Lydia was fairly knowledgeable in computer science. She had taken programming courses in college. That was how she designed her editing app. All by herself, thank you very much.
However an image-editing algorithm is very different from a short messaging one, and Lydia was not sure she was doing this hacking thing correctly. Something in theory could turn out completely different in real life. Fortunately, she was good at dealing with theory.
Numbers and tabs spilled across the black screen in front of her. An ID scanner app was running on her phone. She traced contacts and hunted down network connections, but always seemed to reach a dead end. Last night's sender – Allison's kidnapper – hadn't just masked their messaging ID. They had rerouted and obscured all their tracks.
Allison. Lydia felt the fear rising up and out of her chest and swallowed it back down. If she wanted to help her friend, she needed to focus on the task, not worry and panic.
She checked the scanner app for any new possible identification and found an element of the messaging system's programming highlighted. She located it within the code on her laptop and start keying in her manipulation, fingers automatically flying over the keyboard. New paragraphs of code popped onto the screen, promptly attacked and analyzed.
She was pondering over a segment of code that seemed to be listing two different connections when she noticed a splotch of colour in the corner of her vision. The scanner on her phone had picked up an incoming ID, and a complete one at that. Funnily, it seemed to be embedded within a section of code that she had just opened up after keying some new directions. The situation was slightly odd, but it was the biggest lead Lydia had gotten all morning, and she pounced on it. Within five minutes she was generating an IP address. Her heart pounded.
Then the software crashed.
The white numbers and black window just blinked out, leaving a non-plussed Lydia staring at her desktop wallpaper.
She shut the laptop in frustration. She had been so close.
What had happened? Was it a system failure? Did she key in the wrong code? Did something interfere with the connection?
She couldn't find Allison.
Lydia collapsed on the guest bed. She was alone. In a large empty house. Allison's empty house.
She had not seen the girl's father since she arrived the day before. He had not returned home the previous night. She couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. She needed to tell someone – Allison's missing! She was kidnapped! I want to scream! But she didn't know how she could find the words, let along in front of Allison's father.
The ringing doorbell startled her. Oh no, Lydia though. This was it. Allison's father was coming home and would ask where his daughter was. Or maybe it was a neighbor, or one of Allison's friends, looking for the brunette girl. And Lydia would be forced to either lie or tell the truth.
She carefully tread her way downstairs, the bell ringing again as she descended the last step. She crossed the room with an unexplainable caution before she finally had one hand on the doorknob, pausing only to squint through the peep hole.
Two figures, dressed in green and beige.
The police. Lydia hadn't considered the police. Don't tell anyone, the text had read. Certainly 'anyone' included the authorities? But technically speaking, she was not telling them anything if they came to her.
Maybe this had nothing to do with Allison. Maybe Beacon Hills was just having another episode of Plain Weird (as a simple online search would reveal) and they were just questioning everyone in town.
She took a deep breath, hoped she was putting on a convincing smile, and opened the door...
One of the officers did a double take when she pulled he door about halfway open (she still was not sure she wanted to risk being seen with policemen, just in case). He had an arm poised to press the doorbell again when he spotted her in the doorway and quickly jerked away. He was tall, at least a head taller then her, with dark hair looking like he had just buzzed it a few months ago, but was quickly growing out.
His companion rolled her eyes at his behavior and stepped forward, pulling her ID out in one swift motion.
"Lydia Martin?" the woman asked.
Lydia managed a nod.
The woman held up her ID. "Miss Martin, I'm administrative sergeant Clark, and this is deputy Stilinski," she paused as the other officer, Stilinski, held up his ID, before continuing, "We're here to bring you in for questioning about some missing persons."
—
Lydia stared at the back of Clark's headrest throughout the drive to the Beacon County Sheriff's Station.
Missing persons, the female officer had said. Lydia tried to decode what that meant. Was Allison not the only victim? Perhaps Allison was not in the equation at all, not until they said her name specifically, at least.
She was aware of Stilinski watching her from the shotgun. It started off with him just glancing back about every ten seconds. Eventually he just shifted in his seat until he was angled towards her as much as the seatbelt allowed him to be.
"We're not arresting you," he tried to assure her at one point. "Not yet."
They lead her into the station like a small procession, Stilinski in the front, Lydia in the middle, Clark behind her. Officers looked up from their desks as she passed by, watching her intently. She didn't meet their eyes. It did not help that the first one she saw was Jordan - ahem, officer Parrish.
She was lead through the station down a narrow corridor. Light came through the large window of a room down the hall. Lydia presumed it was an interrogation room and the destination intended for her. She was not wrong.
"Ladies first," Stilinski told her, stepping back to allow her entry. Lydia rolled her eyes, unamused. "Feel free to take a seat," he continued, undeterred.
Lydia sighed and pulled her chair out. The metal legs screeched against the floor. The sound made her cringe internally.
Stilinski dragged his chair out and sat down across the table from her, unfazed by the even louder noises his chair made. Lydia looked around for Clark, spotting the woman standing guard next to the door.
She turned back to the male deputy who was rubbing his hands together like a youngster getting himself hyped up. Except when Stilinski's eyes met hers, they were serious and judging. She felt as if he were trying to pry open her mind.
It's just a cop tactic, she told herself. He's trying to unnerve you.
"Miss Martin."
Fuck, he's succeeding. The last time she had been this nervous was when she'd gone for her post-grad admissions interview.
"Miss Martin, you were at the Nemeton club last night, am I correct?"
Lydia swallowed. "Yes."
"Can you tell me where you were and what you did before, during and after that?"
People's heart rate sped up when they lied. Lydia wondered if the two officers could hear hers. "I went out for dinner at The English Village before heading to the club. I tried the speed dating service and partied for a while before leaving. After that I went straight home."
She watched Stilinski's face for a reaction, an indication as to whether he smelled her lie of omission. She got nothing. He returned her stare, expression unchanging.
"I understand you are staying with a Chris and Allison Argent?"
Oh no. Lydia paused, her lips already parted, hastily sucking in a small breath. She couldn't answer this.
Opposite her, the deputy's eyebrows climbed his forehead - the first reaction he had to her since they'd entered the interrogation room. He separated his hands, which had until then been clasped loosely in front of him, long fingers interlocked, and lay his forearms flat on the table, leaning forward as he did.
"Miss Martin," Stilinski said, voice soft but firm, "Allison Argent was kidnapped last night. Did you know about this?"
Lydia lowered her head, desperately avoiding eye contact.
"Miss Martin," the deputy's voice persisted, "if you know something, you need to tell us."
The second time the trio made their way back through the station, Lydia trailed behind the two police officers, speed-walking to keep up. Clark and Stilinski took long strides ahead of her, Clark yelling orders to some other deputies, while her partner waved around a ziplock bag containing Lydia's phone. He nearly took the head off the officer instructed to download and print the chilling image from the previous night. He then proceeded to drag her into a quieter corner of the station.
Lydia watched the two officers stare down each other as the rest of the station bustled behind them.
"You can't be serious about this," the older officer said, arms folded.
The deputy responded by rolling his eyes - and his entire head along with them, arms flailing in an exasperated gesture that to Lydia, read we've been through this.
Sergeant Clark, too, understood. "I know what you're thinking," she told Stilinski. "I know what you plan to do, and just because you and your friends like to get involved all the time doesn't mean other people do."
The male officer sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "She's not just 'other people'," he replied, motioning towards Lydia. "You know about me. And my friends. You know about us. Please." His voice took on a pleading tone towards the end.
Clark pursed her lips, and Lydia took the opportunity to pipe up. "Can I ask what's going on now?" she questioned meekly.
Both officers turned towards her, then back to each other. There was another stand off, until Clark's shoulders dropped. "Fine," she relented. "But remember I won't be responsible for your bringing a civilian into this." She turned to Lydia. "Stilinski thinks you might be able to help us find Miss Argent...and some other missing persons."
"Thanks Clark," Stilinski said softly as his senior strode past him. When he looked back at Lydia the initial pleading look in his eyes had been replaced with one of excitement. "Come on," he said.
He pulled her by the wrist across the main working area in the station until they stopped next to an alcove built into the wall, like those pull-out sliding boards found in small craft stores. Except those in the station were not floor-to-ceiling, but instead boards of various sizes and types, mounted on wheel stands.
"Okay," Stilinski started, pausing to catch his breath. "The first thing you need to know is that the Nemeton has been linked to several cases before. Some seem to be related, others not so much.
Like a long time ago, there was this arsonist - burned down a huge family home. She used the speed-dating service to meet both her victims and accomplices without drawing attention." The young man paused and made a face. "Yeah, weird I know. You wanna know what the woman's name was?"
He had been speaking so fast that Lydia's head was still spinning when she replied 'yes'. And his answer made it spin a few rounds more.
"Allison's...?" was all Lydia managed to say.
He studied her carefully. "Aunt," he told her finally. He took a step back, probably thinking she needed space to digest the new information.
Lydia looked up from her shoes, green eyes meeting brown ones. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked in a low voice.
"Because I think you might be able to help find your friend," he replied, voice dropping equally low. "And the others."
Others?
"Others?" Lydia voiced.
Stilinski reached into the alcove and pulled out a large plexiglass board. It was covered with post-its, printed articles, grainy CCTV photographs and lots of arrows and scribbles. Lydia guessed it was collaboration between several officers – there are at least three different handwritings amongst the comments.
"This," Stilinski started, waving his arms around, "is everything we have on the latest mystery surrounding the Nemeton. Jack Smith, Aidan Baxter," he rattled off, jabbing his fingers at the respective photographs, "Both reported missing today. Went out to party last night, never came back." His finger trailed downwards, pausing in front of a photo whose subject Lydia remembered from the previous night, but could not recall the name of. "Taylor Brauner," the deputy answered for her. "Found dead this morning in his workshop. He was an automechanic. All familiar to you?"
Lydia nodded.
"Right. Now, yesterday night, the department was buying some armaments from a dealer. Nearly made the deal. Our transaction was interrupted - blocked. Someone didn't want us wiring money over. Later the dealer came here in person, said after the interruption he got a message to retract the deal, threatening the safety of his daughter."
Lydia quickly put two and two together. She remembered why Allison's family had to travel around so much. "Allison's father - "
Stilinski nodded vigorously and pulled out another board, a smaller one.
"This here," he gestured to the new board, "is what I've put together so far about the events pertaining to Allison Argent. Just made it this morning."
Lydia studied the smaller board. It was corked based, a loose web of more grainy CCTV pictures and string. Comments were scattered here and there on post-its, with one large note in the upper left corner saying 'REFER TO BIG BOARD'. Above it, a small basket had been attached to the frame of the board, holding colored skeins.
"What do the different colored strings mean?" she found herself asking.
"Different stages of the investigation," Stilinski answered automatically. "Green is solved, yellow is to be determined, blue is just pretty – the use for it changes from case to case, depending on what I need to use it for – and red is unsolved."
"You only have red on the board."
"Yes I'm aware. Thank you."
The young man paused and drew a deep breath. "Okay," he exhaled. "So lately, patrons of the club have been going missing and turning up dead. Most are men, but there are a couple of women. Serial killer - or killers - went on break for about two weeks, then last night took three people and killed a fourth. All four people interacted with you last night, one left with you - you even saw her get kidnapped, on top of it, and you also interfered with the hacking of the hacker we hired to find the other hacker who stopped our deal. All of that makes you, Miss Martin, a very special person."
"So what, you think I screen potential victims while I speed date them or something?" Lydia asked.
Stilinski shrugged. "Parrish did say you were more intelligent than most. More intelligence could also be greater capacity to be cunning and plot murders."
Lydia shook her head in confusion. "Jordan Parrish? He singled me out?" She turned around and spotted the offender across the station. He gave her a friendly smile. She returned a frown and spun back to face the other officer.
"We've been sending people there undercover to look out for suspects. Like Parrish last night - the boss likes to send him there because he is good at making people like him. And Clarke's got an employee there working as an insider for us," Stilinski explained. "People don't take the speed dating too seriously anyway. There are always a couple of people there for fun, others who lost bets, people trying to make exes jealous."
He raised his right arm, smacking it against the plexiglass. "But every person linked to the Nemeton, missing or dead, participated in the Espresso Shots - "
"Love Shots," Lydia corrected.
" - yeah, that," Stilinski continued, unfazed, "bar Allison Argent. And there seems to be an emerging pattern where it has to be people who speed dated you. Or accompanied you."
On the last word threw his hands out, stopping them on either side of Lydia's head. Lydia took a tiny step back, moving her head out of the walls his hands were forming around her.
"So what do you want me to do? How does that make me able to help?"
Stilinski dropped his hands. "You kinda hacked our hacker - which was pretty cool by the way, Danny was impressed," he told her (was that a tinge of awe in his voice?) "And you're said to be smart. So I propose, you try to contact some of the boys from last night. Say you wanna get to know them better. Keep an eye on them under the pretense of going on dates. FIgure out what might make them serial killer victim. And if any of them might be serial killer material. Or know anything about your friend."
"None of them were really my type, honestly," Lydia protested. But Stilinski had pulled a post-it pad out from under the balls of yarn and was fumbling for a marker. He scribbled something down and ripped off the post-it, handing it to her in one swift movement.
"Call me if you decide to go through, yeah?"
The bright green wrinkled square lay on the bedside dresser, the numbers scrawled across it silently staring at Lydia's form spread face-down on the bed.
She had spent the better part of the afternoon crumpling and unfolding the small slip of paper, wondering if she should take up the offer.
I could find Allison's kidnapper.Or at least help catch a criminal and save a few random guys' lives.
Or he could find out I'm working with the police. And hurt her.
Mr Argent still had not come back. Or maybe he had, but left again while Lydia was at the station. Lydia was glad she did not have to face him given the latest turn of events, she couldn't tell him she had been helpless as she watched his daughter get snatched away right before her. At the same time, she felt a little spooked being alone in the Argent house all alone.
Lydia flipped her palm over, revealing the contacts list on her phone where she had keyed in the number Stilinski gave her, but had yet to save it. She ignored that number, instead focusing on the smaller ones at the top of the screen. It was nearly seven and she had not eaten since breakfast so she pulled herself up and wearily trudged downstairs to the kitchen.
She had just grabbed a tortilla wrap (Allison's father apparently always made a couple of those if anyone needed a quick bite) and was checking out the contents of the fridge when her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, causing her to jump.
She jumped again when she saw the contact name of the sender.
Allison
She had snatched up her phone and swiped across the lock screen in an instant.
108A on Tenth Ave. #03-05 Meet me there ASAP.
Are you okay?
Lydia fired back immediately. Then,
Alli what happened?
If she remembered their drive the day before, Tenth Avenue was some place downtown, where there were several apartment blocks. Why did Allison want to see her there?
Five minutes later Lydia was out on the road in Allison's car, silently cursing her friend for not having a map. Sure, Beacon Hills was a small town, but what about the larger county? Surely people travelled out there sometimes.
She spotted the apartment blocks in the distance, silhouetted against the low sun, and quickly filtered into the next lane. Her heart gradually became heavier and heavier with growing apprehension as she closed the distance to her destination.
She found Tenth Avenue and drove around the block twice before finding the slip road leading to the small parking lot. The resident's lots were mostly full, but there was only one unassuming motorbike in the lots demarcated for visitors. Lydia stepped out of the car and looked up at the building marked 108A. Part of her wanted to turn and run, maybe call Allison's father. The other part wanted to know what was in the apartment.
She took a deep breath, shut the car door, and started walking towards the building.
She was twenty feet away from the block when someone stepped out of the shadow of the building. Lydia's footsteps slowed. She hadn't noticed that man. Had he been there the whole time? Was he just a resident heading out? Was he coming to wards her?!
She kept her head looking forward, but watched out the corner of her eye as the man slowly approached her. Tall, lithe and tan. As he got closer, Lydia suddenly got the feeling she was being stalked by a wolf.
They stopped five feet from each other. Watching, waiting for the other to move.
"You..." the guy finally started, then he coughed and cleared his throat. His voice sounded softer and kinder than she expected. Hardly menacing. "Are you Lydia Martin?"
She eyed him carefully. She has been recognised before by people on the street. But after everything she has experience in the last 24 hours, she was a little wary of the people in this town.
She gave a small nod - no more than a tiny jerk of the head.
The man's expression softened, the lines on his face smoothening out. He sighed, then stepped forward. "I'm Scott... Scott McCall."