Tragedy

IV. Hicks House

The minute they got home, Dewey decided she was to stay in her room. She locked her door, hiding underneath the covers. She was done with this whole Ghostface nonsense. He told Olive to stay in bed, and that nothing was going to hurt them anymore. She listened, of course, because she was a good girl and an even better listener.

Plugging in her headphones to the open spot on her phone, Olive turned on her side. Loud music from her mother's favorite band, Fleetwood Mac, flooded her senses. Despite the music, she could still hear Billy. He was telling her it wasn't over. It was never over, especially for a Riley, and even for a Weathers. It was in her blood.

All Olive could do was cry. She was going to die. The thought kept repeating over and over and over again. She was trapped in the fate of the people her parents' couldn't save. Names of the people listening to the Thanksgiving prayer she's recited every night shifted behind her eyes.

I'm not letting you die, Olive. Billy said, tugging on her headphones. I won't let you.

Billy won't let her die. Billy won't let her die. Billy won't let her die.

She only raised the volume and closed her eyes tighter. Billy's voice was a dull lull in the back of her mind. All that mattered was her nap and the music blasting in her ear. She was never big on being with people. She preferred to remain by herself. Being alone was better than being around people she couldn't stand.

That sounded selfish beyond belief. Maybe it was. Olive wasn't one to judge.

Her father knocked on her bedroom door, with a slight frown. "Do you need anything?" he asked in a tone that suggested he wanted to talk. Olive shook her head, but sat up on her bed. She patted the spot next to her. Her father sat with a groan. "Hey."

"Hi," she said with a sigh. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Why do you seem so sad?" That only earned another frown and a kiss on the top of her head.

Her father rubbed her head with his calloused fingers from many years of being a sheriff. "I wanted to talk to you. About what happened today." Billy rolled his eyes. A snicker escaped the boy's lips as her father took a deep breath. "You know, your mother almost got killed by a Ghostface. A ton of times, even. So did I." I started that. "It's scary, sweetheart." Olive nodded, silently rocking on the palms of her hands. "How are you...dealing with it?"

Honestly, Olive felt like childhood was ripped out from underneath her feet. She almost died by the same stupid mask the man in the mirror wore when he came to visit her. "I'm okay." Quick, blunt, and straight to the point. That's how she had to respond. That was how her mother always responded to questions on television. "I'm very okay. It wasn't scary." You liar. "I'll be okay. Just like you and mommy." Mommy almost died, Riley.

Her father chuckled. "You don't have to be okay, Olive. Especially after getting attacked. Baby, you're allowed to feel like total garbage." Her father would've sworn if it wasn't such a serious talk. "I won't judge you. I'm your dad, not some bad guy bully."

"You'd be a terrible bully," Olive pointed out. "You're not very mean."

He's a bad shot too, Billy cackled. He leaned over as he laughed, hands on his knees. Couldn't even kill me. Olive almost repeated what Billy said before panicking. That wasn't something she should repeat, especially to her father. Especially because her father was Dewey Riley.

           "Thank you for reassuring me of that, Olive," her father said with another chuckle and a kiss. "If you need anything, baby, anything at all. You talk to me, or you talk to your mother. Or Sidney." Or Billy, but Olive didn't tell her father that. She wouldn't dare. She'd accidentally done that once. Olive had woken up from a nap and scared the living out of her father by referring to him as Billy. Her father hadn't slept properly after that. This happened months ago, and yet, he still brought it up.

My sweet daughter's here, Billy yelled, shaking her father. Billy could never be seen by others: just Olive. Olive wanted to ask her parents. A casual name drop over dinner in New York City's fanciest restaurant would probably get her sent away. It did sound like something out of some psycho's life, not Olive's. Let her in, Dewey.

Olive pretended to yawn. The knock on the front door was enough to jolt her father from her bed. His expression contorted into panic for a solid ten seconds before he gave her a kiss and a goodbye.

"I'll be right back." Broke Meeks' first rule. Didn't he ever learn to not say 'I'll be right back.' Her father closed her door with a firm thump! and she felt alone.

Olive nodded and laid back down. Billy chuckled a content little laugh. Olive covered her ears. It overwhelmed her sometimes, especially when he was excited like this. "Billy, why is she here?" Her body didn't move as she asked her question. Olive wasn't so sure she was even physically talking.

Olive's head hurt even more than before. Her head always ached. A constant headache lingered in her mind. Whenever Billy or any of the masked people in her mirror spoke, it tugged on the sounds in the air. It caused her to have intense migraines.

She's come to talk about me. My darling daughter is coming to talk about how this is all starting up because of who she is. Billy brushed the hair from her face. His face was so gentle when she was like this.

When she couldn't move a muscle.

"It hurts," but she wasn't sure if it was out loud anymore.

"I burn," but she wasn't sure if she was even moving her lips.

"I don't want to die," but she was sure she couldn't speak anymore.

I got you, Riley. When have I left you alone before?

Olive wasn't sure. He'd always been there with her. Constantly, in every single moment of her life, Billy had been there. He knew every inch of her life, no matter what happened. When her parents first divorced, he was there. He comforted her when her father left and promised that everything would be alright.

He ran a hand through her hair as her body felt unreal. There were always moments where her body felt like some Polly Pocket doll in the bottom of her mother's toy box. Like a plastic little toy with the soul of a girl. Olive was similar to that of a ghost in a shell.

Don't you worry, littlest Riley. I'm here for you. 

Because while her father was talking to the living, Olive was talking to the dead. But she wasn't so sure he was dead.

olive is real guys
i made her Cecilia Lisbon coded if u couldn't tell