Full Moon ☾ Derek Hale

Chapter Thirty-Two: Master Plan (Part 1)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Master Plan (Part 1)

Chapter Song: Who We Are by Imagine Dragons 

Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five, I silently counted the clicks of my booties against the linoleum floor as I rushed down the hallway towards the locker room. I needed to distract myself and keep my mind focused, forcing myself to stay sane. If I didn't, I would fall apart like everything else around me had tonight. 

My world had come to an abrupt stop when Sheriff uttered the words that his son was missing. Following the game and Jackson's horrific and untimely death, I immediately scoured the school grounds in search for Stiles. A gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach told me the search was useless, but I sprinted through classrooms and common areas, calling out Stiles' name in desperate hopes he would appear.

He didn't. 

Something had happened. Stiles wouldn't have run off, especially without letting any of us know. It was like he had vanished into thin air—disappearing as soon as the stadium lights turned off. Gerard's immediately became my first suspect. He was responsible for all the hell that had broken loose tonight, after all. If he touched a single hair on Stiles' head, he'd be six feet under the ground by the end of the night. 

Defeated and both mentally and physically exhausted, I approached the locker room empty handed from finding Stiles to be met with groups of grim faced lacrosse players. Coach Finstock and Sheriff Stilinski exited, giving tight lipped nods to the fellow players. Nobody spoke a word, not even one about tonight's win. The game ended with one of their players being taken away in a body bag and the other reported missing. Winning the game was the last thing on anyone's minds.

Although my thoughts were consumed solely on Stiles, I couldn't help but veer off and think of Jackson. It seems like an elaborate joke at first, like he'd pop up from the ground and laugh that he really fooled everyone. It was hard to comprehend. Jackson? Dead? No, of course not. It was Jackson Whittemore for God sakes. Nothing bad ever happened to Jackson. But the reality—the strange, twisted reality—of it was, Jackson had killed himself because Gerard had forced him to. The last few months I was most concerned about Derek or the Argents killing Jackson. We never considered Jackson or Gerard being the one to ultimately pull the trigger. 

I should have been relieved that Jackson was dead. His death meant the end to ninety-five percent of our problems. But yet, I felt even worse. It was like there was a black hole in the center of my chest. I guess seeing someone you grew up with being carried away in a body bag could do that to you.

"Anything?" Sheriff approached me, his forehead littered with veins that protruded whenever he got stressed. I shook my head, my lips in a permanent frown.

"No. Not yet." I quietly replied. My words only caused Sheriff to lose more hope.

"I just don't understand." He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. I searched for the words to say, but came up short. I shook my head as well.  My eyes fell to the floor, avoiding the Sheriff's disappointed gaze.

"Are you going to look for him?" 

"No. I've got to go meet the medical examiner and try to figure out what the hell happened to Jackson." He sighed once more. "If you hear anything from Stiles—anything—please, just please call me."

"I promise." I agreed. With a quiet thank you, the Sheriff walked off. Pushing aside the hollow feeling in my chest, I ventured into the locker room. When I opened the door, I was immediately met by the sound of metal screeching. I took a step into the room, watching Scott pry off the door of Stiles' locker and throw it onto the ground.