Summary: What if Roman Bridger never died from the final and fatal shot at the end of Scream 3? What if he escaped while no one was looking, began stalking the streets of L.A., and ultimately found someone that would actually care about his feeling? Or someone who could possibly turn on him and become a worse enemy than Sydney?
Disclaimer: I don't own any character in Scream or the Scream franchise in general (but I wish I did X3), or for that fact 'My Black Dahlia' or Hollywood Undead. The only things I own are my OC's.
A/N: I was just watching Scream 3 (for the millionth time XD) and since Roman Bridger is my fave Scream killer in the series, I thought it would be cool to make a mushy (and partially angst, just to spice things up) romance fanfic about him. Comments are appreciated (except for flames because I hate flamers)! Enjoy. Oh! BTW, I was listening to 'My Black Dahlia' by Hollywood Undead... so that's how I came up with the name.
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My Black Dahlia...
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He felt the final gunshot pierce his forehead and blast through his skull. Had he really come to this? His failure to avenge himself was killing him the most. Why was everything ending up so wrong? He was so numb that his tears couldn't escape. He just laid still, waiting for them to go or turn their backs.
The minute he heard them all step away, he rose, glanced around to make sure no one was coming back soon, and ran off with blood dripping down his face.
He twisted and turned through the hidden corridors in Milton's home. He had walked through the whole
home a million times, and he pretty much knew it like the back of his hand. But something troubled him; the things that he had been through within the past hours have really messed with head. He knew that they would tell the cops that the very director of Stab 3 had orchestrated all of the past events and murders in the past 4 years. Every officer in the state of California would be searching for him; and sooner or later the whole country would be looking for him. The thought made him want to kill even more people than he had already had.
Silently, he traveled off the perimeter of the mansion. In the distance police sirens echoed.
Being as quick as he was, he was able to get into the city before the patrol officers could get there. His chest bounced up and down violently and his breaths were abrupt. He felt like collapsing right then and there under the faint and orange-hued street light above him. He didn't know how much blood he had lost; only that his rage and passion for killing the one person that had it all while he had nothing was too intense for him to die now. He began to look around his surroundings. He was in the worst side of town, and homes were scattered about along with warehouses that had graffiti on the sides. His eyes wandered around; looking for homes that seemed to be filled with good company that could take him in.
At the state he was in, his chances were slim.
He sighed and began towards a home that had a few lights on. Surely if someone was still up at that hour, they really wouldn't care if he could stay for a little while.
He knocked on the door, clutching his forehead that still had a small stream of blood flowing down it. His vision was blurring; the pain was beginning to rise and the adrenaline was subsiding. He just wished he could've had the mother he was never able to. The family he so longed for. The life he will never be able to live.
The door opened. Light spilled out, giving him an intense migraine. He heard a startled gasp; female to be exact. Everything faded into black momentarily after...
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A/N: So how'd you think of it? Plz share your opinion (in a civil and non-flamish way) and rate! Thnx!