Tear You Apart || Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

𝟻𝟽| 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞?

When you arrived at the station, Detective Kincaid escorted you inside his office where you sat for the next thirty minutes answering questions. Most being in regards to what had gone down inside the studio earlier.

You thought you were in the clear until he began asking for your whereabouts after the explosion— according to Dewey, you'd been missing for a little over ten hours. Kincaid told you that it wasn't an interrogation, that you weren't in any trouble which helped alleviate your nerves. However, he did reveal that Randy had made it known to everyone that Billy and Stu were also in Hollywood.

When Randy had called you earlier, the police were able to trace your location to a remote place just outside the city limits. Wallace and a few other officers raided the cabin to find Billy and Stu had already evacuated it.

Although you were relieved, some small part of you wanted them to get caught. Yes, you loved Billy, but you will never be able to forgive him. Every time you see his face, all you can think about is the people he and Stu murdered.

That's what made it so difficult to lie to the detective. You told him about how you'd hit your head and fell unconscious. You explained how you woke up inside that cabin, though, you didn't say anything about Stu or Billy being there with you. You lied about not knowing how you got there or where the two could've gone. The whole thing was easily blamed on memory loss.

You needed to talk to Billy alone. You needed to know if he knew about your father's affair with Maureen, if he knew about all of it. You wanted the fucking truth for once.

"You alright over there?"

You blinked several times, refocusing on Kincaid as his voice pulled you from your thoughts.

"I'm fine." You answered absentmindedly as he stood at his desk, jotting a few things down on a sticky note.

The small film posters on the wall behind him stole your attention, and the gears began to shift in your head. "What do you know about trilogies?" You randomly asked.

"You mean like movie trilogies?" He spared you a brief glance, and you nodded.

"Yeah, I mean, it seems to me we're in the final act, Detective."

"Call me Mark, would you?" He insisted, and you caught as the corners of his lips quirked upwards. "Cause I'm gonna keep calling you Y/n."

You forced back a smile as your fingers lightly fumbled with the stack of paperwork on his desk. "How about we reserve the first-name basis until after you catch the killer, Detective."

Amusement painted Kincaid's face as he gave an approving nod at the impartial exchange. "All I know about movie trilogies is that in the third one... all bets are off."

His response struck you with a sense of foreboding, and you began anxiously picking at your cuticles. All you could think was how now would be a great time for Randy to review those movie rules. Each time they're always different, more complicated.

As Kincaid resumed finalizing his notes, you decided to acknowledge your own notions on the doomed predicament you were in.

"After the second massacre, even if it sounds awful to admit, I assumed the target on my back was gone because Sidney was dead. But now, a new killer has spawned and he's still coming after us, after me." You confessed, thinking back on earlier today. The reason behind the killer's merciless taunting remained unknown to you. You were in the dark about how he knew about your mother's secrets or how he had those recordings of your brother.

Why did he want you to know so badly only to turn around and attack you right after?

"I thought Hollywood was supposed to be fun, y'know?" You half-joked in order to prevent yourself from spiraling again.