In Woodsboro, there are two things you can't escape: the smell of pine needles and everyone knowing your business. Unfortunately, being the daughter of Chief Davis means they know more about me than I care to share.
Rain cascaded down the car windows in fine, shimmering lines, blurring the world outside into smudged shades of gray. Through the streaks, I watched my father standing with another officer, their khaki uniforms darkened in patches where the downpour had soaked through.
His hand rested briefly on the man's shoulder, nodding at something I couldn't hear. Even through the glass, I could see the rain threading through his thinning hair, droplets gathering on the brim of his hat.
The car door opened with a muted groan, pulling in a gust of cold, damp air that smelled of wet asphalt and pine resin. My father slid into the driver's seat, bringing with him the faint scent of coffee and leather—a smell so familiar it felt like home, even if the man himself often didn't. He removed his hat with a practiced motion, setting it neatly on the passenger seat as beads of water glinted like tiny jewels on its surface.
His fingers adjusted the rearview mirror, the small shift making the glass reflect my face—a tired one framed by loose strands of hair and overlarge headphones. His eyes locked with mine for a moment, gray and sharp beneath furrowed brows. His mouth moved, forming words I couldn't hear, the question etched in the rise of his brows and the faint twitch at the corner of his lips.
I didn't bother pausing the music. The bassline hummed through me, drowning out whatever words had formed. His lips pressed into a line, his annoyance faint but visible, like a shadow passing over his expression.
With a sigh, he shifted his focus to the road ahead. The key turned in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life, filling the air with the steady thrum of familiarity. Outside, the rain intensified, the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers cutting arcs through the blurred gray beyond.
I leaned back in my seat, letting the music fill the void between us, my fingers drumming lightly on my thigh in time with the beat. He didn't try to speak again. He rarely did when I was like this—headphones on, eyes distant, shield up.
The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy either. It felt like the rain: steady, relentless, and impossible to ignore.
The car rolled forward, tires splashing through shallow puddles that mirrored the overcast sky. The rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers and the occasional groan of wet brakes filled the silence, a soundtrack to the monotony of another gray Woodsboro afternoon. My father's hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, as rigid as the man himself.
I shifted my gaze out the window, watching the rain blur the edges of the world into something softer, less defined. Rows of pine trees stood like sentinels on either side of the road, their jagged branches swaying under the weight of the storm. Every so often, a mailbox or a stray lawn ornament would flash by, a brief glimpse of the life that buzzed quietly in this small, watchful town.
My music drowned out most of the sound, but the occasional pop of a rock hitting the undercarriage cut through, making me glance toward the road ahead. He was driving slower than usual, cautious on the slick asphalt. It made the ride feel longer, the space between us heavier.
"You know it's rude to ignore people when they're talking to you." His voice broke through my music, faint but insistent, enough to make me glance his way.
I tugged one headphone off, letting it hang around my neck. "What?"
His brow quirked, a mixture of patience and mild irritation. "I asked if you've eaten."
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𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑻𝑺 | B.L & S.M
Fanfic"Do you have any idea how simple it is to get away with murder?" The words slipped out in a quiet, venomous tone, their grin widening as their head tilted, the motion mocking and almost affectionate in its cruelty. The figure in the chair whimpered...
