Without Incident [Wattys2016]

04.

Over the course of the next week my outbursts had become more frequent. Who could blame me? People were getting attacked, bodies disappearing. Things were reverting back to the way they were before the quiet. Beacon Hills could try to hide its under belly but sooner or later all the muck and grime and blood resurfaced.

The scary thing was I found more comfort in the supernatural than I ever could doing something as mundane as making summer plans. Video games, public pools, afternoons in the park--all of those things had become alien to me. Lacrosse was the one thing that could ground me but without the season to push me I wasn't focused enough to practice for fun even now.

While the disappearances had sparked a hunger in me I couldn't own up to--out loud anyway--everyone else seemed to coil up tense, withdrawing as it reared its head. Getting them to go anywhere near the missing person's cases was like pulling teeth. After begging Mason to come with me to the Sheriff's Station and then failing spectacularly, I ended up trekking it there by myself. He had been so enthusiastic when I first brought him into my world, eating up every bit of lore, more helpful to my pack's cause than I ever could have been. When we found out he was the very beast we were trying to kill it had all been too much for him. Mason was strong but discovering some French jerk was using him as a vessel for mayhem was a weight that should have driven him insane. And still he had bounced back-or so it seemed.

I sat in Sheriff Stilinki's office, my feet kicked up on his desk as he thumbed through a file. I cocked my feet to the side, noticing a brand new picture frame sitting where a paper weight had been the last time I was here. It was a graduation photo of Stiles and the Sheriff taken moments after the ceremony. A gangly Stiles was drowning in a cap and gown two sizes too big, grinning like an idiot, his dad comedically stoic.

"You guys keeping in touch?" The Sheriff said, breaking the silence.

"No, I actually haven't talked to either of them. Not in a while," I said, referring to Scott, too. "We've just been doing our own thing I guess. But he's good though, right?

"Yeah, he actually just registered at the local community college. I guess he figures he'll bide his time earning some credits in criminal justice studies. After about a year when he's old enough he wants to enroll in the police academy."

"Wow, with him and Parrish on the line it's like you're co-opting your own little supernatural task force."

"It's shaping up that way, kid."

"Doesn't that picture scare you a little, though? Imagine. Stiles. With a gun."

"Pray for us all," he huffed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening as he screwed up his face. He shuffled a stack of scattered papers, sliding me a sheet with a photo pinned to the top. "This your guy?"

"Michael Ashby. That's him." His girlfriend had called him Mike but his face was unmistakable, although, he looked a bit more youthful here. Thumb hovering over the photo, I stared at his face and then at his uniform. He was a Marine.

"Where are they all going?" I said under my breath as if the photo could tell me.

The Sheriff seemed to mull that question over, tapping his fingers on the desk. "You think they could still be alive somewhere?"

"I don't think so. I don't know. Guys like Mason-Stiles, they're so much better at this. They find the clues, can see the patterns."

"You're smart enough to realize these aren't random murders or 'animal attacks' as we so lovingly like to pin here in Beacon Hills. Wherever they're disappearing to, we're gonna find 'em. We always do, kid."

"Do you think maybe you could go over to this guy Michael's house, bring back something I can track him down with?"

He cringed at the thought. As useful as it was having a bunch of supernatural creatures around to lend a hand with supernatural cases, it didn't make subverting the law any easier. Not, especially, when some of those supernatural creatures asking for favors were teenagers.

"I don't know, Liam." He scratched his chin, the corners of his mouth turned down in a grimace. "But I have a feeling if I don't do it, you'll just break into the place yourself."

"You're not wrong."

"Still illegal..." Half formed, his sentence hung in the air. The Sheriff narrowed his eyes, staring over my head. I glanced over my shoulder, catching a scent of sulfur. A lean figure lingered by the window to the Sheriff's office that looked out into the bullpen. "Parrish get in here because I know you're listening."

After a long beat, the door to the office finally swung open. Deputy Parrish appeared in his khaki uniform, clicking the door shut behind him. He looked slightly guilty for eavesdropping, his lips stretched thin. Even at his most friendly, the guy terrified me. He screamed boy next door but he was dangerous. He was a wrecking ball with dimples.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear."

"Uh-huh-I'm sure. Get your feet down, kid," The Sheriff tapped my shoes, nudging them off his desk as Parrish came to stand beside him.

He was skimming over all the open files, the faces of the disappeared. Suddenly, his head shot up but he didn't say anything, just spaced out somewhere far, far away. The Sheriff and I exchanged a nervous look. Parrish had a habit of losing himself sometimes, caught up in visions of fire and death-which wasn't particularly good for the people around him.

After snapping out of his trace-thankfully one that didn't end with him lighting up like a walking match book-he admitted that he had seen a couple of the faces in his dreams. But it wasn't just them, there was something else trying to draw him in, showing him the felled tree in the middle of Beacon Hills Preserve. He explained how strong its pull on him had become as it tried to call him to the place of convergence in our town. Beacon Hills was literally a beacon for supernatural forces. The Nemeton was the giant bulb crowning the top of the lighthouse.

"It's trying to reach out to me, again," he said, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.

The Sheriff sat back in his chair, shifting his weight. "You think a magical tree stump is trying to call collect?"

"Wouldn't be the first time." Parrish shrugged. "Except this time, I'm not seeing dead bodies lying around the tree. In the dream there's one figure standing with their back to me. I can't see their face, they're consumed in flames."

"And you think this person hijacking your dreams is the one attacking these people?" I asked and he looked down at me, a spark of adrenaline lighting behind his eyes.

"There's only one way to find out."