Chapter Text
The knock came sharp and sudden against the front door, twice, then once more. Sheriff Noah Stilinski was already on his feet, crossing the living room before the third knock had even faded. He pulled the door open, revealing Deputy Jordan Parrish standing on the porch, a stack of folders clutched against his chest.
”Parrish,” Noah said, stepping aside to let him in. ”Did something happen?”
Parrish shook his head. ”I… No. Sorry.” He shifted his grip, but the folders still threatened to slip from his grasp. ”Can I...?”
Noah turned on his heel and led the way toward the kitchen, Parrish trailing behind. The moment they reached the table, the folders tumbled from Parrish’s arms, scattering across the surface.
”So?” Noah said, flipping on the coffee maker. ”I assume you have a reason to carry those files around.”
Parrish began gathering the folders, stacking them into a neat pile. ”They’re case files.”
Noah glanced at him. He pulled two cups from the cabinet. ”You don’t say.”
”Just hear me out,” Parrish said. He tapped the first report. ”Woman, mid-thirties. Claimed she heard her dead husband begging for help.” He moved to the next two. ”Two hikers, separate incidents, same timeframe. Both report their parent calling their name. They’re not related. Don’t even know each other.”
Noah stared into the open refrigerator. ”Stiles hid the cream again—milk?”
”What? No, black is fine.” Parrish grabbed a fourth report. ”Kid, nine years old, heard his grandmother. Followed her voice halfway into the Preserve. Won’t say what she said. Just kept asking if she’s still out there.”
Noah turned toward Parrish motioning him to keep going.
”They all have similar stories," Parrish continued, gesturing at the rest of the folders. ”None of them actually saw the caller. No footprints, no scents, nothing. Just… voices. Whispers.”
Noah looked at the reports. ”And you’re sure that woman’s husband is dead?”
”All of them are dead.” Parrish let the folder drop.
A sudden whir cut from the living room. It was followed by heavy thumps. Noah turned his head toward the door separating the two rooms.
”If Harris gives me a D- for this, you’re downgraded to a doorstopper.” Stiles’ voice was muffled by the closed door.
”Stop hitting my printer and get your ass in here,” Noah called out.
Stiles slowly opened the door. ”I—”
”Stop eavesdropping. And before you try to deny it—your printer works just fine, there’s no other excuse to beating up mine.” Noah gave him a tired look.
”Okay, fine, I might have overheard a few words.” Stiles dropped his homework on the printer and hurried into the kitchen.
Parrish gave him a quick nod. ”Hey.”
”Hey,” Stiles shot back, already circling the table, his fingers hovering over the files. ”What are we doing?”
Noah pulled a third cup from the cabinet. ”Apparently something weird.” He turned back to Parrish. ”Any other patterns?”
Parrish glanced out the window toward the Preserve. ”Apart from all the callers being dead? Every incident is along the ley lines.”
Stiles dropped down into a chair beside Parrish, his eyes scanning the files. ”That’s organized weird. Like firefly light shows—”
Noah waved a dismissive hand over the folders. ”Stress. People can be stressed. Collectively. Please tell me that’s a thing.”
”—Army ants—organized weird. But natural,” Stiles kept going. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ”Dead people talking—that's not natural.”
”You just had to connect these cases and bring them here?” Noah sighed, pinning Parrish with a look.
Parrish shrugged, a grin spreading on his face. ”You want to have this conversation back at the station? Front desk, or by the coffee maker?”
”Maybe somewhere Stiles isn’t already eavesdropping?” Noah deadpanned.
”We are talking about Stiles, right?” Parrish grinned, thumb jerking in Stiles’ direction.
”Hey!” Stiles glared at both of them.
”Fine,” Noah picked up a folder, pointing it at his son. ”Look, kiddo. I don’t always get your methods. Half the time, I don’t even want to. But you have an odd sense for weird.” He took a deep breath and dropped the folder back onto the table. ”Show me the pattern.”
”Okay,” Parrish unfolded a map of Beacon County, smoothing it out across the table. ”They’re all here,” he said, pointing at an area near the edge of the Preserve. ”Or close to it. Same stretch of woods. Same general direction.”
Noah leaned over the map, his brow furrowing as he traced the lines with his eyes. ”That’s the hiking trail. Lots of people go there. They could have heard someone else walking the trail.”
”A nine-year-old doesn’t hike that trail alone,” Parrish tapped the map. ”And the hikers ended up here and here.” He pointed deeper into the Preserve. ”That’s deep into Hale land. People don’t go there.”
Noah nodded slowly. ”Derek and his pack have been gone for over a year.” He rubbed his chin. ”Yeah, I doubt any of them would imitate voices, just for the hell of it anyway.”
”Picture Derek as the Big Bad Wolf—’what big teeth’—” Stiles blurted out.
Noah and Parrish both turned to glare at him.
”Yeah, no, not Derek’s style,” Stiles backtracked quickly. ”Peter maybe...”
Noah lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
”But these are just the latest ones,” Parrish ignored Stiles. ”Earlier reports have been of people being disoriented, not remembering leaving home. Most reports are from that area close to, or in the Preserve. Some are not, but even those are still along the ley lines.”
Stiles leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. ”But that’s not all of it, is it?” His eyes turned to Parrish. ”You’ve felt something. Or you wouldn’t be here.”
Parrish’s mouth twitched. His eyes flicked back toward the window, his expression turning distant for a moment. ”It’s the Preserve. I always feel something.”
”Yeah, but this was different,” Stiles pressed.
Parrish flicked his eyes at him. ”…Yeah.”
”What kind of different?” Noah looked up from the map.
Parrish slowly began smoothing down the edges of the map. ”Quiet.”
”It’s a forest.” Stiles frowned. ”People go there to get away from all the noise.”
”Not that kind of quiet,” Parrish shook his head slowly. ”No animals. No wind. Just... nothing.” His voice trailed off. ”And then...”
”And then what?”
Parrish met his gaze. ”I thought I heard something...”
Stiles straightened up. ”What?”
Parrish’s eyes flashed orange. ”Doesn’t matter. Nothing was there.”
”Nothing?” Stiles peered at him, his fingers tapping the table. ”At all? Did you sniff around?”
Parrish glanced down at the reports on the table. ”Yes, Stiles. But my official report can’t say ’the place creeped me out’ or ’I heard stuff’.” He let out a breath. ”The public can say that. Deputies can’t.”
Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it again.