Scream 3 [✓]

Chapter 6

Kincaid and Gale stared at Sarah Darling's corpse as it was zippered up into a black, rubber body bag and carried off by forensic technicians.

"That's STAB 3, Miss Weathers. It looks like we're going to be getting a warrant to speak with Miss (L/N) anyway," the Detective spoke with his thumb and forefingers pressed to his temples in aggravation.

"Sarah Darling. I interviewed her too. It's happening again isn't it, Detective?"

"We have a suspect, so don't get worried."

Gale's eyes lit up as she grabbed Kincaid's shoulders, her eyebrows lifting in excitement. "Who?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you that, Miss Weathers," Kincaid pointed at her with a warning voice. " You're no longer working with the L.A.P.D. I don't even know why you're standing here right now. By all means I should have you thrown out."

"But you won't," Gale insisted, keeping her voice confident but oddly charming and polite. "You're a good man, Detective. I know you need my help and I know you know I need your help."

The man brought his hand up to pinch his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, giving Gale a scrutinizing once-over. "In my fifteen years as a homicide Detective I've never met a single soul as pushy and brazen as you are, Miss Weathers."

"Please, call me Gale," she smiled just as Kincaid's cohort and partner, Detective Tom Wallace, came to join them, holding a folder in his hands.

"Mark, Bridger's in custody. We traced his phone records. He's the last person to speak to Sarah Darling before she died," the man informed him.

And just like that, Gale's excitement dropped again, making way for confusion. "Wait a minute, Roman's your suspect?"

Tom eyed her with apprehension, like she was some kind of suspicious outsider carrying a mysterious disease. "Listen, Diana Sawyer. This here is classified information. Why don't you fo investigate the bad meat at the A.P. This is police work, not Pulitzer material."

"Hey, fuck off," Gale sneered.

"No, cool it Wallace. She's working with me."

"Well then. Looks like I'll go dust for finger prints with Barbara Walters," the man arrogantly trotted off as Gale looked at Kincaid, batting her eyelashes at him.

"So, what now?"

There was an unreadable expression plastered on the Detective's face, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "There is something else you need to see."

He reached behind him and pulled out yet another picture, grimly handing it over to Gale.

Her eyes drifted over it for one second to inspect the object before they spurred wide open, looking like her heart just crashed down to the floor. "Oh..."

-

"Hey, isn't that (Y/N) (L/N)?"

"What is she doing here?"

"... Thought she was hiding?"

"Should we tell Kincaid?"

To your chagrin, those were the talk of the people you, (Y/N) (L/N), someone who had only slept for 8 hours over the span of 48, could hear as you passed through a thin and white hallway with ugly bags under your eyes.

After your attack when you came back to your senses and hurried out of the car, straight away did you see the car keys just laying on your doorsteps, abandoned and alone.