The Wild Side | Stiles Stilinski | One

6 - Derek Hale

The next day, I didn't wake up until noon. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. After Stiles had sped off into the night, I made a mad dash for my phone and called Allison. I was adamant: Allison had three chances to pick up the phone, and then I was calling the police with Derek's license plate number.

The first two times, she hadn't picked up, and my heart plummeted. Thankfully, the third call had done the trick; Allison answered—a little exasperated, but alive and breathing. Derek had brought her straight home, just as he promised, and she was going to go to bed. I was reluctant to let her go, but later that night, my phone went off with one more notification. Allison had sent me a selfie, sitting in bed in her pajamas. She was giving the camera a thumbs up, but I could see that her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying. After that, I decided to give her some space.

After everyone had left the party, I released Prada from the spare room he'd been locked in and followed him downstairs as he ran into the decimated backyard. The music was still playing, one of the card tables was lying on its side, and red and blue disposable cups were everywhere: crushed on the grass, perched on edges of the house, and both floating and sinking in the pool. It was enough to make me whimper.

"Well, Prada, I guess it's just you and me."

The dog seemed to take pity on me, trotting over to lick my ankle and plop down at my side. I gave him a grudging smile, scratching him behind the ears before grabbing a garbage bag and setting to work.

I realized too late that I probably should have changed first, but I was also afraid that if I went upstairs now, I might never come down. I settled for padding around the yard barefoot as I picked up used cups and upset bowls in my fancy dress. I had to retrieve the pool skimmer from the shed to fish cups out of the water, but after hours of work, I managed to clear the yard of almost all traces of the party. Two or three bags of empty cups, plates, and bottles sat on the curb, ready to be picked up and taken away before our mothers could arrive home to find the incriminating evidence.

It was late by the time I dragged myself up to the sanctuary of the bedroom—or early depending on your definition. I washed my face and changed into sweatpants, crawling into bed with every hope of passing out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

But I didn't. Instead, memories of the night flickered in my head like a slideshow projection: Scott's sweaty face and dizzy eyes, Dylan's arm around my waist, Allison's broken voice as she called after Scott, Stiles's expression the moment he heard mention of Derek Hale.

Obviously, Derek wasn't their friend. Stiles had seemed far too shocked and alarmed for that to be the case. It wasn't the pleasant surprise of hearing about an old friend after a long time, but the panic of finding out someone you'd been avoiding had shown up and was looking for you. But if that was the case, how had Derek known about Scott giving Allison the pen? Where had he come from? Who the heck was Derek Hale?

It was half an hour before I gave up on sleep. I lugged my laptop into bed, determined to solve the mystery myself. I searched various combinations of his name and "Beacon Hills," and quickly found something that piqued my interest.

Six years prior there had been a house fire in the woods outside of town. The home belonged to the Hale family, most of whom had died in the blaze. There weren't any specifics about Derek, suggesting he was probably a minor at the time, but the details that were there were brutal.

There were a few mentions of a man hospitalized with gruesome, full-body burns, a child who'd died from smoke inhalation before even reaching the hospital. Everyone else had died on the property, the fire burning too hot and too fast for the fire department to be any help. Officially, it had been reported as an accident, though a few articles suggested the possibility of arson. The authors of those pieces assured there was a compelling case, but never provided any details, and ultimately, no one had ever faced charges.