Chapter Text
She'd been dead for at least twenty four hours.
Her hair lay in long, matted strands down her back; the once golden blonde waves streaked red with the blood that trickled down from the nails driven through her skull. There was one every few inches stretching from the pale skin of one temple, across the back of her head to the other, each one helping to hold the crown of black raven feathers in place. She was dressed in a long white nightdress that fluttered in the warm breeze, her pale skin unmarred but for the blood and the dark bruising on her neck; the purple standing out in stark relief against the bloodless white of her throat.
She had been positioned on a swing in the park; a terrifying present for the children of the community. The saving grace was that it had been a jogger who had found her, as it so often is, and they were able to cordon of the area and divert everyone away from the park before the children began to make their way to school. Her feet were bare and clean, dangling about an inch from the dirt floor, and her wrists had been tied to the chain of the swing; fingers wrapped around the cold metal and fastened with thin wire to give the illusion she was alive and simply enjoying the park like everyone else.
Everything about the sight in front of him was stomach churning, and yet Detective 'Stiles' Stilinksi had become so hardened to brutal sights like this in the last ten years that he barely felt a slight queasiness. He felt disgust at the image before him, he felt sadness for the girl and for her family, he felt horror that there was someone out there capable of doing something like this; but his stomach had become hardened to it. He hadn't thrown up at a crime scene since he was a rookie and he was pushing forty now.
He continued to sketch what was before him, more out of habit than necessity. There would be crime scene photos taken and they would be of more use, but it helped him catalogue what he was seeing, helped him pick out important factors and keep them in his mind. He could see his partner, Detective Derek Hale, from the corner of his eye speaking to the Sheriff who was shooting looks his way.
Stiles hated when they were called to cases in Beacon County. Not because he disliked working with his father, on the contrary when he was younger it was all he ever wanted and he had enjoyed five years working for Beacon County Sheriff Department under the command of his father, before he was head hunted for the California Bureau of Investigation. His relationship with his father had always been beyond good and watching his father's work at the Sheriff's Department had been one of the primary factors in his own decision to go into law enforcement. No, the reason he always hated coming to Beacon County was that there was always the chance that he would know the victim or their family.
In this case, it was the former.
Heather Custer had been one of his best friends when he was a child. Their mothers had been close and from the time they were born until they attended different high schools, they had been inseparable. He often wished that they had remained close but after the death of his mother, it had been too hard, too painful to remember all those wonderful times spent together whilst she was alive and slowly, he had drifted away from her; breaking their friendship with the weight of his grief. The last time he had been up to his father's for dinner, John has mentioned Heather. She had moved to LA to work in a big marketing firm but she was back in Beacon Hills for her parents wedding anniversary and his father thought it would be nice for them all to get together.
“You should at least go and see her whilst she's staying, Stiles,”his father had said. “Who knows when she might be in town again.”
The chance to make amends had passed him and now Heather would never leave Beacon Hill's again.
He saw Derek heading in his direction, the Sheriff in tow, and tried to ignore the look his partner was giving him.
“You alright, son?” the Sheriff asked, voice heavy with concern and sadness.
“I'm fine,” Stiles replied. “Who was first on the scene?”
Derek shook his head but said nothing. Clearly John had been filling Derek in on the relationship between the Stilinski's and the dead girl exhibited before them.
“That would be Parrish.”
“We'll need to speak to him.”
“Of course,” John said. “Stiles, maybe you should...”
“Nothing like this has ever happened in Beacon County before,” Stiles said, cutting his father off. “Not for as long as I can remember.” He finally turned away from the horrific spectacle before him and met his father's eye. “You?”
“No, never,” John replied, with a sigh that said he saw Stiles diversionary tactics and they didn't impress. “I've never seen anything like this in my thirty years on the force.”
“We have,” Stiles said, more to himself than anything.
“Serial killer down in Yuba,” Derek mused. “Similar, but the symbolism is different.”
“Yeah, no crosses,” Stiles agreed, nodding thoughtfully.
“Killer did claim to be part of some kind of cult uprising.”
“But we never found any sign he wasn't working totally alone,” Stiles said, biting his lip.
“Maybe we missed something. Maybe they moved on, updated their style,” Derek said.
“Maybe. Worth a look, but we shouldn't get dragged down that road. There's nothing actually linking them together at this stage and I don't want to get pulled in the wrong direction from the off.”
“Ok, so we put a pin into it. Maybe get one of the guys to do a bit of digging for us.”
“What's the similarities?” John asked.
“Black feathers, strangulation, the presentation. All the vics we found in Yuba had been set out like some kind of warped art work,” Derek said. “Like paintings or statues. It was like they were instillations and the killer was showing off his style.”
“Maybe he was,” Stiles said. “Maybe he was auditioning.”
Derek nodded slowly.
“Now there's a terrifying thought.”
*** *** *** ***
The drive from the crime scene to the Sheriff's station was almost silent but for the steady thrum of the engine and the occasional creak from the metal shell around them as they sped along the bumpy road. Stiles could see Derek shooting enquiring, probing looks his way but he ignored them. There was a time when Stiles would have crumbled under such scrutiny; a time when he couldn't sit still for more then a few moments, where his mouth sometime ran faster than his brain could keep up and the hatred of silence did nothing but fuel it all. He had changed a lot from the boy he had been, even more so in the last six years. He'd moved out of Beacon Hills, but not the county. Still, putting the thirty minute distance between him and his past had felt like that first gasping breath after holding your head under water just a fraction too long. He got pulled back into his childhood home town more often than he would have liked. Thankfully, it wasn't often for cases; but more that his father missed him and Stiles missed him even more in return. Weekly dinners had been mandatory since he moved out of his childhood home and his father had insisted that just because he was leaving town, did not mean he could skip out on him. Couple that together with his best friend still living and working there, and Derek's family living just on the edge of town and Stiles found he spent almost as much time there as before. But at least he still had his own space, his home, his escape.
Derek spoke suddenly and drew Stiles out of his thoughts.
“You ok?”
“I'm fine,” Stiles said, and it was true. He was fine.
“Maybe we should call the Chief, ask for someone else to take over the case?” Derek said, glancing away from the road and towards where Stiles was sat, still watching the world flash by them.
“I hadn't spoken to Heather in almost twenty years,” Stiles said. “It's a terrible tragedy, and it's gonna be hard but I'll manage. Besides,” Stiles finally turned to look at his partner. “I owe it to her to catch the son of a bitch who did this to her.”
Derek stared at him for a few moments before nodding once as though he was satisfied with what he saw.
“By the way,” Derek said, after a few moments of blessed silence. “My mother has invited you for dinner on Friday night.”
“Derek...”
“I've put her off too many times, Stiles,” Derek said, cutting off any protest Stiles might have made. “She says three months without seeing you is enough and I happen to agree. Plus, Laura is back in town for the weekend and she wants to see you.”
“Do I have a choice?” Stiles sighed.
“Not really,” Derek said, with a smirk.
They pulled up outside the Sheriff's station, a place Stiles had spent so much of his childhood in, just as Deputy Parrish climbed out of his patrol car. Jordan Parrish was a fairly new recruit to the Beacon County Sheriff's Department but Stiles already knew him well.
When a man is dating your ex-wife, moving in to your old home, and becoming a second father to your two children; you tend to know him quite well.
The main thing that kept pulling him back to Beacon Hills were his two daughters. Hannah and Amber were the brightest lights in his increasingly dull life. Hannah was eight and Amber five, growing so fast he was scared that one day he would turn round and they wouldn't be little girls anymore. He video called them most nights before they went to sleep and he saw them as often as he could, all job permitting. In many ways, the dissolution of his marriage had been without malice. He couldn't give her what she wanted anymore and she couldn't stand by and watch him destroy himself any more. Drink had been a heavy prop at the time and her only stipulation had been that he never drink when he had the girls alone. It was a promise he made easily and kept religiously, no matter how much his hands shook. He'd eventually got a handle on it. For the most part at least. The occasional black hole of guilt wrapped around him every now and again; making him reach for the nearest bottle of Jack and sling it down his throat as if it were going out of fashion. But never, ever in front of his girls and in the last year he'd only had two episodes like that. He was getting there.
He may feel somewhat resentful towards Jordan Parrish; the man who tucked his little girls in at night, whilst all Stiles was was a picture on a small screen; but they were both professional men and neither one of them had anything against the other on a personal level. On the contrary, Stiles thought Parrish was one of the best men his father had and John had often told him that Jordan spoke highly of him in return. They were also civil towards each other when it came to picking up and dropping off Hannah and Amber; but they would never be the best of friends.
Derek greeted Parrish with a handshake and Stiles nodded in the man's direction, earning a small smile in return.
“Guess you'll be wanting to hear my report?” Parrish asked, hands on hips.
“If you would,” Derek said, following the Deputy into the station. Parrish led the way to one of the disused offices that Stiles and Derek had used in the past. As they were about to close the door, Deputy Liam Dunbar appeared with coffee. Stiles held his hands up like he was praying and took the coffee with a grateful smile at the young Deputy. Derek got out his notebook and gestured for Parrish to start.
“Dispatch received the nine-one-one call at about six am and radioed though a possible one-eight-seven. I was in my cruiser on main, real close, so I accepted the shout. Pulled up at the park about five minutes later and the jogger was waiting for me. Guy was as white as a sheet and his shoes had vomit on them, luckily he'd managed to move away from the scene before he hurled. Pointed me over to the swing set and I found the girl as you saw her. Called in for back up and a forensics team. I also suggested calling you guys because, we may not get many of them around here, but I recognise a statement killing when I see one. Whoever did this has a serious message.”
Derek looked up at Stiles from where he was scribbling in his notebook and raised an eyebrow. Stiles nodded, giving his agreement. He'd long ago mastered the language of Derek Hale's eyebrows. Derek was often a man of few words and he had a mean poker face when he wanted, but if you spent enough time with the man you leaned that you could read him like a book if you just looked at the eyebrows. It sounded cliché, but they seemed to have a life of their own; revealing Derek's true thoughts without his consent.
“We're thinking cult killing of some kind,” Derek said, looking up at Parrish.
“Well, it would explain the crown. It had the look of being symbolic,” Parrish mused.
“Do you know of any cults operating in the area?” Derek asked.
“No, none on our radar. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean they're not out there.”
“Any new faces in town? Or any weird behaviour being reported?” Stiles asked.
“There's always weird behaviour. Just last week, girl vanished, turned up two days later, butt naked in the middle of the preserve; and there's been a few more admission to Eichen House than normal. As for new faces, a few. Couple of new teachers up at the school, new doctor at the hospital, and about three new families with kids at the highschool."
“Interesting,” Derek said. “Can we get backgrounds for all of them?”
“Sure,” Parrish replied with a nod. “I'll get Tara to help me.”
“Thanks, Jordan,” Stiles said, finally taking a seat opposite Derek and signally that the conversation was done.
“No problem,” Parrish said. He crossed over to the door and then paused with his hand on the knob. “I understand you knew the vic?” he said, not fully turning to look at them but keeping his attention on Stiles' reflection in the glass.
“Once. I did once,” Stiles replied.
“Sorry man,” Parrish said, before pulling the door open and leaving the two detectives alone.
There was a moment of silence before Stiles huffed and pulled out his own notebook.
“Is that how this case is gonna be? Everyone giving me sidelong looks and asking me if I knew her? All thinking I'm breaking up inside over it? I knew her a long time ago.”
“But you were close once,” Derek said, voice almost gentle.
“Yeah, but we hadn't spoken in years for God's sake.”
“Doesn't matter, Stiles. She was part of your history, someone you spent a huge chunk of your childhood with...”
“And none of my adulthood,” Stiles said, cutting his partner off. “I am fine.”
“Are you?” Derek said, bluntly. Stiles fixed him with a hard glare that Derek barely acknowledged. “All I'm saying is we've all seen how you dealt with loss before and if you need to take some time...”
Stiles pushed back his chair with a harsh screech that echoed around the office. He stormed out of the room without a backwards glance, ignoring the shouts of his name that followed him.