Here's the new chapter! I'm getting more excited as I write this as this is where all the action begins. I stayed up till 4 last night to write and came up with 3 new chapters! Yay!

"Yeah, but didn't she tell you anything? I mean, you're working together and all…"

Dewey inquired of Mark on the phone the next day, still flabbergasted. He attempted calling Gale numerous times to no avail, which gave him a weird feeling.

"Uh, not really. Do you think she could be involved in the murders at all?"

"No! Gale's not a killer, never have been and never will be. I'm just worried for her… It's not like her to vanish like this. I don't need your stupid suspicions, I need help!"

How could he even suppose that Gale could have killed anybody. Moron.

"Everyone's a suspect when it comes to these sprees, you know it Riley. I already told you I don't know anything. Do you know where she lives in LA? Pay her a visit. I don't think you have reasons to panic…"

"Yeah, yeah. I think I'll do just that. See ya".


Dewey hung up. Sure, he knew where Gale lived. She tried to convince him to move to LA with her a million times, but how could he? She left him the address though, which he kept safe with his documents.

It was written on a tiny scrap of graph paper in her neat, calligraphic handwriting. Dewey started reminiscing…

"I'm a man, Gale! That's the difference between us!"

"Oh, really? I probably missed that tiny little deet in the bed!"

Gale snapped sarcastically, glaring daggers at him. He hated fighting with her… Dewey blushed, actually blushed, at her remark. He loved to keep the private, intimate part of their relationship private. It was something he cherished.

"Don't be impossible! I mean, I can't follow you around like that! The wind blows where it pleases and you are just like it… I'm a man, I'm supposed to be the leader, have a job and all. I can't be following you around like that, like I'm some suitcase of yours".

"Well, then… You're rejecting me"

Gale did her best to say that in a cool tone, but Dewey could see that scared lonely look in her eyes, now bigger, wide with fear. Like a little girl, her face distraught. Despite being mad, he couldn't help but cup her slender beautiful face in his hands and look at her tenderly.

"No it's not true Gale and you know it! I want you and I always will. But I can't move to LA with you and sit around while you work and go about your business. I want you to move to Woodsboro with me, where you'll be safe, and I'll make life beautiful for you there, I promise…"

She sighed deeply before answering.

"I can't, Dewey. Not yet. It's… it's complicated. I can't give it all up. Not right now! The thought is just… scary. What will I be without my job? I'll be nothing! All alone with nothing to do…"

Always that job. He hated even the mentions of it.

"You'll be my everything Gale. And you'll never be alone"

She closed her eyes, obviously wrestling with herself inside. His heart broke seeing her like this.

"Will you please move with me? I just can't let go of what's safe… Please"

Gale said that quietly, almost in a whisper, and Dewey's heart internally bled because he already knew what his answer was going to be…

Dewey smiled sadly at the memory. He could never comprehend that sense of fake security Gale drew from her job, where most people either hated her for her obsessiveness or envied her successes. How could that give her security? And why couldn't he?

He shrugged the memory off and took a look at Gale's address. A lofty posh apartment on the other side of the city. He could probably get there in an hour.

Dewey got in the car and set off. He checked his voicemail. Nothing.

"Gale, where the heck are you? Are you OK? Call me back please… I'm worried"

He left her another message and drove on.

As expected, Gale lived in a posh building. The concierge looked at him indifferently as he walked by. Dewey sort of hated himself for that, but he was carrying a large bouquet of roses, just in case Gale would be home. What if she's sick?

He knocked several times, with just silence answering. It was getting a little eerie. Gale was never prone to disappearing like that, in fact there was always too much of her, usually where she was not wanted.

And too little where she was desperately wanted.

Not sure what else to do, he took out a masterkey from his pocket and quietly opened the door.

The apartment was empty, and overly classy. Still it looked lonely, sad even. He could not picture anyone living here. It looked like a gorgeous museum.

"Maybe I can find something that will hint where she might be…"

He started on his search. Empty refrigerator, tons of trendy clothes, hardly any personal items. Her calligraphy sketches lying neatly on the counter, which revealed her artistic nature. Dewey blushed a little as he stepped into her bedroom. It was her private sanctuary, he thought, one he failed to share with her, and maybe that was why she was now gone.

On her nightstand Dewey found their picture, the one they took in Woodsboro. It was early morning, Gale sitting on his lap tugging on him fiercely. She was barely awake then, with her hair not done and no makeup on her face. He loved her especially in the mornings, with that soft, tender side of her so obvious. Next to the picture was one of Remarque's books and Gale's eye glasses. He leafed through the book, in search of something… anything of importance. Some pages were obviously tear stained, but that was it. Dewey imagined her, just tearing up in front of the book, and that image was so endearing. Gale sure wasn't cold-hearted or dull.

Under her sheets he found her white long nightgown, all satin and lighter than cotton. He sniffed it, unable to fight the temptation. It smelled like her perfume, both sweet and bitter, and independence and vulnerability at the same time. That scent that always turned him on like crazy.

Dewey quickly put the garment down and only then noticed something that was petrifyingly wrong.

Several small, dry blotches on it. They were more maroon than red, but he was sure that looked exactly like blood.

Dewey's heart sank. That could not be true…

Trying to regain his composure, he checked her desk, and something struck his attention yet again. Two rainbow colored, apparently old notebook pages lying disorderly on top of Gale's books and supplies. Both were dated 15 years earlier and both looked like a girl's journal entries.

He recognized the handwriting…

Dewey got cold chills as he prepared to read what was most likely 16-year-old Gale's old diary…