Hooray! I'm so happy to see that I got more reviews than usual on my latest chapter. Thank you for your support, everyone. I'm so glad to see more reviews. It does so much for my confidence. ^_^ I hope you'll all continue to read and continue to enjoy the rest of the story.

Let's see what Dewey's up to:

xxxxxx

In a private room at the back of the local public library sat Officer Dewey Riley, with a file folder and a notepad on the table in front of him. Across that table and in a rather impatient mood sat Cotton Weary. Due to the fact that the police station was now a crime scene, anyone interviewing witnesses or suspects, or just dealing with the public in any way had been permitted to use rooms at the library over regular interrogation rooms, which was what had brought Cotton and Dewey here. The police were questioning potential suspects and needed a private place do to it. A private place which wasn't also a crime scene. The library seemed like the next best place Woodsboro had to offer.

Dewey narrowed his eyes slightly as he observed the man sitting across from him. He looked a bit uneasy, but that could easily be attributed to the fact that he had been falsely accused of murder once before. Even if this man was innocent, he had good reason to feel nervous. Most likely, as far as Cotton could see, based on his own personal experience, even being innocent and telling the truth might not be enough to erase suspicions against him.

"These chairs are nice," Cotton remarked with a nervous tone as he shifted his weight in the cushioned library chair.

Dewey nodded, "nicer than regular interrogation room chairs, huh?" he forced a laugh, "Cotton, you don't need to be nervous," Dewey assured him, "this is just standard stuff. We're questioning a lot of people today."

"That's funny," Cotton spoke with a very slight shaking in his voice, "Because I didn't see anyone else leaving when I came in..."

"Well, there's not exactly a waiting line," Dewey countered, "you were spotted at the crime scene where Bethany Grace was murdered last night," he moved the conversation along, "could you tell me what you were doing there?"

"Have you asked everyone else who was there this question?" Cotton scowled. He was quite clearly defensive, "Sidney was there. Randy was there. About fifty other people were there..."

"A lot of those people are going to be questioned, Cotton," Dewey frowned, "but we're not talking about them. We're talking about you. Why were you there?"

With an exasperated sigh, Cotton put his elbows up on the table, folded his hands so that his fingers were intertwined with one another, and rested his chin on top of his hands, "same reason everyone else was, Dewey."

"And that is-" Dewey wondered. He needed clear answers. He couldn't exactly make assumptions like Cotton seemed to want him to.

"There were lights and sirens and people crowded around. I stopped because I wanted to see what was happening," Cotton admitted, "Sure, it's not the polite thing to do - to gawk at an ambulance, but people have a natural curiosity about these sort of things."

Dewey nodded, "that's fair enough. I notice you didn't seem to stay at the crime scene for very long," he added, "where did you go afterward?"

"Home," Cotton replied.

"Did you drive? Walk?" Dewey asked.

"I drove."

"And you went straight home? You didn't stop anywhere?" the officer wondered.

Cotton sighed again, "yeah. I went straight home."

"Do you know of anyone who could corroborate that statement? Did you pass by anyone on your way? Speak to anyone who could confirm that you were going in the direction of your home?" Dewey requested.

Cotton shook his head, "I didn't talk to anyone. I drove past some people, but I didn't pay attention to who they were. I don't know if they saw me or would recognize my car... I didn't know I'd need an alibi."

Dewey nodded and observed the man across from him some more. Gale had told Dewey that she noticed the killer was taller than she was... and Cotton matched that description. But so did a lot of people.

Dewey slid the notepad and a pen over to Cotton, "I'd like to take a handwriting sample," the officer spoke, "if you could just write the alphabet, once in lower-case letters and once in capital letters and then copy down these sentences in your own, normal handwriting," he slid another paper toward Cotton. This paper contained some seemingly very random sentences, but these sentences were comprised of many of the same individual words that had been written on the note Bethany had given to Gale.

"Fine," Cotton begrudgingly took the paper and began writing, "did the killer leave a note or something?" he asked.

Dewey just shrugged. He couldn't share that information.

"I'm going to ask a few more questions while you write, if that's okay," Dewey continued.

"Go ahead, Officer," Cotton mumbled.

"You say you had a natural curiosity to see the scene where Bethany was killed," he started, "did you have the same curiosity for any of the other scenes? Were you present at any of them?"

"I drove past the school today," he admitted, "but it seems like it wasn't until a few hours after everybody else. It was basically just reporters there by that point. There was nothing to see."

"Do you know what the scene at the school even was?" Dewey asked, hoping if he was somehow involved he might spill more information than he should know.

"I heard the girls from the sleep over where the first girl was killed were found there," Cotton explained, "some people said they were hanging from a tree," he shook his head as though disgusted, "that's pretty messed up if you ask me."

"Yeah," Dewey agreed. He couldn't help but to see his own sister in these most recently discovered victims. She was near their age when she died, "very messed up."

Cotton slid the paper back over toward Dewey,"Everyone is looking at me funny on the streets," he spoke, "people act like I'm being suspicious, but I'm not doing anything any different from anyone else. Of course I'm curious when I see a cop car with its siren blaring drive by, or when I hear from someone else that bodies were just found hanging from a tree at the school. So is everyone. Sidney and Randy were at that crime scene just like I was, and they had the nerve to look at me like I was a criminal, while they were doing the same, exact thing. I've been proven innocent of the only crime I was ever charged with, but no one can forget what they once thought of me, even after they were proven wrong. Why is that, Dewey?"

"It's hard for people to forget how they once felt, I suppose," Dewey frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was to make an innocent man feel cornered and ganged up on. He completely understood why Cotton would be frustrated right now, "Cotton," the officer looked the man right in the eye," I want you to know I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Why does it feel like you are then?" Cotton wondered as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the officer.

"I'm just covering all my bases," Dewey explained, "like I said before, you aren't the first person who has been questioned, and you won't be the last. We're just trying to do whatever we can to catch this guy."

Cotton forced a very non-genuine-looking smile, "Just do what you've gotta do then," he sighed, "Of course I want the guy to be caught too... I'm just understandably frustrated that I'm always everybody's first suspect."

"I get that," Dewey noted. He looked down at the paper. From what he remembered, the handwriting there didn't match the note, but he was no expert. The killer could have disguised his or her writing too. The writing sample couldn't prove or disprove anyone's guilt. It was just a small stepping stone that might lead him toward a possible answer, "that's all for now, Cotton. We'll let you know if we need anything more."

He stood up as Cotton did the same and offered his hand out to shake the other man's.

For a moment, Cotton hesitated as he looked down at the officer's hand, but finally took it in a firm grip and shook it, "pleasure doing business with you, Officer Riley," he said in what Dewey could only describe as a dry sarcastic tone.

Dewey nodded and offered a half laugh, "be careful out there, Cotton," he remarked before the man turned to leave, "you weren't exactly involved in the last group of murders, but the killer could very well target you due to your association with Sidney and Gale."

"I wouldn't say I'm associated with them," Cotton frowned, "Sidney won't even give me the time of day, and I haven't even talked to Gale since she came back into town."

"This isn't only about the present," Dewey noted, " whoever the killer is seems to have some desire to lure people involved with the events of two years ago back into town. I don't know if that includes you or not. Just take all the necessary precautions. Don't go outside at night. Don't go places alone... Just keep an eye on your surroundings."

Cotton nodded as he walked toward the door, "I hope all you cops sort this out soon," he remarked as he opened the door, "then maybe people will finally leave me alone."

Dewey sighed as Cotton walked out the door and closed it behind him. He still couldn't decide of Cotton being so defensive meant anything. He would send the handwriting sample off to be analyzed and just keep a sharp eye on any and all details of the past murders. And unfortunately, he was quite sure there would be future murders to consider as well.

xxxxxx

This is one of my favorite chapters too. I've always thought Cotton was a really interesting character. Dewey doesn't really ever talk to him in the movies, so I thought it would be cool to have a chapter with just the two of them. Cotton always seems to be on the verge of being a villain... Is he a good guy? Did being treated like a criminal for so long turn him into one? What is his deal? He's certainly an enigma.

Please leave me a review and let me know what you think. :) Thanks in advance.