Disclaimer: Do not own Scream
Warnings for murder, gore and trauma
No one mourns the wicked
Chapter one: Billy and Nancy Loomis
It was the fifth drink that he had recently finished, clanking it down to the table, staring at the half empty bottle of rum there.
He had been able to hold off on the drink at first, when hearing about Billy's death.
He had told himself that he could draw strength from his son's death, no matter how he felt the yearning for alcohol, for the sensation of burying himself in numbness. He told himself that he could see his son's death as a way of making himself busy. His son had brought his death on himself and only on himself. Yes, it was a tragedy. But Billy was dead now.
What Hank had known was that he had needed to focus on, was on covering his own ass.
On not being blamed for his son's madness and carnage.
Stu Macher, Billy's literal partner in crime, had supposedly been as insane as the Loomis son.
That mattered nothing to Hank. Stu was nothing to him. Always had been. What Hank had focused on, was making sure that he was not to be blamed for what his son did.
And for a time, that had been able to dissuade him from feeling the heavy grief that came with the death of a loved one, what was more, the death of an only child.
But only for so long.
A year, Hank had been able to keep the darkness of his own pain at bay.
But when he heard the news a year later-the breaking point came. When it was announced that there was another series of murders, but not in Woodsboro. At a college campus that of all people, Sidney Prescott, Billy Loomis's former girlfriend, had attended.
Two murderers were found out. They were killed in the altercation between them and Sidney.
Gale Weathers and Cotton Weary had been involved, as well, and had helped Sidney take the two murderers down.
It was the release of one of the two names, that finally broke any proud resolve that Hank Loomis had.
One of the killers was a college student named Mickey Altieri. His name meant nothing to him.
But the other name? Nancy Loomis. Hank's wife, who left him after she found out about his relationship with Maureen Prescott, and Billy's mother.
At last, the despair fell onto him like a waterfall of oily waste, dragging him down into a cold abyss.
Seeing Nancy's face on the TV as the news anchor announced this, finally made the waterworks flow and he buried his face in his hands as he wept as soon as the shock left him.
And now, here he was, breaking into the bottle that he had been able to neglect for a whole year, and hoping to turn his blood into booze.
He had tried to tell himself that he could keep his moods at bay, that he didn't need to blame himself for Billy, that Billy was likely always going to be broken. That he was born broken.
And maybe that was in fact, the case. Maybe Billy always would have been a murderous psychopath, no matter what Hank or Nancy had done.
Maybe this new story, that Nancy had committed several murders, was just proof of that.
That the capacity for violence was genetic.
Billy was proof of this. Billy resembled his mother in one specific way. He was like her. Like mother, like son. The mother had been a murderer and so had the son. They resembled each other in one specific way.
The capacity for violence clearly was genetic.
Because wasn't it? How many people had one of their parents walked out on them, or had another manipulative parent-and yes, Hank could admit to himself now that he had been manipulative to Billy, and how many of those children who suffered that, became murderers? Very few.
How many people had been cheated on, how many spouses had learned that their husbands or wives had cheated, and then had committed multiple murders? A few, sure, but not a huge number.
Maybe this was just proof that Hank had dodged a bullet. Two bullets, in fact.
He smiled as he picked up the glass again and poured himself some more rum.
That was right…..he had dodged two bullets.
Billy or Nancy could have killed him.
They sounded like they were more than capable of it.
He was better off without them.
Billy had always been a failure of a son.
Nancy always had been unhinged. There was a reason why Hank had cheated on her.
The two of them had been bad for him. Billy was bad for his career and Nancy had been unreliable. Hank needed only himself to care for. Just like always. Just like his successful businessman of a father had taught him.
He told himself this, and no, he didn't believe for a moment that anything he could have done, could have changed them, Nancy and Billy were most likely always had been going to be mentally unstable and murderous, but despite that?
When he was halfway through his newest glass of rum, sitting against his expensive, brown leatherbound chair, staring at the glow of the TV, he clenched up, shuddering as Billy and Nancy's faces flashed in his mind, and felt hot moisture begin to fill his eyes.
It was the sting of the rum in his throat.
That was all.
It was just the sting of the rum.
Hopefully, he could come to believe that too, along with beginning to believe that he was happy that Billy and Nancy were gone.
And a proud man like him, would never learn or appreciate, that his line was not completely wiped out. He would never meet his granddaughter, or learn of her.
A granddaughter who resembled both her father and grandmother, not physically, but in a very specific way that went deeper than appearances.