The Absence of Truth | S. Stilinski

XXV. | hostage

XXV. | hostage

                    "IT'S MATT," SCOTT panted, settling himself into the drivers seat of my mother's car. He'd gotten separated from my side in the mad shuffle to get away from Lydia's crashed party, but he was smart enough to come find the sedan. I was seated next to him in the passenger seat and Stiles was in the back, unbuckled and leaning forward. The two of us weren't too impaired, but it was decided that Scott would be the safest bet to get us all to Stiles's house without injury. "I saw the kanima with him. Tail wrapped around his legs like - like..."

Stiles stuck his head between the seat and inserted himself into the conversation more directly. "Like it was protecting him?"

"Yes," Scott agreed, taking turns carefully in the car. He was tapping on the steering wheel anxiously, looking in the rearview mirror every few seconds. "You're sure your aunt didn't see us?"

I was glancing in the mirrors as well, looking for the familiar lights of Sarah's cruiser behind us. She'd been called in to break up the party, and I knew she wouldn't be happy getting pulled away from her relaxing night in with my mother. I'd avoided her the minute I saw her giving Danny a Breathalyzer test by the front door.

"I'm pretty sure," I ventured, staring out of the car until I was sure we weren't being followed. Then I relaxed in my seat and faced forward. "So Matt is the one controlling the kanima? How does that connect with the 2006 swim team?"

Behind me, Stiles groaned. "I don't know," he complained. "We need to tell my dad that it's him, though. Before he hurts someone else."

The car picked up speed and I glanced over to see Scott's worried face. He noticed me staring, and tried to give a reassuring smile. "Just want to get there quickly."

I hummed in agreement, settling into the seat and watching as we took turns to get to Stiles's house. Beacon Hills seemed so small on a map, but when you were in a hurry, it seemed like the biggest city ever. It didn't take too long until we were parking behind Stiles's Jeep in the Stilinski driveway. I'd driven all three of us to the party to save gas. I hopped out of the car and jogged to the front door where Stiles was already fumbling with his keys to get inside. The three of us stumbled through the doorway and immediately up the stairs to Stiles's bedroom, where he grabbed last year's yearbook and flipped it open. He hunted around until he found Matt's face, then leaned way back in his desk chair and yelled.

"Dad!" He called, huffing and laying back further when he didn't receive and immediate response. "Dad!"

There was a thump down the hallway, then rushed footsteps to Stiles's open bedroom door. Scott, Stiles, and I sat with baited breath until Stiles's father came around the corner with furrowed brows. "What?" He asked, eyes widening when he saw that I was back at the house.

As slyly as possible, I walked over to the other side of Stiles's desk, attempting to hide my dirty feet. I hadn't had time to find my heels after the party, and after all the crying and yelling, I was pretty sure I looked rough. No one paid any attention, but Scott shrugged off his jacket and rested it on my shoulders, probably sensing my anxiety and nervousness. I sent him a quick smile in thanks, then focused on Stiles when he started to speak.

"It's Matt," he said, pointing out Matt's grainy picture in the yearbook.

"Huh?" His father asked, coming closer and leaning over the desk to get a better look at what his son was pointing at. "Who's Matt?"

Stiles sighed and picked up a stray red marker from his desk, popping it open and circling Matt's portrait, adding arrows to the boy's face and boxing in his name for more emphasis. "That's Matt! He's the one that's been murdering people."