CHAPTER FIVE:

"your intellect may be confused, but your emotions will never lie to you."

robert ebert

"How much do you know about Stiles?"

Isaiah studied her old friend closely. To his credit, Liam didn't appeared as stunned as she thought he would be. If it wasn't for the clear tension in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw, she would have thought he'd been completely unfazed by the recent turn of events.

Not for the first time, Isaiah wondered how much they missed about each other. How much he grew up with the absence of her friendship, how much he would have not changed if she had still been there.

Not for the first time, she wondered if he ever thought the same things.

He sighed, flicking his eyes over to meet hers. "Not much. I've only been...friends with him for a couple months. Not even that."

"Do you know anything else?" Isaiah fished her brain for the details she had on the Stilinskis that didn't involve Claudia. "Like, more personal stuff?"

Liam shrugged, looking the smallest bit sheepish as he responded. "His dad's the sheriff; his mother died almost a decade ago. That's about how much he's open with."

Isaiah pressed her lips together. She knew she was dancing along thin ice; who was she to reveal so much about a kid she hadn't even spoken to?

It didn't matter how many times she'd seen him dreams, seen her hands around his throat, or let their eyes meet in imagined moments of sheer terror.

Isaiah didn't really know Stiles Stilinski.

She only knew the warped version Claudia had of him in her distraught final moments of death, and who was she to know if that was really him, or someone completely different?

"What's this all about, Isaiah?"

His sharp blue eyes cut across the foot of space between them, so intense Isaiah could feel the shake beginning in her knees.

"You disappear off the face of the Earth for two years and suddenly you come back, asking about one of my teammates?" Liam's lips looked ready to break out into a smile, but they twitched instead, as if trying to fight off hysteria. "What the hell is that?"

Isaiah never paid attention to the story her parents' told about her absence. But she wasn't an idiot; she knew there were several rumors about it, even more ever since she came back and started going to school again.

But rumors had always been a part of being from the Montgomery line. A rich, isolated family in a town as small and strange as Beacon Hills caught the attention of generations of townies, and had held it ever since.

Isaiah could list ten of the rumors of her sudden leave off the top of her head, just because the mere thought of them was so ridiculous: pregnancy, drug problem, abused, runaway, disowned, a recently outed lesbian.

All such easy stereotypes to conclude to, but all majorly warped versions of reality for a poor seventh grader to be viewed from.

Although the ideas were crazy, Isaiah wondered what would happen if people found out the real truth. What it would be like they found out she was sent away because she predicted a death from her CD player and it was plastered all over the news the very next week?

What would Liam say to that? Had so much changed that he would be shocked? Or would he be so disgusted he wouldn't be able to stand the sight of her?

Isaiah didn't think she could handle it if it turned out either way.

She let her eyes bounce around the room. She could see the corner of showers beyond Liam's shoulder. The grout was the color of swamp moss, the tiles not faring any better.

"There's a lot of things different about this town," Isaiah said quietly.

"Yeah, it's fucked up." His words slice through the air like a freshly sharpened sword.

Isaiah, however, can't help but disagree.

There was a lot of bad, yes. But she didn't it as making Beacon Hills itself bad; all the good that she had yet to find saw to that. It was just different.

"What else did she say?"

Liam sighed, glaring hard at the wall.

It was the day after the game, Beacon Hills High winning 10 - 8, for the first time all season. But no one could celebrate once Liam spilled his guts about Isaiah's urgent meeting.

"Was she threatening?" Scott asked gently.

Liam moved his gaze from the wall to the two boys in front of him. Stiles had his eyes narrows, constantly suspicious, but Scott looked thoughtful, as if considered Isaiah could actually not be as harmful as they were beginning to think she was.

Back when he knew her personally, she wouldn't even swat at the flies that snuck in through her windows. That annoyed Liam to no end, especially because of how much the buzzing little things would annoy him. But Isaiah always insisted that it was unfair to kill them because of how they were trying to communicate.

"They're like dogs," she'd said once. "Except their bark is a buzz; would you kill a dog for barking too much?"

"Only if he deserved it," Liam had stated in reply. But he'd been joking. Half joking.

A deep part of him wanted to acknowledge the fact that Eichen was a horrible place that probably changed her for the worse.

But their brief words in the locker room had made Isaiah appear dangerous.

Instead, she appeared to be so many other things. Determined, quiet, isolated, scared, angry, curious.

"Nothing," he insisted. "She didn't say anything bad. And no, she wasn't threatening." He shifted in his spot on the edge of the bed. "She just asked questions about you." Liam stared daggers into Stiles' chest.

"Why?" the boy demanded.

"As if I know," Liam snorted.

Kira spoke up from where she sat in Scott's desk chair across the room. "Maybe she needs Stiles' help with something," she suggested. "Like, maybe she knows you're the human of the pack and was looking to for some common ground?"

Stiles snorted. "Then why didn't she just come up to me? And when are our problems ever just that simple?"

"She's fifteen," Lydia pointed out, not bothering to look up from her textbook.

"But came from Eichen House!" Stiles practically spat.

"Here's an idea," Malia spoke up. Five heads swung in her direction. Seeing she had their full attention she shrugged.

"Why don't we just ask her?"

The Beacon Hills Library was big and gloomy, like a lesser appreciated museum. Isaiah adjusted her sunglasses, staring up at the marble building with her best straight face.

So far, Claudia had yet to appear, but Isaiah could feel her privacy slipping through her fingers like sand.

Turning, she ducked so that she could speak to her driver properly.

"I'll call you at 4:00," she promised with a short, grim smile.

"No later than," warned Henry.

Isaiah hid her eye roll behind her shades as Henry rolled up the window and slowly pulled away.

Inside the library was almost comforting. Hanging light fixtures had been hung from the raised ceiling. Big, cushy chairs were pushed into the farthest corner, just barely peeking out from behind tall metal bookshelves. From either side, long aisles of identical shelves stretched out. In the very center was a large oval desk, oddly modern in the fel of the library ancient atmosphere.

With a deep breath, Isaiah walked up the balding man with the leathery face and crisp button up shirt. She propped her sunglasses on top of her head, trying to appear as innocent as possible.

"May I help you?" he asked, staring at her with an owl-like expression.

"I'm looking for some books on the supernatural and paranormal," Isaiah said, trying to sound as sweet as possible. The effort drained her, making her feel tired and sluggish. Briefly, she wondered if that was the effect of being in Claudia's company too much. "Like ghosts and evil spirits. It's for a story I'm doing for the creative writing class."

At first, the man looked uncertain, eyeing her fancy watch and gold ring as if it represented something dark and evil themselves. Perhaps he thought she was part of a cult. It wouldn't be the worst thing Isaiah had hanging over her head in this town, that's for sure.

"All things supernatural related are in aisles F through J," the man answered finally, pointing to his left. Isaiah turned to see a low hanging signpost, announcing what aisles were huddled in that corner.

"Thanks so much." Isaiah smiled, tight-lipped, before hoisting her tote-like purse over her bag and making a beeline toward section F. She expected to heaving home a lot of reading material.

At first, all Isaiah could find were religious cult guides. And some very worn anti-Christ paperbacks that seemed way too pretentious to be as popular as they were. Eventually, Isaiah's slow skimming brought her upon an interesting title: Evil Spirits and the Treasures They Keep.

Sounded promising.

Semi-satisfied, Isaiah grabbed the book from it's place off the shelf. Getting fed up with the slow process, she picked a few others at random. Once she had a good pile, she made herself comfortable in one of the cushy chairs, spreading out her reading material around her.

She picked up the first book that had caught her eye. It had a black cover and bold, old white lettings, with a daunting image of a melting purple candle at the bottom. A little tacky, but Isaiah was too desperate to be picky.

Spirits aren't always evil, but they when they are, they tend to linger behind due to some power emotion. In most cases, it's a negative one like contempt or revenge, sometimes just pure hatred.

While frightening, evil spirits are much like the good ones that like to wander restlessly - they have a power source. Most times, it's something of great importance, like a sentimental trinket. But in rare, often unusual cases, evil spirits can be linked to a person. At that point, the spirit should NOT be tempted. Instead, seek out a professional to deal with the ghost's anger and go from there.

Once you have found the power source - the spirit's "center" - DO NOT let the spirit know. They get very protective over it and will go to great lengths to keep it safe. Even if it means having to kill.

Isaiah lowered the book. Claudia was definitely a spirit of hatred, but she was also one who died out of her mind. There was no way of telling what meant anything to her. The only signs of emotion that Claudia showed were toward her son - her son who she obviously wanted dead.

That would make Stiles her center.

Isaiah sighed, reaching up rub at her temples. Destroying her center would mean killing Stiles, which was exactly what Isaiah was trying to avoid.

Scowling, she set that book aside and picked up another. This one looked newer, a slim hardcover with ancient symbols decorating the cover in a dark gold ink. Just looking at few of them made a deep tug emerge from in her stomach. Out of habit, it rolled, uneased.

The State of Minds of Banshees - Translators of the Beyond

Isaiah's brain whirled. She'd heard that word before.

Banshee.

It was what one of the crazy ladies down the hall called her all the time, even since Isaiah had arrived. She hadn't really paid attention to it, the woman did spend most of her days in the Relaxation Room, after all.

"Here comes Little Banshee!" she would shriek.

Isaiah never knew what it meant; she'd never been good with mythology.

With a shuddering breath, she flipped the book open to a random page, hoping for the best.

Banshees are, for lack of a better word, the Keepers of the spirits that walk among us. All of their species can hear the dead, and are often drove crazy by the whispers of the dead. Some say that the dead whisper codes that are impossible to decipher, thus driving the wailing woman into insanity.

Many banshees are mistaken for schizophrenics, and locked up in asylums. Others are said to have been driven mad with grief, or diagnosed with multiple personality disorder, and locked up as well.

But recently, dug up archives have shown prove that some banshees are able to see into the realm of the Other Side, able to see the spirits walking among us. This type of banshee is very rare, and the trait has been said to be concealed to very few bloodlines out of the hundreds of supernatural family trees linked to banshee ancestry.

Historian Gregory Hamilton says that tracking families with a banshee bloodline is very tricky. "The trait itself is something that has to be discovered within the mind," states the professor. "If never discovered or aroused from one's mind, one might not even know they have it. Sometimes, they might not even possess it entirely, although a sister or a mother might. Just because it appears in one generation doesn't mean it's likely to show in the next. Maybe, not even the one after that either."

Isaiah sat up abruptly, blinking the swimming words away. She hurried to gather her finds in her arms, wanting to check out as quickly as possible.

This wasn't information that should be digested in public.

Later that night, thunder roared and lightning cracked above her head. She shivered, a cold wind picking up and ripping through the flannel of her pajama pants. thankfully, she had decided to pass on the silk.

It was dark, cold, and bound to start raining at any minute, As much as Isaiah longed for her bed, to crawl underneath the covers and shut out the world forever, she marched on. She felt forced forward, and unexplainable darkness tugging her legs forward, pulling her with each step. The road and stray pebbles was rough beneath the fabric of her socks. Her feet were bound to be bloody and blistered by morning.

But she couldn't stop. Every part of her brain screamed for her legs to halt, but they carried her forward, along a dark, deserted road surrounded by woods. Isaiah hoped that she gain enough control to swivel her head around, get some kind of bearings, but her body was frozen in a sick march.

It didn't stop. Iciness poured into her veins. Her skin turned pale enough to gradually begin turning blue. Whenever this hold faded over her, the pain in her feet and the ache in her legs would set in, making getting home a total bitch.

Claudia, I hope you rot in hell when this over, Isaiah thought bitterly. But what's supposed to be over? She was still blurry on that part.

Eventually, Isaiah felt herself begin to slow. It was in front of a small house, a single-level one with a broken screen door and poorly attended to porch. The trees in front yard were dead and bare, even in the inky darkness of night. Isaiah felt herself shiver; shouldn't there be leaves beginning to grow back by now?

This house was sad, almost tragic. But a lot of things in her life were tragic now; this house meant nothing to her.

"Why did you bring me here?" Isaiah asked the chilling air. She wanted to sound angry. Get upset, put up a fight. But the numbness was already beginning to wear off and she was exhausted. All she wanted now was sleep. She could fight tomorrow.

Just as Isaiah was beginning to get that she could move on her own accord again, a light flicked on in the tiny house. Isaiah was too far away to see which room it was, but she assumed, from the smallness of it, it was a kitchen one, perhaps above a sink. A blur of a face stared out at her.

Something in back her mind began to rustle. But it wasn't coming from her. Claudia was beginning to stir with something, something similar to darkness she stored for her son. But Isaiah had been tortured with enough memories to know that Stiles and his father didn't reside here. In fact, Isaiah was almost positive that this house meant nothing to Claudia.

It was the people inside that were in trouble.

Before Isaiah could block out Claudia enough to move, a figure was running out the door and quickly approaching.

As quickly as her control had come, it was gone, rooting her in place.

Isaiah grinded her teeth together in an effort not to scream. Whenever she screamed, something never failed to shatter. With her luck, it would be this poor person's eardrum.

"Who's there?" a voice demanded. It sounded oddly teenage and feminine.

Isaiah's palms began to sweat.

"Are you some kind of robber?" the voice continued. The figure was beginning to become less of a blob and more of a girl in baggy shorts and a big lacrosse shirt. A BHH lacrosse shirt, in fact.

Isaiah had enough power to muster a head tilt. Did she know this girl?

At last, the girl stepped closer, into a patch of moonlight. She had short dark hair and a good build, taller than Isaiah with enough muscle to be athletic. Maybe a runner. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking pissed and getting madder by the second.

"Well, can you talk?" the girl demanded. "I don't have all night to talk to the stalkers to wait outside my house."

"Do I know you?" Were the first words out of Isaiah's mouth.

The girl paused. "I don't know," she decided finally. "Are you supposed to?"

Yes. Something dark and painful trickled into the main parts of her brain, out of where it was buried to create a pounding behind her eyes. Isaiah groaned, fighting to reach a hand up and rub at her temples.

In front of her, the girl shifted, at a loss of what to do.

You know this girl! a voice shouted at her. It shouted the same way it did whenever it got sickly excited, like whenever it wanted to tear Stiles' head from his pale, skinny neck.

KILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILL

Isaiah had enough time to muster a throaty, "RUN!" before collapsing onto her side, twigs and itchy leaves digging into her exposed skin as the world darkens.

Just as the lights went out, she had enough time to pray this girl wasn't some weird cannibal.

That would be so unfortunate.

ahh, sorry i've been gone forever. i hope this long-ish update makes up for it. next chapter should be up in a couple weeks.

if you're still reading this crap, i love you.