The Secret Holder

XV. The Sorry Souls

Back again at my empty house, I hurriedly close drapes, shut windows, and lock doors that have been opened.

I feel like something's coming, but I have to ignore the feeling right now. I find myself in the same situation, day after day, alone in my house. What if I see more of the truth? Who's been Malia's accomplice this whole time? Who is killing with her?

Or is it even Malia who's been killing these people, or is it my selfish ambition and jealousy alone making this accusation? I want to be right for Stiles. I want her to be wrong for him. No, I can't tell anyone yet. Not without further investigation.

I wonder if Scott even got my call...If I see him tomorrow, I might be able to tell him about my suspicions. They're obvious, but I think that he trusts Malia too much to make the assumption himself.

Incident, coincidence, pattern...My mind runs swiftly in the dark. If I open my eyes, I won't be focused.

Be logical, Lydia...I need to start thinking about this now, or I'll never figure this out. What do all of the deaths have in common?

Stiles' mother, my mother, Kira's mother...the similarity is that we-the children are all involved in the supernatural world somehow. Me, well, I'm the friend of the alpha. Kira is Scott's girlfriend, making them close. Stiles is the brother to Scott the alpha, but not in blood. But what do our mothers have to do with Scott and the pack? It's all jumbled up in my mind, and I don't know what to make of it.

The only thing that I can do now is sleep. The puzzle makes it difficult, but it's not something I should even try to sleep off. I need to solve this, and it has to be soon.

I wake up to clanging and clattering echoing from downstairs. My mouth opens with a yawn, and I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

Who is in my house? At this time of day? I don't remember asking Scott to come over in the morning, so I grab my aluminum baseball bat from underneath my bed, and tiptoe down the stairs. When I shut my eyes and concentrate, I can tell that most of the noise is coming from the kitchen. I can hear shoes hitting the tile floor whenever the person walks around. They're picking up things and dropping them in a box by the sounds of it. A thief? Who else has business in this house that wouldn't want to tell me?

The person walks closer and closer to the end of the wall. The footsteps increase and grow faster, until we collide, and both scream at the sight of each other.

My immediate response is to hit him with the baseball bat. When he sees me about to hit him, he grabs it from my hand.

I let him take it and I back up. "Stiles! What the hell are you doing in my house this early in the morning?!" My heart is pumping so hard with adrenaline, but at the same time slowing down.

He's quiet for a second, a small grin dancing in his eyes. He sets the bat on the kitchen counter, then picks up another box. He writes "MISC." on one of the box's flaps with a Sharpie. He turns and starts walking around, surveying the room for things to pack.

"So?" I send him an inquisitive glance.

There's still no reply.

"Stiles!"

He whips around, as if he's surprised I'm speaking to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"You needed help moving some stuff around. And I thought I kind of let you down yesterday. So here I am." He continues to pack candles and random objects off my mantle into a small cardboard box.

I pull out a chair from the counter, and sit down. "So that's it? You're just...here to help?"

He bites down on his bottom lip, and puts the box down. "Okay, I'm also here to...to apologize."

"Apologize? For what?"

"For yesterday,"

"You have, Stiles. You said that's why you're here, isn't it?"

Stiles's eyes widen increasingly, his dark pupils minimizing and maximizing. He looks at me like I should know exactly what he's talking about, but we're obviously not on the same page.

He turns around so that I can't see his face, hands clasped at the base of his neck for a few seconds. His hands run harshly over the top of his head, then drop, leaving his hair sticking up.

"I wanted to say sorry for the thing that I did...that I shouldn't've done...because I was...I don't even know,"

I feel my face flush. "Oh...that..."

Stiles grimaces in my direction. "My god, you can't even look at me, can you?"

"No, I just thought that you didn't remember it. Your eyes looked kind of hazy, you know..." I try to remember what it was like. But I didn't want to, because he wanted to forget it.

"I know...can we just pretend none of it ever happened?" Stiles says shyly, looking at me, then quickly glancing away again.

"If that will make you feel better..." The fact that he wanted to pretend it never happened made me feel worthless.

"Well, yes! After it happened, I was driving to go pick up Malia, and I knew that that was one of my failing moments. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Stiles. We all have our...reasons," My own words turn my stomach, when the image of another person's throat being slashed flashes through my mind's eye. I look up at Stiles again, concern in his eyes.

"You okay?"

I let out a sigh. "Before we start talking about something else, there's something you should know. Kira's mother was found dead yesterday. It looks like she was killed in a similar way that my mother was."

"Oh god...uh...I don't even know what that means. So that's your mom, and Kira's mom..."

And yours, I add in my head. "They think they were both killed by the same thing. A were coyote. Scott was telling me that he's trying to find out about other packs that might be local. Deaton's looking too."

"And they've found?"

"Nothing, so far. I'm going to call Scott again to see if there's any change."

Stiles nods, and walks out of the room.

I close my eyes, as Scott still hasn't picked up yet. I know that he wants to be there for Kira, but this is really important. It won't bring back any lives, but it could save some.

"Hi, Lydia?"

"Scott,"

"You already know about what happened yesterday?"

"Yes, I'm aware. Did you find anything? With the search, I mean..."

"Yeah, we were up all night trying to fit the pieces together between what Deaton found, and what we know about both murders."

"And?"

"We have a suspect...they call her the Desert Wolf."