Anchor Part 3

                                    

                                          
    Sheriff debriefed us on the case, and by the time we actually made it to Malia Tate's childhood home where her father still resided, it was nearly ten in the morning. Sheriff went in alone to distract while we snuck in through the back.
                          
    There were rat traps and other traps set up like a minefield around the house. I stepped with a touch light as a feather, and Stiles twisted the knob on the back door. It creaked and he instantly stopped, closing his eyes at his luck while Scott and I stared at him like the creak was his fault.
                          
    Stiles opened the door a bit more, and the creak got louder, so he stopped again, wincing. I shook my head while Scott threw his arms in the air. Stiles waved us in quickly as he pushed the door opened and closed with quiet gusto.
                          
    I listened to see if Mr. Tate heard it, but he was still talking, so I did a thumbs-up to them. Stiles and I immediately started handing Scott stuffed animals from the bed, anything that might still have her scent. Each one, Scott threw back.
                          
    "All I'm getting is the smell of animal."
                          
    "What kind of animal?" Stiles asked.
                          
    "Dog," Scott said as a growl sounded. I looked over to see a mean-looking dog baring its teeth at me.
                          
    "I don't know if you know this, but dogs and I... We don't really get along," I whispered. Stiles hid the horse figurine he was holding in his jacket like that would make the dog think nothing was wrong here. 
                          
    "Hi, puppy," Stiles said, then whispered to Scott, "Get rid of it."
                          
    "Me?" 
                          
    "Yes, you," I hissed. "Glow your eyes at it or something."
                          
    "Be the alpha," Stiles said. None of us moved. Maybe it would walk away on its own. The dog snarled and cocked its head at us. Maybe not.

                          
    "I can't," Scott said through clenched teeth. "I don't have control."
                          
    "This isn't going to end well," I muttered as the dog began to growl louder. 
                          
    "Okay, buddy, you're going to have to try something," Stiles begged. Scott nodded and crept forward a little, his hand outstretched. 
                          
    "Nice doggy," Scott said sounding a little more than nervous. He said it again, but with a higher voice, and Stiles frowned at him. The dog barked loudly and then continued. For the first time in my life, I hid behind Scott and Stiles. I didn't have control, and I don't mess with dogs when I don't have control.
                          
    "Apollo!" Mr. Tate yelled. "Apollo! Shut the hell up!" Before Mr. Tate decided to come deal with it in person, Apollo's mouth closed and he whined, staring at us. We sighed with relief as he turned and walked away, whining quietly. 
                          
    Stiles shook his head and then continued his search. "Here, try this." It was a child book, but Scott didn't sniff it. He looked down sadly. "Anything?"
                          
    Scott shook his head. "All I'm getting is that dog." Stiles sighed through his nose, then started intently at the photo sitting on the dresser before him. 
                          
    I wasn't sure what made the picture so special, but he took a photo of it anyway. 
                          
    "Let's get out of here," I said. I opened the door, trying to minimize the squeak and slipped out, Scott and Stiles right after me. We left, meeting up with Sheriff a few blocks away. That put us near the Preserve. Sheriff was already waiting outside his car by the time we got out. 
                          
    Scott shrugged apologetically. "I tried as hard as I could. If it wasn't so long ago, I might've been able to do it."
                          
    Sighing, Sheriff replied, "It's okay. It was a long shot. In fact, it was a pretty terrible idea." Guilt seeped off him. "I think I just ripped a wound open in that poor man. I never should've brought you guys here. I don't know what I was thinking. Thanks for trying, alright?"