City of the dead (Ghostface x reader)

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕪 𝕥𝕨𝕠

"Remember, don't touch the glass.  There'll be a security guard with the prisoner, and one outside the door.  Just holler if you need anything," a guard told you.

"Okay.  Thank you officer Mack," you replied.

"Have a nice talk Mx. (l/n).  Good luck."

And with that, officer Mack left the room.  You took a seat in the folding chair, a table/bar with a layer of plexiglass dividing the room in half.  There was a phone that connected to another one on the other side, making it so you could communicate with whoever was on the other side.  Hypothetically.  Usually the person you'd try to talk to would lean back in his chair, and stare at the ceiling.

Soon enough, the man of the hour arrived.  The security guard who had escorted him shoved him into the room, and the man in the orange jumpsuit grumbled as he took a seat.  The guard went to stand in front of the door, blocking off the exit from the prisoner.  You grabbed the phone on your side, and like usual, he just leaned back and looked up.  As if waiting for god to try and communicate with him, or for an angel to descend and finally take his soul to be at peace.

"Hello Stu," you greeted.

No response.  You couldn't see his eyes, but you doubted they even moved.  Hell, you'd be surprised to find out if he blinked during your visits.

"Look, you don't need to worry about me wasting your time anymore," you began.  "Dad sold the house.  We're moving to some place in Pennsylvania."

That seemed to get his attention.  His head snapped forward, his eyes wide.  And there was a very large frown on his face.  He quickly grabbed the phone on his side, and held it up to his ear.

"Well this is new," you joked.  "What, you want to curse me out before I'm gone?"

"You're leaving babe," he asked.

"Yeah.  I am.  Dad wants to see leaves get pretty before trees die, and apparently that happens every year in PA," you explained.  "And I've always wanted to see a white Christmas, so..."

"So, what?  You're just... going?"

"Yeah.  Figured I'd at least try to say goodbye.  Didn't realize you'd care this much, though."

"You can't leave me babe," he said.  "Not like this!  There's so much I want to do, so much I want to say-"

"Funny.  Every time I tried to talk to you these past two months, you just gave me the silent treatment.  It's not my fault," you shrugged.

"(y/n)," he stated darkly.  "You aren't leaving."

"Too bad.  You're stuck behind bars, and all the paperwork's been signed."

Stuart glared at you from behind the glass.  He knew you were right.  He was trapped here with a life sentence at the age of 18, and you were moving across the country!  Quite literally!  He was pretty sure Alaska and Hawaii were the only places farther away!  And you were just going to leave?!  Why?!  Why now?!  While he'd never admit it to anyone, this was the one good thing about his time here!  With all the extra security measures, you felt safe enough to come talk to him.  He always looked up to hide the fact that he felt shit when you said things, when you rambled on about what was going on in the outside world, when you told him about your father, or a new movie.  And he just liked hearing your voice!

And now, you were just going to leave him?!  And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.  That was probably the worst part of all.  He couldn't even try using a voice or an impersonation, nothing could get you out of this.

And as much as he hated to admit it... you deserved this.  You deserved that white Christmas, and the colorful, crunchy leaves.  He would have given you the sun, moon, stars, and planets if you had asked.  Everyone else in the group would have too.  But Billy got greedy, and now Stu was the only one left standing.  And even though everyone else was dead, Stu would still run three fucking marathons in a row if you simply asked.

"I wanted to give you something.  Before I left," you told him.

"What," he questioned.

"I gave it to the front desk.  It's my new address," you explained.  "If you ever get a chance at parole... send me a letter.  I want to talk, but your vow of silence made it so I have to wait."

"Why not your phone number?  I get a ten minute call once a week, you know.  It'd be much easier to just-"

"After the bullshit you fuckers pulled with the phones?  Hell no.  I don't even want normal people calling me."

"You have to admit, it was pretty smart though," Stu giggled.  "Using modern technology... Michael Myers would've been proud!"

"Sure.  Whatever you say."

You took a glance at the clock on the wall behind him, and saw how late it was getting.  Usually you'd be able to spend more time trying to talk, but of course the one day you get him to open up is the day that the receptionists were swamped.  You really needed to get home to your father.

"I needed to get going.  I don't want dad to worry," you told him.

"Oh come on, I'm sure the old man can handle himself," Stu responded.

"I'm not doing that to him," you stated.

You went to take the phone away from your ear and hang it back up, when a voice rang through.  This one was meek.  Quiet.  Broken, almost.  It wasn't anything you'd expect from the man sitting across from you.

"I love you (y/n)."

You hesitated, before bringing the phone back up.

"Stuart Macher, I hope you rot in Hell.  I'll see you later."

And with that, you hung up the phone.  You stood up to leave, when Stu jumped to his feet and began to pound on the glass.

"(Y/N)!!  STOP (Y/N), YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE!!"

The security guard rushed over, and began to pull him away from the divider.  More guards flooded into the room and began to drag him off, and officer Mack came in and lead you out.  All while Stuart was screaming for you, begging for you to stay, pleading for you to come back.  But it was too late.  You were out the door.

"Are you alright Mx. (l/n)," officer Mack asked.

"I will be.  Happy Holidays sir."

"Merry Christmas, and a happy new year."

You exited the prison, and glared at the sky as wind ripped through the area.  You hated the cold.  As idealistic as a white Christmas seemed, was snow really all that worth it?  And then if it rained before it all melted, there'd just be slush everywhere.

But this time, it was you who needed an escape from the memories.  From the pain.  Everywhere you looked, you were reminded of something you did or said with your 'friends.'  And you'd gladly suffer the cold to make that go away.  To get rid of the feeling of longing, wishing everything could go back to the way it was.  You knew they were never coming back, Stu was never getting out, and you were never going to be able to hear a phone ring and not panic a little.  They had fucked you up good.

You turned to face the prison one last time.  This was it.

"Fuck you Woodsboro," you mumbled.

You turned to face the street, and saw no one was walking around here.  There was a high security prison full of murderers and crazies, what could you expect?  Well, at least it made your next declaration less embarrassing.

"FUCK WOODSBORO, AND EVERYONE WHO LIVES HERE!!  YOU CAN ALL EAT A DICK!!"

And with that, you began the journey home.

Right now, your future was looking pretty damn bright.

Best thing about hitting rock bottom: there's nowhere to go but up.