Detective || Scream1996 x M!reader

In this together

The sun filtered through the curtains in your living, Tatum came over to your place, eager to see what you'd been working on.

You felt a little uneasy as you led her up to your room, your makeshift 'investigation table' still scattered with papers, notes, and clippings about the murders.

Tatum was strong, sure, but it was one thing to talk about Ghostface—it was another thing to see the obsession you'd built up over the past few weeks.

As soon as she stepped inside your room, Tatum's eyes widened. "Whoa. Okay, so when you said you were investigating, you meant full-on detective mode."

You scratched the back of your neck, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Yeah, well...I've been piecing things together, trying to find a pattern. The calls, the murders, all of it."

She walked over to the table, picking up a few of the articles you'd printed out. "Jesus. You weren't kidding." Then her eyes landed on something else—a familiar object sitting on the edge of the desk.

Her fingers stopped mid-reach, and she slowly turned to look at you. "Is that...?"

You followed her gaze and saw it—the Ghostface mask, the same one that had been left by your bed the other night. You hadn't told Tatum about that little surprise yet, and now you could see the questions forming in her mind.

Tatum picked up the mask, holding it between her fingers like it might burn her. "Where did you get this?"

You sighed, stepping closer to her. "He left it. In my room." You swallowed hard, the weight of the memory pressing down on you. "I woke up, and it was just... there. Like some sick reminder."

Tatum's face turned pale as she stared at the mask, her fingers trembling slightly. "This is insane." She set it down carefully, like it might explode.

"I swear on my fucking yeezys that he was definitely the person who killed Sid"

Tatum looked at you, her face full of concern. "So what now? You just...keep investigating until he decides to come for you again?"

You shook your head. "No. I don't plan on waiting for that. I want to figure out who he is before he has the chance."

Tatum sighed and ran a hand through her hair, clearly torn between wanting to help you and fearing what this investigation might lead to. "Okay, Sherlock," she said, finally sitting down on the bed. "What's the plan? How are we going to catch this psycho?"

You sat down across from her, feeling a flicker of relief that she was still on board. "We start with the calls," you said. "There's something about the timing, the way he talks—it's like he knows where I am at all times. I've been trying to narrow down where the calls could be coming from, but..."

Tatum raised an eyebrow. "But what?"

You hesitated, then pointed to a particular set of notes on the table—notes that pointed to a pattern. "I think it's someone we know. Someone close. The way he talks, the things he says...It's like he knows me."

Tatum's eyes widened. "You're saying it's one of our friends?"

You nodded slowly. "I'm not sure, but it's possible. And if that's the case, we need to be careful. Really careful."

Tatum leaned back, clearly shaken by the thought. "Well, that's a comforting thought," she muttered. She looked at the mask again, then back at you. "Alright. Let's figure this out. Together."