ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ║ ꜱᴛɪʟᴇꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟɪɴꜱᴋɪ

02. Doom, Death, and a Speeding Ticket

"GET YOUR LAZY asses over here! I'm talking to you McCall! What kind of lacrosse team can't run? Scratch that, what kind of lacrosse team can't beat the cross country team?" Coach was screaming from the tree line. Charlie looked at the two boys.

"He seems nice."

Stiles shrugged, blatantly ignoring Coach.

"You kind of get used to it after a while." He paused for a second, hazel eyes scanning her face. "So what were you doing on the highway that night? It was like two in the morning."

Charlie glared.

"What were you two doing in the morgue last night?" She shot back. This is it, she thought. This is when I should have bought a recorder and carried it with me.

Stiles glanced at Scott, like he was trying to pick how to answer.

"We were saying goodbye to a friend," Stiles said.

"Well, she was Stiles' friend. I was emotional support, and left for a second to find my mom. And then.. yeah you were there for the next part," Scott added.

"Oh.. I thought you were cannibals. Can't you just say goodbye at her funeral?" Charlie asked.

"MCCALL! STILINSKI! ...AND WHOEVER YOU ARE!"

Bobby Finstock had somehow acquired a bullhorn, and he was putting it to good use. Charlie smiled.

"I like him."

The three jogged to where the track began at the woods edge, lining up beside Charlie's new classmates. Down the line, a pair of identical twins got set on either side of a tall blonde boy, clearly trying to instigate something. That, or some really weird sexual tension.

Coach, Charlie's new favorite teacher, blew a loud shrill whistle, and the twins shot forwards like lightning.

"Pace yourselves!" Coach yelled after them. The blonde boy recovered from his moment of shock and bolted after the twins. Scott grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

When the boy spun, Charlie saw a flash of yellow. His eyes?

"It's them." He said cryptically, then took off.

"Isaac, wait- Isaac!" Scott yelled after him, before following.

All of this Charlie watched without moving an inch from the starting line. Coach squinted at her.

"Who are you? Why aren't you running?"

"Charlie. Why aren't you running?" She responded.

"Interesting. Because I haven't run since high school and I'm not starting today. Go!" He waved a hand at the path ahead of him.

∘◦ ☆ ◦∘

Midway through Charlie's torturous run down the trail, Stiles caught up with her, his chest heaving. He was flushed and had sweat running down the sides of his face. Charlie side stepped him as he hit the ground on the leafy path.

"I thought we weren't friends." She said, looking down at him. He crawled up to stand with little grace.

"That could change if you don't punch me again," Stiles said.

Charlie narrowed her eyes, considering.

A scream echoed from over the next hill. It was shrill and full of terror. The two looked at each other before they both bolted towards the sound.

Charlie and Stiles pushed through the crowd gathered around a tree. Somewhere in the mayhem Scott joined them.

At the center, there was a young man, tied to a tree. Dead. The trunk was painted with blood, and a dog leash was wrapped around his neck. There was so much red. Charlie reeled, stepping backwards. Nathan. Nathan. She blinked slowly, repelling the mental image of that night. This was another boy. A different murder.