𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 ⁻ ˢᶜʳᵉᵃᵐ ⁵

3 - this is real

"No accepting necklaces from anybody. Especially a love interest."

"What? Wait, I don't remember that one-" I turned in the seat, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"It's a new one. Please, please just listen to it. If you, a 'legacy kid', are given a necklace by anybody, don't accept it. Say thank you and give it back and stop associating with that person. They will die."

"Dad, are you okay?" I asked, scratching the back of my head.

He scratched the back of his head as well, shrugging in the tiniest way possible. "Just thought it was all over, you know?"

I nodded and took his hand, holding it with both of my own hands and then holding it to my chest. I allowed my forehead to rest on my father's slightly shaking hand, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to not let any tears escape. Did I understand why my father's words made me as emotional as they just did? No, but here I was, actively having to figure out a quick way to cope with this situation. This must suck for him, if having to worry about his friends before wasn't an issue, now he has a daughter to look after. To protect. That's the sort of man that Dewey Riley is-protect, protect, protect, and no looking back.

We spent the rest of the car ride without a single movement, only moving once we got out of the car and started to head towards the main entrance of the hospital. Almost instantly were news reporters and journalists hounding Dad and I, trying to get answers to stupid questions. It was insensitive, but I knew why they were asking us these questions. I was the Dewey Riley's daughter, and Dewey Riley was walking right next to me.

"Do you think there will be another attack, Mr. Riley?!"

"Do you think this is another copycat of Ghostface?"

"Is your friend alive?!"

"Who do you think will be targeted next?!"

"Do you fear that your daughter will be a victim?!"

"Will your daughter take up the Riley legacy?!"

"Who do you think the killer is?"

"Is your daughter the killer?"

"Is your daughter going to die next?!"

"Can you get us inside to ask a couple of questions about Tara's condition?!"

I felt like I couldn't breathe, my body was shaking; I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my pink zip up after putting the hood over my head. The tears in my eyes were beginning to boil over, I couldn't see straight. My breathing wouldn't stop hitching every five seconds, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't going to answer any of their questions, but the more panicked I became, the more vulnerable I became, and the more vulnerable I become, the more likely it is for my mind to go into an all time shut down, and nobody wants that. I wanted to scream, but my voice was ripped from my lungs. Their questions were getting louder. A camera and microphone was shoved in my face aggressively enough for me to flinch and bury my head in my father's chest.

"Everybody back up! How rude can you get?" Dad was saving the day all the while keeping one arm wrapped around my shoulders, rubbing his thumb side to side against my left shoulder-blade in a way that he knew was always comforting to me. "Her friend was attacked, for Christ's sake, leave her be! My daughter's not dying; you sickos are worse than this attacker."