Searing pain coursed through her body like electricity through wires. It stole her breath away, leaving her gasping both for air and in disbelief of the agony she was in.

Meanwhile, Dewey looked upon her with satisfaction. There it is. That's the face he wanted to see: utter betrayal. "Surprise…" he said in an almost singsongy tone. He twisted the knife whilst slowly removing it from her abdomen, growing more gleeful hearing her screams as it left. He rolled off of her and laid on his back with an astonished smile. Heavy breathing escalated into hysterical laughter while Gale lay bleeding next to him.

Both their hearts pounded in their chests in fear and exhilaration. Gale clutched her side which had already begun gushing blood. The wound hindered her from sitting up, so she turned over and started weakly crawling away. She didn't get far. Dewey quickly noticed her trying to stand up and promptly knocked her to the ground. "Oh, Gale. For someone so intelligent, you sure can be stupid. I mean, walking miles away from the closest house into the woods with a man you just met? I thought you were smarter than that."

"You bastard! You're sick in the head, you know that?!" Gale shouted.

"On the contrary, I think I'm the sanest one out of the three of us. Those boys get too caught up in the moment to think clearly in high-risk situations. They want to play the game, but don't know the first thing about subtlety." He emphasized the last word in a half-whisper. He walked out of her line of sight as he continued. "When it comes to getting away with a crime of this nature, it's easy to overlook some important steps," he explained, crouching down behind her. "One common mistake is not properly immobilizing your target," he said as he grabbed Gale's foot and slashed the knife across her ankle, severing her Achilles tendon. She let out a blood-curdling scream as pain shot up her legs. "Though I have to admit, the monologue is half the fun," he added maliciously.

Her legs were barely functional. Observing her left was rendered useless, unable to bear any weight, Gale began screaming at the top of her lungs. "HELP!" her shrill voice ringing out over the California hills.

Dewey shook his head in disappointment and started talking over her cries. "Come on, Gale, you think I led you all the way out here for fun? The only people who can hear you are at Macher's party and they just passed us."

Gale recalled the teen-filled cars from minutes ago when the realization dawned on her. They were his cue. That was his signal that he was in the clear to kill. She felt sick at remembering their kiss. The memory of their moment of passion was forever tainted with blood.

He continued taunting her, torturing her with his hateful words. "Just face it. No one can hear you, so you might as well save your breath."

Gale resigned. She figured there wouldn't be much purpose in yelling any longer. She would need her voice for the Top Story report later. She did not intend on dying now. She was going to escape this. Gale Weathers would live. She just had to figure out how.

Perhaps she could still play him. It was a risky move. It meant assuming Dewey's obvious crush on the woman was genuine. Then again, he wore his friendly, harmless facade deceivingly well. But Gale also wore a mask. She had been manipulating his feelings to her benefit, but there still were some real feelings to be had for the man. Who's to say he wasn't the same? She laid on her back to face him, putting on the old Weathers charm. "Dewey, please. You're better than this. You're a loving brother and a dedicated officer. You're not a murderer!"

Dewey frowned, clearly displeased with her words. Whether it was annoyance at her attempt at appealing to his humanity or a peek at real introspection. It was unclear until the end of her sentence when he smirked at the utterance of "murderer". "Then what would you call the person who gutted Principal Himbry and hung him from the goal post? I'd hardly call him an innocent man." He confessed to his crime as Gale looked on in horror.

It was impossible. He had to be bluffing. She racked her brain trying to find any way to deny the harsh reality before her: Dwight "Dewey" Riley was the killer and she was about to be his next victim.

"No…" she said. Reason had left her as she mindlessly spoke her thoughts, too dumbfounded to think. "You wouldn't… You're not a killer! The Dewey I know couldn't-"

He laughed before she could finish. "The Dewey you know?" he repeated. "You've barely met me and you think you get to play that card?" he asked incredulously.

Gale knew it was a stupid thing to say, but it just came out. Despite their recent meeting, she felt inexplicably drawn to him. Even when she was playing him, she couldn't deny there was something there. A real connection had formed between the two. At least Gale thought so. But the man standing before her, bloody knife in hand, was not Deputy Dewey Riley. He couldn't be. Because Dewey was an incompetent, dimwitted, naive, bonehead who could barely memorize the Miranda Rights. Dewey was a kind, clumsy, wholesome sweetheart with a staunch protective instinct for those he held close. She didn't buy it. He may have wanted her to believe that it was all an act, but that couldn't be true. That didn't explain the lovestruck look in his brown puppy dog eyes as he admired her when he thought she wasn't looking. He couldn't fake the blush that overtook his face when she complimented him. No one is that good of an actor. If there was truth behind her mask, there had to be some behind his.

"So it was all an act? You did all of this as a part of some twisted game to get me alone?! You really didn't… you never felt anything between us?" Gale was ashamed at the way her voice cracked and wavered. Her accusatory shouting died off in volume and conviction as buried hurt seeped through the cracks of her powerful Gale Weathers persona. She was losing the strength to keep it up anymore. Blood was draining out of her as they spoke.

Something about Gale's words struck a chord in Dewey. His sternum and shoulders tingled with the cold wash of shame. He looked genuinely remorseful. For the first time since the stabbing, he subconsciously diverted his eyes.

That reaction was all Gale needed. There was no reason for him to keep up appearances now. That had to be real. She considered that it could be another trick: lulling her into a false sense of security by feigning regret only to drop the act again to further toy with her emotions. It was certainly a possibility, but she wanted to believe her gut this time.

Dewey struggled to look back at her as he stammered out his response. "Gale, I… I'm sorry. You think I planned this? This was, if anything, a last-minute diversion from the initial plan. You weren't supposed to die!" He was frantic and desperate, a far cry from the composed, taunting tone he had recently adopted. He sounded like Dewey again. Gale clocked this switch up and knew she'd struck gold. If she could press him on this development, she could exploit it and possibly make it out with her life.

Dewey continued, "I tried to talk them out of it, but Billy was insistent that you would be a liability because you're smart enough to figure it out. I told him you could be useful, but he- DAMN IT!" Dewey's rambling was cut short when he stopped abruptly and hit himself on the head. He cursed in anger, something Gale was surprised by since Dewey rarely swore. "This is why they never give you the phone, Riley; you always talk too much!" he scolded under his breath. In his eagerness to divulge everything to Gale – another puzzling effect she seemed to have on him – he had let slip the name of one of his accomplices. So much for the intimidating mastermind act he had going.

Dewey brought himself back into the present, trying to pick up where he left off, but he had already shown weakness to his victim. And Gale was not going to let that slip-up go unnoticed. He turned back to her with hate in his eyes. "See! That's what you do! You manipulate and use people to get what you want out of them! You don't care about their feelings. You just play with their emotions like they're just dispensable pawns in your game!" He berated her with the heartbreak now apparent in his voice. "You and your perfect smile and empty words," he muttered. "Being all sociable and nice so you can make a fool out of me. I guess that's punishment for being stupid enough to think someone actually liked me!"

Gale winced in pain at her wound and shame at Dewey's words. She hadn't thought he would take it so personally. This wasn't the first time she seduced someone for a story, but this time was different. This time, Gale had played the wrong guy and now had to witness the grisly aftermath.

Dewey was overcome by an involuntary bout of mirthless laughter. Hollow, "laughing at the absurdity of it all" kind of laughter that you only hear when someone has finally snapped. "And here I am, falling for it all over again! God, what is wrong with me?" he said as he ran his fingers through his hair and clutched it against his skull in frustration.

Gale was building a profile in her head as she watched him. He was clearly unstable, organized, and not typically violent. She already knew he struggled with feelings of inadequacy from their previous talks. He was very practiced in masking which could suggest a lack of empathy, but that wasn't completely accurate either. He didn't fit the description of a sociopath or any other personality disorder she could identify. Once again, she was perplexed by the mystery that was Dewey Riley. He defied description. The writer couldn't succinctly express the intricacies of this man in a paragraph. She wondered how she would do him justice in her book, the thought of which she held onto for dear life as her chances of survival slipped away by the minute.

"Did you ever stop to think about the people around you? The damage you caused? To Sidney, Tatum, Me?! Do you think that just disappears when you skip town? But hey, anything for a story, right?!" He caustically reprimanded her, unleashing all the resentment he'd been holding back.

"I never meant to hurt you, Dewey," Gale quavered.

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment," he replied sarcastically. The momentum of his tirade died off, leaving a silent break for the both of them. The man sat on a tree stump and breathed deeply, bringing himself down off his fervid, emotional high.

Gale took the opportunity to gather her thoughts and revise her approach. It was becoming hard to think straight as the lack of blood started to impede her judgment. The longer this dragged on, the more hopeless she grew for the future. She'd fallen into the hands of the town's sweetheart who had the people of Woodsboro under his thumb. Even if she lived to tell the tale, no one would buy it. Unless she killed him, which was unlikely given her physical situation, her odds of making it out alive were slim to none.

Gale flipped over to lay on her back in the hopes gravity would help keep her blood in place. She stared up at the stars she and Dewey had once gazed at together while he failed to recall constellations. Though her vision was starting to blur, she managed to make out one constellation: Libra. Despair had set in and she was on the verge of giving up. She was no longer trying to stay alive. She just wanted answers. The least Dewey could do was give her that in her final moments. "Why?" she asked.

Dewey lifted his hanging head. "What?" he droned.

"Why would you do this?" Gale questioned. " You had everything going for you: a good job, loving family… Why would you risk losing all of that?"

He paused in contemplation. "I don't intend on losing that if everything goes according to plan. However, there's already been a few bumps in the road…" He side-eyed Gale.

"What drove you to this? From what I've heard, you're a good man, Riley. I've heard what people think of you. People look up to you, like Tatum."

Dewey tensed at the mention of his little sister. "She shouldn't. Look at me. I'm a lousy cop at best and a murderer at worst!" His voice broke as the word "murderer" left his mouth. "Some role model I turned out to be. I'm just an embarrassment to her." Bottled-up feelings of inadequacy and indignation poured out of him. They had been boiling under the surface for years, remaining hidden under the guise of a simple-minded, warmhearted ingenu. He sat, dejected, on the stump as he vented to his victim.

Gale was stunned. She had never expected to hear such things from Dewey. Especially not under these dire circumstances.

The young man took a deep breath, pushing Tatum and his insurmountable guilt aside, and changed the subject. "I spent years trying to earn the approval of others. All I wanted was a little recognition for my work. And no one can grant me even a modicum of respect."

Gale supported herself with her arms on the forest brush so she could sit up to face him. "Of course people respect you, Dew-"

"THAT'S NOT MY FUCKING NAME!" The volume of his fury carried over miles. At that moment, anger possessed him and escaped through his throat in a guttural scream of unbridled rage.

Gale flinched at his sudden outburst. She frantically scooted herself away in fear until her back hit a tree. Feeling trapped, she stared up at the man, frozen with the icy rush of terror. It wasn't just him she was most afraid of, but his eyes. The eyes that once gazed at her with such obvious fondness, you could watch his pupils dilate in admiration. The kind eyes that struggled to maintain contact with hers when she flashed a smile his way. The raw umber eyes that had a subtle ginger shine along the iris's edge when met with the beaming rays of the California sun. The puppy dog eyes of the man she had begun to fall for.

These were not those eyes.

He glared down at her with a murderous blaze. Frayed strands of hair hung in front of him, amplifying his disheveled appearance. His features contorted into a deranged mask of blazing hatred directed at the injured woman on the forest floor.

Riley took ragged breaths as his anger pulsed through his veins. His white-knuckled fists clenched at his sides. He slowly trudged over to Gale. "That's how I know," he began, voice quavering with restrained rage. "I dedicate my life to helping these people and they can't even call me by my name! Because that's how little I matter to them." Indignation was overtly present in his frigid tone. "That damn nickname has followed me since childhood. No one takes me seriously. Not my family, not the sheriff, even the other officers. They heard the way Tatum talked down to me and they laughed! They… laughed at me." His voice trailed off weakly. He softened his vice-like grip on the knife and pondered the blood-stained weapon. Breathing deeply, he calmed his shaking hands and pounding heartbeat.

When he spoke again, it was steady and cold. He spoke with the numbness of someone whose emotions had burned inside for so long, that they'd been reduced to a scorched piece of earth. "They treated me like a joke. Well, let's see how funny they find it when they're searching for the next victim in pieces."

Gale's stomach turned in disgust as her brain processed his words. The previous victims' bodies were found in grotesque displays: disemboweled while strapped to a chair, hollowed out and strung up in a tree, gutted and hung from the football goal post. Now she had to bear witness to her killer brainstorm ideas for the desecration of her corpse.

At the realization of her inevitable gruesome fate, she held back tears. Grim reality had set in and she could help but give up. She was ashamed. Gale Weathers doesn't quit, but this time she didn't have much of a choice.

"They'll find out," she said. Her captor shifted his attention away from his weapon and towards his victim. He skeptically cocked an eyebrow in response. "People like you always slip up eventually. You're not as smart as you think, Dwight." She articulated his name with as much venom as she could muster.

He smirked. "Oh, Gale," he began with condescension, "I think you underestimate me." He started pacing as he spoke. "For years, I've been laying the groundwork, building a reputation, and gaining the people's trust. They love a survival story. The promising young deputy is faced with a masked killer and, against all odds, manages to save the lives of a few teens and himself. What a compelling narrative. One I was hoping you'd write about."

"Then why kill me? No one's been as close to this case as I am." Gale gave him a knowing look as she referenced their short-lived romantic affair. Her look made her former fling awkwardly hunch his shoulders and turn away in embarrassment, a signature Dewey move Gale was more than familiar with. "You just lost your best press."

Dewey sighed and kneeled down to meet Gale's level. "I want you to know I never wanted this," he said, genuine remorse present in his voice. "You were supposed to live, but I was outvoted. I told them you would be the perfect narrator. You're ruthless and brilliant and you are the only person I trust to do this story justice. You were smart enough to suspect that Macher's party was gonna be a bloodbath. You were just… too smart for your own good." He met her eyes with a smile. Whether it was a sadistic smirk or a regretful grimace, she couldn't tell.

"Then let me live," Gale pleaded. "As long as you've covered your tracks, we can still spin this. Let your accomplice take the fall. Clearly, they don't respect you enough to give you a say in who lives and dies." Dewey's gaze drifted away to focus on nothing but his own thoughts. His face tensed, eyes clouded with uncertainty. Gale planted the seeds of doubt and watched them take root.

Dewey opened and closed his mouth while he floundered trying to formulate a response. "Gale, y-you… you don't understand, I-I don't have a choice," he stuttered.

The woman pressed further, "If you spare me, I can help you. Media is a powerful thing. I have influence over public opinion. I can make this look good." She whispered like she was trying to keep her offer a secret from any potential eavesdroppers, despite the fact that there was no one else in earshot for miles. "Get me to a hospital and I'll tell them you saved me when the killer attacked. As for your buddies, turn them in, kill them, I don't care. Just keep them quiet and out of the picture." The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in a weak, desperate smile. "We can pretend this never happened. We can walk away from this alive… together." Her emphasis on the last word was saturated with meaning.

They stared into each other's eyes and for an almost imperceptible moment, they were back on the steps of Woodsboro High. They were strolling down Turner Lane under the moonlight. They were kissing in the overgrown weeds of the forest floor. Every friendly exchange, every coquettish glance, every moment they shared flashed before their eyes. She knew Dewey still cared for her on some level. If he didn't, she'd already be dead. Gale could tell his feelings lingered by the familiar stupefied, deer-in-headlights expression staring back at her. "Please. Let me help you." She hesitantly brought a trembling hand up to his cheek and leaned in.

He recoiled from her touch.

Riley stared at her in disgust, utterly repulsed by her actions. His eyes were a mix of offense and disillusionment.

"And give you the opportunity to double-cross me? Not a chance." Gale's hope shattered hearing her own words used against her. Their conversation played back in her head, red flags hidden in plain sight.

I sure hope you're not trying to entrap me, Deputy Riley.

So… what's your call?

You wouldn't trust them to keep up their end of the bargain?

Would you?

She felt nauseous at the recollection of their formerly innocent ethical debate. Yet another treasured moment that turned out to be a lie. At this point, Gale couldn't tell where the truth ended and his ploy began. How much of it was real?

"I can't believe you," he said, subtly shaking his head. "Do you really think so little of me? To pull your same old tricks like I'll just blindly follow along? Again?!" He gradually got louder with each rhetorical question, hurt evident in his voice. He sighed and tilted his head back, letting his emotions wane before speaking again. Astonished by her audacity, he remarked, "You are something else, Miss Weathers." Even still, she managed to surprise him with a new low.

"I'll have to decline your offer." The bitterness returned to his voice. "I don't need your publicity," he snapped, "I'm already aware of what people think of me." He shifted his weight to kneel more comfortably. "I knew no one would ever see me as a threat, so I used that to my advantage. I was given a role and I played it. You should know all about that." Gale shot a scornful look up at him for his backhanded comment.

"My tracks hardly need covering. No one suspects me. I mean, come on, I called Sidney from inside my own home and she still trusted me with her life. I was caught at the crime scene, mask in hand, and I didn't even get called in for questioning. No interrogation, no 'Where were you last night?', nothing. I could be seen holding a corpse, covered in their blood, and they'd say, 'Poor Dewey, finding the body like that.' And I would be heartbroken over not being able to protect them. They'd never even look my way." His words slowed the longer he spoke. "Because who would ever expect little Deputy Dewey?" he asked rhetorically. He hatefully spat his former nickname like it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"And you think that's enough?" Gale asked. "A few character witnesses and you're off the hook? How dumb do you think they are? They're gonna see right through you."

"Let them!" he shouted. "At least then, the people of Woodsboro will finally see what Dwight Riley is capable of!" He emphasized his name to further drive his point home. "If they won't respect me, they'll learn to fear me," he continued, slowing to a menacing whisper.

He lifted Gale's chin and brushed her highlighted bangs to the side so he could clearly see her enthralling eyes. The eyes that once burned with an electric blue flame had died out, leaving navy coals that smoldered with the dwindling spark of life she had left. He gently traced the lines of her jaw with his knife, relishing in the way his victim shivered in fear as the blade barely grazed her skin. "One way or another, they'll remember my name."

A lightbulb went off in Gale's head. The reporter had found a new angle. And she had so little left to lose, she was ready to risk it all. She was going down swinging. Time for one last brilliant Gale Weathers performance.

She started laughing.

Gale struggled to summon a smile to her lips, but once she started, she couldn't stop. With each heave of her bleeding stomach, shockwaves of pain rippled through her core. Her weak, yet persistent cackles resonated in the deputy's ears. The smug grin fell from his face as the sound grew louder. First, he heard Gale, then the officers, then Tatum…

Of course, you don't look a day over twelve.

Come on, "big brother"!

Sorry Deputy Dewey-boy, but we're ready to go.

The janitor's your superior.

Their taunting laughter, their condescending remarks, their ridicule, all echoed in the walls of his mind. Years of contempt at the hands of his peers crescendoed to a deafening cacophony of derision and humiliation.

His stony resolve had shattered, revealing the insecure, eager to please, deputy that hid behind the threatening character he liked to play. "Wh…Why are you laughing…?" he uttered. She didn't stop. "Why are you laughing?!" he demanded, pressing the knife closer to her neck. His attempt to sound intimidating was overshadowed by the prominent waver in his breaking voice and trembling hands.

"It's funny… after all this, I still don't see it," she whispered.

"See what?" Riley questioned impatiently.

"You? A killer? Look at yourself. You look like you'd faint at the sight of blood. If you want me to believe you're some criminal mastermind, you'll have to sell it better. I've interviewed bratty child stars with more bite than you." She gathered her remaining strength and channeled it into demeaning insults. "You're just a scared little boy who wants to play serial killer so he can feel powerful." She could tell by the way his face twitched, that she was getting under his skin.

"Shut up…" he muttered through gritted teeth and a tightened jaw.

"That's why you love that badge so much, right? It's all you've got to prove you're worth a damn. So you can convince yourself you're not completely useless."

"I said, shut up!" the deputy screamed, tightly screwing his eyes shut. His blade held the skin taut while it began to barely break through the first epidermal layer. The man's anger blinded him from the beads of red beginning to leak from Gale's slowly forming cut.

"You can hold a knife to my throat and talk a big game, but that doesn't change a thing. You're still the same pathetic little bitch everyone thinks you are!"

The man withdrew his knife, allowing Gale to breathe freely, and backed away. He started to hyperventilate. He covered his ears with his fists in an attempt to block her out, but her taunts reverberated in his head.

He knew she was right. Dewey was a coward. As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't bring himself to kill her. He wanted to be done with it. He wanted to permanently silence her shrill voice and hurtful, manipulative words. He could've – he should've slit her throat then and there, but he just couldn't. Tears brimmed her stormy eyes and he felt an inescapable urge to console her. The way she challenged him with such conviction even in the face of death gave him pause. It would be a lie to say he didn't get some sick enjoyment out of causing her pain. The rush of power he felt when he repeatedly stabbed Arthur Himbry's torso was unparalleled. The principal's panicked screams and terror-stricken eyes gave the younger man a sadistic thrill that he expected to find with Gale. He kept her alive to savor her fear and chase that high, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. He admired her tenacity and he was disgusted by that admiration. Leave it to Gale Weathers to not make things easy.

He struck himself on the head in frustration. Gale's mockery didn't cease. Her words blended together until they started to lose meaning. Whether it was from his current mental spiral or her rapid blood loss, the pair both felt lightheaded. Balance betrayed him as he stumbled over to a tree to lean on. While her attacker was distracted, Gale struggled to her feet, still clutching her stomach wound, and braced herself against a sycamore. Even though her hand was caked in blood, she was running on fumes at this point. Surviving purely out of spite.

"Is that it? A couple of threats and you're all tuckered out? Come on, you want your moment in the sun? Now's your chance! Rip my insides out! Hang me from a tree with my own intestines! Get creative!" Gale goaded him on through labored breathing and slurred speech. Her vision blurred to the point she couldn't completely make out the man's figure in the moonlit darkness. As far as she could tell, she was shouting at a brown and beige blur in a sea of shadowed forest green. "What's the matter, Dewey-boy? Can't do it? I thought you were a cold-blooded killer. So show me! Finish the job!"

That nickname was the last straw. He was done listening to her. "That's it!" Riley shouted before he drew his gun on her. He had stalled for long enough. Gale had to die. "Enough talk," he said.

"Give yourself a little pep talk?" Staring down the barrel of his pistol, she didn't falter. "You think you're so scary, but you can barely hold a gun straight."

The deputy noticed she was right; his hands were trembling. He was much handier with a knife than his firearm. The 2 out of 7 rating on the Effectiveness Under Stress section of his Officer Performance Evaluation proved that. Everything about guns bothered him from their startling recoil to the deafening bang they made when fired. It was yet another reminder that he was incapable of possessing any power. A reminder of his failure. A cop too scared to hold a gun: what a joke.

He lowered the weapon, closed his eyes, and stabilized his breathing just as Sheriff Burke had taught him. Drawing from his mother's advice, he silently sang a tune in his mind to calm his nerves. He refused to let her get in his head any further. "We've both had our fun, but I'm afraid I have to cut our little rendezvous short," he declared with the same intimidating attitude from earlier. An attitude Gale knew was completely fake, but didn't care enough to humor him anymore.

"Don't tell me you're gonna shoot me and leave. No dramatic gutting or thematically relevant death? At least promise you'll give me a proper sendoff." The reporter's resilient nature kept her doing what she did best: running her mouth.

Riley smirked. "Don't worry. For someone as special as you, I'll make sure of it." His malicious tone held an enduring vestige of fondness. He punctuated his sentence with the distinct click of the gun's safety lock. In a twisted way, it was like they were back to their old banter. Even in their grim situation, the duo maintained a warped version of their playful back-and-forth. He raised the pistol to her head. "This is Gale Weathers, signing off."

Gale rolled her eyes at the cheesy one-liner and leaned back against the sycamore, giving him a fatalistic grin. "See you in hell, Dewey Riley."

His jaw clenched at the use of his detested nickname. She put up a good fight. He would let her have the last word. She'd earned it.

He couldn't help the faint impression of a remorseful smile forming on his face. Her eyes were shut as she awaited death with the fortitude of a soldier. He steadied his hand, moved his index finger to the trigger…

*WHACK*

and was knocked to the ground. Gale opened her eyes to reveal a very confused Kenny Jones wielding a tripod.