***
Ethan stood by his bedroom window, watching the flashing sirens wail in the distance. The red and blue lights painted his face in sickening patches of color. Today was a day he would never forget—a day marked by a terrible mistake, a moment of weakness, a resolve that had shattered too soon.
Someone had died. Someone innocent. All because he was late. And now, there was nothing he could do to change what had already happened.
His palm clenched into a tight fist, nails biting into his skin as he fought back the sudden surge of panic and grief. He bit down so hard on his lip that the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Why had he been so afraid? Afraid of death, afraid of pain. But—he realized bitterly—that same fear had cost a young woman her life: a girl who might have grown up to be a mother, a friend, a part of the world Ethan could never erase from his mind.
He was stronger than most boys his age—strength bordering on adult levels—but what good was that strength if it meant nothing? What had he done with that power? Nothing but stand frozen as someone else suffered. Fear had frozen him in place. And the price of his cowardice? Not one life lost—but two. Both brutally torn apart by a madman Ethan knew all too well.
An angry shout tore from his throat. He slammed his fist into the bedroom wall, his knuckles crunching through the drywall and sparks of pain shooting up his arm.
"Dammit!" he growled through clenched teeth, voice raw with frustration. "Why did I freeze up? Why didn't I fight back? Why? Was i late !!! "
His heart hammered violently in his chest, each beat crying out regret and rage—rage at himself, at his weakness, at the agonizing silence that had let those horrors unfold.
"Never again," Ethan whispered fiercely, staring at the gaping hole in the wall. "Never again will I let people die—no matter what. Doesn't matter if they're bad kids, or reckless, or lost… they're still kids. If kids don't get one chance to mess up, who will? And these killers—they'll pay. Oh, they'll pay for what they've done."
He sank onto his bed, shoulders shaking with a sudden wave of anguish. He didn't know why the pain hit so hard. The victims weren't even his friends. Yet deep inside, an invisible weight pressed down on his chest. The reader might understand—it was the seed of a savior complex taking root, a psychological burden shaping Ethan's soul and paving the way for the long, difficult journey ahead.
Breathing out slowly, trying to calm the storm inside, his eyes cleared and hardened with new determination. Ethan wasn't going to be a bystander any longer. Not because anyone told him to, not because he had a grand mission or badge of honor. But because, as much as he hated it, he was finally ready to bear the burden—for the sake of his own conscience and to keep more blood off his hands.
********
The next morning at Woodsboro High, a heavy buzz hung in the air. A swarm of reporters crowded the school grounds, their cameras and microphones clamoring for scraps of information. Police cars lined the streets, officers speaking in low, urgent tones.
What should have been a quiet, somber day of mourning had been drowned out by flashing cameras and eager voices. For the media, the death of a teenage girl and her boyfriend was just another headline—a story to be spun, sold, and displayed.
"Another tragedy," Ethan muttered under his breath as he walked through the crowded hallways, the weight of grief settling coldly in his bones.
A classmate passing by glanced at him with a vacant expression and whispered, "Did you hear about Casey? They found her and Steven... It's so messed up."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Yeah," he said quietly, voice brittle with pain, "it's not just messed up. It's heartbreaking."
He couldn't shake the vision of that night, the sirens, the flashing lights, and the unbearable silence that followed. But this time, he vowed, he would do everything in his power to make sure it never happened again.
Moving forward toward the building, Ethan's eyes were fixed on Sidney as she was being interviewed by Gale Weathers. The woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Courteney Cox, but the difference was undeniable—not in appearance, but in demeanor. Even from a distance, Ethan could sense how uncomfortable Sidney was under the intense scrutiny, especially while being questioned about the death of a friend. The weight of grief clung to her every movement, and her usually composed expression was strained and uneasy.
Ethan quickened his pace and stepped in front of the reporter, effectively shielding Sidney from her probing questions. Sidney's eyes met his, silently expressing gratitude for the intervention. Gale looked visibly irritated at the interruption but persisted, trying to resume her line of questioning.
"Ms. Prescott, your friend was the victim in this tragedy. Can you tell us exactly what happened that night?" Gale pressed, her voice sharp.
Ethan cut her off firmly. "Enough. This isn't some tabloid circus. You should know better than to traumatize a teenager over a classmate's death." He fixed Gale with a steady gaze, his tone unwavering. "Show some respect and act like an adult."
Scoffing but realizing she wasn't going to get through, Gale grumbled under her breath and reluctantly stepped back. Ethan gently but firmly took Sidney's arm and led her away from the crowd of reporters gathering like vultures. Half-dragging, half-coaxing, he guided her to a quieter corner away from the flashing cameras and harsh questions.
Sidney let out a long sigh and leaned on Ethan slightly as they walked. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I don't know how much more of this I can take… Did you hear what they're saying on the news?"
Ethan looked down at her, his expression somber. "I heard enough. It's a terrible thing, Sidney. But you need to be careful. Don't go out alone at night, and always carry pepper spray or something for protection."
She nodded, biting her lip. "Do you think the killer will be caught soon?"
Ethan sighed heavily. "The police are working on it, but until then, stay close to your friends—especially the girls. And if you ever feel unsafe, call me. Anytime. I want you to be careful."
Sidney glanced up at him, a flicker of relief softening her features. "I will. Thank you, Ethan… for everything."
He smiled faintly, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. "Just take care of yourself, okay? We'll get through this."
As they walked into the building together, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The killer was still out there, and Sidney, like everyone else, was vulnerable.
***