CHAPTER 3
The Most Fun a Girl Can Have

☠︎

      Principal Himbry's palm lay atop the backrest of your chair, moving slowly to and fro. His fingertips came nearer to ghosting over your shoulder with each movement. You guessed his intention was to soothe, but his only success was in making your spine curve subtly away from his touch.

He had claimed this would only take a minute, and you desperately hoped that was the truth.

Directly across from you was Sheriff Burke, his stare cold and unblinking. He sat coolly, holding a flimsy, disposable coffee cup in place atop his thigh, drumming his fingers lightly against the lid.

Dewey—or Deputy Riley, per his own insistence—stood just over his superior's shoulder, spruce and boyish in his uniform, with a large clipboard between his hands. You found your gaze flicking repeatedly toward his face, toward its warmth and familiarity.

The sheriff, eyes steadily fastened on you, asked, his words deliberate, "How well did you know Casey Becker?"

You met his stony eye, swallowing hard. "Not at all, really. We never talked." Your mouth was dry and struggled to give the words passage.

He raised the paper cup and pressed it to his lips, considering your answer. His eyes narrowed slightly beneath his brows, searching your face. "Is that right?" he drawled between sips. He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, bringing the cup steadily back down to his lap.

The hint of skepticism in his voice threw your mind awry. An array of worries sprang to life before you with a sudden vigor: cameras, witnesses, fingerprints, loose strands of hair.

At once you felt as if you had walked into a trap. Had you already been sniffed out? Would you be leaving this room with your wrists cuffed together, wrung dry of all your secrets? You considered laying them all bare right now and cutting the torment short.

Before you could fully think it over, you heard that voice within you again, dark and teeming with an unnerving certainty: I'll be seeing you. You swore you would be hearing it perpetually for the rest of your days—an amount of time you knew could vary depending on how you spoke and carried yourself within this room.

When the entirety of Woodsboro High was due for questioning, how could you be certain that the killer wasn't listening in on this conversation, waiting for you to slip up so he could pull you aside and tear your insides out, just as he had Casey and Steve? Maybe that would be your karma for leaving them to die, terrified and alone.

You clasped your hands together to hide the frantic way in which they shook. "...Um, yes, sir." The effort needed to keep your voice from wavering was monumental.

Sheriff Burke hummed deep in his throat. "Can you tell us where you were last night?" You heard his fingers tapping methodically against the cardboard sleeve of his cup.

"I was at the video store," you said. "Working."

He was gratingly resolute. "And after that?"

You opened your mouth, hesitated, then shut it tightly.

To your knowledge, no one was aware of your presence at the Beckers' last night. When you had stopped home to fetch your assortment of tapes, your parents had long been in bed, their bodies warm and slack beneath the covers. By the time you had returned—trembling, disoriented, tearful—they had been in an even deeper state of sleep.

Likewise, the video store had nearly been empty when Casey had approached you, curious-eyed, at the register. Randy had been working alongside you, but, as far as you knew, had been preoccupied somewhere in the back, taking care of new shipments or something of a similar nature. There was little chance of him having overheard your conversation.

You looked quickly upward, lost, toward Dewey and his countenance. His brows were slightly furrowed, and his eyes harbored an inkling of concern. You were certain he could sense your indecision.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, body tense and ridden with nerves. Your choices were slim. Either you told the truth and risked calling harm upon yourself, or you lied, digging yourself into a deeper, grimier hole, but effectively self-preserving.

You played last night's events over in your head as if on a film reel. You hadn't bloodied your hands, but you had been at the scene of the crime just minutes before it was executed. For a small, shaken town—home to residents who were thrown into disarray and desperate for an arrest to be made, for someone to shun and to blame—you thought that might be conclusive enough. Your choice weighed heavily upon you, even before you voiced it. "I—I just went home. It was late."

Sheriff Burke pursed his lips, staring intensely through you, scrutinizing your manner. After a long moment, he asked, "Is there something you want to say?"

You inhaled heftily through your nose. "No, sir, it's just—it's so terrible what happened to them," you rambled, stumbling over your words. "I can't imagine what they were feeling. And the phone calls...God, it's sick."

His fingers paused in their drumming. There was a charged, prolonged beat of silence. Within it, you found yourself acutely aware of his every shift in expression, of the aged set of knuckles near your shoulder, of Dewey and his look of naive confusion, of the feel of your heartbeat, fervent against your rib cage. Then, skeptically: "...Who said anything about a phone call?"

Your body went rigid in an instant. You felt every pair of eyes in the room flicker toward your face, felt their burn on the skin of your cheeks, on the pupils of your eyes. You clenched your teeth, brain chaotic. Your thoughts circled hurriedly back to your conversation with Stu, and a light bulb—your savior—went off in your head. You were suddenly grateful for his prattling mouth.

"Gale Weathers!" The words spewed out of you with little consideration. Your heart was beating so rapidly you feared it might rupture and kill you on the spot. "She was here, and—and I heard her mention it." You attempted a slight, wry laugh. "You know how she is."

The sheriff looked warily back at you. "And what did she say, exactly?"

You faltered. "Just that the killer called Casey before he"—your insides twisted at having to speak it aloud—"before he murdered her." It was searing and foul in the mouth.

He slouched farther into his seat, raising a calloused hand to knead at his creased forehead, now cradled between his index and his thumb. Then he let it go limp against his thigh in acquiescence. He inhaled slowly, exhaled even more so. "It's not smart to believe everything you hear."

You nodded your head respectfully, itching to make your exit. "I know, sir."

He stared silently at you for a moment longer. Then he sighed, nodding his head toward the door with a reluctant "Alrighty."

At the threshold, Dewey routinely handed you a small slip of paper; you took it from his grasp, no questions asked. As you slipped out of the office, he looked strangely down at you, frowning, his face irresolute.

☠︎

      "What kinda questions did they ask you guys?" The assertive sound of Tatum's voice was accompanied by the soft, unceasing trickle of the fountain at her back. She leaned casually into Stu's side, her box-blonde hair glimmering beneath the mild afternoon sun.

Sidney's voice, sweet and airy, followed in quick succession. "Well, they asked me if I knew Casey." Billy was sprawled out languidly behind her, supine against the hard ledge of the fountain, and she twiddled her fingers, cross-legged, from her place between his thighs.

"Yeah, me too." Your forefinger moved slowly along the marbled edge of the fountain, tracing invisible shapes and figures. Your hands trembled as they had before. Thinking of all that had been said in that room sent a chill coiling around your spine, catching on its bony ridges. "And they wanted to know where I was last night."

The soles of Tatum's chic white boots scuffed the concrete. "Oh, yeah, they asked me that too."

Beside you, Randy, detached from the conversation, tossed an M&M into the air; as it descended, he threw his head back and caught it impressively with his mouth.

You saw Stu angle his head toward Billy, his arm slung lazily over Tatum's shoulder. "Hey, did they ask if you like to hunt?"

Billy plucked the outer shell of a sunflower seed from his tongue, discarding it into the water with a faint splash. "Yeah, they did." Looking skyward, he pushed another between his lips and swished it around his mouth, licking at the salt. "They ask you?"

As Stu nodded in affirmation, Tatum asked, "Hunt? Why would they ask you if you like to hunt?" Her brows were furrowed in curiosity.

"'Cause their bodies were gutted," Randy said around a mouthful of candy. His voice was nasally and full of the usual histrionics.

Suppressing a wince, you tightly gripped the edge of the fountain, nudging him with your elbow.

Sharing your sentiment, Billy propped himself up with a forearm, his stare derisive. "Thank you, Randy." His gaze flickered briefly to yours as he tenderly massaged Sidney's shoulder with his palm. His eyes were blank, whatever lie behind them indiscernible.

Sidney, enfolded by his body, stared downward in rumination, her face plainly contorted with disgust. You could only imagine what was running through her head at a time like this.

"They didn't ask me if I like to hunt." Tatum was indignant, gesticulating with her hands.

A welcome surge of relief, gentle and caressing, warmed your insides, melting the tension that had stiffened your body and quickened your pulse. No one had asked you that either. You exhaled through your nose, feeling some of the stress leave your body. Maybe you weren't as screwed as you'd once thought.

"That's 'cause there's no way a girl coulda' killed 'em," said Stu, his tone altered by the force of his laughter.

Tatum scoffed beneath his arm, glared up at him, and spoke almost didactically: "That is so sexist! The killer could easily be female. Basic Instinct?"

Randy met her eye with a boldness. "That was an ice pick." He squinted as he talked. "Not exactly the same thing."

"Seriously?" You backed her up, eyes glinting with challenge. The opportunity for distraction was gladly received. "What about I Spit on Your Grave?" You extended your palm toward him in request.

He obliged, pouring you a decently-sized handful of M&Ms. His lurid shoes tapped quickly against the concrete as he said, too smugly, "Revenge plot." He leaned backward and put his weight onto his palms, smiling in mockery. "Doesn't count."

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him, working the corners of your lips upward and into a small, spurious grin of your own. "Why not?" You lifted your hand and popped the chocolate into your mouth, unyielding.

Stu looked raptly around, from person to person and face to face, before he interjected, "Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. And the fact is, it takes a man to do something like that." As he spoke, his eyes seemed to linger on yours. You swore there was something lurking in them, just behind the thin blue layer of the irises—something intense and taunting, something that ached to get a rise out of you.

You stared down at the tattered laces of your shoes, suddenly abound with paranoia. You could feel his gleeful stare burning into your profile.

Tatum rolled her eyes in mild irritation, brushing a pale strand of hair from her soft, sunlit face. "Or a man's mentality."

Sidney scoffed—lightly, in a quiet sort of disbelief—under her breath. Her eyes moved not a fraction upward from her lap when she asked, "How do you...gut someone?" Her voice was tenuous, oversoft.

The atmosphere was so ridden with discomfort that it seemed almost tangible.

Stu whipped his head toward her, letting the silence marinate long enough for his words to have the utmost effect. Then: "You take a knife"—he flattened his palms in the air and began mimicking the necessary motions—"and you slit 'em from groin to sternum."

Tatum groaned, socking him in the arm, but he was undeterred.

With a growing sense of unease, you watched his hands cut effortlessly, almost gracefully, through the air. You felt your skin going warm, and you were sure it wasn't by fault of the Californian sun.

Billy took notice of the general look of discomfort. "Hey, it's called tact, you fuck rag." His gaze was steady and penetrating, directed solely at Stu, who answered by throwing his hands up and smiling widely, playing innocent.

"She asked!"

Billy narrowed his eyes in response, unspeaking.

Randy, seemingly oblivious to cues, rummaged through his movie-filled brain for the perfect example, his eyes aglow. "Remember in Jaws when they caught the wrong shark at first, and when Richard Dreyfuss cut it open to look for body parts"—he extended his hand in midair, as if reaching into the belly himself—"all they found was a license plate and all this white, milky goo?" He jerkily waved his hand, pretending to shake the wetness from it.

His fingers neared your face in the midst of their flailing, and you scowled up at him, unable to rid your mind of the nauseating image of a hand reaching into Casey's lacerated middle, retracting with a squelch, and coming back red. You muttered, "Gross, Ray," raising your upper lip in disgust, close to shuddering.

Stu piped up next, a barking, obedient hound groveling at his owner's heel: "Yeah, you heard Billy. Shut the fuck up."

His spirit seemed to lessen as Sidney puckered her brow, wondering aloud, "Hey, Stu, didn't you used to date Casey?"

You frowned at her question, suddenly struck by a pang of regret. It had completely slipped your mind to check up on him and ask how he was feeling, what with the chaotic state your mind had been in all day.

Stu chuckled, nearly scoffing, and you could hear the falsity of it. "Yeah, for like, two seconds."

Randy momentarily rose from his perch on the fountain's ledge, leaning forward so that he was in uncomfortably close proximity to Tatum's face. "Before she dumped him for Steve," he said into her ear, stirring the pot. He sat back down beside you with an impish grin.

Tatum immediately turned to Stu, sounding offended and looking more so by the second. "I thought you dumped her for me?"

Stu gripped her shoulders with both of his hands, looking placatingly into her eyes. "I did!" He shot a glare in Randy's direction. "He's fulla' shit."

"And are the police aware that you dated the victim?" Randy raised his brows in accusation.

"Hey, what're you saying?" Stu loured at him, unflinching. "That I killed her?"

Your eyes vacillated between the two of them as they argued back and forth.

"It would certainly improve your high school 'Q,'" Randy said matter-of-factly.

You watched as Tatum leaned into her boyfriend's chest, set her hand atop his knee, and smiled suggestively. "Stu was with me last night, okay?"

"Yeah, I was!" Stu was giddy, all smiles.

Randy eyed him up and down. "Ooh! Was that before or after he sliced and diced?" The latter half of his question was voiced through gritted teeth.

Tatum grinned bitterly, briefly running her tongue over her gums. "Fuck you, nutcase. Where were you last night?"

"Working, thank you." He spun out each syllable in emphasis.

"Oh, at the video store?" Tatum gave a scoffing sort of laugh, her eyes ripe with disbelief. "I thought they fired your sorry ass."

"They did." You leaned forward to peer at her over Randy's shoulder, snickering under your breath. "Twice." His head pivoted toward you, and you were forced to meet his eye and see the puerile betrayal that saturated them. "Worst employee of the year by a long shot."

Randy put on a mock, Corleone-esque accent, his voice gravelly and difficult to take seriously. "You broke my heart." He extended his middle and index fingers to imitate the barrel of a gun, his thumb the hammer, and prodded you in the forehead. "Where were you last night?"

You swatted his hand away. "At work! Not my fault you were too busy jacking it to the cover of Prom Night to notice."

He heightened the pitch of his voice to match that of a child's. "Oh, really? And where'd you go after that?"

A seed of disquiet sprouted in your gut, and tension poured back into your body's every cavity. You fiddled with your hands, struggling to keep your joking, combative manner in tact. After a moment, you said, inadvertently curt, "Home, Randy. Obviously."

His bearing seemed to harden, and his lips tilted a shade downward. "Y'know, that's funny, 'cause I didn't see your car in the driveway." Your heart rate picked up as he continued. "Let's be honest here. Did you get a little knife happy on the way home? Sidetracked by your unquenchable thirst for sweet, young blood?" He raised his hands, palms facing you, and wiggled his fingers in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of Dracula.

You looked at him with something close to a scowl. "I had to stop for gas, Sherlock." The lie fell from your lips with little thought, and you were moderately surprised—and a tad proud—that you hadn't stumbled over the words. Trying your damnedest to divert the attention from yourself, you asked, eyes brimming with suspicion, "Why were you on my street anyway, smartass?"

There was a deep furrow in Stu's brow as he tapped a finger against his cheek, feigning contemplation. "Yeah, man. What were you doing on her street, huh?" The flippancy was evident in his tone.

Randy threw his hands up, jerking his head around in offense. "What?" It sounded something of a squeal coming out of his mouth. "It's on the way!"

Billy snickered, raising a hand to swipe a rogue strand of hair from his face. "Sure it is."

You laughed along with him, feeling spurred on, and looked back at Randy. "Did you bring your binoculars with you?" you asked, widening your eyes and fluttering your lashes. "What about your video camera?"

"You know what?" Randy squinted down at you, threw a handful of candy into his mouth, and fell back to his usual waggishness. "Yeah, I did. Crazy expensive shit." In the midst of chewing, he quickly pinched the thin fabric of your shirt sleeve between his fingers, letting it snap back against your shoulder upon release. "Didn't realize you looked like The Thing under there." He eyed you up and down, curling his lip for maximum effect.

You jerked your shoulder backward, mouth agape. "Says you!"

He abruptly brought himself to a stand and began pacing before the fountain, speaking as if to a much larger audience. "But seriously! I mean—hello—good girl gone bad?" He made wild, innumerous gestures with his hands. "The people devour that shit! It's on the rise!"

You made a sly grab for the packet of candy he had abandoned; you shoved a hand inside of it and chucked a piece at him, successfully hitting him in the side of the head. "You're crazy, Randy. Does the nurse know that you're out?"

He marched up to you and snatched the bag away with haste. "Ha ha!" he said in a monotone, plopping back down beside you.

It was a moment before anyone spoke, and your ears filled primarily with sweet birdsong, twinkling bike bells, and the faint, lulling dribble of the fountain.

Suddenly, Stu said—soberly, with assurance—"Well, I didn't kill anybody."

He received a number of strange looks in response.

"Nobody said you did." Billy, brooding and equipped with a glower, raised his brows significantly.

"Thanks, buddy!" Stu gave him a deriding pout, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Besides"—Randy put on his best Stu impression, imitating both his expression and his voice—"'It takes a man to do something like that.'"

Stu laughed disdainfully. "Yo, I'm gonna gut your ass in a second, kid."

"Tell me somethin'." Randy moved to hover over him. "Did you really put her liver in the mailbox? 'Cause I heard that they found her liver in the mailbox next to her spleen and her pancreas."

You cringed as you noticed Sidney squirming in discomfort and reaching for her bag.

"Randy, you goon-fuck!" Tatum grasped at his arm, pulling him back down to a sit. "I'm trying to eat here."

Stu leaned his head over her shoulder to meet his eye. "She's getting mad, Ray. You better liver alone." He laughed with verve, sticking his tongue out. "Liver alone!"

Sidney slung her bag over her shoulder, pressed a chaste kiss to Billy's cheek, and stalked hastily off.

"Liv—"

Billy extended his arm and punched Stu forcefully in the shoulder, glaring all the while.

"—Ow! Liver! Liver! It was a joke."

☠︎

Author's Note: FYI, I'm (slightly) extending the timeline from this point forward. There won't be any huge differences; some things will just be pushed back a little for the sake of adding extra scenes and fleshing out the plot & the characters.

Other than that, comments & feedback are always appreciated! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far. This chapter is kind of subpar, but it took a bit longer than I'd hoped to finish, and I don't wanna leave you guys hanging for too long. I've been looking forward to writing the next one, so stay tuned for that!