Scream 3 [✓]

Chapter 16

"Roman, I know you're upset. But there will be other movies. I got a great script on my desk, I'm thinking you for director–"

John Milton, the head of the studio, stopped talking into the phone and glanced over at the clock that signalled it was 11 PM when there came a sudden knock on the door to his office. "I gotta go. I'll call you later."

Just as he hung up, Gale and Jennifer barged inside unannounced like they owned the place. "So you know (Y/N) (L/N)'s mother."

The man simply glared furiously at the two with his red eyes that were from lack of sleep, bothered by the sudden intrusion. "Just what the hell do you people think you're doing, barging in here like this? I've got important calls to make. I run this studio."

"Answer the question. You knew (Y/N)'s mom?" Gale demanded in return, not backing down from his intense stare.

"Who?" His voice piqued in confusion, yet sounding stern at the same time.

"Prescilla Prescott."

Milton scrunched up his nose as he stopped pacing back and forth in front of the large windows that overlooked the city. "Do you know how many actors have worked for me? Hundreds, thousands."

Gale was quick to counter smugly, her eyes gleaming as she did. "Nobody said she was an actor."

"Nice catch," Jennifer tried to sound firm but there was clear humour evident in the undertone of her voice.

"What's your point?" Milton argued, his face dropping into a harsher confused frown as he kept his eyes trained on them. "She was a player in a couple of my movies. A nobody! So what does it matter?"

Jennifer scoffed as she smacked the palms of her hands on the desk. "Oh, come on. You made millions off the story of her daughter you're obsessed with! Of course you know her!"

"Why don't you tell us the truth?" Gale pushed further. "Just what happened to Prescilla when she was in Hollywood?"

"Now you listen to me, Lois Lane, let it go," his eyes snapped at her. "It's dead and buried. Daddy took ol' Yeller out behind the barn and shot him in the head a long time ago."

Gale's lips stretched out into a small, fake smile. "Well how about you like his rotten carcass dug up and drug all over National TV? Why don't you start talking."

Milton groaned as he tried picking his words, eventually giving in with a sigh. "It was in the 70s, everything was different. I was well known for my parties, Prescilla knew what they were. It was for girls like her to meet men, men who could get them parts, if they made the right impression. Nothing happened to her that she didn't invite."

"Are you saying she was–"

"I"m saying things got out of hand," Gale was stopped mid sentence as the director of the studio elaborated further. "Maybe they did take advantage of her. Maybe the sad truth is, this is not the city for innocence. And the bottom line is, Prescilla Prescott wouldn't play by the rules. You wanna get ahead in Hollywood, you gotta play the game or go home."

About an hour passed when everyone in the building went home for the night, and Milton was walking down the dark, desolate hallway just as his phone rang.

He reluctantly answered it while pushing the elevator's 'up' button anxiously. "John Milton, how can I help you?"

"Wanna play a game?"

The harsh but not unattractive voice triggered unlawful goosebumps on his skin as he shook his head with a puzzled expression. "You trying to be Jigsaw or somn'? Who's this?"