The Longer I Live

Chapter 3: Not That I Know Of!

Derek pricked his ears listening carefully to the Beacon Hills sheriff's department investigate the murder site. Law enforcement became baffled by the case of the mutilated camper as they recovered the body and requested an autopsy report. Only the green-eyed spirit wolf knew the truth. He was the only key witness. Staying hidden within the foliage of the forest, his heightened senses focused on the conversation.

"What do we have?" Sheriff Argent asked his coworkers.

"Female. Approximately twenty-three. Brown hair." His deputy answered. "We found the victim's wallet nearby. No money was taken. Name on the I.D. says Pamela Greenfeld." The deputy handed the driver's license to Beacon Hills sheriff.

"Pretty girl," he commented.

"Can't tell by looking at her now," remarked the deputy. "The body was viciously mangled and mauled to death."

"Possible animal attack?" Sheriff Argent theorized.

"Could be," the deputy shrugged her shoulders. "However, I don't know of any animal that could do such a thing."

"Notify Morell in forensics that we're sending her a cold one," he instructed. "I'd like to get a report in a couple hours."

"Already done," the deputy nodded her head.

"And try to keep this out of the media," noted Sheriff Argent. "The last thing the mayor needs right now are reports that animal attacks scaring off potential tourist campers in the town."

"Got it," agreed the deputy.

Derek observed his Beacon Hill's officers disband. He certainly had his work cut out for him.

Back at school, Stiles tried to concentrate on American History, but his mind drifted elsewhere. Part of the problem was that the brain tumor affected his ability to retain information which made it difficult to focus on class. He hated that aspect of the cancer, especially since he liked his teacher Adrian Harris. The part Native American and Irish instructor also taught Stile's art class which he enjoyed and excelled at. Mr. Harris shared a common rapport with the teen student who offered advice on improving his drawing techniques and inspired his love of art.

American History was also the class that both the sophomore and junior students shared. Stiles sat behind his sister Allison who practically ignored her little brother, while she passed notes to her friends Lydia, Jackson, and Danny. Taking out his notebook, he began doodling a little cartoon on his sketchpad before something point bounced off his forehead.

"Hey Stilinski! Heads up!" Jackson whispered to him.

A paper airplane landed at the corner of his desk as he heard a giggle coming from Lydia's mouth next to him. Allison, who was seated next to her, grabbed her BFF's wrist hoping to calm her down. It was too late. Mr. Harris turned his back to focus on the group as he marched down the aisle to claim the air message delivery.

"Obviously, history seems a bit dull today, so we've decided to pass notes for entertainment value," he commented. Adjusting his eyeglasses, Mr. Harris unfolded the paper airplane as Stiles sank behind his desk. "Dear Stiles "Stilinksi" Argent. You're a loser."

Nervous laughter erupted from the class. Stiles sadly looked to Danny who appeared helpless to defend him as Allison shot an angry gaze at Jackson.

"I SAID LEAVE MY LITTLE BROTHER ALONE JACKSON!" Allison shouted toward the jock.

"So, Mr. Whittemore," responded Mr. Harris. "You obviously have a lot of time on your hands. I think your focus on history can be better spent in detention today afterschool."