He's gone. He's gone.
Dewey's gone.
As we walked out of the Windsor College Theater department, past the dead bodies, blood, and aftermath of that final battle, all I could think was he's gone. He's gone.
"We did it. We made it," Cotton said, walking slightly ahead of us. He laughed nervously and looked back to where Sid and I were. "We survived."
"Yeah," Sidney said. "We're survivors all right."
"I just can't believe it. All those people - those kids - they all died because of those two, and now they're dead. They're dead and we're alive."
"They're dead and we're alive," I repeated quietly, missing the curious looks from my companions.
Cotton opened the main door to the building and held it as Sidney and I stepped outside. In the distance sirens could be heard, rushing all too late to help us. To help him.
"Gale, are you okay?" Sidney asked after a pause. After a minute without a reply she tried again, "Why were you here, anyway?" I shook my head slightly and pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. Sidney put a hand on my shoulder and I watched my feet slowly carrying me alongside the others, to where ambulances and police cars would no doubt find us within minutes. We trudged along in silence for a few more moments before Cotton spoke again.
"Weren't you supposed to be helping the police at the station? I thought you and Dewey were helping them try and find a connection between the murders. I heard Dewey say-"
At the mention of his name an unearthly, strangled noise escaped my lips and my hand flew up to press on the bridge of my nose, trying to stop the tears that were suddenly threatening to escape.
"Gale?" Sidney stopped walking and pulled me to a stop with her, looking at me. Cotton stopped a short distance ahead. "What happened?"
I looked wildly between the two for a second before managing to choke out a single word. A single name. His name. "Dewey-" And then the screeching of sirens was upon us and all around us as officers' cars skidded to a halt and they jumped out.
We were pushed and pulled apart from one another as questions flew from all directions and shouts for ambulances could be heard. The sun slowly began to rise and I found myself sitting in the back of an ambulance next to a man who was attempting to wrap my wound, but I was barely listening.
"Be careful. You've got a few broken ribs." His words met my ears slowly, as though I was hearing them from a distance.
"I'm fine," I finally said, rougher than intended, as I wrenched my arm out of his grip as he tried to help me up. "Fine."
Dewey was nothing. Nobody. I hardly knew him. What were we? I'd known him once for less than a week in Woodsboro a year ago. Less than a week of my life, and it felt as though the loss of him was tearing every fiber of my being apart. I had flirted with him trying to get more of an inside story because I am a reporter - I'm the best reporter, goddammit - and that's what I do. But he knew I'd just been pretending. He knew it had been an act. Not at first, maybe, but he knew by the next time we'd met, at the beginning of this horrific sequel.
We were supposed to make it, he and I. And Sidney and Randy, of course. We were the survivors, the only ones who had made it out of that house back in Woodsboro. We were the ones who lived. So why was it just Sidney and I now? I glanced over to where she was talking to a group of officers, relaying the story of what had happened and who had caused it. Randy had been killed in the back of my van. He was supposed to be a survivor, but he didn't make it. And Dewey...Dewey-
"Hey, Gale!" I turned and looked to see a figure approaching me, holding a camera on his shoulder and a microphone in hand. My microphone.
"Joel?"
"I thought we could get the scoop, like in the old days." He handed me my microphone and pointed the camera at me. "You're Gale Weathers at Windsor College," Joel prompted me. He stared at me, his eyes urging me to speak. He didn't understand; he didn't know... I pushed my hair back again and looked up, opening my mouth to tell him it was a bad idea. Not now, not here. We couldn't-
"We've got a live one here!"
I looked over to the steps leading out of the building, confused. A live one? A live what?
"Gale. Where's Gale?" a hoarse voice called from a stretcher being hurried down the steps by several men.
No. No way. He was dead, very dead. I'd checked; I made sure. I wouldn't have left him there if I wasn't very sure. He hasn't had a pulse; I was positive of that. But there he was. I could see his face covered by an oxygen mask and slowly felt the tiny glimmer of hope I felt begin to light up my entire expression. Before I could process what was happening, I was already halfway to that stretcher, reaching out, trying to run but the pain in my side was still excruciating. I was next to him now. Nearly close enough to touch him.
"Dewey," I breathed. "Oh God. I can't believe...you're alive. Are you okay? You hang in there."
"Gale," he wheezed again. "Gale. It's you. It's you."
A paramedic was saying something, pushing me out of the way. They were putting him in the back of the ambulance.
"I'm coming with you."
And I felt as though I could finally breathe. I climbed into the ambulance after him and they closed the doors. I gripped his hand tightly as we sped down the road, but only one thought kept running through my head.
He's alive. He's alive.
Dewey's alive.