Scream 3: "The Ghost Of Hollywood"

Part 3: Is It A Hallucination?

William POV:

I found myself seated in the detective's office, still reeling from the events of the previous night. I had insisted that Veronica steer clear of Sunrise Studios and find a safe haven. The most perplexing aspect of it all was that the killer kept leaving behind photographs of the long-deceased Maureen Prescott, all dating back 25 years.

Kincaid raised the latest picture that I had discovered the previous night. "Whoever it is, they're now claiming responsibility for Maureen Prescott's murder," he stated grimly.

"But we already know who killed Maureen Prescott. Billy Loomis and Stu Macher," Gale interjected, her voice tight with recollection. "They even confessed to Sidney."

Kincaid countered, "True, but if I recall correctly, you mentioned in your book that Sidney had once been mistaken before. She accused Cotton Weary of her mother's murder, and he was wrongfully sent to prison." He tapped the photo thoughtfully. "Perhaps there's a third killer at play here. Sidney might have some insight."

Kincaid leaned in closer to Dewey, his eyes probing. "Sidney might know something."

Dewey shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. "I've already told you, I don't know Sidney's whereabouts. And even if there were a third killer, Sidney wouldn't necessarily be aware of it."

"That's for me to determine," Kincaid asserted, clasping his hands behind his back. "She's a crucial factor in this investigation." He turned and took a few paces away. "I have a press conference in an hour. I need to provide an explanation for the deaths of three celebrities and a bodyguard."

Detective Wallace entered the office, adding, "And we also have a very irate mayor to contend with."

I rose from my seat, reaching for my pack of cigarettes, and made a move to leave, but Kincaid halted me. "Where do you think you're going?" he inquired.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for hypotheticals. I'm only interested in stopping this individual," I retorted, placing a cigarette in my mouth before walking away.

Outside the station, I lit a cigarette and let the burning sensation wash over me. I felt the weight of everything bearing down, but my stubbornness prevented me from succumbing. That was until a familiar voice broke through the haze.

"Still a smoker, William?" Sidney Prescott's voice rang out. She stood there with a bright smile on her face.

I stood in astonishment, a whirlwind of old emotions swirling within me. "Sidney," I managed to utter as I enveloped her in a tight hug. "Been a long time."

Sidney reached out and took the cigarette from my mouth. "Clearly, some things never change," she remarked before dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with her foot.

"Why are you here?" I asked, feeling a mix of concern and curiosity.

Sidney's expression shifted. "Let's talk inside," she said, appearing uneasy. I had a suspicion about what might be bothering her. I escorted her inside to join Dewey and planned to introduce her to Kincaid to aid in the investigation.

Back in the office, Sidney explained that the killer had contacted her, adding a layer of complexity to the situation, especially since only Dewey knew her phone number. This was far from ideal.

Sidney requested to visit the location where the photos of her mother had been taken, and Kincaid granted her request. I decided to accompany her in Dewey's jeep, sitting in the back seat.

As we drove, my mind wandered to thoughts of the son I had but never met. It was a persistent thought, especially considering that I had never wanted children or even entertained the idea, largely due to my complicated relationship with my own father. I had always been determined not to become anything like him.