Chapter 9:
Weeks had passed and the death toll in Beacon Hills has only continued to rise. People go missing, only to surface days later, dead. All killed in the same way, strangled, throat slashed and head bashed in. A three full death.
Parents have stopped sending their kids to school and most have stayed locked away in the protection of their own home when they can.
Sure, Beacon Hills hasn't always had the cleanest record when it comes to counting bodies, but this string of murders has struck a nervous cord with the town's residents. Suddenly the threat of being mutilated while doing the simplest thing as walking the dog or buying groceries is much more terrifyingly than the threat of a homicidal lizard.
But, as I sit on the ledge of a window overlooking the town I can't help but feel exposed. Stories up in the penthouse suit, behind a glass panel and the people on the street below look calmer.
I can't help the feeling of paranoia and weary that surfaces with the thought of a killer I know nothing about. And why would I be so clueless as to the details behind this mysterious case? Because no one will damn well tell me anything.
So there is no further explanation for my absence from school other than waiting for the door across the hall to click shut. My father wasn't aware I had spent most of the day hiding out in my bedroom. He wasn't aware of the visit I was about to pay the minute he leaves the safety of his office. And I hoped to keep it that way.
The only way I'm going to gain information at this point is to steal it, because like a smart man once said, knowledge is power. At this point I needed all the power I could get my hands on.
Hours pass by before I'm finally standing in front of my father's office, balancing back and forth on the edge of my toes. The locked door stands as a barrier in front of me- a barrier of flimsy wood and industrial metal. With my strength I could easily snap the lock, but I'm sure my father would notice the handle to his office door laying crushed on the floor.
And here lies my dilemma. I never learned how to pick a lock, nor did I think to look for a key.
I could stand here all day and think of the least destructive way to get past this door, but I unfortunately don't have all day. With my father's constant paranoia and distrust towards his own daughter, I had a little less than an hour.
One option continues to cross my mind, weighing down the cellphone in my back pocket.
With no other choice, I fish into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the device. I dial the number for the first time in months.
"Lucy?" Background noise distorts the person's voice at first, but they still sound like the boy I use to call late at night when no one else would listen.
"Stiles, I need your help."
A dry laugh echo's through the speaker. "I haven't heard those words in a while."
I let out a sign of frustration, "Do you know how to pick a lock?"
"No, considering the skill is normally used to commit federal crimes."
"When has that ever stopped you before?" A slight giggle erupts from my throat but I quickly cover it with a cough.
The silence between the two of us has passed the uncomfortable mark and begins to irritate what little patience I have left. Thankfully, the boy finally answers, "Why do you need to pick a lock, Lucy?"
I know I need to share some information in order to ultimately gain the upper hand against my father, so pushing away everything I had worked so well to build, I tell him. "I need to get into my father's office. There is information in there that could be useful to me, but he keeps the room under lock and key at all times."
"Seems like he really trusts you." He adds, snidely. "So, why can't you just use your supernatural strength to break the lock, being that you're a werewolf and all?"
I let my gaze fall to the floor, not proud of what I have to say next, "I can't break the lock or he'll find out I was here. That's why-that's why..." I can't find the words to finish.
"That's why, what?" There is a hint of enjoyment that hinges on his words. Stiles wasn't going to help until I finished the sentence.
"That's why I need your help."
I can practically picture the boy's face beaming with a wide grin as he answers, "Alright, I will find a way to unlock the door. I'll be at your apartment in ten minutes."
The line goes dead before I have the chance to respond.
I pace nervously across the living room floor, until it's possible to permanently burn my tracks into the floorboards. Any minute Kali or Ennis could walk through that door and the weeks of trying to convince them that I am apart of this pack would be for nothing.
Then a single knock on the door comes, echoing through the apartment like a gun shot.
Jogging to the front door, I don't bother to look through the peep hole before grabbing the knob and yanking it open. In front of me stands Stiles, as I had expected, but behind him looms a young girl. Her fiery mass of red hair and flaring green eyes distinguishes her immediately as Lydia Martin.
Upon reflexes, I snap at Stiles, "What is she doing here?"
Lydia, with a disapproving look buried in her features, turns to leave. Stiles quickly ushers her back to his side.
She nods, allowing him to elaborate, "I told you I would find a way to unlock the door and I did." he gestures to the girl that most would expect to be as shallow as the deepest of kiddie pools. But sometimes looks could deceive. "Lydia, knows how to pick the lock."
I grunt in disapproval. This draws Lydia out from behind the protection of Stiles shadow. "Well, are you just going to stand there or are we going to have to wait until your father gets back to open the door himself?"
She shoves past me, her boney shoulder colliding with mine in the process. The girl doesn't let the pain show though, sashaying into the hallway as the flowing material of her blue dress trails behind her.
I show them the way to his office and step back to allow Lydia some space to work.
She bends down until she is laying cross-legged inches from the mahogany panel of the door.
Lydia inspects the lock, running her delicate fingers along the metal. A puzzled look crosses her face as she leans away from the brass knob and reaches for the hand-purse strapped across her torso. "That's odd. The door knob has a simple push-lock. Nothing as complicated as a deadbolt."
"So, Deucalion isn't as concerned about security as you thought?" Stiles directs the question to me but his real attention is occupied by Lydia's presence.
I kick my foot against the door frame out of sher frustration. "People are being murdered, strangled to death and my father doesn't bother to put a stronger lock on the only thing keeping his secrets safe. That doesn't make sense."
Lydia doesn't seemed too concerned as her hand emerges from her bag with a shinning, red credit card.
"How the hell is a credit card going to help?" I snap at her.
A laugh bubbles up from her throat and the sound feels like a slap to the face. I resist the urge to use her pretty red head to bash the door in myself.
Lydia slips the plastic card through the slit in the door, just above the lock. She pushes down towards the latch, angling the card inwards. While doing this with her left hand, the right is occupied with testing the handle.
After several times of watching her pull uselessly on the door handle, I start to question the real value of Lydia's IQ scores. "When exactly did you become an expert in picking locks?"
"On the car ride here."
I look at Stiles expecting him to laugh, completely dissolving her statement, but the boy merely shrugs his shoulders in a gesture that shows he is in the exact same state of disbelieve as I am.
Lydia catches me rolling my eyes. Unfortunately, this deterrence from me only adds to her overflowing persona of confidence.
She jams the card down towards the slot, but at the last second she slides her hand in a 'U' formation, cutting past the metal plate between the frame and the door. This time the door clicks open as she pulls down on the handle.
Lydia climbs to her feet and manages a sly grin before directing her attention to fixing the ruffles in the fabric of her dress.
I slip past her and into my father's office. It hasn't changed much since the last time I had broke in, but I certainly had changed. The walls of shelving still carry hundred of books covered in a thin layer of dust. The giant mahogany desk in the centre of the room is a cluttered mess. Stacks of paperwork lay draped across the surface and a potted plant sits wilted and dying on top a pile of leather-bound books.
Stiles reaches for a thick file-folder that had been left on the top of the stack. He flips through the content and chucks it back onto the desk. "Nothing but some unpaid bills and information on cheap healthcare plans."
Lydia scans her eyes over the book jackets along one wall, a frown placed firmly on her lips.
"None of this makes sense. Why would Deucalion keep nothing but insurance pamphlets in his office?" I question, flipping through some of the files myself.
"Well, you did sort of render him blind, so I could see if he wanted to have good coverage-" Lydia and I share a look that quickly silences Stiles.
I lean against the frame of a bookcase, scanning the room for any minor details we might have missed. The room looks like an ordinary office, as if my father would come here to do his banking before venturing off to kill helpless victims left wandering the woods.
This bizarre finding seems to bother Lydia just as much. She has resorted to pacing back and forth, across the room. Even in her high heels, the movement seems effortless.
"Where would a man like Deucalion keep his greatest knowledge hidden?" She asks.
I rubble the bridge of my nose, trying to stall an impending headache. With my head tilted towards the floor, I almost miss the clue sitting directly under my nose. Three large Encyclopedias are placed side by side along the shelve level with my shoulders. The books aren't what I find irregular, but where a fine line of dust should have settled on the wood, it had been brushed away. My father had moved these books recently and only these three books.
It all makes sense now, "The source. He keeps everything hidden in the greatest source of knowledge known to man- a book."
I curl my fingers around the leather spine of the Encyclopedia closest to me and pull. The heavy book slides out of its placement on the shelve and into my arms with a loud thump.
Stiles peers at the book from a distance. "What did you find?"
His question is met with silence in return. Page after page of nothing. I slam the book shut and heave it at the hardwood floor. The book strikes the ground on its side and the impact shakes the core of the room.
A tidal wave of bent up frustration and anger rushes over me at the sight of the book laying open on its side with nothing but a fine print I wouldn't bother to read. I look for something, anything to pound my fist against and relinquish this toxic emotion, but the presence of a hand resting on my shoulder stops me from doing so.
Stiles had crossed the room, abandoning any imaginary barrier that had been built between us for the time being.
His fingers only linger momentarily, but the human contact is enough for my common sense to resurface. Getting angry wasn't going to help me get even and I understand that now.
"You better come see this."
Pivoting in the direction of the girl's voice, we find Lydia pointing towards the gap left behind by the book that now lays torn and broken on the floor.
But it's what had been so cleverly hidden behind the Encyclopedia that I had missed. Gripping the leather spine of the remaining two books, I yank them off the shelf in one quick motion. The sound of a thousand pages colliding with solid wood flooring echo's throughout the apartment, but the people flanking my sides barely flinch.
Obstructed from view, the thin outline of a box is carved into the drywall. I run my hand along the hidden compartment until I can feel the trick latch beneath my fingers. The piece of wall pops open and with my assistance to pull it open all the way, the contents of the cabinet is revealed.
There in the solid metal box an odd variety of objects lay. A stack of files sure to contain something suspicious, a hard drive- equally as suspicious and a mug with the words "#1 Dad" painted in thick, blotchy letters.
The irony of the mug was almost comical, the memory behind it however, is not.
I had only been five or six when my mother had suggested I paint a ceramic mug for my father, who at the the time I did believe to be the best at his fatherly job. Whether Deucalion kept it for sentimental values or he simply wanted to be surrounded by lies as he lived out his days, I couldn't say.
Without so much as a second of hesitation my hand grabs greedily for the stack of filed papers. The first file- lightweight and without a title to label itself- is filled with words from a language I am unable to identify, let alone read. The second and third file are no different.
"What kind of language is this?" I am on the verge of ripping the papers into pieces when Lydia pries them from my hands.
Her eyes barely have the chance to scan over the first sentence before an answer comes tumbling past her lip gloss coated mouth, "It's Archaic Latin."
"Oh come on. How could you possibly know that? Next you're going to say you speak it too."
The girl just purses her lips at me as if I've insulted her, "Of course I speak Archaic Latin."
Stiles gaze shifts with uncertainty between Lydia and I as if we were one petty comment away from ripping each other's hair out. "It's a dead language. The Argents along with other hunter families use to speak it fluently and some still do in order to keep centuries of knowledge secret." Stiles explains when Lydia refuses to.
I give Stiles an suspicious look out of the corner of my eye.
"What? There was a homicidal lizard on the loose and I worked really hard to steal that bestiary from Gerard."
The name Stiles mentions brings a horrible flashback flooding through my mind like a crashing wave colliding with a unsuspecting boat. The twisted grin on the old man's lips still haunts my thoughts.
My father had begged Gerard to give him something- anything from his years of being an experienced hunter that could save his daughter. And when Gerard didn't give Deucalion what he wanted he took the information he needed anyways. All to save what was already a lost cause.
Whatever was written in an ancient language on those pieces of paper could tell me what I was, my strengths and weaknesses, and ultimately, how to stop myself.
"Alright Lydia, if you can read this then start translating."
She takes a second to glance over the words before staring directly into my eyes with her own icy stare, "No."
I keep my mouth clamped shut, afraid if I let my jaw slack it would hang open with both disappointment and shock. "What do you mean no?" I practically bark the words at her.
"With your enhanced senses I'm sure you had no problem hearing me, but if you need me to repeat myself, then fine. I said, No." She spits the last word at me.
On the outside she assumes she is coming across as confident, but even Lydia Martin has a tell. She clutches the strap of her purse nervously in her left hand, while her right is occupied by the stack of documents.
As someone that acts more on instinct then reasonable negotiation, I know how to get what I want. If an animal won't relinquish it's hold on your prey, you corner it- you terrorize it until the one thing they hold over you is released.
In the split second it takes for Lydia to admire how well her shoes match her dress, I have her pinned against the wall. The girl doesn't respond the way I would like her to. Instead of giving in, she holds onto what little strength she has and laughs in my face.
Before I have the slightest chance to think the scenario through, my fingers are around her pale neck. I squeeze tighter and a familiar shade of red seeps into my vision. The rush of power feels like a fresh breath of air in the otherwise stale room.
Then Stiles hand is gripping my forearm tighter than a steel bear trap. "Lucy, let her go! Now!"
Lydia's lips had turned a faint shade of purple and her green eyes had finally flooded with the understanding to be fearful.
But deep down I know choking the life out of her will help no one. Just because I am without remorse- without caring... No it's not that. Looking at the way he looks at her and feeling like my heart has been torn in half- I am jealous, because deep down I still care for this spastic, sarcastic, goofball of a man and it hurts to see him feel the same way about someone else.
Just like every other student at Beacon Hills High, I am jealous of Lydia Martin.
So I release my grip on her dainty little neck and step away from the wall. The papers had been scattered across the floor in the commotion of everything and I bend down to retrieve them.
Stiles had come to Lydia's aid, but she is not going to be looked upon as the damsel in distress. Smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric of her dress, Lydia storms past the boy in the direction of the door.
"You see Stiles, I told you this would happen. Lucy can blame her actions on this illness- this curse, but in the end she made a choice. And that choice was to abandon you." Lydia cracked voice pleads for the boy to follow her out the front door. But oddly enough, her next statement is directed at me, "And for you, this isn't a chance to ask for redemption, it's a chance to say goodbye."
I twist my mouth into a scowl, "I didn't call you here to ask for forgiveness. I wanted answers and so far, you've been pretty terrible at giving me what I want."
Lydia puts her hand up to silence me as if my time for speaking was over. "Stiles, listen to me. If she wants pity- forget it and if she wants something to fight for- then let her pick a god damn side, but don't let it be yours."
She let's her words linger in the air before pivoting on her heel and storming out of the room in the only dramatic fashion Lydia knew how to.
Stiles is close on her heels, without so much as a glance in my direction.
I attempt to ignore the flaring anger that sparks every time I think of what the confident red head had said, but a stronger thought directs my attention elsewhere. I agreed with Lydia and every word that left her mouth.
I've barely finished putting the Encyclopedias back into their designated spots and shoving the Bestiary papers into my back pocket before a chorus of shouts erupts from the hallway.
Rushing out of the office to get a better look at the source of all this commotion, I find myself in the center of the chaos. Aiden and Ethan had returned home earlier than I would have expected, but after catching sight of the outside world through a window, I realize night had already fallen.
Aiden has lifted Stiles by the collar of his shirt, pinning the boy against the wall. While Lydia hangs of the twin's arm, begging him to stop.
Ethan had separated himself from the initial greeting and currently stands reserved from Aiden's threatening exchange between him and Stiles. Instead, he chooses to stare at me.
"Aiden, get your hands off him!" Lydia yells at the boy and I fight back the strange urge to laugh. Aiden didn't listen to anyone but himself.
Then unbelievably, Stiles squirms under the twin's hold and sinks to the floor as Aiden releases his hold on the fabric of his shirt. He then turns his attention Lydia, a nasty scowl painted across his lips, "He was trespassing!"
"So was I. Does that mean you're going to attack me as well?" She asks, placing her hands firmly on her hips.
The boy shrinks beneath Lydia's cold glare. "Well, no- I wasn't going to- I mean I wouldn't-"
Ethan quickly cuts off his brother's stuttering by turning the spotlight on me, "Lucy, we need to talk."
Stiles had crawled to his feet by this point and although still shaken by his confrontation with Aiden, a look of genuine worry has appeared on his features. Seeing him look at me with such fear, like I am the true monster here makes me sick to my stomach. "Ethan, I know what it looks like but I was the one that called them. I was the one that broke into Deucalion's office."
I expect backlash from Ethan and if not him than Aiden. But the twins don't look mad, they look traumatized. It's only then that I notice the dried blood smeared across their torn clothes. Healing cuts peak out from under Aiden's tank top and someone had scraped their claws across Ethan's right cheek. Only one person could be at fault for this.
"What did Deucalion do now?" I ask.
Ethan steps forward cautiously, as if his answer will somehow send me off the rails. Then after taking very little time to think about the impact of his response, he decides it's best to rip the bandaid off all at once and blurts out the words I never thought I would hear, "Derek's dead."
Hey, long time no write. I don't think I wrote more than a sentence a day for this chapter because it took me forever to finish, but I hope to have the next one out much MUCH sooner. But enough about the chapter, I have something more important to tell you guys!
It's about the most amazing weekend I have ever had- like in my entire life! After watching Teen Wolf for 4 years I finally convinced my parents to let me go to a convention for the show and if you want something to spend time and money on, spend it on a convention. It was worth every penny. Orny Adams- a.k.a Coach- just walked around the hotel all weekend and his hosting consisted of yelling "SHUT IT" and trying to get Charlie to let him in on the gym membership the twins share. Holland came right from set and still looked stunning. That girl seriously knows a lot about fashion! Oh and don't even get me started on Hoechlin! He's such a genuinely nice guy and I loved getting to hear him share his opinions and facts about Derek and the show. Plus he gave us Derek's age...sort of. He said when the show started Derek was only suppose to be a few years older (maybe 2) than Scott and Stiles, but as the show went on the writers decided he needed to be older in order for the plot to make more sense. So he technically has no age or at least that's what Tyler said. I also got a picture with Tyler and I wasn't expecting much because there's like 100 people in line, so you literally have 20 seconds to strike a pose. But I walked up and he started asking me how I was doing and if I liked the convention. Then I asked if I could hug him for the photo and wow okay, that man smells really good!
I could go on for hours, but if you want to hear more, just message me or leave a comment on this chapter. I'm going again next year to Chicago and I suggest you should too. Hope you like the chapter and goodnight. :D