"Now, now, little Layla Torres - we can't always get what we want."

.

.

.

Dewey fired his gun as the killer in the Ghostface costume hovered over Tara, their arm raised in the air as they prepared to go for one final attack. The masked killer's head shot towards the trio that were emerging from the lift, stumbling backwards and disappearing into one of the other hospital rooms.

Layla had no intention of finding out where he had gone, instead sliding to her knees beside Tara as her and Sam tried to pull the girl to her feet. Tara was oozing blood once more, and her bloodied knuckles were leaving hand print marks on Layla and Sam as she grappled at their clothes to keep her upright.

"I'll get Richie!" Dewey yelled as he ran past them, Layla paying him very little attention. She had almost forgotten that Richie was in the hospital too, having not spared a single thought for the stranger once since they had found out that the police had left Tara unprotected.

Tara screamed out in bursts of pain as the bone in her broken leg shifted again, having been jolted out of place once more when Ghostface had thrown her from the wheelchair onto the cold, solid floor. Sam tried to soothe her, holding her tightly to her chest as Dewey pulled Richie up from the floor. He swung his arm around the man, staggering towards where the three girls were slowly standing up from the ground.

Layla reached out and smacked her hand against the elevator button, frantically pressing it as if it would make it come to their floor any quicker. Sam took all of Tara's weight from the Torres girl, allowing her to bang her fist against the metal door in desperation.

She heard Dewey yell out something to them, but before Layla could make out what he had said, the man was slammed against the glass gift cabinet that was on the hospital floor. Dewey and Richie both yelled out as they were thrown to the ground, while the three girls also screamed out in fear and surprise as the masked killer came back for round two.

Layla moved away from the elevator without thinking, ignoring the shouts of Sam and Tara for her to come back. Her eyes were fixated on the knife that was almost being protruded into Dewey's chest, and it was as if all rational thought went out the window. Richie looked up in shock as she sprinted past him, slamming her body into the side of Ghostface and sending them both flying through the air.

She groaned as her body smacked against the nurses' counter, hissing as she rolled on her back. Layla shuffled backwards as the killer recovered quicker than her, knife in hand as he slashed it in her direction. His movements were graceful, almost ghost-like, as he approached the teenage girl with the long, serrated knife clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were fixed intently on his prey, a look of malevolence etched on his face.

Once again, without warning, the killer lunged forward and his blade flashed in the dim hospital light. Layla hissed as it caught her upper arm, letting out a loud scream as she felt the skin be ripped apart. She stumbled backwards, almost losing his balance, realising that maybe taking on an experienced killer with no fighting experience had been a bad idea.

The killer was relentless, his swings coming fast and hard. He was a skilled fighter, and his movements were precise and calculated. Layla managed to dodge a few more, but before she knew it, she was pressed against the wall with the knife about to go straight into her stomach.

Just before Ghostface could stab her, Dewey fired another gunshot in their direction. The killer slammed Layla's head back against the wall, turning around and lunging for her adoptive father instead.

Tara, Sam and Richie were at the end of the corridor, all frozen as they witnessed the duo try to fight off the killer that had almost killed Tara and had killed their friend. Layla knew that she wasn't strong enough to take the killer on, but she knew that Wes deserved her to at least try. She slowly pushed herself back to her feet, trying to ignore the pain that was in her arm and head as she noticed Dewey and Ghostface struggling against each other on the floor.

"Not today!" Dewey exclaimed, moving his head and slamming it directly into the Ghostface that was hovering over him. He twisted backwards, his arm outstretched for the gun that had slide across the floor towards Layla.

She acted without hesitation, shoving the gun across the floor and straight into Dewey's outstretched hand. He nodded at her for a split second before he rolled over, his aim now locked on the killer as they frantically raised the knife above their head for one last shot at killing Dewey Riley.

Layla jumped as Dewey fired the gun straight at the killer. This time, it hit its mark.

The killer went crashing backwards into the gift store display, knife discarded by their side as they slumped down in the pile of broken glass and gifts. Layla shuffled quickly to Dewey's side, wrapping her arms around him as he began to tug them away from the killer without a single moment of hesitation.

He stopped for a second to pull Richie up from the ground, dragging him until he was capable of standing on his own two feet. They reached Tara and Sam just as the elevator doors dinged open, the grand escape that Layla was sure was too easy simply falling into place right in front of them.

Just as the doors went to close, Dewey shot his adoptive daughter one last look as he knew what he had to do.

"The head," Dewey muttered, turning to look at the rest of the group who were looking at him like he had grown a second head of his own. "You always have to shoot them in the head, or they always come back."

"Dewey! Who gives a fuck?" Sam yelled, confused as to why the man was moving to step out of the elevator. He smiled at them all, a sense of courage filling him up for a second as he knew what he had to do to make sure that Layla and the rest of her friends were safe.

"I do."

Layla went to lunge forward, her hands almost grabbing on to his jacket before she was gripped around the waist. Richie pulled her away from the doors as they slammed shut, his eyes still trained on the spot where Dewey had stood seconds before. Layla scrambled against his hold, her hands banging against the closed elevator doors as they began to descend, not knowing that she had just seen him fine for the last time.

____

The usual bar they visited in Woodsboro wasn't much. It was a dimly lit place with the faint smell of beer and cigarettes. The noise of patrons chatting and the clinking of glasses filled the air. The occasional cheer would break out as someone won against their drinking buddy at a game of darts, but other than that, the place tended to be relatively relaxed.

Ricardo Torres had a troubled look on his face, and Dewey Riley knew why. The death of his wife had taken a toll on him, and the news that there might be a copycat Ghostface killer roaming the streets of Woodsboro had unsettled something in his stomach. Dewey had known that he'd likely find Ricardo here since little Layla Torres was over at Judy Hicks' house for Wes' birthday. He had came straight there to offer his support and to make a promise that he knew would bring some peace to his friend's heart.

"Ric, I know things have been tough for you lately. And I can't even begin to imagine what it's like for you to go through all of this," Dewey began, even though they both knew that Ghostface had effected him way more than Ricardo in the past. "I want you to know that I'm here for you. And I'll always be here for you."

"I appreciate that, man," Ricardo replied, taking a sip of his beer as he clinked his glass bottle against Dewey's. Dewey hummed, the silence between them comforting as he thought about how to phrase what he had been wanting to promise the man.

"I know you're worried about something happening to you," Dewey started, noticing how Ricardo's shoulders slumped a little. "If anything ever happens to you, I promise to take care of Layla. I'll be there for her, no matter what. I'll make sure she's safe, happy, and loved."

Ricardo looked at him with a mix of emotions. He was grateful for Dewey's offer, but he also felt a pang of sadness in his heart. The thought of not being there for his daughter was unbearable, but it was so likely. He didn't like his odds, and Dewey had beaten them so many times before. They'd talked about this before, back when Layla was just born and Dewey had held his god-daughter for the first time - but back then, it had been a scarier time. The Ghostface attacks had been a lot fresher then, and they weren't sure they'd ever life a normal life.

"I don't even know what to say," Ricardo said, with a shaky voice.

"You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know that I mean it. And I'll do everything in my power to keep her safe," Dewey said, putting a hand on his partner's shoulder.

Ricardo nodded, "I believe you, Dew. And I know that you'll keep your promise."

The two friends finished their beers in silence, lost in their thoughts. Dewey knew that this was a big responsibility, but he also knew that he was up for the challenge. He would protect Layla with his life, and he would make sure that she knew how much her father loved her if anything ever happened to him. 

As they left the bar, Ricardo put an arm around Dewey's shoulder.

"You're the best man that I've ever known, Dwight Riley."

_____

Sweat streamed down Layla's forehead as she bounded up the dimly lit staircase, her heart pounding in her chest like a primal drumbeat. Every step resonated with urgency, echoing through the deserted hospital corridor as the sound of her ragged breath reverberated in her ears, drowning out the distant hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Sam and Richie had been so pre-occupied with making sure that Tara was seen by a doctor as soon as the elevator doors had opened, and while Layla was worried about her girlfriend, she was more worried about Dewey. She had a bad feeling about him staying behind, and she couldn't help but feel like the chances of him surviving another Ghostface attack were significantly slimmer than they had been when he was in his physical prime.

The hospital, a place of healing to almost everyone except her,  seemed like a labyrinth of shadows and corridors as she tried to retrace the journey that she had taken earlier that day, before things had all gone so far to shit. Layla almost regretted never having visited the hospital more, but it was nothing but a place of death for her.

Her mom, her dad - hell, she even watched Jill Roberts get killed here right in front of her eyes.

Ignoring the burning ache in her legs, Layla pushed herself harder, her determination fueled by the love she held for her adoptive father. She'd already lost her own father and mother, and the thought of losing someone else that she loved was splitting her in two. She had told Sam she couldn't lose Dewey and that she didn't want him involved in all of this, and now here she was, blood still dripping from the wound on her arm as she slammed through the doors at the end of the corridor. She couldn't bear the thought of losing the ex-Sheriff, not when she'd already lost so much.

As she reached the final turn before the corridor that Dewey had remained behind in, a flickering lightbulb overhead cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Layla's breath caught in her throat, and a sudden wave of terror spread across her body. She didn't want to see the worst. She didn't want to see the exact thing that she had been having nightmare about. She didn't want to see what Dewey had seen as her dad had bled out against his police cruiser.

With each step, Layla's mind became a whirlwind of fragmented memories and fears. The thought of losing her adoptive father threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. 

Taking a deep breath, Layla shoved through the final set of doors that separated her from the hallway that Tara's room was in. The creaking sound of the doors echoed through the stillness, but was instantly muffled by her sharp intake of breath as her eyes zoned in on the sight in the corridor that certainly hadn't been there when the elevator doors shut. 

Dewey lay on the sterile hospital flood, pale and still, his eyes still open as they looked into nothingness. Layla instantly rushed towards him, slamming down on to her knees as she hit the flood beside the man. She clutched at the collar of his shirt, shaking him roughly as sobs and pleads escaped her throat, ignoring the blood that soaked through her jeans.

"Dewey... oh god, please," she cried, her hands rough as she pushed at his face, his arms, his chest - anywhere that she could touch. The blood wasn't just on her knees now, but swarming around her feet, coated around her arms and in her mind forever. "Dwight Riley, look at me RIGHT NOW!"

She continued to plead, knowing that it was useless. Dewey was dead before she had even entered the corridor.

"Dewey, please wake up," Layla sobbed, her head falling forward against his chest as she ignored the blood that was on his body. She sobbed as she held on to him tightly, afraid that if she let go that every trace of him would be taken from her.

Almost as if life was playing some kind of sick joke on her, as if mourning was something that she wasn't allowed to do - a small whizz behind her caused her bones to chill as she slowly stopped the pleads that were leaving her mouth. She didn't want to turn around - because she had a gut feeling she knew exactly what had made that noise behind her.

"Now, now, little Layla Torres - we can't always get what we want."

The hairs on the back of Layla's neck rose as she tried to scramble to her feet, but the blood underneath her caused her to slip and squirm as she pushed herself away from the masked figure that had crept up behind her while she mourned Dewey's death.

"I've been waiting for this one - the chance to finally finish off what Jill Roberts couldn't do in this very hospital all those years ago..." the figure laughed as they wiped the blade in their hands, Layla's stomach almost turning at the thought of that being Dewey's blood that was getting wiped off so casually.

Layla's pulse thundered in her ears as she looked up at the masked figure, their eyes hidden behind a cold, impassive mask. The mask that had taken her family from her. The mask that had caused nothing but pain and torture to so many in this godforsaken town. The room seemed to shrink around her, the sterile walls closing in, amplifying the tension that crackled in the air.

Whoever was behind that mask knew her. They'd likely spoken to her before, maybe even shared a class with her or known her family. Someone who knew her had attacked Sam and Tara, killed Dewey, Wes, Wes' mom and now was about to kill her. And for what? Layla thought, blood rushing in her ears as she felt the helplessness fill her body.

With a swift, fluid motion, Ghostface lunged at her, their gloved hand brandishing the gleaming knife, now clean from Dewey's blood. Layla's instincts kicked in, her body moving on sheer adrenaline. She slid to the side and just narrowly avoided the attack, her heart pounding in her chest, and countered with a swift kick aimed at the assailant's ankles.

A sharp gasp escaped the masked figure as they stumbled forwards, momentarily caught off guard as their head slammed against the nurses station that Layla had been leaning against. Layla seized the opportunity, her mind focused and her movements precise as she pushed all thoughts of who might be doing this to the back of her mind. She had to protect herself, but more importantly, she had to get back to Tara.

Driven by determination, she scrambled up to her feet before she closed the distance between them, her fists clenched and ready for action. The masked assailant recovered quickly, retaliating with a series of lightning-fast strikes. Each swipe and blow was calculated, Ghostface displaying an intense passion that hinted at their sinister intentions. They wanted to kill her, right here and now. All cat and mouse games were long gone out the window, and it seemed like they were ready for their prey to be limp and dead.

Layla bobbed and weaved, narrowly avoiding the onslaught, her body moving with a dancer's grace. Her body thanked her for all of the years of track training, knowing that she'd likely have been sliced up by now if not. She drew upon every ounce of strength and resilience within her, fueled by the fierce love for her father and Dewey that burned like an unquenchable fire in her heart.

In a sudden burst of speed, she lunged forward, her fist connecting with Ghostface's masked jaw. The impact reverberated through her arm, sending a jolt of satisfaction coursing through her veins (and also causing a yell as her previous stabbed arm recoiled in agony). Despite the hard connection, the Woodsboro killer didn't seem to be deterred at all and slammed their entire body against hers, causing them both to stumble through the corridor.

The struggle intensified, the hospital corridor now a battleground of clashing wills. The scent of antiseptic mixed with the metallic tang of fear, a potent cocktail that fueled Layla's determination. The once white corridor was red - dark, bleeding red. She blocked, dodged, and struck with a ferocity she never knew she possessed. Her bleeding arm was now dripping on to Ghostface, the mask smudged with hers and Dewey's blood as she tried to pry the assailant off her.

The sudden shouts of police rushing towards the corridor distracted Layla for a split second - a momentary distraction that proved to be her downfall. Ghostface capitalized on the opening, delivering a powerful kick that sent Layla crashing against the wall. 

Pain seared through Layla's body, her vision blurring for a second as the masked figure loomed over her, a sinister silhouette against the hospital's sterile backdrop. The taste of bitter defeat lingered on her tongue, mingling with the metallic tang of her own blood as blood trickled from her head down her face. Layla reached a hand up, pressing against her forehead as she felt the gash from her impact against the wall.

Ghostface raised the knife high into the air, looking down at the girl with a titled head for just a second, almost as if they were soaking up the image in their head for years to come. They pressed the voice modifier on the side of their mask, a sick taunting to their voice as they said what they expected would be the last thing Layla Torres ever heard.

"You just never were good enough."

Layla looked over to where Dewey was lying, defeat taking over her body as she pressed her spare arm against the large wound on her other arm that had lost so much blood that she was dizzy now. She didn't draw her eyes away from him as she prepared herself for the pain that was about to come from the blade of Ghostface's knife, knowing that she'd at least be reunited with him and her parents soon.

"HEY! STEP AWAY FROM HER!"

Gunshots fired directly at the figure standing over her caused them to flee instantly, all thoughts of brutally murdering Layla Torres being put on hold as the masked figure scampered towards the nearest emergency exit.

Layla's eyes widened in surprise as her breathing picked back up, the reality of the situation she was just in settling in as she looked towards the other end of the corridor and saw Woodsboro deputies barge into the corridor and take in the sight before them. She listened as they gasped at the scene, having already all witnessed the mauled body of another one of their co-workers only hours previously.

Layla's eyes flickered back to Dewey, and she used all of her remaining stamina to crawl over to him, ignoring the deputies that were trying to keep her away from him. She gripped on to his jacket once more, her head against his chest as she yelled out in despair again, her tears mixing in with the now-dried blood stains on his chest.

She struggled against the hands of the deputies that tried to pull her off of Dewey's body, thrashing and resisting to move as they tried to get her to medical help. They weren't even sure how badly she was injured, since she was covered head to toe in blood. They didn't know where her blood ended, and Dewey's began.

Strong arms circled around her, finally pulling her away from Dewey's body with a force that none of the police officers had had the heart to use against her. Layla thrashed in their hold as she was pulled backwards and away from his body, instead being turned around and pulled into a tight hug that she wasn't allowed out of.

She didn't need to see or ask who had pulled her off, she had known from the second they'd reached out to her. She slammed her hands against their chest, getting more frustrated and even more tired as they refused to let go of her.

"This is all your fucking fault," she cried, her fist slams slowing as the exhaustion and blood loss finally caught up to her. "He was fine, before you fucking dragged him back into this shit!"

Layla collapsed into Sam's arms, the older girl wrapping her arms around her and lifting the teenager up, heading back towards the elevator that they had just been sent down in. Sam knew that Layla was right - she had dragged Dewey back into all of this. But Sam also knew that deep down, Layla knew it wasn't just Sam's fault - someone parading around town in a Ghostface costume would always have ended up with Dewey getting involved.

There were two things that Sam now knew for certain - the first being that there was no way that Layla was involved with the Ghostfaces (since Sam knew that it was definitely likely that there was more than one) and the second being that if anyone had the most desire to make sure that Ghostface was killed... it was now Layla.