Changed

Beacon Hills Banshee

We're back in Beacon Hills in half the time it took to leave, for Derek drives rather recklessly.

"Can you catch a scent?" I ask, shifting in my seat restlessly.

Derek nods furiously. "I know exactly where I'm going."

He picks up his phone and types rapidly, putting it to his ear and waiting.

And then, "Stiles," he says breathlessly. There's silence. And then, "Calm down, Stiles. I'm on my way."

Stiles says something into the phone that I can't quite make out and Derek's voice hitches in his throat. "Oh my God." He chokes, his voice cracking. "I'm here. I'm here, Stiles. Stiles, where are you?"

After a minute, Derek hangs up and we pull into the high school parking lot, hopping out of the car before it's stopped completely.

We sprint through the double doors, making as little noise as possible. We hop up the steps, jumping over the creaky one that everybody knows about, and tiptoe to one of the classrooms.

From inside, we hear the harsh, high pitched voice of a young woman. "Lydia Martin. You don't know what your abilities are, do you?" It asks.

Silence.

"As I suspected. The scream of a banshee. Never would've guessed that there'd be a banshee in Beacon Hills. Hmmm, interesting. Makes things fun." The voice spits, mockingly.

There's a gagging sound and a cackling laugh that makes me cringe.

"STILES! SCOTT!" Screams a second voice, terrified and urgent. "HEL-" the voice is cut off abruptly, with a sharp and distinct, "Humph," that changes the expression of fright on Derek's face to pure terror.

We bang on the locked door and Lydia's voice breaks through. "Abshh."

It's a nasty sound she makes, but it assures us that she's alive.

"LYDIA!" Derek screams through the door, banging as loudly and as powerfully as possible.

"DEREK!" It's a full word, a sure sign that she's struggling against whatever's strangling her.

At her voice, Derek looks as if he's about to cry. Even in the moment, I take the time to notice that Derek doesn't look like the kind of guy who would cry.

He must be really close to his friends.

"I'm trying to get in!" Derek yells back, his face still contorted as if he's about to cry. "Ugh, this is hopeless!" He says to me, slamming his entire body against the door.

"Shift!" I tell him, not hiding the 'duh' from my voice.

"Ah, right." He says, extra hair forming around his chin and his jawline. His ears perk up and fangs appear at the sides of his mouth.

He growls furiously and goes to throw his body, claws and fangs and all, against the door.

But he stops, mid launch, when he hears a third voice.

"Lydia, are you-" Again, the voice is broken off sharply, but this time with a gurgle and a sputter.

Derek recognizes the voice, though I don't. "Stilinski," he mutters, gulping noisily.

At that moment, Stiles and Scott skid to a halt, appearing at our sides. "Where is she? Are they in there?" Stiles asks anxiously.

And then the third voice, male and gruff, erupts from the room. "Don't hurt Lydia! Just let her-" sputter and gurgle.

Stiles's face goes dark, his eyes forming into dark black pits.

And then he launches himself at the door, screaming wildly. "DAD! DAD, WHATS GOING ON IN THERE?! DONT HURT MY DAD! LEAVE LYDIA ALONE, TAKE ME INSTEAD! PLEASE!" He begs, his voice louder than anything I've ever heard.

It's so urgent and horrified, as if he's being tortured.

Stiles looks as if he's going mentally insane, throwing himself over and over at the door.

Scott finally grabs his shoulders and holds him back long enough for Derek to break the door down.

We run in to see the room completely empty, except for Lydia, tied to a chair, a dark purple line forming around her neck.

When she sees us she starts struggling more than ever. "Scott!"

Scott runs to her and unties the ropes, and she falls into his arms. He steadies her trembling body, hugging her close to his chest.

"Sheriff Stilinski," she mutters, her voice shaking.

"What happened, Lydia?" Scott asks gently.

But no one gets a chance to respond or wait for an answer.

Because we turn to see Stiles staring at a broken window, the glass completely smashed, blood dripping from the shape edges.

His body shakes and his voice quavers and he turns to us, playing with his fingers. "Where's my dad?"

*****

"Take these keys and see what you feel. Attach it to a scent, an emotion, and identity, a place. Anything." Stiles holds the keys out to Lydia, and she takes them, jumping a tad.

"What?" Says Stiles anxiously.

Lydia closes her eyes, rubbing the keys on her palm. "They're cold."

Stiles stares at her. "Lydia! Focus!"

Lydia glares at him, annoyance flashing across her pale face. "I'm not psychic."

Stiles throws his hands up in the air. "Well, you're something!" He says, frustrated. His voice softens then and he says, "Lydia, people are dying. They're be sacrificed. Innocent people. And apparently, you can sense dead bodies. You really need to focus, this could lead us to my father, Melissa, and Chris. Come on, Lydia."

Lydia just closes her eyes and continues to run the keys around her palm.

We sit in silence, waiting.

Lydia puts down the keys, completely oblivious.

No one says anything.

Stiles and I exchange confused glances. "Um, anything?" Asks Stiles.

Lydia looks at him and narrows her eyes. "No."

Stiles frowns and hands her a piece of paper and a pen. "Fine," he says, annoyed, "that's obviously not working, so try this. Write whatever comes to your mind. Close your eyes, concentrate. Anything that comes to your head, draw. Don't think, but put pen to paper."

Lydia nods, gripping the pencil, her knuckles turning white.

She starts to draw.

Stiles and I exchange glances again and lean in on either side of Lydia to see what she's drawing.

So far, just lines.

And then...

It looks like...

"Lydia," Says Stiles slowly yet fiercely, "what the hell is that?"

Lydia tilts her head and huffs. With much enthusiasms and attitude, she says, "A tree."