"Good morning Hollywood. And today officially starts the Summer movie season. Opening the box office this week is Jeff Bridges and Tim Robins in Arlington Street, Eugene Levy and Tori Spelling in STAB 2, based off my best selling book 'The Windsor Murders'."
Gale Weathers, the flashy 32 year-old news anchor and author of the Woodsboro Murders, was sitting behind a desk on a really ditzy and loud set for Total Entertainment, an ET style program with a live studio audience.
Many of them were dressed as Ghostfaces; a sea of white screaming faces, eerie and unsettling.
"I see a lot of the audience has dressed to the occasion. Today we have director of the upcoming STAB 3: Return To Woodsboro, Roman Bridger. Why don't we give Mr. Bridger a nice welcome to the set of TE?"
The crowd went wild with applause as Roman, a ravishingly handsome 29-year-old, fluidly entered the stage, dressed in a flashy white suit.
He sat down on a chair beside Gale's desk, placing a STAB 3 coffee mug next to her hand. "Good morning, Gale. Pleasure to be here."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Roman," Gale greeted with a fake smile, folding her hands on the table in front of her.
Roman leaned back confidently in his chair. "Well it's an honor to be here amongst so many fans of the genre. And I must say that any of you worried that some of the characters not returning to complete the STAB trilogy, have no fear. I believe we're going to pull off one of the best Stabs yet."
Gale tried her best not to cringe, perfectly keeping up her interested charade. "Roman, from your enthusiasm it certainly seems that way. Honestly though, tell us. What's your favourite scary movie?"
The male rolled his shoulders, exhaling a harsh breath."Honestly, my life."
"Your life?" Gale repeated dully.
"Well if you were in my shoes, dealing with those big Time Sunrise Studio producers like I do on a daily basis, you'd watch how quick your life goes from a Walt Disney picture to a Tobe Hooper flick."
The true costumed horror film freaks in the audience broke into applause.
Gale, somewhat distracted and not in the least bit caring about what this second-rate director had to say, gazed at one costumed individual in particular at the far corner of the set, who was watching from a half open exit door.
It could be just her imagination running away with her, but it almost appeared as if the figure was pantomiming slitting his throat with a gleaming blade.
*Buzz*
A loud buzzing pulled her out of her reverie as she looked up at a sign hanging over the stage, where the words 'COMMERCIAL BREAK' were illuminated in a flashing, red light.
After letting out an exasperated sigh, she gazed back to the exit where the figure was now gone.
Turning back to Roman, she spoke with a tight-lipped smile. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"
Roman lifted his eyebrow and nodded. "Sure."
Gale got up and raced around the corner of the set, only to smash right into an extremely handsome cop in his mid 30s with piercing eyes, who grabbed her by the shoulders and shepherded her aside.
Her arms remained at her sides as she whisper-yelled. "Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me."
"I'm sorry, Miss Weathers. Allow me to introduce myself. Mark Kincaid, L.A.P.D," he flashed her his badge. "I'm sure you are familiar with Cotton Weary, or the actress Christine Perkins?"
Tapping her feet on the floor impatiently, Gale furrowed her eyebrows. "Of course. I interviewed Cotton multiple times. The second one, Christine Perkins, she had a part in STAB 2, didn't she? She was playing Cici."
"Both of them were found murdered this morning under the Hollywood sign," Kincaid explained, raking a hand through his brown hair as he continued. "Autopsy reports have yet to come back to me but the bodies looked like something out of one of the STAB films."
Gale's lips twisted into a half smile, covering her shock from the news that Cotton was dead. "So is that why you're here? Is that why you're holding me from my show, to tell me about some brutal homicide I'm not even involved in?"
"I wish that was all, Miss Weathers, but there's more. The killer left a note," Detective Kincaid reached into his back pocket, pulling up a newspaper clipping in a ziplock evidence bag.
Then, he held the bag up for her to see.
'HELENE (L/N), MOTHER AND WIFE, FOUND MURDERED ALONGSIDE HUSBAND.'
It was an article of your mother, your father had been cut out of the picture.
Gale put her hands on her waist as her eyes darted over it, tilting her head in mild confusion. "That's (Y/N) (L/N)'s mother."
The male rubbed his forehead as his eyebrows knitted together. "There's more."
Kincaid flipped the article over, flashing the black marker-covered backside with writings all over it and one name written in the center.
'(Y/N)'.
"I've tried to get in touch with Miss (L/N), but she's keeping herself very well hidden. You're my one and only hope in finding her. Her life may be in grave danger."
Gale drummed her fingers against her thigh. "I'd love to help. Really, I wouldn't mind being sliced at again by a maniacal psychopath, but I honestly don't know where (Y/N) is. After Windsor, she dropped off the face of the earth."
The Detective groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back up to her sternly. "Listen, Miss Weathers. You've been through this, and so has Miss (L/N). I need your help. If I can't find whoever is behind this in time, I'm afraid STAB 3 will not just stay a movie."
-
"Goddamnit! I am getting so fed up with these rewrites. It's like every five minutes there's a new script. God, and you just know this all because of STAB 2's script winding up on the internet two months after it wrapped shooting," Sarah rambled.
She was a very pretty, blonde woman in her late 20s, clearly lacking a filter.
Tyson, who was African American and also in his late 20s, sat right next to her. "And still the film is number one at the box office this weekend. Beat out American Pasty and Arlington Street."
"I think Jeff Bridges is getting tired," came the timid and meek voice of Angelina Tyler, the youngest of the group.
She was 20 and extremely naieve looking, and won her part in STAB 3 by playing you through a phone in a radio contest. Out of the entire cast, she was the closest to you they got.
Tyson pulled up his shoulders. "Nah. I think it's doing so damn well because one of its players got iced. I just hope none of us end up dead. I'm really concerned about my safety now."
"What are you talking about?" Sarah sneered bitterly. "The murders were a completely isolated incident."
"I'm just saying, though," Tyson continued confidently and unwavering. "What if there's someone out there stalking actors, huh? Then what?"
"There's always someone out there stalking actors," Angelina pointed out. "Look at that woman from the Commish."
Sarah raised her right hand as if inspecting her digits. "Melinda McGraw?"
"No, the other one. The one who played his wife."
"I know who you're talking about. Rebecca something."
"Yeah, I think. Anyway, point is, she had a stalker. Sonny Bono had a stalker. David letterman had one too. So did Heather Langenkamp, Brooke Shields, Jody Foster-"
Tyson interrupted her. "You're cheering me up too much. Give it a break."
Just then, Hollywood's poster boy Tom Prinze waltzed his way over and sat down next to Angelina, subtly putting his arm around her before she shoved him away in annoyance, actively avoiding his longing stare.
Tom dryly smirked at this. "What? What'd I do? Relax your crack, sweetheart. I didn't rip those two fucks up lastnight. Geez. What are you doing tonight?"
Totally repulsed, Angelina got up and raced off the set.
He shrugged and leaned back seductively, peering at Sarah with bedroom eyes. "What about you, good-looking? Got any plans for later?"
"Eww, yeah. Finding a guy to have sex with that doesn't look like you," she replied sharply, following suit laid by Angelina and scampering off set.
Tom looked up at Tyson, smoke blowing out his nostrils.
"Oh no, I ain't into that shit."