#deercreekstart

UNKNOWN #: So tell me

Despite having lived in Deercreek for eight long years, Warren had only attended the annual vigil once and he only went that year because his ex-girlfriend dragged him to it. It was a time to remember and celebrate victims- victims from decades ago that he had never met nor knew. He would much rather be home, hell he would rather be anywhere but there. But this year was different. This year there were very real threats present. Chief had assigned the detective, along with his partner, to the ‘Ghostface’ case. There had been some speculation that Ghostface himself might make an appearance at the event, so regardless of the fact that he was sweating like a pig and he almost couldn’t bear to hear anymore crying, there he stood right in the middle of the crowd with his eyes fixated on Mayor Dalton as she stood and proceeded to move towards the front of the stage. Suddenly, a body dropped from the beams above her, stopping just short of the floor. Shrill screams pierced his ears and then the scene quickly turned chaotic. The whole place had gone completely mad. He fought to see past everyone scrambling different directions but his hues widened, a lump forming in his throat as realization set in that the body was that of Chief Dolittle, and he was still alive. “Chief!” Warren yelled, pushing past the crowd that was now running towards him full force. Just as he reached the stage, he heard the nauseating snap of Frank’s neck. “God dammit, Frank!” He turned his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t look. Instinctively, his hand fell to his gun that was safely holstered at his side. Tugging it free from it’s restraint, Warren pointed it upwards in the beams, eyes wide open, heart almost thumping out of his chest. This was it. The man they had been chasing for months was here. And look what he did to Frank. Bright lights blinded his view but he could tell there was no movement above him. Frantically, he began searching the surrounding area of the stage but to no avail. The killer was already gone. Behind the stage he came across the other end of the rope, a scowl forming on his mouth. Returning his gun to his holster, he instantly felt a wave of rage wash over him. All those years in therapy gone out the window in a matter of seconds. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, a closed fist repeatedly colliding with the steel beams that held the stage up. It had been mentioned to him once or twice that he needed anger management. His head hung low, unshed tears filling his eyes. The chief was the closest thing to a father that the detective had since he was 17. He remembered when he first arrived in town. Frank had worked with the FBI to get him set up with a job and an apartment. He was the only one who knew what happened. He was the only one who knew who Warren truly was. The sound of a branch snapping behind him made him jerk his head, quickly yanking his gun out a second time and turning around. “Get your fucking hands up, now!” he demanded, brows furrowing. Nobody would be back there, unless...

UNKNOWN #: You're quite the screamer