Chapter Text
You could hear a heartbeat pounding in your ears.
You knew it had to be yours, but it still didn’t help you feel any more aware, any more in control of your surroundings.
“… Steve Orth and Casey Becker…”
“… Murdered…”
“… to be the work of the Ghostface…”
“… in bed together…”
“... a lot to take in…”
A million colors of anger (wrath, fury, disgust, hatred, resentment) mixed together with betrayal, with grief, with the empty void of nothingness that threatened to consume you.
You wanted to scream.
You wanted to cry.
You wanted to kill something.
You wanted to die.
It was slowly approaching dawn when you were finally released from the station. They’d picked you up from the night shift at the emergency room and informed you of everything, while also asking if you had anything to add to their investigation (what would you know, your perception abilities clearly weren’t to be trusted).
You had treaded out of the police station as though on a track, not even sure where you were taking yourself.
The moment you stopped at the corner of the building, you almost collapsed and quickly scrambled for your pack and lighter to at least give yourself something to ground you (your hands shook, they hadn’t shaken like that since you were a first-year nursing student). You focused on your engagement ring; despite saying you hadn’t wanted anything extravagant, Steve had gone the whole two months salary bit. Of course, two months' salary didn’t mean much when he was a student working part time and you paid all the bills, but it was thoughtful at the time. A ring you could have grown to love, could have passed down to your son or daughter, maybe even grandkids.
You would never do that now.
You saw him approaching later than you would’ve wanted to but steeled yourself the moment you saw the recorder in his hand.
“Miss L/N, I’m so sorry about your loss,” he said. He had dirty blonde hair, a scar around his temple, a face lined from stress, and a camera around his neck.
“Cut the crap, you’ve got two minutes, no pictures, go,” you said, using your ‘take-no-bullshit’ tone with the stringer, immediately covering his camera. He seemed stunned into a stammer.
“Oh-kay, uh, Jed Olsen, Roseville Gazette, do you have any comments on the Roseville Police’s response to your tragedy?” he said.
“Well, their bedside manner could use some work, I’m a nurse and trust me, there’s no excuse for keeping me there for four hours after dropping the bomb on me like that,” you said, taking a drag from the cigarette that seemed to be vanishing all too quickly for your liking. “How did you already know, it’s only been four hours?”
“Six. I have a police scanner and a source on the inside,” he said, trying to hide the pride in his voice, being the first on the case. Would probably get a nice bonus for being able to have this out with the morning paper. “Did the victims tell you about any strange happenings in their lives? Any reason to suspect they might be targeted by anyone?”
“I mean, I imagine I would have been the last person they would have shared any concerns with,” you said, not bothering to keep the venom out of your voice. “I assume you heard that the two victims were found in bed and in a state of undress.”
“… Yes, uh… do they think the assailant-”
“Just say the Ghostface, we all know it’s him at this point,” you exhaled. The Boogeyman of Roseville, the screaming mask that now haunted the dreams of every adult with a pulse or a will to live. You threw the butt of your smoke in the ashtray disdainfully as you strode away from him. Still, he followed you like a shadow (why had you opened up, why had you opened that door).
“Do they think the Ghostface posed them like that?” he asked as he kept pace with your fast walk (not unimpressive, you were used to hustling).
“Unlikely. From what I understand, posing isn’t his thing. And there are some things you just can’t fake.” The smell of sex underneath the smell of blood, the sheen and slick on their thighs, the used toys, your toys-
“What would you say to the Ghostface if you could speak to him?” he said. That made you stop. It was like the storm raging between your heart and head stopped. You turned to him, glaring. He was wide-eyed, like he hadn’t considered what he said until that moment and wished he could take the words back. You chewed on your tongue, choosing your next words wisely.
“Look, Mr.… Olsen, was it?” He nodded. “I’ve had a very long day. And I can’t even go home because it’s now a crime scene. So, you’re gonna write some BS about me being inconsolable and devastated and otherwise unavailable for comment.” He nodded again, more slowly this time. You then strode away and wrenched your car open, before throwing it into drive, not even buckling your seatbelt. You came within two inches of hitting him as you rolled down the window to say: “Oh, and as for what I’d tell Ghostface… I’d shake his hand if I could.”
Then you drove off, tires squealing as you sped away.
It was only after you ran 3 red lights (no one was up at this hour, no one except the graveyard shift workers and the grim reaper himself), that you pulled to the side of the road and screamed yourself hoarse.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
Because you would never be able to scream at the ones who’d really hurt you.
Not now, not ever again.
‘I’d shake his hand if I could.’
Vrrrrr
‘I’d shake his hand if I could.’
Vrrrrr
‘I’d shake his hand if I could.’
Vrrrrr
I must have rewound and replayed that section of the tape a hundred times.
She’d shake the hand of Ghostface if she could.
God, is this what cult leaders feel like? I’ll admit to being a bit of an attention whore, I mean, you don’t get a job writing articles about yourself if you don’t have a bit of an ego.
But for someone else to actively stroke it?
I hadn’t even really noticed her when I was stalking Casey and Steve. She was just the clueless fiancé, the sweet nurse next door, who would probably make for some pretty front-page pics of her mascara dripping down her face.
I probably should have expected the anger. I definitely hadn’t expected approval.
Screw my previous plans, I need to see this through to the end.
Wouldn’t want to disappoint my biggest fan.