THE LEGACY OF MEMORY ; Scream

Chapter Twenty-Three / So Who's Afraid?

“It's an honor,”  Quinn hisses.

The hand clutching the glass swings down,  aiming for Ellie's throat like she's not trained for this moment since the day she could walk.  A piece of her could laugh at the idea of ever believing the Sweetheart Survivor was unprepared for her death,  like she hasn't written this story in her head from beginning to end a million little times.

She catches Quinn's wrist in one motion, one hand wrapped tight around her would-be killer.  This would look sick in a horror movie, a voice that isn't entirely her own says.  Death by inheritance.

Her free hand moves by its own accord as she pushes against Quinn's force,  bloodied teeth bared.  She won't speak.  She refuses.  Her best friend died wordless and now, if the credits wanna roll, she'll do the exact same.

“You want a last word, Princess?”  Quinn grits,  leaning forward to force her hand closer.  The tip of the shard graces Ellie's neck and for a moment she's resurfacing to panic,  realizing that her entire family may watch her die before her fingers finally curl.

They won't.

Not in her movie.

“Let me hear ‘em.  Scream for me,  let everyone know-”

“You look like your brother.”

The force with which Ellie yanks the knife from her abdomen makes her bow yet she doesn't stop moving,  a shark after blood as she sinks the knife through Quinn's neck and yanks.

She's never seen a throat torn open before and she doesn't now.

The blood hits her face in a gush,  spills over her like she's Carrie White and doesn't give her the opportunity to prepare.  It's hot and unfamiliar and feels like the sound of Detective Bailey screaming from above,  a pained cry that reminds her of how she sounded in the echoing silence of Mom and Lou.

Her teeth still bared, Ellie moves the knife freely from the open space taken from Quinn's throat,  reeling back to sink it once again into her eye and then finding her shoulder.  She knows better than to assume.

If Quinn had known better,  perhaps they wouldn't be here.

She doesn't give the world a chance to catch up before she's kicking Quinn off her,  the hand once preserving her life now tangling itself into the hair of her attacker.   Everything feels quiet despite how she can hear the hell descending around her.  This is all suddenly simple.

Her gun is only a few feet away.  It doesn't take but a few steps to reach,  dragging Quinn behind her dead or alive.  She’s staggering and she's hurting in ways she's not sure she's ever hurt before yet everything is background noise to the greatest mistakes Quinn Bailey ever could have made.

“Wayne!”  She shouts,  voice hoarse.  His attention from where he'd entered a standoff with Sam is shattered and she can see it,  dozens of feet away,  the despair in his eyes.

Dad would have looked the same if her death had been reported to him.

Iron dances on the end of her lip as she picks her gun from the ground,  yanking Quinn to her knees with such an ease that hell, maybe she is already dead and the rule isn't even needed anymore.

She knows better.

She won't make the same mistake twice.

Her gaze only flickers to Sam for the briefest of seconds.  It's a silent communication no one else has to hear or know anything about.  The bare bones of it all isn’t complicated in the slightest. 

Whoever fucks with their family isn't human.  They will not be dealt with as such.

Ellie locks her eyes back with Bailey.  She doesn't enjoy this.  She doesn't hate it,  either.   What their family requested is what they all got,  from Richie to Quinn to the Master Planner himself.