╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
song of the chapter: mother's daughter
"don't fuck with my freedom."
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
"Whoever this is, is now taking credit for Maureen Prescott's murder," Mark was exclaiming as he paced around his office.
"No, that's impossible. Billy and Stu killed her. They said so," I recalled, shaking my head.
"Did they ever say anything to you about it personally?" he questioned.
"No," I told him.
"Are you sure? They didn't ever mention someone else who could've been involved?" he continued.
"I think I would remember if they mentioned it to me," I snapped.
"Really? You're not trying to protect them?" he demanded.
"Well, if I was, I'm doing a hell of a job considering they're dead," I yelled. He sighed, putting the pictures down on the table.
"God, Gale, you said in your book that Sidney was wrong once before," he recalled. "She accused Cotton Weary of murdering her mother. He was sent away for it. Maybe there is a third killer. Sidney might know something."
"I told you, I don't know where Sidney is," Dewey insisted.
"And even if there is a killer, Sidney doesn't know about it," I shrugged.
"That is for me to decide. I need to talk to her. She's a key element in this case," he decided. "I have a press conference in a hour. I need to explain why there are three dead celebrities and a bodyguard."
"And a very angry mayor," Wallace complained, walking in.
"Look, we all know this has something to do with Stab 3," Gale pointed out. "But what we do know is why the killer keeps leaving pictures of Maureen Prescott taken twenty five years ago."
"And the photographs taken at the same studio Stab 3 is shooting out of," he added.
"What does this have to do with Sid?" I asked.
"Who knows more about Maureen Prescott than her own daughter?" he challenged.
"Sid's dad couldn't help you and he was married to Maureen," Dewey pointed out.
"What's your problem?" Wallace asked. "Last night you were almost charcoal." He left.
"You gonna help us or what?" Mark asked us. "Do you wanna have this conversation with a polygraph?"
"Is that a threat?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes.
"When it's a threat, you'll know it," he told me. I raised my eyebrow at him.
"Look, the issue is Maureen Prescott," Gale stepped in.
"Wrong. The issue is Sidney Prescott," he denied. "And either you guys are going to obstruct justice or put me in touch with her. So . . . " He walked up to me, his face inches from mine. "Where is she?" I sighed.
"Fine. I'll tell you," I gave in.
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
I paced around the lobby of the office, trying to get in touch with my old friend. I studied my bitten nails as I listened to the ringing.
"Hi, you've reached the machine. Leave a message. Take as long as you want."
"Hey, Sid. It's me. This is the fifth time I've called," I agonized. "Pick up, bitch. I wanna make sure you're okay."
Then I spotted her walking into the office.
"Sid!"
"Bronwyn!" she exclaimed, running to me. I embraced her, smiling widely.
"What are you doing here?" I asked as we pulled away.
"Oh. Actually, what was I doing up there," she sighed. "Jesus, Bronzie, how have you been?"
"The usual. But you're back. So that's one less person to miss," I shrugged. She nodded sadly.
"Gale and Dewey okay?" she asked.
"As good as they can be," I answered honestly.
"So the news said this was the precinct. Who's this Kincaid?" she wondered.
"Uh, detective. Doesn't trust anything we tell him. Weirdly attractive," I listed. She laughed.
"Sidney?" we heard. We turned around to see Dewey standing there.
"Dewey!" she beamed, running over to him. They hugged.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her. "You're not safe. I told you to stay hidden."
"The killer called me," she confessed.
"What?" we both asked.
"Yeah, he found me. I'm no more safe there than I am here," she sighed. "At least I'm not alone here."
"Okay," he nodded. "Come on." We brought her back.
"Mark," I greeted as we walked in.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"There's someone here who wants to help," I smiled.
"Oh my God! Sidney!" Gale exclaimed.
"Hi," Sidney greeted awkwardly.
"Hi!" she exclaimed, hugging her.
"I'm glad you're all right," she said.
"Thank you," Gale smiled. They pulled away.
"Sid, this is Detective Kincaid," Dewey introduced them.
"Nice to finally meet you, Sidney," he nodded, shaking her hand.
"The killer called her," I got to the point.
"What? When? What did he say?" he demanded.
"The usual small talk. What's new. How you been. How you wanna die?" she joked, putting her bag down.
"Do you have any idea how he could've gotten your number?" Gale wondered.
"He could have monitored her calls on a scanner. Did you call her from the set?" Mark asked.
"No," Dewey and I answered.
"Do you have her number stored in your memory?" Gale asked. He glanced up, trying to remember it. "Phone memory!" I chuckled.
"Oh, yeah, I guess I do," he said.
"Has anyone else ever used your phones?" she asked.
"No," I answered.
"Just Jennifer and you," Dewey said, turning to Mark.
"Hey, I'm the cop here. You're in my office, Riley," he berated.
I noticed Sidney looking at the pictures of her mother and realized we hadn't filled her in.
"The killer leaves a photo after each of the murders, Sid," I explained to her.
"They were taken in Hollywood at the same studio that they were shooting Stab 3," Mark explained. Sidney turned to me.
"Why didn't you tell me? This is my mother, Bronwyn. Why didn't you say something?" she demanded.
"We were afraid they were bait," I explained. "Something to trick you out of hiding."
"Sidney, was she an actress or a model?" Gale asked. "Those look a lot like publicity stills. I don't know."
"Detective, I wanna see this place in the pictures," Sidney decided.
"Are you sure?" Mark confirmed.
"Absolutely," she nodded.
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
"The stairwell over there, that's where the pictures were taken," Dewey said, pointing it out to Sidney as we got out of the car.
"I can't believe she never mentioned any of this," Sidney mumbled.
"Bronwyn!" I heard.
We all yelled, turning around to see Martha Meeks. I gasped, my face lighting up. I hadn't seen her in forever.
"Martha!" I exclaimed, rushing over to her. I wrapped my arms around her, and she hugged me back.
"Oh my God, Sidney," she noticed as we pulled away.
"Hey, hold it right there!" we heard Wallace yell.
"Don't shoot! I'm only seventeen!" she defended, her hands flying up and her eyes wide.
"It's okay. We know her," Dewey insisted, putting up a hand to stop them.
"We do?" Gale asked.
"God, Martha. You've gotten so big," I beamed at her. "I haven't seen you since you were fourteen. How are you holding up?"
"Fine," she sighed. I nodded.
"Randy's sister?" Gale realized, her eyes widening.
"Yeah, can't you tell?" Martha asked. I chuckled sadly. "We miss you guys in Woodsboro."
"Martha, what are you doing here?" I asked her.
"There's something you guys should see," she said, holding up a VHS tape.
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
We settled into the trailer as she put the tape into the VCR. We stared as the screen came to life. I gasped when my boyfriend's face popped up on the television.
"Told ya I'd make a movie someday, huh?" Randy bragged. I leaned in, my hand flying to my mouth.
"Oh my God," Sidney mumbled.
"If you're watching this tape, it means, as I feared, I did not survive these killings here at Windsor college. And that giving up my virginity to Bronwyn in Gale's news van was probably not a good idea."
"You did what in my news van?" Gale snapped, turning to me. I felt my face go red.
"Open the door Randy!" I heard his roommate Paul saying as he banged on it. "It's my room too!"
"Paul! Fifteen minutes! I'm leaving my legacy!" Randy exclaimed. I chuckled. The knocking continued. "Fifteen minutes, Paul! Damn."
"Come on," he responded in irritation.
"Anyway, the reason I'm here is to help you so that my death will not be in vain. That my life's work will help save some other poor soul from getting mutilated," he went on. "If this killer does come back, and he's for real, there's a few things you need to remember. Is this simply another sequel? Well, if it is, same rules apply. But here's the critical thing. If you find yourself dealing with an unexpected back-story, and a preponderance of exposition, then the sequel rules do not apply. Because you're not dealing with a sequel, you're dealing with a trilogy. The concluding chapter of a trilogy."
"Trilogy," Dewey mumbled.
"That's right. It's a rarity in the horror field," he said. "But it does exist. And it is not a force to be reckoned with. Because true trilogies are about going back to the beginning and discovering something that wasn't true from the get-go. Godfather, Jedi all revealed something that we thought was true that wasn't true. So if it is a trilogy you are dealing with, here are some super trilogy rules.
"One: you've got a killer who's gonna be superhuman. Stabbing him won't work. Shooting him won't work. Basically, in the third one, you've gotta cryogenically freeze his head, decapitate him, or blow him up. Number two: anyone, including the main character can die. That means you, Sid. I'm sorry. It's the final chapter. It could be fucking Reservoir Dogs by the time this thing is through. Number three: the past will come back to bite you in the ass. Whatever you think you know about the past, forget it. The past is not at rest! Any sins you think were committed in the past are about to break out and destroy you."
"So, in closing, let me say. Good luck. Godspeed. And for some of you, I'll see you soon."
I wasn't quite sure when I started crying. But I was. Sidney put her arms around me, holding me to her while I cried into her shoulder.
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
"You be careful," I warned Martha, hugging her. "Say hi to your parents for me."
"You be careful too, Bron," she told me. "Bye, Dewey. Come visit us soon." She hugged him.
"I will, Martha. Thank you. Bye," he smiled. She walked away.
"I have got an idea," Gale announced. "I'll hook up with you guys in a bit."
"Want us to come with you?" Dewey asked.
"I work better alone," she explained. "You try to figure out where those other pictures were taken."
"I can see nothing's changed," Sidney joked.
"Nope," he shook his head. I heard my phone ring. It was Mark. I answered it.
"Bronwyn, I need your help with something," Everleigh told me.
"Do you?" I asked, uninterested.
"Yeah," he insisted. "Meet me at the station."
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
"What do you know about trilogies?" I asked Mark, who was leaning over his desk, filling some forms out.
"You mean like movie trilogies?" he clarified.
"I don't know. You seem like a movie person," I shrugged, sitting on the desk and playing with the many highlighters on his desk.
"All I know about trilogies is that in the third one, all bets are off," he answered, smiling.
"Did you request this case?" I wondered.
"No. They tend to put me on the ones that deal with business," he explained. "I grew up here, and I know my way around the studios." I smiled slightly.
"Must be exciting. Beautiful place," I noted.
"To me, Hollywood is about death," he told me. I raised my eyebrows.
"Well, you're quite the optimist," I scoffed. He chuckled.
"I'm a homicide detective, remember?" he reminded me. "When you see what I see day in and day out, the violence that people do to each other, you get haunted. I think you know about that."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I think you know what it's like to see ghosts that don't go away," he told me, staring me down. "To be watching a scary movie in your head whether you want to or not. Watching it alone."
"I do," I agreed, nodding. "It's tough. You can't kill them or make them disappear."
"You can't arrest them," he countered. "But the best way to stop being haunted is to be with people."
"I don't have very many left," I shrugged. "I've got Sid, Dewey, Gale, and my dad. Though I haven't talked to him in a while."
"Was your family close?" he wondered, seeming genuinely curious.
"Yeah," I nodded. "You know, I thought we were the perfect family. Then my dad cheated. Then my mom left. And then my brother went crazy, followed by my mother. I just can't wrap my head around how it all changed almost overnight. It hurts me to think I didn't know my brother. But it's the truth. I didn't."
"You knew who he was to you," he smiled at me. I nodded.
"I guess that's true," I nodded. He looked down at her paper. "Hey, Mark." He glanced up at me. "What's your favorite scary movie?"
He scoffed, leaning in, so our faces were only inches from each other.
"My life," he told me. I smirked at him.
He glanced at my lips for a split second. I thought he was gonna kiss me, but then he backed up.
"I have some shit to pick up at my hotel room," I told him. "I should go."
"I'll go with you," he offered. "It's not safe out there alone."
╭────»»❀❀❀««────╮
We stood in the elevator awkwardly. I glanced at him quickly, looking away when he caught me. I bit the inside of my cheek as I felt him staring at me.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
"You were looking at me first," he observed with a slight smile.
"Oh really?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as I turned to him.
"The movies didn't do you justice," he informed me. "You're way more irritating in real life."
"Oh, whatever," I shot back. "You're the one that refuses to trust me."
"Are you kidding? Who said I didn't trust you?" he demanded, turning to me, eyes wide from the accusation.
"I can tell," I defended, crossing my arms.
"You can tell," he repeated with a scoff.
"I can!" I insisted.
Without any warning, his lips slammed into mine, causing me to fly into the wall. I was surprised at first, but after a second I found myself kissing back. Hard.
Mark lifted me onto the railing. I wrapped my legs around his hips. We jumped apart when we heard the elevator ding. I hopped off of the railing awkwardly.
"We should get to my room," I blurted.
"Yes, I think that's very important," he agreed.