❝i'm a supernatural battery charge,
you could say.❞
- juliette fosters may or may not
still be in love with stiles stilinski,
which makes living with him infinitely
more complicated.
[2020]
[ book 2 of 3 ]
[ season four ]
book 1: amateur detective...
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"SO WHY WEREN'T YOU THERE YESTERDAY?" Stiles asked Juliette as they stepped into the police station. Yesterday was, fair to say, quite an eventful night. Firstly, they found out that not only Garrett was an assassin, but his girlfriend Violet too, who injected Brett with wolfsbane and tried to murder Scott. The police arrested Violet, but her boyfriend was still missing. Stiles, Derek and Deaton had to deal with a nauseous Brett, who kept puking all over the animal clinic office.
"I was with Lydia." Juliette flopped onto the chair, kicking her feet up the desk. "We did a little background research on the names on the list. Found out that Deputy Parrish is a supernatural, by the way. Also, Brett was puking the whole time, and you wanted me to help with that?"
The two were in his room, as Stiles promised he would help her penetrate her mother's suicide note, which he wasn't aware included going through all her mother's journals and photo albums. "I never would have guessed your mother had anything to do with this." Stiles flipped through the polaroid album. "Don't get me wrong, she had a voodoo vibe and all—"
"Can you focus?" Juliette asked, with a somewhat combination of an eye roll and a light laugh. She held up one of the polaroids of her mother, on the floor beside a couch, a expressionless face. "This is dated September 6th, 2009." She furrowed her eyebrow at the date on the bottom of the picture. "That was about a week before she died."
Handing Stiles the polaroid, she moved to sit beside him on his bed. "Who took this?" He questioned.
"I'm not sure. Definitely not my dad, they were on the verge of divorce for two years before she died, separate bedrooms and everything. Why, do you think it's important?"
Stiles taped the polaroid on his transparent board, a substitute to his old cardboard one. "Might be." He picked up the suicide note, rereading it over and over again. "Juliette, i'm sorry, but this note makes no sense."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean unless your mother was really bad at grammar, or was writing it really rushingly, it makes no sense. The second paragraph," He pointed at the third line. "Do I die?" He then spread out his arms, utterly confused. "You can't tell me this makes sense."
Juliette shrugged. "The police said she was on heavy medication, she wasn't thinking straight. You knew my mother, Stiles, she doesn't always... make sense. Always on heavy medication that affected her speech, and that time she overdosed on it."
"Okay, but then it says; Tell her i'm sorry." Stiles read to her. "Which would be fine if—" He froze when he recalled a moment the two had at the hospital a little more than a week ago. "Holy shit, I think I figured it out."
