Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hands keeping you steady over the bathroom sink, you took a good look at yourself. Brushing a few (strands/locs/braids/ignore this if you're bald lol) from your forehead, you silently judged yourself. A sigh, then you opened your medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of tylenol to ease the headache from your raging hangover. You swallowed the pill dry, grabbing your concealer from the edge of the sink and beating it into your under eyes, desperately trying to cover the bags that had grown under your eyes.

You'd always thought you were a little forgetful, but it was never as bad as it is now. It started small, losing your favorite chapstick, the remote to your air conditioner, stuff like that. But now? You were leaving windows open, forgetting that you had ever opened them in the first place. Hell, you were even missing a couple of your favorite pairs of underwear. But it was fine.

Totally fine. It made sense with the lack of sleep you had been getting recently, you thought as you fixed the straps of your bra and wiggled on a shirt and pants.

You stepped out of your bathroom, into the kitchen and greeted your dog, Birdie. You had always been fond of dobermans, and with the fact that you were living alone, a big, scary dog was the best protection you could get. Especially with those "Ghostface" murders that had been going on since you settled into Roseville.

Was it too late to move out? You wondered, pouring dog kibble into a large bowl. Yes, you had decided. You had too good of a job, and where else would you go? Not like a waitress's salary was the highest, but at this point, you were too scared to start over. You had a friend here, a cheap apartment, and a nice landlord.

Speaking of your landlord, he was supposed to come over today and fix your heat vents while you were out at work. They'd stopped working last March, but by then it was already warm enough to the point where you wouldn't need them.

Flash. Click.

You froze.

Wait a second, what was that?

...Silence. Whatever, you brushed the noise (and strange burst of light) off, dropped the bowl of kibble on your kitchen floor, and grabbed your keys before slipping on your sneakers. You headed out the door.

--

With about an hour before your shift started, you opened the door to the local coffee shop in front of you. The bell rang with a satisfying ding and the barista lifted her head and smiled at you. You returned the gesture.

You made your way over to her. Macy, read her name tag.

"Hey," she started "the usual?"

"You know me so well." You said with a soft smile.

She snorted. "'Course I do. You're one of my favorite customers."

Then, she turned and started working on your drink. You leaned your elbows over the counter, resting. "I hope that isn't only because I tip good?"

"You never know." She said with a cheeky grin.

A tap on your shoulder had you practically jumping out of your skin and turning around.

"..Sorry," Said the man behind you, "I need to order." He said with an awkward cadence to his voice. Like he felt like he was bothering you. Which, in a way, he was.

You took a breath, relaxing a little. "Oh, 'm sorry. Didn't even know I was in your way. I'll get out of your hair." You stepped back from the counter and moved to the left a smidge, giving him enough room.

You stared at the wall as the man ordered, the conversation between him and Amy going in one ear and out the other.

Macy handed you your drink soon after, and you handed her a couple bills in return. Just as you were about to turn and leave, the man started speaking again.

"Sorry. About earlier. Didn't mean to scare 'ya." He said lowly, dark eye brows furrowed in concern.

"'S fine." You replied with a shrug. "My fault, anyhow. Was standing in your way."

He didn't say anything, just responded with a nod of his head, eyeing your get-up. "..So, you're a waitress, huh?"

"Yep." You popped the p and took a sip of your beverage.

"Where d'you work?" The concern left his face, replaced with mild curiosity.

"Restaurant a few blocks away. And you?"

"Roseville Gazette." You could feel him forcing humbleness, but it still didn't manage to hide the pride seeping into his voice.

"Huh," You nodded "what do you do?"

"I'm a journalist. Been writing about that Ghostface stuff, 'nd all that." He gestured towards a newspaper pinned to a bulletin board on the wall behind you with his chin.

"Shit. You're not Jed Olsen, are you?" As soon as the words left your mouth, you could feel the pride you had sensed earlier almost double. You could sense it in the way his grey eyes lit up.

"Yeah. You read my stuff?"

"'Course. You're a fantastic writer, 'nd it doesn't hurt to stay informed."

He smiled and searched his wallet. He handed off a five to Macy, and a business card to you. He put his wallet away and picked up the coffee he ordered. "That it doesn't. Do me a favor and lemme know if you see anything suspicious, yeah?"

You breathed a laugh out through your nose. "Not gonna ask me for my name?"

He reached forward and gently tapped the name tag pinned to your shirt with a slim finger. "No need."

"Oh." You 'laughed' again. "Forgot about that."

He nodded. "See ya' 'round, (Y/n)." And then he walked away, leaving you looking down at his number on the card.

You pocketed it and snorted. You wouldn't be calling him.

Chapter Text

It was 1993 when you walked into the restaurant, you told yourself. 

And it was still 1993 when you had walked out. But with no luck, as you still felt like your seven hour shift had been seven years long, instead. 

You dragged your near-limp body into your 1984 Honda Accord and started the ignition with a heavy sigh. 

. 

Unlocking the door to your apartment, you pushed it open with your hip and forced your way inside. Birdie immediately met you at the door with an excited yip, and you met her with a lazy pat on the head.

 Then, you turned and locked the door. Making your way into the kitchen, you filled your fossil of a coffee pot with water and turned it on. Only a few seconds later, you walked into your bedroom and stripped, replacing your clothes with pajamas.

Or, more like, your kind of pajamas. 

Sweat pants with a ribbed tanktop would work for today. 

Shoving your slippers on your feet, you shuffled out of the bedroom and picked up your mug from the coffee table in the living room, dumping out the old coffee in the sink and replacing it with the freshly made coffee from the pot. You sat down on an armchair nearby, taking slow sips out of your mug in between taking slow strokes of Birdie's fur, who had just hopped onto your lap.

Finally, you were able to relax. 

Which is why you nearly jumped out of your skin when the sound of the land line rang throughout the house. 

Gently, you pushed Birdie off of your lap, set down your mug, and picked up the phone. 

"Who's this?" You started with furrowed brows. 

You never usually got calls this late into the day. Hell, you never usually got calls, period. 

Nothing came from the other line. You couldn't even hear breathing. This was so weird. Oh well, it was probably a wrong number. 

"Okay.." You said after a long pause. "I'm going to hang up now." You moved to put the phone back on the receiver. 

"Don't you fuckin' dare." Came a robotic voice, though it sounded masculine. But at the same time, it was familiar.

You'd remembered hearing a recording of it on your TV a while ago.

 Hesitantly, you brought the phone back up to your ear. "Are you..?" You didn't finish your sentence, but you both knew what you meant.

 Are you the guy that's been putting people in news headlines these past two months?

"I don't know," Answered the voice, seeming amused. "Am I?" 

Your mouth went dry. This was definitely 'the' guy. "..Can I hang up now?" 

He clicked his tongue in distaste. "Baby, what's got you in such a hurry? Are you really that scared of a conversation with lil' old me? We haven't even gotten to the fun part yet."

"The fun part?" You repeated, brows still knitted together.

"The part where I spill your guts, sunshine." He responded with a honeyed voice. 

You couldn't control the movement of your arm slamming the phone back onto the line, successfully hanging up on him. You hadn't even realized you were doing it until the harsh clash of plastic on plastic echoed off of your walls. 

You were sure the impact had broken your phone until it rang again, the sound jerking you out of your thoughts.

You didn't pick up this time, instead moving to make sure your doors and windows were locked. In that time, the phone had rung five times. 

And it continued to ring for a half an hour more, the noise having poor Birdie running to the furthest room in the apartment from the phone. 

Eventually, you ended up unplugging the landline from the wall. 

And then you went to sleep, the dull ringing still in the back of your mind. 

Or, at least, tried to sleep.

(You had never been much of an insomniac, but you really couldn't go to sleep./You would've sworn your insomnia was acting up again if not for the events that had just transpired.) 

You only ended up getting a couple hours of sleep that night.

Chapter Text

You woke up in a cold sweat that morning, a few minutes before your alarm.

(You weren't sure if the 'cold sweat' part came from the fact that you just had a nightmare you seemingly don't remember, or from the fact that your landlord still hadn't come by and fixed your heating situation.)

When your alarm finally went off, your hand aimlessly searched for the button on the digital clock just to get it to shut up.

And, when it finally turned off, you threw your blanket off of yourself and got out of bed. Another day. Another shift. Another case of the "I just need to make it to Friday" mentality.

You groaned in pre-exhaustion, pulling open your dresser drawers and finding a clean black T-shirt, a pair of jeans, socks, the works.

Walking over to your bathroom, you dragged a hand down your face, and..

God(s)! Those eye bags!

They just seemed to get worse every time you saw them. And that call last night definitely didn't help.

Right.

The call. You had completely forgotten about it.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you, again, grabbed your concealer and beat it into your face. What were you supposed to do now? Call the police?

God(s), you should've called them last night. Wouldn't it look weird if you called now?

Whatever. It was whatever.

Probably a prank call, anyways. Someone who found the same voice changer the killer uses or something.

Whatever!

You weren't going to let this ruin your day.

.

Or so you thought. But when you made it down to the garage where your car was held, supposedly safe, your heart dropped.

Your car was lower to the ground than usual.

Your tires had been slashed.

And God(s), they weren't just slashed, they were mauled.

There were several scores in each one, like the job had been done with a bear's claws.

And the worst part?

As you got closer, you could see streaks of dried blood where the knife sliced into the rubber of your tire.

Oh, God(s).

If this really was Ghostface, he used the same knife.

Oh, God(s).

He used the same knife.

The same one that he used for multiple murders. You wanted to hurl.

You wanted to kick, scream, cry, vomit, and faint all at the same time.

This was fine.

It was fine.

Totally cool. Whatever. You'd just call some company to come out here and replace them for you.

It was no big deal.

Really, no big deal.

You'd get a ride from your friend Amber to and from work until you could get them fixed.

This was fine.

.

The chime of the restaurant's door as you opened it finally pulled your out of your thoughts.

You made your way behind the register to the little 'employees only' section and clocked in before grabbing the cleanest apron available and pulling it over your head.

You then tied the strings of fabric that hung down from it around your waist, grabbing a notebook and pen and fitting it into your breast pocket.

This would be a longer day than you had hoped.

Chapter Text

The days that followed were.. quiet.

Uneventful.

Even existing in your house felt like rooming with a ticking time bomb right now.

But, at least there were no new calls.

No news is good news, right?

You peered out of your bedroom window to glance at the squad car parked in your apartment's parking lot. One that had been there since you called the police on the day that he had slashed your tires.

And as terrifying as the specks of blood on your car were, you were thankful they were there, for it was the only thing that had the police taking you seriously.

And thank goodness that they did. You had no idea what you would do if you were left here alone, with no protection. Hell, you'd probably be dead by now.

Your best guess was that he was avoiding you because he was afraid of the police outside of your apartment.

And you stuck to that thought, as you finished up getting ready for work and grabbed your car keys before slipping out of the door.

.

You picked out the cleanest apron you could find, though it was still covered in bleach stains and some mysterious black spots towards the front. Grabbing a notebook and a pen, you walked out towards the front of the restaurant.

You jumped as an arm slung itself around your shoulders before you could even get out of the kitchen.

You looked over and were met with greasy hair and an acne covered face. Your coworker, Anthony. You took a step back but his arm stayed firm.

"Hey, (Y/n). I'll take tables four and six if you'll take other four?" As soon as he opened his mouth, the smell of cheap whiskey invaded your nose, and it was so, so hard not to gag.

"Uh-huh." Anything to get him away from you at this point.

"Great!" He beamed. And finally, he let you go and walked away. You brushed your shoulder off and composed yourself.

You sighed. Pretty shitty of him to give you literally double his tables. But at least you might get better tips, right?

Right. You could do this. Only three hours until your break.

"Welcome to Jimmy's. What can I get for you?" The customer service voice that just came out of you was unrecognizable.

"Um." Your customer clicked his tongue. "Can I get a black coffee to start?" Wait. You recognized that voice.

You took a closer look at the guy seated in front of you. "Oh shit, Jed?"

He chuckled. "Took'ya long enough."

You relaxed a little. "Sorry. Almost didn't recognize you with those glasses on."

"Anyways, I'll get started on that coffee for you. Shout if you need anythin'." He nodded and you walked back towards the heat of the kitchen.

You took a mug off of one of many hooks on the wall and grabbed the almost full carafe of coffee off of the edge of the counter, filling the mug.

A few seconds later, you walked back out to Jed and dropped off his drink before moving onto the next table.

Unaware of the eyes glued to your back.

.

Unlocking the door to your apartment and stepping in, your stomach dropped.

You weren't exactly sure why, but something felt wrong.

Birdie didn't come to greet you. All the lights were off. You could hear voices.

Voices coming from the living room.

You closed the door quietly and took a step forward. Then another.

Fear coursing through your veins, you dragged yourself to your living room, avoiding the spots where your wood floors creaked.

After what seemed like a million years, you got to the doorway of your living room.

As predicted, the TV was on. As not predicted, someone was curled up on the couch.

Cuddled up with your fucking dog.

You dragged your eyes up to meet the black pits of the Ghostface mask.

He raised a hand and curled his fingers one after another, in some strange excuse of a wave.

But something about it made a chill run down your spine.

His shoulders bounced with robotic laughter as he tilted his head innocently.

He started to stand.

Chapter Text

Without a second thought, you bolted down the hallway.

What really freaked you out was that you couldn't even hear him following. You could see him getting closer out of the corner of your eye, but his combat boots made no noise as they hit the floor.

Your sneakers screeched as you came to a halt, slamming the bathroom door in his face. And thank god it locked from the inside.

Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your breath. There were no windows in here, which meant no exit other than the door back into the rest of the apartment.

So you just had to wait him out.

An irritated groan came from the other side. "Seriously? You can't even fuckin' look at me after what you did to me? Being left to go to voicemail isn't nice, y'know?" A pause. "But I guess you can't ignore me now, can you, baby?" You weren't sure what the fuck kind of angle he was taking, but he both sounded like he wanted to seduce you and crush you under the sole of his shoe.

"Fucking answer me." He seethed, and your throat closed.

"Please leave." You managed to croak.

Silence. Then laughter. "Jesus, baby.." He started as he came down from his high.

"I didn't think you hated me that much."

The door handle jiggled, but didn't turn. "Just let me in, sweetheart. I'll make it quick, I promise."

Maybe you would laugh if you weren't so fucking terrified.

"C'mon. Just unlock the door. I'll go easy."

"..No thank you."

Silence. Then, "Funny, doll. Let me in."

The blade of a knife swiped under the door and you jumped back in surprise.

"Fine. You know what? I'm gonna to give you a second to think it over. And by the time I come back, if you don't open this goddamn door, I'll fuckin' tear it down. Got it?"

"..Got it." You answered hesitantly. At this point, you were realizing that he could easily come in anytime he wanted. Slide the knife in the crack of the door and use it as a makeshift crowbar. But he really was trying to get to you, wasn't he? Mess with you. You could still hear the TV going.

Silence.

You weren't sure whether or not he had left the door, because all you couldn't hear shit.

Bang.

You flinched, hard, knocking over a few bottles on the shelf behind you.

Crash.

Okay, wait, maybe this is your chance. He's distracted, with whatever he's doing, and he probably wouldn't even hear you leaving if you could leave quietly enough. You had a direct path to the front door.

Clang.

Yeah, that sounded far enough away.

Slowly, methodically, you unlocked the door and turned the knob. You opened the door, just a smidge before sliding out.

You couldn't see him from the hallway. Maybe that was a good thing? You kept your back pressed the the wall and slid to the door.

The door was within reach.

You detached from the wall, reached for the handle, and..

A foot wrapped around your ankle and your face met the floor.

Almost. You caught yourself just in time.

But a gloved hand wrapped around your calf and dragged you back towards the heart of the apartment.

"Can't believe you actually fucking fell for that." He paused to laugh. "Y'know, I applaud your bravery. Thought you were gonna hole yourself up in that bathroom forever."

The hand on your calf flipped you over onto your back suddenly, and then he lowered himself to the ground and straddled your hips.

"Been waitin' for this for a long time." He gripped your chin harshly with leather gloves and turned your head side to side. He hummed with what sounded like admiration.

His fingers dug into your cheeks and pushed them together. "Really such a shame you have to die. You're so pretty. But don't worry baby, you'll look stunning in the papers. I'll make sure of it." Blood rushed to your face at the compliment.

But then something clicked in your brain. Maybe it was the knife in the sheath that seemed to be making eye contact with you, or the word 'die', but suddenly the will to live flooded your mind, and you realized just how close to death you were.

You couldn't exactly freeze or flight in this situation, so fight was really your only option.

Before you could fully grasp what you were doing, your knuckles cracked against the plastic of his mask, and your knee met his crotch.

He groaned in pain, "Fucking bitch!"

And then his hands were on you, grabbing your wrists and holding you down while you flailed around wildly. You managed to kick him in the stomach again before he eventually loosened his grip and you were able to slide out from under him.

You could hear a metallic swish  before he pulled out a giant fucking hunting knife.

You were so, totally, fucked.

You pushed yourself back with your feet as fast as you could, but you didn't get far before he sloppily drove the knife in between your ribs.

The scream that ripped out of you was animalistic. You couldn't even feel most of the pain because of the adrenaline, but the feeling of a knife in your guts was unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

"Aww, poor thing." He cooed. "Don't worry, I didn't hit anything vital, sweetheart." 

The fucking monster above you rose to his feet and stood, pulling a silver camera out of his jean pocket. The flash that followed made your eyes water and squint. You couldn't see it, but somehow you could tell he was smiling.

He clicked his tongue. "Change of plans, doll."

He grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you across the wood floor with surprising ease, stopping at the wall and propping you up against it. You realized what was above you a few seconds later. The landline.

He took the phone off of the hook and placed it in your hand. "Be a good girl for me and call the cops, okay? You can do that?" He asked sweetly. You nodded.

He bent down and ripped his knife out of you, and you were convinced it was worse on the way out than the way in. You couldn't even scream this time, you just stared at him dumbly as tears formed in your eyes.

He dialed the number into the phone above you before waving again.

Then, he just fucking walked away.

"You've reached Roseville Emergency Services, what can I do for you?"

Chapter Text

Yuck. Hospitals.

After your month-long phase of wanting to be a nurse, you quickly developed an aversion to the blinding white walls and the constant presence of staff, which apparently, became even more of a burden the more injured you were.

Even the feel of the itchy hospital gowns couldn't distract you on the ache in your side. You were sure the wound would scar, serving as a permanent reminder of Ghostface's presence.

But who knows how long how long 'permanent' means for you? There was about a 75 percent chance he would kill you now, (which is better than 100%, at least), but it still wouldn't guarantee your safety.

You got out of the hospital in two days. That meant two days to figure out what you would do once you got out.

.

You were getting discharged at three in the afternoon. It was now half past nine, and you were desperate to get the fuck out of here. All the noises of the hospital had started to blend together into mushy white noise at this point, and you were bored out of your mind.

A ride home in Amber's Jeep was calling, no, screaming your name.

You tuned back into reality when you heard footsteps coming towards your room. And it wasn't your usual nurse's. You raised your head, only to be met with dark hair and thinly rimmed glasses. Jed Olsen.

He waved sheepishly.

But something was off. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach.

"Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.. but I was hoping for a quick interview."

You pressed your lips into a fine line and forced out a "Sure."

He stepped towards the only guest chair in the room and sat down, taking out a voice recorder from his breast pocket.

"This won't take long. Again, I'm sorry to bother you." You mentally scoffed. If he was sorry, he wouldn't be here right now. "Do you mind if I record?"

You shook your head. He smiled. "Great." He flicked on the recorder. "Jed Olsen, March 6th, 1993. Discussion of Ghostface attack which occurred on March 2nd, 1993, with victim." He spoke into the recorder with practiced efficiency.

He cleared his throat before turning his face towards you. "So, (Y/n), could you remember any events before the attack which might've led you to believe that the assault was expected?"

You hummed. Should you tell him about the call? Well, it was probably already logged in some police records somewhere. And you had no real reason to lie, so..

"Yeah." He perked up at that. "He called me before, I think. Could've been a freaky coincidence with a prank caller, but it's the only thing I can think of." Except for the tires. You decided to leave that part out.

"He called you? What did he say?"

You shrugged. "'Dunno. Don't really remember." Liar. You'd replayed that conversation a hundred times over in your head. "Somethin' bout spilling my guts."

He nodded. "Right. And could you tell me about the night of the stabbing?"

"Mm. There's not really much to say about it. Came home and he was just.. there. Tried to hide in the bathroom. Got a little too cocky and ran for the door. I didn't make it, obviously."

He nodded again. "Why do you think he spared you?" You froze. What the fuck kind of question is that?

"Sorry, um." He cleared his throat. "What I mean is.. This guy has 23 kills. No survivors. No witnesses. There's no second encounters. Is there anything that could've indicated favoritism?"

"How the fuck should I know? What, I met the guy once and I'm supposed to know everything about him? How he thinks?" You snapped. "I don't know, and I don't care. The only time I ever even want to hear the name Ghostface again is when he gets fried in the fuckin' electric chair."

"He stabbed me and left. That's all I know. That's all I want to know."

He stared blankly at you.

You ran the hand that wasn't attached the the IV pole over your face. "Sorry. I just.."

"No, I get it. This kind of reaction is natural. Thank you for your time and patience today." He flicked the recorder off before standing and turning towards the door.

"I'll see you around, (Y/n). I hope you have a steady recovery." He walked out of the door before you could protest.

Fuuuuck.

You just fucked up.

But the weirdest part about it?

When you yelled at him, he didn't seem scared. Or angry. Or disappointed. He didn't really seem anything.

Anything except for satisfied. Like he was proud to get a reaction out of you.

And that didn't exactly make you feel any better about him.

Chapter Text

It'd been a week or so since you'd returned from the hospital.

A couple days since Amber had come over and helped you pack your essentials into your beat-down suitcase, since you were still recovering and couldn't do it by yourself.

A couple days since you'd drove yourself to the best quality, pet-friendly motel you could find with Birdie in the backseat.

And an hour since you'd clocked into work.

You'd switched your schedule around and started working nights to avoid people. By 'people', you meant Ghostface.

You figured that if you were out of sight, you'd be out of mind until this whole thing blew over. And if it didn't, you'd have to start going to open houses in New Orleans or something.

But never mind that, you had to focus.

Working at a 24-hour diner meant taking advantage of the time between customers to clean. Not like there were many customers, anyways.

But you liked to keep close eyes on the ones that did show up, because most people that come to a diner at 1:00 AM seem pretty sketchy. Aside from the occasional road-trip takers that pass by in search of a quick pitstop.

You glanced at a spill of water on the floor before walking into the back of the restaurant to grab a few towels.

There were only two cooks in the back. One of which, Elizabeth, you think, was reading some cheesy romance book, while the other cooked a grilled cheese. You were pretty sure his name was Jake.

You waved to both as you picked up a damp towel from the floor to reuse. It only had two bleach stains. A new record.

Walking back towards the front, you lazily dropped the towel over the spilt water and rubbing it in with the sole of your sneaker for a few seconds. You picked the (now sopping wet) towel up and started towards the back again. You got halfway towards the front again before the phone started ringing.

You flinched. Muscle memory.

It's fine. Just a customer.

You picked up the phone and switched 'customer service mode' on. "Hi, this is Jimmy's, how can I help you?"

A pause. Then, "Where'd you go, baby? I miss you."

Oh fuck no.

You knew who this was.

"I'm gonna give you two seconds to spit whatever the fuck you have to say out before I hang up." You hissed with grit teeth.

He laughed. It sent a shiver down your spine that you refused to address. "So angry, sugar." He let out a shaky breath.

You moved to hook the phone on the receiver. "Don't hang up." You rolled your eyes, but brought the phone back up to your ear.

"You gonna answer my question or what?" The smugness in his voice was really pissing you off. But there was something else there that you couldn't place.

"Repeat it for me?" You crossed your arms with the request.

He clicked his tongue. You could hear fabric rustling in the background. "Where'd you go?"

"Dunno what you mean. I didn't go anywhere."

"Liar. You haven't been to the apartment since Thursday. It's Saturday. You took the dog, too. You hidin' from me?"

You huffed. You'd deal with the horror of his access to that information later. "God(s), you're a fucking creep. What, you think I'm gonna stay in the apartment and run the risk of getting stabbed again?"

He let out a low groan. "Keep talking dirty to me, sweetheart."

Oh my god(s). You knew why he called you now.

The groans, the pauses, the shuffling in the background.

"You're getting off to this." You realized out loud.

"There, we go sunshine. Atta girl. You finally figured it out." Another, quieter groan. One that sent your blood rushing to your cheeks.

"You're sick." You had never felt so conflicted between being disgusted and turned on.

"But you love it, don't you? If you didn't, you would've tried harder to get away. Fought a little more. Ran a little faster."

You didn't have a response to that. Your eye twitched.

He clicked his tongue. "Anyway, where've you been stayin', sweetheart?"

You scoffed. "I am not telling you."

"Fine, then. I'll find out myself."

Click

The line went dead.

Chapter Text

It'd been a few days since the unsavory conversation you'd had with Ghostface. Maybe four? It was getting harder to remember things.

In the time between, there'd been complete radio silence from his end. No threats, no phone calls, no warnings, nothing.

You were still staying at the motel, his lingering threat of "finding out" echoing in your head when you thought about moving back into your apartment.

And so here you were, 9PM, wiping spilled sweet tea off of a table and it's booth. The handiwork of some snotty brat, judging by the crayons now practically glued to the leather of the seat. God, you really hated this job sometimes.

You were starting to feel a migraine coming on.

But you sucked it up in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you'd get a good tip tonight.

You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand and straightened up. You stared at the stain. Barely noticeable, unless you were looking for it. It'd have to do.

The gentle chime of a bell had your head snapping towards the door.

Fuuuck. It was Jed! That ass. 

And you were the only waiter that could take him, since you were the only one that worked the night shift. Just peachy.

"I'll be right with you in a second." You shouted to him before turning on your heel and walking towards the back of the restaurant. You think he nodded, but you weren't paying enough attention to see it.

As soon as you were out of earshot, you sighed. Then groaned in irritation. Could this night get any worse?

You dropped the dirty towel on the counter, walking past your coworkers in favor of the sink. You turned it on and washed your hands, drying them with a paper towel. Then you dragged a cool hand over your face.

It wasn't like you had a huge problem with Jed, you thought as you made your way back to the front. You just weren't his biggest fan. And there was no doubt in your head that this was about to be the most awkward customer interaction that you've ever had since your little outburst at the hospital.

You took in a breath.

But it was fine. You would be totally fine.

You came back to find that Jed had seated himself at one of the many open tables. You grabbed a menu on the way over, customer service mode flicked on. You could make it out of this interaction alive if you were soulless and smiley enough. Probably.

"Do you know what you're going to get already, or do you need a look over of the menu?" You asked sweetly, sliding the menu over to him.

He eyed the laminated paper before refocusing on you, his expression too cryptic to read. "I'll just take a coffee for right now."

"Black, right?" He smiled at your question. It sent a chill down your spine, for some reason.

"You know me so well." That sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. 

"I'll be right back with your coffee." And then you turned on your heel and started walking back towards the kitchen.

Grabbing the handle of the carafe, you picked up the first mug you could find and poured the hours old, lukewarm coffee in. You picked the mug up.

Maybe if Jed had been a little nicer to you, you would've done him the favor of heating up the coffee. Maybe even make him a fresh brew. But you were still irrationally mad at him, so room temperature, slimy coffee would have to do.

Finding his table again, you slid the coffee over to him just as you did the menu. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Not for now, no. But uh, d'you mind if I work in here?" Holding in the sigh that came after his question was impossibly hard.

"Not at all," You smiled. "Stay as long as you like. Not like it's rush hour or anything."

He laughed. It sounded fake. "Haha, yeah." At least you weren't the only one acting now.

"Right, well, shout if you need anything." And then you slid away and returned to the kitchen before he could ask for anything else. A strategic move, of course.

God(s), you needed a drink. Maybe it was time to call up a friend. You had a day off coming up soon, it would be nice to use it for some fun, right?

Peeking your head around a corner, you found Elizabeth, nose buried in a book. Time to cash in a favor. "Hey Liz?"

"Um," She looked up from the book, sticking a bookmark between the pages. Her eyes met yours. "Yeah?"

"You've got one of those wireless telephone things, right?" She nodded, "You mind if I borrow it for a sec?"

She grimaced. "Uh, I don't kn-"

You cut her off quickly, "Remember when I covered for you when you were throwing up in the bathroom last December? And took your shift for you?"

She rolled her eyes with a sigh of defeat. "God, fiine. Just be careful with it. It's brand new."

You grinned, and this time, it was genuine. "Thanks, Liz."

She lightly tossed you the device and you scrambled to catch it. You stared at it for a couple of seconds before starting towards the bathroom to make your call.

"But you owe me one after this!" She called after you.

"That's not how that works!" You shouted in response. Man, she was kind of a bitch sometimes. 

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you ran your thumb over the rough pink rhinestones that covered its surface. You got customizing your things, but was dressing up a phone to the point that it looked like it looked like a had hit it glitter bomb really necessary? You could've sworn your eyes were burning with the sight of it.

You pushed open the bathroom door with your hip and made your way inside. You flicked open the phone and stared at it for a couple seconds. It was only your third time trying to use one of these. You could figure it out, yessiree.

Your thumbs pressed against the numbers slowly, methodically.

3..

8..

6..

..

9..

5..

Rinse and repeat until you had successfully dialed Amber's number. 

Okay, maybe you were lying to yourself about having friends a couple weeks ago, because she was really the only one you knew here that you actually liked. Other than Macy, who you weren't sure counted as a real friend.

But hopefully she would be free to hang out on Wednesday.

The phone rang as you held it up to your ear.

Click.

"Amber? It's (Y/n)."

"Oh, hey. Didn't recognize the number for a second. What's up?"

"Just, uh, wanted to see if you were free Wednesday? Maybe 5:00pm? I've got a day off."

"Mm. Yeah, sure, I can do that. See you then?"

"See you then." And then you hung up. Score!

Practically skipping out of the bathroom, you walked over to the table Elizabeth was sitting on and handed her phone back to her. "Thanks again. By the way, where's Jake?"

She raised a brow, lifting her head to make eye contact. "You mean Jacob?"

You laughed awkwardly. "Yeah. Jacob."

She shrugged. "Think he went to take out the trash."

You nodded. "Cool. Well, I'm gonna go ask Mr. Journalist how his nasty ass coffee is."

"Right. You do that." She said with the least amount of interest possible.

And back to the front you went.

Until you lurched forward.

The tile rose faster than lightening, and your steady grip on the counter was the only thing that kept your face from hitting the sticky floor.

You steadied yourself, looking around. The only thing more embarrassing than actually falling is almost falling. But your only possible witness was nose deep in a pile of paperwork, so at least there was that.

And as you looked down at your shoes, it was no wonder you'd tripped. Both were haphazardly untied. You sighed and bent down, starting to tie them.

Jed sighed loudly and clicked his tongue.

You froze.

Your eyes widened, and the strings of your shoe laces fell from your suddenly still fingers.

Any you suddenly realized who else had a little habit of clicking their tongue when in thought. And why everything Jed did was so oddly familiar.  

The phone call from a few days ago repeated in your head. And any other time you'd talked to Ghostface. And any other time you'd talked to Jed.

The dots connected themselves from there. It would explain why they both showed up in your life at the same time. Why they both seemed to have so much interest in you.

But it had to be a coincidence. It's just some little habits they share.

Unless it isn't. Unless it is.

Because there was no way that a goody two shoes, incel dork could be a narcissistic serial killer mastermind.

Jed couldn't be Ghostface. There was no way.

Right?

Chapter Text

Danny'd fucked up.

Yes, although it was hard to swallow, he was able to admit when he was wrong. Occasionally.

Because he hadn't actually meant to spare you that night. It was supposed to be a quick and easy job. Maybe a little taunting here and there, and maybe if things hadn't gone haywire for him, he might've just let you go on purpose. Maybe. You were redeeming enough for it, and he was sure that if he did his best to instill the fear of god into you, you wouldn't tell a soul. You would make a good alibi for Jed.

Plus, you were kind of cute, in some ways.

Very pretty. Like one of those marble statues you'd see in a museum. Not that he'd ever been to one, anyway. He wasn't pompous enough for that.

He certainly hadn't complained during the rare occasions where you had changed with the curtains open, or even simply slept with them drawn.

But there was really nothing better than the face you make when you cry. Maybe that was what had thrown him off so much. The way that your face twisted into agony when he drove his knife into your stomach was nothing short of invigorating. Exciting!

And it wasn't anything new to him, he'd seen that expression a hundred times on a hundred people. But it was just better when it was you.

Everything was better when it was you.

..Like masturbation! Which was his second mistake. Good going, Danny. Call up your favorite girl and creep her out so she'll like you more. He usually had no qualms with being a sadistic asshole, but again, it was different with you. He almost felt bad.

But your nasty attitude towards both Jed and Ghostface made him feel better. He gets Ghostface, but really? Jed?

There must be something he'd done to you, because your blatant dislike for him was really throwing him off. So much that he was really starting to struggle with his acting skills around you.

Maybe..

Nope, nothing came to mind.

He would've guessed that you'd figured him out already, if the evidence that you hadn't wasn't blatantly obvious. If you knew, you would've definitely avoided him much more than you already did. Maybe you would've made one of your little friends in the back come out and serve him instead. There was at least a couple back there, he'd heard two different voices the times he's been in there, (both with and without your knowledge), which are few.

Then again, and although he's not too knowledgeable in the field of retail, maybe you'd figured it out already and your colleagues just..

Aw, hell, Danny doesn't know. Maybe it was against some FDA rule or something.

It's a possibility. He always knew you were a smart cookie, even though it took you a while to call the cops. Yet, not a realistic possibility. He hadn't given enough hints for you to figure that out. He's just too good.

He blew out through his mouth and ran a hand through his mousy brown hair. Splat-died, slightly crunchy, brown hair. He hated the excessive gel he had to use to fit the 'Jed' slot, but he loved getting into character. Maybe in another life, he could've been an actor. He wasn't quite self-absorbed enough for that, though, so scratch that.

He squinted as he stared into the bathroom mirror, combing his fingers through his hair like a school nurse looking for lice. Jet black started to peer through the disgustingly shaped hair cut he'd given himself; an eighties boy-next-door helmet that'd long gone out of style even though the decade had only ended 3 years ago. He'd have to re-dye his roots soon.

"You're so fuckin' special.."

Droned the radio sitting on the bathroom sink. Some obscure band with a whiny singer and a newly released album that was apparently very popular on this station. What was this song called? 'Stranger'?

Danny pushed his fingers into the bridge of his nose and sighed. He should be excited. This is a big day for him!

"—But I'm a creep!"

Ah, that's right. 'Creep'. Close enough.

Anyway, today's the day that he meets his new boss. The other one had been swiftly replaced after he met an untimely demise. Not Danny's work, of course, he wouldn't waste his time on a guy like him. He was scummy, sure, but not scummy enough that he'd risk blowing his cover by killing someone so obviously tied to him. No, the guy had had a heart attack after spending too much time in the Gazette parking lot with a box of McDonald's fries. Yikes.

"I'm a weirdo."

Danny picked up the mascara wand resting on the sink and combed the tiniest bit into the longest bits of his lashes. A trick he learned from his mom after years of watching her do her makeup, he'd realized that batting long lashes always made people look more innocent. Hey, who's to say it couldn't work for guys, too?

"What the hell am I doin' here?"

Jed was a mascara guy, but Danny usually had a flair for eyeliner. Embarrassing to admit, but true. He loved the 'sleep-deprived' look it gave him when he smudged it. Just not for Jed.

Jed needed to be an all-American goody-goody boy. Eyeliner for him could not fly. So plaid button-ups and khaki shorts it was.

Danny was really starting to hate Jed.

Hard to express yourself while stuck in another man's skin.

"I don't belong here, "

Danny was honestly just considering buzzing his head off and dying it all blonde, military style. Maybe moving out to New York. No one would notice him there, in such a big city. He could be whoever he wanted to be. He could be Danny again. Real, true Danny.

"I don't care if it hurts,"

But then again, he'd moved out to such a small town for the pure reason that it was a small town. He'd make a big splash as Ghostface, write his own headlines, and then disappear as fast as he came. He couldn't be a big influence in New York, with the crime rate and population and such. Plus, he had another anchor.

And he just couldn't leave that anchor alone now, could he?

" I wanna have control."