The hospital on campus was on the north side of campus near the river; it was a large three-story brick building flanked by two tall towers, which housed all the hospital's major departments.
It had been a bloody night in the town of Windsor, and the town was waking up as the sun was just beginning to peek its head over the tops of the trees.
Sidney tried to drown out her racing thoughts by focusing on the cacophony of beeping and faint voices in the upstairs hospital hallway, but it was no use.
She pushed back against the uncomfortable vinyl seats and sniffed, wiping away another tear.
What the hell am I going to do? she thought.
Someone else was out there, coming for her, and she knew they wouldn't stop until she was dead.
The killer had been so aggressive. There was no more playfulness.
Whoever this was was pissed, and they wanted her dead badly.
It had been planned from the beginning.
The killer had clearly distracted everyone with Cici's murder long enough so he could get Sidney alone.
All Sidney could think was…I've got to get pissed too.
Somehow, she had to get angry.
She had to fight fire with fire.
She still had felt the overwhelming sense of helplessness come over her when the killer had attacked her in the sorority house.
All she had done was run.
That's all she had ever done.
She ran from Woodsboro and came 45,000 miles across the country.
And now, she was running from this.
Everything in her told her to just run.
But now she knew…
I can't run….I can't hide….
She had to stay and fight.
Or else it was looking like all of her friends were going to drop like flies and then, she'd be the next one on the blade.
She remembered feeling the cold steel of Stu Macher's knife slice into her that night back in Woodsboro.
She could still smell all of the blood that had been splattered all around the kitchen of Stu Macher's affluent home out in the countryside.
It was all so vivid, and it was all coming back to her as she tried to focus on the ambience of the hospital.
"Your mother was a slutbag whore who flashed her shit all over town like she was Sharon Stone…"
Billy's biting and evil words came back to her like a flood, and she felt the burning of tears threatening to spill out and overtake her.
But Sidney remained calm, firmly planted in the hospital chair, feeling all of the old feelings coursing through her like tiny bullets ricocheting around in her insides.
She didn't dare break.
She couldn't.
Not now.
Hallie suddenly appeared as the door to a hospital room opened.
The door closed behind her and Hallie sighed.
"Easiest interrogation of my crime-filled life," Hallie joked.
Sidney said nothing, and didn't even crack a smile.
Hallie put a hand on Sidney's shoulder.
"I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want?" Hallie asked.
Sidney shook her head weakly, exhausted from all of the adrenaline.
Hallie gave Sidney an empathetic look and walked down the hallway, disappearing through a set of doors at the end.
Mickey came out of the room next, and sat down next to Sidney.
"You alright?" asked Mickey.
Sidney almost laughed at that question.
"Not at all," she managed to say. "I knew this was coming. I knew this wasn't over,"
Mickey leaned in close to her.
"You aren't alone, Sidney. We are all here for you," he said. "Whatever you need,"
"That poor girl…" Sidney said, closing her eyes at the mental image of Cici's mutilated corpse suspended in air right in front of her.
"I know," Mickey said.
"Derek could have been killed," Sidney said.
"But he wasn't," Mickey replied. "He just needs to realize the nineties is no time to play hero. Why would he go back in that house anyway?"
"Just tell us what happened," said Chief Hartley.
Derek swallowed hard at the sight of the eyes of Dewey, the police chief, and another deputy all on him.
They were all packed into an exam room in the hospital.
A young Asian nurse wrapped a thick gauze around the gash on Derek's left forearm.
"I…I heard Sidney screaming, but the front door was locked so…I ran around back to find her, that's when she said that the killer was inside, so I ran in to see…" Derek explained, wincing in pain as the nurse patted the gauze.
"You're lucky there's no nerve damage. You're going to need to take it easy though," the nurse said.
"So you went inside the house, right?" Chief Hartley said.
"Yes," Derek said.
"No struggle? He just cut you and ran away?" Chief Hartley asked skeptically. "You're lucky he didn't kill you, this guy has already butchered two people in a crowded movie theater,"
"It's awfully convenient," Dewey chimed in.
"What's that?" Derek asked, dumbfounded at Dewey's accusatory tone.
"It's just a shame he got away so easily," Dewey said.
"It's a shame you got there too late. Right after he disappeared," Derek said.
"Yeah, it is…" was all Dewey managed to say.
"Look…" Derek said. "I don't know what's going on here, but I ran in that house to stop this bastard from hurting Sidney. If you'll excuse me," he said.
He exchanged glances with the nurse.
"You're good to go," she said.
Derek gave Dewey and the Sheriff another firm glance, and left the exam room.
Later that day, the security office located in the student center of Windsor College was quickly turning into police and FBI headquarters.
Other uniformed officials stood in other sections of the large office.
It was no longer just a campus security office run by some donut-eating mall cops.
It was now designated headquarters.
A tiny back office was packed wall-to-wall by a few deputies, Sheriff Hartley, Dewey, Gale, and the dean of campus, Dean Fisher.
They were all in the midst of a heated conversation, which was understandable after the last two days seeing heinous murders left and right.
Everyone was at their wits end.
What was the killer up to? What was his next move? If the killer was really after Sidney, why go after the two in the movie theater?
"Here's what we know. We have two seemingly random victims stabbed in a crowded theater. Then we have a sorority girl thrown off a balcony and hung from a tree. Then we have Sidney Prescott, local celebrity victim, attacked across the street," Chief Hartley explained.
The word "Victims" was written on a chalkboard, and underneath it read the victims names.
Maureen Evans.
Phil Stevens.
Cici Cooper
"What we don't know is if it's just random, or if this guy has a plan. We haven't been able to connect the victims," he continued.
"Well, the first two were stabbed to death, but the sorority girl was hung from a tree and gutted. Killer is upping his game?" said the second-in-command, Officer Mike Tyler.
"Oh Christ," said Dean Fisher, clearly exasperated. "Just do something! I will not have a repeat of Gainesville on my campus,"
Chief Hartley started to interject, but suddenly Dewey, who had been staying quiet and hunched over in a corner watching the interactions, stepped forward.
"It's Sidney Prescott, sir. The sorority girl was just a distraction. The killer wants her," Dewey said.
"We know that, son," Chief Hartley said, a bit miffed at Dewey's attempts to participate.
Gale suddenly gasped, and everyone turned to her.
"Is Cici the sorority girl's real name?" Gale asked the chief.
"No, it's uh…" Chief Hartley flipped through his notes. "Casey. Casey Cooper,"
Gale's face lit up with excitement.
"As in…Casey Becker…" she said, her mental cogs churning.
She walked to the chalkboard and underlined Cici, writing Casey in parentheses.
"She was a young victim in Woodsboro. As well as her boyfriend, Steven Orth,"
Gale then underlined Phil's last name: Stevens.
Then, she underlined Maureen's first name.
"Finally, we have Maureen Evans. As in Maureen Prescott. That's Sidney's mother who was also killed in Woodsboro, before Casey and Steve,"
"So you think someone is trying to duplicate Woodsboro?" Dewey asked.
"Looks like it," Gale said, staring at her handiwork proudly.
You have a copycat on your hands," Dewey said to the Chief, who rubbed his brow.
"Christ," the Chief uttered under his breath.
"Well, who was killed next in Woodsboro?" Dean Fisher chimed in.
"In the book or the movie?" Gale asked.
"Let's try reality," said Chief Hartley.
"Mr. Himbry, the Woodsboro High principal, was next." Gale said.
They all turned to look at Dean Fisher, watching as the color drained from his face and he buried his head in his hands.
"But, in the movie, Tatum was killed next. Tatum Riley,"
Dewey closed his eyes in remembrance and then exchanged looks with Gale.
"Alright, let's get protection around Dean Fisher and find any names on campus that are or are similar to Himbry and Riley," Chief Hartley ordered.
"What are you doing to keep Sidney safe?" Dewey asked him.
"I've got my two best detectives guarding her…"
"Do these guys have to follow you around everywhere?" Derek asked Sidney as they strolled through a courtyard near the hospital.
Sidney had stopped by her dorm to change out of her ripped jacket, and was now in black pants, a leather jacket, and an army green tank top.
They turned to see the two plainclothes detectives standing not too far away, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.
"Oh, them? We are attached at the hip now," Sidney said.
Sidney walked a little ahead of him, trying to maintain some distance between them.
Hopefully, she could subtly hint to Derek that she just wanted to be alone.
She wasn't sure how to feel after last night.
Sure, she saw him at the same time that she had seen the killer.
There was no way he could be in on it.
He had been beating on the door on the other side while the killer was trying to stab her.
But last time, there had been two killers so it easy for the killer to be in two places at the same
time, and for the accomplice to hide in plain sight.
Maybe it was Derek, and the killer was right under her nose.
That's how it had been last time.
She thought she could trust Billy too, and look at how that turned out.
Sidney sat down on a bench and sighed, as Derek sat down beside her and gently put his arm around her.
"How am I ever going to get you alone?" he said.
Sidney knew it was time to tell him what was on her mind.
He wasn't taking the hint.
"Actually, Derek…" she said hesitantly. "I think it's a good idea if you stay as far away from me as possible,"
Derek was stunned for a moment. He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I hope that's an off-the-cuff remark that holds no subtext whatsoever," he said.
"Um, no, Derek…I mean it," Sidney said, locking eyes with him.
Derek was flabbergasted. He shifted positions on the bench, crossing his hands over his lap, in deep thought.
Several moments of awkward silence went by.
"I mean, look at you…" Sidney said, eyeing the bandage on his right forearm. "You already got hurt. I don't want to see that happen again,"
"I'll take my chances," Derek said, and he moved to caress her cheek, but she pulled away and locked eyes with him again.
"Derek, I'm serious. This is serious," she said.
Her eyes penetrated him.
He sighed deeply.
"You are concerned with my personal well-being, and not with…trusting me or anything, right?" Derek said hesitantly.
Sidney was speechless for a second, not sure what to say.
The honest truth was that it was a little bit of both.
She finally spoke up.
"I just…don't want to see you get hurt," she said.
"And I don't want to see you get hurt," he said, and caressed her cheek, moving her hair out of her eyes.
Sidney still didn't trust him, but she didn't pull away this time as he touched her face.
"Look at me…" he said. "I won't let anything happen to you,"
There was another moment of palpable tension, as Sidney stayed quiet, looking back precariously at her two bodyguards who were milling about several yards away.
"Hallie will pick you up after class, and Mickey will come escort you after theater rehearsal," Derek said.
"But.." Sidney tried to protest.
"We won't let anything hurt you,"
"I can't let my screwed up life bleed onto my
friends,"
"Let us decide that," Derek replied.
He kissed her on the lips tenderly.
Sidney felt nothing.
"Take care, Miss Weathers," called Chief Hartley as Gale walked out of the student center out of a side door, down a flight of brick stairs and onto a path lined with gardenias.
Her face scrunched up into a knot as she began thinking of what to do.
Dewey came limping down the brick stairs after her, and she stopped him.
"So, I'm heading over to admissions to do some leg work. That Chief couldn't connect Lincoln logs. I've got to figure out who's next," Gale said. "Do you want to come?"
"I'm not here to write a book, Miss Weathers," Dewey said. His voice was still filled with contempt. "I'm here to help Sid,"
Dewey walked past her and Gale spun him around.
"Hey, I want to help her too," Gale said.
Dewey raised one eyebrow.
"…and myself, of course," Gale continued, with a smile.
Dewey remained stone-faced.
"Come on, Dewey…smile just once," Gale pleaded.
"I'll smile when I catch the killer," he said, and limped off into the distance.
And then, a barrage of reporters came swooping down on Gale like vultures.
Miss Salt was one of them.
She furiously scribbled on a notepad, and then looked up, seeing Gale and running towards her.
Gale started pushing past them, but Miss Salt and another young, blond reporter started walking alongside her.
"How about Sidney's father?" the blond reporter asked. "Has he been ruled out as a suspect?"
"Well, he's supposedly out of the country for business," Miss Salt told the blond reporter, flipping through her notes. "But that's a little fishy, don't you think?" she asked Gale, who stared straight ahead, trying to tune them out.
"I'm not here to do your job, Miss Salt," Gale snapped.
"What about this ex-cop Dewey Riley, kinda strange that he showed up…" Miss Salt continued, but Gale suddenly whipped around and interjected upon hearing Dewey's name.
"Dewey's a good guy. Unlike some of us," she said, and stormed off.
"If the killer is repeating Woodsboro, maybe he's from Woodsboro!" Miss Salt called, but Gale wasn't listening.
Her anxiety was rippling just under the surface of her skin.
She needed a cigarette badly.
Her thoughts were racing.
Her hands felt numb.
The only thing she could think was that maybe Dewey was right.
And she hated it. Almost hated him for it.
Maybe a cold shoulder was what she deserved, she thought. After all, she wasn't making it any easier on Sidney, especially with that stunt she pulled with Cotton.
Instead of protecting Sidney and stopping the killer, all Gale had been interested in was another book deal and more opportunities for her career.
Just then, Gale was broken out of her thoughts by her cellular ringing. She fished it out of her pantsuit and put it to her ear.
"Hello," she said.
An unmistakable voice answered.
"Hello, Gale," the disguised voice said threateningly.
Gale froze dead in her tracks. She whirled around in a full 360, searching everywhere, but nobody seemed out of place.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"Take a guess," the killer rasped.
"I don't play your stupid games," Gale said, looking around frantically, feeling her heart begin to race. "Who are you?"
"What if your life depended on it?"
This sent shivers up Gale's spine. She clenched her teeth.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"I want you…" the killer said.
"Where are you?" she asked, her eyes darting back and forth in a frenzied motion.
He could be lurking anywhere, she thought.
Gale saw a campus security guard and made a mad dash for him.
"Don't you dare…" the voice snarled and Gale froze again, heeding his warning.
"I'm everywhere, Gale…I've been watching everything,"
"Hmm, a God Complex, huh?" Gale said.
She spun around, her eyes darting from the student center all the way around to the quad and back.
Looking for him.
Waiting.
Her heart was about to beat out of her chest.
"What do you want?" she inquired again.
"It's what you want from me…" the voice said.
"What do you mean?"
"You are writing another book, aren't you? That's why you're here…the story isn't over,"
"You're getting obvious," Gale retorted.
"I'm just getting started…" the voice said. It went on, dropping down into an even more sinister tone.
"Watch your back, Gale…or you might become the news,"
The Rodgers Dining Hall was a large, one story building with high walls lined with tall, floor-to-ceiling windows.
Students packed it. Every table was basically full of college students, some old, some young, chowing down on a healthy mix of artisan pizza, salad, or your choice of Mexican or Chinese food.
Derek and Hallie sat at a table somewhere in the middle of the sea of similar tables, munching down on a salad for her and a burger for him.
Mickey suddenly came winding through the rows of tables and sat down with no food, clearly excited about something.
"So, Derek, you think Sidney would let me interview her for my documentary?" Mickey said, pulling out a handheld video camera.
Hallie chewed through a mouthful of food, and then interjected.
"Oh yeah, she turned down Primetime Live, 20/20, and Dateline, but for you? Sure," she said sarcastically.
Mickey slumped back in his chair, defeated, thinking. Then he sat back up enthusiastically.
"I've been thinking about this whole murder thing…" he said. "Have they checked out Randy?"
"What?" Derek exclaimed, truly shocked by the suggestion.
"I mean, you know, he was a victim the first time
around but he seems a little off,"
"Randy? The guy's harmless," Hallie declared.
"That's what they said about Dahmer," said Mickey.
"Guys…" Derek shushed them, seeing Sidney approaching from across the dining hall.
As Sidney sat down, they all couldn't help but notice the two much older men wearing slacks and blazers sitting at a table just a few feet away.
"So those are the secret service guys that are supposed to keep an eye on you?" Mickey asked Sidney.
"Yep. The one on the left is Officer Richards. Capricorn, divorced, father of two. And his partner is Officer Andrews. I think he's a Gemini but I think he's gay,"
Hallie raised her eyebrow with curiosity.
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm," Sidney said, nodding.
"Derek?" Mickey said, noticing that Derek had zoned out.
He was staring off into the distance.
It seemed as if he were really trying to decide something.
And then, he started to sing.
"And so I just decided to myself…I'd hide it to myself…"
The rest of the group were dumbfounded.
"What is he doing?" Hallie exclaimed.
A knowing grin spread across Mickey's face.
"Top Gun…1986.." he said.
And then, Derek locked eyes with Sidney and kept singing.
"I think I love you…isn't that what life is made of? And though it worries me to say, I've never felt this way! Hey, I think I love you!…"
"Derek…" Sidney said, at first a little angry. "No, Derek, don't do this," she whispered to him, realizing the dining hall had gone quiet upon hearing this guy randomly sing.
But then, a tiny smile formed on her face, and she couldn't stop it from happening.
And then, much to Sidney's chagrin, Derek stood up on the table and began singing the rest of the song even louder.
Sidney felt her face growing hot, and she desperately tried to look away from all of the people in the dining hall now staring at her.
Some had even started to clap, and slowly but surely, almost everyone was joining in.
"I think I love you, Isn't that what life is made of?" Derek sang.
He hopped onto another table, keeping the beat by stomping his foot. Mickey stood to his feet and riled up the crowd, as Sidney burst out laughing, smiling ear-to-ear.
She just couldn't help it. No matter how shitty she felt, it was just too much fun to watch.
Here he was, this premed clean-cut sort of guy, getting up and potentially embarrassing himself all for her.
All just to take her mind off of things.
She felt a burst of elation as he finished the number, and knelt down on the floor next to her.
"Let's show a little love!" Mickey cried.
The crowd cheered boisterously.
As they kept cheering, Derek reached in his pocket.
"Don't worry, Sid. I know things are crazy right now but…This will protect you,"
Then; he held out a silver chain necklace with his frat letters carved into the silver, and put it on her, clasping it from the back.
They kissed and the crowd uproared with pleasure again.
"Isn't that a big frat faux-pas?" Mickey asked Hallie.
"Oh yeah…" Hallie said. "The brothers are gonna kick his ass, you're not supposed to give a girl your Greek letters no way, shape, or form,"
Sidney felt the silver chain around her neck, and gazed up at him, locking eyes with him.
Somehow, Sidney felt in that moment that with him, everything would be okay.
Maybe he did really care for her.
Or maybe there was a much darker side to him.
All Sidney knew was that she was doomed either way.
Someone was coming for her, and wasn't going to stop until one or both of them…were dead.
And if it wasn't Derek….then who was it?
Who wanted her dead this time?
As Derek pulled her in close, she couldn't help but look over his shoulder, searching everywhere for any sign of the killer.
Where was he?
And what lengths was he willing to go to?
Dewey knew that if he was going to catch the killer, he was going to have to find Randy and fast.
Randy had been right about Billy from the start back in Woodsboro, at least, that's what Gale Weathers book had said.
Randy was up-to-date on all about how horror movies work, and since they all seemed to be trapped in the middle of one, Randy was his best bet at stopping this psychopath.
Dewey found Randy in a library on the north side of campus, which was connected to a small cafe.
As they sat down with milkshakes, a small TV mounted on the wall suddenly began playing scenes from the film Stab.
Randy scoffed in contempt.
"They get Jo-blo nobody to play me, you get David Schwimmer, and Sid gets Tori Spelling," Randy groaned.
Tori Spelling was seated next to an interviewer on the screen.
"I play this young girl Sidney Prescott who has to deal with her mother's brutal murder one year before, and now a new killer is back, and is slaughtering her friends…"
"Eh, I'll wait for the video," Randy said. "Now let's get down to business,"
Dewey perked up with intrigue.
"The way I see it…" Randy began. "Someone's out to make a sequel. Someone wants to cash in on all the movie murder hoopla,"
Dewey nodded along.
"So it's our job to observe the rules of a sequel," Randy said.
"Alright.." Dewey said, a little bit skeptically.
"Rule number one: the body count is always bigger. Rule number two: the death scenes are always much more elaborate; more blood, more gore. Carnage candy. The core audience just expects it," Randy explained. "And rule number three: if you want your sequel to become a franchise, you cannot stray from the formula too much…"
Dewey was getting impatient.
"How do we find the killer, Randy…that's what I want to know," Dewey interjected.
"Well, look at the suspects," Randy said. "There's Derek, the obvious boyfriend. Hello, Billy Loomis! The guy is pre-med and his "pity me" surface wound conveniently missed every major vein and artery,"
Randy pointed to his forearm where Derek had allegedly been sliced by the killer.
"So, you think it's Derek?" Dewey asked.
"Not so fast," Randy said. "Let's assume the killer, or -ers, has half a brain. He's not a Nick at Nite rerun type of guy. He wants to break some new ground. So the boyfriend is tired, who else do we got?"
Dewey thought for a second, filing through all of Sidney's friends in his head.
"Mickey!" Randy suddenly interjected. "The freaky Tarantino film student!"
And then, Randy leaned in close.
"But if he's a suspect, then I am a suspect, so let's move on,"
"Wait, wait," Dewey protested. "Let's not move on…what if you are a suspect?"
"If I'm a suspect, you're a suspect," Randy said matter-of-factly.
"You have a point…" Dewey said.
They both eyed each other suspiciously.
"What about Hallie, Sid's roommate?" Randy suggested.
Dewey frowned.
"Typically, serial killers are white males," he said.
"That's why it's perfect!" Randy exclaimed. "It's sort of against the rules, but not really. Mrs. Voorhees was a terrific serial killer. And there's always room for Candyman's daughter. She's sweet, she's deadly, she's bad for your teeth…"
Dewey held up his hands in protest before Randy went off on an unrelated tangent.
"Come on, Randy…these kids are your friends," Dewey said. "Who do you think is the killer?"
"How about Gale Weathers?" said Randy, nonchalantly sipping his milkshake.
"Gale?" Dewey exclaimed. His eyes grew wide, almost stunned at the suggestion. "A killer?"
"Why not?" Randy asked.
Dewey thought about it for a second.
"She is vicious…" Dewey said.
"She's an opportunist," Randy said. "Isn't it conceivable that she's planning her next book? That's what reporters do, Dewey. They stage the news,"
Dewey thought about it again, entertaining the idea but then he shook his head.
"No…Gale's a lot of things, but she's no killer,"
"Look, just because you're sweet on her…" Randy said.
"No, I'm not," Dewey responded.
"Oh, please, this is me talking! Randy, the unrequited love slave of Sidney Prescott. I know all about obsession….and pain," Randy said, pulling down his shirt to reveal an old, healed bullet scar on his shoulder.
"And you've got your love scar to prove it," Dewey said.
"And so do you…" Randy said. "And what's with the limp anyway…you were stabbed in the back,"
"Severed nerve…" Dewey said indignantly. "Look, Gale's no killer,"
"Alright, whatever you say…" Randy went on. "But if she's not a killer, she's a target,"
"Joel! Let's get some establishing shots," Gale called inside her company-issued news van.
"Actually, Gale, can I talk to you for a second?" Joel asked, stumbling out of the back of the van with the camera on his shoulder.
"What is it?" Gale asked.
"Look, I'm a little confused," he said. "Why would you want to be here when the killer strikes again? Granted, I should have read your book before I took this job,"
Joel held up a copy of The Woodsboro Murders by Gale Weathers in his hand.
"But I am reading it now and I read what happened to your last cameraman…the guy got gutted!" Joel exclaimed. "Now I am going to do what any rational human being would do which is…get the fuck out
of here,"
"First of all," Gale snapped. She had no time to deal with a wimpy cameraman. "He wasn't gutted, his throat was slashed,"
"Gale, gutted, slashed, who gives a shit? The guy ain't in the union anymore," Joel protested.
"It's a job, Joel!" Gale said. "And like every job, there's a few drawbacks,"
Joel gave her an exasperated expression.
"Look, you're a professional cameraman, you have got to act like one." Gale said.
"Yeah, but I want to report the news, I don't want to be the news! Besides, people that look like me don't last long in situations like this," Joel explained.
"Think about it, Joel. This is national television. This is a big chance for you! The story is monumental. Don't you want to be a part of that?" Gale pleaded with him.
Joel sighed, in between a rock and a hard place. If he quit, he was out of a job. If he decided to work, he risked getting stabbed by a maniacal killer.
"I need you," Gale went on. "I cannot do this without you,"
Joel shrugged, and motioned for her to start walking.
"Good," she said, smiling. "Let's get some work done,"
"Yeah…" Joel grumbled under his breath.
"Let's go get killed,"
The Galloway Theater was on the south end of Palmer Hall, facing the quad. It was mid-afternoon, and the campus was active and full of life, despite spreading gossip about a mad killer lurking on campus.
Two long aisles stretched through rows of fancy theater seats, and led to wooden steps that rose to the level of a truly magnificent stage, decked out in 16th century artifacts.
Pieces of wood were constructed into Roman columns and ruins of pyramids.
Royal purple curtains hung from either side of the massive stage, and a lone spotlight was being tested by a sound technician way up in the balcony.
Various performers and theater students of all ages were all scattered about the stage, stretching, chatting amongst themselves, or practicing lines and choreography.
Way in the back of the darkened house, Sidney was sitting in a row of seats.
It was dark all around her, and she tried to resist the urge to check the row of seats behind her every ten seconds.
But she was all alone. She wished someone would have come and sat with her through rehearsal for the show, but no one had been available.
After all, her two bodyguards were just outside in the hallway.
She could have gone and sat with her classmates, but she couldn't bear to be around them.
They'd notice the bags under her eyes, or notice her staring off into space, and she knew they'd all start asking her questions.
And she didn't want to talk about it.
That was why she hadn't gone to the campus therapist.
She didn't want to talk about what had happened.
She didn't want this life.
She didn't want to talk about her past. She wanted to pretend that it didn't happen, so maybe she shouldn't have been so hard on Randy who had been trying to do the same thing, she thought.
She wanted it all to be behind her, but she was starting to realize that it was a losing game.
It wasn't over.
Someone was still angry about something. Angry enough to kill.
But what?
Billy and Stu were dead.
Cotton, she thought.
Cotton Weary.
It had to be him.
He was the only one who could truly be angry enough to kill.
She sent him to prison for an entire year.
It was a mistake, but maybe Cotton had gone off the deep end.
Who knew what being in prison had done to his mind? She thought.
Prison can turn normal, nice human beings into monsters.
Sidney tensed up, looking all around her again, but still saw nobody.
Where was he?
Where would he strike next?
And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and she spun her head around.
There, in the shadowy darkness of the theater, was a figure slowly approaching.
Sidney felt every muscle in her body tense, as she squinted through the haziness.
The figure stepped into the light and Sidney gasped.
It was only the director, Gus. He was a tall, older man in his fifties or sixties with salt and pepper hair and piercing blue eyes.
He was staring at her.
"Are you all right? You're sitting back here in the dark," he said.
"Oh, I'm…I'm fine, Gus," she stammered nervously.
Gus walked down the row of seats towards her and sat down beside her, looking at her empathetically.
"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," she said in a hushed voice.
Gus raised an eyebrow, and then a worried expression appeared on his face.
"I just don't know if I can do this…I don't think I can perform this role…," Sidney said.
"We've been through this before. You know what I think about your potential as an actress," Gus replied.
"I know," Sidney continued. "It's just with the murders and…the book …and…my life…"
"I do know how difficult it is for you," Gus said.
"Gus, I just don't think I can do it," Sidney said apologetically.
"The battle for the soul is fought in the forum of art," Gus explained. "You're a fighter, Sid. That's why you're here, that's why theater is your major,"
"Yeah…I'm a fighter," Sidney said under her breath and with a hint of sarcasm.
"I didn't hear that," Gus said.
"I'm a fighter," Sidney said.
"I don't believe you," Gus said. "I don't,"
Sidney locked eyes with him.
"I'm a fighter," she said resolutely.
Gus smiled.
"There we go," Gus said. "Now, at the risk of sounding like a college drama teacher, if you have pain around this kind of material, use it. The role of Cassandra is one of the great tragic visionaries of literature. This is your role, Sid," Gus went on.
Sidney tried to really take in what he was saying, listening intently.
"Cassandra saw it all coming. The wars. The madness. The murder. She knew she was cursed. It was her fate, and she embraced it. None of us can escape our fate, but as an artist, we can honestly face it…and fight it," Gus said.
There were a few moments of silence as Sidney tried to process what he was saying.
"You're good," she said.
"There's no understudy, I'm desperate," Gus replied.
Sidney actually felt a smile creeping up, but it faded quickly.
"You can do this," Gus assured her.
Sidney nodded weakly.
"Alright, let's do the final act! Cue the lights!" Gus shouted.
Sidney took a deep breath.
It was time to be a fighter.
As rehearsal for Agamemnon: The Fall of Troy prodded along, Sidney was feeling better and better.
Maybe Gus was right.
She belonged on stage.
It was as if suddenly, nothing else mattered except for the characters.
And the lines.
Nothing else mattered.
Killers didn't matter.
For a little while, she could pretend to be someone entirely different with their own set of problems.
They were reaching the final scene as Sidney stood in the wings, taking deep breaths. She wore a beautiful, sleek red dress and a red cape that was drawn around her head. Her hair was tied up into a decorative design on the top of her head.
"You can do this…you're a fighter…"
Gus's words echoed in her mind.
She closed her eyes, savoring the moment of actually being free from her fucked-up life for even a little while.
And then; she heard her cue.
She ran onto the stage in the darkness and stood on her mark. The lights rose, revealing dozens of masked performers standing around her.
Sidney was center stage.
A spotlight gleamed in her face.
She tightened her jaw. She didn't even blink.
She was fully in the moment.
The performers around her began to chant. They wore intricate, ancient-looking masks of various surprised and evil faces, and wore long red robes.
"All behold the dreaded fate of Troy…that once stood proud and light upon the hills of Sparta…" the performers chanted.
The orchestral music that accompanied them was growing more intense.
Sidney heard the whirring of the fog machines and the various crew members pulling the ropes and pulleys that operated the scenery.
The performers continued, also engaging in a strange, disembodied choreography.
"Now shrouded in the deathly smoke of ruin, her royal children pitched from her walls…her people driven from the ruins…alone in fate's cruel isolation, stands Cassandra, her kingdom, and her family…"
Sidney pulled aside the red cape, revealing her face to the audience of Gus, the two detectives, and a few understudies.
"No crime against God or man have I committed," Sidney recited dramatically. "…Saith to speak the truth,"
Sidney stepped forward.
Wooden padded blocks began to fall from the walls around the performers, operated by more crew members pulling on the rope and pulley system. Lights danced around them. Violins swelled into a high crescendo as Sidney outstretched her arms.
"And each hideous vision born of my mind, has come to pass…Troy has fallen, not by my hand or wish, but as I foresaw," Sidney proclaimed.
Another prop, an intricate cross designed with a golden sun with rays protruding out like a star, came slowly from the rafters above the stage.
Another performer was tied to the cross, hanging on safety wires, wearing another ghoulish mask.
"So now, fate's vengeful eye is fixed…"
The performer hanging from the cross locked eyes with Sidney and pointed at her.
"…on me," Sidney said.
The simulated effect of thunder and lightning cracked overhead. Lights hanging from strips above the stage flashed wildly.
Another thunder sound effect boomed, and Sidney jumped into action, performing her choreography.
She was lifted by one of the masked performers and then she did a pirouette across the stage.
And then, as she turned to face the performers who now faced her and chanted "Tell us, O Cassandra, what stays fate's hand from thee?", Sidney thought she saw a glimpse of something.
A mask not like the others.
It disappeared as quickly as she had seen it.
Sidney blinked twice.
She started to break character, forgetting all of her dance moves, but quickly got the hang of things again.
"What stays fate's hand from thee?" the performers continued to chant.
And then, Sidney saw him again.
Dancing with the rest of them.
The ghost-masked killer.
In his hand, was a silver, glinting hunting knife.