all hers | tara carpenter x fem!reader

part 13

You haven't left the car - or Tara's lap - by the time the police arrive.

Sam greets them, watches as they make their way through the house, casing for strewn pieces of clothing, discarded weapons, footprints, handprints, anything.

But there's nothing to find. Ghostface is long gone.

By the time they're done, your anxiety is at an all time high, not even Tara's arms around you enough to quell the fear inside you. Your chest thumps uncomfortably. Your palms are shaky, sweaty. Flashes of the mask, the knife raised against you.

Is this how Tara's victims felt in the end? Is this how Wes felt?

The only difference between you and Wes is you'd survived. And he'd died innocent while you survived, guilty. It isn't fair. You deserve everything Ghostface is giving you, you know it deep down. Your will to live is selfish, almost.

Why should you live while the others died?

The answer is pressed to your side. She's beautiful, as ever, squeezing your hand so tight the tips of your fingers turn white. Her knee bounces steadily, an indication of her nerves. Her dark eyes are wild, flitting from you to the house to the officers on the lawn. Scanning, as if Ghostface will jump out at any moment. God help him if he does, when she's like this. Ash-faced, quietly stewing in her own anger and anxiety. You can almost hear the cogs turning in her brain as she runs wild with the possibilities of who it could be.

The police have questions, what feels like millions of them. The most pressing is why. Why would Ghostface target you specifically? Of course, you know why.

You don't mention the other victims. You don't mention Tara's Ghostface mask hidden in a lockbox in her closet. You don't mention the motive Ghostface had all but spat into your face.

Someone who thinks you should pay.

Tara, a little on edge, tires very quickly of their incessant questions.

"There's never a why, do you even live in this town?" Tara barks, voice hot with annoyance, "They're random. They've always been random."

"That's not exactly true." It's Sheriff Hicks. She climbs out of her squad car, slips her gun into her holster as she stands.

Your chest tightens. She makes you so nervous. You're so scared one of these days you'll slip, blurt out the truth before it's too late.

"Billy Loomis blamed Sidney for his mother abandoning him. Nancy Loomis blamed her for killing her son. Roman Bridger and Jill Roberts wanted infamy." She surveys you, hand resting gently on her holstered pistol, "The question is: what does this Ghostface want?"

The back of your neck prickles uncomfortably under her gaze. You sink deeper into Tara, wear her almost like a shield.

"Forget his motive, what are you going to do about catching him?" Tara says, arm tight around your waist, "I want a squad car here 24/7. I want officers escorting her to school. I want a walkie talkie and a phone number so we can have direct contact with them whenever we need-"

The thought of stepping foot into that house sends shockwaves of panic through your body. You grip her waist, tight, trying to draw her attention.

"I can't go back in there." You say, voice tight, "Tara, I can't stay here tonight. I can't sleep here."

If Tara's surprised by this, she doesn't show it. Instead, she wraps her arms tight around your shoulder and presses a long kiss to your forehead.