Scream 2: A Drake Parker Story

Night Of The Living Dead

Author's Note: They're back! (Little quote from Poltergeist II: The Other Side to set the mood for you).

I've gotten quite a few chapters written, and I couldn't wait any longer. I really wanted to get the first chapter out in October, so grab your blanket and popcorn, and don't forget your pen and pad, detective. Let's get to it!

There'll be food and drink and ghosts...and perhaps even a few murders. You're all invited. (House on Haunted Hill)

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Slice - 11PM TOMORROW

SPECIAL EARLY SHOWING

See The True Story Of Last Year's

WOODSBORO MASSACER!!!

With Surprise Special Guest Appearance

Get Your Tickets Before They Sell Out

Drake reviewed his work after sliding the final black letter into the marquee. It was hard to believe that this was his life now, and that it would be put up on a gigantic movie screen for the world to see. Everyone would get to watch it, digest it, and forget about it before Drake had even figured out how to move on. Three hundred and sixty-four days later, and he still struggled to understand what had happened and why Josh had done what he'd done. Now everyone is going to have their opinions and theories. They already did, but now it'll be amplified. He could never run from this.

A flash of bright gold zipped by underneath him, moving under the ladder without superstition. Drake watched his assistant manager approach the delivery truck that had pulled up along the curb. He flipped through the pages on his clipboard before calling up to the man in the driver's seat.

"Costumes?"

The driver nodded.

"You're late." He was clearly irritated, an expression Drake was all too familiar with, but he calmly and quickly began delegating tasks to anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of his storm. "Take it around back to the loading dock," he directed, waving to one side, and the loud truck crawled to a start. He turned back to the sidewalk. "Orion, Shiraye, hurry up with those posters. Zander, when you're done sweeping the parking lot, you're on trash duty. Oh, hey, Chester," he said, catching an unlucky employee just as he was going inside to clock in for his shift. "A delivery truck just got here. Start unloading. I'll send another set of hands your way, okay?" He patted the red-vested worker on the back, nudging him forward without waiting for a reply. "Good man."

"Hey, Anthony?" A young, attractive blonde with a kind voice approached from the shade underneath the marquee. "One of the soda machines is acting up again and only spitting out carbonation, and we're out of napkins."

The assistant manager penned this in. "I'll call the help desk. Go find Helen and get the company card from her. I need you to run down the street and pick up ten large packs of napkins."

"Well I-"

"And make sure you bring back the receipt. Thank you, Jessica."

Drake's already bad mood sank further when Anthony found his curious eyes. He didn't want to be given another list of chores to complete. He's been trying to take his break for the past two hours.

"Drake, what are you doing? You don't have time to be dilly-dallying."

The teen in question descended the ladder, then folded it up.

"Oh, while I have you, I need you to come in tomorrow and work four to closing."

Caught within the path of Hurricane Anthony, he was filled with anxiety. "You said I could have tomorrow off."

"I know, but Becky had a family emergency, and I just had to fire Trick yesterday for stealing food." He spoke fast. Everything about him was fast: his speech, his twitchy movements, his light footsteps, his temper. It was hard to keep up.

"But," Drake practically stuttered, "the movie-"

"That's why I need you. We're gonna be packed tomorrow - busier than Christmas. Everyone's required to work unless they have an excusable absence."

"The movie-" Drake repeated, sounding dumb because he didn't know how to elaborate, but he had to say something before the man buzzed away like the busy bee that he was.

"And make sure you iron that vest before tomorrow," Anthony said, poking at him with the eraser end of his pencil. "It shouldn't be this wrinkled. For now, I need you to go to the back and help Chester unload the truck."

"But you said I could take my break after I did the sign. I've been here since twelve."

Anthony checked his wrist. It was close to 6:30. He sighed with annoyance, then raised his eyes to the marquee and read over the announcement. "Alright, you can go on break."

Drake picked up the squeaky metal ladder and turned, but his shoulder was grabbed. He gave the assistant manager a questioning glance.

"...after you fix the sign."

"What's wrong with the sign?"

"You spelled 'massacre' wrong."

Drake pointed his eyes upward, checking over his mistake. "Fuck," he mumbled.

"I'm gonna have to write you up for the language," Anthony said, scribbling on his clipboard again as he made his way inside.

It took everything inside of Drake to keep from swearing some more. He let out a groan instead as he placed the ladder back down with frustration and unfolded it. "Wait, how do you spell 'massacre'?" he called after the assistant manager, but the man was already gone. "Fucking dickhead," he whispered, quieter than before although Anthony was further away. With grumpy footfalls, he climbed up the creaky steps.
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With a huff, Drake plopped down in one of the available seats at his friends' table. Neither greeted him with a hello, but rather a question involving scary movies.

"Dude, I Saw the Devil is definitely a horror film," Ja'won said with way too much energy for Drake's liking, "right?"

He was always so passionate about these kinds of debates, and Vance matched his intensity. No wonder they'd become such good friends their junior year despite the rest of their crew being less than enthused about the pairing. Now that Drake and Ja'won were the only ones left, the target of last year's massacre had to accept that he would be seeing a lot more of Vance.

"Yeah, I guess," Drake said, too exhausted for the friendly argument.

"It's an action thriller," Vance disagreed. "It's not scary."

"Not all horror movies have a bunch of jump-scares." Even if he was running on fumes, he always had enough fuel left to argue with Vance.

"Exactly," Ja'won nodded, providing examples. "The Blair Witch Project, Perfect Blue, Stoker, Tusk..." It was a very Ja'won list of movies. Found footage, anime, Asian horror, creature features - all his favorite subgenres.

Drake added his own examples, sticking to the classics because it felt kind of good to use Vance's own genre against him. "Creepshow, Rosemary's Baby-"

"Of course he's gonna agree with you," Vance said. He didn't need to elaborate. They knew what he meant. "Whether it counts as revenge horror or not, Carrie is still better, then The Last House on the Left, then I Spit on Your Grave - all the originals. Come on, you have to give me that, Drake."

He shrugged. "I'm not really into revenge movies."

Vance was dumbfounded. "How are you not into revenge movies?"

"I don't know. I mean, so many of them start out with the same thing: some girl gets sexually assaulted and hunts down the guys who did it. The trope's kinda played out."

"Not all of them are like that. Look at Saw X," the teen said. "It's actually my favorite movie in the entire franchise."

"Bad take," Ja'won chimed in.

"How is that a bad take?"

His friend counted on his fingers, putting the series in order from best to worst, in his own opinion. "Saw II, Saw, Saw VI, then," he emphasized, "Saw X..."

His voice faded out. The Saw series filled Drake with memories of his brother. He and Josh had begun binging their way through the lengthy franchise until Drake decided to take a break from it with his mother's death anniversary creeping up on him. Less than a week before the Woodsboro massacre, the boys decided to pick up where they'd left off for their traditional Scary Movie Sundays, only they never made it to Sunday - not Josh anyway, and Drake just barely.

After he was released from the hospital and some time went by, Drake decided to return to the franchise, determined to fulfill the plans he and Josh had made. Scary Movie Sunday was such a staple for them. He'd thought that maybe he'd feel some kind of connection to his brother - that he could, just for a while, forget about the horrible events that had taken place and pretend that Josh was still with him, but it didn't work. Josh was dead, and nothing would change that.

He wondered what his former roommate would say if he were here now. What was his favorite revenge horror? Probably Mandy? It had that artsy vibe he was into, plus Nicolas Cage.

"Yo, are you okay?" Ja'won asked, pulling the boy out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, just tired."

"How would you rank the Saw movies?" Vance asked.

"I think the Leigh Whannell trilogy is the best," he said. "After that is when it pretty much becomes torture porn."

"When did you get so soft?" the boy asked with disappointment.

"Probably when my brother tried to kill me, but that's just a guess."

The other two teens shared a glance, unsure whether or not they should coddle him or laugh. Sometimes Drake had a dark sense of humor - so dark that they couldn't tell whether or not he was joking. He kind of was, but maybe he wasn't. He didn't even know anymore.

To get them past the awkward silence, he said, "You can't really beat the original, though."

"Well, that's not always true," Ja'won said. "What about Terrifier 2?"

This time, Vance and Drake were on the same side. In unison, both boys gave a dismissive noise of disapproval.

"Seriously? I thought Terrifier fans all collectively decided it was better."

"Both movies are kinda shit anyway. They're just iconic for the gore and fuckery," Vance said. It was strange to hear him swear so much. He wasn't like this before he joined the friend group, but Drake's consistent use of colorful language had rubbed off on him, like many other things of Drake's: his hobbies, habits and mannerisms.

"The sequel's way too long," Drake added. Plus, Josh had made a replica of the whip used in the movie to beat him with, but he didn't say this out loud. He'd never be able to watch it again, especially not the scene where Art tortured a kid with the whip. If Drake was grateful for one thing, it's that his stepbrother had never turned the weapon on Megan. This meant that Josh couldn't be all bad...right?

"What about Annabelle: Creation?" Ja'won said. "It was definitely scarier than the original."

"I guess," Drake said. "I kinda didn't give a shit about any of those movies, though." He couldn't help but think that, if Josh were here, he would say his all-time favorite: Evil Dead II. It definitely was better than its predecessor, but he didn't want to bring his murderous brother up again.

Vance snapped his fingers eagerly. "I got it. Dawn of the Dead." Both teens accepted this, and he smiled with pride.

"Drake, honey," a woman said, heading their way. She had on black slacks and a purple button-up top, the usual attire for his manager Helen. She was short and stout, but she moved quick - not like Anthony, who jerked and jived like a meth addict desperate for a fix, but rather like a butterfly, gleeful and smooth. She stepped up onto the dining platform and approached their table, food tray in hand. "I was about to head home. I have to finish packing for my vacation."

"Take me with you," Drake joked with that same deadpan tone as before.

She smiled wide, just like she did every time he spoke. "Oh, I wish I could."

"When are you coming back?" he asked. Every day with Anthony in charge would be hell.

"Sunday night, so you'll see me at work Monday."

Today was Wednesday. That would be four days he'd have to spend without his protector. This weekend was going to be a nightmare.

"Where are you heading?" Vance asked curiously.

"Driving over to Vegas with my sister."

"Going through the Mojave Desert?" When she nodded, he said, "Better keep an eye out for road spikes. And don't trust any gas station attendants."

All three stared at Vance - Helen with confusion, Ja'won with understanding and something that resembled pride, Drake with annoyance, which wasn't abnormal these days.

The woman leaned down slightly so that her mouth was closer to Drake's ear. "What does he mean by that?"

"Nothing," he said with an eye roll.

"It's The Hills Have Eyes," said Vance defensively.

"Uh...well, alright then." Helen's eyes lingered on the strange teen warily before turning to her favorite worker. "Oh, Drake, I got the kitchen to whip this up for you." She set the tray down in front of him. On it was a meal consisting of chicken strips and fries.

"Thanks, Helen," he said with genuine appreciation. He stood and gave her a hug.

Helen squeezed him tighter than he expected and with so much strength that she nearly lifted him off his feet despite being much shorter than he was. "Okay, dearie, I'll see you Monday."

He repeated similar sentiments, then sat back down when she left. Ja'won was already eating a fry. Drake picked one up and took a bite. His empty stomach growled with appreciation, but thankfully, the chattering crowd of impatient ticket-buyers swarming the counter covered the sound.

"It's so packed today," Ja'won noticed.

"It's for some special re-release double-feature of The Shining and Doctor Sleep," Drake answered with a yawn as he opened the honey mustard. Helen knew him well. "Boring."

Vance gasped with genuine shock. "What did you just say?"

Ja'won was a little surprised himself. "Dude, since when don't you like The Shining?"

"Since always. I mean, the directing is cool, and the movie's alright. The sequel sucked, but-"

"Maybe you just didn't get it," Vance said. "I have this whole breakdown I posted on my YouTube channel where I do a deep-dive into all the little details and explain them."

"I bet you did," Drake replied. He's good at sharing hidden details, he thought bitterly.

"I'll send it to you."

Don't bother, he wanted to say, but instead, he responded with silence, taking a bite of his chicken strip.

A breeze rustled his hair as Anthony darted past, aimed at two guests who were arguing in the long line. Just knowing that the assistant manager was in close proximity to him soured his mood.

"I gotta fucking work tomorrow."

"What?" Ja'won said with concern.

"Anthony's making me come in."

"But the movie-" he said, stuttering similarly to how Drake had when he'd first heard the news.

"I know. I hate him. He's such an asshole," he said. "He's had it out for me since I started working here."

Vance added to the conversation now. "I mean, you were kind of a jerk to him in middle school."

"It was fucking forever ago, and he had two years on me. Yeah, I was a little shit, but what sixth grader isn't?"

Suddenly, he remembered who he was talking to. Vance might be blunt, but he never purposely tried to hurt anyone's feelings. Sure, Ja'won was popular, but he always stood up for others, even if it was against his friends. Drake was the only bad guy here.

"Anyway, he's a grown-ass man. Does he not have anything better to do than pick on some seventeen-year-old kid? Grow up."

He looked over at the gold-vested worker. The fight was over, and Anthony was clearly relieved. He hated confrontation, which was why, despite being a foot taller and in eighth grade at the time in question, he'd never confronted Drake. The only reason he did it now was because he knew he was in a position of power and Drake couldn't afford to lose this job.

Shiraye and Orion moved past, momentarily blocking his view, so his eyes followed them - or more correctly, the cardboard cutout that they were carrying. It was a floor-to-ceiling display of the movie poster. At the bottom stood a group of well-known celebrities, and towering over them in the center, wearing the recognizable cloak and mask, was who the media now referred to as Ghostface. His friends followed his gaze, wondering what had him so distracted.

"Surreal, isn't it?" Vance said with excitement. "To have your life turned into a movie."

"It's a fucking nightmare," Drake said, not sharing the same enthusiasm.

"Did you see that video I made talking about how they originally had Timothée Chalamet cast to play you?"

"Must've missed that one," he said with snark.

"Bummer that he dropped out due to a scheduling conflict."

"Yeah, bummer," he replied sarcastically.

"Keir Gilchrist is cool, too, though," Ja'won said, trying, like always, to find a happy medium in the conversation. "It Follows is dope, and you loved Dark Summer."

"Hey, have you heard anything about who this secret special guest appearance is supposed to be?" Vance, always looking for the inside scoop.

"I didn't ask," Drake said. "I honestly don't give a shit."

"It would make the most sense for it to be him or Cole Sprouse, right? Since he's playing Josh."

"It would be so trippy to meet the person that's playing you in a movie," said Ja'won. "I loved Myles Truitt in Black Lightning. And Stephen watched that show he was in. Um...what was it...?"

"Black Mafia Family," Vance offered. He didn't know what Stephen had watched, but he'd covered every bit of news about the Slice release on his YouTube channel, so he knew all there was to know about everyone and everything involved. "And Jaeden Martell playing me is so awesome. Like, he was in It, one of the most known horror movies ever, and now he has to probably watch my videos to study my movements and mannerisms for the role. That's insane."

"Speaking of It, Bill Skarsgård playing your dad is kinda weird," said Ja'won. "I know your parents had you kinda young, but isn't he just in his thirties or something?"

"He played a dad in The Devil All the Time, which, despite the title, is not a horror movie by the way," said Vance, and he seemed somewhat salty for a moment before bouncing back to his overly-hyped, excessively-passionate self. "Anyway, I think it's brilliant casting. People not from here and not familiar with the story will suspect him solely because he played Pennywise. It's a good red herring."

Ja'won looked at his friend. "You gotta admit it's kinda crazy that, last year, you, Stephen, Trevor and I sat at this same exact table talking about Pennywise, and now he's in a movie about your life."

Instead, Drake's mind was on the young girl who was cast as his sister: Nell Fisher. The interesting thing about that fact was that she played in Evil Dead Rise. Josh loved that franchise more than any other, and he would've been so excited about this whole movie thing if he were still here. He'd left behind a legacy that he would've been proud of.

"Drake!" The short, authoritative voice belonged to Anthony, and he spoke at such a volume that it caused the anxious boy to flinch and even drop the fry he was holding. He came up behind his employee, making him nervous. "I need you to clock in."

"But I just sat down for break," he argued. The soles of his feet felt like they were being repeatedly stabbed by dozens of pins, and his back could use a nice stretch in a large, comfy bed. Not to mention he'd only made it through one chicken strip. It's the only thing he'd eaten all day, and it wasn't enough to refuel his energy.

"We're swamped. I had to take Jessica off the register to help unload the truck. The double feature is about to begin, and I don't wanna start getting complaints that people missed half the movie because we're backed up. I'm not giving out refunds."

"But-"

"I won't hesitate to fire you, Drake. With Helen gone for the rest of the week, I now have the authority to do that, and you know you're already on thin ice with me."

Anthony loved to pull this card. On most days, if they weren't busy like now, he'd allow Drake to argue with him longer, letting the lowly worker believe he was getting through to him, then he'd throw his power in his face, the boy's life dangling from a string on his fingertips as if he were Anthony's very own puppet and plaything.

Drake had to suck it up. Who else would hire him? The only reason he got this job was because Helen adored him. He wasn't smart or bubbly, and he was hardly a good employee. The only reason he was somewhat capable at his job was because he'd spent years watching Josh do it, and even still, he made silly mistakes from time to time. He wouldn't last a day anywhere else. This was all he had, and Anthony knew it.

Drake sighed like a moody child as he grumpily slid his chair back. He stood and moved past his boss without saying a word.

"And fix the attitude."
_______________________________

Drake heard a short siren and turned. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he mumbled as he stopped walking. His shoulders slumped, for he knew what was coming.

The car pulled up to the curb and came to a stop. After a moment, the door opened, and a man stepped out. He already knew who it was before he saw him: Officer Jones, father of the deceased Huntley Jones. This was a common occurrence. The cop harassed him constantly, stopping him for no reason, often embarrassing him in public. Luckily, no one was around...although, on second thought, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. With no witnesses, Jones could do whatever he pleased.

"Where you heading?" the man questioned, stepping up onto the curb.

"Home," Drake said with irritation.

"And where are you coming from?"

Drake was quiet for a moment as he looked down at his uniform. It was a bright red vest. He couldn't miss it. "Obviously from work."

"Am I detecting sass?"

Drake sighed. He knew it was best to answer his questions so he could move on with his day. "No, sir."

"What's that smell?" the man asked, sniffing the air.

A frustrated groan left the boy's lips, for the cop was always playing these games with him. "Come on, man."

"What's in the bag?"

"Just a fucking CD player-"

"Hey!" the man scolded, pointing a finger at him. "Drop the attitude. I'm just doing my job."

"Why don't you go do it somewhere else?" Drake said, unable to hold back. He hated this prick. "Like where you're actually fucking needed maybe?"

"I told you to watch your mouth," the cop said, then he grabbed the boy and spun him around, causing him to drop his backpack. Jones shoved him against the brick wall of the laundromat a little too aggressively, then kicked Drake's feet apart. "You got any drugs on you?"

"No, I don't have any drugs on me! Do I ever?" He pursed his lips together with anger and uncomfortably stared at the sky as he was patted down. "Fucking ridiculous," he said under his breath.

"Shut the fuck up."

The unease he felt when the officer got to his privates only grew the longer he took. "You know, officer, I'm starting to think that you keep stopping me like this so you get a chance to cop a feel of my dick."

The man snatched him by the shoulder. "The fuck did you say to me?! You snotty little punk-"

"Hey!"

The two turned to see an elderly woman standing just outside the door of the laundromat. She used a walker to balance herself.

"You leave that boy alone!"

"What, is this your nana coming to save you?" Jones said just loud enough for Drake to hear. To the woman, he said, "Ma'am, this is police business."

"I know you," she said. "I saw you sitting in your car on the curb two days ago waiting for him to come out of his apartment. I watched you follow him down the street for ten blocks."

"Ma'am, he's just another low-life teenager that's gotten himself involved in a bunch of shady things. That's why I've been keeping my eyes on him."

"No, he's not. He's a good kid. Now you listen to me," she said. "You leave that boy alone or I'll call your supervisor."

Drake couldn't help but grin. Jones was still on thin ice after last year. In fact, he wouldn't even be working for the police at all had Drake charged him for assault. In hindsight, he should have. He still had nightmares about Stephen's autopsied corpse to this day. Unfortunately, he hadn't been thinking clearly at the time, and now he was dealing with the consequences.

"You keep your act straight, Parker," the cop grumpily said to him, "because the day you mess up, I'll be there." The man had a fistful of his shirt in his grip. He used it to roughly toss Drake to the side. "Get out of here."

Drake picked up his bag, giving the senior a grateful nod, then he walked the short distance home.

The Overlook was a shitty apartment complex in the even shittier side of Woodsboro. It was white - or it used to be. Now it was more of a yellowish-tan, like the walls of a home where a heavy smoker resided. The building was shaped like a blocky U, with the entrance being at the bottom right. There were bars on the main window and door, for the glass had been smashed many times before by raging wives searching for their cheating husbands and tweakers who forgot the door was a pull rather than a push.

Drake stepped inside to a space with hazardous cracked tiles and dirty handprints and smudges all over the piss-yellow walls. To his left was the landlord's office, which had a door around the side - also barred up - and a sliding glass window front and center. Drake could see the man inside. He had an average build - not tall but not short, not plump but not thin. Despite the setting, he still tried to dress nice, with a black and gray striped button-up tucked into dark jeans. His back was turned to Drake as he took a bite of the dinner his wife had brought down to him: a flat chicken patty with one soggy piece of lettuce on a bun.

Straight ahead was a long hallway - one of the arms of the U-shaped building - and while the man was distracted, Drake quickly and quietly took off in that direction. First came the elevator, which he had to pass by due to the ripped and crinkled "Out of Order" sign that had been hanging there since before he moved in. Next was a door that led to the stairwell, and just as he reached for the handle, he heard his name.

"Drake!" the landlord called.

He closed his eyes with a sigh and swore under his breath, then dropped his hand and turned on his heels to see the man leaning out his office window. "Yes, Mr. Bakshi?"

"Where you running off to so fast?" he asked knowingly.

"Just trying to get home."

He got right to the point. "Where's your rent?"

"It's coming," Drake said.

"You said that last week," he said, "and the week before. Rent is due soon, and you still owe me for last month."

"I just had some unexpected things come up that I had to pay for-"

"More important than a place to live?" There was a threat in those words, and Drake knew it.

Finally, he made his way back down the hall to face the landlord man-to-man. "I know we're late-"

"You're always late."

"I'm taking an extra shift tomorrow, so I'll get your money to you soon."

"Tomorrow," the man demanded.

"Tomorrow? But I don't-" get paid until Friday, is what he was going to say, but he wasn't given the chance.

"Tomorrow."

Drake knew he couldn't argue. "Okay, tomorrow."

The man ended the conversation, waving him away with the flick of his wrist. Defeated, the teen walked down the hall, returning to the stairwell door. He went inside and ascended the steps, wondering how he could possibly come up with the money he needed, until he was too exhausted to think about it. His head was aching now, and it only got worse with each step. He was looking forward to collapsing on the loveseat the second he got to his apartment.

Despite how it had looked, the entrance was the nicest part of the building. The stairwell was littered with cigarette butts and empty soda bottles - even a used syringe - and it looked like it hadn't been swept in months. The old stone steps were chipped in places, so one had to watch his step if he wasn't familiar with them. Graffiti covered every inch of the wall. Some were gang signs made into a stunning design while others consisted of a simple name, most likely done by some kid trying too hard to be rebellious. Pictures covered the walls: penises of all shapes, sizes, hairiness and stages of ejaculation, and arrows that guided you up to Heaven or to the room of a "better than average whore".

Every time he passed through, he always saw something he'd never noticed before. Today, it was a phrase written with black spray paint: "When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth." It stuck out to him, not only because it was a chilling quote, but because they'd just talked about Dawn of the Dead at the Premiere earlier. He pondered shortly whether this was new art or if he'd just noticed it due to the relevance, but even that became too exhausting. He paused as he came to the next floor, checking to see what number he was at: four.

Drake placed his hand on the wobbly railing, practically dragging himself up. Despite how often he was forced to make this journey, it never got any easier. He trudged up the remaining flights, panting and sweating by the time he reached the thirteenth floor. When he made it to the top, he stopped to catch his breath as his thighs and calves screamed.

Fighting his body's desire to lay down in the floor and not move for several hours, he opened the door to his hallway and crossed the threshold. There was even more graffiti here, except for in the places where the outer layer of plaster was missing entirely. The carpet was an ugly dark green, and it was covered in unidentifiable stains that could be anything from vomit, piss, shit, blood - any of the bodily discharges - to spilled drinks, food smashed into the floor, and raindrops from the leaky ceiling. Because of the rain, there was a mildew odor that made this level worse than any of the rest.

Despite the sensory overload, his mind was focused on one thing: a scream to his right - a girl...a child. He took off in that direction, stopping at the first door he came to across the hall. He dug in his pockets for his key, then shoved it into the lock. He twisted and turned, but it wouldn't budge, which wasn't out of the ordinary. The knob was loose and didn't fit well in the hole that was made for it, which threw the entire contraption off. It took longer than normal to open today, probably because he was in such a rush.

"Son of a..." he whispered, jiggling the key more frantically when he heard the sound of wind cracking, followed by a belt smack. He dropped his backpack and the food container he was carrying and used two hands - one to hold the knob in place and the other to turn the key. Finally, it opened, and he saw his father, belt in hand, standing over Megan, who was curled up on the floor. "Hey!" Drake yelled furiously, hoping to get the man's attention before his sister suffered another blow.

Unfortunately, the belt was already on its way down, and it made contact with the girl's hip. Drake dashed forward, getting between the two. He grabbed Winston's wrist and pushed him backwards into the kitchen.

"Leave her alone! The hell's the matter with you?!"

"Get the fuck off me," Winston demanded, and despite his drunkenness, he shook himself free with ease. "Look at this." He picked up a sheet of paper that was on the counter, then threw it at Drake. It happened so fast that the boy could only see that something was drawn on it in crayon, but he couldn't make out what it was. "Look at this." Winston snatched up another one, giving it the same treatment, then he picked up the rest of the pile and flung them in his son's face. "Look at this shit!"

Drake flinched, but once the sheets settled, he looked down at them. They were pictures clearly drawn by Megan, but they didn't contain the usual rainbows and butterflies. Instead, there was blood and carnage and death - a whole lot of death. Before he had time to soak up the information, Winston was yelling again.

"I just got off the phone with the school! They want me to come in for a parent-teacher meeting for this shit!" His raging eyes turned to his daughter. "What have you been telling them about me?!"

"Nothing," she said, in tears.

Winston snatched up a paper, then held it up for them to see. "Who's that?" he demanded, pointing to one of the people on the page. It was a tall man with pointed eyebrows standing beside another man, who was laying on the ground with x's for eyes. "Hmm? That's me."

"No-"

"That's me!" He grabbed the top of the page and ripped it in half. "Who have you been talking to?! What did you tell them?!"

"Nothing!"

"I told you not to tell anyone our business!"

"I didn't!"

"You lying little shit!" Winston charged at her, belt at the ready.

Drake put his hands on his chest, trying to push him back, but his worn Converse shoes slid across the kitchen tile. He tried again, charging at him shoulder-first. "Dad, stop it! Leave her alone!"

Winston slung the belt, and it hit the back of Drake's jeans with a sharp cracking sound. "You better fucking MOVE!" Crack! "OUT!" Crack! "OF MY!" Crack! "FUCKING!" Crack! "WAY!" Crack!

Drake took the abuse like he was eleven years old again. Just like before, he was no match for the mighty man. Winston gave him a hard punch to the stomach, which caught him off guard. Drake stumbled and fell, hitting his head on the edge of the counter on his way down. He lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

He came to quick, and the first thing he heard was a ringing in his ears. The second was screaming. He opened his eyes, squinting because of the pounding in his skull. The only thing in his line of sight was a pair of black boots on the tile. He couldn't remember how he'd ended up on the floor, but gradually, things became less foggy when he heard his sister's loud sobbing in between the screams, then Winston's monstrous voice swearing up a storm. Drake lifted his head and looked towards the noise, and he saw Megan lift her hands into the air, using them as a pitiful attempt to block the belt's impact. It all came back to him now.

He stumbled onto his feet, feeling weak and dizzy, then he shoved his dad. The man was a stone pillar. Drake tried grabbing his arm, which did slow him down a bit...until Winston elbowed him in the chest, knocking him on his ass.

"You stay out of this, Drake!" he demanded, then to his daughter, he said, "Tell me what you told them!"

"Nothing!"

"What did you tell them?!"

"Nothing!" she sobbed, her eyes closed and her cheeks flooded. She shrieked when she received another hit.

Unable to do anything else, Drake scrambled towards her, crawling on top of her just in time to receive the next blow in her place. Furious with his intervention, Winston dropped the buckle end of the belt from his white fists and slung again, hitting the boy with the hard metal. Drake yelped, then bent his arm in such a way that it would hopefully protect both his and Megan's heads. He growled at the next hit, which landed in the center of his spine, and so did the one after that.

"Stop!" Megan begged. She could feel her brother curling into her as he winced. It reminded her of the day he'd desperately clung to her leg for comfort while Josh beat him with his homemade whip.

Similarly, Drake's mind was slipping back to that same moment, but he focused hard on remaining in the present. He couldn't let himself go back there.

"Stop!" Megan yelled again. "Please!"

She knew her brother was in pain despite trying to keep his cries to a minimum. The belt hurt bad enough on its own, but with Drake, their father would use the buckle, and she could hear it clunk! against his bones, for there was very little meat and fat to protect him. She wasn't sure if it was because he's older or a boy, but he always got it worse, even when it wasn't his punishment. Maybe this was all bitterness coming out of Winston - the lingering knowledge that Drake had wrongly accused him of murdering the love of his life and was the reason he was sent to prison.

Megan felt her brother's small weight leaving her. She tried to hold on to him, but Winston had him by the hair.

"You want a turn, you wait in line!" the man said, tossing him to the side with a kick to his bottom. "This is between me and your sister!" He folded the belt into a loop again, then hit her with it.

Drake watched helplessly, unable to do anything, just like when he was younger. He could never save his mother, and now his sister needed him, and he was useless. He scanned the area, searching for a weapon. On the counter was a mostly empty bottle of his dad's favorite whiskey - the cause of this horrid behavior. He stood and picked it up, then slung it at the man's head before he could get another lick in.

Thunk! The bottle didn't break, and Winston didn't fall, perhaps because something inside of Drake wouldn't allow him to hit as hard as he should, whether it was a fear of his father or an aversion to causing physical harm to others. Winston turned towards his son, pure rage in his eyes. Drake had successfully gotten the heat off Megan, but now the man's fury was directed at him. Winston made a grab for him, and although Drake resisted, his dad was too fast. Instead of giving him the same treatment he gave his daughter, however, he spun the boy around, wrapped the belt around his throat, then twisted his own body so that he faced the opposite direction. He pulled both ends of the belt downwards as he bent forwards slightly, which lifted Drake's feet off the floor until he was carrying him like a hefty sack over his shoulder.

Drake gasped for air, clawing at the belt as Megan was forced to watch. "He-" He tried to plant his feet firmly on the ground, but Winston kept him at a height that only left him relying on the tips of his toes. "St-" he struggled. "Pff!"

He couldn't help it this time. His mind traveled back to last year's massacre, when Josh had used a belt to strangle him in a similar manner. Just like last year, it was all happening in front of his little sister, too.

"Gkk! Kkt!" He gasped, luckily getting one last bit of air before Winston bent even further. He was silenced, his voice box locked away behind the belt, just like his oxygen. He reached back and gave the man's arm several frantic pats, tapping out, accepting defeat, but Winston didn't let go. Drake hit harder, desperate for air, but he went ignored.

The oxygen-deprived boy dragged his chewed fingernails across Winston's shoulder, silently begging to be set free, and for a moment, his dad straightened, giving Drake the chance to inhale, but it was just a tease, for Winston lifted him up again. Drake blinked, his vision blurry, but he could see a blob coming towards him. Megan was trying to help any way she could, but he didn't think it'd be enough. If he was no match for their father, what could she do? She was now the same age as Drake had been the first time their father had laid hands on him. He knew exactly how weak and useless she was feeling. He'd felt it at her age, too. He still did.

Just then, Drake felt something under his feet, but it wasn't the floor. It was Megan. She was on her hands and knees, giving him the chance to stand on her back so that he could breathe. Desperate for air, he accepted, careful not to hurt her, but their father caught on quickly and snatched the belt further, tightening it around his neck so that it didn't matter whether his feet were touching something solid or not. Drake clawed at the leather with bitten fingernails, searching for a loose space to slip his finger into, but there was none. Black spots filled his vision.

"Dad, stop!" Megan screeched, her throat scratchy.

"Not until he agrees!"

It wasn't until now that Drake realized his father had been yelling at him the entire time. The raging man's mouth was close to his son's ear, so he wasn't sure how he didn't notice before, but now he felt his eardrums getting ready to burst.

"Don't make me say it again! Do you understand?!"

Drake didn't know what he was agreeing to, but he would've said yes to just about anything in that moment. He nodded his head as best he could, which wasn't much, but it was all he could do, for he couldn't currently give a verbal confirmation.

"He said yes! He's saying yes!" Megan cried.

Drake suddenly found himself on his side, with his back to his sister. He stayed on the floor with his head down, exhausted and fearful, gulping down air more aggressively than a vacuum. Maybe now they would be left alo-

A noise of pain left Drake when his stomach was given a rough kick. He caved in on himself for protection and clutched the sore spot, still gasping like a fish out of water. His entire body shook with terror as his mind tried pulling him into the past. It was a constant battle these days.

"Now you both stay out of my fucking sight for the rest of the day. You hear me?"

Drake nodded in surrender, his tears landing on the floor. He was too afraid to meet the man's eyes, for he feared that the mere sight of them might look like a challenge and set Winston off again.

"You don't fucking hear me?!" Mr. Parker lifted his belt into the air threateningly.

Drake swiftly hid his head behind his arm, which put his trembling fingers on display. He wasn't sure if the man was angry because Megan ignored him or because neither had responded vocally, so he gave a quick, scratchy, "Yes, sir," and Megan followed suit.

Winston stomped over his son on his way to his room, and Drake flinched, fearing another painful blow. He curled into himself further, and the sudden movement tripped his father, who stumbled before turning back to him with fire in his eyes.

"I-I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to!"

The man lifted him to his feet by his hair, then shoved him sideways against the stove. Drake straightened just in time for his shirt to be grabbed in both fists, and Winston shook him violently, leaving him disoriented as he held up his arms for protection.

"You trying to trip me?!"

"No, sir-"

Drake was backhanded so hard that his knees gave out, and he would've fallen if the raging drunk didn't grab hold of him again. His shirt was being stretch, and the cheap fabric ripped slightly when he was jerked one way and then the other. Winston gripped his jaw and squeezed, then shoved his head down, banging it against the metal stovetop. Pots and pans clanged together as the stack of them was knocked onto the floor by Drake's flailing arms. The edge of the oven stabbed into his back, but with the man hovering above him, Winston was in a much better position and had the ability to use the weight of his body in addition to his natural strength, so holding his son in place was an easy feat, even with Drake struggling to shove his hands away.

"You think you're gonna try to trip me and get away with it?!" the man was still raging.

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to, sir-"

"You're an accident!" he yelled. "I bet your mother didn't tell you that, huh? That neither one of us wanted your stupid ass!"

Despite how often he heard similar words these days, they hurt every time. The fact that they were never said to Megan made him more inclined to believe them.

Drake's ears perked up at the rapid clicking of the stove. He could see orange and blue flames out of the corner of his eye. Winston ripped at the teen's cuff, unfastening the buttons, then he snatched the sleeve up. Next, he gripped his son's arm and held it above the fire. Drake screamed as the heat scalded his skin.

"You hear me, boy?!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Nobody wanted you! You'd do well to remember that!"

"Yes, sir! Please stop! You're hurting me, sir!" Sometimes he had to make his father aware of his own actions.

"Good!" And sometimes, his father knew and didn't care. He forced Drake's arm even closer to the scalding flame. "Maybe this time you'll remember!"

"I remember, sir! No one wanted me! I'll remember! Please!"

He was shoved to the floor with such suddenness that it took him a moment to realize where he was and how he'd gotten there. It was so fast that he didn't have the chance to catch himself, and his head collided with the carpet. He clutched it as the pain caught up to him. He landed uncomfortably among the pots and pans, feeling one of the handles poking him in the ribs, but before he had time to move it, the man came near. Drake shoved his heels and elbows into the floor and pushed backwards, scrambling over the uncomfortable cooking items to put distance between himself and his father.

However, the man didn't touch him again. "Clean this shit up," he ordered.

From the floor, Drake gave a quiet, obedient, "Yes, sir."

Finally, Winston left his kids alone, disappearing into his bedroom and slamming his door behind him.

Drake flinched again, and he broke down into sobs, but he stopped himself quick, fearful that his weeping would gain more unwanted attention from the angry tyrant. He wiped his eyes and nose, as if ridding himself of the tears and snot would trick Megan into thinking that he wasn't crying. His hands were still shaking, and he noticed he had blood under his fingernails. He wondered if it was from his neck or Winston's arm. Maybe both. It all happened so quick that he was beginning to forget bits and pieces now.

Drake pushed himself up, suppressing a groan, then he crawled over to his sister, who was crying so hard that she couldn't breathe. Already, she was pale in the face.

"I'm sorry," the boy said hoarsely, leaning over her to give her a hug. "I'm sorry."

Megan took in a deep, quivering breath of air, then let it out on her sobs.

"You're okay," he whispered, his forehead touching hers. "We're okay."

"I want Mom," she whined, and although he tried to hide it, fresh tears left his eyes.

"I know." The guilt of knowing that this was all his fault - that they wouldn't be in this situation had he not abandoned their mother - made a terrible situation even worse. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sometimes he felt like he was stuck in purgatory here, receiving the endless punishment he deserved, but Megan didn't belong here, and she didn't deserve this. It wasn't fair that she was condemned to such torment just because he'd earned it.

"I want Mom," the girl whined again, struggling to speak through her tears.

"I know," he said, his voice cracking. "Me, too."
_______________________________

The closet doors were open about an inch, giving Drake the space he needed to wiggle his shoe in and slide one all the way to the right. He repeated this with the other. Inside was a twin bed, and that was it. It was the perfect size for it, and because this was a one-bedroom apartment, the two kids had to improvise.

Drake carefully lowered the girl onto her bed, then he sat down at the foot. He didn't know what to say, so he just reached out and rubbed her arm to offer comfort. "I brought chicken and fries from work. You hungry?"

"No," she said flatly.

She wouldn't look at him, and part of him wondered if she blamed him for their current situation, too. He didn't want to leave her without checking in, but even after what happened last year, he didn't know how to have a real conversation with her.

Still, he had to say something, so he went with, "You okay?"

It was a dumb question, and she nodded in response. She was giving him an out because she knew that's what he wanted. He still felt guilty about leaving her, though, so he offered something in place of the comfort he should be giving her.

"Here, let me get you..."

He was gone before he finished his sentence. She heard him open and close the front door, retrieving the items he'd dropped while fumbling with the key. Next, his backpack unzipped, then he returned with an orange pill bottle. He poured one onto his palm and held it out.

"What is it?"

"For the pain."

"What is it?" she asked again.

"It'll help you feel better."

Megan hesitated, but she accepted the pill and the half empty, nearly crushed bottle of water he gave her. She swallowed the medicine, then rested her head against the pillow.

"You can wake me up if you need me, okay?" But he knew she wouldn't need him. The medicine would knock her out within the next half hour, and she would surely sleep through the night. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she repeated.

Drake stood, then reached up and pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling. A light turned on, filling the room with a purple glow. Afterwards, he slid the doors closed, then went into the kitchen. Glass was scattered across the floor. He swept it into a dustpan, threw it away, then picked up the pots and pans, wincing with pain as he bent over. Afterwards, he opened the door in the kitchen. The room was small, only fitting a broken washing machine and a couple shelves. He didn't have time to do the laundry today, so he had to grab yesterday's pajama pants out of the basket on top of the machine. He changed his clothes where he stood, unwilling to disturb his father so that he could have the privacy of the only bathroom in their apartment. Next, he put away the leftovers, still hungry, but willing to sacrifice that today so that he wouldn't have to worry about how Megan would eat tomorrow. Finally, he turned off all the lights and laid down on the loveseat.

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't sleep. Between dreading having to work the Slice premiere, knowing he had less than a day to get rent money, and seeing what his father had done to Megan, his mind was racing. Speaking of, it wasn't long before he heard muffled weeping coming from the closet. He looked in that direction and saw that, within the purple glow shining through the thin slats in the door, Megan's silhouette shook with the sobs she tried to hold inside.

He felt horrible. After everything that had happened last year, the three had moved into an apartment together, but with the money issues they faced, they'd gotten evicted rather swiftly. They ended up here, and it wasn't long before it began taking a toll on Winston's mental health. On the day he relapsed, he and Drake had gotten into an argument, as well as a physical altercation, which frightened Megan, for she'd never witnessed this sort of thing before.

During the eight months they had lived here, Winston usually took things out on his son when he was in a bad mood, but one day, Drake wasn't there to be his punching bag, so he'd started in on Megan. It wasn't usually as bad as it was today. Most of the time, it was just yelling, and sometimes that was accompanied by a pop in the mouth or a rough shove.

Megan hadn't been punished to this degree before. It had been hard to watch, especially knowing that it was Drake's fault. Not only was he the cause of their mother's death, but even now, he had the responsibility to protect his sister and get help, but he kept it a secret because he didn't want to get separated. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing or the selfish thing, but she's all he had left. He'd lost everyone, and he didn't want to lose her, too.

Drake knew the pill he'd given his sister would kick in soon, and she'd stop crying, but he couldn't handle listening to it until then. He sat up and opened his bag, then grabbed the pill bottle. He popped the lid off, then poured two onto the coffee table. Moving his eyes around the dark room, he spied Megan's drawings. He stood and picked one up - the one Winston had ripped - then grabbed a spoon, which he used to crush the pills into powder when he sat back down. Drake tore the drawing into a small strip, then rolled it up tightly.

He checked the closet again, and although he couldn't be sure due to his limited view, he didn't think his sister was facing his direction, so he put one end of his makeshift straw to his nostril and leaned over the powder, smothering his pain just as he'd helped Megan do - just as their father did with alcohol. Like Josh had said: the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
_______________________________

There was a shift in the purple light that shined through the darkness of his eyelids, waking him. This meant that Megan's closet door was open and that she was awake. He was trained to wake up to the light, although not intentionally. It was more out of worry. The thought of her moving around without his watchful eye gave him anxiety. He tried not to be overbearing, and he felt like he was pretty good at that, but because he'd started out with basically having no relationship with his sister, any sort of attention could come off as overbearing. Maybe she wanted that. Maybe she needed it. He had no idea. He was still a kid himself.

He blinked before he opened his eyes fully, and his heart began beating fast against his chest when he saw his father sitting next to the girl on her bed. He sat up quick, ready to pounce, but then he heard the gentle words his dad was saying.

"-and I'm so sorry. It's never gonna happen again, I promise."

He always promised, but nothing ever stopped.

Drake relaxed into the loveseat, his body sore from yesterday's hectic shift at work and brutal beating, and the small length of the couch didn't help much either. He was no longer on high alert, for his father was doing his usual morning after apology tour, but he still felt nervous due to the start he'd gotten upon opening his eyes.

Winston pulled his reluctant daughter into a hug and told her he loved her. She was holding a plate of scrambled eggs, and when the man stood, he picked up another one off the coffee table and held it out to Drake, to which the teen accepted with a quiet, "Thanks."

His dad put his hand on the opposite side of his head, pulling him closer so he could kiss his hair. Drake let him.

"I love you, son."

"Love you, too," he replied, for he feared the consequences he would receive later if he didn't. The last thing he wanted was to allow the drunk to stew on his lack of a response all day because, when he starts drinking, his focus on it would only grow, and he'd become angry.

With that, the man left them alone with their breakfast. He picked up his things off the kitchen counter - his wallet, the only cell phone the Parker family had, a keychain - then headed out the door for work.

The two siblings met each other's eyes - a silent check-in to gauge how the other was feeling. Although they were much closer than last year, it was all still new, and it took a lot of work being vulnerable, so they avoided it when they could. Neither said a word, and they ate their eggs in silence.
_______________________________

Drake swore under his breath, then twisted the knob, putting a stop to the cold water that had been falling from the shower head. He'd held his arm under for nearly ten minutes now, but the burning hadn't subsided, so he was giving up. He grabbed his towel and dried off, then wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the tub.

Upon exiting, he caught sight of the mirror - an object he tended to avoid these days. On the front of his body, he had three new bruises - one on his chest and two on his stomach. Even worse were the eight ugly scars he had received a year prior. One had been caused by glass, when he was thrown through the front door, and the others were from a hunting knife. The most prominent wound was on his left shoulder. First, Josh had stabbed the blade all the way through, then he'd twisted it before pulling it out, and finally, he'd shoved the curtain rod into him like a skewer. Drake turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder, spotting the exit wound easily despite the many bruises and scars. The whip had left an uncountable number of welts and scars. He'd once prided himself on his appearance, and now he couldn't even bear to see his own reflection. The wounds were a part of him now, a permanent reminder of the kind of disgusting human being he was.

He shamefully averted his gaze, turning his eyes instead to the burn he'd received at the hands of his father. On the side of his forearm was a large red splotch, with hideous yellow blisters. This, too, would scar and be just another reminder - not that he was a whore, but that he was unwanted.

He flinched when he heard a sudden knock at the door. He turned his head away from the mirror, unable to face the repulsive waste staring back at him.

"Drake, are you almost done in there?" came his sister's muffled voice. "You're taking forever."

"Yeah," he called back. He quickly slipped on his clothes and brushed through his hair, then grabbed his toothbrush. He squirted the off-brand toothpaste onto it, struggling since they were at the end of the tube and had been for a while. He ran it under the sink, then opened the door.

"Finally!"

He moved past her, then walked out of his father's bedroom and into the main space of the small apartment. The kitchen was to his left. The stove he'd been burned on was next to him, then a couple cabinets and the refrigerator. Across from them was more counter space, but not really. Piles of junk covered the surface: sales papers, unopened mail, clean bowls and plates on a rack, Megan's scattered homework and textbooks, empty water bottles that needed to be refilled, coupons his sister had cut out of magazines and newspapers - anything that didn't have a place was discarded here, surrounding the leaky kitchen sink.

Drake opened the door at the opposite end of the kitchen and tossed his dirty clothes into the basket. He closed it quick, for there had been a terrible smell emanating from that room for a couple months now. They no longer brought these issues up to the landlord. Like the elevator, the air conditioner, the radiator, the washing machine, and pretty much everything else in the condemnable building, it would never get fixed.

Behind the cabinets was a small, square dining table. Three of the chairs matched each other, but not the table, and the fourth seat was a metal folding chair. There was a closet behind it on the same wall as the laundry room, but the table blocked them from being able to open the doors, so whatever shit they had stored in there upon first moving in was forgotten about.

Past the dining table was the front door. As he brushed his teeth, Drake placed one hand on the knob and jiggled, making sure it was secure. He had a habit of checking every now and then.

On the other side of the apartment was Megan's closet. Slightly blocking one of the doors, a small stand was placed in the corner. On it was an old, boxy television, with two antennas sticking out in random directions. In front of that was a coffee table, which Winston had found on the side of the street a while back and had carried all the way home after work. The edges were chipping, and there was a coffee stain in the shape of a ring on one side, but he'd been so happy to have something to prop his feet up on while watching sports that his joy had rubbed off on everyone else for a little while.

In front of that was the loveseat / Drake's bed. It was a beige or maybe worn yellow color and had an ugly floral design. Cotton was falling out in multiple places where the seams had busted open, and whoever had owned it before must've been a heavy smoker, for it reeked of cigarettes despite how thoroughly Drake had tried to clean it.

That was it. This was home. This was where he spent most of his time, cramped within these same four walls with the same two people. If Anthony wasn't his assistant manager, work would be a vacation from this place.

He made his way into the kitchen, and straight through his father's open door was the only window in the apartment. Out the window and across the way was an adjacent window, which was open, and a young woman peered out. She had a beautiful smile, for she was enjoying the sun despite it being October and somewhat chilly. She wore a white Rolling Stones tee with a black blazer and dark blue skinny jeans. Her hair was dyed blonde, but the natural brunette color was beginning to show at her roots. She wore bright red lipstick, and in contrast, dark mascara, liner and shadow surrounded her eyes. Her short fingernails were painted with White-Out, and she had dark-toned bracelets halfway up her forearm.

Drake hurried over to the kitchen sink and spit out the toothpaste, having to resort to this because Megan was currently taking a shower. He scooped water into his mouth and gargled, then spat that out too. Afterwards, he went over to the window and lifted it.

"Damn, you're fine!" he called.

She lifted her middle finger at him, then they both laughed. Drake grabbed a stick he kept behind the broken radiator. It was a broomstick that had gotten snapped in half during one of Winston's rage blackouts. He stuck it in the window to hold it open, then lifted his foot over and climbed out.

There was a ledge about a foot wide beneath his window. Above him, there was an old, rusted pipe that ran parallel to the ledge from his apartment all the way down the wall, where it turned inward, following along the U-shaped building.

Thirteen stories below, the inside of the U was blocked off with a half-fallen fence. Trash littered the entire area, not just the dumpsters lined up far beneath Drake's window. The place was full of old tires, orange cones, broken appliances and stained mattresses. Rats and roaches roamed freely. He could see them from all the way up here.

The blonde girl was climbing out of her window, and being more experienced, she walked along the ledge much faster. She was the first to reach the middle. Here, the ledge widened into a six by four-foot space, giving them more room.

Drake's heart was pounding, both from scaling the side of a building on the thirteenth floor, but also from seeing the girl. Once he caught up, she greeted him with a kiss. It was exhilarating - not just the danger that she was so drawn to, but the girl herself. Sure, it was reckless behavior, but it made him feel alive. She made him feel alive. That's not something he was used to feeling - not since his mother was killed, and even now, he only felt it with her.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she said, finally replying to his compliment.

"I'm just trying to keep up with you."

It wasn't a lie. They'd had to sell a lot of their old things just to afford their first apartment. The few outfits he'd kept were faded now, and the rest of his small wardrobe came from Goodwill and even the dollar store. In hindsight, he realized just how much he'd taken advantage of all the things he'd had back home. Even after his mother's untimely death, Walter had taken care of him and bought him pricy clothes, records and CDs, and a new phone when he needed it. Perhaps he'd taken him for granted, too.

The girl laughed as she wiped off the lipstick she had smudged on him. "I see that, but I don't think red's your color, babe."

"Damn. Wear pink next time. We'll try that."

This incited more laughter from her. "Will do."

Drake noticed the plastic grocery bag in her hand and smiled. "Did you bring me food?"

"I did," she said. "You know, sometimes I feel like you're just using me for my full refrigerator."

"Sometimes I feel like you're just using me for my lips," he replied.

"Oh, I definitely am."

This time, it was his turn to laugh, but it was interrupted when she kissed him again.

When they pulled apart, he motioned towards the ledge and said, "Table for two."

They sat down next to one another, their feet dangling thirteen stories above the ground. The girl opened the bag, then pulled out their picnic: pizza rolls and apple juice. Drake chuckled at this.

"Cool. Either you think I'm a toddler or an overly hyper kid who probably doesn't do his own laundry."

"You are kinda hyper," she joked. "Maybe I'm going for the thirty-year-old-geek-that-still-lives-in-his-parents'-basement stereotype."

"Right, that's definitely me."

"For sure a nerd."

"Totally."

She opened the foggy container and set it between them. "How was work yesterday?"

"A shit show." He grabbed a pizza roll, then felt embarrassed when his stomach eagerly growled.

"Damn, you must be hungry," she said, then she moved past it. "Why was it a shit show?"

"It was just crazy busy. We had to get ready for the Slice premiere, plus we had this double-feature thing going on. Anthony had us all ready to quit," he said, then he took a bite. "Ah...hawt..."

"Of course it is, silly. Don't you see the steam still coming off of it?"

After a struggle, Drake swallowed the food down, then set the other half of his roll with the rest. His stomach growled impatiently. "Also, he's making me fucking work."

"Not today?" she said with surprise. When he nodded, she said, "What a dick. Did you talk to Helen?"

"She's going on vacation. She'll be gone until next week."

"I can swing by tonight," she offered. "Maybe it'll help you take your mind off things."

"That's okay. It's gonna be a madhouse. I probably won't even have time to talk to you," he said. "Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to babysit Megan. If you're busy, that's totally cool-"

"No, I can babysit," she said cheerfully.

He was visibly relieved. "You'd really be helping me out. I never know what time my dad will get off work, and I don't wanna bring her. She's been hounding me about going to the early screening, but..."

"She doesn't need to see that," she said, and he felt like they were on the same page.

"I don't even understand why she'd want to. That whole thing was so traumatizing."

Drake looked down at his hand when he felt her take it. She pulled it into her lap, and he had the urge to lean over and give her a kiss, but it seemed like inappropriate timing.

"People go through trauma differently. Plus, you have to remember that she didn't experience the same things that you experienced last year. You were the one being targeted, so I imagine it consumed your life much more than it did hers."

"I guess. She just..." He paused, deciding whether or not he should voice his thoughts. "She just makes it look so easy. Maybe..." He's never really thought about it before, but now that the thought occurred to him, he was embarrassed to admit it.

"Maybe what?"

"I don't know." Quieter, he said, "I guess maybe I'm kind of...jealous...of how well she handles it." He didn't want his sister to dwell on the horrible experience, so if she was able to move on, he was happy for her, even if it meant that he was stuck in the past alone now. "I mean, I know it still affects her at least somewhat. She still has nightmares every once in a while, but most of the time, she's fine. I just feel like...like I can't get away from it. Like people won't let me get away from it."

"And I can imagine that'll be even harder now with the movie coming out," she sympathized.

"Right," he said absently as he pondered what his life would be like tomorrow after everyone's seen his story play out on the big screen. Everyone will know. They already do, at least in Woodsboro. Tomorrow, it'll become national news - possibly international. How was that going to affect him? How would it affect Megan? "I just don't want her to be treated like I was. Like...like it's her fault or something. I mean, it was so bad I had to leave school. Well, also because we needed the money, but even if we didn't, there was no way I could've stayed there. No one wanted me there. They made that very clear," he said. "I just don't want that to happen to her."

"Maybe it won't be so different," the girl said optimistically. "I mean, your story's already out there, right? Because of Vance? Maybe the movie won't actually make anything worse. How can it? You're never gonna see those people - only the people right here in Woodsboro, and they already know. Maybe it won't get any worse than it is right now," she said, "and then the movie will wear off, and then no one will talk about it anymore."

"I hope you're right," he said. He was quiet for a moment, nervous to ask the question he was thinking, but she could always tell when he was keeping something from her.

"What?"

He hesitated. He couldn't look at her when he finally asked it. "Did you watch Vance's video?"

"No."

"Why not? Everyone else has," Drake said.

"Because you asked me not to," she said, as if the answer was simple.

"Aren't you curious?"

"Well, sure, but you'll tell me when you're ready to, and I don't mind waiting until then."

Finally, he met her eyes, and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He leaned in and connected their lips. He placed his hand on her cheek, feeling comforted by the warmth of her skin on his fingertips. After a while, he separated his lips, but just barely. "You're the best girlfriend ever," he said, and he started to kiss her some more, but she spoke now.

"You're the best boyfriend ever." She pressed her lips against his, but only for a moment. "Well, you're definitely in my top five."

He laughed at this, but it was muffled when she reconnected their lips. His troubles melted from his mind, and the only thought running through his head was how much he enjoyed being here with her. Even without knowing the full story of the massacre, she had helped him so much. He always looked forward to the next time he would get to see her. He felt safe in her presence - not necessarily from monsters and demons and psycho killers, but from himself and his destructive thoughts. Maybe he even... Maybe he even lov... Could it be possible? That he...lov... No, it couldn't be...right? Was Drake Parker in lo-

"Drake!" It was Megan's voice, and she sounded irritated.

He pulled away from his girlfriend, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. He could never have a moment of privacy - not at home, nor out in public. It was clear in his face that he was less than enthused about the interruption, but he tried his best to keep it out of his voice. "What?"

She was standing in the window, glaring directly at him because she refused to look down and see how high up they were. She hated when he came out here, but her protests never stopped him, and she didn't want to sick their father on him because she'd feel bad about being the reason for a beating. Winston had already told him to stop, so now he only did it while their father was at work or, when he was feeling extra brave, asleep.

"You used all the hot water!" Megan yelled at him.

"My bad," he called back, but he didn't sound like he cared.

"I just had to shower in an ice-cold blizzard!"

"I tried to tell you to go first, but you refused to get up," he defended. Maybe it was because he was with his girlfriend, but he refused to take the blame today. Not everything was his fault all the time.

Megan was annoyed by his lack of compassion and guilt. Her face soured, and she squinted her eyes at him. Drake could tell she was planning something - one of her devious pranks to get back at him. God, he wished he could live alone sometimes. Between his father's violent rages and his little sister's torturous hobby, it was like he had to walk on eggshells at all times. He was so good at pissing people off without even trying, and a part of him hated himself because of it.

"Oh, hi, Nickii," Megan said, and Drake could hear the smugness coming out in her overly polite voice. It seemed as though she was getting her revenge sooner rather than later.

"Hey, girl!" the blonde greeted.

"Has Drake shown you his notebook full of love songs he wrote about you yet?"

"Megan!" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging.

Nickii looked at her boyfriend with a wide, teasing grin. "No, as a matter of fact, he hasn't."

"Megan, go away!"

"Alright, alright," she said, smirking devilishly as she disappeared inside.

"Love songs, huh?" Nickii said, smiling bigger at his discomfort.

"They're just songs. They're not about anyone in particular," he said, trying to play it off.

Megan popped her head back out the window. "Also, he says your name in his sleep all the - ah!" She ducked inside to avoid the apple juice that was thrown at her.

"She's kidding," Drake said.

"Sounds like you've been dreaming about me." She giggled mischievous at the information that Megan had unknowingly revealed, being too young to understand the sexual connotations of it.

"Jesus Christ," the boy mumbled to his shoes, unable to recover from his conniving sister's successful attempt to embarrass him.

"Oh my God, look how red you're getting!" she teased, poking his cheek. "Tell me, what was I wearing in your dream?" she said. "...if anything?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at this, for it was a funny joke, but it came out nervous. "A gorilla suit?" he said unsurely, clearly lying, but desperate to get the heat off of himself.

"Oh..." She scrunched her brows, no doubt disappointed that he wasn't willing to dirty flirt with her. As punishment, she teased him even more. "So you're a furry."

"Oh my god..."

"Definitely wouldn't have guessed that about you, but good to know."

His plan to make a deflecting joke had backfired. "How did I manage to make it worse?"

Nickii laughed. "Don't worry about it. We all have our kinks," she said. "I'm into guys squirming around with embarrassment because their sister spilled the tea. That's my turn-on."

"Fuck you."

Since he wouldn't look at her, she pressed her lips to his neck, planting soft kisses that brought goosebumps up on his skin. She moved higher gradually, until she was at his ear, where she stopped and whispered her reply. "Only in your dreams, Parker."
_______________________________

After climbing back through the window and closing it behind him, Drake found his sister sitting at the dining table, eating the leftover chicken fingers from the theater and drinking the apple juice that was thrown at her.

"You are such a brat!" was the first thing he said to her.

"You shouldn't have used all the hot water," she said with a shrug, which must've caused an ache to shoot up her bones, for she winced.

Drake's irritation faded quickly. "Hey, you okay?" he asked with concern.

"Just hurts a little," she said. "Can I have more of that medicine you gave me last night?"

He knew that she was downplaying it when she said it only hurt a little. He knew what it felt like. "Sure," he said, then he dug through his bag for the orange bottle. He poured one onto his palm - the last one, he noted with a sigh - then he carried it over to the kitchen. "I'm just gonna give you half, okay?"

"Okay."

He used a knife to cut the pill, then he gave it to her. He debated whether or not to take the other half himself or save it for her in case she needed it later. With the Premiere coming up, he felt like he had enough of a reason to keep it for himself. He tossed it onto his tongue, then leaned over and turned on the faucet, using the flowing water to swallow it down.

"Do you wanna hang out with Nickii today?" the boy asked.

"I wanna go to the premiere."

He was annoyed and even angered by her statement. "I already told you no."

"You're going."

"I have to go. Believe me, I'd rather do anything else."

"Everyone's gonna be talking about it at school tomorrow, and I won't have any idea what they're talking about."

"You were there when it happened," he said, his brows scrunched because her point confused him. "You know more than anyone already."

"Please."

He spoke firmly. "I said no. Don't ask me again."

She pouted in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "When did you become such an uptight jerk?"

Her words hurt his feelings. Never had he been called uptight before. If anything, it was always the opposite. Josh had thought he was too loose and lax - enough to kill him over. Therefore, Drake tried to be more like his deceased brother, but this wasn't pleasing anyone either. He never did anything right.

"It's called being mature," Drake said. "Someone has to be around here."

"You? Mature? You're more of a child than I am," she said, "but at the same time, you're somehow still so boring."

"Whatever, Megan." He didn't want to argue.

"Josh would've let me go."

The words stunned Drake, and for a moment, he stood there staring at her. Even after his stepbrother's death, he was still being compared to him. Even after his stepbrother started a massacre, he was still being compared to him, and he never measured up. He couldn't help but wonder if, had Josh never removed the mask and had succeeded in killing Drake, Megan would've been happier. Josh definitely would've been able to take better care of her, and he probably wouldn't have been so moody and lost all the time like Drake was.

Josh would've been a great roommate. In fact, the two boys had planned to get an apartment together near whatever college Josh was attending after high school. At least, that's what Drake had thought the plan was. Now he was stuck in this shithole with two people who didn't even want him here.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Drake responded, his voice quieter and monotone. He knew she would've been better off living with Josh because that's what he'd wanted to do.

She continued to kick him while he was down. "He would've at least cared enough about my feelings to not want me to feel left out at school when everyone else is talking about it."

"I know, Megan."

"If you're scared, just say that," she taunted.

"I'm not scared," he said, but it was a lie. The thought of the most vulnerable time in his life being put out there for everyone to see terrified the shit out of him. "And I'm done having this conversation. I said no, and that's final."

"You're not my dad," she said venomously.

"I know!" he snapped, feeling less and less control as the conversation progressed. "Because I actually fucking give a shit!" With that, he stormed into their father's room and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Her words bothered him. He knew he wasn't her dad, and he didn't want to be. What he wanted was to be a blissfully ignorant teenager again. His placement in their family was confusing and complicated. He was responsible for her, yet he didn't have the same authority that their father had. Half the time, Winston didn't care what she did, and the other half, he cared too much. Meanwhile, Drake was forced to be the bad guy, yet still lacked any sort of control. Megan didn't have to listen to him, but what was he supposed to do about that? He wasn't a parent. He's still a fucking kid himself.

As he changed into his work clothes, he thought about what his life would be like if he'd left like he'd wanted to. He wasn't sure where he'd go. Maybe a big city, where no one knew his name and story, like New York or L.A. He could go back to being himself, putting on his old mask and easily making friends along the way. He'd couch-hop for a while until he found something solid. It would be great. He didn't have to be here. He could go.

But he knew it was just a dream. Two years ago, he'd abandoned their mother, destroying multiple lives in the process. After that day, he vowed that he wouldn't make that mistake ever again. He couldn't leave Megan.

Therefore, he was stuck in Woodsboro, forced to drop out of school and work to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. This was his life now. His old life was gone. He'd never get it back, and this sacrifice went unappreciated. His family, which was much smaller now, was still able to find faults in everything he did, no matter how hard he tried to be what they wanted. He wasn't Josh, and he wasn't his father. He was just Drake, and that wasn't good enough.

Jesus Christ. Enough of the fucking pity party, Drake thought. It's your own fucking fault you're stuck here, and you're not the only one suffering. In fact, it's your fault Megan is stuck here, too. No one wants to be here. Get over yourself.

Drake sighed as he pinned his nametag above the right breast of his red vest. He felt guilty about what he'd said to his sister now. Despite how bratty she could be, she handled the change well considering. She'd lost a mother, a family, a home. She'd had to sell most of her belongings, too. If Drake had to do those things at her age, he would've been a terror to put up with.

He gave his hair and uniform a quick once-over but refused to make eye contact with the repulsive weakling in the mirror. Drake opened the door and made his way back to the main room. Megan still sat at the table, poking at her food. She looked like she was struggling to hold back her tears, and this made her older brother feel even worse.

Drake took a seat at the table. He spoke softly. "I'm a jerk. I didn't mean what I said. Dad loves you, and he does care about you. We both do," he said. "I know you wanna go to the movie premiere, but it's not gonna happen. We've spent a year trying to move past all that. You're still having nightmares." He was, too, but he was too embarrassed to admit it. "I know it's unfair, and I know I suck, but I don't want you to go."

"Fine," she said, still unhappy with him. She stood and stomped to her "room", closing the closet door behind her. It was a sign that she wanted him to leave her alone, so he did.
_______________________________

"Hurry up," he said from where he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm running late."

However, she took her time, her anger showing with each heavy step she took. She had her arms crossed. "I don't wanna go."

"You always have fun with Nickii."

"No, I don't."

"She's gonna let you paint today. She said she has a big art project to do, and she wanted you to help her."

Usually, Megan would be excited for this, but not on Slice premiere night.

Drake sighed with frustration. "Look, be mad at me all you want, but can you please walk faster? You can get back at me later. You know Anthony is looking for any reason he can just to fire me." When she was close enough, he grabbed her wrist and hurried her along, exiting the stairwell.

"Let go of me," she complained, tugging and twisting. "I'll tell Dad."

He let her go instantly, fearing the threat of his father's wrath. Those were magic words for her. Any time she used them, Drake would do her bidding. He never gave her the chance to act on her threats, but he often wondered if she really would stoop that low. She dedicated most of her life to torturing him with her embarrassing and painful pranks, but this felt different. This felt malicious.

When they made it to the end of the hall, Drake came to an abrupt halt, then quickly backed up, hiding behind the corner. He held his arm out to stop his sister, and she got behind him, pressing herself against the wall, too. She was used to this kind of thing.

The boy peaked around the corner and saw Mr. Bakshi at his window, talking to a fit man with a tight black shirt and blue jeans. Drake softly hit the back of his head on the wall, swearing under his breath. "Shit," he mumbled. He didn't have time for another lecture.

"Your son will be great at it. He's definitely got the build of a quarterback. I played in high school, too, but had to quit due to a leg injury."

"That's what my wife is worried about. We just lost our youngest recently, so she's been very protective of Reyansh," Mr. Bakshi said.

"Damn, that's awful. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. It's been a tough few months, but we're getting through."

The fellow resident glanced in their direction as Bakshi spoke, so Drake gave his best pleading expression. The man turned to the landlord again, nodding along to his words.

"Some days are good days; others - not so much," Mr. Bakshi said.

"Is this him?" He reached through the window as if to gesture towards a picture frame nearby, but instead, he knocked over a cup of pens. "Oh, shit. Sorry."

Once Mr. Bakshi bent down to pick them up, the man waved the kids past. They rushed by, Megan cooperating with her brother's urgency this time, and Drake mouthed a silent 'thanks' before they slipped out the door.

Nickii was parked on the curb. Drake got into the front seat and Megan in the back. The driver leaned over and kissed her boyfriend, but he ended it quick, for he had other things on his mind.

"Thanks for driving me. I'm already gonna be late as it is," he said as the girl pressed on the gas and pulled into the street. "I'll probably have another write-up waiting for me."

"Just breathe," Nickii said, tousling his hair with her fingers, her many rings clacking together.

He took a breath, then let it go, closing his eyes at the soothing feeling of her touch. Once he had calmed down, he leaned over and kissed her cheek as a way of showing his appreciation for her, then he rested his hand on her knee. "I'm done stressing."

"Good." She smiled. "Megan, are you excited to paint today?"

"I wanna go to the premiere," she said.

Drake let out a frustrated sigh. "I've already told her," he said, then he directed firmer words at his sister, "the answer is no, and don't bother Nickii about it all day. She's really helping me out."

"It's gonna be a super fun project," Nickii said. "And you can tell me all about the things your brother says about me in his sleep."

"Oh my god." Drake shook his head, but he was willing to suffer the embarrassment if it meant that Megan would be satisfied.

He wasn't sure why his suffering pleased her, but he knew she would take her anger out on him at some point with one of her torturous pranks. He was used to it. He's dealt with it his whole life. When they were younger, he tried to tell his mother how her precious little daughter treated him, but she never believed him. Eventually, he gave up. It was kind of nice when Josh had moved in, for he'd had someone to share the burden with - someone who not only believed him, but also felt what he felt.

Now Josh was gone, and he was back to being her only sibling. Unsurprisingly, she doubled down, serving Drake with endless torment. He was beginning to wonder if she did it to punish him for last year. Did she blame him? Did she see Josh's reasoning and find him disgusting, too?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when his girlfriend gave his head a shove and chuckled.

He looked at her with confusion. "What the hell was that?"

"Get out of your head."

Megan chimed in from the back seat. "Shouldn't be too hard for you. It's quite empty in there."

Drake rolled his eyes. "See what I have to put up with?"

Nickii shrugged. "I would love having a little sister."

"Please. Take mine." A moment passed, then he felt a hard flick on his ear. "Ow! Jesus, I'm kidding!" He rubbed the inflicted area, then to his girlfriend, said, "This is what you wanna deal with?"

The driver turned on the radio. "Okay, kids. Let's settle down." She lifted the middle compartment and retrieved a CD. She opened the plastic case, then inserted the disc into the designated slot in the radio. "Let me just play some relaxing music..."

Drake chuckled when he heard the erratic electric guitar and pounding drums at the beginning of the song. He picked up the blue case to find that the band was Badflower. This sounded vaguely familiar, but it took him a second to recall where he'd heard the name. Josh used to listen to their music. Drake didn't think he played the songs around him. Usually, anytime music had been played, Drake was in control of the radio. He turned the case over and read the track list, learning that the current song was called x ANA x. They were only a few words in when he heard the singer mention touching his dick.

"Whoa!" His hand flew to the volume button, but Nickii slapped it away. "I don't think this is really appropriate."

"It was just that part," she said. "Never touch my radio. You know that."

"I'm not a kid," Megan said from the backseat.

He disagreed, but he understood why she felt that way. She had seen way more than any child should have to. He was surprised that she was still able to act like a kid. He felt like, after everything, he'd grown up immediately. Of course, she hadn't watched Huntley or Walter die right in front of her, but she did see Trevor's brains fly out of his skull. How come she wasn't as fucked up about it as her older brother?

He shook the thoughts from his head before Nickii could get onto him again. Drake put his mind back on the music. It surprised him that this was something Josh listened to when the boy didn't even cuss. There was a lot he never knew about his stepbrother, and he wished he was here so that he could finally take the time to really get to know him. If only he'd bothered to do that in the first place, maybe no one would've had to die.

"Can I borrow this CD?" he asked.

"You like?" She smiled excitedly. "Sure. I have more Badflower." She opened the compartment again and pulled out another. "That's an EP, but it's really good."

He took it and looked over this one, too. He stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, listening to the words because it made him feel some sort of connection to his brother. Now that he had something that Josh loved, maybe it would help him to understand why he was the way that he was. If not, well, at least he'd know the teen just a little bit better than he had.
_______________________________

Drake gave his girlfriend a kiss and said, "Thanks for giving me a ride," then he got out of the car and opened the back door. He grabbed his backpack, unzipped it, then dropped the CDs inside. Afterwards, he slung a strap over his shoulder. "I'll pick you up when I get off work, okay?"

Megan didn't acknowledge him.

Drake was hurt that she was giving him the silent treatment, but he played it off by rolling his eyes. "Guess I'll just go fuck myself then," he mumbled. He closed the door, then watched as the two girls drove off. He wished he could go with them. Anywhere would've been better than here.

Once they were out of sight, he turned with a sigh. In front of him, the Premiere was large and daunting. It was strange to be filled with so much dread at the sight of something that used to give him joy. He always loved coming here while his brother was at work. It was a great place to hang out with friends and make out with girls. He inwardly cringed at the thought, feeling ashamed when he was reminded of his former promiscuous ways.

His attention was pulled to his right, where he saw out of his periphery a bit of black cloth. A Ghostface costume hung from a light post, flowing violently with the strong gust of wind. A storm was coming.

Ghostface was what the media called the mask and gown his brother had worn when slaughtering his friends. Actually, it was Vance who came up with the name, and it quickly caught on.

Several of these familiar costumes could be seen in front of the theater, dangling from every single pole in sight. They looked as if they would fly away in the cool breeze. Drake wished he could, too - that the wind would carry him away to another place...another life.

The sounds of two pairs of synced footsteps approached from behind, then took their places on either side of him. They belonged to Ja'won and Vance.

"Slice, special early showing," Vance said, reading from the marquee, and everyone followed his eyes. "See the true story of last year's Woodsboro...mascaser?"

"Shit," Drake mumbled, knowing Anthony would already have it in for him for making the sign even worse.

"Whoever did the marquee can't spell for shit."

Already, he was annoyed with Vance. "Why are you here so early? The premiere isn't until tonight."

"We just wanted to be here for support," Ja'won said kindly.

"I'll be fine," is what came out of his mouth, although he meant to say 'thank you'.

"I know. But just in case," he said, allowing Drake to keep his pride. "You're not getting rid of me so easy this time," he said, referring to their falling out on the basketball court last year.

"Or me," Vance added.

"Lucky me," Drake said sarcastically.

"Found out who the special guest is yet?"

"No, Vance." He was unable to hide his annoyance.

"Drake!" It was Anthony, and he looked mad. He was exiting the building with a ladder in his hand. He used his pointer finger to gesture the employee forward.

"Kill me," Drake mumbled, then he left his friends behind and approached the assistant manager.

"Dude, I know you're excited, but you gotta chill out," Ja'won scolded his friend kindly. "At least when you're around Drake. This is all really hard for him."

"Did I upset him?" Vance asked with genuine concern.

"He's okay. Just tone it down a notch, alright?"

He nodded even though he didn't know what that meant.

Ahead of them, they could see frustrated movements from both the worker and his higher-up before Anthony passed Drake the ladder and went inside.

Drake placed the ladder on the ground a little too aggressively and looked back at his friends as he took a step up. His brows were pointed. "How the shit do you spell 'massacre'?"
_______________________________

"Thirteen ninety-five," he said, not making eye contact or using his customer service voice. He didn't want to be here, and he didn't care to act like it. He knew he should, because Anthony had already come up to him and scolded him for not being more polite, but he didn't have the energy. He took the money that the redhead handed him, then gave her the change.

"Are...are you Drake?"

"No," he said, filling a bucket with popcorn.

"You're the guy this movie's based off of," she said adamantly, pointing to the life-sized poster nearby. "Drake Parker."

He unenthusiastically motioned to his nametag, which he'd switched with, "Jessica." They did that sometimes when they were bored because they thought it was funny. Today, he was hoping to hide his identity from as many people as possible. Drake filled up her soda, then set it in front of her. Before she could say more, he looked past her and said, "Next."

No one ever said 'next'. The next person in line knew that they were next, so there was no reason to. He just hoped this girl took the hint and moved along.

She scoffed. "Douchebag," she said, then she grabbed her snacks. As she walked away, he could hear her mumble under her breath, "No wonder someone wanted to kill you."

It stunned him, and he had to physically swallow his words before a slew of swears spewed from his lips. The more the moment replayed in his head, the more his insults were trying to come back up like word vomit.

"You just stay pissing people off, don't you?"

He couldn't hide the disgust he felt when Mindy approached the counter.

"The feeling's mutual," Mindy said, pulling her debit card out of her wallet. "Small popcorn."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's getting close to twelve. I didn't think you were supposed to eat after midnight."

She squinted her eyes and fake laughed. "If anyone here is a gremlin, I think it's you."

"I'd rather be a gremlin than the girlfriend of a psychopath," he said.

He wasn't sure why he said it. Even he felt that it was a little harsh. No one could've predicted this from Josh. Shit, he was roommates with the guy, and he never suspected a thing.

"That's a lot of big talk coming from someone whose life depends on this job. Aren't you living at the Overlook Apartments now?" she asked with judgment.

He had a retort, but at that moment, he saw Anthony get stopped by a customer only a few feet away, so he clenched his jaw shut.

Mindy noticed this and smirked. "Ah, karma. I love to see it. I bet you regret being such a jerk now that you've joined the real world. Quite a wake-up call, isn't it? Realizing all that popularity was useless and that you were the real loser the whole time," she said with glee, "and learning that people like you - guys who peaked in high school - end up working minimum wage jobs like this while people like me or Anthony - people you treated poorly - gain all the power and hold your fragile life in the palm of our hands."

Drake set her small popcorn on the counter a little too aggressively. "Fuck off."

She gasped dramatically, placing her hand over her heart, then she moved towards the assistant manager. "Oh, Anthony-"

"Mindy! Mindy!" The boy was practically leaning over the counter to stop her, following her around the circular concession stand and closer to where Anthony stood. "You win, alright? I'm sorry."

It was still so hard for him to swallow his pride and apologize, but this was practically a life-or-death situation for him. Without this job, his family wouldn't survive. Mindy stopped and glared at him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Can't believe I actually pity you," she said, grabbing her popcorn with a roll of her eyes. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You're pathetic." With that, she left him alone.

His pride wounded, he returned to his post at the register, grumpier than before.

"This town is only big enough for one asshole, and that asshole is me." Jessica was next to him now, and her eyes followed Mindy as she sneered.

"What?" Drake said, perturbed.

"Ash Vs. Evil Dead?" she replied, almost offended that he didn't get the reference.

"No, I know. I just..." He didn't want to bring up the fact that she'd reminded him of Josh when she quoted his fav-

"It's my favorite franchise," she said.

"Cool," he said shortly.

Jessica was roughly the same height as Drake, with long, thick blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. Her blue eyes, amplified by her dark mascara, twinkled when she smiled. She did this often, displaying her teeth, which were whiter than the now infamous Ghostface mask. Like Drake, she wore a long-sleeved light blue button up underneath her red vest, which had the letter P in one corner and a nametag in the other. The nametag read 'Drake'.

"You should've told her off," Jessica said.

"I've gotta be polite," he replied, imitating Anthony's tone when saying the word.

"I'll be polite right up till I'm rude."

Again with the Evil Dead reference. She'd been working here for a while - nearly two years - so he imagined that she and Josh had gotten along well when they shared a shift. He wondered what it was like for her and their other coworkers to know that the guy they used to see everyday turned out to be a psycho killer, and now they were working next to the traumatized boy he'd tried to murder.

"You feeling okay?" she asked, then she reached up to check his forehead.

"Yeah, just don't wanna be here."

"Anthony's a total shit for making you work today. That's why he'll forever be the AssMan."

AssMan. It was short for assistant manager, and was a rather fitting nickname for the man in question.

When Anthony finished with the customer he was talking to, he made his way over to the stage that was set up against the back wall. Several chairs were in front of it, already filled with people eagerly awaiting the surprise guest.

The assistant manager approached the microphone, then said, "Good evening, everyone."

The general chatter stopped, and there were a couple awkward hoots and hollers from the audience.

"My name is Anthony, and I'm the assistant manager at the Premiere Theater. How's everyone tonight?"

Some responded vocally, but mostly, they clapped.

The man was animated when he spoke. "Who's excited for tonight's special early screening of Slice?!"

This time, the cheers were louder, and it sickened Drake. They wanted to watch him get tortured. They wanted to see his friends die. He found Ja'won in the crowd easily. How could he be here? How could he want to see this? Drake didn't understand.

"I know you are. Tickets sold out fast," Anthony said. "The movie begins in just over an hour. Don't forget to stop by our concession stand for refreshments before taking your seat in the auditorium. Also, we still have a few Ghostface costumes for sale at the counter, so make sure you get one before they're gone. I see several of you are already wearing yours."

Many crowd members held up their plastic knives in celebration, stabbing at the air. God, how Drake wanted to be home right now.

"Alright, so now for the moment you've been waiting for: a Q&A with our surprise special guest..."

Everyone cheered with anticipation.

"Ready to open up about the events of last year, we have our very own Woodsboro native and massacre survivor! Everyone give a warm welcome to Drake Parker!"

His heart fell into his stomach at those words. There's no way he heard him right. No way did he just say his name. This can't be real...

"Come on up, Drake," Anthony waved.

...but it was real. He wanted to duck behind the counter, to run, anything to get out of this. Instead, he found himself shuffling forward. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get his feet to stop. It was like he was on autopilot, and he couldn't shut it off.

He climbed up the few steps, stumbling because of the blinding light. He would've been more embarrassed if he was able to focus on anything other than the fifty or so Ghostfaces staring at him. How could anyone want to wear the same costume as a psychotic murderer? Half of these people were classmates - not just his, but Stephen's, Trevor's, Linny's, Huntley's, Johnny's...Josh's. How could they be so insensitive?

Drake sidled up beside Anthony, turning away from the full seats as an attempt to speak privately. "I can't."

Anthony put his hand over the microphone. "Yes, you can."

"I really can't," Drake pleaded.

"It's just a few questions."

"I don't wanna do this," he said desperately.

"But you're gonna," the man said through his teeth as he wore a smile for the audience, "if you wanna keep your job."

"Please, I really-"

Finally, Anthony met his eyes, but he was no longer cheesing. "Walk off this stage and you're fired." He saw defeat on his employee's face, so he turned back to the crowd, his smile returning. "Drake Parker, everyone!" Anthony gestured towards the table-for-one a few feet away.

Unable to do anything else, Drake went over to the folding chair and pulled it out from under the table, the metal screeching against the stage floor like car brakes - like something telling him to stop. Instead, he sat down. There was a microphone stand in front of him. His hands were shaking, so he hid them in his lap.

"Alright," Anthony said with even more cheer, relieved that things were working out as planned. "Let's open the floor for some questions." Anthony pointed to a girl in the third row who had her hand raised. "You."

"What was it like being face-to-face with someone who wanted to kill you?"

God, he didn't want to do this. He never really talked to anyone about this, not even Ja'won or Megan - the people he was closest to and who had lived through it with him. Vance tried to get information from him, but Drake denied him daily until he stopped asking, which must've been Ja'won's doing. He wished Ja'won would intervene now, but perhaps he was just as curious as everyone else. He looked to his friend, but he and Vance were whispering to one another, so his silent request for guidance went unnoticed.

"Um..."

He winced as the microphone screeched. Onlookers covered their ears and groaned with disappointment - an emotion he was far too familiar with. He nervously tried to fix the issue, but his trembling fingers only made it worse. Anthony darted over to fix it. Drake wished he wouldn't. He wished that the noise got louder and louder until it burst everyone's eardrums. There would be no need to tell his story then. No one would hear him, and these days, he preferred it that way.

Unfortunately, a quick position shift got rid of the noise. Anthony shot him a sharp look before giving the crowd his best shit-eating grin and returning to his standing microphone. "Sorry about that, everyone. Drake, go ahead."

"Um...it was-"

"Into the mic," Anthony interrupted.

Drake leaned forwards reluctantly, and he cleared his throat, which echoed around the large room. He could hear annoyed murmurs from the audience now. "It was scary."

That was it. It was all he said. Even Anthony was quiet, waiting for him to elaborate, until it finally hit him that Drake was finished. Before moving on, he gave the boy another glare - a silent warning to be more cooperative - then he picked another person from the audience.

"Who did you think it was at the time?"

This one was a bit easier. "I had no idea."

Someone else spoke up without waiting to be called on. "Didn't you think it was your father? Everyone else did, what with him having just broken out of jail."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

The same person asked, "Don't you live with him now that he's been cleared? How does he feel about being wrongly accused of rape and murder by his own son?"

Drake swallowed visibly. They'd only spoken about it once. The second his father had woken up from his coma at the hospital, Drake owned up to the mistake, and the man forgave him - perhaps a little too easily.

The nosy man pushed even further. "Is it true that your mother divorced your father and got a restraining order against him for domestic abuse?"

This happened a long time ago, which is why no one would've known about this had Vance not dug it up. Not only that, but this was one of the many details the YouTuber had covered in his overly-detailed tell-all video, which by now, with the movie coming out, has received over four million hits and earned him about a quarter of that in subscribers. He was flourishing while Drake suffered.

Despite being pissed at him, he could tell that Vance meant no harm by it and was genuinely distressed when he saw how it was affecting Drake. He'd warned the star survivor when he'd started the project and even asked for his blessing, but Drake had forgotten just how blunt and factual he was. Vance removed the video when the boy complained - or more correctly, blew up on him - but it was too late. Misconstrued information and clips taken out of context were making their rounds, and the rumors got worse. He was forced to allow Vance to repost it so the facts were laid out, but this didn't stop the rumors.

Even though he was mad at him, Ja'won hung out with Vance all the time, so there really was no avoiding him. Ja'won was the only friend he had left, and he couldn't let some annoying kid get in the way of that. Before the tell-all video, he and Vance managed to connect over music like The Beatles and The Beach Boys. Plus, Vance risked his own life to save Drake's. He owed him for that, and all Vance ever seemed to want from him was friendship.

"Well?"

"I was too young to really remem-" he lied, but he was cut off.

"Does he still act that way? Is he bitter about being falsely accused? What's it like living with him now? Is that how you got the bruises on your neck?"

Drake's mouth went dry. No one had mentioned this before. Why hadn't someone said something? It probably wasn't as easy to see until he was front and center with the bright lights overhead, but he would've rather faced an interrogation from anyone else if it meant that he wasn't questioned about it in front of several strangers.

He quickly fixed his collar to hide the injury as his mind traveled back to the beating from yesterday. Bits and pieces had gotten lost in his mind, but he remembered getting hit with the belt. He remembered being strangled. He remembered being burned. He remembered being told that no one wanted him. Instead of saying that, he focused on what it had been like the morning after, when his father had kissed his head and told him he loved him.

"He's been really great about everything. He's...understanding and...helpful...when I need to talk." Could they tell he was lying?

Anthony pointed to a guy sitting front row.

"Do you think your stepbrother still would have done what he did if your mom hadn't cheated on your stepfather?"

This was more information leaked by Vance. There was no mention of the intrusive sex video Drake had been forced to watch until Vance had learned of its existence. Now everyone knew. It wasn't that big of a deal that they knew the details of the excruciating torture he'd endured. What really upset him was when the knowledge about his family stuff got out there: the sex tape, the abuse, the partly sexual nature of the killer's motives. Vance had made a full video dedicated to just that, and because Drake was so desperate to understand why this had all happened to him, he'd watched it. It was the only video of Vance's that he'd ever clicked on. Unfortunately, Vance didn't have answers - only theories, and this left the survivor with even more questions.

Drake shrugged, openly annoyed by the question. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"So you're saying he killed your mother because she was a whore?"

Drake followed the new voice to a buff guy standing in the back: Hal. He wore his letterman jacket, which had a sewn-on patch with the number six on the bicep of the sleeve. That was Huntley's number.

"And then he killed everyone associated with you for the same reason? Everyone including my best friend. All because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants?"

Drake was speechless, but Hal didn't give him much time to respond anyway.

"No one needs to worry about the bruises on your neck. It's not from your father. It's a sex thing. You like to be strangled, don't you?" he said. "I bet it reminds you of your brother."

Several disapproving gasps left the crowd, and one girl spoke up in the victim's defense. "How dare you? You can't joke about rape like that. It's a sensitive topic."

"I wasn't..." Drake's skin was glistening with sweat. It felt like the lights had gotten brighter...hotter. "He didn't..." He unintentionally lowered his volume when he spoke the next words, but the microphone still amplified them around the room. "...rape...me."

Hal chimed back in. "Because you wanted it, right?"

"I..."

Next to him was Dan, the other guy from Huntley's crew who had tortured Drake last year. He rolled his eyes and gripped Hal's arm. "Come on, dude."

Hal shook him off, his accusing gaze never leaving Drake. "Right?"

All eyes were on him, waiting for his answer. He knew that whatever he said right now would be a big deal. This wouldn't stay here in this room. It would spread, and everyone would know. Drake hadn't realized it until now, but apparently everyone was under the assumption that he'd been sexually assaulted. He didn't want anyone to think that's what had happened. That's not what had happened! It wasn't anything like that. Josh would never...could never...

"Well?" Hal pushed, while also pushing Dan's hand away again. "Did he force you or not?"

The boy gulped. "No, but-"

"Well, there's your answer, folks. He wanted it, too. He's just as sick in the head as Josh was." With disgust, he spat the word, "Brother-fucker."

Hurt and ashamed, Drake looked to Anthony for help, and surprisingly, the assistant manager offered some, although very little.

"Alright, let's settle down and keep the language to a minimum."

"Oh, trust me, I did," Hal said, and the more he talked, the clearer it became that he was drunk. "There are plenty more names I have for this whore skank slut pussy cocksucker-"

"One more disruption, and I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Don't bother. I'm going." He stalked past Dan, shouldering him out of his way. "I just wanted to make sure everyone got to know the real Drake Parker. Hey," he said, making eye contact with the awkwardly silent boy now. "You should've finished what you started," he said, lifting his arm and pointing at his wrist so that Drake would look down at the scar on his own arm.

"Dude, fuck you!" Ja'won said.

"Fuck you, too!" replied Hal, flipping him off with both hands. "Just wait. Next time I see you, Parker-" He laughed bitterly. "-it's on." He slammed one fist against the other, chuckling at Drake's poorly hidden expression of fear, before Dan rushed him out.

"Let's move on, shall we?" Anthony said, hoping to swiftly brush past the disturbance, just like he'd brushed past Drake's concerns about working tonight. This had all been his plan from the beginning. What a slimy snake.

"Do you regret anything?" someone from the audience asked after being prompted.

His ears were ringing like alarm bells, and his face was hot. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Again, he searched for a friendly face amongst the Ghostfaces. Ja'won peered back at him apologetically, sympathizing for his friend. He was just as clueless as Drake, whose eyes then moved to Vance. He was so desperate for help that he was willing to search for comfort in someone he hated. Like usual, Vance wore no emotion on his face. He just stared, like everyone else.

"Drake?" Anthony prodded.

He had to answer the question. The longer he froze, the worse things would be. If he made a big deal about the confrontation, then that's what everyone would leave talking about. If he acted like it didn't bother him, then maybe this would all blow over.

"Sorry, what was the question?" he said meekly.

"Do you regret anything?" the same girl asked.

I regret getting on this fucking stage, he thought, but he couldn't say that. Instead, he said, "Everyday."

"If you could go back, knowing what you know now, what would you change?"

"Um..." He hated the personal questions, but he could tell Anthony was growing angry with his lack of responses. He wanted to keep the private info to himself, but he also needed to keep this job. "I would be a better brother, for starters."

"If you were a better brother, do you think he still would've went through with the massacre?"

Drake asked himself this question all the time. So often, he pondered just how much of this was his fault. He felt like it was, but his friends would tell him otherwise. Even his father tried to convince him that he wasn't to blame for all the death and destruction. Maybe if he understood why, he could get on board with that, but he still didn't get the reason behind Josh's actions. Sure, he had a strong repulsion towards cheaters because of what had happened to his mother, but what was with the cameras? How long had this weird sexual obsession towards Drake been going on? Since his mom's suicide? Since he moved in? Since before they even met? Was he always this messed up, and things would always end up the way they did? Or did something inside him snap one day?

Drake wished he was still here so he could ask him these questions. He wished Josh would've talked to him back then. Maybe he tried. He always expressed judgment when the teen jumped from girl to girl. Drake tried to imagine how he would've reacted had Josh laid it all out there: the bitterness, the disgust, the jealousy, the crush. It would've freaked him out. Josh always provided him a safe space to open up about things, but he'd never done the same back. How could it not be his fault?

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"Were there no warning signs? How did you miss them?"

"I think he was good at hiding that side of himself. The Josh that I knew was really nice and always willing to help. He was generous and loyal."

"You speak so highly of the guy that tried to kill you," the annoying, pestering man from earlier said.

"He was my brother," Drake said, his voice displaying many emotions, from grief to shame.

There was a new voice - an older voice. "So you think if you paid a little more attention to your brother, this could've all been prevented?" the woman asked. "Your friends would've still been here? My son would've been here?"

Drake recognized the face. The last time he had seen it was when she had yelled at him at the basketball court. He wasn't allowed to attend Trevor's funeral, but he couldn't blame her. After all, her son was dead because of him. He never tried to reach out. He hadn't known what to say back then. He still didn't.

She was standing now. "I told you to stay away from him, didn't I? And now he's dead. Because of you." She pointed at him with a stiff, shaky finger. Her eyes, wrinkled and raging, were spilling with tears. Trevor was a spitting image of his mother: the same blonde hair, the same pointed nose, the same blue eyes, which could be soft as the sky when happy, but cold as ice when angry. Right now, they were cold and icy.

"I-I'm sorry," Drake stuttered, her tears bringing up emotions that he'd tried hard to keep buried these last several months.

"I don't give a shit about your sorries! It should've been you!" she spat like a venomous viper.

Ja'won squeezed through the rows to get to her. He touched her arm, kindly but firmly telling her it was time for her to leave. Part of it was for Drake, of course, but Ja'won was a nice guy who had a good relationship with her, so he was looking out for her own well-being also.

"He was your friend, too," she said, aiming her wrath at him now. "How could you sit here and defend this selfish piece of shit?" However, she stood and allowed him to lead her away. As she went, she raised her voice. She wanted to make sure Drake could hear her loud and clear. "You killed him! You killed my baby boy!"

It was true. He knew it was true. Trevor had gotten free. He was about to jump out the window, and he would have if it wasn't for Drake. Just like always, Drake was selfish. Trevor wasn't. He risked his life for Megan. He couldn't get the bloody image out of his head. His nose had been broken, his jaw snapped in half so violently that the only thing still connecting it to his face was his skin, and even that was torn at the corners of his lips. Teeth were everywhere except where they were meant to be. Some were hanging with the loose jaw, some were lodged into the tissue of the gaping hole that was his mouth, some were scattered along the floor, and some clung to his shirt as if glued on by the crimson blood. He thought about this image a lot. Sometimes when he tried to sleep, it's all he could see. That and the rapidness with which the light had left his eyes as chunks of his brain followed the bullet out one side of his skull.

"I'm sorry," was all Drake could say.

"I don't want your apologies. I want justice!" In other words, she wanted him dead. Sometimes Drake wanted the same thing.

As she was taken outside, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. His own were glistening with tears he struggled to hold back. He was shaking. They all blamed him, too. He could see it in their eyes.

"Sorry," he said, but not quite into the microphone. He stood and rushed off the stage.

"Drake-" Anthony called after him, but he didn't stop. If Anthony fired him for leaving after that, then fuck him.

He went through an employee's only door, then followed the hallway to the exit. He was so overwhelmed that he didn't think to kick the doorstopper in place to keep the door from locking behind him. Once he was outside in the cool night air, he was able to have his meltdown in private. He paced the small space behind the building, struggling to breathe. Meanwhile, images of Trevor, Trevor's mother, Huntley, Huntley's father, Walter, his mother all flooded his mind. Their butchered bodies or their pained faces, twisted with grief at the loss of a child, were all he could see.

He roughly hit his palm against his head as if the force of the blow would push the unwanted images from his mind. He did this again, but it didn't help, so he balled up his fist and tried again. The memories didn't leave, but now he had a massive headache, and that last punch was nearly enough to knock him out. He dizzily stopped pacing. A whimper left his lips as he collapsed against the wall, weakly sliding to the ground. He was hyperventilating now, but he couldn't seem to get enough oxygen, almost like Josh was strangling him all over again.

Why couldn't he have killed him? The first night he'd attacked, why couldn't he have squeezed until everything went permanently black? Why all the games? Why hurt so many people if he only hated Drake? Everything would've been so much easier if Walter had come home to find Drake dead on the foyer floor. So many lives would've been saved. So much pain avoided.

The back door opened, and somewhere far away, Drake could hear Jessica's voice. "You okay?"

He didn't know how to respond to it. He didn't know he was, but as he rocked back and forth, pulling at his own hair, he shook his head. "Mm-mm."

Jessica put the stopper in the door so that it wouldn't close all the way, then she squatted down in front of him. "What's going on?"

She was louder now - at least it seemed that way - and closer, he noticed. Too close. She was sucking up all the air.

"I'm having a fucking panic attack!"

She rested on her knees now. "It's okay. Just try to breathe," she said, putting her hand on his knee. "My mom tells me to think of the five senses. Start by listing three things you hear."

What he could hear was the crack of Trevor's jaw when it broke, the gunshot that had ripped through his head, the thud his body made when it lifelessly hit the floor.

"And then three things you see."

He could see Trevor's corpse on one side and his little sister tied to a chair with a pillowcase over her head on the other. Above him was his brother's lustful, curious, joyous gaze.

"Three things you feel."

He could feel lips on his lips. He could feel a slimy tongue on his skin around his jaw and neck. He could feel Josh inside of him.

"And now three things you taste."

Blood. All blood. Only the taste of blood. From the knife he was forced to suck, to the red liquid he coughed up with each new stab. Everything was-

"Now smell."

-blood and sweat and rotting flesh and-

"This isn't helping!" Drake said.

Jessica reached into the small bag she wore around her torso, then pulled out a pill bottle. "Here."

He didn't bother to ask what it was. He would've taken anything to chase away the horrible thoughts going on inside his mind. She poured one onto his palm, and he recognized the long, white, rectangular Xanax bar immediately. "Can I have two?"

She granted his request, and he tossed the pills into his mouth, then accepted the water bottle she gave him. He swallowed down the pills, already feeling calmer at the thought of knowing they'd hit soon and he won't feel this way anymore. He saw her holding out a cigarette to him. He took it and put it between his lips, then let her light it. Jessica lit one herself, then sat next to him against the wall. They didn't speak. When he finished the first cigarette, she passed him another without having to be asked.

His thoughts were still racing, and they would continue to until the Xanax kicked in, but just knowing that they were in his system was enough to tone down most of the physical symptoms. He wasn't rocking anymore, nor was he trying to pull out his hair. His breathing was beginning to even out as well.

A few minutes passed before Jessica broke the silence. "I gotta head back in before the AssMan finds us out here. You gonna be good?" When he nodded, she stood. "I'll cover for you if he asks."

"Thanks. I'm just gonna finish this." He held up his half-smoked cigarette.

"Cool." She wiped off the back of her pants, then headed inside.

It wasn't long before Drake followed behind. He stopped by the restroom to give himself a dreaded but much-needed once-over in the mirror as well as relieve his bladder after the stress he'd endured. Afterwards, he took up his post at the register.

Other than the workers, the theater was empty. Everyone was in the auditorium watching the early screening. Even Anthony was absent, so the employees lazed around, chatting and joking around but ready to grab something and look busy the second they caught sight of the gold vest. Drake didn't partake in any of the conversations, and after the disaster that was the Q&A panel, no one pushed him. He kept to himself, repeatedly wiping down the clean countertop just to keep himself awake. About half an hour into the movie, Ja'won joined him.

"It's over already?" Drake asked, his voice monotone and his sense of time gone. He couldn't remember how long he'd had his back turned to everyone else as he wiped at the same spot on the counter.

"Nah. Just needed a break. I thought I could do it but...the Stephen scene..."

Drake didn't reply. Instead, he continued scrubbing the invisible stain.

"You want us to hang around afterwards and give you a ride home?" He didn't receive an answer. "Drake?" Still nothing. He reached out and softly nudged the boy's shoulder until he looked at him.

"S'over already?" Drake asked again, his words slurring slightly.

Ja'won furrowed his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, 'course."

"Dude, are you...are you on something?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"You're being weird."

"Am I?" Shit. Was it obvious? "I'm just tired."

"Vance and I are gonna take you home when your shift's over," he said, no longer giving him the choice.

"Cool." He went back to wiping the counter.

"Hey," Ja'won said, but he didn't get an answer. "Hey!" He snapped his fingers in front of his friend, and Drake met his eyes. "Go splash some water on your face. You don't want Anthony catching you like this. You need this job."

This seemed to get through to him. Without a word, Drake dropped the cloth, which was no longer damp at this point, and did as he was told. He entered the men's restroom, then approached the sink, lazily leaning against it as he checked his reflection.

He definitely looked high. He could hardly hold his empty eyes open. Ja'won never saw him use anything other than weed or alcohol, so Drake was grateful that he'd acted super chill about this.

"Draaaake..."

He spun around quickly - maybe a little too quickly, for he tripped over his feet and landed on the tile. "Someone there?"

He got no answer. He ducked lower, checking under each and every stall for the black boots that he knew must be hiding inside.

"Drake!" It was a sharp whisper.

"This isn't fucking funny." The boy grabbed the edge of the sink and lifted himself onto his feet.

"Hey, Drake?"

"Fuck you!" He bravely turned away, then twisted the knob on the sink. The sudden rush of ice-cold water filled his ears, and he could hear nothing else...except a stall unlocking. Nervously, he lifted his eyes to the mirror, and he saw one of the doors slowly crack open. "It's not real," he said to himself, panting with fear. "It's not real."

But the door opened further. Finally, he mustered the courage to turn, and when he did, he saw that, like all the rest, the door was closed. For a moment, his face contorted as he fell back against the sink with relief. He didn't let the tears fall. He wiped his nose and sniffled, then turned back to the sink and splashed water onto his hot cheeks.
_______________________________

"Drake?" came a soft female voice, jerking him awake.

He looked down, finding himself leaning against the counter, the washcloth back in his hand. Had he fallen asleep standing up? He turned to Jessica.

"The movie's about to let out. Why don't you grab the cleaning supplies?" she said.

"Okay," he said, grateful that she was looking out for him. He didn't want anyone to come up to him after the movie and bombard him with questions he didn't know how to answer.

He went through the employee's only door, this time going to the supply closet rather than outside. He waited around for a while to avoid getting caught in the crowd of movie-goers. He yawned, exhausted. It must be...almost one in the morning...which means...it's officially the anniversary: two years after his mother's death, and one year after Josh's. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep the whole day away, but unfortunately, he had to be back for the morning shift. He'd tried to request the day off, but Anthony wouldn't hear it. However, he did at least schedule him early, and his shift was short, so there shouldn't be many visitors. It was always dead in the morning.

After waiting around for what felt like twenty or so minutes, he grabbed all the things he needed and carried them down the hall. He could see some stragglers still in the main area, but no one was left in the auditorium...no one except for one masked figure.

"We've gotta start cleaning up," Drake said, kindly telling the person to fuck off.

The cloaked viewer remained in his seat at the center of the front row, unmoving. Sometimes people waited around for the credits, but the screen was already black, and the lights were back in dim mode.

Drake leaned a wet floor sign against the stairs for later, freeing his hands of everything but the broom and dustpan. "Yo, movie's over," he said, getting agitated.

Being alone in a room with someone in a Ghostface costume was somehow worse than being on stage in front of dozens of them. Josh would've loved this. Meanwhile, Drake struggled to grasp how human beings could lack so much sensitivity and compassion. This wasn't the first Ghostface-related prank that had been pulled on him. Over the last year, when he was still trying to afford his own phone bill, he received quite a few anonymous calls where the person on the other end spoke into a voice changer. How could people be so cruel? He didn't understand it, and he didn't understand how someone could watch the Q&A fiasco, sit through a movie about the worst week of his life, and then still decide to pull a prank on him.

Despite his frustrations, what he felt most was fright, but he refused to fall victim to another prank so everyone could laugh at him. He spoke up, but instead of the fear he felt, anger came out in his voice.

"Asshole, get the fuck out!" he demanded, bravely approaching the costume that had nearly killed him last year. "I'm fucking serious!"

He snatched the mask away, and his stomach fell out of his ass. His heartbeat rammed against his chest, and he could feel it pulsating through his fingers, causing them to tremble. His mouth was dry, so he couldn't scream. His muscles tensed, his body rigid as he stared on in terror. The face that had been hidden underneath belonged to Anthony. His jaw was drooped, and his eyes hung open. His neck had been sliced deep, and blood dripped down his torso underneath the cloak.

"Oh my god!" Drake rushed forward and instinctually clasped his hand over the wound, but it was too late. Anthony was already dead.

He pulled his quivering hands away and stumbled back, staring at the body in horror. Just then, Shiraye entered with the mop bucket. Her eyes landed on Drake, who stood in front of their dead assistant manager, his hands shaking...covered in blood. She screamed, startling him, and he realized what the scene looked like to her.

"No, it wasn't-" But she was already gone.

He couldn't go after her. He was frozen in place. His fearful gaze turned back to Anthony. Pinned to his chest, he noticed, was a little piece of paper, and written on it were the words "Miss me?"

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts, and don't forget to write your early killer prediction in a comment. Also, did you notice any Easter eggs? Are you a fan of any of the movies mentioned?

I just love horror. Don't you? Let me know if you've seen any good scary movies since the last time we spoke.

Quick plug. I created an Instagram for my writing. I plan to post updates, extras, character images, and more. We've already done a few fun horror/story-related polls. I'm also on Tumblr and doing similar things there.
Instagram: c.h.arlie_thewriter
Tumblr: chooselife2

I wanna give a quick thanks to anyone who got a sneak preview of the first chapter and gave me their thoughts. A special thanks to my best friend, who let me bounce ideas off of her literally every single day, and even came up with a few of her own.

Chapter 2 coming soon.