CHAPTER 49
Stiles and I watch as Scott crawls into the backseat of Stiles’ jeep, almost stepping on Jackson’s unconscious face in the process.
“And?” Stiles asks.
“Couldn't get anything out of Danny,” Scott sighs, checking to see Jackson’s still knocked out cold.
“Let’s just go,” I say, the flashing lights and sirens at the other end of the parking lot stressing me out.
“Yeah, before one of my dad's deputies sees me,” Stiles says, hitting the gas but slowing down as we near a blockage.
Because, well, we can’t exactly drive around the sheriff’s car and ignore it.
“That’s not just a deputy, is it?” I ask quietly, preparing for the oncoming shitstorm. Mr. Stilinski steps out of his car and looks at us, making Stiles cringe and sink back into his seat.
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Stiles repeats, sinking lower. “Could this get any worse?”
In the seat behind him, Jackson lets out a confused grunt.
“That was rhetorical,” Stiles sneers.
“Get rid of him,” Scott orders.
“Get rid of him? We're at a crime scene, and he's the sheriff,” Stiles retorts.
“Do something!” Scott hisses, glancing back at Jackson who’s slowly waking up. The sheriff’s nearing the car, getting way too close to our homicidal friend in the back.
“Come with me,” Stiles mutters, and it takes seeing his eyes before getting out of the car for me to realise he said it in a pleading tone – and he said it to me.
So I get out of the car as well, following after him towards his dad, who looks less than pleased, to say the least.
“Hey,” Stiles greets his dad awkwardly.
“What're you doing here?” the sheriff asks bluntly.
“What do you mean what am I doing here? What? It's a club. It's a club, we were clubbing, you know? At the club,” Stiles rambles on.
Mr. Stilinski takes a look at the sign outside of the building with a smirk.
“Not exactly your type of club,” he says.
“About that…” I begin, struggling to come up with an excuse.
“Uh, well, dad,” Stiles takes over, looking down at the ground. “There's a conversation that we-“
“You're not gay,” the sheriff cuts him off.
“Wha- I could be,” Stiles says, offended.
“Not dressed like that,” Mr. Stilinski shakes his head.
“Sir, isn’t that a little close-minded?” I ask. “You’re saying that all-“
“That’s not what it’s about, Grace,” he snaps, catching me off-guard. After a tense moment of silence, he turns to Stiles.
“This is the second crime scene that you just happened to have shown up on. And at this point, I've been fed so many lies, I'm not sure I know the kid standing in front of me. Now, what the hell is going on?”
As if an angry sheriff wasn’t bad enough, I hear unnerving noises from the car, followed by a hard thump. When I look at the car, Scott sends me a quick nod before waving sheepishly at Stiles’ dad, who has turned to look as well.
Then there are no more noises, and I can only assume Scott found a way to make Jackson shut up for a while.
“Dad, I… I-“ Stiles stutters, getting his dad’s attention to go away from the car.
But the sheriff focuses his eyes on me again, and sighs.
“A long time ago, we agreed you’d keep my son out of trouble,” he says. “But it seems like ever since you two became friends, he’s been getting into more and more shenanigans. Grace, I’d say you’re a bad influence.”
I swallow hard, struggling to keep eye contact with the sheriff.
“Don’t blame it on her,” Stiles says. “She’s just trying to deal with my shenanigans, okay?”
“I wasn’t finished, Stiles,” Mr. Stilinski says. “I would say she was a bad influence, if I didn’t notice how much you two care about each other.”
Stiles and I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“I realised it when I stopped hearing Lydia’s name at home all the time, and started hearing yours.”
“Dad-“ Stiles begins frantically.
He talks about me when he’s at home?
“And I know she would never willingly pull you into mischief, and that’s what confuses me. You two – and Scott – always end up like this, causing trouble for no apparent reason,” the sheriff says.
“It’s not her fault,” Stiles says. “this time it’s just-“
“What is it, Stiles? Can I have the truth now?”
“The truth, all right,” Stiles says, pausing before he continues. “Well, the truth is that we were here with Danny. Yeah, 'cause he just broke up with his boyfriend, so, you know, we were just trying to take him out and get his mind off things. That's- that's it.”
I nod when Stiles finishes, playing along. Damn, it’s getting kind of sad to lie to him all the time.
“Well, that's really good of you guys,” Mr. Stilinski says after taking it all in. “You're good friends.”
***
“Uh, what about your house?” Stiles asks Scott. We’re currently driving around in circles, with no clear destination.
“Not with my mom there,” Scott shakes his head. “We need to take him somewhere where we can hold him long enough to figure out what to do with him. Or long enough to convince him he's dangerous.”
“I still say we just kill him,” Stiles says.
“We're not killing him,” Scott replies.
“God, f- okay, okay. I got an idea,” Stiles gives in.
“Does it involve breaking the law?” I ask.
“By now, don't you think that's a given?” Stiles retorts.
“I guess I was just trying to be optimistic,” I tell him.
“Don't bother,” Stiles shakes his head.
A few hours later, we’ve got Jackson locked up – and dressed – in an armoured police van, the kind of vehicle a vicious criminal could never escape from.
***
“Stiles! Grace! McCall! I'm gonna kill you!” is the first thing we hear from inside the van when Jackson wakes up.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and looking out at our surroundings, checking again if no one sees us here. We’re in the forest, of course, because this is probably the most abandoned place in Beacon Hills, and while it does make me a little anxious, it was probably a good decision to place the van here.
“I’m bringing him breakfast,” Stiles says, handing me a sandwich before walking to the van with another two in his hands. “Wanna join?”
I stare at the sandwich in my hands. I didn’t ask him to get this for me.
“BLT, your favorite, right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I smile. “I never told you that, how’d you-“
“I have my ways,” he smiles and winks before clearing his throat and going inside the van, leaving me to regain my composure for a few seconds before following him in.
“Okay, I bought you some foo-“ Stiles flinches as Jackson jumps up and struggles against his handcuffs.
“Let me out now!” he shouts, watching us with his bare teeth showing as we sit down on the seat opposite of where he is restrained.
“You know, I put those pants on you, all right, buddy? One leg at a time. Being all up-close and personal with your junk wasn't exactly a highlight of my day. So don't think this is fun for me either,” Stiles says, making me hide a grin.
“You know we're actually doing you a favor?” I tell Jackson.
“This is doing me a favor?” Jackson asks, glaring at the metal around his wrists.
“Yes,” Stiles says. “You're- you're killing people. To death.”
Jackson gives him a look.
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “And until we can figure out how to stop you, you're gonna stay in here. I'm sorry. Now, you want the ham and cheese, or the turkey club?”
Jackson doesn’t answer, so Stiles just throws him a sandwich and takes a bite out of his own.
“You actually think my parents won't be looking for me?” Jackson asks, making Stiles and I look at each other.
“Uh, well, not if they don't think anything's wrong,” Stiles says, taking a phone out of his pocket – Jackson’s phone – and beginning to type frantically.
Meanwhile, I start eating my sandwich, awkwardly glancing at Jackson, who hasn’t touched his.
“Grace, this good?” Stiles asks, making me lean over to read the text he’s typed out to Jackson’s parents.
‘Stayed at friend's house last night. Everything fine. Love you.’
“Looks good,” I mutter, glancing up at him only to immediately regret it when I see the way he’s looking at me, like he’s deep in thought and at the same time completely taken by this moment. I don’t know how to react for a second, frozen by his gaze, so I’m actually relieved when Jackson speaks.
“Fucking make out right now and I might actually start killing people,” he grumbles, and any feeling of relief vanishes, because of course Jackson just made it all worse.
“Don’t you worry about that, you scaly piece of shit,” I snarl, unable to keep that sharp edge out of my voice. If only I could make out with Stiles right now, have Jackson watching with a death glare as I just pull him closer until his lips are on mine again-
I don’t know why I torture myself like this.
“J-just shut up, dude,” Stiles adds, suddenly very interested in his shoes.
“Wait, scaly? You’re saying I got scales like a fish?” Jackson asks.
“No, more like a reptile. Uh, and, uh, your claws have this liquid that paralyzes people, and you have a tail,” Stiles explains.
“I have a tail?” Jackson raises an eyebrow at us.
“Yeah, you have a tail,” I tell him.
“Mmh,” Jackson nods in fake understanding. “Does it do anything?”
“Not that we know of,” I say.
“Can I use it to strangle you?” he asks.
“Yeah, you still don't believe us,” Stiles nods.
“All right, the night of the semi-final game, what did you do right after?” I ask him.
“I went home,” Jackson says.
“Are you sure about that?” I ask.
“Yes, you psycho,” he snaps. “What the hell else would I do?”
I’m a bit caught off guard by his psycho comment, and Stiles takes over when he notices my hesitation.
“You attacked me, Grace and Derek at the school, and you trapped us in the pool. You also killed a mechanic - right in front of me, by the way. That was lovely. Oh, and last night, you tried to kill Danny,” Stiles says.
“Why would I want to kill my best friend?” Jackson asks, still pissed.
“Well, that's what Scott's out trying to figure out right now,” Stiles says.
“Okay,” Jackson nods. “Well, maybe, what he should be trying to figure out is how he's going to pay for a lawyer when I prosecute your asses all the way to jail!”
“All right, buddy,” I roll my eyes. “Well, just tell us. On the night of the first full moon, what happened?”
“Nothing,” Jackson says. “Nothing happened.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles sighs in frustration.
***
Once Stiles and I finally get out of the van and leave Jackson alone for a second, the air is tense and cold, and I can’t say anything to him because it feels like he’s placed a blockade I can’t pierce through. And I don’t know why. Did I do something to hurt him or is this just Stiles being weird?
I’m starting to wonder whether all of this is just in my head and he’s not being weird at all, when Allison comes running towards us, out of breath but full of adrenaline.
“They know,” she says.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“They know Jackson's missing,” Allison continues.
“No, they can't. I've been texting his parents since last night, they don't have a clue,” Stiles says.
“My grandfather told me his parents went to the police. They know,” Allison says.
“Shit,” Stiles mutters, frantically moving his body from one side to the other, not knowing what to do.
“Can we- can we listen in on them?” I ask, jerking my head to the police van.
“Yeah,” Stiles nods, suddenly moving with a clear goal. He opens the passenger door and turns a knob in the car, allowing voices to fill the silence.
‘-All available units proceed to Beacon Hills Preserve as instructed. Proceed with caution until Sheriff Stilinski's arrival. Proceed with caution.’
“Get in, come on,” Stiles forces us to squish inside the front seat of the van as he climbs into the driver’s seat, glad his own jeep is safely at home.
“Where are we going?” Allison asks, trying to adjust so I can sit comfortably on her lap.
“Somewhere very far from this,” he says, pressing a few buttons on Jackson’s phone to start a call, presumably to his parents. Once we hear what’s probably Mr. Whittemore’s concerned voice, Stiles throws the phone out the window as far away as he can, and that’s when we start driving – out of this damned forest.