Scream 4

Chapter 6

Any soul who ever had any sort of involvement in the life of Stuart Macher, be it directly or through friends of friends, could tell you that his mother and father were extremely wealthy. Filthy rich. It was as much of a fact as the sky being blue.

The Machers owned a multitude of residences spread across the country, not to mention their properties and beach houses in Europe. It really was no wonder why he'd hardly cared about achieving good grades in high school and preferring to party every day of the week; the guy could be jobless for his entire life and still be better off than most people living in the middle-class and working day in, day out for a decent income.

But unlike most teenagers who would flaunt that kind of money in front of their friends and peers as a means to show off, Stu had never been the type to brag about his riches. Did he used to roll up to the school gates with the newest model sports car? Yes, but only because he liked the car. The attention he gathered then didn't come from his money; people took notice of him because of his good looks and outgoing personality.

Stu only ever used his money to make your lives easier and occasionally spoiling you with gifts, but after a lot of pleading on your part, that transitioned into only giving you a little something every once in a while. You didn't need the most expensive set of high heels or best clothing brands to be happy; they made you happier than any dress or footwear ever could.

You pondered about this as you had the side of your face smushed into the palm of your hand, the other mindlessly running the pads of your fingers over the embossed patterns in the front cover of your personal journal. You were currently sitting in a swivel chair in front of the window of the second floor of your new home, outlooking over the driveway and the neighborhood's street where you barely caught the back of the moving truck disappearing from view.

Shifting your vision away from the street, you let it travel to the driveway where Stu was hoisting the last of the cardboard boxes on his shoulder to carry them inside. You were more tired than you wanted to admit, your your eyelids drooping closed every other minute, but the sun had only just begun to set and you were determined to write something down.

So you flicked through your diary until you reached a blank page and produced a pen from the penholder set before you, letting it tap thoughtfully against the page.

Placing the capped end between your teeth, you pulled the pen from the lid and held it between your teeth as you began to jut down today's events down on the page.

Your mind took you back to weeks after you were fired from the hospital. Billy and Stu allowed you to seek a therapist, but on the one condition that you told them exactly what the conversations were about afterwards, and if they were helping you in regaining your memories.

Oddly enough, neither of them ever looked or sounded particularly disappointed each time your answer came back negative, but you always brushed it off as them thinking you'd probably get them back at some point, and they weren't concerned about it.

Either way, therapy sessions didn't last for very long because of the frequent moving that made attending them impossible. You did stick to your therapist's advice of keeping the diary to note down your thoughts on a daily base, even if all you could come up with was just one or two sentences.

At first you thought it to be a silly concept, but the more days passed where you dragged the book from under your bed to write your feelings down in it, the more you opened up to the idea-your entries becoming longer and more detailed as time went on. You found solace in the thirty-or-so minutes you were alone with your thoughts, letting your emotions run free on the paper.

In the process of doing so you completely lost track of time as the sun had turned its back on you, leaving a trail of twinkling stars in its wake. You were so consumed in what you were doing that you didn't even notice the light flicking on, filling the room with bright, white light that nearly blinded you.