REAPING INNOCENCE ◦ STILINSKI [3]

xxix.

He ate slowly, chewing each bite with care. When he was done, he washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. His feet dragged as he climbed the stairs. He needed to grab his car keys, which he accidentally forgot.

Stiles shoved his feet into his sneakers and went downstairs. Shrugging into his sweater without checking the weather and stomped out the door. It was overcast, but not raining yet. Making a hast decision, he put his keys in his pocket and ignored his truck and started east on foot, angling across the damp green yard toward the ever-encroaching Preserve that began behind his house. It didn't take long till he was deep enough for the house and the road to be invisible, for the only sound to be the squish of the damp earth under his feet and the sudden cries of the jays.

There was a thin ribbon of a trail that led through the forest here that led directly to Scott's house on the other side, or he wouldn't risk wandering on his own like this. He sense of direction was almost as hopeless as Scott's; he could get lost in much less helpful surroundings. The trail wound deeper and deeper into the Preserve. It snaked around the spruces and the hemlocks, the yews and the maples.

A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above him, but he couldn't be certain if it was beginning to rain or if it was simply pools left over from yesterday, held high in the leaves above him, slowly dripping their way back to the earth. A recently fallen tree rested against the trunk of one of her sisters. Stiles stepped over the tree and kept moving.

The forest was deep green and far too much like the scene in last night's dream to allow for peace of mind. The birds were quiet, the drops increasing in frequency, so it must be raining above. He shivered and began to worry that the path would somehow disappear with the rain.

But it was here, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. He followed it hastily, his hood pulled close around his face, becoming surprised, as he nearly ran through the trees. Stiles started to wonder if he was heading out at all, or had somehow wondered off the path into the further confines of the Preserve. Before he could get too panicky, though, he began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed branches. And then he could hear a car passing on the street, and he was free, Scott's lawn stretched out in front of him, the house beckoning him.

Without knocking, Stiles opened the door and was immediately engulfed by warmth. Scott was sitting at the kitchen table, spooning cereal into his mouth with his eyes locked on Stiles, who had just barged into his house. Melissa, who was pouring coffee into a mug, almost let the cup slip through her fingers when the door slammed shut behind Stiles.

Wringing his hands, Stiles stuttered, suddenly nervous to speak to his own friend. "Is, uh...is Carter—did she already leave? O-O-Or is she still h-here?"

Scott blinked and swallowed a mouthful of cereal. "Um, yeah. She's upstairs."

"Good morning to you, too, Stiles." Melissa greeted sarcastically, wiping up the coffee she spilled with a paper towel.

Stiles nodded and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he was immediately consumed by his nerves. He came to this house without a plan. He didn't know what he was going to say to her, didn't know how to explain what he remembered. Man up, Stiles, he thought to himself, just go in there and tell her.

He was making his way toward the guest bedroom, which was located at the very end of the hallway, when heard singing coming out of Scott's room. Backtracking, he leaned into the room, listening closely. As the singing continued, he knew it was Carter; there was also the sound of water splashing. She was taking a bath. Stepping into the room, he managed to gather up as much courage as he could and waltzed right into the bathroom.