Scott McCall's Arc

Chapter 19 of 30

Scott woke with a start in his own bed, the house too quiet around him. Moonlight cut across the floor. Beyond the window stood Allison, dark hair soft against her shoulders, that small smile he hadn't seen in years. "Allison?" he whispered. She turned and walked into the trees. He followed barefoot through his front yard, past the flower beds his mom kept alive, into woods that shouldn't have been there. Every time he gained ground, she drifted farther. The cold sharpened. He reached a black river he had never seen. Allison stood on the far bank, smiled once more, and faded into mist. The water rippled. A tall shape rose from it, shoulders of dark current, hollow eyes fixed on him. A carved wooden boat drifted up behind it, red ribbon trailing from its prow. At the bank, a set of muddy prints ended at the water — Stiles' steps, where the coin had gone in. The Acheron lifted one dripping hand toward Scott. Scott's chest pulled toward it. Charge. Claw. Fight. Every instinct said run at the river. But Malik's words came back — it feeds on what you can't let go. If he reached for Allison, he would drown in her. He stopped at the waterline and made his fists open instead. "You're not her," Scott said. His voice shook, then steadied. "I miss her. I always will. But she isn't in there." He stepped back from the bank. The Acheron's hand stretched longer, fingers curling. The boat creaked closer. Scott closed his eyes and let the grief sit inside him without moving toward it. The pull weakened. The river hissed. The figure sank an inch, then another, furious and unfed. It did not die. It would come again, and next time it would wear a face Scott could not refuse. He opened his eyes alone on the bank, alive, and started the long walk back to wake the others. Stiles still had no coin. The ferryman still had a hunger. But now Scott knew how to stand at the water without going in.