DISCLAIMER: Scream Quadrilogy and all related characters, settings, and situations belong to Kevin Williamson, Wes Craven, and Dimension Films. This is a not-for-profit work. I am not making any money, nor am I attempting to negatively affect the market for any of the materials shown, or take proceeds from their creators, but rather to expand the fanbase and keep the pre-existing fanbase strong.

RATING: M (for dark themes, coarse language, some violence/gore, character death, and adult situations)

SHIPS: Sidney Prescott x Randy Meeks

CHARACTERS FEATURED: Sidney Prescott, Randy Meeks, Tatum Riley, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, other Scream characters, background OCs

SPOILER WARNING: Contains Spoilers for the first three Scream films

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a reworking of a very old fanfic, first written in 2007 or so. In its first draft, it was quite sexually explicit, and pretty badly written. That said, it's always been a sort of pet project of mine... I felt that if I could only carefully chip away the unnecessarily sexual bits, dust off the immature writing, and give it a good polish, it would shine like a diamond. (Though if that clunky, clichéd analogy is any indication... maybe not...) Anyway, you'll have to be the judge of how it turns out.

Windsor College, Ohio


Sidney Prescott started awake. Her large, dark eyes stared fearfully at the telephone on her bedside table, as if its bland white plastic inspired a deep terror in her. It sat there, unassuming.


She slid hesitantly out of bed. Her pale face was almost white in the moonlight, in sharp contrast to her short, sleek dark hair, and wide brown eyes. She was quite beautiful—but her face was tight with stress, and those eyes, so dark they were almost black, were haunted: she had seen more horror in the past few years than most see in a lifetime.

Riiiing. Riiiing.

She reached for the phone tentatively, as if it could be red-hot… then snatched it up before she could change her mind.

"Hello?" she whispered. She tried to conceal the fear in her voice, but a slight hitch betrayed her. She held her breath, waiting to hear the Voice, trying to steel herself for that charming, deadly tone…

"Hi, Sid."

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Randy! You scared me."

She could practically hear the apologetic half-smile on his face. "Yeah, well, I kinda figured calling wasn't the brightest idea, given the murd—given what's been happening."

There was a pause. "Randy—three people were killed because of me. I think I can handle the word 'murder.'"

"Sid…" His voice was gentle, sympathetic, but without the dreaded undercurrent of pity that so many people spoke to her with, the one that made her wince. "No one's dead because of you."

"Oh, yeah?" she muttered bleakly, unable to really believe that.

"Yeah!" he burst out, his voice taking on the distinct tone of the patented Randy Rant. "Look, Sid, they didn't die because of you. They died because of whatever psycho-fucking-Billy-Loomis-wannabe-dipshit is doing this!"

Another pause, longer this time.

Sidney broke the silence. "Randy, why'd you call me at—" she checked the clock "—3:51 am?"

He ignored the question. "So—how's Derek?"

Sidney sighed. "He's fine," she said shortly.

"Oh, well, that's—that's good." There was a funny tone in his voice, one she couldn't quite read. For the first time she wondered if Randy was the killer, the dark specter haunting her life—but she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered her mind. Randy might be a little strange, and he was definitely obsessed with movies… but the thought of him actually hurting anyone was ludicrous.

Suddenly, she was frightened by that odd tone, and the lateness of the hour. "Randy—is everything okay? Are you hurt? Do you know who the killer is?"

"No, Sid, I'm fine." There was a strange sort of laughter in his voice, as if the murders were the furthest thing from his mind. "I was just thinking about stuff, and I realized that I really needed to talk to you."

"Tonight? Listen, I can get dressed right now—we can meet at the quad in 10 minutes—"

"Sidney—do you have a death wish? I mean, in practically every horror movie ever made, the innocent girl goes out late at night and gets gutted or stabbed or hacked into a million pieces or something! I mean, what if I'm the killer?"

"Well, are you?" she asked, only half-teasing.

"The question is—do you think I am?"

She considered. "No," she answered, realizing once again that that was the truth, "no, I don't. I lo—" She stopped dead, but recovered quickly, barely missing a beat. "—I trust you."

His tone remained unchanged; he'd missed her near-slip. "Good. Then meet me at the Video Hut tomorrow after my shift—y'know, in nice safe daylight, with lots of witnesses?"

"O... okay."

Sidney all but slammed the phone down, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn't believe what she had almost said instead of I trust you.

It was impossible. She loved Derek. Randy... Randy was just a friend.

Sidney dismissed the idea and went back to bed, but sleep was slow to come.