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A curse was the reason that Allison Argent woke up after being stabbed...but not a curse in the conventional sense.
It was, literally, Trouble that brought her back.
The boy was about Allison's age, maybe a year older. They told her his name was Lucas, and that he was Troubled. Once she understood what that meant, they explained to her that in his presence, small injuries healed. Larger injuries revealed the nature of his Trouble: he literally turned back the clock, biologically. Being in his presence didn't just make you feel younger or healthier, you literally got younger, one second at a time...and he got older.
When he ventured into the medical center morgue, and a recently deceased man was regressed long enough to treat a stroke that had killed him previously, a friend of her father's by the name of Dwight made some phone calls.
Lucas knew he had an expiration date, and he still agreed to help. Thanks to him, she didn't even have a scar from the sword wound that had killed her.
She'd been required to stay in the hospital for a week to be sure she was all right, but it was a good thing. It let Dwight explain her situation: that Allison Argent was dead in Beacon Hills. That lives depended on her remaining dead...that not even her father could come to join her for quite some time.
In her own way, she was Troubled now. Haven, however, was a home for the Troubled. Sort of.
Once she was released from the hospital, Dwight set Allison up with room and board at the local bed and breakfast with a fresh legal identity: in hopes that she could one day return to her old life, she got to keep her name, but now she was a Haven local, a few months older, she had a different Social Security number...it would keep her off the radar for a short while.
It would let her finish school, get a job...attempt to be normal.
She was not, however, going to exist on Haven's generosity alone. After hearing about a local guy who ran the Grey Gull and was pretty easygoing if you slipped him a really bad fake ID and didn't push your luck, she figured it was as good a place as any to try and find a part-time job.
She felt strangely nervous as she walked into the restaurant. It was dark, but homey, inviting...she still had butterflies in her stomach and her palms were clammy.
Hunting werewolves was so much easier than job hunting.
Wringing at the strap of her purse, Allison headed up to the bar and cleared her throat.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Crocker, do you know where I can find him?"
It was, literally, Trouble that brought her back.
The boy was about Allison's age, maybe a year older. They told her his name was Lucas, and that he was Troubled. Once she understood what that meant, they explained to her that in his presence, small injuries healed. Larger injuries revealed the nature of his Trouble: he literally turned back the clock, biologically. Being in his presence didn't just make you feel younger or healthier, you literally got younger, one second at a time...and he got older.
When he ventured into the medical center morgue, and a recently deceased man was regressed long enough to treat a stroke that had killed him previously, a friend of her father's by the name of Dwight made some phone calls.
Lucas knew he had an expiration date, and he still agreed to help. Thanks to him, she didn't even have a scar from the sword wound that had killed her.
She'd been required to stay in the hospital for a week to be sure she was all right, but it was a good thing. It let Dwight explain her situation: that Allison Argent was dead in Beacon Hills. That lives depended on her remaining dead...that not even her father could come to join her for quite some time.
In her own way, she was Troubled now. Haven, however, was a home for the Troubled. Sort of.
Once she was released from the hospital, Dwight set Allison up with room and board at the local bed and breakfast with a fresh legal identity: in hopes that she could one day return to her old life, she got to keep her name, but now she was a Haven local, a few months older, she had a different Social Security number...it would keep her off the radar for a short while.
It would let her finish school, get a job...attempt to be normal.
She was not, however, going to exist on Haven's generosity alone. After hearing about a local guy who ran the Grey Gull and was pretty easygoing if you slipped him a really bad fake ID and didn't push your luck, she figured it was as good a place as any to try and find a part-time job.
She felt strangely nervous as she walked into the restaurant. It was dark, but homey, inviting...she still had butterflies in her stomach and her palms were clammy.
Hunting werewolves was so much easier than job hunting.
Wringing at the strap of her purse, Allison headed up to the bar and cleared her throat.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Crocker, do you know where I can find him?"
