BEING REWRITTEN!
People say we're products of our parents. that all of their good traits are passed onto us, that we pick up the bad traits along the way.
But what if our parents have no good traits? What does that make us?
Are we all bad?
K...
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perishable
Sheriff Stilinski's eyes narrowed on the three teenagers standing in front of him, lined up in the middle of his office, it was always these same three teenagers, or at least two of them, the third was a variable, but lately, the redhead in front of him had become a popular choice. Lydia was a barricade between Stiles and Kinsey who still weren't on speaking terms, they were simply two people with a common interest. The Benefactor. It was that common interest that allowed them to be in the same room, maybe she wouldn't even look at him, but Stiles was just relieved that it had calmed down enough for her to stand in close vicinity to him again.
Noah didn't doubt that the three of them had come here for the same reason they always came here, to deliver him some bad news, it was never good news, often, it involved death. It was still something he was trying to adjust to, though his son had made it clear plenty of times, the two girls in front of him were harbingers of death, death quite literally followed them, all the way to his office. Yet every time he saw them he hoped they had come for something different, perhaps to bring him a burger and some curly fries. Not another dead body.
"Your grandmother, Lorraine Martin, faked her death?" Sheriff Stilinski clarified, summarising an array of nonsense that had just blurted out of their mouths, the confusion was clear in his voice, once again he found himself struggling to comprehend what he had just been told. His question was met with three answers; definitely, possibly, and maybe. None of which he found comfort in. More than likely was the consensus that the three accepted. "Oh, I'm guessing you got a story to back this up?" He questioned, expecting for them to fail in justifying such an elaborate tale.
"She might be helping The Benefactor," Lydia told him. "Or is The Benefactor," Stiles added.
Nodding, Sheriff Stilinski agreed that was a story he was willing to hear as he shut his office door behind him. It wasn't conspicuous to his deputies anymore, they often found that when Stiles or his friends walked through the station that Sheriff Stilinski's door would soon be closed, and the group of teenagers had become regulars here, enough that every deputy under this roof knew of their names, birthdays and grades in school. It wouldn't be long until they were on the payroll. It was a matter of seconds into Lydia's explanation of why she believed her grandmother was alive before Kinsey had stopped her, suggesting that someone else should be hearing it, Parrish. He'd helped them out more than ever over the past few weeks, he had become a necessary part in all of this. Her argument was one that everyone else agreed to, including the Sheriff who was quick to poke his head out of his office door, asking if anyone else had seen his deputy. A shared shake of the head led the man to turn back to Kinsey, suggesting that for now, they fill him in, when the deputy returned he would be filled in immediately.
Lydia continued recalling what had happened with her mother at the lakehouse, how Lorraine's request was for her only granddaughter to scatter her ashes when she turned eighteen, with just a few weeks until then, Natalie saw it as good a time as any. Only there were no ashes to scatter, it was an urn filled with mountain ash, made to secure an entire boathouse that was too covered in mountain ash, leaving the question. Where were Lorraine Martin's ashes?
