HAUNTED

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"RICHIE CALLED YOU?" Marjorie questions, her eyes wide and mouth agape. The girl's index and middle finger are pinched together with her thumb for effect as she speaks. "Richie Kirsch, the asshat who tried to kill us all last year and got his throat slashed open— Richie fucking Kirsch?"

Tara squints and nods in response. "Yeah, I think that's the only one we know."

"Technically, the only one we knew." Marjorie says as she shrugs, causing Tara to smile a little. The pair makes their way through the sidewalks of Central Park to meet their friends. "But anyways, he called Sam directly from his old phone?"

"I mean, it was just his contact. Besides, like you said, he got stabbed and his throat slit. There's no way he could've followed us here."

Marjorie shakes her head, perplexed by the newfound situation involving the previous Ghostface killer. "Then what does it mean? If Richie isn't alive, who has his phone? And how the hell did they get it?"

"That's the mindfuck, I guess."

They eventually find the group sitting on two benches in the quietest area of the park, where hardly anybody is close enough to overhear the oncoming conversation. Quinn, Sam, and Anika sit on one bench, while Chad and Ethan sit on the other. Tara sits between the two boys as Marjorie plops down beside Sam.

When Marjorie takes her seat, Ethan tries to catch her eye, only to be met by more ignorance from the blonde-haired girl.

Mindy is the only person standing, and she claps her palms over her head to gain the attention of the others. "Okay, nerds! Listen up. As terrifying as this all is, I'm actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not... calling the killers last time." She adjusts her shirt and inhales, "It's fine. Okay, the way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel."

Anika raises her hand, eyebrows knitted together. "Um, what's a requel?"

"You're beautiful, sweetie." Mindy motions towards her girlfriend with her hand. "Let's hold questions to the end."

"Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro," Sam points out, dreading the realization of her next words. "Stab 2 took place in college..."

Tara glances between her sister and Mindy. "So do we think the killer's trying to copy the movies?"

"That is one possibility," the short haired girl begins to go into further explain. "Heroes now in college: check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and or body count: check, check, and check." Mindy points directly at Ethan, Quinn, and Anika.

Ethan averts his gaze to the sidewalk. "I don't like this," he says to nobody in particular. Though, Marjorie tries to send him a slightly reassuring look when his eyes meet hers.

"But it can't just be about Stab 2."

"Why not?" Tara questions.

"It would make sense if this were just a sequel, but we're not in a sequel. Because nobody just makes sequels anymore." The six friends stare at Mindy with either blank stares or disbelief, and the girl smiles almost maniacally. She lifts her arms at her sides as she exclaims, "We're in a franchise! And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise."

While Marjorie wonders when this conversation will end, Sam mutters, "I had a feeling."

"Rule one: everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count, longer chases, shootouts, beheadings— you gotta top what came before to keep people coming back."

Chad stops writing in his notebook to look up at his sister. "Beheadings?"

"Beheadings."

Marjorie leans over slightly to peer over at the papers before whispering to Sam, "Is he really taking notes on all of this?"

Before the woman can answer, Mindy continues with her rant. "Rule two: whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations. If the killer's last time were whiny, snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you can bet the opposite will be true here. And rule three: no one is safe."

Mindy pauses to catch her breath, barely allowing her friends to process the rule. "Legacy characters? Cannon fodder at this point. Usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia. It's not looking too good for Gale and Kirby," she lets out an almost cheerful groan. "Oh, and that's not even the worst part!"

"Oh, this is the part where she tells us the worst part." Chad informs, his eyes never leaving the pen and paper in his hands.

"The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic installments designed to boost an IP. Which means, main characters are completely expendable now too. Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Sally Hardesty, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond! I mean, even Luke Skywalker all died so their franchises could live on! That means it's not just the friend group, any of us could go at any time..."—Mindy's joyful expression falters—"especially Sam and Tara."

Mindy says the Carpenter sisters' names regretfully, and the girls share a knowing look with one another.

"Wait, wait. A—Any of us?" Ethan asks. Mindy hums as a yes. "Does... am I in the friend group? Am I like one of the targets?"

"Yes, dumbass," Marjorie sighs. She pulls her water bottle out of her bag and unscrews the lid, raising the drink to her lips.

The boy's expression goes flat before he speaks again. "Am I gonna die a virgin?"

As everybody else gives him judgmental or uncomfortable stares, Marjorie chokes on the water that fails to smoothly run down her throat. The beverage almost spews out her mouth until she covers it with her fist. Anika pats her back roughly to help the girl cough it out, and Chad lifts a brow at her.

Marjorie recovers quickly, clearing her throat. "Went down the wrong pipe."

Mindy cringes at Ethan. "That was... a weird overshare. But it brings us to our current suspects: Ethan," she gestures towards the boy. "The shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky."

"W—What, why am I on the suspect list? Because I'm... randomly Chad's roommate?" Ethan inquires, motioning to his best friend.

The girl standing makes a face at him. "Roommate lotteries can be juked. You could've fixed it to get next to us."

Ethan gives up, rolling his eyes at Mindy as she turns to the next suspect. "Quinn: the slutty roommate. A horror movie," she puckers her lips and pinches her fingers together, "classic."

"Sex positive, but... thank you?"

"Mhm. Um, how did you come to live with Sam and Tara?"

Quinn glances at Sam uncomfortably. "I answered their ad online?"

"Okay! Say no more you've already implicated yourself enough."

Tara's voice interrupts her. "It was an anonymous ad, Mindy. And you know we vetted her, plus her dad is a cop—"

"And that makes it more likely that she's the killer because having a cop dad is a great cover. Do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!" Mindy practically yells as she leans down to Tara's level, who averts her annoyed gaze to the rest of the group.

"Is she always like this?" Quinn asks Sam, as Mindy's girlfriend takes a deep breath.

"And finally: Anika," Mindy announces, stepping closer to the girl. Anika blows a kiss, to which she returns. Then both their expressions drop. "Never trust the love interest."

Silence falls over them for a moment before Sam breaks the tension. "Okay, so, we have our rules. And we have our suspects."

"Wait, what about you guys?" Ethan accuses the five Woodsboro survivors. Marjorie's head twists to look at him, and her eyes narrow at the boy.

"I mean, I think it's pretty safe to rule out the five of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro," Mindy crosses her arms definitively.

Chad uses his pencil to point at his twin, finally looking up from his notes. "Agreed."

"Uh, no. Not agreed," Quinn concurs. "What if the trauma you all went through caused one — or more — of you to snap?"

Sam and Marjorie gape at the red-haired girl, surprised at how fast she was to agree with Ethan.

The boy opens his mouth once more. "Yeah, or the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more. I mean, let's be honest here, Marjorie took months to move here. How do we know she wasn't planning something that entire time? Also, some of the theories online about Sam are..."

"Excuse me?" Marjorie questions, glaring at him from her spot. Those months she took deciding whether or not to fly out to New York with everyone else were the lowest points in her entire life. He has no right to use it against her.

"Don't you fucking dare," Tara snaps at him in defense of both her sister and Marjorie. Ethan's eyes go wide instantly, and he swiftly turns his attention away.

Anika sits forward, trying to keep the discussion semi-peaceful. "Okay, she's right though. I mean, face facts: if we're all suspects, you're all suspects."

Although none of them want to admit it, the Woodsboro survivors nod in acknowledgment of Anika's statement. Technically, any of them could go on a killing spree at any moment. They're all capable of things they shouldn't be capable of.

After another minute or so of the silence, Marjorie exhales heavily and leans forward on the bench. The anger bubbles inside her, and she has to find all the control in her not to lash out at Ethan. "Well, this was fun but I'm going to get something to eat before I eat one of you."

She hoists her bag off the concrete and waves at her friends with a sarcastic grin, even if she's currently irritated with a majority of them. The girl receives laughs and chuckles from a few of them. Then Marjorie saunters down the sidewalk and finds the nearest café.

Marjorie follows the directions on her GPS and soon enough, she enters the café as the bell above the door dings. The waitress at the counter smiles at her, but the blonde is barely able to quirk her lips up in return.

"Hi, can I please get a coffee with extra sugar and milk in a to-go cup?" she requests, and the waitress nods and instructs her to take a seat anywhere she'd like.

Marjorie looks around the room, and ultimately slides into the farthest booth near the windows and drops her bag beside her. She unzips the middle pocket to pull out her book, flipping to page where her bookmark lies and takes it out to place it on the table.

However, when a body slips into the spot across from her, Marjorie is forced to stop reading the words and looks up, only to meet the dark brown eyes of Ethan Landry.

"What do you want?" she questions with a blank face, closing her book and dropping it on the wooden table.

"I just wanted some coffee?" Ethan says unconvincingly, causing Marjorie to roll her eyes. His shoulders drop and he parts his lips. "Okay, I wanted to apologize—"

Marjorie exhales sharply and begins to shove her items into her backpack, until Ethan reaches over the table and gently clasps his hand over her forearm. "Hey, wait."

"Don't fucking touch me," Marjorie rips her arm out of his hold and fixes him a glare. He slowly leans against the backrest with a wounded expression.

"Mars—"

A waitress approaches their booth with Marjorie's coffee, beaming as she places it on the flat of the table. "There you go."

"Thank you," Marjorie thanks her, though her glare doesn't waver from Ethan. Then, the waitress leaves, and Marjorie wastes no time in speaking. "I don't know who the hell you think you are to try and deflect the blame onto me just to make yourself seem innocent, but you don't get to use that shit against me."

"I'm sorry—"

"No, don't say that."

Marjorie pushes her body out from the seat, grabbing her coffee as well, and rushes to the door of the café, briefly turning to thank the two waitresses behind the counter — who look rather perplexed yet interested in the argument going on between the teenagers.

Ethan, much to her annoyance, follows after the girl in a hurry. His bag is slung over his shoulder, and Marjorie's backpack dangles in his hand. His gaze is apologetic as he looks down at her. "Mars, please stop."

"No. You fucking—" Marjorie snatches her bag from Ethan, shoving at his chest harshly. "Asshole!"

He barely moves, only stepping back by a few inches. Ethan opens and closes his mouth as if to say something in response to her insult, but eventually surrenders while his jaw clenches. "I'm sorry."

"I don't give a single fuck about how you feel right now."

Then Marjorie leaves Ethan outside of the café and walks as far away as possible.

____________

By the time Marjorie makes it to the apartment, her coffee in hand and bag slung over her shoulder, Quinn is the only person home. Tara's running errands with Sam, while Anika and Mindy went back to their dorms to pack overnight bags under Sam's advisement: she sent out a text message saying that she wants everyone to spend the night together to ensure that the killer won't be able to reach any of them as easily.

The blonde-haired girl doesn't necessarily mind the idea, as she understands Sam's viewpoint and cautious behavior, but she really isn't interested in spending time with everybody all night. Especially not Ethan.

As she walked home, her guilty conscience got to her and told her everything she did wrong during their conversation at the café. Marjorie wishes that she never kissed him again at the OKB party, but she also wishes that she never yelled at him like she did.

Ethan's done his best to treat her politely and honestly, while she's done nothing but dismiss and ignore him. Marjorie's neglected his feelings and everything he's asked to talk about with her. He's tried repeatedly for weeks, since the beginning of school, and she's continued to pretend he isn't a part of her life.

He's kept them a secret for the past three months. She owes him something.

Now, Marjorie sits on the carpet in the middle of her room as she rereads The Hunger Games for the hundredth time. A pen is tucked behind her ear and hair, and colored tabs are placed beside the book.

However, a knock on her door disrupts her peace and Marjorie groans quietly as she pauses her music. "Who is it?" she calls.

"Quinn," the red-haired girl replies from the other side. "Can I come in?"

"Uh, sure." Marjorie puts the bookmark between the thick pages and closes it, tossing it above her head and onto the mattress behind her. The frame creaks open, and Quinn slips inside. "What's up?"

Quinn purses her lips, motioning towards the carpet as though asking for permission to sit. Marjorie nods, shrugging slightly. She plops down opposite of Marjorie and folds her hands awkwardly. "So... how are you doing?"

"Sorry?" The question causes Marjorie to furrow her brows.

"I mean, with all of this happening again. How are you doing with it?" Quinn rephrases.

"Oh, um..." the blonde thinks for a moment, her gaze traveling across the wooden flooring and at the fur of the carpet before meeting Quinn's. "I'm alright, I guess. Nothing's really happened yet."

"Yeah, I just wanted to check on you." Quinn adjusts the silk body wrap around her shoulders. "It must've been scary, you know? Going through all of that last year. I can't imagine—"

Marjorie cocks her head to the side, her features wrinkled as she cuts the girl off. "I'm sorry, but weren't you literally accusing me of being the killer like an hour ago?"

Quinn somewhat recoils, taken aback by her roommate's words — and the fact that she called her out so forwardly. "Yes, I did... and I'm sorry. For just saying all of that, and not really thinking about any of it or what you all went through." She taps her palm against her shin in shame. "I should've thought about it first."

"Thanks for the apology," the blonde says sincerely. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about—?"

"Oh, yeah! Um, I overheard you and Chad's conversation last night."

"My God," Marjorie scoffs and leans her spine against the frame of her bed. "What did you hear? And how much?"

Quinn stammers, attempting to think over her response carefully. "Well, just, uh"—she toys with the skirt of her dress—"Just the part where he asked you about Ethan?"

"Mhm," Marjorie pinches the bridge of her nose in agitation. She exhales deeply and drops her hand, looking at Quinn. "We've never done anything, trust me. I have no idea where Chad got all his ideas from."

"I didn't say anything about that," Quinn tells her with a slight smirk on her face. Marjorie's mouth forms into an O shape.

The girls pause and stare at one another, until they both begin to burst into a fit of giggles. A genuine smile has taken place upon Marjorie's lips, a rare sight for anyone in the group to see. Quinn can't help but mirror the expression.