Speak No Evil, Stiles Stilins...

NINE. I DREAM OF MASSACRES

Four caged dogs sit chained to the floor in a sick game of time out. Their necks are scared with leash marks, their mouths are muzzled to keep from biting, their teeth have been pulled, leaving their gums empty and bloody. Their growls are tucked back into their throats, their ears are always down and their chests are always heaving, pulses killing erratically. This kennels not big enough for the four of them. It's hot, it's sweaty, it smells.

This is what He wants. He's teaching them how to be dogs, how to listen, to obey, to never want to leave. But they aren't dogs. They're not animals. They're girls. They have voices. They have minds. They have feelings. But that's not what He wants. He wants them to obey, to lay at His feet. They're muzzled. They've trapped. They have no choice.

Perhaps she's always been a dog with her wide eyes and undying love. Her blind trust, the way she follows people, the way she's comfortable nuzzling into them. She's all of the sweetness and the loyalty of a dog, so maybe that's what she is. Maybe that's why after a long while, she began to think she would never return home, that this was her home. She would die here. Her loyalty would die here.

Her chains are yanked, her muzzle removed, and Lacy stares into the eyes of her owner, her kidnapper, and the stitches slowly rip her lips apart as a blood curdling scream escapes from her mouth.

Lacy can't breathe when she wakes up, a pool of sweat drenching every part of her body. It's still dark outside, the stars and moon peeking through her closed curtains. She clutched her chest, her shirt bunching through her fingers. "It's okay," her words are barely audible. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay," she tries to find the volume in her voice. She shivered from the cold sweat on her body. Lacy glanced at her alarm clock. Eleven PM. She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

The first thing on her mind is guilt as she thinks back to the fight with her dad. Lacy left her room and went downstairs in hopes that he was still there. "Dad?" She calls out and wraps her arms around her body, still cold. "Daddy?"

He wasn't there. Lacy spotted a note on the kitchen counter that the small light illuminated. Her feet shuffled forward and she grabbed the piece of paper.

Got called out. I'll be home soon.

All my love, dad

Lacy was used to Sam having to leave late or in the middle of the night for work, but that was before. Now that she was alone in her house, her anxiety increased. Immediately, Lacy ran to make sure the front door was locked. It was. Her father had the keys. Then, she made sure the windows were locked and the curtains were closed. She went back upstairs, but not before grabbing a knife from the utensil drawer and taking it with her.

Eleven Thirty PM blinked red on her alarm clock. Her clothes stuck to her skin because of the sweat. Lacy made sure her window was locked and her curtains were closed before going into the bathroom, the knife still in her hand.

She sees it all when she closes her eyes: the kidnapping, the sound of her own screams, the screams from her friends, the feeling of chains cutting off her circulation, the excruciating pain from her mouth being stitched closed. It's a nightmare you can't wake up from, and in that nightmare is where she meets her friends again. Daphne and Kayla, gone long and far, hug her like they never left, but it's not them, and she knows it's not them. Daphne's body is mutilated, her eyes missing, and Kayla's lips are torn off her face. They're covered in blood and it covers her clothes.

Her body continued to shiver under the scolding hot water. It's the feeling of sickness with no symptoms, of throwing ice into a fire. The longer she stands in the shower, the more Lacy pays attention to the water dripping down her bare body and she's able to notice things about herself that she's been trying to ignore. Five foot ten with long legs but chunky thighs. Skinny wrists but thick upper arms. Her stomachs's not flat, it pudges out in the slightest, most noticed way. Hip dips. She runs her fingers along the curvatures of her body. Lacy's never been insecure about how she looks. It's an athlete's body, she's always told herself, though she does always recall a specific moment in the ninety grade when Jackson told her that she needed to lose a few pounds (Lacy always reminds him the volleyball team has won more games than the lacrosse team).

But it's different this time because it's not her body anymore. It doesn't belong to her anymore. He drained her of her love for it, of her nurturing nature to take care of it. There's been too many hands on it to love it. Her body will never be Lydia's or Allison's or Erica's. It's simply a shell for her to live in.

Lacy doesn't look at herself in the mirror when she leaves the bathroom. She slips on new clothes and climbs into bed.

The sound of the doorbell going off freezes every bone in her body. Her blood runs cold. The chills return. Lacy stared at her closed bedroom door and her breathing quickens.

It goes off again.

It can't be Sam because he has the keys. She doesn't have any friends. Who else–no. No, no, no, no. Lacy can't move. She grabbed the knife and held it tightly in her hand.

There's a ring again.

What if it's somebody you know? Her mind asks her. Lacy tossed the covers off her body, slowly getting out of bed. A battle starts in her mind, one part of her yelling to stay in her bedroom while the other yells at her to go answer the door. She has 911 on speed dial. It was like a scene from a horror movie, a knife in one hand and her phone in the other, ready to call for help.

Lacy forced herself to walk down the hallway, to walk down the stairs, and each step she took, the paralyzing fear that it could be Him on the other side of door crept deeper into her bones. The closer she got to the door, her mouth started to hurt, like the stitches returned. Her forehead dots with sweat again. Her hands clam up, almost causing her to drop the knife.

A couple more steps. Just a couple more. Lacy held her breath and looked through the peephole. She sighed with relief but also grew confused when she saw who was on the other side of the door. "Lydia?"

Lydia Martin's finger was in mid air, near the doorbell, when she opened the door. "Gosh, I thought you'd never answer," she exhaled and dropped her hand. Seeing the large kitchen knife in her hand, her eyes went wide. "Whoa."

"Lydia, what are you doing here?" Lacy questioned. She looked outside. "How did you get here?"

"Allison dropped me off."

"Allis–" she shook her head. "Never mind." Lacy stepped aside, allowing her to come inside. She quickly locked the door back. "Why are you here? It's late."

"I just. . ." Lydia began to say, standing there in awkwardness. "I needed someone to talk to."

"I thought you were studying at Scott's–"

"Yeah, that ended early." Her large green eyes trailed downward. "I'm sorry but can you, uh, possibly put the knife away?"

Lacy remembered the knife. "Sorry," she muttered and walked towards the kitchen. "My dad's at work and this is, uh, my first time sleeping alone." She explained and put the knife back into the drawer.

Lydia frowned. She placed her hands on the kitchen counter and eyed her wet hair, thinking she'd just gotten out of the shower.

"Do you, uh, want anything?"

"No, I'm fine." She denied. Lydia slowly smiled. "Do you remember that one night when I slept over and the two of us snuck down here to eat the rest of that chocolate cake your dad had made?"

Lacy remembered and smiled. "Yeah, I do. Triple chocolate."

"Your favorite."

"He was so mad because he strictly said that he wanted the last piece."

The girls laughed. Lacy stared at the girl that used to come over to her house every day after school. The girl she'd have sleepovers with with Kayla and Daphne. The girl who had been avoiding her since she came back to school. "Why are you here, Lydia?" She asked again but softer:

Lydia's frown returned and she cheeked the inside of her cheek. Shuffling her feet on the hardwood floor, she sat down on the island. "Something happened tonight and it's, um. . .it's really freaking me out," she admitted.

"What happened?" Lacy sat down and leaned her arms again the counter.

"Have you noticed at all that Jackson's been acting kind of. . .off?"

"Just recently?" She asked, smiling a little.

Lydia rolled her eyes and tried not to smile. "Funny. But have you?"

Jackson Whittmore is the last person Lacy chooses to pay attention to, but she thinks about the conversation she overheard between him, Scott, and Stiles during Finstock's class. "Off? No, but, I remember him saying something about. . ." What was the word? "A, uh, I think he said kanima?"

Lydia's brows furrowed. "A what?"

"I-I-I don't know. I heard him talking about it with Scott and Stiles. They were acting weird today," she explained. Lacy's face twisted in the slightest. "What was up with everybody today in chemistry, anyway? It was like there was a full moon or something."

"Honestly? I have no idea either. None of them will tell me anything." Lydia huffed. She tapped her nails against the marble counter top. She gulped. "But tonight was even weirder. Jackson, he was acting like a crazy person. He started accusing me of all these things—"

"Accusing you?"

"—saying that I broke into his house and deleted a part of his video off his camera, so I gave him back his stupid house key and told him that I hate him. And then we started kissing—"

Lacy jerked her head back. "What?"

"But then somebody tried breaking into Scott's house so I hid. And then I come out to see that Jackson was gone, Derek had shown up with Boyd, Isaac, and Erica, and Allison took me home but I decided that I can't talk to anyone else besides you because—" Lydia cut herself off to catch her breath and they met eyes. "—because I've always been able to talk to you, Lacy, and I've been acting like too much if a bitch to realize it."

Lacy's eyes softened. "Lydia—"

"I'm sorry," Lydia's eyes watered. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I should've been there for you this whole time. You don't deserve to be treated that way after everything you've been through."

"I know," she said quietly. Lacy's eyes flickered to the counter. "But it's okay. I'm not mad at you. . .I just miss the way things were before."

She flinched when Lydia hugged her. Her arms circled her neck tightly, almost giving her whiplash. Her body automatically recoiled at the contact.

"I've missed you so much, Lacy." Lydia cried.

When she closes her eyes, Lacy sees two girls in a bedroom covered in posters and magazine cutouts and different colored nail polish bottles scattered on a bed. Lip glosses, eyeshadows, clothes, perfumes — she sees herself braiding a waterfall of strawberry blonde hair and two girls pretending to be runway models in a sea of new clothes. Innocent girls in a world of their own, the world not set out to destroy them yet. Or maybe it did and they were too busy in their own world to realize it.

Lacy eyes Lydia's tear streaked face when she pulls away. "Lydia. . .why didn't you tell me that you went missing?" She asked the question that had plagued her mind.

Lydia's lips form a deep frown. She sat back down and wiped her face. "It's not the easiest thing to bring up." She mumbled.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

A sigh passed by her lips. "It was during homecoming. I was looking for Jackson, and I went to the lacrosse field. Then—" a look glazed in her eyes as she remembered. "–this maniac bit me and suddenly I wake up in the middle of the woods, completely naked."

Lacy's eyes widened. "Bit you? Like, a dog bite?"

Lydia shook her head. "No. It was like. . .I don't even know how to describe it, but, I woke up bleeding. I don't remember anything. I came back to school and everyone thinks I'm crazy."

Lacy's fallen fell. "You're not crazy," she spoke quietly. "People look at me, too. I wish they wouldn't. They don't know anything about what happened, only what the news says."

There was a sudden silence. Lydia blinked. "What did happen?"

Her stomach twisted painfully, so hard that she flinched. Lacy looked down at her hands, the skin around her fingers peeled.

Lydia understood. "Can I spend the night?"

Her head quickly shot up. Lacy saw a light smile. "Yeah," she answered in shock. "Yeah, of course you can."

They sat there for a while longer. The chains around her neck and wrists are gone. She's safe in her own home. But the on edge anxiety would never go away, at least not for now, and while Lydia wasn't looking, Lacy took back the knife and hid it underneath the bed, just in case.