Into the Wreckage ▸ Scott McCall (3)

xxii. HOMECOMING

xxii. HOMECOMING

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Parrish's body was smoking. Quite literally smoking. As in, whatever wound he received from the man with glowing talons had seemed to burn him or something or. . . well, Parrish didn't really know. Parrish was out cold the moment the man's talons collided with him, almost as if he sucked the life out of Parrish. He had never felt anything like it before.

The deputy's back was pressed against the metal of a cabinet, his jacket and shirt teared open as the steam seemed to pour out of the long gashes covering his chest. He clenched his teeth, breathing heavily as he tried to keep from passing out once more. 

He glanced around, realizing that whoever the guy was, he was gone now. And more important, he was on the hunt for Scott McCall. Parrish needed to warn Scott, he would do whatever it takes. He didn't know why that man was in search of Scott, but it certainly couldn't have been good.

With heavy breaths, Parrish finally reached for his radio. "Dispatch, Offic - " He paused, letting out a pained cry as the wound seem to sear with heat once more. "Officer down."

In response, he didn't get another deputy's voice. Instead, he heard the frequencies of the radio seem to short out and make random sounds. As if the radio was down. It wouldn't have shocked him, considering the storm. 

His breaths grew to be more and more shallow, as if he was finding it more and more difficult to keep holding on. Parrish was struggling to catch his breath at this point, and his vision was blurred as if tears were in his eyes. The pain searing in his chest seemed to move throughout his whole body, but rather than making the pain worse, it almost felt normal. As if he experienced this blistering pain everyday, and that it was apart of him.

Jordan Parrish was going numb.

That is, until he heard a voice. A voice he had heard many times over the summer, a voice that had been nothing but supportive and helpful throughout the past few months. The voice of a girl who had nearly lost everything over the past year, and found herself going to him for company.

It was Ella Foster.

"Jordan," she spoke, her voice light and seeming to snap him out of his gaze. The deputy glanced over, trying to find her. "Jordan," Foster said once again, and finally her figure came into focus. The blonde haired girl wore an expression of worry, her blue eyes wide as she came to Parrish's side.

She walked with grace, as if everything was still and calm. As if he weren't bleeding out in the cellar of an abandoned home. Almost as if everything, just this once, was right in Beacon Hills. Like there was no man with glowing talons, and that they weren't two supernatural creatures. That she wasn't an éadroma and he wasn't whatever the hell he was. And that they were just two people, no blood spilling from either of them.

His lips parted, and he watched her come closer with shameless wonder. Unable to believe that she was here, that she had found him. He didn't understand. How did she find him?

Foster crouched down in front of him, surveying the damage on his chest. Finally, she snapped her head back up, her eyes locking on his.

"I'm right here," Foster assured, and somehow those words brought a sense of comfort to Jordan Parrish.

One of her hands moved to graze his cheek, her palm cupping it delicately. Parrish found himself sinking into her touch, finding a sense of comfort. His eyes began to droop shut, and for a moment, he realized that he would be okay dying like this. As long as she was here, it would be okay. It would be peaceful, Foster would make it so.