Chapter 34

A school bus pulls into the parking lot of the Glen Capri motel, doors swinging open as Coach and his cross country team disembark. An exhausted Scott, Michael and Stiles step out, followed by Allison, Lydia and Silver. “I’ve seen worse.” Scott shrugged and he glanced around making Stiles look at him crazy, “Where have you seen worse?”

A whistle blows and Coach holds up a handful of room keys in front of the students. “Listen up! The meet’s been pushed ’til tomorrow. This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of good judgment when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves! You’ll be paring up- choose wisely. And I’ll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants! Got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!”

.”Lydia?” Silver asked looking at Lydia with raised eyebrows. “I don’t like this place.” Lydia said. “I don’t think the people who own this place like this place. It’s just for a night.” Silver said

“A lot can happen in one night.”

🌕

“Wow.”

Silver turned sharply, tugging the hem of his shirt down over his ribs. Lydia stood just inside the doorway, her gaze fixed on him.

“What?” he asked, more defensively than he meant to.

Lydia didn’t flinch. She stepped a little closer, voice quieter now. “That’s the first time I’ve seen the scars on your back.”

Silver exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Three clean slashes. Straight and narrow.” He dropped his hand to his side, fingers absently brushing the edge of one of the raised marks.

“You never talk about it,” Lydia said softly. “The day it happened.

Silver kept his eyes low, staring at the cracked tile beneath his feet. “Not much to say. I thought I was fast. They were faster. I was stupid. I froze.”

He rubbed his wrist absently, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed he was.

Lydia’s voice was gentler this time, almost coaxing. “Little Argent, come on. You freeze if someone startles you walking too loud.

He let out a bitter laugh. “That day ruined my life, Lydia. I saw how my mother hated me. I saw how cruel the world can be. I saw how I was a liability. He looked up at her then, eyes stormy. ” I gave up archery because everytime I picked up a bow, I would have a panic attack.”

“I’m sorry I talked to Scott.” Lydia said. “I’m worried about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

A beat of silence passed between them before he added, quieter now, “The towels smell like nicotine, by the way.”

Lydia wrinkled her nose, sniffed one, and scoffed. “Classy.” She grabbed the stack of them and tossed one over her shoulder. “Come on.”

They marched up to the front desk together, Lydia in full don’t-mess-with-me mode. The woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hi, yeah,” Lydia said sharply, slapping the towels onto the counter. “The card on the dresser says we’re in a non-smoking room, but every single one of these smells like an ashtray.”

“Sorry about that, sweethearts,” the woman said, her tone syrupy and unapologetic.

Silver’s eyes drifted to the wall behind her. “Uh… what’s that?”

He pointed to a hand-painted sign above the desk: a wooden plaque with a bold red number—198.

“Oh, that?” the woman said, following his gaze. “That’s kind of an inside thing. My husband insists on keeping it up.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

The woman chuckled softly, like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. “It’s a little bit morbid, to be honest. You sure you wanna know?”

Silver stepped forward. “We can handle morbid.”

The woman leaned on the counter. “Well, we might not be winning any awards for customer satisfaction… but we do hold a special title in California.”

“Yeah?” Lydia asked, suddenly wary.

She nodded. “We’ve had more guest suicides here than any other motel in the state.”

Lydia blinked. “Wait… 198?”

The woman grinned. “And counting.”

🌕

“198?” Allison asks . “Yes, and we’re talking forty years.” Silver tells her as he takes a seat next to Lydia, rubbing her shoulders. “On average, that’s-” Silver says turning towards Lydia, “4.95 a year which is actually expected.” Lydia tells both of them, “But who commemorates that with a framed number? Who does that? Who?”

“All suicides?” Michael asks. “Yes. Hanging, throat-cutting, pill-popping, both barrels of a shotgun in the mouth suicides. I don’t know about you two, but me-” Lydia says before she stops talking. Silver looks up towards Allison and Michael as he sits up, “Lydia?”

“Which… which one do you want?” A voice says, making Lydia stop and cock her head slightly to listen. “Did you hear that?” Lydia asks them. “Hear what?” Michael asks slowly.

“I don’t know. The smaller one, I guess..”

“It’s okay. Smaller’s better – there’s less kick.” A man said and Silver gets off the bed as Lydia climbs onto the bed walking over to the vent on the top of the wall. “I’ll chamber the round.” He said, “All right, so…”

“Wait, wait! When do I… I mean, do you count?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll count to three.

“So after three or on three?”

“You tell me.”

“Oh, my God, oh, my god.” Lydia whispered.

“One… two… Then pull the trigger.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“One… two.” Gunshots blast through the vent sending Lydia staggering off the bed, hands to her mouth.

“What is it, Lydia? What happened?” Allison asks. “Did you hear that?” Lydia questions. “Hear what?” Silver asks. Silver helps Lydia off the bed as Lydia grabs onto Silver for her life. “The two people in the other room – they shot each other.” Lydia says quickly, Silver towards the door and out of the room.

Silver looks back to Allison motioning the girl to follow them. “Lydia?” Silver asks as Lydia opens the door. “Hello?” Lydia calls out to a dark room. Lydia lets go of Silver’s hand as she tries to flip the light switch but fails. “Lydia, what are you doing?” Silver whispers as Lydia walks into the room.

“Hello?” Lydia calls out before turning on a work light. The four teens look around to see the room under construction.”It had to be here,” Lydia said quickly. “A guy and a girl. They sounded young, but they were right here. I heard them.”

“I believe you,” Allison said firmly, stepping beside her.

Lydia turned to her, surprised.

Allison nodded once. “After everything we’ve been through, I believe you.”

Silver walked up next to her, quiet for once. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I believe you too.”

Michael stood just behind them, arms folded, jaw clenched, but something in his face had changed.

🌕

The four teens walk back over to Lydia and Silver’s room as Lydia walks back to start packing her things. “You know there is something really wrong with this place. Hey, Allison, Silver, Michael, we need to leave.” Lydia tells them as she grabs her things.

“But they were suicides, not murders, and it’s not like this place is haunted, right?” Allison asks, looking between them.

“Maybe it is. You now I bet that couple made their suicide pact in that very room. Maybe that’s why they’re renovating. Maybe they’ve been scraping brain matter off the wood paneling.” Lydia says.

“Maybe we should find out.” Silver tells Lydia as the fourof them walk out the door. A sign on the front desk reads “BACK AT 6AM”. Lydia turns to Allison and Silver with a defeated shrug, “There goes that.” She sighed.

Michael looked around and noticed the plaque that they were talking about earlier but something was different. “Didn’t you say that sign said one- ninety-eight?” He asked and Silver and Lydia look up at the number on the wall which read 201.

“It was one-ninety-eight. I swear to God it was one-ninety-eight.” Lydia said and Allison raised her eyebrows. “Okay, what does that mean? That there’s been three more suicides?” Allison asked and Silver shook her head, “No… three more are gonna happen.”

🌕

Allison turns from the window to face everyone, Stiles has now joined them “The last time I saw Scott act like that was during the full moon.” Allison says. “Yeah, I know. He was definitely a little off with me too. But actually, it was Boyd who was really off. I watched him put his fist through the vending machine.” Stiles tells the girls.

“See, it is the motel. Either we need to get out of here right now, or someone needs to learn how to do an exorcism ASAP, before the werewolves and the phoenix go crazy and kill us.” Lydia says, pulling out a bible. “Okay, just hold on, all right? What if it’s not just the motel?” Stiles asks, “The number in the office went up by three, right?”

“You mean like three sacrifices?” Silver asks. “What if this time it’s three werewolves?” Stiles asks . “Scott, Isaac, and Boyd.” Allison says.

“Maybe we were meant to come here.” Michael says. “Exactly!” Lydia exclaims, “So can we get the hell out of here now? Please?” Silver quickly grabs the Bible out of Lydia’s hand when he notices some pages sticking out of the sides. “Wait a second.” he mutters as she opens it to the first page, coming in contact with a newspaper clipping.

“Twenty-eight- year-old man hangs himself at the infamous Glen Capri.” Stiles read, he turns a few pages in the Bible and finds another clipping. Then another. He pulls them out one-by-one as he discovers seven in all and places each one on the bed.

“These two both mention room two-seventeen. These are probably all the suicides that happened in this room.” Silver said as he read a couple articles, “So, if every room has a Bible.” Allison said and Lydia nodded, “There could be articles in all the rooms.”

“That’s a beautiful thing. Most places leave a mint under the pillow – this one leaves a record of all the horrible deaths that occurred.” Stiles said “Oh great.” Michael said. “What if the room next to ours has the one about the couple?” Lydia said and they all looked at each other before running out of the room.

They ran up to the door and Stiles twists the knob on room 216 but the door won’t budge. “No, that was not locked before…” Lydia said and Allison just takes a deep breath and shakes her head, “Forget it. We need to get Scott, Isaac, and Boyd out of here.”

Stiles nods, starting to walk away but Lydia, however, holds still when she hears a surge of electricity and the odd sound of buzzing coming from behind the door. “I’m not the only one who heard that, am I?” Lydia asked and Allison listened for a moment, “It sounds like someone turned the handsaw on.”

“Handsaw?” Stiles exclaimed as he rushes back over to them.Michael slammed his shoulders against the door opening it. They ran in to find Ethan raising the buzzing hand saw to his abdomen.

“Ethan!” Silver yelled as Stiles darts forward to stop him, but Lydia grabbed the power cord and yanks it from the wall. Stiles seizes Ethan by the arms and manages to wrestle the still spinning saw out of his hands. Slamming to the floor, however, Stiles comes face-to-face with the blade, mere millimeters from its razor sharp teeth as it jerks to a stop.

Undeterred, Ethan opens his hands, claws unsheathed but Michael grabbed onto one hand while Stiles grabbed the other both trying to keep Ethan from hurting himself. The twin yanked them back, all three tumbling to the floor as Ethan slammed into the heater, instantly snapping his hands away when it burned him.

He fell to the floor groaning in pain before shooting up looking at all of them, “What just happened?” He asked. None of them were able to answer him before he ran out of the room, making them run after him.

“Ethan, wait!” Allison called out before quickly running after Ethan as he hurried down the stairs to the first floor with the four of them trying to keep up. “Hey, just stop for a second.” Silver said and Ethan glanced back at her, “Didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t know how I got there, or what I was doing.” Ethan said.

“Okay, you could be a little more helpful, you know?” Stiles called after Ethan, his voice sharp with irritation. “We didjust save your life!”

Ethan paused only long enough to shoot a cold glance over his shoulder. “And maybe you shouldn’t have,” he said, before turning and walking away without another word.

Silver scoffed, shaking his head. “Charming.”

He turned back to the group, his tone all business. “I’ll find Scott. You two—grab Isaac and Boyd. We need to get the hell out of here before something else happens.”

Allison stepped forward quickly. “I’ll come with you,” she said, already falling into step beside Silver.

Michael, a beat behind, hesitated—then sighed and followed. “You’re seriously gonna walk into more danger?” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Of course you are.”

Allison didn’t slow down. “Then don’t follow me,” she called back.

Michael shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, already annoyed. “I said I was coming, didn’t I?”

The three of them disappeared down the hall, tension crackling in their silence.

🌕

The hallway buzzed with an old, flickering light as Silver stormed down it, checking every door he passed, palm flat against each one as he knocked—once, twice, then moved on.

“Scott?” he called, voice rising. “Scott!”

Allison followed close behind, glancing into open doorways with increasing worry. “He’s not in any of the rooms I checked. Are you sure he didn’t say where he was going?”

“No,” Silver snapped, spinning to the next door. “He wouldn’t just wander off unless something’s really wrong.”

Behind them, Michael lagged a few paces, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable. “He’s not a kid. Maybe he needed space.”

Silver stopped, shooting him a look. “He’s injured, Michael. He’s not invincible.”

Michael shrugged one shoulder, unfazed. “He’s a werewolf. They’re not exactly fragile. And we’re all just assuming the worst?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s in the bathroom.”

Silver’s voice was sharp. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

Michael shrugged. “Someone has to think logically. You panicking won’t help him if something did happen.”

Silver didn’t answer, jaw tight as he shoved open a supply closet—empty. He paced a few steps, breathing hard. “Something feels off. I know it.”

“I’m not saying ignore that,” Michael said. “But you flying off the rails isn’t going to bring him back faster either.”

“Then maybe help me instead of dragging your feet!” Silver snapped, his voice echoing.

Michael’s voice snapped back, louder than before. “This isn’t something I even want to be doing, Silver! I wanted to stay out of this! That’s what we agreed on!”

Silver didn’t hesitate—he shoved him. Michael stumbled back a few steps, shocked, but didn’t retaliate.

“No,” Silver growled. “That’s what you agreed on. You think I want to be doing this? You think this is fun for me?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, scoffing. “Here we go…”

Silver stepped closer, his voice low and bitter. “I get to stand here and watch you and my twin sister play the perfect couple. I get to watch the two people I trusted the most fall in love-without guilt, without hesitation.”

Michael’s jaw flexed. “Then you should be thrilled we moved back here,” he muttered. “You get another chance to be with Scott.”

Silver stared at him for a beat, stunned.

“You’re unbelievable,” Silver muttered, “At least I don’t pretend to care. You play hero when it’s convenient.”

“And you play victim when it’s easy,” Michael fired back. “You’re not the only one who got hurt, Silver. You’re just the loudest about it.”

Allison stepped between them, firm. “That’s enough. Both of you.”

They didn’t move.

“I mean it,” she said. “You can kill each other later, but we need to find Scott.”

They turned the corner and nearly collided with Lydia and Stiles rushing up from the other hallway, faces flushed, eyes wide.

“Guys—!” Stiles panted. “Where the hell were you?”

Silver didn’t even blink. His voice came out low, frantic.
“I can’t find Scott anywhere.”

“It’s happening to him too, isn’t it?” Stiles said, his voice low. He froze as the sudden hiss of a flare igniting cut through the air. The light flickered somewhere ahead, just out of sight. Instinctively, he moved toward it.

“It has to be,” Lydia murmured, her eyes scanning the shadows.

“Guys…” Michael’s voice came from up ahead—steady, but uneasy. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

They rushed forward. As the group rounded the corner, the sharp red glow of a flare lit the cracked pavement in front of them.

Scott stood there—soaking wet, water dripping from his hair and sleeves. In one hand, the flare flickered against the darkness. Beside him sat a red plastic container.

“Scott?” Silver’s voice cracked slightly. He stepped forward cautiously, eyes flicking from the container to the wild look in Scott’s eyes.

The others closed in, forming a hesitant half-circle around him.

“Scott,” Silver tried again, quieter now.

“There’s no hope,” Scott said flatly. His gaze was distant—but he met their eyes.

Silver stepped forward, heart racing. “What are you talking about? Of course there’s hope.”

“Not for me,” Scott whispered. “Not for Derek.”

“Derek wasn’t your fault,” Silver said, emotion building behind his words. “You know that. You know it wasn’t your fault.”

Scott shook his head. “Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse. People keep getting hurt. People keep dying.”

Lydia’s breath hitched. Michael stayed still, watching with unreadable eyes.

“Scott,” Stiles said gently, stepping forward. “This isn’t you, okay? This is something—someone—messing with your head.”

Scott looked at him, eyes hollow. “What if it’s not? What if this is just me? What if doing this is the only way to protect everyone?”

“No,” Stiles said firmly.

Scott kept going. “It all started that night I got bitten. Remember how we were before that? You and me—we were nothing. We weren’t popular. We weren’t good at lacrosse. We weren’t important. We were no one.”

He looked down at the flare, the orange light trembling in his grip.

“Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all.”

Silver’s chest tightened. He couldn’t speak—just stared.

Stiles stepped into the puddle of gasoline without hesitation.

“You’re not no one,” he said, voice breaking. “You’re someone. You’re my someone. You’re my best friend, Scott. You’re my brother. So…”

Scott’s grip on the flare faltered. Stiles reached out—slowly, gently—and wrapped his fingers around it.

“…If you’re gonna do this,” Stiles said, voice shaking, “then you’re gonna have to take me with you.”

The flare trembled between their hands, but Scott let go. Stiles pulled it away and tossed it aside.

The whole group exhaled—Silver’s knees nearly gave out.

Then a gust of wind swept across the parking lot.

The flare rolled…then turned. And started coming back.

“No-!” Silver and Lydia screamed in unison.

They surged forward, crashing into Scott and Stiles, knocking them both out of the gasoline-soaked patch of concrete.

Flames roared behind them, searing the edge of the sky as the flare ignited the puddle. The heat blasted across their backs as Silver and Lydia turned—

And saw something rising in the fire.

A figure—shrouded in black smoke—emerged just long enough to show its face. Twisted. Burned. Its mouth opened wide, revealing yellowed teeth and a scream no one could hear—but everyone felt.

Then it vanished into the flames.

Silver was shaking, wide-eyed, breath catching in his throat.

“What the hell was that?” Michael said behind them, his voice lower than a whisper.

🌕

“I don’t want to know!” Coach’s voice echoed through the motel lot the next morning as he climbed onto the bus and spotted his cross-country team sprawled across the seats—Scott, Stiles, Silver, Michael, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, and Boyd all half-asleep and tangled in limbs and blankets. “I really, really don’t want to know. But in case you missed the announcement, the meet’s canceled—so pack it in! We’re heading home.”

Inside, the group slowly stirred, groaning and stretching as the early sunlight poured through the windows. Silver groaned into Scott’s shoulder, his hair sticking up at odd angles from sleep.

“Sorry,” he murmured, shifting back a little.

Scott smiled softly, brushing Silver’s hair out of his face. “Don’t be,” he whispered, and without thinking—like it was muscle memory—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Silver’s head.

Silver blinked, his breath catching for a second. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. It was one of those moments—fleeting, quiet, full of everything they couldn’t say out loud.

“I miss you,” Silver muttered under his breath.

Scott looked away, eyes heavy with the weight of it. “I miss us.”

Before either of them could say more, the bus jolted slightly as Ethan boarded and slid into the seat next to Silver, squeezing him between them. Silver tensed, glancing at Scott, who now wore a carefully neutral expression.

“I don’t know what happened last night,” Ethan said, his voice low as he looked past Silver at Scott, “but I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

“Actually, I saved your life,” Stiles interrupted from the row ahead, poking his head around the seat. “But hey, whatever—minor detail, I guess.”

Ethan ignored him. “So, I’m gonna give you something in return. We’re pretty sure Derek’s still alive.”

Silver’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“But,” Ethan added grimly, “he killed one of ours. That means one of two things can happen. Either he joins our pack…”

“Or he kills his own,” Silver finished flatly.

“Or Kali goes after him,” Ethan corrected, “and we kill him. That’s the way it works.”

Stiles looked disgusted. “You know, your little code of ethics there? It’s sort of barbaric. Just FYI.”

Ethan stood and walked off, leaving tension in his wake.

Lydia suddenly turned to Coach. “Coach, can I see your whistle for a second?”

“Why?” Coach asked warily, but Lydia had already taken it from around his neck. “Lydia?” Silver asked, sitting up straighter.

Lydia blew into the whistle, then cupped her hand and exhaled into her palm. Slowly, she pulled it back to reveal a faint purple dust—wolfsbane.

Stiles leaned forward. “So, every time Coach blew the whistle on the bus…”

“Scott, Isaac, Boyd,” Lydia said gravely.

“And Ethan,” she added.

“We all inhaled it,” Scott realized aloud.

“You were all poisoned by it,” Lydia whispered.

“That’s how the Darach got in their heads,” Stiles muttered, face falling. “That’s how he did it.”

Stiles stared at the whistle like it had personally betrayed him, then snatched it out of Lydia’s hand. Without hesitation, he reached across and hurled it out the open window.

“Stilinski!”