Becoming A True Alpha (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 9: The Legend That Is Lydia Martin

Chapter 9:

Weeks had passed and the death toll in Beacon Hills has only continued to rise. People go missing, only to surface days later, dead. All killed in the same way, strangled, throat slashed and head bashed in. A three full death.

Parents have stopped sending their kids to school and most have stayed locked away in the protection of their own home when they can.

Sure, Beacon Hills hasn't always had the cleanest record when it comes to counting bodies, but this string of murders has struck a nervous cord with the town's residents. Suddenly the threat of being mutilated while doing the simplest thing as walking the dog or buying groceries is much more terrifyingly than the threat of a homicidal lizard.

But, as I sit on the ledge of a window overlooking the town I can't help but feel exposed. Stories up in the penthouse suit, behind a glass panel and the people on the street below look calmer.

I can't help the feeling of paranoia and weary that surfaces with the thought of a killer I know nothing about. And why would I be so clueless as to the details behind this mysterious case? Because no one will damn well tell me anything.

So there is no further explanation for my absence from school other than waiting for the door across the hall to click shut. My father wasn't aware I had spent most of the day hiding out in my bedroom. He wasn't aware of the visit I was about to pay the minute he leaves the safety of his office. And I hoped to keep it that way.

The only way I'm going to gain information at this point is to steal it, because like a smart man once said, knowledge is power. At this point I needed all the power I could get my hands on.

Hours pass by before I'm finally standing in front of my father's office, balancing back and forth on the edge of my toes. The locked door stands as a barrier in front of me- a barrier of flimsy wood and industrial metal. With my strength I could easily snap the lock, but I'm sure my father would notice the handle to his office door laying crushed on the floor.

And here lies my dilemma. I never learned how to pick a lock, nor did I think to look for a key.

I could stand here all day and think of the least destructive way to get past this door, but I unfortunately don't have all day. With my father's constant paranoia and distrust towards his own daughter, I had a little less than an hour.

One option continues to cross my mind, weighing down the cellphone in my back pocket.

With no other choice, I fish into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the device. I dial the number for the first time in months.

"Lucy?" Background noise distorts the person's voice at first, but they still sound like the boy I use to call late at night when no one else would listen.

"Stiles, I need your help."

A dry laugh echo's through the speaker. "I haven't heard those words in a while."

I let out a sign of frustration, "Do you know how to pick a lock?"

"No, considering the skill is normally used to commit federal crimes."

"When has that ever stopped you before?" A slight giggle erupts from my throat but I quickly cover it with a cough.

The silence between the two of us has passed the uncomfortable mark and begins to irritate what little patience I have left. Thankfully, the boy finally answers, "Why do you need to pick a lock, Lucy?"

I know I need to share some information in order to ultimately gain the upper hand against my father, so pushing away everything I had worked so well to build, I tell him. "I need to get into my father's office. There is information in there that could be useful to me, but he keeps the room under lock and key at all times."