𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝙰 𝚂𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖, 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

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song of the chapter: mother's daughter

"don't fuck with my freedom."

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"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.

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        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."