Thursday, May 17th
The week progresses, Celia wakes up, slips on the spot, manhandles some oats, and makes Stiles his half cup of joe. Thursday morning during Herbology & Botany, an elective course the group managed to fit within their respective schedules, the energy among the class is palpably different. Upon entering the room the class is humming with whispers and low chatter, Celia only able to make out fractured key words like "father" and "gone". Taking their seats, Stiles sends a confused look around the room, locking eyes with Celia. Opening her mouth to speak, Scott clatters into his seat diverting Stiles' attention.
"Hey man, do you know what's happening?" He asks.
"No," Scott exhales. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
Celia looks to Lydia who has been reading intently, head down since they've sat. Upon closer look though Celia sees she's not reading, but listening.
"Someone's missing." Lydia states.
The group turns to face her, Stiles leaning in closer.
"Who?"
"I don't know"
Celia turns to look towards the back of the room, a seat closest to the window empty.
"Like she hasn't been to class or-"
"I mean missing, Stiles."
Lydia's temper was curt with his incessant questions often, but now that the situation seemed serious, her patience was limited.
The professor enters the classroom. A tall, lanky man in his mid-to-late thirties, jet black hair slicked back until it curled behind his ears, black round rimmed glasses and eyes so dark they were the color of soot. I find him intriguing, Lydia once remarked, or maybe I just think he's attractive.
"Good morning class," his voice boomed.
The room quieted to silence as he stood waiting for their undivided attention.
"I'm sure by now many of you have heard whisperings of the current situation involving one of your classmates, Emile Warren."
Emile Warren. Celia could only picture her, sitting by the windows, bleached platinum blonde hair and a diamond monroe piercing glistening above her lip. She always looked so cool, but they had never spoken, Celia sure she wasn't Emile's crowd.
"If you have any information on Emile's whereabouts there are officers on campus today taking any information you may have in the Student Affairs Office. If you are personally affected by Emile's disappearance, counselors are available..." The professor trails off as he turns toward the board, clearly deeming the latter half of information less important.
He writes the date and chosen plant genus of conversation for the class as Stiles shifts, clearly engrossed in internal debate.
"Don't." Celia warns but his hand shoots up in the air, twitching urgently. His curiosity would kill him one day and his need to be involved in business outside his own irked the group.
Scott sends him a look, "Stiles-"
The professor turns toward the class, Stiles halfway out of his seat, one hand raised and the other searching blindly for his backpack. The professor sighs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, allowing his hand to linger for a moment.
"Yes, Mr. Stilinski?"
Rising from his seat he starts, "I am personally incredibly devastated about all of this and would like to take advantage of this school's amazing counseling service-"
The professor's hand moves from his face and out in Stiles' direction.
"Sit. Down."
Stiles sinks into his chair once more, muttering under his breath.
———————————————————————————
The student lounge is buzzing with the same chatter as the previous class. Scott, Celia and Lydia try desperately to focus on work but each catches passing whispers.
"I heard her dad had something to do with it..." a girl says to her friend as they walk by.
Scott's eyes bounce from face to face, each student sat talking about Emile, where she might be, just how much her friends knew.
"Guys-" Stiles pants, clamoring into a seat beside Scott. "Okay so, I overheard one of the officers in Student Affairs say that she's been missing since Saturday when she didn't show up for plans with a friend."
"And?" Lydia presses.
Stiles shrugs as if he doesn't quite know what she's asking.
"That's it."
"That's it?"
"Well I asked about leads."
"And?" Scott says this time.
Stiles gestures to the table.
"They kicked me out, they wouldn't tell me."
The group is silent for a moment, looking at Stiles and the misplaced urgency he entered the conversation with.
"Well what does your dad think?" Celia asks.
Stiles shrugs again. "He hasn't responded, but I do have a police scanner."
Lydia moves to inquire further but he waves her off with a 'don't ask.'
In Stiles' car he scans frequencies until something captures their attention.
"... Yeah, father says he last spoke to the girl Saturday before she left the house... Says she's been seeing a new boyfriend, Corey Hines..."
At that, the group turns in to one another.
"I know that name, he's a Junior I think." Scott says.
"He's in the math club. He's nice, he couldn't have something to do with it could he?" Lydia looks to Celia, then Stiles for reassurance.
Stiles only leans in closer to the radio.
"... Father and daughter live at 1068 Sienna Dr..."
Immediately, Stiles starts the ignition.
"What are you doing?" Scott puts a hand in front of him.
"We're going." Stiles states matter of factly.
"Going?"
"To their house."
Celia and Lydia exchange a look. The car begins pulling out of park.
———
"What about cops?" Scott anxiously looks through each window.
Stiles responds by sucking his teeth.
Looking over him, Celia wonders how he is so calm. His hands grip the wheel so tight he's white knuckled and sweat collects at his temples. He stops across from Emile's house. A classic blue house with potted flowers in the crispy stage of dead.
"No time like the present." Stiles begins unbuckling his seatbelt.
Lydia pauses, "what exactly is your plan here Stiles? We can't just walk up and start asking questions."
He looks past her in the passenger seat, towards the house, "sure we can," and he opens the driver's side door.
As they walk up to the front door Celia twists a loose thread of her shorts nervously thinking of what to say to divert Stiles. There was hardly any stopping him, once he was set on a plan he had to see it through.
"Stiles, don't you think this might be a little too much? I mean, she's missing. Her dad must be devastated."
Stiles' hand hovers in a fist in front of the door. He looks at her taking in what she's said.
"Maybe there's a way we can help find her."
"Like what?"
"I don't know..." he starts. "We could-"
Before he can finish, the door opens revealing Emile's father. He's a burly man, tanned skin and oil stained fingernails from work at his auto body shop. He looks over each of them before him with a puzzled expression.
"Can I help you?"
Stiles runs a hand down his shirt, a futile attempt at a good first impression.
"Hi, sir, we're friends with Emile."
Emile's father looks at the hand Stiles has extended but does nothing.
Stiles clears his throat, "we just wanted to know if there's any way we can help."
At this, her dad's expression softens.
"How do you know Emile?"
Stiles' mouth hangs agape.
"Uh-"
"We have class together. Botany."
His eyebrows raise.
"Come in."
———
The house is nicely decorated but outdated. The beige couch sags from years of use, the right corner close to the fireplace especially beaten.
"I worry about Emile, all the time." Her dad immediately offers once Scott closes the door behind them.
He takes a seat in an armchair opposite the couch, the coffee table holding a small vase of roses, also dead, and a photo of a young Emile with a bulldog.
"We haven't seen Corey around, do you think she could be with him?"
Her father shakes his head.
"Wouldn't surprise me. All she does is talk about him, to him. She hasn't been this chatty since..." His voice trails off but he looks toward a photo hanging above the mantle.
In it, a baby Emile is grinning wide sat atop her father's knee, she looks about 3 years old. Her mother is gorgeous. Strawberry blonde hair falling in loose curls with piercing blue-green eyes.
"She looks just like her." Lydia says.
Emile's father swallows hard.
"Yeah she always preferred her mama. I guess that can happen when you share the same face."
His eyes well up with tears now.
"I just hope she's okay. I keep thinking I'm gonna walk in here and she's just gonna be sitting there like always." He motions to the right couch corner.
Celia pictures her, curled up with a book, a fire illuminating half of her face. Comfortable, and safe.
The four of them can only stand there and watch him. Stiles moves to put his hand out but stops, not daring an overstep.
"We're going to help find her." Scott says. "We will."
Emile's father just nods. His expression hardens into a scowl now.
"You can start by finding that Hines boy. If she's not with him I bet he knows where she is."
Stiles glances at Celia. She was always one to enable his plans, no matter how outrageous they seemed when the rest of the group wavered. She gives him a quick nod, he presses his lips together in response.
———