You were walking the empty streets and glanced up into the sky to see dark grey clouds beginning to open up. Rain crashed to the ground, droplets leaping into the air as new ones hit the puddles from the most recent rainfall. The only sources of sounds were buckets of downpour dropping onto the pavement and your own footsteps.
Although you couldn't really see with the fogginess blurring your vision as the scene of twenty-four hours ago burned behind your retinas.
"Do you believe me?"
"I don't see why not."
"Idiot (Y/N)..." The words spilt out, but you didn't care. There was no one to hear them. The sinuses in your nose became thick, the area behind your eyes getting heavy like you were going to cry.
But you didn't. You needed answers. Answers only Billy and Stu could give you, whether or not they wanted to give them. You deserved it. Which was why you were looking for them at any place you could think of, on your own.
You were determined to find them, recalling yet another memory. Waking up in the hospital bed when Stu delivered the news that Meeks killed your parents, Tatum, Sidney, Ryan and Casey and Steven. You had fallen off a roof, which was only part of the truth you were now, more than ever, longing to discover.
You needed to know why. Why did they do it?
They have to be around here, you told yourself. Your (H/C) hair was slicked to your head as the drops of rain hit your cheeks and rolled down like the angry tears you wished would come.
The anger took your mind away from the fact you were freezing by now, something you barely felt with boiling hot lava coursing through you.
You passed by yet another block, curling your fingers forward into your palms like the legs of a spider would when it died.
It was wondrous how a few minutes could take everything you knew and flip it on its head, taking the reality around you to transform it into something entirely recognizable.
Your feelings for them before Martha showed you the tape and after seemed like they were from different dimensions.
It got harder to keep your eyes open with the rain showing no signs of stopping any time soon. Not that the condition of your vision mattered, the only thing that did was finding them.
As you were speed walking through an empty alley, there came a crunch behind you. Chills speared your skin and spazzed up the bones of your spine as you craned your neck to the side, looking behind you.
Left, then right, then behind again, but no one was there. You picked up your pace and carried on with your trek, not after a twisted chuckle bounced off the walls.
An extremely familiar one at that.
"Leaving so soon?"
The dread that settled in your stomach was just the same. It was dull this time, like an image behind frosted glass. You could see the shape of it, see it move omniously into view, but it didn't sting you like it usually did.
There was a specific timbre to the voice that could only belong to who else but Ghostface, the rasp of his vowels rolling a tingle up your spine.
Turning to him, you almost believed the person to be nothing but a hallucination; gravity-defying strips of black cloth just floating around the leather-clad figure they were attached to. It was as though gravity had bestowed its own rightful ability onto him, and you wondered how that was even possible.
But that wasn't the only scary thing.
It was the cream coloured mask with a sorrowful expression melded into it, making every inch of your skin burn underneath his unseen gaze that tightened its hold on you.
Really, what were the odds of that? Meeting a serial killer? The thought had a decidedly more sarcastic edge this time around as you mocked yourself.
You should have known not to think that. That was like saying it couldn't possibly get worse in a bad situation. It was bound to happen, just because of your flippant attitude on the matter. As such, you shouldn't have been so shocked by this visit.
You maintained your ground, watching the person with guarded eyes. "You. Who the fuck are you?"
Ghostface was sitting on a nearby dumpster, legs bouncing playfully, clearly excited to his full capacity.
"Hey!" His elongated chin flicked up in a half-assed greeting. "First of all, that's not a polite way to greet someone. Jeez! We really ought to work on your manners... And secondly, you're supposed to be the smart one! You know I will not answer that question."
All you could do was gulp. "I'm going to–"
"You're going to what?" He stopped your sentence, cruelty seeping into everything he said. "Call the cops? Scream like a helpless victim? Go on–don't be shy! No one's going to help you."
Time came to stop. You were too emotionally drained to bite back but on the inside you were yelling. It was clear this man was highly dangerous, and not just because of the hunting knife that glimmered like teeth bared for murder.
Your heart ached at the truth.
"Screw you and your bipolar personality. You are fucked out of your mind! Just leave me alone. I'm not in the mood for this," you hissed with a fake sense of confidence, wondering why you seemed to fight his cockiness with a false version of your own.
Although you couldn't see his eyes with the plastic mask obscuring them, you knew they were targetting you, and made you vibrate out of your skin.
"Not in the mood for this? Did I catch you at a bad time?" He held out his arm before him, as if looking at a watch on his wrist. "Sunday six in the afternoon sound good? I'm on a tight schedulde!"
You backed off as Ghostface casually hopped off the trashcan, stalking towards you on a preyful sense. There came this strange energy from him, bleeding out of him like a river, rich with something you didn't dare look further into.
So what did (Y/N) do? She did it anyways.
"I know what you've done," you accused, backing off footstep by footstep. "You've been murdering innocent people just like that? Do you not feel any, I don't know, regret? You're tearing families apart!
How can you live with that?"
It felt like a miracle when Ghostface actually stopped in his tracks. The mask angled to the side as he scratched his head in a thoughtful manner, then slumped his shoulders and head down.
"Maaan... Maybe you're right. Maybe I should turn myself in for the fucking scumbag I am... Damn, you have me thinking here... I should change my ways..."
Your eyebrows nearly shot over your hairline in surprise. "Really? You mean that?"
There was a pause, until his loud and hysterical laughter even rose over the sound of the rain hitting the pavement. "Oh my goodness! You seriously bought that? Fuck, you really are easy to fool, aren't you? No wonder they picked you! Stupid, stupid girl."
They?
"Shut up!" You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. The worst part was that you couldn't blame him for laughing. You were too gullible for your own good. "What do you mean?"
"Ladies and gents... She's still lost on the plot..." He waved you off from over his shoulder and straightened back up from his haunched-over position. "Speaking of twiddledee and twiddledoo, where did they run off to? I haven't seen them around."
Internally, you were fuming. You tried not to scream at how infuriating, borderline offensive and intrusive he was. What was even worse was the way he spoke; like you were long time friends.
You crossed your arms for effect with faux humour lacing through your words. "That's none of your business! Why are you being a lousy copycat? Lacking inspiration? Get original."
"Copycat?!" For the first time, it felt as though you broke through the killer's exterior as he sounded genuinely offended. "Excuse you! No need to be so offensive. I've been in this business since you were still in the diapers, darling."
You stopped breathing for a second as you heard the word leave his mouth, er, mask? Mouth piece? But he was so casual about it he didn't notice. The rational part of your brain knew he was teasing and not really meaning if as a pet name, but more of a condescending jab.
Then, his voice shedded his lightheartedness, now nothing more than a snarl warning of violence that was to come. "You're definitely not wrong about me being an asshole, though... But... You really shouldn't get on my bad side."
Shrieking, the back your head smacked against one of the brick walls when the killer swiftly lashed out without warning, so fast that you felt a draft from his movement.
The tip of the knife sliced through the first layer of your skin like butter, leaving a small and red trail in its wake, the maroon liquid mixing in with the rain that created a sharp sensation on your arm area, but it didn't come close to the throbbing pulse in your brain.
Touching your head came as a reflex as your fingers massaged the spot where you hit it. It was when you felt the contours of the wound, a flare that made your skin form a little lump and the sides that were sticky and uneven, sending waves of adrenaline rolling through your body all the way down to your bones, spurring you into immediate action.
Your running speed increased to the point of your inability to stop it, away from the killer who gave chase after you.
I don't want to die.
The phrase popped into your head out of nowhere, quickly becoming your mantra.
You pivoted around the corner, close to falling to your side with how sharp the turn was, but didn't make it far, just barely out of the dark alleyway and to the edge of the park.
I don't want to die.
You had nothing on your person that you could use as a weapon. Just your legs and fists, and those were no match to the likes of him.
Your pursuer's speed caught you by surprise as one of his leather-clad feet hooked around your ankle, sending you reeling down with a pained grunt; your knees taking the fall the most as the cold and wet pavement dug into them.
"Ouch! That looked like it hurt." Ghostface's voice crooned with sadism, but you elected to ignore it, panting for oxygen in random intervals. The same shoe rolled you over to your back with force akin to a merciless kick.
Coughing and whimpering at the soreness shooting through your limbs, through the silence of the night, it felt as if the wind had the nerve to whistle and pierce throughout the trees.. laughing at your misery.
The masked mass of black squatted beside you, his elbows resting on his knees, wrists slack so the knife that dripped with hot and sticky fluid dangled and swayed lightly.
"I should have you lick the blood off this blade to punish that whore mouth of yours..." You were too dazed to outwardly react when he playfully booped you on the nose with the handle of the knife. "That way it's actually useful."
Your heart pounded involuntarily as Ghostface closed the proximity between your face and his, clearly loving how uncomfortable he was making you.
"I thought–" you coughed, and he waited patiently for you to continue. "I thought... You said you weren't going to–to kill me."
The mask tilted further to the side, his tone shifting to a pitying one. For a second, it could have been your imagination making you hear things, Ghostface sounded almost sad that he was going to have to end you. "Tsk, tsk. Here's some advice, lovely girl. Don't trust the words of a killer. They don't mean much."
This is it, you recited inwardly, grinding your teeth in anguish. This is how I die.
So fast—you didn't even hear the gunshot go off in the distance. It was like everything muted around you as Ghostface swiftly jerked up like a coiled spring and rocketed off into the dark.
"This way! She's here! She's here!" Someone shouted from afar.
You were far too freaked out to oblivion to even think of responding as you made no movements, trying your hardest to stay awake.
The figure now stood over you. The street lamp barely illuminated his face and eyes that matched his panicked voice. A voice you haven't heard in a while.
You kept whispering stuff to yourself, losing the strength to stay awake bit by bit until the world faded away, the white and brilliant flash that belonged to a polaroid camera in the distance unseen by your eyes.