Tether ⌲ Stiles Stilinski [2]

fifteen

I forced my head back out of the water with a shuddering gasp, sending buckets of water splashing to the floor.

A vast white light blinded my eyes as I gripped onto the edges of my tub for stability. Carefully, I lifted my body out of the bath.

At first, it didn't feel like I was dead. Glancing to my side, I hadn't lost the boys either. But as I took in the sight of their cotton t-shirts plastered to their skin and looked at my own clothes still dripping with water, I was reminded of the depths I had just emerged from. Suddenly, I realized I could see but could not feel the ice water anymore. I watched as the weightless drops fell from my clothing hems and formed small puddles around my feet.

I was sure that my mind had rendered the void in between life and death in a way I could understand it. The sight before me appeared as attempted normalcy, a vast bright warehouse. And yet, it was unlike any warehouse I had ever set foot in. It bordered on ethereal with its long rows of fluorescent ceiling lights and stark white walls which reflected off of the glossy floors. It seemed to stretch on endlessly in a way that made me feel certain that if I dared call out, my voice would echo for eternity.

The only thing that broke the pristine light of my surroundings was the top of a large tree stump a hundred feet from where we stood. It sat in the centre of our paths, ripping through the floor tiles around it and disrupting the peace.

The air was busy, and I recognized the quiet hum of buzzing that seemed to fill the room. It was beckoning us forward, as I felt a small tug in my stomach. It was coming from the stump.

As I walked, it felt like the stump was drawing us in with a magnet. I didn't have to look beside me to know the boys were moving too.

We arrived at the edge of the stump together.

It was more expansive than any tree I had ever seen before, the lines etched into its trunk revealing thousands of years of history. Of life and of death.

Scott moved first, outstretching an arm slowly. As he did, the buzzing hummed louder.

Stiles and I followed his lead, reaching our hands out and feeding the incessant noise. When my palm made contact with the ridged edge of the wood, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I closed my eyes.

The next breath I took was crisp and clear, and when I opened my eyes I was no longer in the warehouse. I wasn't even touching the stump, I was in the middle of a break of trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the steel edge of a camper van gleaming in the moonlight. I walked in the opposite direction. Partially because I felt the need to hide, not knowing if it was even possible for me to be seen, and partially because I knew in my soul that I was meant to move elsewhere.

The woods were dense and dark but I recognized them. I followed some internal map, each step feeling simply natural, and crossed over a hiking path into another area of dense woods. By the markings I had passed on the trail I knew where I was, somewhere in the middle of Beacon Hills Preserve.

For a moment, I hesitated. Even though I was completely alone, I felt a presence somewhere beyond my eye line. I wondered if Scott and Stiles had been transported by the stump somewhere else in the regional park and we were finding our ways together once more.

But a voice cutting through the air in the near distance made me stop in my tracks.

Fresh goosebumps sprung up on my skin when I realized that it was my own.

"It's not here. We're never going to find it. I'm sorry, this whole plan was stupid."

Another familiar voice replied. "No, no, no, what are you talking about? Of course we'll find it. The preserve's just big, that's all. We just have to keep looking."