keeper (d. Hale)

penance for murder.

"And Peter is okay?" Noah asked.

Delilah nodded with a reserved smile. "He's at our house, sleeping on the couch. I didn't want him moving until his stitches fully dissolved."

Noah leaned back in his office chair and looked at the Hales sitting across from him. Delilah looked furious and just on the verge of snapping with her jaw ticking ticking to the side. Derek on the other hand just looked plain tired.

And he didn't even want to comment on the streaks of dirt that seemed to cover them, nor the few twigs that stuck in Delilah's hair. It was probably better not to ask.

The sheriff gave the couple a long, hard stare.

"And you believe him?"

"Are you asking if we believe he fought off some one who was trying to hurt Delilah?" Derek blanched. "Yes, we do. Peter is an ass most of the time but he surprisingly does not lie when it comes to Lilah-"

"I just don't understand why someone would think we still live at the loft," Delilah cut in, not even ready to question if Peter had any part in himself being harmed. "I mean Derek and I have been in the house for a while now..."

"That's a good question," Noah sighed. "And as concerned as I am with another attack, I am even more bothered that Peter's description matches the one Scott gave for Sean's attacker at the hospital."

Derek's brow furrowed. "You're saying the guy who killed Sean and your deputy, came to our house and tried to kill Delilah but ended up with Peter instead?"

A rage was slowly building in Derek as he tried to swallow the possibility that if he hadn't sped up the repairs to the house after the fire and they were still in the loft, this might be a completely different story. Derek scratched at his chin before smoothing his hand nervously across his face.

"Looks like it," Noah nodded tiredly and sifted through the report from the night at the hospital. His index finger tapped over the description of their suspect. "Male, Caucasian, over 6 feet, tomahawk and no mouth."

The last part in the report still left them with more questions than answers. Noah put the notes down and rubbed at the back of his neck. 

"If you don't have a mouth then how do you eat?"

"I don't think Peter got a chance to ask him," Delilah answered honestly before pursing her lips in thought. "But you can survive if-"

"Not the time, baby," Derek mumbled as he watched his wife's brain turn with all of the possibilities of survival with out a mouth.

"Right, sorry," Delilah rubbed at her temples. 

She rambled when she was tired and as interesting as it would be to describe the procedure required to insert a feeding tube through the esophagus to the stomach, Delilah, wanted to wrap this up right away to get Derek back home and into bed. He didn't necessarily look like he was up for running around town during the extremely early hours of the morning. 

She definitely wasn't.

She reached over to him to rest her hand on his knee beneath Noah's desk.

"And he talked with-"

"A voice modulator, I think?" Delilah answered as she tried to recall exactly what Peter had said. Shaking out her head she reached for the small bag she had brought with them. She dumped its contents onto Noah's desk and pushed the tangled set of wires closer for him to see.

"Real futuristic shit..." Derek sighed and covered his wife's hand with his.

Noah picked up the screen and keypad, and turned them over in his hands. He wasn't sure what to do with it, especially since he couldn't make heads or tales with how it was supposed to work.