𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝙰 𝚂𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖, 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

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song of the chapter: knife under my pillow by maggie lindemann

"heart racing, keeping me awake. paranoia slipping in. checking all the locks again. it's so loud inside my head. got me feeling paralyzed."

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"So in closing, as future journalists of America, there is one thing that you need to remember. Being the best means being willing to do what the others would not. Break the rules. Stop at nothing. Be willing to have the world hate you, because that is the only way that you'll get the story, the facts, and the fame," Gale announced.

The big room roared with applause, so I joined them. I didn't really care about anything she had just said, I was just here for moral support. I've shown up to all her seminars. I felt like I was back at assembly in high school.

"Thank you," she smiled. I looked a few rows ahead of me and saw a man in a blue jacket stand up with his hand raised. "Yes?"

"So you're saying that we should be ready to go out and cut each other's throats cause that's what you did?" he clarified. I bit my lip in anticipation for her answer. A murmur went through the crowd.

"Metaphorically, yes," Gale answered.

"Tell me, Miss Weathers, was it worth it?" he wondered.

"I'm so sorry. We're out of time," the lady who kept track of how long the speeches were spoke up. "Gale Weathers, anchorwoman for Total Entertainment. Thank you very much." I collected my stuff and got ready to leave.

I pushed my way through the tiny hallway in pursuit of Gale. There were a lot of reporters who looked exactly like her, so the job was proving to be quite difficult. I looked around till my eyes landed on her. I walked over to her calmly.

"Nice job, Gale," I stopped when I noticed a man standing across from her. "Who's this?"

"Detective Mark Kincaid," he introduced himself. He held out his hand.

"Bronwyn Loomis," I introduced myself as I shook it. He nodded. He maintained eye contact, smiling slightly. "Detective? What happened?" He sighed before answering.

"Cotton Weary's been murdered," he told me.

      I froze, my eyes widening. I had hoped all this would be over, but a part of me knew it would come back.

"He's dead?" I clarified.

"Yeah," the detective nodded. "His girlfriend too. They left us something he wanted us to see. I'll show you two this because you guys knew him and you've helped catch the previous killers, but I promise you, if you share this, it's you I'll be arresting."

"I swear on my Pulitzer Prize, which I plan to win one day, detective," Gale gasped.

"I don't have anyone to tell," I shrugged.

He opened a folded picture of someone I recognized immediately. It was a very young Maureen Prescott. I felt a little anger just by seeing the picture.

"This was left on Cotton Weary's body. Any idea who the girl might be?" he asked.

"Maureen Prescott," I mumbled. "This is Sidney Prescott's mother."

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Gale and I stepped onto the set of Stab 3, and our expectations were exceeded. The set was so much like Woodsboro, I felt like I'd gone back in time.