𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕖

❛𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.❜

☎

Large, black cameras flashed at you from every possible direction, obscuring your view of the school building and leaving you half-blind as you stumbled onto the sidewalk. News spread fast in a town as small at this one and your face—marred and bloody—was on the front page of every newspaper from Woodsboro to San Francisco.

Monday morning came without warning and pulled you headfirst out of Saturday night. School felt like the very last thing you should be concerned with, but when Tatum and her brother appeared at your front door offering a sheriff's escort across town, it didn't seem all that bad. Fun even. Routine was exactly what you were craving after spending the bulk of your weekend in the county police department and it couldn't really get any safer than bullet-proof windows and an armoured front-bumper. 

It was only just now that you realized how stupid you actually were. Your eyes strained to see the concrete below your feet, hands clutching desperately at the front of your backpack staps. On your left was Tatum, swatting at reporters and nudging wide camera lenses out of your face. Even though you knew she would never admit it, she was obviously soaking up the attention. Tatum had a sixth sense for drama. You bet she even dressed up today, knowing the press would be swarming your school for even just a glimpse at you—the sole survivor of the worst murder in Woodsboro history.

"Hey, hey, hey, outta the way!" Tatum's brother snapped at a cameraman who had gotten just a little too close to blocking your path. Dewey was all decked out in uniform with one hand guiding you further along by the small of your back. The other was sweeping the air in front of the three of you, clearing the dense walkway that usually took you three seconds to get to class. The bell was already ringing by the time Dewey opened the back door to his police cruiser and offered you his hand as you stepped out. Even with your fear of being late, nothing could have convinced you to drag your feet any faster down that path. 

Tatum reached down between you and squeezed your hand, flashing a quick reassuring smile over her shoulder. The gesture didn't do much in the ways of actually comforting you. The damage had already been done: your best friend was dead and incels on shady true crime forums were already ankle-deep in their theories that painted you as a killer who had offed both Casey and Steve in a fit of jealous rage even though the first round of interrogations proved your innocence and your story matched up perfectly with the phone records that the police recovered from the Becker house. 

Eat shit, internet creeps. 

"I can't believe you actually wanted to go to school today," Tatum scoffed as the school doors squealed shut behind you. It quieted instantly and the shouts and swarming crowds had been quelled into muffled white noise.

You tore your gaze from the scuffed linolium floors and awkwardly adjusted your backpack strap. "I can't let it get the best of me. I think that's what he wants."

He. Casey's killer, of course. From the moment you were escorted home in the early hours of Sunday morning, you laid awake in bed making lists of all the ways he could have killed you of he really wanted. He was right there for Christ's sake. What could have happened after you fell through the table that made him stop and reconsider your fate? It was eating you alive. 

The hallways were barren. Those who weren't using the news as an excuse to cut class were already in their homeroom seats. Dewey stepped in front of you and tipped his hat with a pitying smile. "I'm afraid this is where I leave you. I'll be helping Sheriff Burke interrogate students in the principal's office if you need me at all today."