"Sid... it's happening again."

.

.

.

"And just one night after a local teen was attacked in her home by an assailant in a Ghostface costume, Sheriff Judy Hicks has now confirmed two more late-night attacks that have left Woodsboro reeling..."

Dewey sprung to his feet as Layla came crashing through the door of the trailer, a brick in her hand and a crazed look on her face. He shouted out in surprise, the coffee cup that he had been clutching (which definitely was not full of coffee) smashing as it hit the kitchen tiles.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Layla breathed, tears in her eyes as she took Dewey in. He nodded, a hand still clutched over his chest as he tried to recover from the shock of her slamming through the door. He moved forward, allowing the girl to throw herself against him and encircle her arms tightly around the man.

He made gentle hushing noises as she sobbed against his chest, having dropped the brick on the ground once she had seen that he was alive and okay. He wasn't sure what had caused the reaction, but he had a gut feeling it was to do with the Ghostface attacks, and the way that Layla was still clutching her phone in her other hand.

"They said... I just thought they had you," she whimpered out, her voice so quiet that Dewey barely caught it over the sound of the morning news. He had been barely paying attention to the breaking news surrounding two more Ghostface attacks, having been hovering his finger over the contact saved in his phone for his ex-wife. "I thought you were dead!"

"Hey, hey," Dewey soothed her, placing his hands on her shoulders and lightly moving her so that he could look into his eyes and see the sincerity in them. "I'm not going anywhere."

Layla nodded, breathing in and out a little slower as he brushed some of the loose hair strands out of her face. He pulled her back in for a final hug, his eyebrows furrowing a little as he heard some of the ceramic of his smashed mug crunch under her running shoes.

They both pulled apart, with Layla looking a little sheepish as she noticed the liquid that was over the tiles and the smashed ceramic. She blushed a little, embarrassment taking over as she realised that it was her fault that one of his favourite cups was broken.

"I'm sorry," she began but Dewey waved her off, not wanting to hear her apologise when she had only burst in because she thought he was in danger.

"Kiddo, why don't you go take a shower and I'll clean this up," Dewey reassured her, a smile on his face as he tried to cheer her up even though he was shit-scared about the return of Ghostface. "We can talk about whatever happened once you've had time to relax. Besides, you smell awful, like, old gym socks."

"Ew, I do not," Layla replied, waiting until he turned around before sniffing at her shirt and realising that he was right. The track practice combined with her sprint back to the trailer had left her sweating like she'd caught a disease and it seemed he was right after all. "Okay, just a little."

Dewey chuckled as she scampered off to the bathroom. The TV continued to play in the background as he crouched down to start picking up broken shards of the mug.

"Needless to say, Woodsboro is on high alert today..."

He scoffed a little at the presenter, thinking about what had just happened and how high-alert Layla was. He had assumed she had gotten a phone call, but he wanted her to be able to calm down and relax before they discussed it.

Dewey knew he had made Riccardo Torres a promise, when he had held him as he bled out and promised that he was going to make sure that Layla was safe. He'd almost broken that promise once before - when Jill Roberts had held a gun against the child in the hospital. He couldn't break it again.

He knew he couldn't keep her locked up in the trailer forever, but he couldn't help but worry about all the dangers that lurked outside. It no longer was just the usual concerns about strangers or accidents or school parties; now that Ghostface was back, Dewey knew that Layla and her deceased parents' past made her vulnerable in ways that most teenagers her age never had to worry about.

The ex-Sheriff sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. He knew he couldn't protect Layla from everything, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen to her. He had nightmares sometimes, vivid images of Tatum being killed by Stu or Ricardo being gutted by Jill. He didn't need to have seen them happen to imagine it - he had been through it too often. Recently, the dreams had morphed into Layla being taken away or hurt in some way, and they had left him shaken and exhausted. 

He wondered if he should call Gale. Wondered if he should put aside the elephant in the room that was their divorce and beg her to beg Layla to leave Woodsboro. He wished he knew it was the right thing to do, but Dewey knew that Layla was a Torres. If there had been anything that Ricardo had taught him, it was that Torres' never ran from a fight, especially one that involved their friends.

"Live from Studio 1-A in Rockefeller Plaza..."

Dewey stopped mopping the floor for a second, his head turning to the TV screen with a bittersweet smile as the woman appeared on the screen, almost as if it was a sign.

"Good morning I'm Gale Weathers. Before we dive in, I want to tell you a little story that happened on the way to the studio this morning. I stopped to get a bacon, egg and cheese at a bodega, already a quintessentially New York..."

Some things never changed.

_____

Layla was drying her hair when she realised that she could hear other voices in the lounge with her adoptive dad. She furrowed her eyebrows, throwing the wet towel to the washing basket at the side of her room before she headed into the hall, her eyes flickering towards the voices.

"How long have you known him?"

Layla turned the corner, her eyes narrowing a little as she realised who was sitting on her couch. She wasn't sure if she was happy to see Samantha Carpenter alive, or concerned that she wasn't sitting beside Tara's hospital bed.

"Six months?"

"Did he know who your dad was when you met? Express any interest in Woodsboro or the Ghostface killings?" Dewey asked, not having realised that Layla had walked into the room behind him. Richie's eyes shot to Layla's and he rolled them a little at the hard gaze she had fixated on the couple. He knew that Tara's on-and-off girlfriend was not his biggest fan, and it seemed like she wasn't going to give that up any time soon.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The killer's obsessed with the stab movies, right?" Layla said, drawing Sam and Dewey's attention to her as she sat down on the couch beside Dewey. Sam looked at her in confusion, not sure why Layla was willingly choosing to interact with her.

"Well, there are certain rules to surviving a stab movie," Dewey replied, a glint in his eye as he looked at the young couple with suspicion. He wasn't happy they'd invited themselves into his house, especially when he wasn't sure if he could trust them. "Believe me, I know."

His gaze shifted to Richie.

"Rule number one: Never trust the love interest. They seem sweet, caring, supportive... then welcome to act 3, where they're trying to rip your head off."

The man in question immediately got defensive, making Layla tense a little as he seemed to be enraged by Dewey's suggestion.

"I was with Sam in Modesto when Tara was attacked!"

"And let me guess, you were just in the other room, conveniently unaccounted for when she was attacked at the hospital? Layla was with Tara, but where were you?"

"Do I have to take this from shitty Sam Elliott over here, or what?"

"Dude, shut up," Layla sighed, rolling her eyes as Richie tried to act like a victim. As far as Layla was concerned, Tara was the real victim in all of this since she had literally almost been gutted to death.

Richie closed his mouth as he leaned back on the chair, his eyes flickering to Layla with a look that made her a little unsettled. She knew she didn't like the man, but it wasn't until now that he had made it very apparent he didn't like her or her attitude either.

"Rule number two," Dewey started, but was immediatley cut off by Richie.

"Never have sex."

Even Sam turned to look at him with an astounded expression. She couldn't believe the words that had fallen right out of his mouth, especially when this was something so serious.

"What?"

"Oh, that's what it said in the Stab movie, the first one on Netflix. Don't look at me like that, Sam,  Tara's like... she's probably fine."

Sam's eyes flickered to Layla who was now taking an interested in her shoes. Dewey noticed this, turning in his seat to look at the girl in amusement and surprise - he knew that Tara and Layla were a couple but he hadn't even considered the things they might have been doing behind closed doors. Sam and Dewey both grimaced while Richie's jaw dropped a little, Layla rolling her eyes and looking between them all with bright red cheeks.

"We're teenagers, it's only natural!" She exclaimed before huffing and turning back to look at Dewey. "Please, continue with the REAL rules."

There was an awkward pause as Dewey and Sam both decided on whether or not they wanted to say something else on the matter, but mentally tabled that for another time.

"The REAL number two: the killer's motive is always connected to something in the past."

"I'm related to Billy," Sam replied, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Layla wondered how her conversation with Tara had gone, but considering that the girl was sitting in front of her made her decide that it probably had gone as well as Dewey moving to New York: not at all.

"Right, but then why kill that random Vince guy?" Richie asked, the only sensible thing that Layla thought she had ever heard him say.

"That's for you to figure out," Dewey replied, wanting as little involvement of this all as possible. The less he was involved, the less likely that Layla would get caught in any crosshairs of him and this new Ghostface killer. "And rule number three, and this is the most important rule: The first victim always has a friend group that the killer is a part of. Does your sister have a close-knit group of friends?"

Sam's eyes flickered to Layla, something in them that Layla couldn't quite pin-point. The older Carpenter sister didn't break their eye connection as she replied to Dewey's third and final rule.

"Yeah. She does."

"Then look for the killer there," Dewey said, not realising that his three rules were putting an idea into Sam's head that was completely inaccurate. "If you can find out why they're doing this, you can figure out who's next."

"So help us! Help us figure out who is behind this!"

Layla bristled at the thought of Dewey getting involved, especially after the phone call she had received hours prior. If any of them noticed her sudden paleness, no-one said anything.

"You kidding me? I've been stabbed nine times!" Dewey exclaimed, mostly for Layla's benefit. He knew, deep down, that he was going to end up involved in this. "I've got permanent nerve damage and a fun little limp. You think I want to do that again?"

"You just said it always goes back to the past, right? So if I'm in danger...that means you're in danger."

Layla stood up, a little bit of anger running through her as she listened to Sam try and drag her adoptive father back into the same situation that had almost killed him four times before. She moved to the door of the trailer, opening it and motioning for the couple to leave.

"Sam, get out."

"Come on," Sam begged Dewey, tears pooling in her eyes as she ignored Layla's demand. "Let's do this together."

"Your time's up," Dewey replied, looking over to where Layla was standing. "She told you to leave."

_____

Deputy Ricardo Torres had dedicated his life to serving and protecting Woodsboro. As a police officer, he had faced danger and death on a daily basis, but it had never shaken his resolve to keep his community safe. 

Jill Roberts had ruined that for him.

His funeral was held in the largest church in town, despite his lack of religion, and it was packed to capacity. Rows of uniformed officers sat alongside Layla Torres and her father's closest friends, all of them dressed in black, their faces etched with grief. Murmurs of stories about the four adults that accompanied little Layla Torres in the front pew hushed as the little girl's tear-ridden face had begun to search the room.

The service began with a somber hymn, and then the celebrant stepped up to the podium. He spoke about Ricardo's life, his service, and his dedication to justice. He spoke about the tragedy of losing someone so young and so full of life. He spoke about how cruel the world was, to take not one but both parents away from little Layla Torres. The words all just seemed to blend together, a blur of sadness and grief.

But then, one by one, people began to stand up and speak. They shared stories of Ricardo, of his quick wit, his bravery, and his kindness. They spoke about how he had touched their lives and made a difference in their communities. The stories seemed to flow like a river, each one more poignant than the last. It didn't matter though - because Layla Torres wasn't listening. 

Her father and mother were dead. She had no siblings, no family pet or grand-parents. 

All she had now was Dewey, Gale and Sidney - and Sidney's soon-to-be husband at the time, Mark Kincaid. She had liked Mark and the way he spoke to her but Layla would only go on to see him a handful of times in her life after the funeral.

Ricardo's best friend, Sheriff Dewey Riley, stood up to speak. His voice was shaking, but he took a deep breath and began to talk about the man as Dewey looked at the face of his daughter staring back at him. He spoke about their partnership, their friendship, and the many cases they had solved together. He spoke about Ricardo's dedication to his job, and how he had always put others before himself.

The Sheriff even spoke about the final moments of Ricardo's life, how he had sacrificed himself to try and save others in Woodsboro, and how Dewey had held him as he had taken his last breath. He choked back tears as he spoke, but he kept going, determined to honor his best friend's memory.

The only part Layla remembered and knew she would never forget was the last call.

"Calling Deputy Torres. This is the last call for Deputy Torres. No response. Radio Number 1-3 is out of service after twelve years and nine months of police service. Gone, but never forgotten."

Everything after that was a blur for her. Her father's casket was carried out of the church, draped in the American flag, as the mourners filed out behind it. Outside, the sun was shining, and the sky was blue. The air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass, and the sound of birds chirping. But it all seemed meaningless, a cruel reminder that life goes on, even after someone has died.

As the mourners began to file out of the church, Layla's best friend and her family approached the young girl. Layla hugged her friend, Tara Carpenter, before embracing her sister too. Mrs Carpenter had hugged Dewey and Gale, and then knelt down to speak to little Layla Torres.

"Your dad was a hero," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "He was one of the bravest men this town has ever known. And he loved you very much."

Layla had looked up at her best friend's mom, her eyes wide and full of tears. She didn't say anything, but she nodded, her small hand reaching out to take Tara's. Her friend squeezed it gently, feeling a sense of responsibility to stick by her friend's side.

If anyone asked him, that would be the moment that Dewey told them that he was certain the two girls were destined to be best friends for a long time.

_____

Dewey rubbed his face as his finger hovered over the call button on his phone. Layla had headed back to her room to change into something more comfortable, having received a text from Mindy demanding that she meet the rest of their friends at the Meeks-Martin residence immediately. 

Layla hadn't wanted to go, but Dewey said that he would drop her off. Interestingly enough, once Layla had told Mindy that she was going to get a ride from Dewey, her friend had informed her that it was probably for the best if he was also there - something that didn't sit well for Layla's wishes to keep Dewey out of all the Ghostface madness.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sid, it's me," Dewey breathed, not quite sure what to say to her.

"Dewey? Oh, my God How long has it been?" Sidney replied, Dewey grimacing a little at the happiness in her voice. He was about to ruin that joy, and he knew it. "I'm just trying to get a run in before I take the girls to school. How are you?"

"I'm good, really good," Dewey replied, his voice a little strained. "How are you? How's Mark?"

"I think I'll keep him," Sidney joked back, a smile on her face as she thought about her husband. She made a mental note to ask him if Layla and Dewey wanted to come visit for dinner soon, since she knew that Layla had taken a liking to Mark the last time they had met. "How are things in the sheriff's business?"

"They're... They're fine but, Sid... Have you talked to Gale lately?"

"No, not in a couple years," Sidney replied, confused as to why Dewey had phoned her to ask that. "I know things didn't end well with you guys, but..."

"Sid... it's happening again."

The silence on the other side of the phone told Dewey that Sidney had a gut feeling that she knew what he was about to say, even if she hoped it wasn't true. It had been ten years since her cousin had almost killed her and gotten away with it, ten years since she last thought she'd ever hear a word about any murders in Woodsboro.

"What are you talking about?"

"Some idiot in a Ghostface mask... Three attacks so far and one dead. Something about this one just feels different," Dewey replied, the uncertainly that had been building in his stomach earlier now back and eating away at him.

"Are you okay? Is Layla okay?" Sidney asked, her voice wavering with concern and worry.

"I'm fine, you know me," Dewey replied, not sure what else to say.

"Yeah I do," Sidney replied before he could say anything else. "That's why I'm asking."

There was a pause.

"I just... want you to be safe up there. Do you have a gun?"

"I'm Sidney fucking Prescott, of course I have a gun," Sidney replied, causing both of them to have a chuckle under their breaths. It would have been so stupid of Sidney if she didn't have a gun, not after everything that they had been through. "You never answered my question - is Layla okay?"

"Layla is... The first attack was her girlfriend, and she's had a call."

Another sigh from Sidney. She didn't like where this was going at all.

"Does Gale know?"

"No, she's my next call," Dewey replied, knowing that he was already planning on texting Gale instead of calling her. He didn't know how to interact with someone that he was sure hated his guts. "But, Sid, promise me: No matter what you hear or what you see on the news, don't come here."

"No offense, Dewey I have no intention of ever setting foot in that town again."

"Good."

"Dewey..." Sidney replied, her voice tight as she thought about Layla or Dewey getting hurt again. "Whoever this killer's after, I'm glad they have you to protect them. You be safe, okay?"

"Will do."

"It's good to hear your voice."

"You, too, Sid."

One friend warned, one to go.

Dewey rubbed at his temples as he stared at Gale's contact number. His mind raced with different ways to break the news gently, but nothing seemed good enough. He didn't want to hurt Gale or make things worse, but the Ghostface veteran knew he couldn't keep the information from her - especially not when Layla was involved.

"Come on Get it together, Dewey," the man breathed, his fingers finally typing and sending a message to his ex-wife.

Ghostface is back. Don't come here.

He paused for a moment, adding another message before he could stop himself.

Hope you're doing well :)

"Probably shouldn't have sent the smiley face."