Disclaimer: I do not own Scream. This is merely a fanfiction.

WOODSBORO POLICE DEPARTMENT – NIGHT.

OCTOBER 30TH.

ONE MORE DAY 'TILL HALLOWEEN…

"Come on – I already told you everything I know!"

Ernest Raw is sitting in custody, being interrogated by Kincaid and Turner. Dewey and Judy stand in the corner, watching the proceedings.

"We've already caught you on several felonies," says Turner. "You're already going to jail for a very long time. So why not tell us who the killer is? Who made those tapes?"

"If you tell us, the courts may be lenient," Kincaid adds.

"But I don't know!" Ernest waves his arms around in exasperation. "I always received those tapes from a third party, or through the mail!"

"You must know something," Kincaid says.

Ernest rubs his sinuses. "All I know is, there are some pretty big business people involved in this ring. Powerful people, too."

"Really? Political figures?"

"I don't know!"

"Well what do you know?" Kincaid thunders.

"There's a corporation involved. It's been producing underground films for years." He begins listing them off. "Snuff films, pornographic films, tapes of animal fights …"

"And when did this corporation get linked up to the Ghostface killer?"

"Only recently. From what I hear, the people in charge heard about the killings last year. They were impressed with how the killers filmed their murders. This new Ghostface probably decided to cash in."

Kincaid is pacing relentlessly. "Does this new batch of killings have anything to do with Sidney Prescott?"

"Come on, man …"

Kincaid's face turns livid. "I SAID DOES THIS HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH SIDNEY PRESCOTT?" He slams his fist onto the table, causing Ernest to jump.

"I don't know … I wasn't aware that she's a target …"

Kincaid is breathing through his nose. "She isn't a target – yet."

Turner puts his hand on Kincaid's shoulder. "Do you know where he'll strike next?"

Ernest shakes his head. "No. I wasn't clued into that kind of intel. By the way, when do I get my phone call?"

Kincaid wrenches a nearby phone off the wall and smacks Ernest upside the head with it. "Make it quick…"

Rubbing his sore head, Ernest begins dialing a number while the four cops leave.

Kincaid, Turner, Dewey and Judy all stand in Dewey's office, pacing. "He keeps talking about some kind of corporation being involved and making these kinds of films. But I can't think of any corporations that would have a hand in all this."

Judy seems lost in thought. "There's something that keeps bugging me …"

"Out with it," Kincaid growls.

"Okay, well … you and Turner met with the Snow family. Their daughter Evelyn was involved in some talent agency … they made commercials with her. Her parents say she was being sexually abused. Is that right?"

"That's what they said," Kincaid agrees. "Where are you going with this, Deputy?"

"What if the agency was filming the abuse? What if they were molesting her on camera?"

Kincaid, Turner and Dewey all exchange looks.

Dewey is shaking his head in surprise. "Gale may have been on to something after all…"

"And remember what Gale said the other day? When she had all that information on the victims? One of the first victims – at the carnival. Hannah Lynn – she starred in a commercial when she was twelve, but the parents immediately withdrew her involvement."

"It's all coming together," comments Turner. "More than likely it was the same agency."

"What if these aren't just random killings?" Judy continues. "And what if this has nothing to do with Sidney at all? What if this agency – or whatever it is – was actually trying to make child porn? And now, the killer is targeting people who may open their mouths … making snuff films out of them … making his own twisted STAB – for profit."

"We did find a stash of kiddie porn in Raw's apartment – along with the snuff films," Turner adds.

Kincaid runs a hand through his hair. "It just got that much more complicated." He sighs. "Turner and I will question the Lynns tomorrow. See if we can get anymore leads. Now if you'll excuse me … I really need a good night's sleep."

Kincaid grabs his jacket and exits the office. Turner follows him.

"There's one thing that's bothering me as well, Mark," Turner says, and Kincaid notices a wry grin crossing his partner's face.

"Spit it out."

"Why did you get so angry when you asked Raw if the killer was after Sidney Prescott?"

Kincaid's face turns beet red. "I … uh … shut up, Turner!"

RUTHERFELLER ESTATE – MORNING.

OCTOBER 31ST – HALLOWEEN.

Kirby enters the mansion's dining room, still in her pajamas. Breakfast was being served to the cast, but only Shannon and Justin were sitting at the table, eating.

"Oh, Kirby! I saved you a plate!" Shannon motions towards a plate filled with eggs and sausages. "I tried to save as much as I could for you – but the other cast mates were here already – nearly ate up everything."

"Thanks," Kirby says, digging in. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Nearly noon."

Kirby's eyes widen. "Noon?"

Shannon shrugs. "I decided to let you sleep in. Besides, with all that snoring you were doing, none of us wanted to even go near you."

Kirby is indignant. "I do not snore!"

Shannon rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say …"

"I don't!"

Kirby looks over at Justin, who is sitting a few chairs down. A laptop is open on the table, and Justin is completely immersed.

"What are you looking at?" Kirby asks.

"Shhh!" Justin waves a finger at her. "I'm in the WOW zone."

Shannon is confused. "WOW?"

"World of Warcraft, noob."

Kirby raises her hands. "Enough said. He couldn't talk to us now, even if he wanted to. He'll be at it all day."

It's then that they hear the footsteps of someone approaching.

"And here's the dining room – oh, here's some of our cast."

Phil is leading a middle-aged man on a tour of the house – a man who Kirby instantly recognizes as Mr. Howards, Phil's father.

"Kirby, Shannon, Justin – you all remember my father."

Kirby and Shannon wave – Justin isn't even aware anyone was speaking to him.

Phil points to several spots in the room. "Most of the cameras are hidden. We have some on the floor, on the hutch cabinet, even some placed in the corners of the ceiling. That way we can get some great footage from multiple angles."

Mr. Howards is nodding his head, a smile actually appearing on his usually grumpy face. "I'm impressed, son. I thought you were going to slack off, and play this off as a joke like you always do. But you came through and surprised me. You just may take my spot as President of Howards' Entertainment yet."

Phil is positively beaming. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot to me."

Kirby begins chanting in excitement. "Hug! Hug! Hug!"

Phil and Mr. Howards look at her awkwardly, and Kirby lowers her head, embarrassed.

"How about I show you the upstairs?" Phil asks.

"Actually, I should really be getting going," Mr. Howards replies, looking at his watch. "My flight leaves in an hour."

Phil seems downcast. "F-flight? But I thought … you were going to be here with me when the show goes down?"

"I really wish I could Son, but there's an urgent matter I have to deal with in Jersey. I'll be back the day after tomorrow to celebrate the success of your show." He pats his son on the back. "Make me proud."

Phil gives a bittersweet smile. "I will, Dad." They shake hands, and Mr. Howards leaves; Phil stands there for a moment, watching sadly, wishing his father would come back. He shakes himself out of his stupor.

"That was such a touching moment," Shannon says. She's nearly in tears.

Phil seems embarrassed. "Yeah … well … don't tell anyone that I have a soft spot, okay?" He looks around. "By the way, has anyone seen Tyler?"

"Not since last night," replies Shannon.

"Hmm, that's odd. Usually he brings me my morning coffee and a bunch of paperwork, which I make him fill out for me anyway. And I usually don't give him days off, either."

"He'll turn up somewhere," Kirby says.

"As long as it's not my bed," Shannon mutters under her breath.

Phil rubs his hands in anticipation. "Well, are you ladies excited about the show tonight?"

"You know, I wasn't at first," Kirby admits. "But I'm actually starting to feel it now."

"That's good." He takes a hearty breath, enjoying the feeling of elation at having his own show.

"I hope everything runs smoothly," Shannon comments.

Phil shrugs. "It's Halloween night in a haunted mansion – what can possibly go wrong?"