Scream VII

Threads Cut

From then on, the afternoon hours treaded along rather quickly. No slow descent of the sun towards the horizon was caught, as there was no sun to speak of that day but time seemed to accelerate and slipped by in a blue. The wind had died down; the gentle rustling of leaves and distant chirping of birds provided a peaceful soundtrack to the passing day.

At least to anyone not associated with Sam or Sidney.

Before anyone knew it, the day had passed.....and evening was upon them.

____________________________________________________

Apparently, that was the perfect time for an old woman named Mary to get crunk after a long, extensive yoga session. The yoga pants and plain white shirt she wore was a testament to how fit she was; all the more reason to mix up a cocktail as she stood by the bar in her suburban home.

The sound of a vinyl record spins behind her; "Family Reunion" by The O'Jays is playing.

Suddenly, the house phone rings. Mary takes a sip on her slow walk to retrieve the phone from its cradle. "Hello?"

Good evening. Is your husband available?

Eyebrows are raised at the vaguely, middle-aged voiceover on the other side. Carol cracks an ice cube between her teeth, a quirk of hers to quell her uprising anxiety. "Mind if I ask who's calling?"

This is William Cawthon. We used to work together at the bank before he moved.

"Ohhhhhhhkay. I—all right, all right. One second. HANK! Phone call!"

She has to hold the phone away from her face while calling him down. Almost as if on cue, the infamous Hank Loomis strolls on in, slowly. Entering the living room, he's sweating buckets through his joggers and t-shirt. While Mary took to yoga inside, Hank decided to jog outside.

The towel wrapped around him, soaked neck deep in sweat indicated how out of breath he was from his recent workout.

"Who—who is it?"

"William? From the bank?"

Searching his mind, it takes some time before something clicks. Still, Hank shrugs. He hadn't heard that name in years.

He takes the phone and Mary exits the room.

"This is Hank."

Long time, Hank. Nice to catch up.

"I'm—I'm sorry, run it by me again. Who'd you say this was?"

Seconds later, the voice changes. And it's radically different from what came before.

A mirror to your past life.

Hank....stops. It's Billy Loomis's voice, the sound of his son.

Any self-respecting man would crack under the pretenses and wonder if this was real life or fantasy, caught in a landslide with no escape from reality. Here was the father of one-half of 1996's infamous serial killer duo confronted with his son calling him up out of the blue. This would be a momentary cause for a tiny reprieve.

Except it's been 30 years now. He's long since peace with the reality of his son was made. Plus, the slightly digital effect of the voice completely took him out of the moment. He knew it wasn't real.

Growling to himself, he shakes his head. He couldn't be any more disappointed.

Long pause over there. You're telling me you don't recognize my voice? Your own flesh and blood?