𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘽𝘼𝘾𝙆 - 𝑺𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎

Six

If there was one positive thing Jacqui could observe about today, it was that all police stations smelled the same. Like burnt coffee, cigarettes, and copper. But even then, she debated whether or not the metallic smell was coming from the air or just the dark patches of blood that stained her hands.

They did a good job cleaning her up, but no amount of rubbing alcohol could wash away the lingering feeling of hot blood running down her fingertips, dripping into the dips in her knuckles. But she was still too deep into thought to complain, she did her best to ignore the red rings around her fingernails as she stared at the cork board of evidence.

Despite the fact that Dewey was stationed in Woodsboro, they offered him their biggest corner office while he stayed in town to work on the murder investigation. That was where she was now, sitting in a swivel chair with her legs lying against the floor under her and a bomber jacket thrown over her shoulders like a weighted blanket.

It felt like hours that she sat there listening to the ringing of faraway phones and the jingling of handcuff keys on silver rings, Dewey paced back and forth in front of her while speaking with Gale. His office was cramped but empty. He hadn't brought much over from California besides a framed photograph of him and Tatum that sat under the table lamp at an awkward angle.

Dewey nor Gale had barely spoken a word to Jacqui since they dragged her away from that van kicking and screaming. She nearly clawed her fingers into the cement, begging and pleading to stay just a moment longer.

But now, the memories of seeing his chest rising and falling unsteadily in the hollowed body of that news van seemed like poor tricks of the light. Mean tricks. Horrible tricks that convinced her for a split second that the closest person to her was still somehow clinging to life despite being stabbed countless times in the chest and throat.

Like a vision passing before her eyes, she suddenly remembered a moment two weeks or so ago before today. Randy had gotten her tickets to a drive-in movie theater and they were curled up together in the back of his busted up Dodge Caravan, popcorn littering the bed of the truck around them.

"That dumbass is still breathing!" Jacqui laughed into his arm, trying desperately to take the film seriously. He'd been so proud to show it to her — but it was cheaply made and the strawberry seeds in the blood spray were painfully obvious. One of the killable side characters had just bit the dust, but his body was still wracking with breath.

"No, wait," he chuckled, squeezing his arm tighter around her. "Sometimes when you die all of a sudden like that, the air trapped in your lungs makes it look like you're breathing for a few minutes afterwards."

"Stop giving them the benefit of the doubt," she scoffed with a chuckle. "It's just bad acting."

"We'll see," he grinned smugly as she rolled her eyes. "You can't be sure till the end."

The doors of the police station then burst open, rattling against the walls with a loud bang that pulled Jacqui from her pleasant memory in seconds flat.

Both Dewey and Gale stopped what they were doing and looked up through the frosted windows of the office to see Mickey walking in through the main entrance.

"Jacqui?" He called, searching with his eyes as he made his way deeper into the building. No one made a reach to stop him, not even the sheriff who was sitting in the opposite corner, head held in his hands as he spoke on the phone with Mrs. Meeks and explained that her only son was murdered.

Mickey's eyes landed on Jacqui and a deep exhale left his body. "Oh, thank God." He sighed, stepping into Dewey's office but not sparing him a second glance before coming over to wrap his arms around her. "I couldn't get outta my psychology class," he explained. "I ran all the way here from the fuckin' west wing."

His chin rested comfortably on top of her head for a moment before he pulled away to kneel beside the swivel chair, hand tracing over her forearm. "It's true about Meeks, isn't it?" He asked, Jacqui didn't answer but hugged him back.

"Unfortunately," Gale responded on Jacqui's behalf.

Dewey had offered to call someone for Jacqui upon her arrival to the station. It wasn't like her parents could have flown out just to help her grieve any better. Sidney had her own issues and Jacqui was sure she wouldn't want to come over just to be upset with her, Randy was also her friend. So she had Dewey call Mickey.

Mickey shot Jacqui one last sympathetic look before rising to his feet and shrugging the strap of his bag down his arm, turning to Dewey and Gale with his jaw locked tightly in place. "How long till we catch this fucker, huh? How many more people does he have to cut up before you start taking this shit seriously?"

"Hey, we're doing everything we can," Gale seethed.

Mickey's eyes darted between the two of them, tongue sucked behind his teeth before he bent down to throw Jacqui's backpack over his shoulder, reaching out and offering her his hand. "C'mon, Jac. I'll walk you back to your dorm."

Jacqui hadn't talked since she told Dewey who to call, so she nodded a quick goodbye to Gale and Dewey before letting Mickey lead her out of the police station and back outdoors.

Mickey's hand slipped into Jacqui's and she allowed it, eyes counting the bricks on the trail as she passed them by and only ever bothering to look up when she spotted the glinting white paint of the news van parked up ahead.

"Jacqui," Mickey sighed, feeling the resistance in her hand as she stopped walking to peer down at it. His demeanor was entirely different than it had been in Dewey's office. No longer enraged or frustrated.

It was hard for Jacqui to remember that Mickey lost a friend too that day and that he hadn't been around long enough to accept death the same way that her and Dewey could.

Randy's body had been moved but rivers of murky red water still ran through the crevices in the cement. She couldn't draw her eyes away from the scene, not even as Mickey squeezed her hand in an attempt to coax her further down the sidewalk. "Hey, don't look at that."

[A/N: Me writing an OC's death: ✌️😜🔪 vs me writing my favorite canon character's death: 📜✍️😭]