I N S T I N C T | Jackson Whittemore

37: tell me about it

Tell me About It
Chapter Thirty Seven

Matt stood in line at the underground basement, standing behind fourteen people, waiting to get tickets to the underground show Annie had agreed to go with him to. Sucking in a deep breath, he watched as Jackson walked up to him, "Hey, Jackson. Not here to punch me again, are you?" he took a step back, "Wa-wanna go ahead of me in line?" he was literally shaking in fear.

The other day was far too weird. He woke up in the hospital with a concussion and questions that had no answers. Allison was the only one there, instead of who he really wanted to see... Annie.

Matt gulped as Jackson took his spot in line, and then regardlessly allowed the next four people behind him budge him in a moment of weakness.

The line suddenly just got longer.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Stiles walked into the Sheriff's station with food in hand. After getting buzzed into the station, he walked into his father's office and plopped down in a broken wheely-chair across from Stilinski.

Throwing a box of food on his desk, his father immediately put down a file he was examining and picked up his sandwich, grimacing when he saw a lack of juicy, heart-warming meat, "Oh, what the hell is this?"

"Veggie burger," Stiles smirked, biting into his hamburger.

Sheriff sighed, staring at his son in disappointment, "Stiles, I asked for a hamburger."

"Well, veggie is healthier," Stiles said, pulling out the bag of carrots he had switched for his dad's fries. "We're being healthy."

"Oh, hell, why are you trying to ruin my life?"

Stiles sighed, drooping his head on his shoulders in an exasperated attempt to stay sane, "I'm trying to extend your life, okay? Could you just eat it, please? And tell me what you found."

Sheriff, sadly, bit into his "veggie burger" and quickly shut the file he was reading, "No, I'm not sharing confidential police work with a teenager."

Stiles sat up, finally noticing the board behind his father. Names, pictures, and areas of Beacon Hills were marked precisely and drawn together in various ways with a marker. He nodded his head towards the board, "Is that it on the board behind you?"

Sheriff took a drink of his water, after precisely asking for a root beer, and groaned, "Don't look at that."

Stiles sat up higher, examining more of the board, "I--"

"Avert your eyes."

Stiles sat up higher, leaning to the side, "Okay--"

"Hey!" Sheriff protested again.

"Just--it's just---I see arrows," he leaned to the other side, almost completely breaking the almost already broken chair, "pointing at pictures."

"Okay, okay, stop," Sheriff sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. I found something," he swallowed. "Mechanic and the couple who were murdered. They all had something in common."

"All three?"

Sheriff nodded, "Yeah. You know what I always say. One's an incident. Two's coincidence."

"Three's a pattern," Stiles finished.

"The mechanic, the husband, the wife -- all the same age. All 24."

Stiles shook his head, taking the file from his dad and seeing a missing link, "Wait, what about Mr. Lahey? I mean, Isaac's dad wasn't anywhere near 24."