Chapter Text
Sunday, January 9, 2011
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3:34pm
You don’t know what you have until it's gone. Another one of those sayings you see plastered on pinterest boards and quoted in movies. It’s true though. Sometimes you really don’t know what you had until it's too late and life keeps shoving this lesson down my fucking throat. First it was Paige and then the fire…
I can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in the room and the walls are too close together. The Rogers are arguing again and that boy downstairs is playing video games and there's a truck outside and people on the street. My body feels like it's been sliced in two and then it's gone. The silent warmth I feel at night after a nightmare. The solid feeling in my chest. My anchor to the little bit of humanity I had left in me.
The anger builds from the empty, hollow, gutted feeling in my stomach. I need to yell and roar and scream but my throat is closing up. Everything just needs to stop.
The floor sticks to my hands and my clothes are too tight and that dog wont shut up.
My face is wet. I can’t see anything. That ugly couch Laura insisted on buying is just a blur of sickening green and it matches the pile of vomit that leaves my throat. It burns coming out and not even the cool tile on my throat can soothe it. I dig my nails into my chest trying to find anything, any proof there was once warmth and safety there. Anything!
I find nothing but flesh and blood. Now my hands are too sticky and my clothes are tighter and wet and torn. All I see is red. All I want to do is scream.
—
3:34pm
A person's outfit tells you who they are. From their shoes all the way up to hair accessories. Each one should be a deliberate choice to show the world who you are. Each should be chosen and worn like a piece of armor. My armor is perfect, not even a single strand of hair out of place. When I walk into a room everyone knows that I am in charge and that no one is better than me.
I like to end each day by selecting my outfit for the next. It’s a sort of ritual. A much more dignified one than anything a football player does to ensure a win but it's a ritual none the less. I start by deciding what I want to say the next day and I evaluate my goals. Then I choose accordingly. Tomorrow it will be with an outfit of primarily black, accented with a macking shirt and scarf, and a designer bag to top it off. Nothing too showy but enough to remind everyone that I am the one with the perfect boyfriend, the perfect grades, and the perfect body.
Something punches me in the stomach and all the air leaves my lungs. I can’t breathe. I gasp for air but it only gets worse. I can’t see anything around me and my vision fills with spots. My body collapses to the floor, my arms catch on something but there’s no pain. My hands grasp at the strands of the new carpet as my throat burns. I want to scream.
My gasps begin to steady as the air returns to my lungs and the black spots leave my vision.
“Lydia? Sweetie, are you okay?” Mom asks from the other side of the door.
“I'm fine Mom.” I stare into the mirror, my makeup has run down my face, my hair is frizzed from pulling at it, and my arms are red with claw marks. “I’m fine.”
—
5:50pm
For once, I might finally get home on time. Case files are up to date and today's only call was a woman complaining about the neighbor's dog. No speeding tickets were given out and it seems I might even leave early. More than enough time to stop for pizza. Stiles will be pretty upset about all the grease but how long can a teen boy be upset about pizza?
“Sheriff, a body was found in the preserve.”
The body was found by two hikers around 5:30pm. They were making their way back to their car when they heard an animal, likely a coyote, and went to investigate. There they found a young woman’s body. Her body was cut horizontally through her abdomen and only the bottom half of her body was found. She appears to be in her 20s. The weapon used is unknown and the woman has not yet been identified.
It’s been nearly four years since anyone died in these woods and even longer since I’ve had to search them for a body. I pray to whatever beings are out there, please let this be the last.
—
7:05pm
A body. In the woods. Oh my god this is amazing. How often is there a body found in the woods? Well actually decently often. I mean in Long Island bodies have been showing up for months now but that’s not the point. People don’t just die in the woods in Beacon Hills. Well if you exclude the Hall fire but technically that was a residence and not exactly the woods and also no bodies were actually found since they burned to death. But this is something new. There is half a body still out there. That means there’s going to be a search party. At night. In the woods. For half of a dead body! It's like a dream come true. Not someone dying of course but the search. Finally an interesting case! Scott is not gonna believe this.
—
8:53pm
One. Fix your footing. Two. Your swing was weak. Three. Are you even trying? Fo-
“Jackson, maybe we should stop for the night,” Danny suggests.
“Try outs are tomorrow. We’re not stopping,” I need to be better.
“Seriously Jackson. Some of us actually need sleep.”
One. Fix your aim. Two. Footing again Jackson. Three. Four. Five.
“Jackson just go to bed,” Danny yells out but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Danny huffs off.
Seven. Eight. I lose count. Swing after swing and I’m only making three out of four shots each time. I haven’t even made the goal smaller. If I’m going to be captain I need to be better. I need to be the best.
There is a loud roar in the distance.
One. Your arm is weak. Two.
—
9:15pm
“Mom!” The car swerves.
“Some kids just don’t know how to behave,” Mom scoffs as if we didn’t just nearly kill someone.
“We almost hit someone! How are you so calm right now?!” Seriously I feel like I’m going to puke.
“He shouldn’t have been out on the road. Especially at night. If we had hit him it would have been his own fault,” she settles her body, letting the tension out as it had never been there to begin with. I don’t know how she does it. “Are you excited for your first day?”
“I still don’t get why we had to leave?”
“It’s your father's business, you know this Allison.” I do know it because every few months we have the same conversation. Oh Allison, are you excited for your new school? Are you ready for your first day? How can I be? I am literally going to be a seventeen year old sophomore pretty soon because Dad had to move for work.
“You know that we love you?”
“I love you too.” I look out the window and all there are are trees and trees and more trees. I miss San Francisco.
—
9:30pm
Why do I keep following Stiles’ plans? They always end up bad. Like the time we tried to steal handcuffs from the police station. He didn’t even have a reason for doing it. All he said was, “Scott it would be so cool,” and of course I followed. All we ended up with was two weeks of being grounded because he forgot about the security cameras! Now Mom is going to kill me. Uh, she just got a refill on my inhaler too.
“Ahh,” the bite hurts. What am I going to do?! Stiles is probably still with his dad, Mom is at work, and no one I know can drive besides them.
“AHH,” okay okay. The house isn’t that far from here. I just need to last long enough to get this bandaged up and then it will be fine. It's barely even bleeding which means the clotting process has started and I’m not going to bleed to death on the side of the road.
A car drives closer with its lights on, making my head feel like it's going to burst. A horn blares in my ears and I can hear spots. I shouldn’t be able to hear spots.
“Scott?” A woman's voice shouts out from the car. My eyes can barely see anything. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
“I’m sorry Miss but who are you?”
“Miss? Well aren’t you sweet.
“MOM,” someone yells from the car. I’m starting to make out some images.
“I know your mom,” the driver continues, “Melissa?” I nod. “I’ve seen you around the hospital a few times and she’s always talking about how sweet a boy you are.”
“MOM!” the girl yells and it hurts so much. It feels like someone just used a blow horn inside my skull.
“Now Scott Honey, why don’t you hop in and we'll give you a ride home?” I probably shouldn’t get in a car with a stranger but at this rate I’ll end up passing out on the road and then I’ll never make it to tryouts.
I can just barely make out a door handle as I hopefully nod or something.
My vision starts to even out as I settle into the car. I can even see the woman in the driver's seat looking back at me. Her eyes crinkle up like Mom’s does when she’s worried but doesn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing. Maybe that’s just a Mom thing?
“Scott?” Shit, she was talking.
“Sorry, just a little out of it Miss…” I don’t even know her name. Maybe this is a bad idea.
“Reyes. And you probably know my daughter Erica.”
“Mom,” the girl whisper yells from the front seat.
Ms. Reyes starts driving again as I buckle my seat. I try to look out the window but it just makes me feel dizzy.
“You’re Mom might have mentioned my wife at some point. She’s the psychologist at the hospital,” all of her words sound like mush.
“Ya.”
“You’ll have to direct me from here Sweetie.”
By the time we get to my house I’m glad for the ride. Mrs. Reyes is a talker but the painful chatter was so much better than the alternative.
“You stay safe now,” Mrs. Reyes calls out as I head to the door.
“Thank you for the ride,” I yell out before stumbling through the front door. I hope Mom restocked the gauze after Stiles’ last kitchen experiment.
—
10:35pm
They cut her in half.
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hold onto that anger, the rage.
I’m angry. I’m angry. A repeated mantra as I pass through the forest undetected.
I can still hear the sheriff calling out orders and dogs barking. After all this time I still know this land better than they ever will. It's like coming home. Some of this isn’t even familiar but the ground softens for me and the dry leaves move in the right directions to avoid my feet.
The smell of decay grows. The smell of Laura fades.
I’m angry. I’m angry. I’m angry.
My body stops. My knees give out. I let out a broken howl as I see my sister.
Her eyes are open. There is nothing behind them. She stares at me without any emotion and I feel the bottomless pit in my chest all over again.
“I heard something,” a deputy yells.
I’m angry. I’m angry. I’M ANGRY!
I have to move her now.
I’m angry.
I steady my body, pulling my strength back.
I’m angry.
“Over here,” a voice yells.
Her hair is a matted mess. She’d be so pissed about that.
The barking dogs get louder. I cradle Laura in my arms and stare. I can’t do this.
Lights flash in the near distance.
I have to do this.
For Laura.
For Mom.
For Peter.
For Dad and Corra and all of them. I’m angry at their short lives.
“Move!” the Sheriff shouts and I run.
It’s tradition for an alpha to be buried on their packs' ancestral soil. In some cases packs will build extensive memorials. In others they will plant new life. An alpha’s life is supposed to be remembered and celebrated. Laura only got four years of it but she deserves to be remembered more than anyone else.
I spend the rest of the night carving out the earth with my bare hands and weaving the wolvesbane ropes till the flesh of my hands burns away. Wolvesbane to protect her grave and a spiral to let the ones who killed her know they are next.
I pick her up from where she lays among our Dad’s dead flowerbeds and place her in the center of the grave I dug. I try my best to fix her hair but there’s not much I can do. Her shirt is stained with blood but there is nothing I can do about it now. Her skin is so pale and she's so cold.
All I can offer Laura, my alpha and my sister, is a resting place with the pack she should have gotten the chance to lead.
I am angry.