Crossfire [ J. WHITTEMORE ]

t h i r t y o n e

Deaton stared at the stiff body on the table, his stomach filled with the guilt that it always was when it was a teenager.

He sat himself down in the metal chair beside the table, resting his head on his hand while waiting for the movement he desired.

He had waited all night, nearly giving up until he saw the twitch of her fingers. He sat up instantly, rushing out to get her water and when he came back into the room she was sitting up with her hands across her chest.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Doctor Deaton. Do you know your name?Do you know where you are?"

The girl froze for a second, searching her brain for the answers to his questions. "I'm in beacon hills." She glanced around the room, the cool metal sending goosebumps down her legs.

"That's good. Now, do you want me to call Scott? Stiles? Jackson? Isaac? Anyone?"

She lifted her head at the mention of the names, bringing a hand slowly down to her stomach before her face flooded with confusion. "Who are they? Why would you call them?"

"You don't want me to call Jackson?"

"Who's Jackson?"

Deaton sighed in defeat, he'd gotten so close to rehabilitating her. So close to giving her what she'd lost. "I'll ask again. Do you know who you are?"

"Yes. I'm Gwen Roberts."

THE END