Monsters | Stiles Stilinski

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝟑

SCOTT, STILES AND I HAD BECOME TOO PRE-OCCUPIED IN HELPING THE SHERIFF TO THINK ABOUT THE METAPHORICAL DOOR INTO THIER MINDS. It was nice to have something to take our mind from the threat to their life. It should've been our main priority but just for a minute we needed a distraction and the Sheriff needed our help.

We were never one to say no when someone needed help — Scott even more so than Stiles and I. It came back to bite us in the ass sometimes but we were doing what we thought was right.

This was one of those examples.

The Sheriff needed our help and we owed it to him. The three of us hadn't made his life at work easy — especially when he didn't know about werewolves. There had been times where we'd humiliated the Sheriff — made him look like a fool — and for that we owed him. Though it wasn't about repaying the favour, he needed our help and we would always give him it.

Right now, the Sheriff was facing an impeachment and it was all down to Agent Rafael McCall. The investigation was being conducted because of the unsolved cases piling up on the Sheriff's desk. All the unexplained deaths and the accidents that had occurred in the last year and even though the he had the answer now he still couldn't close the cases.

There was one case he was particularly keen on solving though and that was because he believed that after looking over it again with a more illuminated perspective it was caused by a werewolf. It was one of his first cases as Sheriff and it stuck with him vividly — a car wreck.

Two young girls and their mother were all in the car on the night of a full moon when it crashed down an embankment but the eldest daughter Malia was never found. The Sheriff said she was the same age as Scott, Stiles and I and he believed that a werewolf dragged her out of the car and somewhere away from her younger sister and mom.

The thought was just horrifying but after looking through the case file and the photographs that had been taken at the scene when it happened eight years ago I couldn't help but agree with him. You could clearly see the thick indentation in the car doors from claw marks. You could see the way the ground flattened that something had been dragged. You could see the slash marks in the seats.

It couldn't of been coincidental.

Scott, Stiles and I had tried to scope out the Tate resistance to catch a scent of Malia while the Sheriff spoke to Mr. Tate but we weren't very successful. Aside from a run in with a rather protective Rottweiler we didn't find anything. It was a bit of a kick in the teeth — especially for the Sheriff who'd openly admitted to Mr. Tate that he believed it was a murder case instead of a tragic accident. The man was distraught and I hated to think we'd tore open his wounds again for the sake of nothing.

The air in the house after our failed attempt to locate Malia's scent was different to what it had ever been before. I could sense the Sheriffs disappointment and it was evident in the way he collapsed into the drivers seat earlier on with an almighty sigh.

He'd dropped Stiles and I off at home and left to return back to work even though he'd finished his shift. The amount of overtime he was putting in was inhumane. I wasn't sure how he was managing it but he was just so determined to bring the Tate some kind of justice like he had done to the Hale fire.

He left the house to Stiles and I but we didn't venture out of his room for anything. A solemn mood had settled between the both of us at the notion of the Sheriff losing his job. It was unimaginable. The Sheriff had already lost so much, he couldn't lose his job as well. I felt guilty that he was coming under fire because of supernatural doings. He was facing a catch-22 situation. He knew what had caused all these murders but he couldn't say they were down to a revenge-seeking Alpha or a teenage boy who turned into a lizard or a crazed woman who performed ritual sacrifices to beat and murder an Alpha pack.