I realize it's been three years since I updated this... I'm going to try to finish it, though I am only going one chapter at a time, writing them as I go. I'm so sorry to anyone who was following this and who I left in suspense. I normally write stories completely before posting them, and this is exactly why - so I don't lose interest half-way through posting them and leave my readers hanging for three years... I can't guarantee I won't lose interest again, but since the story is already half way here, I might as well write more, one chapter at a time, and post them as I go.

I think what happened was I had several stories going on, and had pieces of them written when my computer got messed up and I had to restore it to factory settings. I think I lost a lot of future chapters to several stories and then lost all motivation to re-write them. This may have been one of those stories. If it was, I honestly don't know what I had written originally...

Again, sorry... If anyone who was reading this originally is still out there, I hope you find this and continue reading...

Enjoy:

xxxxxx

Gale sat quietly on the end of the couch in Dewey's living room. With her feet up on the cushion and her knees drawn up against her chest, she hugged her legs and peered out the window. All she could see outside was darkness.

She had wanted to give Dewey her official witness statement at the hospital. They were certainly left in the waiting room long enough that they had had plenty of time for it. But Dewey wanted to make sure no one overheard anything. He seemed much more paranoid than usual. So they had sat in silence for the most part, saving the serious conversation for later.

Gale had received four stitches in her arm as well as some pain killers. The small scratch over her abdomen only required a bandage. Gale was still surprised at herself for not noticing that it was even there at first. She must have been more traumatized than even she realized. The deeper cut on her arm mixed with the fact that she had just witnessed a brutal murder made the smaller wound not seem to matter so much. With all the commotion, she hadn't even realized she'd been cut there. But she was all patched up now. Her injuries were the least of her concerns.

After they had finished their business at the hospital, Dewey had arranged a ride for them back to his house. Since everyone in Woodsboro seemed to be friends with each other, it hadn't been difficult at all for him to find someone to drive them home.

Dewey had bought a small house just outside of the actual town. It kind of made Gale nervous that there weren't really any houses nearby. The closest neighbor was probably a ten minute trek down a basically deserted road, which would be a very long walk if the killer had happened to follow her and Dewey out here.

Surely if the murderer was from Woodsboro, they would know exactly where Dewey lived. Everyone in this town knew everyone's business. It was almost like each citizen of Woodsboro was a mini celebrity. Every single other person in the town knew everything about any other given individual. If Dewey was a target, which he probably was, the killer would know exactly where he would be most vulnerable. Right here in his own secluded home. Gale shuddered to think about the fact that Dewey probably spent most nights here all alone. The killer could have easily started his or her massacre with Dewey.

The reporter continued to stare out the window as all of her thoughts and fears cluttered her mind. What would she do if Dewey got killed? Their relationship wasn't perfect - they argued all the time - but she really did care about him. In fact, she would even go so far to say that she loved him. It was a terrifying feeling, to care more about someone else than herself, but she certainly felt that way when she was around the boyish officer. Dewey felt like he needed to protect her, but she needed to protect him too. As a police officer, Dewey was often closer to the killer than anyone else was. It was Dewey's job to find this person. If he got himself killed in the process, Gale would never forgive herself for not somehow keeping him safe.

"I don't actually have any sugar," she heard Dewey call out from the kitchen, "I could have sworn I did, but maybe I was thinking of salt. I don't go shopping that often."

Gale smirked. Dewey was so adorable. Sometimes she wasn't sure how his brain worked, "just milk is fine, Dewey," she responded. He was making her hot tea. She didn't usually put sugar in her tea anyway.

"Do you want, uh-" Dewey paused and she heard him opening and closing cabinets, "crackers or something? Toast?" he offered.

"Just tea, Dewey," Gale sighed. She really wanted him to get back in here so they'd be in the same room at least. She was understandably still a bit on edge.

"Alright," he answered, carrying two coffee cups into the living room and handing one to Gale. He paused awkwardly as he stood in front of her. He appeared nervous as he bit his lower lip, "may I?" he gestured toward the seat next to her.

Gale couldn't help but smile to herself, "it's your house, Dewey," she raised her eyebrow up at him, "you don't need to ask my permission to sit on your own couch."

"I know," Dewey looked down at his feet, "I just-" he hesitated, "I didn't want-"

"Just sit down," she tugged lightly on his arm so he'd sit down next to her. The man was honestly the most awkward person she had ever met.

Dewey settled into the couch and looked silently at the wall.

Gale wrapped her fingers around the warm mug in her hands and stared ahead at the wall as well.

"I'm sorry I asked to meet you at the park," Dewey finally spoke, "that's been bothering me all night. I don't know why I thought that was a good place for us to meet. It was getting dark, and I knew that there was a murderer on the loose... It was irresponsible and completely stupid of me to tell you to meet me there. You could have been killed. I'm so sorry."

Gale shook her head, "it's fine. I didn't think anything of it either. When I first arrived at the park, there were still people jogging. I wasn't all alone. It didn't seem so dangerous."

"I don't want to be separated from you again, Gale," Dewey frowned.

Gale smiled, "believe me, Dewey. I don't want you to leave my sight either."

She could see Dewey was blushing slightly as he looked down again, "I guess we need to go over what happened tonight, while it's still fresh in your memory," he changed the subject, "your witness statement is kind of an important one. No one else who's still alive has been so close to the killer... at least not anyone who knows that it's the killer anyway..."

Gale nodded. She was lucky to be alive, "Dewey, now that I think about it, I don't think he wanted to kill me. At the time, I thought he did. He was swinging the knife at me... I thought he was going to kill me for sure. But if he wanted me dead, he was more than capable of just doing it... I'm not sure why he keeps sparing my life, but he's been close enough to kill me twice now, only he didn't do it," she frowned. It was certainly not a good feeling knowing that her life had twice been in the hands of someone who wasn't opposed to mercilessly killing teenaged girls. Whoever the killer was didn't seem to have much empathy, so why hadn't he killed her? She looked into Dewey's eyes, "I thought he really was going to kill me. He had the key to my cell, Dewey, and he was trying to open it. He had the opportunity. No one else was around. He had the chance to kill me, and he didn't take it."

"But he did attack you, Gale," Dewey reminded her, gesturing toward her bandaged arm.

"Not to kill me though," Gale theorized. If he had wanted to kill me, it would have been so easy. I was unarmed, and caged... He could have just unlocked the cell and come in to finish the job. I was cornered. He didn't want to kill me. At least not yet. What does that mean, Dewey? What's he waiting for? Or is it someone I know? Someone who really doesn't want me dead at all..."

"I don't know, Gale," Dewey frowned, "did he say anything? Did he do anything else that you remember as being odd? Or just anything at all noteworthy? Was there anything else about him that we could use to connect the dots and figure out who he might be?" He was jotting down notes as she spoke. It was, after all, his job to investigate crimes like this.

Gale nearly gasped as she remembered something, "he did say something," she remarked in a soft voice, "his voice was masked by something. It didn't sound like a normal person's voice, but he did say something. He said something to Marcus... Something about making it quick. He said he'd try to make his death quick, or something equivalent to that... That's almost merciful..." she looked questioningly over at Dewey, "he stabbed Marcus first, and then Marcus tried to get away, and he pleaded, and I pleaded for him to let Marcus go..." she felt tears forming in her eyes as she remembered, but didn't let them fall. She didn't want Dewey to see her cry. She sniffed back her tears quickly and continued, "and he looked down at Marcus and told him he'd make it quick, like he wasn't killing him because he wanted him dead, but because he felt he had to for whatever reason. Maybe Marcus was a warning or an example. Maybe the killer knew Marcus and liked him..."

Dewey nodded, "that's interesting... I wouldn't figure this killer would show mercy to anyone. Even so small a merciful action as killing someone quickly instead of slowly."

"This furthers my suspicion that it's the sheriff, Dewey," Gale raised her eyebrows at him, "he hates me. Maybe he killed Marcus to show me what he's capable of, and didn't kill me yet because he wants me to have to live in fear and suffer first."

"He wouldn't do that, Gale," Dewey frowned, "besides, he came with me to the crime scene."

"Was he there the whole time?" Gale wondered.

Dewey paused for a moment. He looked like he was thinking back, "yeah," he finally nodded, "well... no... He left to get coffee, but he was only gone for like fifteen, twenty minutes tops."

"That's long enough, Dewey, and you know it," Gale stared at him.

Dewey shook his head, "I just can't picture him killing anyone Gale. I know this isn't going to convince you, but I know him. lots of people came and went from that crime scene. The fact that he wasn't there the whole time doesn't convince me that he was up to anything. He even brought coffee back... so if he had gone to the station and killed Marcus, he would have also needed to stop somewhere for coffee."

"The killer was taller than I am," Gale continued analyzing what she had witnessed. She didn't see a point in continuing to try to convince Dewey that his captain might be a murderer. The man was simply not going to believe it. Instead, Gale would tell Dewey what she witnessed tonight, and let the evidence speak for itself, "it's impossible to say for sure, but I think it was a man. He just seemed bigger than a woman would be."

Dewey nodded, "Gale, it seems like everyone he's killed so far has just been to set examples or to lure people to him. He flat out told Martha that she was bait to get the so-called 'Woodsboro Gang' back in town. He killed Bethany to show you that he was paying attention... I'm not sure why he'd kill Marcus... Maybe that one was for me, since I worked with him. Everyone in town is in danger, but it seems like it's all building up to something, and that something is probably going to bring us all back together - all the people who were involved in the original murders... That's you, me, Randy, and Sid."

"Does anyone that you know of have something to gain from killing the four of us?" Gale wondered, "I barely even know anyone in Woodsboro... There has got to be a connection we aren't seeing. If you don't think it's Jones, then who do you think it might be?" she wondered.

"I don't know, Gale," Dewey looked hesitant, "I don't want to point fingers when I don't have the evidence to back it up."

"This is just between you and me, Dewey. No one else will ever know if you point a finger at them," Gale assured him, "trust me; I'm not going to be doing any more reporting for a while..."

Dewey sighed, "alright," he gave in, "but this is off the record... and I mean that. If I hear about this on the news-"

"You won't Dewey," Gale looked into his eyes, "I'm promising you."

"Okay," Dewey took a sip of his tea and settled back against the couch, "Everyone's a suspect, of course. Everyone but me, anyway, since I'm the only person I know with one hundred percent certainty didn't kill anyone. But some people are standing out as suspects more than others... and It's not enough to pursue them seriously, but I do want to take some of them in for questioning, maybe tomorrow," he started.

Gale sipped her tea as she quietly listened, eager to finally hear his thoughts. Dewey didn't always seem like he knew what was going on around him, but he certainly was no fool. He could be a very strong voice of reason at times. He may have very likely made some observation that had passed right by Gale.

"First, and most obvious, are Martha's friends Heather and Kayla. Now, Kayla is quite a bit smaller than what I'd expect the killer to be, especially when I consider that you saw the killer and describe him or her as tall, but we don't know that there is only one killer, so she can't be excluded. Heather, on the other hand, is taller, though still a teenaged girl. I wouldn't describe her as physically imposing. I wouldn't think a teenaged girl would be physically capable of murder, but people become a lot more capable when you put a knife in their hand," he explained, "their blood was at the crime scene, but not enough that I'd be sure that they're dead. Especially in Heather's case. There wasn't much of her blood at all. If she wanted to appear innocent, she could have cut herself on purpose, dripped blood on the floor, and then ran off to claim her next victim."

Gale nodded. She really didn't think the girls were still alive, but she acknowledged that they might be, and that certainly made them suspects.

"The next suspect, still somewhat obvious, is Cotton Weary," Dewey spoke, "and this is off the record, Gale," he reminded her. She nodded and waited for him to continue, "he's been living in Woodsboro, but has done several television interviews since being released from prison. All that's sort of dying down for him now. Maybe he wasn't ready to be forgotten yet. Maybe he wants to draw attention back here so that he can get his fame back."

Gale narrowed her eyes. That made some sense. Cotton certainly was a big deal to the media back a few years ago, and they had all but forgotten him by this point. He would get more attention if say, he was a survivor of a second Woodsboro killing spree. But Gale didn't think Cotton would do something like this. She had worked so hard to prove his innocence before. She had gotten to know him, and she certainly couldn't picture him killing anyone, for any amount of fame, "I don't think Cotton's the killer, Dewey," Gale disagreed, "he's just misunderstood. He's an odd guy. People don't know what to think of him."

"Sid told me he was being kind of creepy," Dewey noted, "she said that when she got here this morning, she was walking down the sidewalk and he sort of stalked her until she was forced to talk to him. Said he wanted her to apologize to him..."

Sighing, Gale put her coffee cup on the table in front of the couch and turned back toward Dewey, "he was falsely accused of rape and murder. He spent time in prison for it. I'd want an apology too. He certainly comes across the wrong way at times, but he's not a killer."

"He was at the crime scene too," he noted, "but then I lost track of him at some point. He could have gone to the police station when he realized most of the officers wouldn't be there. Like I said, Gale," Dewey continued, "these are just suspects. And everyone is a suspect... Just some more than others. Some of my friends make my suspect list too."

"Does Jones?" Gale raised her eyebrow.

Dewey shook his head, "he wouldn't kill someone, Gale."

"Neither would Cotton," Gale frowned.

"Fine," Dewey gave in, "Jones is a suspect too, but I can't exactly question him... and I don't know what his motive would be."

"Maybe to be the hero? To frame someone else, 'catch' that person, and save the day? Maybe he wants to get his fifteen minutes of fame?" Gale speculated, "I'm sure his job has been pretty boring over the past two years."

Dewey shrugged, "I guess..."

"You've got to be careful around him, Dewey," Gale urged, "I know you trust him, but I don't. Would you want me hanging out around Cotton when you don't know for sure that he's not the killer?"

"Well, no..." Dewey frowned, "of course not."

"You and I should stick together until we figure this out," Gale suggested.

Dewey nodded and placed his coffee mug on the table next to Gale's.

Gale frowned and looked up at him, "the killer could be pretty much anyone, Dewey... And whoever it is, they're smart. They wear gloves, conceal their voice, strike when people are alone... I have a feeling we're not going to catch this guy until he wants us to."

Dewey scooted closer to her and put his arm awkwardly up over the back of the couch, "we'll catch him, Gale," he assured her, hesitating and then moving his arm back down to his side, "we're ready for him. I have a gun. All he has is a knife."

Gale reached over and took Dewey's hand. She maneuvered his arm back up and around her shoulders. She never could understand why he acted like a scared fourteen year old boy on his first date whenever he was around her.

He wrapped his arm more snugly around her and put his hand lightly on her knee.

Gale looked up at him. He looked nervous and she noticed his eyes moving down to stare at her lips. She hoped he would kiss her, but maybe he didn't perceive now to be a good time... Or maybe he was too nervous. Maybe he thought she would get mad at him if he tried to kiss her. He worried too much, and she didn't want to have to come out and ask him... So she closed her eyes, hoping he'd take the hint.

Only seconds passed before she felt his lips on hers. The kiss was gentle, short, and sweet.

Opening her eyes, Gale looked up at him with a smile on her face. He was smirking as well, a half-embarrassed smirk, but she could tell he was happy. His cheeks were flushed and he averted his eyes almost immediately.

Gale reached over and hugged him, very relieved when he hugged her back, "I'm going to keep you safe, Dewey," Gale promised, "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

Dewey hugged her tighter, "you too, Gale," he said in a small voice, "you've had two too many close calls."

Smiling, Gale settled against his chest and simply stayed there. He leaned back as far as the couch would allow, but kept his arms around her. They stayed like that at least until Gale fell asleep.

xxxxxx

I love Gale and Dewey. I'm trying to figure out how to keep the other characters involved without giving them too much of my time... I don't want them to be excluded, but I really care a lot more about Gale and Dewey than the others...

Thanks for reading. I'll try to update faster this time. I've got three years to fulfill that promise...