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

…

"Man, why do we always get the lame beats?"

Officers Mitchells and Heismith are sitting in a patrol car, patrolling the grounds of the Rutherfeller Estate.

"Hey, it's because we're new, man," Mitchells replies. "The new guy always gets the crappy jobs."

"Well I'm tired of patrol duty – when are we going to get actual cases?"

Mitchells shakes his head. "Did anyone ever tell you that you complain a lot?"

"Complain a lot? Complain a lot? Oh, I haven't even begun to start complaining!"

"You sound like a little kid."

Heismith folds his arms. "I do not!"

"Listen, it could be a whole lot worse. We could have ended up like Hoss and Perkins."

"Man, why you gotta bring that up? Especially out here, at this spooky place…"

Mitchells is cracking up. "I'm just saying … count your blessings. You never know when your order's up."

"Don't say stuff like that!"

"Why not?"

"It freaks me out."

"So me saying stuff freaks you out, but being out here at a haunted house protecting a potential target of a killer doesn't?"

"Why you gotta remind me?"

"Just be on your guard tonight, okay?"

"Can we at least order a pizza or Chinese or something?"

"Ugh. You're killing, Heismith."

"Why you gotta use the word kill?"

…

CUT TO:

Shots of each cast member wandering the house.

Kirby is walking around, grinning, actually enjoying herself.

Shannon is walking slowly, looking around, every small noise making her jump.

Beth is opening a doorknob with a hankerchief.

Evan is casually moving down a hall, whistling to himself.

Monica catches her reflection in a mirror, and takes the opportunity to dab on some more heavy eyeliner.

Justin is sitting in an old chair, playing Angry Birds on his I-phone.

…

Upstairs in the control room, Phil is reclining in his chair, eating a box of Reese's Pieces. Sandford is fixing some plugs.

"I can't believe it, but the show is actually going smoothly," Phil says.

Sandford looks at him questioningly. "You're surprised?"

"Well, yeah. Especially after I blew my father's last show up. I still can't believe he let me handle this all on my own."

"He trusts you. He thinks you can handle it."

"That's what I can't believe. Usually he gets on my case about being irresponsible, uncaring, lazy …"

Sandford shrugs. "Well, maybe he decided to give you another chance to prove yourself."

"I guess. Although I really wish he was here right now. To see my big success in person…"

"Your father's a busy man."

"Not really. His studio's been dying. Shocktoberfest Live is his final chance at keeping it alive. Other than that, he hasn't had any real business."

"Any real business that you know of…" Sandford's voice trails off.

"I don't follow."

"Come on … a lot of these big businessmen … they make a lot under the table."

Phil frowns. "My father isn't involved in anything illegal, if that's what you mean."

"Oh no, I wasn't saying that. He just probably has some kind of alternative source of income … you know, to fall back on in case his studio fails."

"Maybe. Though I find it strange he wouldn't tell me."

"Hey, not all parents tell their kids everything. My father had a whole second family that my mother and I knew nothing about."

Phil's eyebrows rise. "Wow. Tough break man." He stuffs his face with more Reese's Pieces.

…

It is night when Sidney and Mrs. Reed arrive back at the Reed's residence. They pull into the driveway only to see Mrs. Grady and her protestors standing across the street, chanting and yelling.

Mrs. Reed rolls her eyes. "Oh great – the Banshee Brigade is back."

The chanting, lead by Mrs. Grady, can be heard over the noise of the car.

"GO HOME, ANGEL OF DEATH – BEFORE THERE'S NO ONE LEFT! GO HOME, ANGEL OF DEATH – BEFORE THERE'S NO ONE LEFT!"

"Let's just pull into the garage," Sidney suggests.

Mrs. Reed pulls the car into the garage. Sidney helps her unpack groceries.

"The nerve of some people," Mrs. Reed is saying. "As though you were actually the killer himself."

Sidney shrugs. "They're afraid. So they turn to attacking me to cover their own fear. It's almost a self-defense mechanism."

"You learn that in therapy or something?"

"No. It's just that most of the people trying to kill me are afraid deep down too."

Mrs. Reed looks at her. "Wow, you really thought this through, haven't you?"

"Hey, you don't survive four massacres without learning a thing or two about human psychology."

Sidney finishes helping put the groceries away. "If you don't mind, I've had kind of a long day - do you think I could just go to bed?"

Mrs. Reed nods. "I understand. Don't worry, I can handle the trick-or-treaters." She gestures to a bowl full of candy near the door.

Sidney smiles. "Thanks, Mrs. Reed." She embraces the older woman, before she heads upstairs.

…

Sidney collapses into bed, fully dressed, too tired to get changed.

…

"Ooh, you make such a scary witch," Mrs. Reed says as she deposits some candy into a child's bag.

Riiing! Riiing!

The telephone starts ringing. Mrs. Reed closes the door after giving the candy to the trick-or-treaters. She then goes over to the phone, answering it.

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"Who's this?"

"Umm, I think you have the wrong number."

"Do I?"

"Yea, I think you do. Don't worry, it happens. Happy Halloween!" She hangs up the phone with a click, then proceeds to the kitchen.

Riiing! Riiing!

Mrs. Reed sighs, turning around to answer the phone again.

"Hello?"

"I'd like to talk to Sidney."

"Sidney's asleep right now. May I take a message?"

There is a pause.

"I'd like to talk to Sidney."

"Honey, Sidney's asleep. But if you'd tell me your name, I'll make sure she gets back to you."

"That's okay. I'll call back."

With a click, the caller hangs up.

Mrs. Reed shrugs. "Weirdo." She then goes over to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of juice.

Riing! Riing!

Mrs. Reed sighs in exasperation. "Are you kidding me?" She answers the phone once again. "Hello?"

"Is Sidney awake yet?"

"It's only been a minute! Why don't you call back tomorrow?"

"Because … I want to tell Sidney goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"Yea. Because I won't be able to attend her FUNERAL!"

"Is this a prank?"

"Put Sidney on the phone!"

"No, I think I'll call the cops instead."

"But will they get here before I split you open like a melon?"

Mrs. Reed backs up against the wall, her heart racing. "There are witnesses outside. You'll never get away with it!"

"Really? Take a look outside."

Mrs. Reed goes over to the front window, pushing the curtains aside. Outside it is empty, dark. The trick-or-treaters are done for the night. Mrs. Grady and her band of protestors have also packed up and left.

The streets are empty.

Mrs. Reed's eyes are wide with alarm.

"Still so secure, Mrs. Reed? Still so ready to mouth off to me?"

"Please … just leave us alone!"

"You better make sure the back door is locked!"

Mrs. Reed hangs up the phone, then sprints throughout the house, to the sliding-glass doors. She checks the locking mechanism – it's securely in place. She breathes a sigh of relief.

Riing! Riing!

Mrs. Reed answers the phone again, raising it shakily to her ear.

"Put Sidney on the phone, please."

Mrs. Reed is looking around, frantically.

"You're really making this more difficult than it has to be. You're not the one I'm after. But because you're not doing what I tell you, I am seriously considering gutting you right now! So just put Sidney on the phone before I REALLY lose my temper!"

"What do you want with her?"

"Just put her on the phone! Or … maybe I should just leave Sidney alone and go after your precious … Kirby."

"Leave her alone!"

"Then put Sidney on the phone! Your call!"

Sidney appears at the top of the steps. "I heard screaming. What's going on?"

Mrs. Reed points at the phone and mouths "the killer."

Sidney races down the stairs and takes the phone out of her hands. "Hello?"

"Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. You're a difficult one to get a hold of these days."

"What can I say? I don't do anymore public appearances. And autographs are ten dollars a pop."

"Such a shame. But how is fame treating you these days?"

"Oh you know … a lot fan mail … an occasional psycho tries to kill you. You know, the usual."

"Hehe, still got a sense of humor after all these years, I see. But let's stop beating around the bush, Sidney. I want to play a game."

Sidney yawns. "Oh boy, more horror questions. So original."

"Ooh, and sarcastic too. But I was thinking of a more … innovative game."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Two lives are counting on you right now, Sid."

Sidney stops short. "What?"

"Two people that I've kidnapped. I have them hostage right now. Come to us, and see if you can rescue them."

"Who have you kidnapped? WHO?"

"Uh-uh, not yet. Let's not spoil any surprises. But this game will test your character, Sidney. A bunch of old demons will come roiling up! Let's see how you handle it."

"If you lay a finger on anybody -."

"What if I lay all five, what then?"

Sidney runs a hand through her hair. "What do you want me to do?"

"Drive. Go to Stu Macher's old house. You'll find my hostages there – and maybe I'll be waiting in the wings. Who knows?"

"And what's to stop me from calling the police?"

"Nothing. In fact, I dare you to! Let's see what Woodsboro Police Department can make of me! Fifteen minutes, Sid. If you are even one second late, I won't hesitate to rip them up and look at what they had for dinner!"

Sidney nods. "Fifteen minutes. Stu Macher's old house. I'll be there."

"I'll be waiting."

Sidney hangs up. She presses the phone into Mrs. Reed's hands. "I need you to call the police, tell them what's going on. Tell Dewey what's going on."

"But what about you?"

Sidney loads a handgun, hiding it in her pants leg. "Hey, I'm a professional Ghostface killer." She hugs Mrs. Reed. "Don't worry about me, okay. Everything will be fine, I promise. Oh, and can I borrow your car?"

…

Sidney pulls the car out of the driveway, nearly running over a lawn-gnome. She puts it in drive and takes off, the tires screeching against the pavement.

…

Dewey and Judy are doing their rounds. Dewey is on the phone with Mrs. Reed. "She went where? Okay, we're on it!" He hangs up. "Hurry Judy – the Macher house is twenty minutes from here! Step on the gas!" He then picks up his hand-held radio and begins screeching into it.

…

Mitchells and Heismith are still driving when Dewey's voice blares on the radio. "I need backup. Suspect has made contact! I need backup at the Macher house!"

Mitchells and Heismith look at each other. "Wow, finally!"

They put their car in drive, speeding away from the Rutherfeller Estate.

…

Kincaid bursts through the doors of his hotel room to find Turner sprawled out on the bed, passed out.

Kincaid grabs a cup of water and douses his partner.

"Aagh! What's the matter? You don't throw water on a guy when he's sleeping!"

"Get dressed," Kincaid says. "The suspect has struck."

"Struck?"

"He was never after the reality show after all – all along, Sidney's been his target. He's just made contact with her." He throws some pants at him. "Get dressed!"

…

Phil and Sandford are still sitting in their control room, observing their cast members as they make their way through the mansion.

Suddenly the television screens black out.

"Hey, what's going on?" Phil asks.

"Oh crap." Sandford begins playing around with the television screens. "I think the feed's been cut."

Phil rubs his eyes in frustration. "I knew this wouldn't go smoothly. Nothing ever does!"

"Just relax. The cameras are still operating – it's just that the feed to the televisions have been deactivated."

"Leaving us blind," Phil says. He gets up. "Stay here and try to see what you can do. I'll be in the basement, trying to rewire some of the cameras."

Sandford gives him a mock salute. "Will do, Captain."

Phil passes a window on his way out. "Hey, are those cops supposed to be leaving?"

Sandford shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

Phil gulps. "What is going on?"