Chapitre 42: 41: Trail Of Blood [2]
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As soon as the vehicle halted at the scene, my curious eyes wandered, scanning for any large signs of struggle.
"You." my father called, earning my attention. "Stay here-."
And as a good son listening to his old man, I was out of the car even before he finished his words.
"Mmm." He groaned, shaking his head as he stepped out.
"What were you saying? I couldn't hear you." I asked with a smirk.
"I said, stay in—"
"What the hell?" I muttered, walking towards the people being questioned by the paramedics.
My eyes never left them, but that didn't mean I couldn't sense the glare of disapproval my dad was shooting at my back. I wasn't bothered by that right now.
"Lydia?" I muttered to myself, confirming it was indeed her. Then something inside me asked with a sense of hope I never thought I had. 'Does that mean... is Jackson dead?!'
No.
He was standing right next to her, much to my disappointment.
"Whoa." Parrish stopped me. "Buddy, you can't come in; police line."
He pointed at the fluorescent strip blocking my entry into the crime scene.
"Oh, come on, man." I groaned. A second later, I felt a tug on my denim as the sheriff pulled me out of his way.
"I don't make the rules, buddy." Parrish shrugged with a smirk as he saluted my father.
"Parrish, let's get this area locked down." my dad ordered, and Parrish immediately began following his command.
Parrish moved on to clear the curious pedestrians from the area while I gazed at Jackson, who was yelling at the paramedic like the obnoxious little shit he is.
My eyes roamed all over him, noticing the blood smeared on his clothes and other finer details that seemed off.
I sniffed a familiar scent on him that was around the whole area—the scent of a wet dog mixed with the iron tang of blood.
"Why the hell can't I just go home? I'm fine!" Jackson cried out.
My old man let out a sigh and calmly approached him.
"I hear ya, but the EMT says you hit your head pretty hard. They just want to make sure you don't have a concussion."
"What part of 'I'm fine' are you having a problem grasping?" He stressed like a kid crying for his mommy. "Okay, I wanna go home."
The last part wasn't doing him any good.
"And I understand that—"
"No, you don't, which kinda blows my mind, since it should be a pretty basic concept for a minimum-wage-rent-a-cop like you!" And that did it. Tolerating his obnoxiousness was one thing, but disrespecting my father was where I drew the line.
"Hey Jackshit!" I yelled, earning everyone's attention. "Shut the hell up and listen to him."
"Stiles!" my dad yelled, but I wasn't going to stop for him.
"What's with the blood on your sleeves and the marks behind your ears? That looks like a struggle to me." I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Jackson's eyes widened, and he awkwardly tried to hide the marks with his hands, shooting a glare my way while my dad stepped over the line and dragged me toward his Jeep.
"What. The. Hell. Do you think you are doing?!"
"Putting a jerk in his place." I replied.
"That boy just saw a corpse and escaped from a murderer by a hair's breadth." He whispered seriously. "He's been through a lot you wouldn't understand. And besides, this is my job! You cannot interfere with my work! Do you understand?!"
"But I—"
"Do. You. Understand?" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.
"He was—"
"Do. You. Understand?" The conversation turned dry as I found myself under his scrutinizing glare.
"Yes, sir, Sheriff." I growled.
He scoffed and turned around just as he was about to walk back.
"I won't stand idly by when I see my father being disrespected by jackshit." I sighed as I turned back. "But I guess I expected too much from him tonight."
I said the last of my words before getting into his vehicle and shutting the door with a soft bang as I slumped against the seat.
---
"Jesus Christ." The Sheriff muttered, letting out a tired breath as he walked away from his son.
Everybody's eyes moved towards the body as it was brought out of the store, earning their attention.
"Everybody back up, back up!" He yelled, clearing the group.
While the cops were busy on the ground, two werewolves had taken a seat above the store, watching the whole ordeal calmly.
"Starting to get it?" Derek asked.
"I get that he's killing people, but I don't get why." Scott replied. "I mean, this isn't standard practice, right? We don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?"
"No." Derek shook his head. "We're predators. Not killers."
"Then why is he a killer?"
"That's what we're gonna find out."
Scott sighed as he walked away from the scene, while Derek's eyes lingered on Jackson for a moment before following Scott.
---
Brooding.
Broodier.
Is this how Batman feels?
Batman is kickass.
I AM Batman.
Well, I could be Batman.
Better than George Clooney, at least.
Kickass was a good movie.
I wanna watch a movie.
What was I doing just now?
Was I posing like Batman?
Right. Brood.
"Unit One, come in."
The radios chimed in, breaking my line of thought.
I looked around, and the sheriff seemed to have picked up the radio too, from Parrish's car which was closer to him.
"This is Unit One, copy."
"We need back up for a possible 187."
Two murders in one night.
"Control, what's the address?" He asked with a long sigh.
"Quillette Shore."
"Status of the victim?"
"Female, Teenager, multiple stab wounds."
"I'm on my way." He replied as he made his way towards the Batmobi- vehicle.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat with a brooding sass while he slumped on his side.
"This is going to be one of those nights huh." He mumbled to himself when suddenly the radio blared making us both flinch back.
"Unit One, the victim has been identified-"
"That was fast." He mouthed.
"It's Jessica Stanley."
Both of our eyes widened just as they darted towards each other.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone